"I am afraid," Captain Joe said, poking a stubby finger into Case's side, "that it takes you boys about half your time to find each other when you go off on these river trips. First one gets lost and then the other."

"That's all right," Case replied, "but every time a fellow gets lost he b.u.t.ts into valuable information. Clay may pick up those Fontenelle diamonds while he's gone, or find the lost charter."

"It's up to us to do something," Jule insisted. "After dinner, we'll go out on the peninsula and see what we can discover if Captain Joe will remain on the boat. We won't be gone long."

Dinner was hastily prepared and hastily eaten, and then Case and Jule rowed to the sh.o.r.e in the _Rambler's_ boat, the canoe having been left on the bank by Clay. The captain saw them disappear in the thicket and then sat down in the cabin to watch and wait.

In less than half an hour, he heard shouts on the sh.o.r.e, and then two figures came plunging down the high bank into the river some distance above the location of the _Rambler_.

The captain reached for his gun and stood waiting, fearful at first that a bold attempt to board the _Rambler_ was being made, but as the two figures in the water came closer, he saw Case and Jule alternately swimming on the surface and diving. The reason for this apparently strange conduct on the part of the boys was soon discovered, for bullets began whistling about their heads and about the deck of the _Rambler_.

However, the swimmers reached the deck of the boat unharmed and dropped down behind the gunwales.

"Use your gun, Captain Joe!" Case panted. "Alex is back there in the woods trying to get to the river."

CHAPTER XXI

DOWN IN THE WHIRLPOOL

When Clay heard the splash of water as the tin can disappeared from sight, he began wondering if what he had heard had reached the ears of the others. The lost channel was always in his mind, and he was wondering if the presence of a subterranean body of water there could have any connection with the channel which had disappeared as if by magic two or three hundred years before.

In order to settle the question as to what the outlaws knew concerning the water which must lie directly under their cave, he asked:

"Will some of you men give me a drink of water?"

"Aw, go take a drink out of the river," was the reply he received.

"Gladly!" cried Clay. "Just untie my feet and I'll show you how quickly I can get to the river."

The men laughed heartily at what they considered a good joke and continued their preparations for leaving the cavern. In a short time the man believed by Clay to be Lawyer Martin made his appearance, and then the party started up the gully turning to the east and walking over the roughest territory Clay had yet seen in that vicinity. The leader of the party paused now and then to inspect the landscape and to listen for sounds from the west river.

"What were your friends doing this afternoon," he asked presently.

"They have dug up a new boat somewhere."

"I don't know," replied Clay, stumbling over the ground with two husky guards close to his sides. "Was it my friends who were doing the shooting?" he added.

"Shooting?" the leader repeated in apparent amazement. "Did you hear any shooting? Which way did it come from?"

"From the west," was the brief reply.

Clay's escorts glanced at each other significantly, but said nothing.

The boy was satisfied from the att.i.tude of those about him that his chums had been attacked, but, as a matter of fact, he had heard no shooting, being at the time it took place in the cavern opening from the gully.

After what seemed to Clay to be an endless journey, the party came to the west sh.o.r.e of the east river. Here, in the glade to the north of the rocky ledge which they had followed, was a fairly comfortable camp with tents and bunks and plenty of cooking appurtenances.

Clay was pushed into a tent and his hands and feet bound again.

"We can't take any chances on your jumping us in the night," the leader said as he saw the ropes adjusted around the boy's ankles and wrists. "If you only had a little sense, we might make you more comfortable."

Time and again Clay had the name of Lawyer Martin on his lips. He was almost positive that the leader of the outlaws was the disguised man he had met in Montreal, the man of whom the farmer had spoken at the campfire. However, he conquered the inclination to address the fellow by the t.i.tle which he believed to belong to him.

"If he really is Lawyer Martin," the boy reasoned, "and I let him know that I know the truth, he'll take good care that I never get out into the world again to tell of his connection with these outlaws."

That night was a long one for the boy. One of the outlaws walked watchfully about the camp all night and another sat close by his bunk watching with unwearying eyes. It was plain that they considered his capture of great importance. He reasoned that it was because they had failed in any attack that might have been made on his chums, and had not succeeded in securing the map they sought.

He did not know whether Alex had escaped the clutches of the ruffians or not, but he believed that if the boy really had been taken prisoner he would have been brought to the camp he himself occupied.

The camp was astir at daybreak, when most of the outlaws disappeared from view, going in every direction except across the river. Clay would have given a good deal for exact information regarding their plans for the day, but he could only surmise that all their energies would be directed toward the destruction of the _Rambler_ and the driving away of his chums.

While he lay pondering over the possibilities of the day, the leader of the party came to his side.

"How do you feel this morning, my boy?" he asked lightly.

"I feel like I'd like to stretch my legs a little," was the reply.

"If I gave you the privilege," asked the other, "will you promise to make no attempt to escape?"

"I'm not making any promises," Clay replied, "so I suppose I'll have to remain where I am."

"But you can't get away," the leader insisted.

"How do you know I can't get away?" replied Clay, laughing up into the man's face.

"Because we've got you tied hard and fast," was the reply.

"I've read in the papers," the leader went on, "about this Captain Joe bulldog of yours and this Teddy bear cub doing wonderful things in the way of helping you boys out of trouble, but they are up against the impossible here."

"I'm sorry," Clay said with a shrug of the shoulders, "but you know just as well as I do that no game is ever played out as it should be until the last card is on the table."

The leader smiled whimsically and turned away. After talking for some moments with the only man present in the camp, he turned to the west and disappeared. Then the man he had last talked with approached the boy.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked.

"Pie!" roared Clay. "Green apple pie, red apple pie, dried apple pie, and pie pie. And if you've got any chicken pie, that will come in all right later on."

"Your troubles don't seem to affect your appet.i.te, kid," laughed the man whom Clay discovered to be the cook of the camp. "You're a jolly kind of a fellow, anyway, and I'm going to give you the best there is in the larder."

In half an hour a really good breakfast of ham and eggs, potatoes, bread and b.u.t.ter, and coffee was served to the boy. He ate heartily, of course, as most boys will under any circ.u.mstances, talking with the cook as the meal proceeded.

Directly the leader came to the edge of the little glade and beckoned to the cook. The latter looked from his employer to the boy and back again. The leader beckoned imperatively, and the cook left the tent and approached him. Together they stepped away into the edge of the thicket and engaged in an animated conversation.

Clay heard the leader ask if the ropes which held his hands and feet were still in place, and heard the cook reply that he supposed they were as he had not examined them.

"Just for the fun of the thing, now," Clay mused, "I'll find out whether that chap is right."