“This is a rum go!” was the disgusted exclamation of Woodford. “I thought we should have an easy thing of it, but we’ve got to turn back inland. We shouldn’t have any trouble, though it looks to me as if we shall have to part company.”
The younger man was not favorably impressed at first, but a moment’s reflection convinced him that this was one of the situations in which the proverb, “In union there is strength,” did not hold good. Two persons trying together to make their way out of the neighborhood without drawing suspicion would be in more danger than one. So he said:
“All right; I will go down stream.”
He moved away from his companion, who held his place for a brief while, still reflecting whether his plan was the better one after all. He was turning over the problem in his mind, when he caught the sound of a guarded whistle. It was a familiar call from his companion and he did not hesitate to follow it. Only a little way off he paused with an exclamation of astonishment.
There was the swift launch Deerfoot moored against the bank so near the place where the Water Witch had been left that it is no wonder that Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes failed to notice the difference of location. Not only that, but one of the youths belonging to the boat was seated near the stern with head bowed as if asleep.
What could the amazing fact mean? Woodford’s first thought was that a trap had been set for them. More than likely the seeming slumber on the part of the motionless figure was a pretence, and meant to tempt them to come out into the open.
“What do you make of it?” whispered Graff Miller.
“Some deviltry you may be sure; the others are near by.”
They stealthily withdrew deeper into the wood and watched and listened, but nothing occurred to cause alarm. Then a sudden resolution came to the elder.
“So long as there’s only one, let’s make him prisoner.”