It was this fact that worried them. It pointed inevitably to one conclusion: Ralph had been overpowered by the men on board the craft, and either injured or made captive, while they worked out whatever schemes they had in mind.
“Oh! if only one of us had stayed on board, it would have made the odds less against good old Ralph,” sighed Harry.
But it was too late to indulge in regrets. The harm was done now. Somewhere on the river the River Swallow was speeding along with their chum on board her. They wondered when, and under what circumstances, they would hear from him again, for that they would join him before long they had no doubt.
Great drops of rain began to fall. A puff of warm wind blew from off the river into their faces.
“Here she comes,” declared Jennings, as a flash split the sky. “Boys, we’d better get to shelter.”
“Can’t we do anything more to-night?” asked Harry anxiously.
“I’m afraid not, my boy. I know just how you feel about your chum, but it would be worse than looking for a needle in a haystack to go chasing after that boat to-night.”
“What do you recommend doing, then?” asked Harry.
“I would suggest that you find quarters in a good hotel. Have a sound sleep, and early in the morning we will join you and the hunt will begin in earnest. One other thing,” as he noticed their troubled faces, “don’t worry about that fellow La Rue. He is a big bluff, an arrant coward. His bark is a lot worse than his bite. He wouldn’t dare try any violence. He’s a mixture of knave and craven, with the former predominating.”
How true this description of La Rue was we know from his behavior during the storm, which shortly broke in all its fury. While Ralph was battling with the elements, his chums were snugly in bed at the Piquetville House. Despite their anxieties, they were too worn out not to fall into a sound sleep, which endured till a loud knocking at their door, almost as soon as it was light, informed them that the customs men were below.