ld his place for a brief while,
still reflecting whether his plan was the better one after all. He was
turning over the problem in his mind, when he caught the sound of a
guarded whistle. It was a familiar call from his companion and he did not
hesitate to follow it. Only a little way off he paused with an
exclamation of astonishment.

There was the swift launch _Deerfoot_ moored against the bank so near the
place where the _Water Witch_ had been left that it is no wonder that
Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes failed to notice the difference of
location. Not only that, but one of the youths belonging to the boat was
seated near the stern with head bowed as if asleep.

What could the amazing fact mean? Woodford's first thought was that a
trap had been set for them. More than likely the seeming slumber on the
part of the motionless figure was a pretence, and meant to tempt them to
come out into the open.

"What do you make of it?" whispered Graff Miller.

"Some deviltry you may be sure; the others are near by."

They stealthily withdrew deeper into the wood and watched and listened,
but nothing occurred to cause alarm. Then a sudden resolution came to the
elder.

"So long as there's only one, let's make him prisoner."

"I'm willing," assented the other.

As silently as two shadows, they stole to the edge of the water. Woodford
deftly cast off the bow line and, leaning over, gently laid it on the
deck. Then they stepped aboard and Miller took up the boathook, pressed
it against the bank and the launch began moving away. When the boathook
could be used no longer, it was softly laid down and the younger man took
his place at the wheel. He understood the running of the launch better
than his companions and generally acted as pilot.

"Shall I start?" he asked, in a guarded voice.

The other nodded. Miller slipped the switch plug in place, started the
motor and put on the power, with just enough force to set the screw
slowly revolving. He headed out in the river, where, because of the fog,
he could barely see the flagstaff at the bow, and began a wide sweeping
circle with the intention of descending the stream.

And still Mike Murphy dreamed on.

Now that the boat was under way with the screw revolving faster, Kit
Woodford stepped closer to the sleeping youth and looked at his face.
When he recognized him as the belligerent Irish lad, his feelings
underwent a sudden change. He knew something of the sleeper and decid