It was impossible to stop the boat or to give them any help, and neither of the boys had any sort of inclination to do so. These woods were familiar to the river-men; they would make their way to some accustomed spot, and there were almost certainly more of the gang somewhere about, who would give them assistance.
It was not till the clumsy craft sagged around another wooded bend that the boys ventured to stand on the deck. Sam approached them, all one broad grin of triumph.
“Reckon I put dem fellers out ’er bizness dat time! What you say, Mr. Joe?” he exclaimed.
“You surely did, Sam. You did nobly,” Joe admitted. “It was just the thing. But now you’ve got to steer us out of this bayou.”
For the present nobody could do anything but steer right ahead. The stream widened a little; the shores became higher and drier. Joe thought by the direction that they must be approaching the main channel of the Alabama, when Bob seized his shoulder and pointed ashore.
The ground went up in a slope, overgrown with blackberries, small pines, and oaks, and through the thickets he caught a glimpse of the gray planking of a cabin surrounded by blackberry-thickets.
“Gracious! Old Dick’s place!” he gasped.
“That’s what it surely is,” said Bob. “If we’d just waited here we might have seen the houseboat come right down past us before long.”
“I declare!” said Joe, still in amazement. “I never dreamed that it was the same bayou. Well, we know where we are at last. We don’t want to go ashore here, do we?”
“No, I guess not,” returned Bob, looking longingly up at the home of the bees. “I guess we’d better get out of this River Island as soon as we can. But where are we going in this boat, and what are we going to do with her?”