On up the river they swept, the searchlight throwing out a brilliant gleam, and bringing into bold relief the trees and bushes along the shore. Bob had joined Jerry in the bow, while Ned was at the motor, and the two men and Andy Rush occupied one of the rear seats. Suddenly the stout lad uttered a cry:
“There’s something dead ahead!” Those in the boat thrilled at his words, but a damper was soon put on their enthusiasm when Jerry said:
“False alarm. That’s only a log of wood. It’s a good thing you saw it, though, for we might have rammed it, and, going as fast as we are, we might have stove a hole in the hull. All right, Chunky!”
Once more there was silence, broken only by the chug of the motor, and the slight squeak as the steering rope passed over the pulleys and around the drum.
“There’s the Riverview club house!” remarked Ned, in a low voice, as they made a turn in the stream and saw a lighted building ahead of them.
“We’ll stop there and inquire,” decided Jerry, and a little later they tied up at the dock. As members of the Cresville club our heroes had visiting privileges at the other organization, and they were made welcome.
“No, we haven’t seen anything of your boat,” said several lads whom Jerry and his chums knew well. A number of the older members, who had been sitting on the dock enjoying their cigars, said the same thing, for the Dartaway was well known as one of the finest craft on the stream.
“Maybe he went down with the current,” suggested Lloyd Berger, the president of the organization.
“If he did we’ve had this much of the chase for nothing,” said Jerry, regretfully. “And yet——”
“Excuse me,” put in one of the boatmen hired by the club, “but could it be that fellow who took your launch would be running without lights?”