“I shouldn’t be a bit surprised,” came from Chief Dalton. “But we must get a hustle on. I’ll tow your rowboat over to shore and you can tie her up. Then we’ll keep on up the river.”
Ten minutes later, Mr. Johnson’s boat having been safely moored, the boys were on their way up stream in a much speedier fashion than they had been proceeding since the loss of their craft. A good lookout was kept for any sight of the Dartaway.
“I’ll land ’em yet,” the chief said. “They can’t go much farther as the river gets too shallow. I only hope they stick to the boat to the last. If they strike across country it will be hard to find them.”
All the afternoon the Terror chug-chugged on her way. The boys forgot their anxiety over the loss of their boat, and did not think of their fatigue in the excitement of the chase.
It was about six o’clock, when, having made a short stop at a little village, to learn that the Dartaway had passed not more than an hour before, the chief, who was steering, held up his hand for silence.
Everyone on the Terror listened intently. From the broad stretch of water before them, borne on a wind which had shifted and was coming down the river, the faint puffing of a motor boat could be heard.
“That’s the Dartaway!” exclaimed Jerry. “I know her exhaust!”
“I hope you’re right!” said the chief grimly. “Put a little more speed on,” he said to the engineer, and the Terror leaped ahead under the influence of more gasolene and an advanced spark.
A minute later they rounded a turn in the river and saw the Dartaway just as her engine came to a stop.