The Ramblers, as well as their companions, were thoroughly dismayed at the startling turn in affairs.
"Some one must have stolen the boats," declared Sam Randall; "but what has become of Dave?"
"Perhaps the thieves kidnapped him," suggested Tom Clifton, brilliantly.
"Why should they do such a thing as that?" returned Kirk Talbot. "I don't believe it. What do you think, Nat?"
"I never was so completely mystified in my life," returned the leader of the Nimrods, who accepted the situation with a coolness that greatly surprised his followers. "It looks as though our grand expedition has come to an end."
"What is going to be done?" asked John Hackett.
"We had better start out for Kingswood in the morning," said Nat, in tones of decided conviction.
"And make no effort to recover the boats?" exclaimed Bob, in surprise.
Nat shrugged his shoulders. "We are out in the wilderness. I don't see any police around, do you?"
"And what about Dave Brandon?"
"We couldn't do him any good by staying here. Ten to one he has simply rushed off to tell the authorities at Kingswood."
But Nat Wingate's ideas did not meet with approval. The thoroughly disgusted and anxious boys walked up and down, excitedly discussing the matter, advancing many possible solutions of the mystery, and entirely forgetful of their fatigue and hunger.
The unaccountable disappearance of Dave Brandon alarmed them not a little. Some of the boys now proceeded to skirmish around in the immediate vicinity, swinging their lanterns in many a dark nook and corner, others shouted at the top of their voices, but, of course, all these efforts were without avail.
"Boys," said Bob Somers, at length, "I feel sure that Dave Brandon knows how to take care of himself. If he doesn't bring us any news of the boat, I'll find it, if the job takes a year. You seem to take your loss very coolly, Nat."
"What would you expect me to do? Stand on my head, or tear my hair?" returned Wingate. "If I never have to bear anything worse than a robbery I guess you'll find me smiling. I'm going to get the 'Nimrod,' and in a hurry, too, you can bet on that. I believe that whoever took the boat went off in the direction of Kingswood. There is a town at the head of the lake, where the police might get 'em."
"We can't do anything to-night, that's certain, fellows," said Dick Travers, disconsolately. "But boats or no boats, unless I get something to eat soon—"
"Yes, I'm almost starved," interrupted Ted Pollock. "I move that we build a fire and start a meal."
The wisdom of this was apparent to all. In spite of their anxiety, the whole party managed to eat with a hearty appetite.
It was unanimously decided to keep up the fire, which had been built near the water's edge, so that in case Dave Brandon might be lost in the woods, its flaring light would point the way back to camp.
"I'll bet the 'Oh ho' boy ran for his life," declared Nat, with a laugh.
"Dave is no coward," protested Sam Randall, warmly. "Besides if he had stayed around here, we would have seen him before this."
Night wore on and the boys became more and more anxious. No one felt like sleeping, so wood was piled on the fire, until leaping, fantastic tongues of flame threw weird shadows about, while showers of embers sparkled against the background of trees and sky.
Gradually conversation ceased. They seated themselves, one by one, in moody silence, yawning and blinking, sleepy, yet unable to sleep.
Another hour passed, when a faint sound made Bob Somers listen with the keenest attention. Jumping to his feet, he placed his hand to his ear.
"Listen!"
Instantly the lads were all attention.
"What is it?" they cried, in unison.
"My eye! I think I hear a motor boat," exclaimed John Hackett, after several moments had passed.
"Bears, wildcats and wolves! I believe that's just what it is," chimed in Kirk Talbot, excitedly.
Nat Wingate seemed strangely agitated, as the sound gradually increased in volume. He walked nervously up and down, with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
"If it is only the 'Rambler,'" cried Bob Somers, hopefully. He brought out his field-glass, sweeping the surface of the river.
"Do you see anything?" inquired Nat, eagerly.
"No! not a thing, yet."
Great masses of vapor, through which the moon shone faintly, were slowly passing across the sky, but Bob kept his glass leveled toward the horizon.
"I'll bet it's not either the 'Nimrod' or 'Rambler,'" observed Nat, a moment later.
"Oh, don't have such dreadful thoughts. You make me nervous," expostulated young Talbot.
"It seems an awful long time since we first heard the sound," complained Ted Pollock. "If it's the 'Ram—'"
"I see the boat, boys," broke in Bob, energetically.
Dick Travers seized the glass, which Somers extended toward him, quickly raised it to his eyes and took a long, earnest look.
"Both boats," he announced, joyfully. "One is towing the other."
Greatly excited, the Ramblers and Nimrods crowded to the very edge of the water, where they awaited, with much impatience, the approach of the two craft.
"Ahoy, ahoy!" shouted a familiar voice, through a megaphone. "Ahoy, pirates and brigands, is that you?"
"Dave Brandon," cried Bob Somers, joyously. "Hurrah! Three cheers for Chubby!"
Their lusty shouts were borne toward the distant boatman.
How slowly the two craft seemed to swing in! It actually was but a short time, however, before the boys began a steady fire of questions.
"Hold on! Wait until I get these canal-boats safely in shore, and I'll tell you all about it," cried the poet laureate, hugely enjoying the sensation caused by his reappearance.
With another chorus of shouts, his friends surrounded him, as he leaped ashore.
"Give me a chance," pleaded the lad. "I can't answer fifty questions at once."
When quiet was restored, Dave told what had happened, interrupted by many exclamations from the deeply interested boys.
The poet laureate found himself raised to the rank of a hero, the praises showered upon him causing a blush to suffuse his features.
"Bully for you, Chubby!" said Bob Somers, grasping his hand, warmly. "Our trip would have come to a fine finish. Three more cheers for Dave Brandon," he called, with a will, and every one joined in.
"If it hadn't been for the 'Nimrod,' you would have lost your boat, anyway," declared Nat, who, through the entire proceeding, had acted in a restrained manner.
"It's a good thing that the 'Rambler' is a slow tub, fellows," put in John Hackett. "If the thieves had had brains enough to take the 'Nimrod,' it would have meant—"
"That we started away from here this very day," finished Nat, glibly; "but having been so lucky, we must stay a while to celebrate, that's no joke."
Excitement having come to an end, fatigue and sleep were fast getting the better of all.
"I'll sleep on board the 'Rambler,'" declared Bob. "It won't do to take any more chances, eh, Chubby?"
Dave nodded his head.
It was quite late in the morning before the camp was astir. In spite of the protests of Nat and his fellow Nimrods, Bob Somers decided to continue their journey.
"By this afternoon, we ought to reach Lake Minnewago," he said. "After going its whole length, we still have a trip through Wolf River, then a whopping long journey on Clair Bay."
"Well," said Nat, "if you fellows are going on so are we."
No time was lost in getting off, the boys contenting themselves with a light breakfast.
Toward eleven o'clock, a few houses were seen here and there, along the river. Others, appearing at intervals, showed that they were approaching the town at the head of the lake. Boats were numerous, and signs of life rapidly began to multiply on all sides.
"What do you say to taking lunch in town, boys?" suggested Bob. "You know we have to get a supply of gasoline and some more grub."
"Fine idea," agreed Tom Clifton. "Then we can send a few postal cards home, telling the folks that the Rambler Club hasn't furnished food for bears or wildcats."
Half an hour later, a church spire was seen rising high above the surrounding houses, while straight ahead a long iron bridge crossed the river.
The arrival of a strange boat naturally attracted a great deal of attention from the idlers lounging around the wharves, and numerous questions were hurled at them.
A party of small boys in a clumsy rowboat obligingly pointed out the best place for them to land. It was an old, tumble-down wharf, with an incline leading down to the water.
Bob swung the "Rambler" in at moderate speed, making a landing in excellent style. Then the boys drew lots to decide who should be the first to go on shore. Perhaps there was no actual necessity for this, but their recent experience had made them careful.
Bob Somers, Dave Brandon and Tom Clifton presently sprang upon the landing and made their way up to a narrow street fronting the river. It was lined with small warehouses, stores, and a few manufacturing establishments. The clash and rattle of machinery assailed their ears as they walked along, smoke from numerous chimneys obscured the air, while now and then the odor of tar and hemp was perceptible.
River boats, barges and sailing craft were drawn up at the wharves, and the street was crowded with drays and trucks.
A short walk brought them to the iron bridge, which crossed overhead. They saw that it was used by a railroad; in fact, a train approached just at this time and they could tell by the sound that it soon stopped at a station.
The boys found a store where provisions and gasoline were sold. Accordingly Bob made a bargain to have a supply of both delivered to the "Rambler."
They had now reached a wide street running directly back from the river, and turning into this, a very few minutes sufficed to bring them to the principal business section of the town. It was a larger and much more important place than Kingswood, possessing an opera house, several large hotels and many handsome stores. The streets were crowded with vehicles and pedestrians, making them lively and interesting.
The three boys entered a restaurant, ate a substantial meal, and then continued their tour of inspection. A building with an arched entrance, painted in white and gold, attracted their attention. It was a moving picture show, and, having plenty of time, they concluded to go in.
The mishaps of a bicycle rider, the moving throngs at a seaside resort, and several other scenes from actual life were interestingly displayed, all of which the boys heartily enjoyed.
By a roundabout course, the three proceeded from street to street until they again found themselves approaching the waterfront, after which, they immediately returned to the wharf where the "Rambler" was tied.
Sam Randall and Dick Travers were anxiously awaiting their arrival. Both had made good use of the time, cleaning their guns and arranging various odds and ends in suitable places. The pair immediately went on shore.
During their absence, the groceries and gasoline arrived, and when the latter had been safely placed in the tank, Bob and his companions devoted their attention to sending off cards and letters.
As soon as Dick and Tom returned, the trip was resumed. They had scarcely passed under the railroad bridge when the "Nimrod" came dashing furiously along, Nat and his megaphone helping to attract attention to it.
"Those 'Ramrods' don't seem able to stick by themselves, do they?" remarked Bob, dryly.
"I should say not," grinned Sam. "But I bet they won't try any more funny tricks on us."
Bob did not hurry the "Rambler," mainly on account of numerous boats which were passing and repassing, but the Trailers swerved first one way and then the other, tore at full speed around any craft that happened to be in the way, and never even deigned to answer the remarks which came from all quarters.
"Hello, there in the tub!" cried Nat, as the "Nimrod" drew up alongside of them and reduced speed.
"Hello, boys," replied Bob, good-naturedly.
"I say," remarked John Hackett, loudly, "we have everybody on the river scared. Even the old canal-boats are hugging the shore."
A burst of merriment came from the Nimrods at this sally.
When it had subsided, Dick Travers inquired: "We heard a while ago that you nearly ran into a sailboat—what was the matter—wouldn't it get out of the way?"
Nat Wingate began to laugh.
"It was this way," he explained; "we just ran up a little bit close to tell him he had no business to sail a boat, when he burst out into a perfect roar, and called us a parcel of young rascals. We never knew what was the matter with him."
Nat was disposed to be in a hilarious mood. No sooner had he uttered the foregoing remark than he put the megaphone to his lips and began making long, continuous blasts like a whistle.
John Hackett waved his arms wildly and a rowboat ahead was seen to suddenly veer around and head for the shore.
"Did you ever see such crazy antics in your life?" remarked Ted Pollock, with a loud laugh. "We're getting a clear track to-day, that's sure."
"Full speed, Kirk," cried Nat, at this juncture.
The "Nimrod," with its noisy crew, almost instantly began to draw away from them, the proceeding being accompanied by a wave of the hand from Nat.
The line of wharves had already given place to a few straggling houses at the outskirts of the town. These were soon passed, when the Ramblers saw a wide sheet of water opening out before them.
Its broad, placid surface presented a beautiful picture. The sultry sky was tinged with a warm hue at the horizon, while to the right and left the bordering hills, rapidly separating, melted away into the afternoon haze. High up in the heavens hung great piles of cumulus clouds of dazzling whiteness.
The entire scene, notwithstanding its beauty, wore a threatening aspect, which Bob Somers quickly noticed.
"There is going to be a big storm on Lake Minnewago, boys," he said; "might be a good plan to hug the shore, eh, Dave?"
"Much safer," approved Dave Brandon, with a critical look at the sky.
Bob glanced at a map which was spread out upon a locker, and announced that they would have plenty of time to reach a small harbor which lay off to the northeast. The gently heaving water gave the boat a delightful motion, which proved so fascinating to the boys that they were just a little tardy in following their own advice. They saw the "Nimrod" headed directly toward the centre of the lake, and, for the time being, adopted a course about midway between that and the shore.
Within half an hour they began to realize that they were on a pretty wide sheet of water. The mouth of the river was no longer to be seen, and a vague impression of being half out of the world began to steal over them.
"The lightning has begun already, fellows," volunteered Tom Clifton, at length.
A copper-colored gleam, low down in the sky, flashed for an instant, followed quickly by another, but no sound of thunder reached their ears.
"Pretty far off yet," observed Dick. "But it is coming this way fast."
"I wonder what those foolish Trailers are going to do?" put in Tom Clifton. "They are running a pretty big risk to stay away out there."
A glance through the field-glass showed that the other boat was still headed away from the shore.
"We can't go off and leave them," said Bob Somers, soberly. "Their boat is not as safe as ours, and they seem bound to get into trouble."
In the hope of attracting the Nimrods' attention, Bob and the rest of the boys brought out their guns and fired several shots.
The reports must have been heard, but there was no visible result.
A cool, steady current of air was now blowing in their faces, and the appearance of the scene began to rapidly change. The advance-guard of big white clouds passed slowly across the sun, shutting off its cheerful rays completely. The flashes in the distance became more frequent, while a low rumble of thunder borne on the breeze reached their ears.
"The storm will soon be in full blast," exclaimed Dave Brandon. "Those clouds are a great sight. Whew, what a flash that was!"
A streak of dazzling brilliancy divided the heavens, followed in a few moments by a heavy peal of thunder.
"Do you think we had better try to make the shore?" ventured Tom Clifton, nervously.
"Hardly be safe now, Tommy," returned Bob. "If we could only get those miserable Trailers to follow us, there might still be time, though, to get to a safer place than this."
Off to the right, at no great distance, a point of land could clearly be seen, and just beyond that, according to the map, was a small enclosed bay. Had the boys chosen to think only of themselves, they would have been, even then, within reach of it.
But they were not that kind. Through the field-glass, the Nimrods were seen calmly drawing down awnings, and preparing to weather the approaching gale. They were headed almost broadside to the wind.
"What can they be thinking of?" cried Bob, in alarm. "When a storm sweeps over ten or fifteen miles of water, it isn't safe to take any chances with it."
The prow of the "Rambler" was turned toward them, the boys having decided that they must make an effort to give them assistance, if necessary.
By this time, the vast, rising body of cloud had assumed a strangely black and ominous appearance. Streaks of electric fire darted across the changing, billow-like forms, or shot downward to the earth, while rain blotted out the middle distance, apparently sweeping onward with the greatest fury.
Gusts of wind forced the boys to hold tightly to their caps. In a short time, the surface of the lake had completely changed. Spiteful little waves with foaming crests began to hurl themselves against the side of the motor boat.
"Now for the oilskins," shouted Bob, lustily, and the Ramblers, who had been eagerly watching the storm, hastily donned these garments.
"Here comes the rain!" cried Sam.
A few heavy drops sprinkled around them, then came a lull, which, however, lasted but a few seconds. Straight ahead, a line, rapidly advancing, stretched across the lake, a series of furious gusts heralding its approach.
"Hold on tight, boys," shouted Bob, as he headed the boat squarely into the wind.
With a roar, the storm struck the little craft. She staggered and shook under its blast, then plunged her prow into the choppy water, while clouds of spray dashed over the boys.
A blinding flash of lightning seemed to start directly overhead, accompanied almost instantly by a crash that fairly dazed them. Crouching under the awning, the Ramblers screened themselves as best they could. The rain, however, beat in torrents under it, splashing in their faces, while the "Rambler," like a toy, bobbed up and down.
It was an anxious time to the little crew. Each passing minute found the waves growing higher and higher, until they broke over the bow with a force that made the little boat tremble.
The "Nimrod" could not be seen amidst such a flood of rain, but Bob courageously held the "Rambler" upon a steady course, and as the boat had successfully withstood the storm's first onset, he rapidly began to gain confidence.
"Help, help!"
A series of cries but faintly heard above the roar of the tempest suddenly reached their ears.
Bob's heart beat wildly. He knew only too well what it meant.
"Help, help!"
Then came the report of a gun.
"There they are!" yelled an excited voice at Bob's elbow.
It was Sam Randall, who had pushed his way forward.
Off to the right and seen but dimly through the driving rain, a barely perceptible shadow was visible on the foaming surface.
"Trim boat, boys," Bob called. "Get over to windward, all of you! I'm going to swing her around."
The boys clustered on the weather rail, but exposed to the full force of the howling blast, the "Rambler" nevertheless keeled far over, every wave and blast of wind threatening to send her occupants into the angry waters of the lake.