CHAPTER XXXIII.

OFF ON THE CHASE.

“Well, Harry, this is going to be some cruise!”

“Humph! I’ve a notion it will be all of that and then some,” replied Harry Ware, as he and Ralph Stetson stood side by side on the bridge of the _River Swallow_. The dusk was deepening into night and the _River Swallow_ lay at the Piquetville dock tugging at her hawsers, as if anxious to be off on what was to prove the most memorable trip of her career.

“We’re going to try conclusions with that _Artful Dodger_ at last, and tie her up hard and fast, and certain members of her crew as well.”

“All well and good,” said Harry, “but just the same my advice would be to stay far away from that craft. She’s a bad one. I don’t like the idea of coming up with her.”

“More ghost shivers, eh?” laughed Ralph. “Stay ashore if you like, Harry.”

The Ware boy flushed crimson.

“What are you talking about? I’m not scared. Don’t you dare say I am, Ralph Stetson.”

“That’s all right, Harry,” soothed Ralph, with a laugh. “I know that when we catch the _Artful Dodger_ you’ll be just as courageous as any one else. But till then——”

“You’ll please quit teasing me about that craft.”

“All right, if that’s the way you feel about it.”

“What if they threw a bomb or something at us while we were chasing them?”

“No danger of that. I shouldn’t wonder, in fact, if we miss the craft altogether. Of one thing I’m glad, though, we are going to explore the mysteries of Windmill Island.”

“Umph! That’s a nice, cheerful job. We saw one explosion there. How do we know that there won’t be another? That fellow Rawson was thinking of making a mine with that dynamite that blew up when the hut caught fire. How do we know he mayn’t have some such cheerful little contrivance planted off the island that may blow us sky-high?”

Ralph lost all patience.

“Say, if you don’t stop croaking, I’ll ask the inspector to have you put ashore. Why, old man Whey is far more courageous than you are.”

Harry walked off with his hands in his pockets. He was indignant, but Ralph only smiled.

“He’ll be back in a while,” he said to himself, “and when he does come he’ll be ashamed of himself.”

He was right. Shortly after the customs inspectors boarded the boat and found the boys and old man Whey all ready for them, Harry stole up to Ralph.

“I hope we don’t sight that _Artful Dodger_,” said he, “but if we do, nothing will suit me but to bring her back with a double half-hitch in her nose.”

“I knew that was the way you’d feel about it, Harry,” said Ralph, and then turned to greet the customs inspectors.

All was in readiness. Nothing was to be gained by waiting, and the word to cast off soon came. Through the fast falling gloom the _River Swallow_ slipped out into the St. Lawrence, while a thrill ran through all of those on board as they thought of the night’s work that depended upon them.

“Want the search-light?” asked Harry, as they moved along.

Old man Whey, who acted as pilot, from his thorough knowledge of the river, had just told them they were not far from Windmill Island.

“Not on your life,” snapped the chief inspector; “we don’t want to herald the fact that we are coming. I would suggest, captain, that you extinguish even your side-lights.”

“Taking a chance,” said Ralph, scanning the compass card.

“Never mind. We’ll have to risk it.”

The next instant a sharp click showed that the lights were out.

Stealthily as a shadow the _River Swallow_ crept over the dark water, not a light showing on board her. With her under-water exhaust, too, her engines were perfectly silent. Like a ghost ship she crept along, with old man Whey guiding Ralph’s steering.

After a while the old man signaled to the chief inspector.

“Better take to the small boat here,” he advised, “and anchor the _River Swallow_. I’m not sure of the rocks and shoals, and Windmill Island lies right off there.”

“Very well,” said the inspector, “anchor as noiselessly as possible.”

The anchor chain was slipped out slowly with hardly any of its customary whirring and rattling. The engines ceased to revolve. The _River Swallow_ swung noiselessly at her moorings. Then came the command to lower the launch tender.

When this was done, they all descended into it and, using the oars—for they did not want to announce their coming by the popping of the engine—they set off through the darkness for the shore.

Presently, like a tall ghost, the white finger of the windmill tower upreared itself through the surrounding gloom.

Ralph, who sat next Harry, felt the lad give a shiver.

“Goose flesh?” he laughed, nudging the boy.

“Goose flesh nothing!” exclaimed Harry indignantly. “It’s fighting flesh.”

The bow of the tender grated on the beach. It was after ten o’clock. No light or other evidence of human habitation was visible.

“Maybe our birds have skipped,” said the chief inspector, in disappointed tones.

“Hold on a minute!” whispered Ralph, in a low, tense voice. “What’s that coming?”

“It’s a motor boat,” cried Harry.

“Heading this way, too,” declared the inspector.

“Lie low, everybody,” cautioned Jennings the next instant. “It’s the _Artful Dodger_, for a thousand dollars!”