“But s’pose he won’t give it to us!”
“We should have to take it,” said Dexter excitedly.
“Come on, then. He’s got my fishing-tackle too, and—why just look at that! Did you put them there?”
He darted to where his bundle and rough fishing-rod lay among the trees.
“No; he must have thrown them out. Let’s make haste. We know where the boat is now!”
The boys started at once, and began to tramp back along the side of the river in the hope of finding the place where the boat was moored; but before they had gone far it was to find that floating down with the stream, or even rowing against the tide, was much easier work than forcing their way through patches of alder-bushes, swampy meadows, leaping, and sometimes wading, little inlets and ditches and the like.
Their progress was very slow, the sun very hot, and at least a dozen times now they came upon spots which struck both as being the muddy bank off which they had captured the smelts.
It was quite afternoon before they were convinced, for their further passage was stopped by the muddy inlet up which they had seen the man row, and not a hundred yards away was the bank under which they had fished.
“Sure this is the place?” said Bob, as he crouched among some osiers and looked cautiously round.
“Yes,” said Dexter; “I’m certain this is the place. I saw him row up here. But—”