"What's that coming, Lopez?" questioned Harry.
His answer was a thrust of Lopez's foot in his ribs and again he felt the muzzle of the rifle creep along his spine.
With the talk and laughter of their chums ringing in their ears, Harry and Arnold were compelled to lie silently in the scow, while the other party passed them a second time that night without being aware of their presence.
"Looks like we better get up and go to work," announced their captor after the sound of the oars and talk from the other boatload had died away. "We've got a long ways to go yet," he added.
"Let's take it a little easier, if you please," requested Arnold. "My arms are nearly pulled out of their sockets."
"All right, my hearties, take your time now. I just wanted to get into clear while the others went past us," replied Lopez.
In a short time the boys were amongst the shipping on the river. Here they were directed to row alongside a deserted wharf. Lopez guarded them while they made the boat fast and then prepared to take them up into a rough looking quarter of the town. Just as they were preparing to leave the wharf a boat was heard approaching from down stream. Lopez stopped, then gave a peculiar whistle.
What was the boys' surprise to see Doright row up alongside the wharf, make fast his boat and come ashore.
"Doright," Lopez commanded. "Youall come with me while I fix these young rascals and then I want you to come back here and take that shipyard man's scow back to him and take that skiff back to the shipyard, too. Somebody might want them boats again."
"Yaas, sir, Boss," was Doright's unvarying reply.