They overhauled the launch without much trouble, for her engine had gone dead. Only the woodwork in the stern was scorched; but the tattered awning had gone up in smoke. There was little serious damage done.
"Better luck than you had a right to expect, Mr. Constable," Kingdon told him cheerfully. "Don't believe you'd better go on to your destination to-night. We'll tow your launch back to our anchorage, and give you some supper. You'll be welcome."
"Wal;—I dunno but I'd better," Enos groaned. "Oh! them burns do smart."
When they got back to the camp both boats were carefully moored and far enough apart so that they would not scrape sides in the night. Kingdon was prepared with a first-aid kit, and he anointed the burns of the victim of the accident, while Red Phillips heated up some canned beans and some of the panbread for him.
Mr. Quibb elected to sleep aboard his own boat. When he had departed for the night and the boys crowded together at the tent opening, there was a general—and somewhat excited, if low-voiced—discussion.
"It's so, I suppose," Kingdon yielded finally. "Our black-browed friend, Horrors, has got the permit. Swiped it out of my jacket pocket up there at the diamond. I am positive it was in my coat when we went up there."
"Sure!" cried Peewee. "This constable tells us he saw it. Of course Horrors displayed it as his own."
"Then he's posing under your name, Rex," Midkiff said, in anger.
"I tell you what!" said Phillips. "Let's go over there and take it away from them. The cheap scrubs! I bet that letter isn't the first thing they've stolen."
"No, Larry," Kingdon said quietly, and shaking his head. "That isn't the way to go about it. I've got a better scheme than that."