he had learned and practiced. It
was a feint, aimed at the first of the Drab's crew to try to leap
aboard. The intended victim threw up his hands to ward off the blow
from the top of his head, but he received, instead, a stinging,
crushing slap across the face.

Tom thrust one end of his stick for the face of another of the
boarding strangers. The fellow strove to protect his face, and would
have guarded easily enough, but, instead, the other end of Tom's
bludgeon struck him in the pit of his stomach, depriving him of all
his wind.

"Woof!" grunted Hank, at the first sign of onslaught.

In both hands he clutched that business-like, though not formidable
looking, hitching weight. One man set his foot on deck. Hank, almost
with deliberation, dropped the weight on the toes of that foot.

There was a yell of pain. Snatching up the weight instantly, Hank let
it fly forward and fall across the toes of another of the boarders.

Two of the strangers were limping now. Another was nursing an injured
face, from Joe's heavy blow. Captain Tom's victim had fallen back
aboard his home craft, gasping for breath.

The other two of the invaders got aboard the "Restless"--then wished
they hadn't, for Hank pursued one of them with his terrifying hitching
weight, while Tom and Joe divided the sole remaining enemy between
them.

Hardly had the affair begun when it ended; it was all over in an
instant. The two who had escaped injury leaped back aboard the Drab.
Those who needed assistance were helped back. The Drab drifted away,
her vagrant course unheeded at first, for it looked as though all
aboard had taken part in that disastrous boarding enterprise.

Tom and Hank sprang for their own anchor, while Joe, as soon as he saw
the big motor boats drift apart, dropped into the small boat of the
"Restless" and rowed swiftly for shore. Hardly had he touched the
beach when Powell Seaton, rifle in hand, bounded forth from cover.

"Put across, and see if we can get Hepton, too," directed the
charter-man, in a low voice. "I stepped right up out of the bushes,
almost into the face of the fellow who landed on my side of the river.
It was neither Dalton nor Lemly. As soon as the fellow saw me he
laughed, put a chew of tobacco in his mouth, and went on."

Hardly had Seaton finished speaking when Joe Dawson shot the bow of
the little boat against the further bank. During this time Mr. Seaton
had kept his eyes on the drab boat, holding his rifle