They might shoot, though, and if they really considered him the rascal they pretended, it was almost certain that they would.

No, that plan would not work.

The only thing left to be done was to take the skiff to Dubuque, telegraph to his father from there, or try and find one of the Major's friends in that city who would do so for him, and at the same time provide him with food and shelter until his father came.

Yes, that was the best plan.
Having reached this determination, Winn sat up and looked about him.
The light which he had mistaken for dawn was that of a late-rising moon, and it hardly penetrated the mist hanging low over the river.
There was nothing in sight; not even the dark mass of timber on the island.

Winn might have been in the middle of the ocean for all that he could see or hear.