hey had to
pole the houseboat off."

"But how did they go on, against the current from the lake?" asked
Songbird.

"Pulled and poled the houseboat. Just wait and see if I am not right."

They waited, and soon reached a point where one bank of the bayou
was fairly firm. Here they could see footprints and the "shaving" of
a rope as it had passed over the edge of the bank.

"We are on the right track," said Dick. "Now, all we have to do is
to locate the houseboat and corner the rascals who stole her."

"All!" cried Fred. "I should say that was enough!"

"Especially if they offer to fight," added Sam.

"It is a pity we can't come on them unawares," said Tom. "But that
is impossible, for you can't run the launch without making a noise."

"Maybe you don't besser git out dem bistols alretty," came from Hans.
"Of da ton't gif ub ve plow der heads off, ain't it!"

"Yes, we may as well get out the firearms," said Dick. "The sight of
the pistols may have a good effect. Perhaps the rascals will give up
without fighting."

The pistols were gotten out, and all of the youths saw to it that
they were in perfect condition for immediate use. As he looked at
the weapons Harold Bird shuddered.

"I suppose you hate the sight of them,--after what happened to your
father," said Dick, in a low tone.

"I do. I sincerely trust there is no bloodshed," answered the young
Southerner.

It was nightfall by the time the launch was clear of the bayou. In
front of them lay the calm waters of Lake Sico--a shallow expanse,
with mud flats at one side and a wilderness of trees, bushes, and
wild canebrake at the other. They shut off the power and listened.
Not a sound broke the stillness.

"Talk about solitude," was Tom's comment. "Here is where you can chop
it out with an ax!"

"It's enough to make one shiver," added Fred.

Just then the dog Harold Bird had brought along set up a mournful howl.

"Even the dog doesn't like it," said Songbird. "Let us go on--I'd
rather hear the puff-puff of the gasoline motor than listen to such
stillness."

"I thought a poet craved solitude," said Dick. "This ought to fill
you with inspiration."

"I think it will fill us with chills and fever," said Fred. "Ugh,
how damp it is, now the sun is going down."

"There is a mist creeping up," said Harold Bird. "Too bad! I was in
hope it would remain clear."

Soon the darkness of night settled over the lake. The mist continued
to roll over them until the