For, just ahead of him, idly floating on the calm surface of the lake, was his missing motorboat!
[CHAPTER XXIII]
THE CALLING VOICES
Tom rubbed his eyes. He wanted to be sure he was not dreaming, or seeing a vision of his lost motorboat. And yet, as his sight cleared, he knew he could not be mistaken.
“It’s her!” he cried. “It’s the dear old Tag all right! Jinks! but I’m in luck! Now, if none of those fellows are in her, I’ll soon be aboard. And if she’s in running order—”
He paused in apprehension. What if the hermit’s crowd had damaged the machinery so that the craft would not run? Tom felt himself grow cold with fear at this possibility.
“I’ll soon see,” he murmured, and he settled down into a long, even stroke that quickly brought him close to the floating craft.
Now he proceeded more cautiously, for he realized that there might be a plot—an ambuscade to trap him, and make him a prisoner as were his companions.
“Ahoy the Tag!” he shouted, but there was no answer. The boat continued to drift with the current of the river which made itself felt thus far out in the lake.