The jaunt from Barter to Sawyer Island was play for two rugged youths, accustomed to athletics and brisk exercise, and was made in a little more than an hour. The day promised to be warm and sunshiny, but would not be oppressive, and they felt no fatigue when they reached the well-known landing. Upon inquiry they were told that the Island Belle on its way to Boothbay Harbor would not arrive until nearly two hours, and for that period they must content themselves as best they could.
"Why not send a telegram to Mr. Richards?" asked Chester. "He knows what we are trying to do, and, like the good fellow he is, will help us all he can. He may have picked up something worth telling."
"Mike would say, if he were here, the suggestion is a good one, as some of his relatives remarked when they were invited to take a hand in a shindy. I'll do it."
Stepping into the little post office, which reminded them of the one at Charmount and its bright young miss, Alvin sent a brief inquiry to K. H. Richards, Boothbay Harbor:
"Please let me know whether you have learned anything of the Deerfoot. I shall be here for not quite two hours.
"Alvin Landon."
"More than likely Mr. Richards isn't at home; he is continually on the go and may be in Portland or Augusta," said Chester.
"I think the message will catch him; I remember the bank of which he is president holds a regular meeting of directors to-day and he rarely misses any of them."
Barely half an hour had elapsed, when the young man who was the operator called to the youths as they strolled into the room:
"Here's your answer."
Alvin took the yellow slip. Chester stood at his elbow and read the message over his shoulder.