"Charley," he called softly, "there is someone on the point; they have just started up a fire."
"Better sheer off and give it a wide berth, then," counseled his chum. "If it were the captain or the chief, you would see the canoes."
"But the boats may be pulled up among the mangrove bushes," Walter objected. "If it should be the captain and Chris, just think what our passing by them would mean. We might never see them again, Charley. I am going to have a look."
"All right," agreed his chum, "but be very careful, Walt."
The fire was located well in on the point, and Walter steered to land some distance out from it. A few strokes of the paddle sent the light canoe gliding in amongst the mangrove bushes that fringed the shore. Climbing out upon the curious gnarled roots, Walter pulled the canoe far enough in to effectually screen it from sight. Next he examined his pistols to see that they were properly loaded, and with a parting word of cheer for his chum, he made his way slowly and cautiously over the intervening roots to the shore.
He soon found that it was no easy task he had set himself. Between himself and the fire fifty yards away, intervened the heaviest growth of timber he had ever seen; palms, sweet gums, satinwoods, and pines mingled in close and wild confusion, while the ground beneath them was a matted mass of vines and creepers.
For a moment Walter hesitated. Some of the vines and creepers, he knew, were poisonous. To touch them meant sores, swellings, and suffering. But it was only for a moment he paused. The thought of how much might depend on his errand drove him on. Tearing two strips from his already tattered shirt, he wrapped them around either hand, and dropping on hands and knees he cautiously wound his way towards the fire.
His progress was slow and painful. Dangling brier vines drew blood from arms and face, and sharp thorns repeatedly lacerated hands and knees. At each move forward he had to pause and remove the dead branches and twigs from his path lest their cracking should betray him to the campers. At last, however, he could catch the sound of voices, and wriggling forward with infinite caution, he reached a place from which he could get a glimpse between the trees at the group gathered around the fire.
The sight was not reassuring. Near the blaze a half dozen of the convicts lay lounging at their ease, while another one was busily engaged in making coffee and frying bacon. The neighing of ponies in the background told the watcher how they had arrived at the point before him. They must have ridden most of the night to have covered the distance, and Walter felt a sinking of heart as he realized the determination of their pursuit. The conversation that came to his ears did not tend to reassure him.
The convicts were evidently tired and in bad humor, and a hot argument was raging.