"All right," answered the hired man, and set off, first, however, turning his firearm over to Tom.
The three Rover boys were well acquainted with the river, and had had more than one adventure on its swiftly flowing waters, as my old readers know. They skirted a number of the willows and came to a small creek, where they found Dan Bailey's craft tied to a stake. But there were no oars, and they gazed at one another in dismay.
"We might have known it," said Dick, in disgust. "He always takes the oars up to the barn with him."
The barn was a good distance off and none of the boys relished running that far for oars. More than this, they felt that by the time the oars were brought the other craft would be out of sight and hearing, and thus the trail of the midnight prowlers would be lost.
"Here is a bit of board," said Sam, searching around. "Let us use that for a paddle. The current will carry us almost as swiftly as if we were rowing. The main thing will be to keep out of the way of the rocks."
"I wish those chaps would run on the rocks and smash their boat to bits," grumbled Tom, who had gotten a stone in his loose shoe and was consequently limping.
The boys shoved the rowboat from the creek to the river and leaped in. Dick, being the largest and strongest, took the board and using it as a sweep, sent the craft well out where the current could catch it. Down the stream went the boat, with Sam in the middle and Tom in the stern. There was no rudder, so they had to depend entirely upon Dick, who stood up near the bow, peering ahead for rocks, of which the river boasted a great number.
"Those fellows must know this river," remarked Sam, as he started to lace his shoes, there being nothing else just then to do.
"They ought to—if they are the fellows who visited our henhouse before," answered Tom. "Dick, can you see them?"
"No, but I know they must be ahead."