“Depends on just which part we’re going to. The nearest point is about eight miles from here.”
They went on for some distance without speaking, the sheriff devoting practically all of his time to watching the channel.
A little more than half an hour later he shut off the engine and skillfully guided the boat into a backwater where they would not be visible from the main channel.
Sheriff McCurdy dropped the heavy piece of iron which served as an anchor overboard and Bob was surprised to note that the water was at least eight or nine feet deep.
“Better look over your guns. We may need them in a hurry,” advised the sheriff.
Chapter XXXI
A BOAT FLASHES PAST
★
Bob got out his Gladstone bag and opened it, removing the case which held his rifle.
He assembled the gun and filled the magazine with shells. Placing it against his shoulder, he aimed at a spot some distance away when a sharp call from the sheriff stopped the steady pressure of his finger on the trigger.
“Don’t take any chances with a shot now giving an alarm to anyone,” he warned. “Remember that the men who hide out down here are all wary of any gunshots.”
Bob lowered the gun and he knew that his cheeks were burning for, had he thought of the possible result, he would not have attempted a practice shot or two.