He looked eagerly ahead for signs of the city. He was unable to discover any, however, but his fears increased as he became more positive that his supply of gasoline was low. If only it would last a half-hour longer!
On either side of the canal was a level stretch of country and near to the water no houses were to be seen. His friends had taken seats on the deck forward. In low tones they conversed among themselves, but Fred was too busy in his own task either to heed what they were saying or to join in their conversation.
A few minutes later, after the speed of the boat had materially decreased, Fred said abruptly, "We have got to stop."
"What for?" demanded the leader, quickly rising as he spoke and turning toward the young pilot.
"Our gasoline is gone."
"Look here, young fellow," said the leader of the gang after he had silently glared at Fred a moment, "I don't want you to try any of your games on us. We're bad men. Now then, you keep this boat goin'," he added threateningly.
"I only wish I could do it," said Fred.
"Are you givin' us straight goods when you say your gasoline is gone?"
"I am."
"What are you goin' to do?"