Simmons kept urging the others to hurry, for he wanted to get on the ground and see what had been done by the impostor who had paraded under his name. He did not seem to take much comfort in the statement of Garry that the false Simmons had been arrested, so Garry kept silence.
At the river bank, Garry bade the party wait while he looked at the place where the birch-bark canoe had been secreted.
The canoe was gone.
He hastened to the place where he had concealed his own craft, and was relieved to find that it was still there, safe and sound, just as he had left it.
He drew it from its hiding place and let it down into the water and paddled swiftly to where Simmons and Ruth were waiting. They embarked and then Garry pushed out into the river, plying his paddle with long, swift strokes, that fairly set the canoe dancing on the water.
“There,” murmured Ruth, as she sank back against one of the thwarts. “Now I feel really safe. I was afraid any minute that I would see the horrible face of LeBlanc and have him pounce on us out of the woods.”
“Twenty minutes more now and we’ll be in an auto, provided we can hire one, and speeding toward Hobart,” said Garry.
He was as good as his word, and soon the little party were at the hotel, where he arranged for the hiring of a flivver to carry them home. The hotel keeper evinced some surprise at the sight of the others, but Garry did not take the trouble to enlighten him.
“By the way,” said Garry, “do you happen to know of any boys around here that own a birch-bark canoe? I happened to damage one that I found on the other shore, and would like to leave my name in case you should hear about it.”
“Nobody in these parts owns a bark canoe,” declared the hotel man positively, “but I’ll take your name if you want me to.”