"How did you reach this island?" the corporal was reminded to ask Alison as she pulled up a chair at his left hand.
"Why, I waded across," she said in apparent surprise. "It wasn't deep."
Dexter looked up from his plate with a start. "How deep?" he demanded.
"Not up to my knees."
"When did you reach here?" he asked sharply.
"Early in the morning. Several hours before you came."
The corporal suddenly pushed his stool back from the table and stood up. "Come with me, Crill," he commanded. "I want you where I can keep an eye on you." He pointed towards the doorway. The outlaw stared at him from under lowering brows, but after a sharp exchange of glances, the man got up reluctantly and moved across the room.
Dexter forced his prisoner to precede him outside the cabin, and together they walked down through the timber to the edge of the rapids. The corporal looked across the rushing, tumbling surface of the stream, and his worst fear was realized. The water had risen at least half a foot since he had crossed. Presumably an ice jam had broken somewhere in the mountains, and the flood was released. Some of the bowlders he had clung to now had disappeared from sight. He had barely managed to force the passage when he came from the opposite bank, and the few added inches of depth made the return impossible. He and Alison and Crill were marooned on the island, and it might be many days before the stream subsided sufficiently for them to dare the return trip. Meanwhile, it was a certainty that Stark and the others of his gang would soon be returning to look for the missing Crill.