They walked down to the river front, and after a number of inquiries found out that to charter a tug or small steamboat was just then out of the question, for no craft of that sort was near. But they learned that a young man of the vicinity named Harold Bird, who was the owner of several valuable plantations in that district, owned a new gasoline launch of good size which was housed at a place a mile away.
"I am going to see Harold Bird," said Dick. "Perhaps he'll lend us his launch."
They found out where the young man lived and visited the plantation in a carriage. It was a beautiful place, with an old family mansion surrounded by grounds laid out with exquisite taste.
"Evidently these folks have money," observed Tom.
"Oh, some of these planters are immensely wealthy," answered Sam.
As they drove into the grounds they saw a young man playing with a bird dog on the lawn. He smiled at them pleasantly.
"Is this Mr. Harold Bird?" asked Dick.
"Yes," was the reply. "What can I do for you?"
"Let me introduce myself, Mr. Bird. I am Dick Rover, and these are my brothers. Sam and Tom. These are my friends, Fred Garrison and John Powell."
"Is it possible!" exclaimed Harold Bird. "Why, I was reading about you only yesterday, in the newspaper. You are the young fellows who helped to round up that gang of counterfeiters at Red Rock ranch. It was certainly a stirring piece of work. You deserve a great deal of credit." And then the young Southerner shook hands all around.