ill, Rob encountered
a current that carried him toward the other island, the one he had left
that morning; and even worse, a fact he presently perceived, his craft
was being carried around a point, on the opposite side of which he could
see the glow of a fire against the night sky; for by this time it was
dark. Rob was heartily glad that this was the case, for he knew that the
fire must be that of the rascals who had abducted him, and in the
darkness he might slip by them unnoticed.

Luckily the current set a bit from the shore at this point, and
although the boy could hear the three rascals carousing around their
fire over a keg of spirits, and singing and shouting at the top of their
voices, they could not see him, partly because of their condition, and
partly because of the firelight.

Past the camp, with its carousing inmates, the boy was carried, and
suddenly his boat was bumped against something. Rob looked around. At
first he thought he had struck a rock. Instead he saw before him the
green motor boat.

Like a flash an inspiration came to him. He clambered on board, and not
till he was fairly on deck did he recollect that he had neglected to tie
his ark to the side.

He looked over the stern rail. In the dim light he could see his clumsy
craft drifting off, bobbing up and down on the tide.

"Well, I've burned my bridges behind me now," he exclaimed to himself.
"If I can't carry this thing through, I'll be cold meat by morning."

Just at that moment came a shout from the outlaws carousing on the
beach.

Keener-eyed than his companions, Berghoff had spied a dark form on the
motor boat, silhouetted against the thickly sprinkled stars.

"There's someone stealing our boat. After him, boys!" Rob heard the
fellow roar.

Then he ducked as a volley of bullets came whizzing over his head. His
next move was to clamber forward, keeping as low as possible till he
reached the anchor chain.

There was no time to haul in, for the men had already run down the beach
and launched their small boat.

Rob merely knocked out a shackle pin and let the whole thing go. This
done, he scrambled back and descended to the engine room.

"If I can't make this old tea-kettle go, I'm a gone coon," he admitted
to himself with grim humor, as he switched on gasoline and spark, and
turned the fly wheel over. Outside the shouts were coming closer every
instant, and the motor showed no signs of intending to start.

+ +