Joe's head was beginning to clear itself from the fumes of the chloroform, and he could think more clearly. He wondered more and more what his fate was to be. Evidently the men were taking him somewhere in a rowboat. But whether he was to be taken wherever they were going, in this small craft, or whether it was being used to transport them to a larger boat, he could not, of course, determine.
The men rowed on for some time in silence.
"It's getting late," ventured Wessel at length.
"Not late enough, though," growled Shalleg.
Joe went over, in his mind, all the events that had been crowded into the last few hours. He had told Rad that he was going to see his mother's friend in Camden, but had given no address.
"They won't know but what I'm staying there all night," he reasoned. "And they won't start to search for me until some time to-morrow. When I don't show up at the game they'll think it's queer, and I suppose they'll fine me. I wouldn't mind that if they only come and find me. But how can they do it? There isn't a clue they could follow, as far as I know. Not one!"
He tried to think of some means by which he could be traced, and rescued by his friends, but he could imagine none. No one who knew him had seen him come down to the ferry, or walk through the deserted neighborhood. And, as far as he knew, no one had seen the bearded stranger accost him.
"I'll just have disappeared—that's all," mused poor Joe, lying on the hard and uncomfortable bottom of the boat.
For some time longer the three men, or rather two of them, rowed on, paying no attention to Joe. Then Shalleg spoke.
"I guess we're far enough down the river," he said. "We can go ashore now."