THE MESSAGE OF HOPE.
"Do you mean that you were on your way to see Mr. Spence at the time your boat struck a snag?" asked Jack, surprised and perplexed at the same time.
"That's just what we were, my boy," replied the other, looking curiously at Jack, as though naturally wondering what sort of mission could be taking this flotilla of Northern motor boats to visit the party in question.
Jack would have liked to ask questions, but realized that such a course would be bordering on the impudent. There might be numerous people interested in Van Arsdale Spence besides the young aviator whom they had agreed to assist by carrying the packet to the coast town.
"In that case you have only to remain aboard here, and we will land you. I have a pilot with me, to lead us right," he remarked.
"So I see, old Pete Smalling, eh? Hello! Pete, struck a job at last, after looking for ten years?" remarked the man, winking at the hungry passenger, who was disposing of his food at a prodigious rate of speed.
"I reckon as I hev, Mistah Marshal," answered the other, with considerable of respect in his voice and manner.
So Jack knew his surmise was correct, and that the heavy-set individual was an officer of the law, after all. But what he could be going to see Spence for, was of course beyond his power to guess. The planter who had owned that fine place now seemed to be living in what might be called seclusion. Had he done anything for which he could be taken to task by the law? Jack hoped not, for the sake of that fine young aviator, Malcolm Spence, who must surely be some relative, and was deeply interested in his welfare.
The boats moved on in company, so that it was possible to converse back and forth if any of them so desired.
"I suppose this Mr. Spence must have lived around here quite some time?" Jack remarked a little later, as the man smiled encouragingly toward him.