CHAPTER II.
A CRUISE TO THE ISLAND "Whatever are you doing, Rob ?" It was the morning after the consultation of Jack Curtiss and his cronies, and Corporal Crawford was looking over the fence into his leader's yard.
Rob was bending over a curious-looking apparatus, consisting of a bent stick held in a bow-shape by a taut leather thong.

The appliance was twisted about an upright piece of wood sharpened at one end--which was rotated as the lad ran the bow back and forth across it.
Presently smoke began to rise from the flat piece of timber into which the point of the upright stick had been boring and depositing sawdust, and Rob, by industriously blowing at the accumulation, presently caused it to burst into flame.
"There I've done it," he exclaimed triumphantly, arising with a flushed face from his labors.
"Done what ?" inquired young Crawford interestedly.
"Made fire in the Indian way," replied Rob triumphantly.
"I thought they made it by rubbing two sticks together." "Only book Indians do that," replied Rob, "I'll tell you it took me a time to get the hang of it, but I've got it now." "It's quite a stunt, all right," commented the corporal admiringly.
"You bet, and it's useful, too," replied Rob.

"I'll put the bow and drill in my pocket, and then any time we get stuck for matches we'll have no trouble in making a signal smoke or lighting cooking fires." "Say, I've got some news for you," went on young Crawford, "did you know that Sam Redding has entered that freak motor boat he's been building in the yacht club regatta?
He's out for the club trophy." "No, is he, though ?" exclaimed Rob, keenly interested.

"Then the crew and skipper of the Flying Fish will have to look alive.

I know that Sam's father helped him out with that boat and put a lot of new wrinkles in it.