He ran toward the mouth of the tributary, jumping over bushes and underbrush and darting between the trees, with his companions close at his heels.
In the course of a few minutes, they reached Wolf River. Far off, but a mere speck on the wide expanse, they saw a small steamboat.
Bob drew out his field-glass and gazed earnestly toward it.
"I believe it's the boat we saw in the canal lock," he exclaimed eagerly. "See what you can make out, Dave."
"As sure as you live, that's the very one," agreed the other, after a brief inspection; "but what—which—"
"Then I'll bet they are the ones who did it, eh, Bob?" cried Tom, excitedly.
"But we have seen several other boats," said Bob; "and, besides that, who ever—"
"I'll bet I know what it is," interrupted Dick Travers. "Somebody has had a mix-up with the Trailers, and taken revenge on us by mistake."
"I don't think so," returned Bob. "First the 'Rambler' was stolen, then the engine damaged, and now—whew! but it makes me wild to think about it. I'll wager the same people were responsible each time. Say, boys, if we could lay hands on those fellows, wouldn't there be a lively time?"
He made several threatening movements, while the rest of the Ramblers angrily clenched their fists.