“But he hasn’t any gun!” Clay exclaimed.
“Yes, he has,” Red returned. “He has a gun that wasn’t found on him. He keeps it in a watertight sack under his left arm. He’s used to taking to the water!”
“And you think he will hang about the bank, walking down from where he was put off, and try to pick us off?” asked Clay. “How far are we now from the mud bank he mounted?”
“Not more than a couple of miles,” was the reply. “We are in water that shows only a trace of current now, because there is a great headland just below, and the flood has packed the curve full. He probably has been able to keep up with the boat.”
“That isn’t going very fast!” laughed Clay, “for it has been at least two hours since he left the boat. The moon, which is in the first quarter, sets about eleven, and it is hiding itself in the trees already!”
“I wouldn’t advise sticking hereabouts,” insisted Red. “I can say no more!”
“All right!” Clay replied. “We’ll fix the motors and start on down. Here, Case,” he called out, “did you bring the repairs?”
“Surest thing you know!” was the answer, and in a short time Clay was at work on the motive power, which was not much out of repair and was soon fixed.
“You know, of course,” Clay said to Red, as the Rambler, under perfect control, started down stream at a pace which kept the driftwood from lunging against her stern, “that I recognize you as the man who talked with me out of the river at Cairo?”
“I never suspected it!” was the slow reply. “How do you know I’m the man?”