It was agreed to try this plan for rescuing the _Vagrant_ from her uncomfortable berth. The dinghy was lowered and manned by Jack and Tom, who took with them the light anchor which was attached to two hundred feet of line. A hundred feet down stream they dropped the mud-hook, and then rowed back to the _Vagrant_. When they were once more on board the winch was manned and, to their delight, as the rope tightened the _Vagrant’s_ stern began to swing. “Keep at it, lads,” cried Captain Andrews to the perspiring laborers, “if that anchor will only hold I believe we can get off.” The anchor did hold, and after ten minutes more of back-breaking work the craft’s bow slid out of the mud bank with a sucking sound, and she was once more free. The anchor was hauled on board, and, without further mishap, the _Vagrant_ was set once more on her down-stream course. The first attempt of the courageous little band to rescue their comrades had met with a rather ignominious failure. Captain Andrews said as much that evening, as they found themselves anchored near the mouth of the river they had fruitlessly ascended with so much pains. The skipper voiced this opinion after supper, while they sat on deck casting anxious eyes to seaward now and again, for the recollection of the _Tarantula_ was strong upon them. Above all things, they dreaded the reappearance of that drab-colored craft. “You said you had a plan, Jack,” said Tom, as the skipper disconsolately drew on his pipe, “Now’s the time to broach it. What is it?” “Just this,” was the simple reply, “we’ve got the aero-auto. It looks as if the time had come to use her.” “And leave the _Vagrant_ here to be destroyed when Herrera happens along?” demanded Tom. “That doesn’t follow. Did you notice that small creek almost overgrown with brush that branches off about a mile above here?” “Yes, lad,” came from Captain Andrews, whose tones gave evidence of his intense interest, “you’re planning to hide the _Vagrant_ there till we come back again?” “You’ve caught my idea exactly,” said the lad. “What do you think of it?” “That it’s a dumb-gasted good one, and that I, for one, am willing to risk my neck in that flying automobubble of yours any time you say the word.” “Then I say it right now,” shot out Jack, with flashing eyes. “We can’t ascend this river by water; we’ll try the air route.” It was while they were still buzzing with the enthusiasm that Jack’s fiery words had created that Tom uttered a sharp exclamation. “Jupiter!” he exclaimed, pointing seaward. “Look yonder. We’re not playing a lone hand in this thing now.” Some distance off apparently, but rushing across the water at a swift pace, was a bright white gleam,—the light of a vessel approaching the bar at top speed. “The _Tarantula_, for all I’m worth!” exploded Captain Andrews. “Confound her, why couldn’t she have kept her hands off for twelve hours longer?” CHAPTER XIV—A MESSAGE FROM THE AIR