“Very good,” approved the major. “I have seen Indian scouts on the border who could not have done much better. But what is the next step?”
“To find out what has become of them, of course,” put in Merritt.
“Well, let’s see how close we can come to deciding that,” said the major, with a side glance at the detectives, who seemed puzzled and bewildered at the swift deductive work of the young Scout.
Merritt left the hut and made a hasty examination of the numerous tracks without. He then scrutinized the muddy banks of the inlet closely. The tide was not yet full, and the marks of the sloop’s keel still showed. Also sand had been tracked on to the little wharf. It was evident that a vessel of some sort had lain there between tides. Equally plain did it appear, that the two missing lads had been carried on board her. Merritt lost no time in communicating his discoveries to his companions.
“You have done well,” commended the former army officer, “I am convinced that your deductions are, in the main, correct. But now the thing is to get some craft to go in pursuit of these fellows.”
“Ike Menjes, up the creek a little way, has a big gasoline launch he lets out,” volunteered one of the detectives.
“We’ll get it if possible,” said the major instantly. “Is she a fast boat?”
“None quicker hereabouts,” said the other arm of the law.
Ten minutes later a bargain had been struck, and with Ike Menjes at the engine, and Rob at the wheel, the swift launch Algonquin was dashing off down the winding creek headed for the open sea. As she tumbled and rolled through the rough waters of the bar at the creek’s mouth, Rob’s eye swept the sky.
“Bad weather coming,” he remarked.