“Now we are in for it!” Scott exclaimed, as he pointed out the flying figure to Murphy.
“Where did he come from?” Murphy asked, frowning.
“Out of that clump of brush right there in front of us. I just happened to see his eyes. It is a good thing we were talking in whispers or the little rascal would have overheard every word that we said.”
“Probably heard every word of it anyway,” Murphy growled. “Now they’ll be down here to investigate. Shall we wait for them or go to meet them?” The idea of retreating never so much as entered Murphy’s head.
Scott had other plans. “Maybe if we can get out of here without being seen or leaving any trace behind us, hide the bateau in one of these brush piles and hide ourselves they will not find us and will think that the kid was lying. He was not very large, you know, and they would not put much faith in his story.”
The plan did not appeal to Murphy. He was getting mad again and wanted to fight. “What’ll we gain by that? Why not stay here and scrap it out?”
“Because we are trying to find out a little something about this thing without being seen ourselves,” Scott retorted a little sharply. “Stir them up now and the whole gang may get away before we can do anything with them.”
“I’ll bet I could stop two or three of them,” Murphy growled.
“We’ll land on that clump of grass there on the left where we will not leave any footprints and get the bateau out of the water,” Scott said firmly.
Murphy obeyed in silence. It was easy to see that he did not approve, but he obeyed. Keeping the clump of brush in which the boy had been hiding between them and the camp, they landed on a bunch of roots and lifted the bateau bodily from the water. They made their way carefully to a large brush pile back some fifty feet from the edge of the bayou. There they carefully hid the boat and concealed themselves. “It will be dark in about ten minutes,” Scott whispered. “If they don’t find us pretty quick they will not have much chance of seeing us.”