“No one came aboard last night,” answered Clay, half angrily.
“Short, light weight, freckled, red-headed, quick in his talk,” the deputy described. “Where is he? No foolishness, now. I want him.”
“You may have him if you can find him,” grinned Case. “We don’t know any such boy. If you’re lucky finding boys,” Case continued, “I wish you’d find Alex Smithwick! He evaporated half an hour ago.”
Joe King, of Phoenix, Arizona, looked at the two boys doubtfully. He seemed to think they were joking with him. Clay saw that he was not an enemy, and briefly told the story of Alex’s disappearance, also of the vanishing of the honey and cakes. King looked about the boat again.
“Isn’t he hidden somewhere?” he asked, with a sweep of the arm.
“There is no place he could hide,” Case answered. “You were on the shore with your men,” he resumed, “did you see any one leaving the boat?”
“We caught a view of the river only a few moments ago,” was the discouraging reply. “If he has been gone half an hour he might have gone away with a brass band without our knowing it. But here’s a bigger puzzle,” King continued, “and that is where did this Don Durand go to? He sure came on board your boat last night at dusk, while you lay farther down. If you find him, you’ll find the pancakes!”
“We never saw him!” Clay exclaimed. “He might have taken the food, but he couldn’t have taken Alex. What do you want of him, anyway?”
“Why,” was the unexpected reply, “this Don Durand stole a matter of fifty thousand dollars at Chicago. He is a much-wanted boy just at present. Ten thousand dollars reward, you know!”
“How did a boy manage to get hold of so much money?” asked Clay, his eyes large with astonishment.