Nobody could offer a conjecture that had not been discussed before, and so the subject was dropped in favor of more immediate concerns.
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The tide ran strong, and Dick’s “palatial passenger craft,” as Tom called the raft, proved to be cork-like in its ability to float almost as fast as the tide itself flowed. About five o’clock the last of the marsh islands was passed, and the little town, perched upon high bluffs, appeared. As the raft neared it, Tom suddenly called out:
“I’ve found something else! There’s the Hunkydory riding at anchor in that little bay over yonder! Now, maybe the next find will be Mr. Dunbar.”
While Larry was sending a telegram to his father, the others went to the boat and with permission of the man in charge, examined it. No accident had happened to it and nothing about it gave the least hint that Dunbar had merely abandoned it. The sail was neatly lashed to the boom; the mast and the rudder had been unshipped and bestowed in the bilge. Every rope was coiled and every pulley block ran free.
More significant still was the fact that the lockers were all filled with food stuffs.
“Obviously he intended to return to Quasi,” Cal argued, “and laid in supplies for us as he had promised. Whatever happened to him must have occurred after that and just before the time he had set for sailing. Let’s go up into the town and see what we can learn about him.” Then pausing, he turned to the man in charge of the boat and asked:
“Has she been lying at anchor and taking the chance of rain all this time?”
“No,” the man answered. “She’s been in that there boat house, but to-day the squire tole me to anchor her out in the sun for an hour or two, an’ that’s what I’m a doin’.”