"You've got no right to keep us off Lost Island," began Jerry hotly.

"I don't need any right; I've got a shotgun. You two just pick up
your paddles and blow back to shore--and be sure you tie up that
boat good and tight or I'll have the law on you. Git, now!"

There didn't seem to be anything else to do. The two boys muttered
to each other, and neither one was willing to admit believing that
the man would really shoot, but somehow they were unwilling to put
it to the test. Reluctantly they took up the oars again and turned
the nose of the boat back toward the east bank.

Facing the man now, Jerry sent one last appeal across the slowly
widening space.

"We didn't mean any harm. A friend of ours was drowned yesterday, we
think. We're looking for him--or his body. All we want is to know if
you've seen anything of him."

"I told you this morning I hadn't."

"But why don't you let us look on the island? We're almost sure our
boat was stranded there a long while. He _might_ have been in it. If
you'd just let us look, we'd be satisfied."

"I guess you'll be satisfied anyway, youngster. Just keep on rowing.
Where was young Fulton drowned, anyway?"

Jerry made no answer. When Dave undertook to shout a reply, Jerry
silenced him with a savage look. Then he stood up on his seat.