CHAPTER XXXII.

A JOYOUS MEETING.

It was some two hours after the floating of the _River Swallow_, which proved as staunch as ever, that a group of persons on board a speedy, trim little motor tender spied the craft coming toward Piquetville with a “bone in her teeth.”

Joy that verged on the delirious ran riot on the tender, which was the _River Swallow’s_ own boat, when, from the side of the fast motor craft, came a puff of white smoke, a loud report and then the stars and stripes fluttered out in all their glory on the after flagstaff.

“Whoop-ee! Zing! zang! zabella!” cried Harry Ware exultingly. “It’s good old Ralph! The old bull-dog has won out!”

“I knew he would. I’ll bet he’s got that gang imprisoned on board there right now!” cried Percy Simmons.

“Look! There he is on the bridge!” cried Jennings, indicating a figure at the wheel.

“Is that Ralph?” questioned Percy hesitatingly.

“Yes—no, by hookey! It’s an old man with a white beard!”

“Well, what under the sun!” burst from Harry Ware.

“I rather fancy, young men, that your comrade will have an odd story to tell when we meet him,” struck in Prescott. “By Jove, he appears to be as efficient on the St. Lawrence as he and his chums proved to be on the Mexican border.”

“You bet Ralph’s on the job wherever he is!” said Percy Simmons fervently.

“I’m anxious to hear his story,” said Adams, the third customs man. “It’s few men, let alone boys, that could bull-doze La Rue and two other men as bad, and come back home with flying colors and an old Santa Claus for helmsman.”

“The man at the wheel looks like old Father Time,” laughed Harry.

“He’s right on time, anyhow,” declared Percy Simmons.

Not long after an interested group, gathered in the inspector’s office at Piquetville, heard Ralph’s story. The official was visibly chagrined over the loss of the gems, but he concealed this as well as he could and complimented Ralph on his excellent work.

“If you would accept a position I’d like to have you in this service,” he said; “but you can at least do us one favor. Lend the government of the United States your _River Swallow_ for to-night.”

“I’ll do a lot more than that,” said Ralph quickly. “But, if I may ask, what is the plan, Inspector?”

“Just this. I think that La Rue and his companions, after they stole the old man’s boat, made for some rendezvous of the gang. They are there now, according to my best judgment.”

“Yes; that’s about right,” agreed Jennings. “But they’ll make a break as soon as possible.”

“Just my idea, Jennings,” rejoined his chief; “and that ‘break’ will be made on that fly-by-night boat of theirs. They’ll try and dispose of the gems, smuggle them across the line, that is, in some other point along the river; or they may even try to get to the Great Lakes. It’s our job to head them off.”

“A man’s-size job,” muttered Adams.

“All of that,” said the inspector; “that is the reason why I asked this young man for the loan of his boat. My idea is, first to descend on Windmill Island, which, from Master Stetson’s story, I believe to be the hiding place of the gang. The old island would make an ideal hang-out for them. It is full of passages and galleries and then, too, that old windmill tower would make a fine meeting place for such scamps. Folks around here believe it is haunted and wouldn’t be likely to bother them. Young men, we will start for Windmill Island at dusk.”

“You want us along?” asked Ralph delightedly.

“Why, of course,” was the astonished reply. “You didn’t think we could get along without you, did you?”

“Well, I must say that I’d like to be in at the finish,” rejoined Ralph.

“Same here,” put in Harry Ware.

“Me for that cruise, if I never take another,” grinned Percy Simmons delightedly.

“And if I kin come, I’d like ter take a good swat at ther feller what stole my skiff, by gum!” chortled old man Whey, at which they all laughed; and the inspector promised the old fellow that he should be a member of the party that hoped to tout the gem smugglers out of their last stronghold and bring them to book for their misdeeds.

It was just at the conclusion of this arrangement that a messenger boy broke into the room.

“’Sage fer Ralph Fetson!” he burst out.

“No such——” began the inspector.

“I guess he means me,” said Ralph, taking the message.

Sure enough, the dispatch was for him. He tore it open and scanned it eagerly. It was from his father.

“Arrest, annoying mistake. Trip here useless. Made on a forged message. Tell all about it on my return.

Dad.”

“Well,” said Ralph, after he had communicated the news, “I guess we know almost as much about that as dad. He can’t get here before to-morrow morning, and by that time——”

“We’ll be able to confront him with the men responsible for his unpleasant experience,” promised the inspector confidently.