“I suppose so,” Bob replied. “But that’s your fault. You tried to kill me and I had to protect myself.” By this time a glance at the steam gage told Bob that there was enough steam to start the boat, and opening the valve he soon had the boat moving slowly through the water. “Now I’ll have to go to the pilot-house to steer her,” he announced, “and if you try any funny business you’ll be a long time getting that arm fixed.” Without waiting for the man to reply, Bob quickly made his way to the pilot-house. The boat was headed down the lake and he swung her in a long curve and soon had her pointed toward the camp. He had set the steam for slow speed and as the boat was within about a hundred feet of the wharf he rushed back to the engine room and shut it off. The man still sat in the chair and had apparently not moved. Quickly returning to the pilot-house, he saw that the boat had made more progress than he had judged she would, and realized that she would hit the wharf too hard for safety. So he had to throw the wheel over as far as he could. The boat responded nobly, but even so he missed the wharf by only a few inches. “That was a bit too close for comfort,” he declared, as the boat moved slowly up the lake. The steamer was fully a hundred feet from the wharf when she finally lost headway. “It’s a whole lot harder to run a steamboat alone than I thought,” he said aloud. “I wonder if I can pole her in. Here goes for a try anyhow.” Bob knew that there was a long pole out on the deck, and in another minute he was trying to use it but the water was too deep. He was unable to touch bottom. “So near and yet so far,” he grinned, as he laid the pole down on the deck. “Guess I’ll have to wait till the wind carries her in a bit.” Fortunately the wind, what there was of it, was in the right direction and soon he could see that the boat was slowly but surely getting nearer the wharf. He waited a few minutes and then tried again with the pole. This time he could easily touch bottom, and soon the bow of the boat gently hit the wharf. It was the work of but a moment to make her fast and then he returned to the engine room. “All right now,” he greeted the Frenchman, who still sat in the chair looking, as he afterward told Jack, as though he had lost his last friend. “Come on and we’ll get Tom out of bed and he’ll set your arm.” It was a little after four o’clock when they reached the office. The door was not locked, and opening it Bob stepped inside closely followed by his patient. Tom Bean slept in a little bedroom which opened out of the office. The door of this room was closed, and as soon as he had a light going, Bob knocked loudly on it. “Who’s there?” came a sleepy demand. “It’s I, Tom,” Bob replied. “Can I come in?” “Sure you kin,” and Bob pushed open the door and entered the room. “Faith and what do yer mane by wakin’ an honest mon at this time o’ night?” Tom demanded as he sat up in bed.