"I'm afraid that wouldn't work. In the first place, he'd be pretty certain to recognise me in the daylight—you know my face was half-hidden in the shadow of the shanty when he called at the other camp. Then again I question if any visitors could catch him unawares after first showing themselves. He has reason to know there are a good many hunting for him, and is too old a bird to take chances."
Jim sighed. Almost any plan seemed to him preferable to trying to steal upon a fellow, who would be likely to shoot at the first alarm, and he had little faith in the ultimate success of the undertaking.
Jet waited patiently another hour, and then he said, as a look of resolution came over his face:
"We must start now. If he happens to see us rowing over we must pretend that we came to look at the island, and then get away as soon as possible. In case we land without his knowledge, the thing must be worked exactly as was the other: creep up till we see him, and take advantage of the first chance that offers."
"Shall I carry the gun?"
"No; here is the revolver, and be sure to use it if things get hot. We shall be fighting for our lives when we tackle him."
Jet took hold on one side of the boat, and Jim with an expression of despair on his face, cared for the other, launching the little craft without a splash.
The amateur detective motioned his companion to take up the oars, and then shoved off, leaping lightly on the stern-sheets where he could handle the tiller.
There was no attempt at conversation now, for the utmost silence was necessary if they would land without making their coming known to the man both feared.
Jet steered the boat under an overhanging tree, made the painter fast, and then crept softly onto the bank, leaving his companion to follow.