"I'm not afraid of a fight," went on Ford, "but there is no use in getting into trouble if it can be avoided. We'll leave the island at once and John can find one of the refuges he speaks about." "Good idea," said the old sailor. "I'll tell you how to find another way out of the bayou." Crazy John went into the cabin to pick up a few belongings he wanted to take and Tim had a chance to speak to Ford. "Do I get the story?" he asked. "If we get out of this all right, I'll do the best I can," promised Ford. Tim had to be satisfied with that, for it was imperative that they get away from the island. Crazy John reappeared, this time with a duffle bag, and he set off down the path ahead of them. He tossed his bag in Tim's boat and climbed in. "Where's your boat?" Tim asked Ford. "It's half way around the island. We'll pick it up on our way out." With experienced hands, the old sailor started the outboard and they shot out into the shallow bayou. With a skill born of long acquaintance with the river, Crazy John guided the boat between snags and always found safe water. They nosed into a cove and picked up Ford's boat, which they took in tow. From the river itself they could hear the thunder of the motors of the amphibian as the pilot taxied it up and down stream hunting for the opening of the bayou which led to Crazy John's island. "Good thing they're not in the air. They'd spot us in a minute," said Ford. "We could get under cover in a minute," said Tim. "You mean we might be able to," Ford's finger touched the splintered seat at the rear of the boat. "Next time they might not miss." Crazy John shut off the motor and the boat drifted toward a sand pit. It grated gently on the bottom and came to rest. "I'm getting out here," said the old sailor. "You're sure you've got everything you need?" The question was directed to Ford and Tim caught the intentness with which Crazy John spoke. "Everything," said Ford. "Sure you won't change your mind?" Crazy John's face took on a stony look and his eyes wandered over the valley. "I won't change," he said. "This is my home. I'm satisfied. That gold is cursed. You'll be lucky to get back alive." "I'll get back all right," promised Ford, "and you'll get your share." "You'll need good men. Better take this lad. He's the kind you can trust." Crazy John extended his hand to Ford, then swung his bag over his shoulder and stalked off along the sand bar. Soon he was lost in the undergrowth. When Ford turned around, Tim caught a gleam of moisture in his eyes and his hands trembled a little. The flying reporter bent down and started the outboard. The shadows were lengthening and they must find a safe haven for the night. For an hour they followed the directions Crazy John had given them, keeping always in the backwater of the great river. Then they nosed out toward the main channel. The sound of the motors of the amphibian had long since been lost and twilight was enfolding the valley.