Tom hailed this as a bit of good news. It showed him that what he had half-feared, namely, the loss of the Sea Ranger in the collision, was no longer to be dreaded.
"Yes; we can't afford to take any more chances," muttered Captain Rangler gloomily. "That last one almost finished us. I don't like the idea of having the authorities so close on our heels."
"We've got to put in for more coal, too," came Walstein's voice.
"Oh, well, there's no danger of the tug being identified," laughed Dampier defiantly. "At Alpena and at Dead Fish Point lighthouse, she was a black and green craft named the War Eagle. Now she is changed to a slate-colored tug named the Flyaway. Jove! that's a good name, too," he chuckled.
A great light broke upon Tom. So this was the mysterious tug for which the authorities had been searching? But, from what he had heard, the gang in control of her had disguised her beyond recognition, and intended to keep on with their evil trade of ship-wrecking.
"Well, I'm going to head in toward the coast," he heard Captain Rangler say presently. "We've only got enough coal for a few hours."
The voices died away, as the three rose and left the adjoining cabin. But their conversation, brief as it had been, had shown Tom several things. Not the least among these was the fact that he was in one of the most serious predicaments of his life. The reflection that, not his own fault, but a series of extraordinary coincidences had thrown him into his perilous position, failed to console him.
"I might just as well have been hurled into a den of hungry tigers," thought Tom to himself, with a rueful attempt at humor.
The door-latch rattled and the portal was flung open at this juncture. Without waiting to see who his visitor might be, Tom flung himself from his sitting posture down among the blankets. It did not suit his plans that the men in whose power he was should realize that he knew at least a part of their rascally plans concerning him.