“I admire your pluck, lad,” grunted the sheriff. “And it’s one o’clock right now!”
“Then we ought to be somewhere near old John’s. He can’t be very far ahead——There! isn’t that a light?”
“Where?” exclaimed the sheriff, excitedly.
“Dead ahead. Don’t you see? It’s moving! I believe that’s the little searchlight we rigged on Bromley’s wharf. Yes, sir! The good old fellow! He’s hoping we will see it—Billy and I—and be able to get back in the iceboat.”
“Iceboat!” snorted the sheriff. “You’ve a fat chance of ever seeing your iceboat tied up at this dock again until the snow goes away.”
“Well, now!” exclaimed Dan, with some emphasis. “You just watch. Billy and I don’t propose to let our Follow Me lie out there on the river for very long. We’re going to win the races next week in that boat, and don’t you forget it!”
“I wish I had your hope, boy,” grunted the county officer. “Come up, Dandy! What’s the matter with you, Poke?”
It was the light on Bromley’s dock. The old boatman had recovered from the rough usage he had received at the hands of the three robbers, and was out on the watch for the Speedwell boys.
To say he was surprised at the appearance of the procession is to but faintly express old John’s emotions.
“Strike my colors!” he ejaculated. “This is the beatenest thing I ever see. And I’d made up my mind that Master Dan and Billy had got into trouble this time for sure.”