How long would the man be gone? Was there any one left on the raft?
These were the questions that came into the boy's mind. There was no
sign of life on the _Venture_, and by running a short distance up the
trail Winn became convinced that the man had gone at least as far as
the edge of the timber. Would he ever again have so good a chance of
recovering his father's property? Besides, what a fine thing it would
be for him to recapture the raft alone, without the aid of Billy
Bracket! or any one else. This latter thought decided the boy, and
caused him to hastily retrace his steps.

Never had Winn been so excited! As he sprang aboard the raft and tried
to cast off its fastenings he momentarily expected to hear a shout from
the bank or a gruff demand from the interior of the "shanty" as to what
he was about. Perhaps the summons would take the form of a
pistol-shot, for men who would steal a raft and destroy a thousand
dollars' worth of wheat would not be likely to hesitate at anything.
At this last thought Winn seemed to feel the deadly sting of a bullet,
and in his nervousness only made more intricate the knot he was trying
to untie. At length he whipped out his jack-knife and cut the rope.

Now to head the raft out into the stream. He picked up a long
set-pole, thrust one end into the bank, braced himself, and began to
push. Oh, how he strained and panted! How the veins stood out on his
forehead! Still the great mass of timber seemed immovable. Again and
again he tried, and at length felt a slight yield. A more desperate
effort than before, and he could take a step; then another, and
another, until he had walked half the length of the pole. The head of
the raft was swinging off, at first so slowly that the motion was
almost imperceptible, then faster, until finally it felt the full force
of the current. Now for one more effort! If he could only work her
out from the bank and into the friendly shelter of the fog without
discovery, he would feel safe even from pistol-shots. For two minutes
Winn labored as never before in all his life. But the minutes seemed
hours, and he felt that he might as well attempt to push away the bank
itself as the mass of timber on which he stood. Suddenly he heard that
which he expected and dreaded, a shout, so loud that it seemed to be
uttered on the raft. The set-polo fell from his nerveless grasp as he
looked up, fully expecting to gaze into the black muzzle of a pi