Tim made his boat fast at the dock and followed Ford and Crazy John up a twisting path. The dogs, mongrel hounds, trailed behind them. On a slight elevation in the middle of the island was Crazy John’s house, a rambling structure of logs and timber that had been salvaged from the river. Vines softened the bareness of the house. Inside it was livable, the floor of hard beaten clay swept clean, with a huge fireplace taking one whole wall. On the opposite side opened two cubicles which were used for sleeping quarters.
Crazy John puffed slowly at his pipe. “They don’t lose much time,” he said as the sound of an airplane came faintly over the bayou.
“Sladek’s a fast worker,” conceded Ford. “I hardly believed he would be able to follow me here. If he finds you, he’ll do anything to get the secret of the Southern Queen.”
“He won’t find me,” said Crazy John. “There’s half a hundred places I can hide in the valley.”
The sound of the airplane was nearer and they stepped out of the cabin. The amphibian was in sight but low and on the other side of the valley.
“He’s going to land.” said Tim. “There’s a long stretch of clear water over there.”
“He’ll never be able to taxi that big flying boat up this bayou,” added Ford. “It will be an hour before they can get here. Did Sladek have his usual gunmen with him?”
“Two beside the pilot,” said Tim.
“I’m not afraid of a fight,” went on Ford, “but there is no use in getting into trouble if it can be avoided. We’ll leave the island at once and John can find one of the refuges he speaks about.”
“Good idea,” said the old sailor. “I’ll tell you how to find another way out of the bayou.”