“I’m not going to take the risk,” was the reply. “They will have to come after us in the Rambler.”
“But the Rambler has disappeared,” Don reminded the other.
“I don’t believe anything serious has happened to her!” Clay insisted. “Case and King ought to be able to take good care of her.”
Just as the boy finished speaking the clamor of the motors of the Rambler was heard. King and Case had picked up the broken rowboat and started up toward the old anchorage.
But the motor boat did not stop at the landing. Instead, she ran up toward the old mine. It was pretty risky, but the Rambler was staunch and true to her helm, and finally passed the perilous places and lay in reasonably quiet water opposite the mine. Under ordinary circumstances King would not have countenanced such an undertaking, but both were anxious over the fate of the boys who had gone off in the small boat, and they were anxious to confer with Frost and the others on the subject.
The three on the dump, after a long and difficult downward climb, reached the water’s edge and managed to get on board without getting wet, as the river was deep and still at the end of the dump, and the motor boat ran up close to the bank.
They had scarcely begun telling the story of the missing boys when Alex pointed to Clay and Don, crawling down the opposite wall like flies.
“How did they ever get there?” asked King, amazement in his face.
“We’ll never know until they tell us!” laughed Alex. “Can’t you run the boat over and get them?”
Here was another risk, but finally, by running far up stream and coming down on the west side and tossing out a long rope, Clay and Don, wet but triumphant, were hauled on board. Clay with the precious metal box containing the paper wrapped up in his coat and held as much out of the river as possible.