As the boys spoke, Max and his three companions started at a swift pace up the bank of the stream keeping always out of view of the boat. They passed the place where the boys lay in hiding and for a moment the lads heard them pushing through the underbrush.
“They’ve probably gone to their tent now,” Alex suggested, “and I’m going to follow on and see if I can locate them.”
“All right,” Clay said, “only be careful. I’ll go back to the boat and tell the boys what’s going on. Be sure you don’t get captured, now,” he added as Alex turned to the thicket to the north.
“No danger of that,” the boy grinned and the next moment he was out of sight, pushing through the thicket in the direction taken by Max.
Clay stood for an instant longer where the boy had left him and then moved in the direction of the river.
But his progress toward the stream came to an abrupt termination in a minute. He tripped over what he at first believed to be a running vine and fell to the ground. Then, as he lifted himself to a sitting position, he saw the obstacle over which he had fallen was a rope and that it was held in the hands of two evil looking men.
The men, bearded and dirty, broke into a laugh over Clay’s look of amazement. They sprang toward him and in a moment he was relieved of his weapons. The boy sat perfectly still, for the attack had come so suddenly that he could hardly comprehend the situation.
“Ain’t it the cute little child?” guffawed one of the men, slapping his knees and bending down to look the boy in the face.
“He’s all of that,” replied the other. “This is the little boy that’s come out here to find a hidden channel that no one else can find. He used to be a real cute little newsboy in Chicago, and directly he’ll wish he was back selling newspapers on Clark street!
“Are these all the poppers you have, kid?” he asked pointing to the revolvers which had been taken from the boy. “You might injure yourself by carrying them.”