“Well, you can bet your bottom dollar!” exclaimed the slangy Dig, “that you are not going to tackle them alone. I’m with you to the end of the dock, old man—and we’ll jump off together.
“Say!” he added, “how far up the river do you think the island is?”
“I believe we must be all of twenty miles below the crossing to which we trailed those fellows in the first place. But how far this side of that crossing the island is, I don’t know. We’ll just have to go up stream till we come to it.”
“Suppose there are several islands?” suggested Dig.
“Oh, don’t!” exclaimed Chet. “Don’t suggest more trouble. I’m just as worried about those deeds as I can be.”
Chet gave the horses half an hour on the grass; then they cinched on the saddles so the animals wouldn’t drink too much, and were soon splashing up the shallow edge of the stream. At this time of the year, save in certain holes, the stream ran very shoal indeed. The way was smoother on the beach than on the prairie above.
“Besides,” Chet said, in a low tone, “we can’t be seen down here. Even our hats aren’t above the edge of the bank. Anybody riding on the plain would not know we were here, unless near enough to hear the horses splashing along.”
“Those fellows have never got over here so soon on their miserable cayuses—take it from me,” Dig urged.
Nevertheless, Chet’s mind was in a turmoil as they rode on. The sunset faded; but the stars shone brilliantly over the plains that night—big, and sparkling, just as they do at sea. The chums from Silver Run did not lack for light.
It was nine o’clock when they spied the wooded island in the river which Chet believed must be the site of the camp of which Steve and Tony had spoken. The water grew suddenly deep, too, and the boys had to force their tired horses out upon the sandy shore.