“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” came out across the river to them.
Frank and Lanky said nothing. The searchlight was reaching out in an effort to locate them, but when it found the mark, two of the men ducked low in the boat while the third one was plying the oars as hard as his strength permitted.
“Isn’t that the same boat?” gasped Lanky.
Frank said nothing. Instead, he changed the course of the Rocket, but he was too late to get immediately after the fellows. The island was squarely in front of him, the one he had aimed at passing on this side to shorten the run down the river.
Around it to the far side he went, then swung as closely as good navigation of the Rocket would permit, to get back to the course made by the rowboat.
Several minutes were consumed in making this return to the former location, and the path had led completely around the island in an attempt to head off the rowboat.
Back upstream they went, the searchlight playing here and there, seeking for the little craft.
“I’d be careful, Frank,” muttered Lanky Wallace. “If there’s anything wrong about these fellows, they’re very apt to do some shooting.”
“I’ll take the chance,” and Frank gritted his teeth.
Over toward the farther shore they went, then swung back again, but the searchlight of the Rocket, though flung first to one side and then the other, failed to reveal the boat.