“Where’ll we plant ’em?” inquired Dave.
“On that little island jest below the bend,” replied Tom. “It’s not more than a mile. We’ll pull down quiet, leave ’em there, bring the boat back here, go down along the bank again, and swim across to our camp. That’ll put ’em off the scent if they’re after us.”
“Do you think they’ll foller us?” asked Dave.
“They’re bound to after we don’t turn up to-morrow. They won’t let us go without lookin’ for us, you kin bet. We’re a bit too useful for ’em for that. But you leave this business to me. They kin get a detective from Scotland Yard, wherever that is, if they want to. They won’t ketch us!”
“Where’s the boat, Tom?” inquired Dave.
“Pick up yor swag an’ foller me,” ordered Tom. “I’ll take yer right away.”
Dave did as he was told.
The elder conspirator, staggering under a heavy load, led the way.
They skirted a weedy swamp, disturbing the wild duck and ibis at their feed, and came out upon a short creek, which emptied its shallow tide into the Broadstream.
The banks of the creek were covered by a dense scrub of tangled lantana bush.