“If those bullies come back to school in the fall!” exclaimed Tom, with a grim smile, “I’ll make the place too hot to hold them, that’s what I’ll do!”
Rowing with long, even strokes Tom propelled the skiff across the lake. Instinctively he swept his eyes along the shores for a possible sight of his motorboat.
“But it isn’t likely that they’d allow her to get away from them,” he argued. “Though I’ll get her sooner or later.”
He turned the point that hid a view of the river entering Lake Woonset, and, as he did so he uttered a cry.
“By Jove! Is it possible!” he shouted, standing up in the skiff. “It is, as I’m alive!” he added. “Oh, of all the good luck!”
For, just ahead of him, idly floating on the calm surface of the lake, was his missing motorboat!
Tom rubbed his eyes. He wanted to be sure he was not dreaming, or seeing a vision of his lost motorboat. And yet, as his sight cleared, he knew he could not be mistaken.
“It’s her!” he cried. “It’s the dear old _Tag_ all right! Jinks! but I’m in luck! Now, if none of those fellows are in her, I’ll soon be aboard. And if she’s in running order--”
He paused in apprehension. What if the hermit’s crowd had damaged the machinery so that the craft would not run? Tom felt himself grow cold with fear at this possibility.
“I’ll soon see,” he murmured, and he settled down into a long, even stroke that quickly brought him close to the floating craft.
Now he proceeded more cautiously, for he realized that there might be a plot--an ambuscade to trap him, and make him a prisoner as were his companions.
“Ahoy the _Tag_!” he shouted, but there was no answer. The boat continued to drift with the current of the river which made itself felt thus far out in the lake.
“Guess there’s no one home,” murmured Tom. “So much the better. I’ll soon be aboard.”
A few more strokes put him alongside, and a quick look into the interior of the craft showed him that the machinery, at least, was intact.
“Though whether she’ll run or not is another question,” he said aloud. “Come, _Tag_,” he went on, half whimsically, “be nice now, and start for me.”
He looked into the gasolene tank, and saw that he had enough for a run of several miles, enough to get to the old mill, and back across the lake to camp again.