“And leave the Vagrant here to be destroyed when Herrera happens along?” demanded Tom.
“That doesn’t follow. Did you notice that small creek almost overgrown with brush that branches off about a mile above here?”
“Yes, lad,” came from Captain Andrews, whose tones gave evidence of his intense interest, “you’re planning to hide the Vagrant there till we come back again?”
“You’ve caught my idea exactly,” said the lad. “What do you think of it?”
“That it’s a dumb-gasted good one, and that I, for one, am willing to risk my neck in that flying automobubble of yours any time you say the word.”
“Then I say it right now,” shot out Jack, with flashing eyes. “We can’t ascend this river by water; we’ll try the air route.”
It was while they were still buzzing with the enthusiasm that Jack’s fiery words had created that Tom uttered a sharp exclamation.
“Jupiter!” he exclaimed, pointing seaward. “Look yonder. We’re not playing a lone hand in this thing now.”
Some distance off apparently, but rushing across the water at a swift pace, was a bright white gleam,—the light of a vessel approaching the bar at top speed.
“The Tarantula, for all I’m worth!” exploded Captain Andrews. “Confound her, why couldn’t she have kept her hands off for twelve hours longer?”