The boy had heard enough of importance to show him that his suspicions were upheld. The man really had lost the deeds which he had stolen.
He had not discovered the loss, in all probability, until he was made prisoner and searched by the two boys. At once his mind had gone back to his adventure on the shore of the river, now mentioned to Tony Traddles.
Chet was confident that he knew what river was meant. It was the shallow stream in which the men had striven to hide their trail just after they had robbed Chet and Dig. The former believed the island spoken of must be below the ford at which he and his chum last crossed.
“I could turn back and find that place—pretty nearly—in a day and a half,” thought Chet. “That’s where the fellows aimed for when they started out the morning after we captured them.
“Our sticking to their trail made them turn this way. Steve is going to try to throw us off and go back to find the papers. Why not beat him to it?”
Chet had sufficient food for reflection to keep him wide awake during his vigil. He let the fire die out and he kept back in the darkness, watching the other camp continually. He saw Steve move about occasionally; but the fellow did not offer to come up the hill; and as for Tony, by the way he had gone to sleep, Chet was quite sure he would not be easily aroused.
When Chet awoke his chum and partner he said nothing about what he had overheard at the other camp. Only, he advised his friend to watch the man below them closely.
“I’ll keep my eye on him, all right,” promised Dig. “B-r-r-r! it’s cold! What did you let the fire go out for, Chet?”
“It’s safer. You can see better without the light flickering in your eyes. And you can stir around and keep warm,” said Chet. “It’s me that’s got to lie cold. Wake me up in good season, now.”
Dig obeyed that last request. He roused Chet just as soon as the dawn streaked the eastern sky. Dig Fordham was excited, too.