“Now, what do you think of that?” demanded Clay.
“Rotten!” Alex and Case declared in a breath. What the boys saw was the Rambler lying at anchor, perhaps forty rods away with the Hawk bearing down upon her.
“It looks to me,” the mountaineer said, “as if those pirates were bound to have that boat.”
“And it looks to me,” Case put in, “as if they’re going to get her, too! They seem to have the top hand in this game.”
“I don’t know about that,” declared the mountaineer. “I don’t think we ought to let those brigands run away with that boat.”
“Well, then, suggest something!” urged Clay.
Before Hank could speak again, the Rambler’s anchor was hauled in and she was headed directly for the shore almost at the exact spot where the four stood. The Hawk steamed steadily after her.
“What’s she doing that for?” demanded Case.
“That boat of yours,” suggested the mountaineer, “will almost float in a heavy dew, while the Hawk as you call her requires a considerable depth of water.”
Clay nudged his companions and laughed.