At noon on the following day there was more or less excitement around
the spot where the boathouse stood. The canoes, already loaded, lay
moored near by, awaiting the word to be given that would send the little
expedition on its way up-stream.

Of course the news had got abroad, though Max would much rather have
kept it a secret, if they could. But Herb and his friends, as well as
some other boys of the river town, were on hand to see the start.

And as was natural, a heap of good-natured chaffing was indulged in. All
sorts of dismal predictions were made by Herb, and those of his comrades
who had been in his company at the time of their wild midnight flight
from Catamount Island.

"We'll expect to see you to-morrow, all right, fellows!" cried one.

"Yes, and we're going to keep tabs on you, if you don't show up,"
remarked still another. "It won't be fair to sleep on the mainland, and
just go over in the day. You've got to stay right there a whole week,
night after night, to win out. See?"

"A week," answered Steve, laughing in a scoffing manner; "why, if it
wasn't a waste of good time, we'd have made it a month. But we've got
other fish to fry, and don't want to spend all our vacation on that
measly old island."

"Yes, say what you like," called Herb, as the canoes began to leave the
shore, and the paddles to flash in the noonday sun's bright rays;