Captain Joe, watching the boys whimsically, pushed the revolvers around so they would be within easy reach. The deck looked like an armory.
“You outrun him, did you, lads?” the old captain asked.
“We wanted to stay back and come in with him,” Case explained, “but he wouldn’t have it. He said that if we separated and ran in different directions, one party would be pretty sure to get in, while we might all be captured if we stuck together. He was right, of course, but we hated to leave him. He ought to be here in a minute or two.”
“Did he say where Clay was?” asked Captain Joe.
“We didn’t have much chance to talk with him,” Case answered. “The outlaws were swarming over the peninsula, and kept us ducking and dodging most of the time. There must be a dozen or more toughs in there.”
There was no more firing from the shore for a time, and those on board the Rambler hoped that Alex had succeeded in eluding his pursuers.
Presently the bushes at the margin of the stream parted and a face looked out—a heavy bearded face with fierce eyes.
“Good evening, pard!” Jule called out. “Come aboard!”
The fellow disappeared without making any reply.
“That settles it!” Case exclaimed. “We won’t see Alex right away. The outlaws haven’t caught him, and so they are watching along the shore in the hopes of picking him up when he leaves the thicket. I’d like to throw a stick of dynamite in there and blow up the whole outfit.”