The way Roy Pinger’s legs immediately gained strength was quite remarkable. He quickly took the lead, and the others crashed after him, the shouts coming again serving to guide them in the right direction.
It was a long, hard tug, and all the boys were breathing heavily when they rushed out on the shore. Some distance away, they saw a group of shadowy figures surrounding one of the motor boats.
Bob Somers uttered an exclamation, and so did the others, for a single glance told them that the “Gray Gull” was not at her moorings; then, as a faint, but steady chug-chug broke upon their ears, all looked out on the river.
“Well, that’s another queer trick,” murmured Dave, puffing hard. “Sugar! This is a night of surprises, all right.”
But Bob Somers and the others were now far in the lead, and all his breath and endurance were needed to keep from being left behind.
As the Ripley boys neared the others, they uttered several yells, and the half-defiant calls of the Thornton boys, like an echo, floated back.
The party came to a halt just as the motor boat was slowly forging out into the river.
“What’s up with you fellows?” yelled Lon Bates, from the “Reindeer,” his tone indicating great astonishment.
“Gee whiz!” called Ralph Chickers. “Where did you chaps pick up that bunch? Are you fellows doing a Marathon?”
But Stiles made no answer to these questions. A peculiar light came into his eyes, as he turned quickly toward Roy Pinger.