“Yes they have,” King went on. “You have a fine motor boat, and the Mexican Indian always has something against a fellow who has something he wants himself. What you ought to do now is to run upstream at full speed, so as to head off any canoe blockade which may be forming.”
“And leave Alex here?” demanded Case. “I should say not!”
“Then drop down to where the dog left the water,” advised King. “You see,” he explained, “I’m still believing that Don Durand is with Alex, and I’m taking chances on the dog finding the boy.”
“He will if Alex is there,” Clay observed, confidently. “I only hope the kid is there,” he added, turning on power and dropping down stream.
There was a little sand island—one of the kind which lift above the water one day and sink down the next—just below where Captain Joe had taken to the shore, and here Case left the Rambler, resolved to make his way to shore along a spit of sand which almost joined the beach with the island.
Both Clay and the deputy objected strongly to his going, but he promised to keep close to the boat and to take no needless risks. The boy bent low as he crossed the strip of beach, desiring to keep out of sight of those above if possible.
“I wish I had gone with him,” King said, as Case disappeared over the sand hillocks. “He may come across the boys, but find himself unable to bring Don Durand back with him.”
“Does the boy know that the search for him is on here?” asked Clay.
“Oh, he knows, generally, that officers are in pursuit of him,” was the reply. “He is hiding in all kinds of out-of-the-way places. Without doubt he slept on your aft deck last night, and breakfasted off pancakes and honey!” the deputy added, with a provoking grin. “And you never knew he was there! He must have been hungry.”
“Then I’m glad he got the pancakes!” insisted Clay. “He was welcome to them, and might have had a softer bed last night, if he had only made his presence on the Rambler known to us. How long ago was it that he took this money?”