“Where—where’s that other mast?” he demanded.
“What—you can’t see it in this black night, Billy,” Dan declared.
He, too, recognized the lofty mast of the Fly-up-the-Creek. The mast of the motor iceboat should have stood beyond it; but——
“It’s gone!” gasped Billy, and started on the run down the dock.
“Wait!” called Dan, softly.
He raised his hand to knock upon the door of Bromley’s hut, but halted in a panic. Out on the ice—seemingly from a great distance—sounded the explosions of a motor exhaust!
“They’ve robbed us!” shrieked Billy, from the end of the dock. “Look, the Follow Me is gone!”
Dan did not wait to rap on Old John’s door. He lifted the latch and found it unbolted. As he stumbled into the place he fell over a body lying on the floor. Opening his lamp, he turned the ray upon the obstruction. It was Bromley, bound hand and foot, and gagged, lying helpless on the floor, but very much awake!
The old man’s eyes glared like a mad cat’s in the dark; and when Dan jerked away the bandage that had smothered his speech, the old boatman “let go” some deep-sea language that—at another time—would have quite startled the Speedwells.
“Those sculpins jumped on me—three of ’em. I knowed they was sneakin’ erbout, an’ I was tryin’ ter warn ye over the ’phone. But while I was talkin’ ter Master Billy they rushed me—broke right inter the house here an’ grabbed me.