"I guess I was to blame," replied Shadow, sheepishly. "I rubbed him in the rear with my stick. He didn't appreciate the handling."
"By the way, where is his muleship?" cried Dave, looking around in the semi-darkness.
"Guess he's taken time by the forelock and run away," answered the senator's son.
They looked around, but could see nothing of the animal. Some marks were in the snow, losing themselves on the rocks, and that was all.
"It's time to get back to the Hall," observed Henshaw. "I am not going to lose time looking for a mule. Come on."
"We can send Mike Marcy word that his mule is on the island," suggested Dave. "That wouldn't be any more than fair. If left here alone the animal may starve to death."
"Mules don't starve so easily," answered Shadow. "I am not going to look for him any more," he added.
They were soon on their way back to the shore where they had left the Snowbird. The short winter day was drawing to a close, and it was getting colder. They walked briskly, for they feared the wind would be against them on the return to Oak Hall, and they did not wish to be late for supper, for that, at the very least, would mean a lecture from Job Haskers.
Henshaw was in the lead, and presently he came out on the shore, looked around in dazed fashion, and uttered a cry of dismay. And not without good reason.
The ice-boat had disappeared.