“I’m in favor of that,” Case said, eagerly, “but perhaps we should learn what excuse they have for their strange conduct before deciding what course to pursue.”
“The first thing to do is to find them,” said the surgeon.
“Correct!” said both Clay and Case in a breath. “The first thing is to find them.”
The Rambler was beached on the American side of the river, and very soon a delegation of loafers and waterside characters gathered around. Suggestions were offered in plenty, but none were to the point.
The loungers were principally Mexicans, black-eyed and swarthy of skin. They were clad in nondescript garments of all sorts, and they gazed longingly at the trim little motor boat.
They talked fair English and were profuse in their offers of assistance, but their covert glances at the Rambler were not to be mistaken. Their eyes lit up with greed whenever they fell upon it.
“Where can we secure boats in which to cross to the other side of the river?” asked Case, reluctant to use the rowboat belonging to the Rambler, and realizing that the boys would be without the means of transportation if they had crossed to the opposite side.
If they had landed on the American side, a searching party would be effective.
The man questioned pointed to a rude rowboat lying on the bank of the river not far away.
“Will that serve your purpose?” he asked.