“Yes,—and as quickly as you can get there,” replied Dave.
As the wind was in the right direction, it did not take long. The Point was a rocky cliff with a stretch of sand at its base. Here the boys jumped ashore.
“Want me to wait for you?” asked the riverman.
“Wait for half an hour,” said Dave. “Then, if we are not back, you can go back;” and so it was arranged.
In the sand our hero and Roger could plainly see the marks of the motor-boat and many footprints. They followed the footprints to a road leading through a stretch of woods, and then came out on a highway leading to Barrelton.
“The town is about half a mile from here. Wonder if they went there?” mused Roger.
“Maybe we can learn something at the nearest farmhouse,” suggested Dave.
They hurried on, and presently reached a farmhouse set close to the road, with a barn on the other side. At a grindstone a tall, thin boy was sharpening a sickle.
“Yes, I saw them fellers,” he drawled, when asked about the runaways. “They was walking to town to beat the cars. I thought they must be 186 in one o’ them cross-country races, or something like that.”
“Come on!” cried Dave to his chum. Then he turned back suddenly. “Do you know anything about the trains from Barrelton?”