It would have been a very easy thing for the women to do, for every one had forgotten all about them, but they had not moved. They were evidently too badly scared to think of resistance. Roberts was lying on the floor with his face turned to the wall in sullen resignation.
“The next question is, How are we going to get them out of here? Where are your boats?” Murphy asked one of the women.
She seemed afraid to answer but more afraid not to. “One of the men went fishing in it,” she answered reluctantly.
“Oh, ho,” Mr. Graham exclaimed. “So that’s it. Get on guard, Murphy; he’ll probably be coming back pretty quick to see what all that shooting was about.”
They carried the man in from the landing to get him out of sight and waited.
“By the way,” Mr. Graham asked suddenly, “what has become of that nigger?”
Every one had forgotten him and he had taken advantage of the opportunity to fade away. He was already far out of gunshot of the cabin and still going strong.
They waited in silence now for the absent man to return. They did not have long to wait. He had heard the firing and hurried back to see what all the rumpus was about. He had stopped at a distance and watched the cabin for a long time and not noticing anything suspicious he paddled on to the landing. When his boat touched the dock Murphy stepped out and covered him with his revolver. He was too surprised to resist and came out of the boat without a word with his hands high over his head. He was soon tied up with the rest of the bunch.
The fisherman’s boat was a good-sized scow and they had no trouble in loading all the prisoners on it. They tied their own bateau on behind and all three went to poling.
“Too bad we can’t make them do the work,” Murphy growled, “but I would be willing to pole a scow a long way for the sake of landing this bunch,” and the others agreed with him.