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.

“Fellow by the name of Jack Sladek who landed at Atkinson last night was flying over the river in an amphibian,” replied Tim. “He took a few shots at me and I’ve an idea he thought he was shooting at you.”

“He probably did,” agreed Ford. “Well, since you’ve come this far you might as well come ashore. I see you discovered that ‘Mr. Seven’ was just an assumed name.”

“I didn’t find out until last night and then with the coming of Sladek, things commenced to click. You know what I’m after.”

Ford nodded. “You want a story about my plans to hunt for the treasure in the Southern Queen?”

“Right. The fact that both you and Sladek are here in this valley is enough to make a rattling good story. I’d rather have facts but if I can’t get them I’ll have to do a little guess work and I’ve a hunch I can come pretty close at that. Crazy John came to the valley nine or ten years ago and the Southern Queen disappeared eleven years ago.”

“And you think Crazy John knows where the Queen sunk and that both Sladek and myself are after the information?”

“Right again.”

Ford laughed. “I’ll confess I admire your nerve. Of course you knew the reputation Crazy John has for shooting anyone who prowls around his island.”

“I knew that,” grinned Tim, “but I hadn’t figured on being shot at from an airplane. That was a little uncomfortable.”

“Pull your boat in,” said Ford. Then, turning to the former sailor, he added. “It’s all right, John. This young man is a friend of mine. We may need his help before the night is over.”

Tim made his boat fast at the dock and followed Ford and Crazy John up a twisting path. The dogs, mongrel hounds, trailed behind them. On a slight elevation in the middle of the island was Crazy John’s house, a rambling structure of logs and timber that had been salvaged from the river. Vines softened the bareness of the house. Inside it was livable, the floor of hard beaten clay swept clean, with a huge fireplace taking one whole wall. On the opposite side opened two cubicles which were used for sleeping quarters.

Crazy John puffed slowly at his pipe. “They don’t lose much time,” he said as the sound of an airplane came faintly over the bayou.

“Sladek’s a fast worker,” conceded Ford. “I hardly believed he would be able to follow me here. If he finds you, he’ll do anything to get the secret of the Southern Queen.”

“He won’t find me,” said Crazy John. “There’s half a hundred places I can hide in the valley.”

The sound of the airplane was nearer and they stepped out of the cabin. The amphibian was in sight but low and on the other side of the valley.

“He’s going to land.” said Tim. “There’s a long stretch of clear water over there.”

“He’ll never be able to taxi that big flying boat up this bayou,” added Ford. “It will be an hour before they can get here. Did Sladek have his usual gunmen with him?”

“Two beside the pilot,” said Tim.

“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.

The globe trotter came back and sat in the seat just ahead, facing Tim.

“We’d better hunt a camp site,” he said. “It’s impossible to make Auburn tonight.”

“I’ve got plenty of food and blankets,” said Tim.

“There’s a supply in my boat, too,” nodded Ford. “Let’s turn off the main river now.”

Tim sent the boat twisting around the sand bars and toward the mouth of a stream on the right bank. Trees met above the smaller stream and 200 yards up its valley they found a small clearing richly carpeted with grass.

“This is fine,” said Ford. “We ought to find a spring somewhere in the bluffs back of us.”

While Tim made the boats fast and unloaded the duffle, Ford took a water jug and went in search of water. By the time he was back, Tim had a fire, built from dry, smokeless wood, burning well. Supper was not long, with two experts in camping lending a hand.

The meal was simple—bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, bread and jam, but there was plenty of everything.

After they had eaten their fill, they spread their blankets beside the fire. It was a time when men’s tongues are loosened and Tim waited patiently. He felt that in good time, Ford would tell him the story of his efforts to learn the whereabouts of the Southern Queen and the treasure in gold which it held.

“How much do you know about my plans to recover the gold in the Southern Queen?” he asked.

“To be frank, I don’t know a great deal,” admitted Tim. “When you came to Atkinson as 'Mr. G. Seven’ you aroused my curiosity. I knew that somewhere I had seen your picture, that your name should be on the tip of my tongue. I’d have learned your identity sooner but the paper was sponsoring an air circus and I had to handle the publicity. Then when I found your picture in the file in a story a little over a year ago I knew what you were after, but by that time you had left Atkinson.”

“How did you trace me here?”

“Found out where you had rented your car, and learned that you had made inquiries about this section of the state. Then when Sladek arrived in an amphibian and made similar inquiries I had a hunch something was going to break. After reaching Auburn it was easy to learn that the only man on the river who had been a sailor was Crazy John.”

“So you rented a boat and started downstream after the story and on the way Sladek’s outfit took a few shots at you?”

“That’s about the size of it. Now all I need to fill out the story is what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going after the treasure in the Southern Queen and I’m going to take you with me,” said Ford.

“You’re what?” asked Tim incredulously.

“I’m going to take you with me on the hunt for the treasure in the hold of the Southern Queen.”

Tim stared, still unbelieving.

“Will you go?” Ford was pressing him for an answer.

“But you don’t know much about me.”

“I know that you’re resourceful and courageous and that Crazy John said you were a good man. I’d take Crazy John’s word for it even if I didn’t know the other things about you.”

“Then you can count me in right now if it can be arranged so I can get a leave of absence from the News.”