If either of the policemen feared ambush on the hunker, it was not apparent in their manner of proceeding, except that Lowiez, the pronounced “fancy shot,” kept both hands in his overcoat pockets while the stout sergeant volunteered to pole the skiff out to the stranded collier.
Billy and Henri watched them from a perch on a pile of driftwood.
“I can’t see to save my neck,” observed the Bangor boy, “why that Ricker crowd, with all their daring and cunning, didn’t paint a new number on the collier, change the papers to suit, and bluff their way nearer to the Austrian border before they shook the ship.”
“For the reason,” argued Henri, “that the live-brained leader counted upon aeroplane pursuit and no chance in the world to escape capture on the open waterway.”
“There’s something in that, come to think of it,” admitted Billy, “but there is also some pretty hard sledding ahead of them in the bleak country back of us,” indicating by an overshoulder look at the great barrens stretching away to the horizon.
“All the more room to hide,” observed Henri.
“And to starve and freeze,” added his chum.
They could see the two policemen moving about the upper deck of the collier, but the fact that their search was soundless made it plain to the watchers that it was a sure thing that the hull had been deserted.
Now in the distance could be heard the chug, chug of the fast-coming dispatch boats.
As they finally drew alongside the stranded vessel, Strogoff and his comrade lowered themselves by the side chains to the deck of the first comer, which then turned toward the shore.