“You giva me to police maybe,” replied the boy in broken English. “I staya here—starva first!”
“Who are you?”
“Name no matter.”
Penny’s mind had been working swiftly. She was convinced the boy who had saved her also was the one who had stolen Trapper Joe’s gun. Evidently, he had needed it to survive in the swamp. He was thin and his eyes had a hungry look, she noted.
“How did you get to this island?” she inquired. “Do you have a boat?”
“Make-a raft.” The boy’s eyes darted down the leafy tunnel. “No good here,” he said, seizing Penny’s arm and pulling her back into the thicket. “Someone-a come!”
Scarcely had the pair flattened themselves on the ground than Ezekiel Hawkins crawled out through the tunnel, pushing his gun ahead of him. Standing upright not three feet from Penny and her companion, he gazed sharply about.
“Thought I heerd voices,” he muttered.
Penny held her breath, knowing that if the swamper should walk down the shore even a dozen yards, he would see the Widow Jones waiting in the skiff.
To her great relief, Ezekiel moved in the opposite direction. After satisfying himself that no boat approached the island, he returned through the tunnel and disappeared.