The plan we decided upon was that, as soon as we had eaten our dinner, two of our fellows should conceal themselves in the bushes on the bank of the bayou, and hold themselves in readiness to alarm the camp if they saw Tom Mason prowling about, or heard any thing suspicious going on on the island.
We did not carry this plan into execution, however, for just as the ducks and squirrels were done to a turn and Sam had finished laying the table, Cuff came dashing into camp, breathless and excited, and announced that a large flock of turkeys had just flown from the mainland over to the island.
That was enough for us. We did not think any more about dinner just then, but seized our guns and started post-haste toward the bayou.
Herbert Dickson was the first to reach the bank, but no sooner had he emerged from the bushes than he drew back again, and motioned for us to approach with more caution.
“Fellows,” he whispered, as we gathered about him, “we are not the only ones who are watching the island. Tom Mason is over there.”
Following in Herbert’s wake, we crept carefully toward the bank and looked toward the island. Our evil genius was not in sight, but his canoe was, and it was almost filled with turkeys—the proceeds of his morning’s raid upon our traps.
“We’ve got him cornered at last,” said Duke; “and if we move quickly and quietly, we can catch him in the act of stealing our game. I suggest that we teach him manners by ducking him in the bayou.”
“And let us keep on ducking him until he tells us what he has done with our boat,” said Mark. “I know he has stolen it.”
The raft Mark had made that morning was lying alongside of the bank, and it was but the work of a moment to jump on board and shove out into the stream.
Just as we moved from the shore, we heard a loud flapping of wings in the bushes on the island, and a moment afterward a flock of turkeys arose above the trees, and sailed off into the woods.