“Mr. Norton is a bad man and no mistake. He’s the kind of a relative that no one wants,” he exclaimed decidedly.
“You are right, Dan. I would rather be alone in the world ten times over than have him for my uncle. How my father ever took up with him in the West I cannot imagine.”
“Perhaps he hid his real nature when he was with your father,” suggested Ford. “Smart rogues can do that very easily, you know.”
“He didn’t deceive me much. I didn’t like him from the start.”
“Nor I. But you know your father was a very easy-going man.”
“He never wrote to me about Mr. Norton,” I returned; and then to change the subject, which was so disagreeable to me, I went on, “but the question is now, what is best to do?”
“I don’t know. Suppose we take a look up and down the shore for the boat. He most likely went off with those other men and merely sent the Catch Me adrift.”
“True. We will make an examination. You can go down the shore, and I will go up. The signal to come will be a whistle, or in case of danger the hoot of an owl.”
This was agreed to, and we separated at once. I started along the shore very slowly, keeping my eyes open, and stopping often to scan the darkness that overhung Rock Island Lake.
At length I reached the spot where the boat belonging to the thieves had been lying. It was gone, and not a trace of where.