the next minute the wooded point had shut them from view. Roy hurried up to Chub.
“What are you going down the river for?” he asked. “Because they may send out warrants for us,” answered Chub. “I want them to think we’re going this way. After a while we’ll turn around, go over toward the other shore and come back. I’ve got to get rid of these wet clothes.”
When he came back, once more in conventional attire, he headed the boat across to the opposite shore, turned her and crept upstream again. Roy brought his field-glasses up and they searched the shore of the cove as they went by. But there was no one in sight.
“I wonder if he’s had enough?” pondered Roy.
“I’ll bet he hasn’t. I’ll bet if we came back here fifty years from now we’d find him sitting on the fence outside his gate with that old popgun in his lap, waiting for us. You don’t know the—the indomitable will of our dear friend, Job Ewing.”
“Jim,” corrected Roy.
“Pardon me; I meant to say James. No, Jim won’t forget us in a hurry, and I think it will be
