The time for action had come. Already the stern of the launch was turning slowly out into the stream. Pud clambered up and loosed the line and scuttled back to the shadows of the boat. It seemed an age before the current stirred the launch, but at last it began to slip silently away from the tiny landing. Peering over the edge, Pud could see the top of the bank move slowly past him. The launch was floating almost broadside to the stream, but gradually it straightened out, its bow pointing down the creek. Too late, Pud reflected that he might almost as easily have taken to the water again and pushed the launch upstream until out of sight and then started the engine, in which case he would have got back to Tim and Harmon quickly enough. Now he would have to keep on down the creek, trusting to luck to find his way into Two-Pond Run. But all that was for the future. Just now, crouching at the bow, listening with loudly beating heart for sounds that would announce that Lank had discovered his loss, Pud was concerned only with the present. Already the sluggish current had borne him a good fifty yards and the sounds from the store came to him subdued by distance. Other sounds took their place; low voices from doorsills, snatches of wavering song, a man’s voice raised in maudlin anger, the querulous wailing of a baby. He was nearing the outdoor fire now and the ruddy light was blotching the still water ahead. That the launch would pass unseen was too much to hope for, and he debated whether to remain concealed or to show himself at the bow. The question was settled for him. ‘Hey, Pap, look yander! A big boat!’ It was the shrill voice of a small boy. ‘Power-boat, ’tis,’ grunted the father. ‘Where’d it come from, you reckon, Cal?’ ‘I d’know, Pap. Ain’t ary soul in it, be there?’ ‘Don’t look like. Must have slipped its line, eh?’ ‘Want I should fetch it?’ ‘Naw, what for? Let them as owns it come arter it.’ The speaker chuckled maliciously. ‘They’ll be along soon enough, I reckon.’ The launch floated silently by and into the welcome darkness beyond the fire’s radiance. The sound of oars ahead brought Pud’s eyes above the bow. A small punt was creeping upstream, the man who was rowing unaware of the other craft. Pud turned the wheel quickly to avoid a collision, and the faint squeak of the ropes brought the rower’s head around sharply. A volley of oaths broke the silence as the two boats scraped past. Then from back up the creek came a loud shout. ‘Hey! Some one grab that launch! Launch adrift down-creek!’ ‘Here she be! I’ll fetch her!’ The man in the punt, already a length astern, spun his small craft about and dug his oars. Pud stood up desperately. ‘You keep away!’ he called threateningly. ‘This is my boat!’