A spirit of gloom seemed to have settled down over them all. Probably the lack of food caused it, though their plight was bad enough without that being added to it.
Late in the afternoon, Blake, going forward to put some more wet wood on the smouldering blaze, came hurrying back with a strange look on his face.
"Say!" he cried to Joe, who was making a pot of coffee, "there is some kind of an animal on the front end of this raft."
"Animal?" repeated Joe, wonderingly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean just what I say. There is some animal up forward there under that pile of boxes," for some empty packing cases were stacked up front, evidently placed there by the lumbermen to use, later, for fuel in the stove.
"You must be dreaming," spoke Joe.
"I am not! Come and see!" invited Blake, and, slipping into the cabin, he came out with the small rifle he had taken from the motor boat.
"What are you going to do?" asked Joe.
"Shoot it, if I get the chance," replied his chum, in determined tones.
Together the moving picture boys advanced cautiously.
