To tell the truth, the fate of Paul Stegman troubled the lads not a little. They had no idea what disposition the robbers would make of him. They might toss him overboard, and they might leave him to die of his wounds. It would be just as the mood seized them.
There was no news of the Rambler at first. The boys were becoming discouraged when a telegram from a point thirty miles down the river gave them courage.
A boat answering the description of the Rambler was anchored off the mouth of a small creek which ran into the Rio Grande just below the Mexican line.
“Of course it’s the Rambler!” shouted Case. “No other boat looks like the Rambler. Wonder what’s been going on since we left the boat? Seems like a week.”
“How are we going to get to her?” inquired Jule. “Thirty miles is a long distance—when you have to swim.”
“And the robbers may be up and away long before we are anywhere near them,” Alex cut in. “Is there a boat of any kind that we might borrow, beg or steal in the town?”
“There ought to be,” Clay contributed hopefully. “This is a river town, and there ought to be plenty of boats in sight.”
“Can we get one that will speed up?” asked Case.
“That’s to be found out,” said Clay.
“I hope we find Paul Stegman all right,” Case said, rather dubiously. “It would be just like the robbers to pitch him overboard. Their time of reckoning will come.”