Not one of the party had eaten anything since breakfast. They had been so excited and so eager to overtake the stolen boat, and find out what had become of Chap, that the thought of food had not entered their minds. Phœnix and Adam were both very robust, and the omission of a single meal had not affected them; but Phil, although he was a healthy fellow, was not so hardy and so capable of sustaining privations as his companions, and Adam could see that he was really faint for want of food.
“I don’t think we’ll make anything by startin’ back now,” he said. “It’ll be dark in an hour or two, and then we couldn’t sail on this crooked river, and we’d have to anchor and wait for mornin’. We couldn’t land and make a fire and have anything hot and comfortable for supper, for there isn’t a spot we’ve passed where we could go ashore. But I see a bit of sandy beach way up ahead there, and there we can land and boil some coffee, and have a good meal, and I’m sure we all need it.”
“But what about poor Chap all this time?” asked Phil, looking up.
“Oh, I haven’t forgot Chap!” said Adam; “and I don’t think we need be troubled about him. When he got down to the beach he’d know that we’d gone off in the boat that was left there, and that we’d come back ag’in. He’d be sure to go and look for the house when he felt hungry, and as he wouldn’t take the wrong track the second time, he’d find it easy enough. There’s no gittin’ really lost in them woods, for there’s no gittin’ out of the beaten tracks, and they always lead somewhere. So it stands to reason he’s better off than we are, as far as comfort goes. And we can’t get to him till to-morrer, no matter when we start. So I say we’ll go up there to that beach and have our supper. I don’t want either one of you sick on my hands, for that would be the worst thing that could happen.”
“But what about those two fellows?” asked Phœnix.
“We’d better let them get out of sight just as fast as they can,” said Adam. “If they can’t find any place to camp it’ll serve ’em right. It’s not our business to make ’em comfortable, and they can’t stay where we are. So I say let’s put their things on their old boat and tell them to make themselves scarce.”
The boys both agreed that in regard to Chap and the two untidy young men there did not seem to be anything to do but to follow Adam’s advice. The Maggie was, therefore, hailed and ordered to come alongside.
“Now, look here,” said Adam to the two men; “you’ve got to get out of this just as fast as you can, for we’ve agreed that we can’t keep our hands off o’ you more’n half an hour longer. We’ll give you back your dirty things, for we don’t want none of your property. But I’m not goin’ to give you back your guns, for one of ’em is a rifle, an’ you’re just the fellers to take a crack at us after you got out of range of our shot-gun. I’ll leave the guns for you at Titusville, at the hotel. You can’t have ’em while we’re on the river.”
The young men demurred very much at being deprived of their firearms, but Adam’s determination was not moved, and they were obliged to go away and leave their guns on The Rolling Stone.
The wind served them better going down the stream than coming up, and so, with pole and sail, and the assistance of the current, they soon put a good distance between themselves and the other boat, feeling in their hearts that if they did not make haste enough, a ball from their own rifle might overtake them. They were so cowardly themselves that they expected every one else to be so.