CHAPTER XV.—THE VANISHING “CARGO”
The sun rose red and hot, looking like the bottom of a newly-scoured brass bowl. It was insufferably warm, and there was no breeze. Alex got out a spyglass and went to the prow.
“What are you looking for?” asked Case. “Expect to see Frank through a mile of trees?”
“No,” grinned Alex. “I’m looking for the equator! It is so hot here that it seems to me as if it must have sagged down toward the creek.”
“That’s a very bad joke!” laughed Case.
In a moment Alex turned his glass toward the shore, scanning the jungle into which they had penetrated the night before. Presently his eyes brightened and he handed the glass to Clay with a whoop of joy.
“There’s Frank!” he shouted. “Coming on a run—or as near to a run as a thousand creeping vines tangled around his legs will admit of. And I don’t see him carrying any cargo. Seems to be running in ballast!”
“See anyone chasing him?” asked Jule of Clay, who was now looking anxiously through the glass.
“Not a soul,” replied Clay. “He is at the row-boat now, and is putting off for the Rambler.”
“Guess it doesn’t require any spyglass to see that!” Jule broke in. “Hello, there, kid!” he shouted, leaning over the railing, “where have you been? You’ve missed a square meal.”