“Yes, you can. He’s been in town for several days. The lake has been too rough even for him. I’ll show you where he hangs out.” And the postmaster tramped off, with Jimmy at his side and a group of villagers following behind them.
They found the rum runner. The man jumped up suspiciously as they entered the house where he was staying. He glanced from the postmaster to Jimmy and back again. At first he did not know the stranger. But before the postmaster could say a word he remembered Jimmy’s face. Instantly he held out his hand.
“Hello, Kid,” he said. “I reckon I know what brings you back here. You gave me a ride across the lake some time ago and I suspect you want one in return? Do I win or lose on that guess?”
“You win,” said Jimmy, shaking the fellow’s hand. “I want a ride and I want it bad.”
“You can get it,” said the rum runner. “I’ve been out studying the lake for the last half hour. The waves is dyin’ down fast. I’ve got a boat that’ll make it easy. Once we get in the lee of the island, there won’t be nothin’ to it—absolutely nothin’.”
“How soon can we start?”
“Right off. Come on.”
The bootlegger’s power boat proved to be a tremendously sturdy craft, with high prow, a deep cabin roofed over, and the tiniest of cockpits in the stern, where there was also an engine that appeared to be of great power. Jimmy and the owner climbed aboard. The latter turned on an electric light.
“Put this on,” he said, handing Jimmy a lifebelt. Then he drew on another himself.
He started his motor and let it run quietly a few moments to heat up. Then he opened the throttle to test it. The engine answered with a roar as powerful as that of Jimmy’s plane. The ship strained at her hawsers.