"Everything is gone but the stove, piano, and bedding," said Dick. "And just to show their meanness they hacked the top of the piano with a hatchet!"
What Dick said was almost wholly true. The rascals had stolen everything of value that they could possibly carry, leaving behind little outside of the things already mentioned. Not only was the piano mutilated, but also the chairs, the dining-room table, and the berths in the stateroom. All of the lanterns but one were missing, and the small rowboat resting on the rear deck of the houseboat had its side stove in from an ax-blow.
"The fiends!" muttered Dick, as he gazed at the wreckage. "What they couldn't carry they tried to ruin!"
"What could you expect from fellows who would shoot my pet dog?" returned Harold Bird.
"I tell you, Dick Rover, those men ought to be landed in jail!"
"Well, we'll land them there!" cried Dick, earnestly.
"Do you mean that?"
"I certainly do."
"I will aid you all I can," answered the young Southerner heartily.
After that all made a thorough examination of the houseboat, to learn if they could find out anything concerning the thieves. Muddy footprints were visible in every apartment, but they told little.