Lanky reached out for the packages as the Rocket ran in close to the wharf, running alongside, Frank holding a foot off so that they might slip easily by and start back up the Harrapin with the least possible loss of time. Minutes were counting now. Frank realized it, and feared it as well.
“Gee, that was good of him,” Paul was munching on one of the sandwiches, the Rocket back in the middle of the river, the engine humming at full speed, and the bow of the motor craft holding high out of the water as it moved rapidly forward.
Mile after mile slipped from under them, Frank’s grip on the wheel sure and steady, while Paul and Ralph lay back and went to sleep. Lanky, though, was alert to every movement of the boat.
“Here’s where we passed that boat, about,” he muttered to Frank, when it seemed that many, many hours had passed.
Just then the motor spit, puffed, throbbed, popped at the exhaust, and came to a dead stop. Something had gone wrong. Frank recognized that series of noises of a gasoline engine. It could be nothing else. Out on the Harrapin, miles away from home, fighting their way back to Columbia as hard as they could, they were out of gasoline!
CHAPTER XV
SCHEMING VOICES IN THE NIGHT
“What’s the matter?” asked Lanky, who, though he had been much with Frank, failed to recognize the kind of trouble, but merely knew that they were in trouble when they could least afford it.
“Out of gas!” muttered Frank, though his reply was mechanical. He was already thinking hard as to what they should do.
“Out of gas?” echoed the tall youth. “Oh, Frank, are you sure?”