Meanwhile the Tramp Club had pursued what bade fair to be a fruitless quest. Search as they might they could find no trace of their quarry. Late in the afternoon the launch reached the entrance to the hidden creek where the "Red Rover" had recently lain snug and secure.
"This is certainly an ideal hiding place," declared George, as he scanned the bank on both sides. "I don't wonder—"
He was interrupted by an excited shout from Larry, who had also been keeping a sharp lookout. "There he goes!" he yelled.
A long dark green canoe had shot out from under an overhanging ledge of rock. The sole occupant was paddling with swift, noiseless strokes toward the mouth of the creek, intent on reaching the lake and making his escape.
"It's the half-breed!" yelled Larry excitedly.
"He's been hiding up here waiting for night to come. He thought that we didn't know about this place. Now that we've hunted him down, he's trying to make a quick get-away. Once out of the creek he can give us the slip. Fellows, we've got to get him!"
Billy, who was at the wheel, began backing the launch toward the mouth of the creek. Not for an instant did the boys lose sight of their man, and the moment the boat reached open water it was sent ahead at full speed. Soon they began to gain on the fugitive, who was paddling with a speed little short of marvelous.
"Hold on there!" shouted George. "We've got you anyway. You might as well surrender!"
The man in the canoe refused to halt at command, but continued to paddle desperately, until Billy deliberately ran him down. An instant later George was holding on to their captive with an iron grip.
"Shut down. I've got him!" he yelled. Billy obeyed, and the half-breed was hauled into the launch, kicking and struggling furiously.