"George thought that would be all right, so we get our plunder together, sneak out of the cabin, drop over the edge of the creek bank, crawl a mile downstream, and sashay right into the woods. I don't know whether you'll believe it or not—things like that happen mostly in story books—but we find the neatest cave you ever crawled into right on the banks of the Catfish. George says it's a second edition of Black Hawk's cave. Well, say, after we get the bats out of that hole in the rock, we are almost as snug as we are here, this minute. Sufferin' Niagara, hear it pour!"
"Never mind the rain, Joe," said Matt. "Your talk is mighty exciting. Go on with it."
"Of course," proceeded McGlory, "we couldn't enjoy our cave while you were due to arrive at the cabin any minute and drop into the hands of Ross and Kinky. I reckon it was about eight o'clock into dewfall when George and me crawled out of that hole and started to make a short cut for the Waunakee road. Then, right in the middle of the dark, we heard somethin' coming our way just a-tearin'. George guessed bears and I guessed Injuns; but, no, we were both fooled. It was a little negro—George struck a match and got his color a minute after him and me had collided and I had flopped him on his back and was holding him down. Then——"
"Pickerel Pete!" exclaimed Matt.
"That's a guess for your life. Sure, pard, it was Pickerel Pete, and a scared Pickerel he was, at that. He thought George and me was a pair of 'ha'nts,' whatever they are; but George knew him, and he braced up some when he made sure that we were perfectly human.
"Then—speak to me about what that little ebony chap told us! Motor Matt had hired him for two plunks a day—you're getting reckless with your money, pard—and he had piloted Motor Matt from Third Lake to Fourth, and from Fourth up the Catfish to Whisky Creek. Motor Matt had left the boat tied up there, with Blackberry on guard, and gone on afoot up the creek. Then spooks arrived, ordered Pete to duck, and he had started for home like a singed cat. He was on his way when he ran into us.
"Well, George and me was all crinkled up with a scare. Matt's gone on to the cabin, we figure it out, and he's dropped into the hands of Ross and Kinky. We make a run for the cabin. No one there, not even Ross and Kinky. But there's a candle still burnin' on the corner shelf.
"Was it Motor Matt who lit that candle, we asked ourselves, or Big John's pals? Of course we couldn't tell that, but we allowed it was probably Matt who had struck a light. Then it was us for the mouth of the creek to see what was going on at the launch.
"I forgot to tell you, pard, that George and I had found a skiff, while we were fooling around the creek bank, waiting for you to get back. The skiff pleased me—I never saw a boat yet that didn't—and I suggested to George that we paddle down the creek in the skiff. That would save climbing fences and blundering around in the dark. Well, we took the skiff. It didn't draw much more'n a drink of water, and, although the creek is lower than usual at this time of year, according to George, we got down it all right. Just as we got within hailing distance of the launch, we heard the chug of an engine, and some one calling from the boat to some one else on the bank. We'd found Ross and Kinky—their voices give 'em away; and from what they said later we also knew that we'd found you.
"George and I were up a tree for fair, then. Ross and Kinky were 'heeled'—we didn't have to guess any about that—while all I had was a pocketknife, and all George had was a scarfpin.