“All right; we’ll steer for Rockpoint, and take her over to Dan Mason’s boatyard.”
Blumpo ran down the shore of the island to tell his father of what had happened. While he was gone the others patched up the break at the bow with some thin wood and a square of canvas, tacked on, and gave all a coating of pitch.
Half an hour later found the Whistler bound for Rockpoint. They had to sail along with great care, for fear of breaking open the patched place. Had this occurred they would all have gone to the bottom.
It was growing dusk when the harbor at Rockpoint was reached. At the dock they saw that something unusual had happened. A crowd of men were gathered about talking earnestly, and pointing up the lake.
“Whoever they were, they took a boat, I’m sure of that,” said one man.
“That’s so,” said another.
“But who were they, and where did they go?” asked a third.
“Ah, that’s for the police to find out.”
Wondering what was up, Jack Broxton and the three boys brought the Whistler around to the boatyard and turned her over to Dan Mason. The old fellow, who was a first-class man at repairing boats of all kinds, promised to have the craft in good trim by noon of the next day.
“Did you hear the news?” he asked, after their business talk was at an end.