Some hours earlier Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes had boarded the Water Witch, never doubting that it was the Deerfoot, and started down the river. Consequently Mike could not make the same mistake, and came straight to the launch with which he was familiar. Standing for a brief period on the bank he looked admiringly at it.
“Where are the byes?” was the first question he asked himself, as a glance told him he had arrived ahead of them. “I wonder now if they have strayed off in the woods, where they may wander about like the two lost babes and be niver heerd of agin.”
Not doubting that they would soon show up, he sat down on the velvety ground to await them. By and by he became drowsy. The previous night had been so broken that he had not gained half the sleep he needed. It was natural, therefore, after his generous breakfast, that he should be inclined to slumber. Rousing up, he reflected:
“If I fall asleep here, the byes may not obsarve me and sail away and leave me behind. I shouldn’t mind that so much wid only a quarter of a dollar in me pocket, fur I could go back to Nora and her mother and spind the rest of me days. But the Captain and second mate would graive themselves to death, and that would make me feel bad.”
Throwing off his drowsiness, he rose to his feet, reached out one hand and sprang lightly aboard the boat. Seats, cushions, flags, everything was as they had left it the night before. He sat down on one seat, rested his feet upon another and settled himself for a good nap, indifferent as to how long it should last.
“When they come they will obsarve that I’m sweetly draaming, and will respict me enough to refrain from disturbing me, as Bobbie Burns used to say whin he lay down beside the road late at night on his way home.”
His posture was so comfortable that his head soon bowed and he drifted into the land of dreams. His first essay was not so successful as he hoped it would be, for by and by the nodding head tipped too far forward, and he sprawled on his face. His first confused fancy was that he had been lying in his trundle bed at Tipperary with his cousin Garry Murphy.
“Arrah, now, what do ye maan by kicking me out on the floor, ye spalpeen? Whin I git me eyes open I’ll taich ye better manners,” he called, climbing carefully to his feet. After a brief spell he recalled the situation. His first fear was that the Captain and second mate had returned and witnessed his tumble, but looking around, he saw nothing of them. The mooring line lay looped around the base of the spruce and the launch was motionless.
Soon after, two persons came stealing their way among the trees, feeling each step like a couple of Indian scouts entering a hostile camp. They were Kit Woodford, leader of the post office burglars, and his young companion Graff Miller. You remember they acted as lookouts, while the third was busy inside. They had fled like the cowards they were on the first sign of danger, had managed to find each other and then set out to flee in their launch. What had become of “Nox” they did not know or care. He must do as they had done—save himself or go unsaved.
A shock of astonishment came to the miscreants when they reached the place where the Water Witch was moored the night before, only to discover that it had vanished. To the alarmed ruffians there was but the one explanation: the men who had interfered with the work at the post office had learned of the launch and run off with it.