Apprehensively they looked in the direction of the old mill. All they heard was the rustle of the wind in the trees. The place seemed silent and deserted.
“Say, things are happening all right!” exclaimed Dick. “I never imagined camping was so exciting.”
“Oh, things generally happen where Tom Fairfield is,” remarked Jack, with a laugh.
Dick was at the oars, and rowed rapidly down stream, being aided by the current. In a short time they were far enough below the mill to make it practically impossible for the old hermit to catch them.
“Unless he has our motorboat,” put in Bert.
“In that case I’ll let him capture us, and then I’ll take the Tag away from him,” said Tom firmly.
Out on the lake they floated. It was a bit rough, but the skiff was a broad and heavy one, and made a good sea boat. They took turns rowing, meanwhile keeping a watch for Tom’s craft, but they did not see her.
“You don’t appreciate a motorboat untill you have to row!” exclaimed our hero, as Bert relieved him at the oars.
“Oh, well, we’ll soon be in camp,” consoled Dick, and an hour later they were opposite their tents.
“Everything seems all right,” said Tom, with an air of relief. “Now to see if we’ve had any visitors.”