“We don’t like to put you to so much trouble,” Flash responded.
“You never could find the pass without someone to show you the way,” Rascomb replied. “I’ll enjoy the trip. Anything with an element of danger always interests me!”
Selecting a boat, he attached the outboard motor which Fleur had been testing.
“She ain’t acting none too well, Mr. Rascomb,” the caretaker warned as he watched the three leave the dock.
At a steady but slow pace, the boat plied its course across the lake and then along the shore for three miles. The air was filled with smoke, and fine cinders drifted down. In the treetops myriads of birds made an excited racket as they fled the marching flames.
Coming to the mouth of a small river which emptied into the lake, Rascomb switched off the motor.
“This will be the best way to go,” he said, indicating the stream. “It will take us beyond the beaver dam and the pass.”
When Rascomb switched on the motor again it would not start. In turn, Flash and Doyle tinkered with it. The trouble, as Fleur had suggested, was in the ignition, but they could not locate it.
“We’re wasting time,” Rascomb said, getting out the oars. “If we want to get there we’ll have to row.”
Flash rather admired the manner in which his host accepted a difficult situation. Clearly, Rascomb was not one to turn back when confronted with trouble. He was an out-of-doors man, a person who used his wits and adapted himself to whatever came.