"Drowned, I guess," said Walter with a sob.
The leader turned to the others. "I reckon he's too scairt to be lying," he said, "however, you had better take a look around the point. Be quick about it, though, for we will have to hurry to catch up with those other chaps. Here, tie this fellow up before you go."
Walter was seized, his hands tied behind him, and he was lashed with his back to a small satinwood tree.
He watched the departure of the ruffians with sinking heart. If they searched thoroughly, Charley and the canoe were sure to be discovered.
The outlaws soon returned, however, after a very careless search and reported nothing in sight. Truth to tell, tired as they were, they had quickly wearied of trying to force their way through the dense jungle.
After a hasty breakfast, the leader gave the order to mount. "You two stay here and wait for Injin Charley," he commanded, indicating two of the gang. "We have got to let him know what we've learned. I reckon we'll be back by night, if we ain't, you follow us in the morning."
"What shall we do with the kid?" inquired one of the men.
"Turn him over to Injin Charley when he comes in. I reckon he'll know what to do with him," said the leader with a grin so evil and suggestive that it made the helpless lad's blood run cold.
The four outlaws and their leader mounted their ponies and soon were lost to sight among the trees. The two left behind proceeded to make themselves comfortable without a thought for the exhausted lad whose tight bonds cut cruelly into arms and legs. They raked up beds of leaves upon which they spread their blankets and then proceeded to make up for the sleep they had lost during the night.
Walter was not only suffering much physically, but was in great mental distress as well. He feared that at any moment Charley, alarmed by his long absence, might call or fire off one of the guns and bring the outlaws to his hiding-place. How could he warn him of the danger he was in? Suddenly the bound lad was seized by an ingenious idea. Assuring himself by their deep breathing, that his captors were fast asleep, he began to whistle, softly at first, then gradually louder and louder till the weird, mournful strains of the "Funeral March" filled the air.