After a few minutes he began to zig-zag along the bank so
that he could not possibly miss that oblong thing for which he was
searching. He was wondering if he had passed it, or if, after all, it had
just been a trick of the shadows, when his stick sounded hollowly against a
wooden object. He leaned forward and felt of it. It was a flatboat!
In the darkness he walked about it, running his hands along the edge. It
measured about ten feet by fourteen feet, he decided. Then he climbed in
and felt of the bottom. At one corner there was a hole. The boat had
probably been washed loose from its mooring during some previous flood
time, and had come ashore here, striking the rocks. Certainly it had not
been in the water for a long time, for the bottom boards were warped, with
gaping seams between them.
"But it's a boat," said Tom, as he got out. He went to the water; the end
of the flatboat was two yards from the river. Then he went back, clutched
the end and tried to move it. Exerting all his strength, the boat barely
stirred.
"Whew! Too heavy for me." He tried again, but with no better success. "Have
to get a lever," he panted.
He spent the next ten minutes feeling about the beach, hoping that he would
come upon something which he could use to pry the boat forward.
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