“You suggest waiting here then until we find out what they’re going to do?”
Dick nodded. “We’re as safe here as anywhere.”
“Let’s creep a little closer,” suggested Toma.
“No, we’d better stay here. In these bushes they can’t see us. If we’re quiet, they can’t hear us either.”
During the interval of deep silence that followed, they could hear quite distinctly the voices of the three men. Occasionally, too, there came to their ears the rattle of a kettle or the clatter of a spoon. The ascending streamers of smoke thinned gradually and finally disappeared. Now and again, Wolf Brennan’s harsh laugh fell across the quiet air.
The minutes slipped by. Dick began to wonder if they would never cease talking. The drone of their voices continued on unintermittingly, for an hour or more, before the sequestered camp became quiet. Not until then did Dick turn and motion to his companions.
“Now’s our chance,” he whispered. “Toma, you and Sandy follow me down along the shore of the river and we’ll try to find that canoe. We must take our time. In case they hear us we’ll make a break for the trees and climb the slope.”
Moving slowly, cautiously, Dick led the way down to the river. They were glad when they reached the belt of white sand. Their footsteps could not be heard here. They proceeded about fifty yards, to a point just below the place where the three men were camped. Though they looked up along the bank eagerly, they had seen no trace of the outlaws’ craft. But presently, Toma moved closer to Dick, nudging him in the elbow.
“I see it,” he breathed.
“Where?”