"Just to think, those chaps on that little steamboat did all the mischief," observed Sam; "who could have believed it?"
"One thing we know, now," said Bob; "Nat Wingate isn't quite as mean as we thought."
"But somebody ought to be in jail."
"Well, just wait until dad gets here. The whole scheme is plain—they wanted to buy that land before we could get there."
"Maybe there's a gold mine on it," suggested Tom, jestingly.
Bob Somers' thoughts were, naturally, very much occupied with his discoveries.
"Dad will find out all about it in short order," he said to himself, "or else I'm much mistaken."
Sightseeing, a trolley ride to an amusement park and an evening spent at the public library were all enjoyed.
Early on the following morning, Bob received the hoped-for letter.
"Father is coming on this afternoon," he announced joyfully to Sam Randall; "he expects to get here at 2:37."