“The Vagabond!” cried Nelson, turning the wheel over fast.
“Looks like it,” said Bob excitedly, “but what’s she doing there? I don’t believe it is her after all, Nel.”
“I know it is,” was the reply as the Sylph, headed obliquely across the river, chugged her fastest. “I’d know her anywhere!”
“Wu-wu-wu-well,” stuttered Tom, “I du-du-du-don’t pr-pretend to knu-knu-know the bu-bu-boat, bu-bu-but I knu-knu-know the du-du-du-du-dog!”
“He’s right,” exclaimed Bob. “That’s Barry on the cabin roof!”
“Then they did get into the engine room,” said Nelson, his eyes fixed intently on the distant craft, “and they didn’t tow her. I wish,” he added, “that we had that revolver of yours, Bob.”
“So do I,” answered Bob gravely.
The little Sylph, as though comprehending the impatience of those she carried, dashed across the river.
CHAPTER XXII—WHEREIN THE VAGABOND IS RECOVERED AND THE THIEF IS CAPTURED
The Vagabond lay anchored close to shore, her nose pointing upstream and shaded by the drooping branch of a willow tree. Beside her, tugging gently at the painter, was the tender. On the cabin roof, stretched out at full length in a patch of hot sunshine, lay Barry. No other life was visible, and had it not been that the tender was tied to an awning stanchion and that the cabin door and hatch were wide open those on the Sylph would have concluded that the person who had run away with the Vagabond had rifled her of money and other valuables and abandoned her here. But at least a dozen yards separated her from the land and it was not likely that the thief would have swam ashore while there was a tender handy. “No, it was evident to the party on the Sylph that whoever had taken the Vagabond from the wharf at New London was still on board, and when they had approached to within a hundred yards Nelson slowed down the engine, resolved to get as near as possible to the Vagabond without detection. Bob and Tom silently peeled off their coats, and Nelson followed suit, cinching in his leather belt in a businesslike way.