“Automobiles don’t run along the river,” said Jerry. “There’s no good road within a mile of the stream, Mr. Johnson said. It’s a motor boat.”
“But it’s coming up stream,” said Bob. “It can’t be our boat.”
“Unless it went down past us in the night,” remarked Ned. “But we’ll soon see.”
Nearer and nearer sounded the puffing of the engine. There was no doubt that it was a motor boat and that it was coming up stream rapidly. The boys rowed enough to keep their craft from drifting, and, five minutes later the oncoming boat hove in sight.
“It’s the Terror!” exclaimed Ned and Jerry at once, as they recognized the Cresville police boat. “Well, if this isn’t good luck,” Jerry went on. “Terror ahoy!” he shouted making a megaphone of his hands.
In answer there came three sharp toots from the whistle of the gasolene craft, and her course was changed to send her over towards the boys.
“Did you come for us?” called Jerry.
“Not unless you are the burglars we’re after,” replied Chief Dalton, who was in the bow, and who recognized the boys.
“Burglars?” asked Ned.