“In boat. Come along island slow, very slow. Look here, look there. Goin’ to land, Sammy think.”
It was a nice pickle, wasn’t it? There were two grown men against a couple of kids and a queer-headed Indian. Of course, Sammy was so big he was a comfort, but, then, there was no telling what Batten and Bill would manage to do.
“Can we hide away from them, Sammy?” I wanted to know, and I wanted to know quick.
“Can’t hide if men hunt good. Try, maybe.”
“And we can’t hide the boat and the turbine,” says Mark. “They’d rather have the engine than us.”
That was a fact, all right. If the men took to searching the island they’d find my boat hauled up on the shore of the bayou, and they’d get back the turbine. All our work and trouble would be for nothing.
“We got to keep them from l-l-landing,” says Mark. He was so excited and anxious I thought he’d never get through stuttering over “landing.”
“Sammy throw men in river.” He grinned and shook his head and opened and shut his great big hands as though it would be quite a joke to give Batten and Bill a ducking.
But Mark didn’t want that; besides, he didn’t know if Sammy could manage both the men. What we wanted was to find some scheme that would keep the men from landing at all. I just sat still and waited, because Mark is the schemer of the party. I’m no good that way, and I knew if Mark couldn’t think up something there was no use for me to try.
“Sammy,” says Mark, “maybe you can do it.” He spoke slow, so as not to stutter. “There’s a chance of scarin’ ’em off.”