“Suppose we go to the west. It really doesn’t matter much.”
So we set our course for the west coast of Rock Island. We had hardly gone half a dozen rods before Ford caught me by the shoulder.
“We made a lucky choice!” he cried. “There is the spot where the man we are after landed!”
“How do you know?” I questioned eagerly.
“Because there is the Catch Me in the bushes beyond.”
“Has he left her, do you think?” I asked in considerable excitement.
“I think so. I will go ahead and see. Hold your gun in case he intends to surprise us.”
I did so; and Ford went forward and landed on the rocks. He was gone fully five minutes.
“No one around,” he said, upon his return.