He found the rendezvous of those craft without much difficulty, but to pick out the particular boat of which he was in search was not quite such a simple matter.
At length he found her, hauled up against the wharf, discharging the last of her cargo.
Joe Fletcher was working like a good fellow, helping Captain Beasley’s regular deckhand, when he caught sight of his chum.
“Dick, old man, I’m just tickled to death to see you again,” he exclaimed, grabbing Dick’s hand and shaking it as though he would pull it off. “We expected to see you yesterday, according to my calculations. How have you fared since you went ashore at Caspar’s?”
“First class. I’ve news that’ll surprise you,” replied Dick, with sparkling eyes.
“You don’t say.”
“By the way, how about Constable Smock? Did he show up?”
“Did he? I guess yes. He came up with us about eight miles below Caspar’s. Wouldn’t take our word that you had gone ashore, but insisted on searching the boat. Of course, Captain Beasley let him have full swing. After he had gone into every nook and corner that might have concealed you, he gave the job up and left, the maddest man I’ve seen for many a day. I was afraid he might get wind of you at Caspar’s and run you down; but it appears he didn’t. I’ll bet Silas Maslin and Luke ain’t feeling any too good over the constable’s failure to fetch you back,” and Joe snapped his rough, brown fingers and laughed gleefully.
“You don’t think that Silas Maslin would come on to Albany on the chance of picking me up, do you?” asked Dick, with a shade of apprehension in his voice.
“You ought to be better able to judge of that than me, Dick. You know what he is and what his feelings probably are on the subject. If I was you, I’d keep my eye skinned and not let him catch me, if he should come.”