The vibration of the propeller of the tug could be plainly felt. The whole craft shook with it. It was clear that all the speed possible was being crowded on.
The heat, too, grew almost stifling. The hold was back of the boiler room, in which forced draught was being kept up, while the steam-gauges showed a pressure almost up to bursting point. Walstein and Dampier, after safely gaining the tug, following the chase through the lumber yard, had decided to lose no time in putting all the distance possible between themselves and Rockport. Their joyful reception of the news that, although they had lost Tom Dacre, his place had been taken by his brother Jack, may be imagined. Sandy they did not care so much about. They did not know that his father was quite as rich—or richer—than Chisholm Dacre. But both had been warm in their congratulations to Captain Rangler on what they deemed his clever capture.
"Phew-w-w-w! This place is like a furnace," observed Jack, after another silence of some duration. "How about you, Sandy?"
"It's hot, all right. I'd give a whole lot for a drink of water. I feel as dry as a stale loaf of bread."
"Talking of bread, I wonder if they mean to starve us or let us die of thirst?"
"Impossible to tell. I dinna ken what they mean to do. I suppose they are capable of anything."
"Yes, the inhuman ruffians! But what is worrying me is, that, supposing they don't mean to starve us, or let us die of thirst, what do they mean to do with us?"
The question was a puzzling one.
"If they don't kill us, they'll have to keep us with them all the time," said Sandy gloomily, after a while.
"Maybe they'll maroon us, like they did down in the tropics. There are plenty of islands in this part of Lake Huron."