He jammed the throttle of the outboard on full and his boat leaped ahead. Risking a sand bar, Tim cut the comers close and before the amphibian could swing back upstream he was safely hidden under the shelter of heavy foliage from the bank. CHAPTER NINE In the Valley From his temporary place of refuge Tim watched the amphibian circle over the valley. They were hunting for his hiding place and he pulled his boat in closer to shore where the dense foliage would effectually screen him from the eyes of the observers above. For fifteen minutes the big plane soared overhead. Then as quickly as it had come it vanished upstream and Tim guessed that it was going to Auburn to learn exact directions for reaching the island of Crazy John. Once sure that he was safe from the amphibian for the time being, Tim started his engine and chugged away from his refuge. The water of the bayou into which he turned was quiet, but there was the hidden menace of snags and Tim was compelled to move forward slowly. Another bayou opened off the first and then another. At each one Tim directed his boat toward the right and each time he stood up and shouted lustily. There was no response. The water was shallow now; not more than two feet deep. Rank water grasses waved above the surface but through them there was a definite watercourse and Tim followed this, stopping from time to time to repeat his shouts. Nosing through a thick clump of the water grass, he came into a stretch of open water at the far end of which was a ramshackle dock. Tim shut off his outboard, lifted the motor into his boat, and set his oars into their sockets. With steady strokes he pulled toward the island. A hundred yards from the dock he let his oars drag, turned toward the island, cupped his hands, and shouted mightily. "Hello, there on the island," he cried. "Hello! hello!" But the only response was the mocking echoes. Tim waited a full minute; then proceeded slowly toward the dock. Once more he rested on the oars and called. This time the baying of dogs answered and two huge beasts came galloping down to the water's edge. Teeth bared, they waited for him to come ashore. Tim had no intention of providing a meal for the dogs, and he kept a safe distance from shore. For five minutes the dogs snapped and snarled at him. Then they were silent and two men appeared from the tangle of brush. Grenville Ford was in the lead with an older man, greatly stooped, behind him. "What do you want?" called Ford. "I'm Tim Murphy of the Atkinson _News_. Let me come ashore." "Nobody lands here, mate," boomed the man behind Ford, and Tim was surprised at the vigor of the tone. Crazy John, from his voice, was anything but a weakling despite the stoop in his shoulders. "What was all the shooting a few minutes ago?" asked Ford cautiously.