"I guess could rig up something," said Blake.
There was no need to do this, as they found some lines and hooks in the cabin. They used some of the opossum skin for bait, but either the river was too high, or the bait was not tempting enough, for they got no bites.
Late that afternoon the raft swung around a bend in the river, and at once there appeared, just below, a large island.
"We're heading right for it!" yelled Blake. "We'd better try to steer to one side."
But to do this was out of the question. They had no method of steering their unwieldly craft.
On they rushed, straight for the island, which was of large extent. It was quite high, and well wooded.
"I guess we've got to land there whether we want to or not," cried Mr. Ringold.
Hardly had he spoken, when the raft crashed into the island. The forward logs were piled up brokenly on the shore, and a creaking, splintering sound gave warning that the raft was going to pieces.
"She's breaking up!" yelled Blake.
"Save what stuff you can!" shouted Joe, "The cameras and films!"
