Lanky went shoreward, loosed the rope, and threw it on board at the bow, gave the Rocket a push and leaped aboard himself, hastily grabbing the oar once again to push the stern away from the shallow water.
“Put-put!” and the engine started as he gave the flywheel a spin, Frank at the wheel ready to throw it in gear and get to midstream. All lights were going properly.
Silence now held the boys for a while as Frank picked his way easily to midstream and headed for Columbia.
“You know,” Lanky suddenly broke the stillness, still, except for the muffled exhaust of the motor, “I’ve been wondering about that fellow Cunningham, Frank. What the mischief is that fellow up to? What does he want around here? Who are those two men who were with him? Why did he try to run us down to-day? And any other questions I may have forgotten.”
“You haven’t forgotten any. But you sure can have the first chance to answer all or any of them, too. I don’t know the answers. Wish I did.”
Lanky was silent again. Frank joined him.
The Rocket was skimming the Harrapin at a fair pace, no great amount of speed, however, being shown, for Frank Allen was not anxious to run into trouble. The searchlight was lighting the river fifty yards in front of them, first flashing across to the tree-lined banks as they came to great curves in the river, and again lighting up some one of the emerald-like isles, though now looming up out of the water like spectres. No moon was up.
“Getting down toward home. There’s the Parsons island ahead of us. We’ll pass it on this side, and then I believe I know the river better from that point to home.”
“What’s that over there?” excitedly cried Lanky, as he pointed to a shadowy thing which had been brought up out of the river as the searchlight swung toward the shore.
Back again Frank swung the light, disclosing a rowboat tied to the bank, with a form, much resembling a living being, at the bow of the boat. But the light was not strong enough to bring out details.