# The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood/Chapter 22

CHAPTER XXII
ON A BIG ISLAND
"Say, we're having luck, all right!" exclaimed Blake, when it was made certain that they were adrift again. "I thought we'd be stuck on that island for days."
"So did I," returned Joe. "Yes, we've had luck, of a certain kind, but it isn't going to feed us," and he looked at the shelves of that part of the cabin called the "pantry." The shelves were empty of all save one small tin of corned beef, and a box of crackers. That, with coffee, must be their breakfast.
It seemed as though that night would never pass. Slowly it wore on, and, through the storm and darkness, through the rising water, floated the raft, bearing the rescue party onward. It was scarcely a rescue party any longer, however, being more in need of rescue itself.
But, desperate as their plight was, our friends had not given up hope of finding and saving the ​missing theatrical company. The chance and hope were slim indeed, but Blake, Joe and the two men were not of the sort that give up easily.
"Conditions must be fierce all along the river, the way the water keeps on rising," said Blake, when the first faint streaks of dawn showed in the gray, leaden-colored sky.
"I should say so!" agreed Joe. "The river must have gone up almost a foot in the night, to lift us off the island. It took considerable power to pull the logs out of the mud where they were stuck."
"I think the raft broke, and twisted away from the front logs," was Blake's opinion, and this, later, was found to be so. So firmly imbedded in the mud had been the jagged and sharp ends of the logs, that they had remained there. But the stern of the raft, rising, had broken the fastenings, and a section of it had been left on the island.
"All hands to breakfast!" called Mr. Piper, a little later. "And curb your appetites," he added, grimly, as he pointed to the crackers and corned beef on the rough table. "Don't ask for more than one helping of pie, only one slice of white turkey meat to a customer, and no gravy. What do you expect, anyhow?"
They made as merry as they could over the ​frugal repast, but it was really no joke. Fortunately the coffee held out, and they knew they could live on that for some time.
"If we could only work the raft to shore, or signal for help to some steamer, we'd be all right," complained C. C. "But we can't do it."
The great flood had caused an almost complete cessation of river navigation, at least in the stretches where they now were. They had seen no craft of any kind since being obliged to take to the raft, and the river was so wide that they could not communicate with towns on shore. They passed several small hamlets that were deserted, for the water was up to the second stories of the houses. The inhabitants had fled back to higher ground.
"Well, we've got to do something," said Blake, when noon came, and the pangs of hunger were felt. "I wonder if we couldn't build a signal fire, or raise a flag of distress, or something like that. It might bring help."
"We could try," agreed Joe. "Let's hoist a blanket up on the lantern pole, and make a smudge fire. It'll be safe, for there's so much water around us that we can put it out easily enough. It might do some good."
A ragged blanket was nailed up as high on the pole, amidships, as they could reach, by ​standing on some boxes. Then preparations for making a smudge fire, or one that smoked, rather than blazed, went on.
"Make it up forward," suggested Mr. Ringold. "And take a piece of the stove grate from the oven to keep the blaze up from the logs. They're green, but they might burn through, and cause trouble."
Blake went forward to look for a good place to make the fire, which would be fed with damp wood, to cause more smoke. Joe was preparing some splinters and light kindling, from packing boxes, to start it.
"Say, but I am hungry!" murmured Joe, as he looked for matches.
"So am I!" echoed his chum. "But I guess we'll have to take it out in—coffee."
The fire was made, and a dense cloud of smoke arose.
"They ought to see that from shore, if it is two or three miles away," remarked C. C.
"If they'll only come out to investigate, and take us off," spoke the manager. "Those who see it may think it is only a pile of rubbish on fire."
"Well, we've done all we can," said Blake, despondently.
​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.
​"How did you happen to see it?" asked Joe, as they approached the pile of boxes.
"Why, it ran out just as I stooped over to put some wood on the fire. Then, when it saw me, it ran back again."
"What was it? How big was it?" Joe wanted to know.
"Well, it was pretty big," said Blake, "and it looked like a muskrat, as much as anything."
"Maybe it was a muskrat," Joe suggested. "There must be a lot of 'em in this river, especially since they've been driven out of their homes by the high water."
"Are muskrats good to eat?" asked Blake.
"Why, yes, I've heard of people eating them," Joe replied, doubtfully. "Why do you ask?"
"Because we might have to eat 'em," Blake went on, with a grim look coming over his face. "I'm not going to starve."
"It isn't much fun," admitted Joe.
"You go over there, and tear down the pile of boxes," suggested Blake, "and I'll stand ready to pop at it when the beast comes out."
"All right," assented Joe.
One by one he took away the empty boxes, tossing them aside. He was soon down near the bottom of the pile.
​"There doesn't seem to be anything here," he said.
"Oh, it's in there, all right," spoke Blake, confidently.
Hardly had the words left his lips than there was a scurry in one of the boxes, and a big, grayish animal ran out.
"There he goes!" cried Joe. "Pop him over! Get him!"
Blake did not answer, but he threw the rifle to his shoulder, took a quick aim, and pulled the trigger.
There was a sharp report, a little squeal, and then the animal, which had run out to seek new shelter, curled up near the edge of the raft—dead.
"There's your muskrat," said Blake, calmly. "Now let's eat him. We can't be squeamish."
"Muskrat? That's no muskrat!" yelled C. C. Piper, as he came running up to inquire the cause of the shot.
"What is it, then?" asked Blake.
"It's a 'possum, and a fine fat one, too!"
"Opossum!" repeated Blake. "Is it good to eat? That's what interests me now, more than what sort of an animal it is."
"Good to eat! I should say so!" cried the ​moving picture actor. "They're fine, baked with sweet potatoes."
"Well, we'll have to get along without the sweet potatoes, boys," remarked Mr. Ringold, laughingly. "But it's lucky you got him, Blake. Opossum is good eating."
Blake and Joe looked a bit doubtful, but, when the animal was served, they ate with a zest that comes from a good appetite.
"It must have jumped on the raft the time we were stuck on the island," said Joe. "And it's lucky for us that it did."
The opossum, so providentially obtained, served to put them over that day and part of the next.
It was nearly noon, and the last of the opossum meat had been served, and the last of the coffee made. Blake and Joe went down to the pile of boxes, to lift them about again.
"We might find another 'possum," remarked Blake, and he took the rifle with him. But, to their regret, there were no more aboard.
"I'd be glad to see even a muskrat," spoke Joe. But none of those animals, which are greatly relished by some persons, was on the raft.
"If we only had our fishing tackle, we might try our luck in the river," suggested C. C.
​"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!"