At his back he was shut in by a dense growth of trees and creeping vines, and unless a small boat edged close in around the end of Beaver Island his place of concealment must remain undiscovered.

At least this seemed an assured fact to Captain Plum.
In the security of his position he began to whistle softly as he beat the bowl of his pipe on his boot-heel to empty it of ashes.

Then he drew a long-barreled revolver from under a coat that he had thrown aside and examined it carefully to see that the powder and ball were in solid and that none of the caps was missing.

From the same place he brought forth a belt, buckled it round his waist, shoved the revolver into its holster, and dragging the coat to him, fished out a letter from an inside pocket.

It was a dirty, much worn letter.