“Are you sure that this is the snag on which that boy capsized you?” inquired the sheriff.
“As sure as I can be,” replied the prisoner, to whom the question was addressed. “It was the first one he came to, and it was directly opposite the house whose cellar he robbed. Are you going to give up looking?” he added, as the guides climbed back into their skiff. “I hate to think that that villain will remain at liberty to enjoy that six thousand, after all the risk Tony and I ran to get it.”
“He’ll not remain at liberty very long,” answered the sheriff, with some asperity. “I’d have you know that I understand my business. I pledge you my word that you will see him in New London jail in less than a week after you get there.”
This assurance seemed to satisfy the robber that justice would be done, and he had no more to say.
In obedience to the sheriff’s order the guides pulled back to the outlet and landed in front of the hatchery. The rest of the posse were ferried over to the opposite side and set out on foot for Indian Lake, all except the other prisoner, who was taken into the canvas canoe with Mr. Swan.
When we reached the lake I learned that there had been a regular exodus from the woods during the last two days. As soon as the women and children who were in camp heard that there were a couple of bank robbers hiding somewhere in the wilderness, they made all haste to get back to the hotels, where they knew they would be safe. Both the landlords were in a state of mind that can hardly be described. The season was not half over, and yet some of their guests were leaving every day, bound for other places of resort where thieves were not quite so plenty. Matt Coyle would have hugged himself with delight if he could have heard what I did. I arrived at the lake about nine o’clock in the morning, and at nine o’clock that night Mr. Swan and I were well on our way toward Mount Airy, which we reached without any mishap. We found Joe and his two chums, Roy and Arthur, enjoying a sail on the lake in the Young Republic.
“I kinder thought you would like to have your canoe back again, and so I brought him up,” said Mr. Swan, when he had shaken hands with the boys. “No, I won’t take nothing for it, and I can’t go up to your house and stay over night, neither. I’ve got to get back as soon as I can, for there’s plenty of work to be done at Indian Lake. The Irvington bank robbers have been captured, but Matt Coyle and his boys are still at large, and they’ll ruinate our business and the hotels’ business, too, if we don’t tend to ’em right along.”
While the guide was telling the boys how the robbers had been hunted down and captured, he took hold of the rope with which I was tied and lifted me out of his skiff into the sail-boat, and then he said good-by and pulled away, while the Young Republic came about and scudded back toward Mr. Wayring’s wharf.
Fly-rod told you, at the conclusion of his narrative, that when Joe Wayring returned from his trip to Indian Lake he expected to meet his uncle, who was to take him and his chums on an extended canoe trip to some distant part of the country, “either east or west, they didn’t know which;” but in this he was disappointed. Uncle Joe had been called away on important business, and the probabilities were that if they took their proposed trip at all it would not be until near the end of the vacation, and then it would be a very short one. So, for want of something better to do, Joe Wayring proposed an immediate return to Indian Lake.
“The time is our own until the first Monday in September,” said he, “and what’s the use of staying around the village and doing nothing? We know we can enjoy ourselves at the lake, but this time we’ll give Matt Coyle and his boys a wide berth. We’ll leave the regular routes of travel, and visit the famous spring-hole that Mr. Swan has so often described to us.”