“What time is it?” asked Nelson. “Got your watch on, Bob?”
“Quarter to twelve,” answered Bob. “I vote we stay here and be as comfortable as we can. Is there any more wood?”
“Plenty. There are two or three old gunny sacks around and we can spread those out, put our oilskins on top and sleep finely. We can spread Tommy’s blanket over us.”
So, after building the fire up high, they followed Nelson’s plan and, lying close together for warmth, were soon asleep, with the rain pelting a lullaby on the leaky roof.
They awoke shivering at seven o’clock and started back to town. The sun was out bright and a mile of the muddy road warmed them up. They reached the hotel at half-past eight and went through the entire bill of fare. But it took time and consequently it was almost ten when they crossed the railroad tracks at the station and walked down the wharf. They had left Barry on board the evening before and Bob was calling himself names for deserting him for so long when Nelson, who was a few yards ahead, uttered a cry of astonishment and stopped dead in his tracks.
“What’s the row?” asked Bob, hurrying to his side.
Nelson looked dazedly at Bob and then at the water below them. And Bob and Tom, following his eyes with their own, understood. The Vagabond had disappeared.
CHAPTER XXI—TELLS OF THE SEARCH FOR THE VAGABOND
“Are you sure you left her here?” asked Tom. “Don’t be a fool, Tommy, if you can help it,” answered Bob shortly. “Of course we’re sure.”
“Then—where is she?”