“Now let’s see. I’ll need a little grub, for I may not be able to get back to-day. And a blanket if I have to stay out in the open all night. I’ll take a little light axe along, and some matches. I guess that’ll be all. And the plan--of course,” he concluded, with a grim smile. “If they come for it again they’ll find it gone.” Everything being in readiness for what he hoped would be his last visit to the mill to rescue his comrades, Tom got his lonely breakfast. It was not such a gloomy meal as the others had been, for he was very hopeful, and even whistled as he went about the camp, making things as secure as possible until he should return. “And if I do get the boys, then for a grand final try for that treasure!” he exclaimed, as he pushed off in the clumsy skiff. It was a perfect day, and as Tom thought of the fine weather his friends were missing he felt a wave of anger against Professor Skeel, the hermit and the two lads of Elmwood Hall. “If those bullies come back to school in the fall!” exclaimed Tom, with a grim smile, “I’ll make the place too hot to hold them, that’s what I’ll do!” Rowing with long, even strokes Tom propelled the skiff across the lake. Instinctively he swept his eyes along the shores for a possible sight of his motorboat. “But it isn’t likely that they’d allow her to get away from them,” he argued. “Though I’ll get her sooner or later.” He turned the point that hid a view of the river entering Lake Woonset, and, as he did so he uttered a cry. “By Jove! Is it possible!” he shouted, standing up in the skiff. “It is, as I’m alive!” he added. “Oh, of all the good luck!” For, just ahead of him, idly floating on the calm surface of the lake, was his missing motorboat! CHAPTER XXIII THE CALLING VOICES Tom rubbed his eyes. He wanted to be sure he was not dreaming, or seeing a vision of his lost motorboat. And yet, as his sight cleared, he knew he could not be mistaken. “It’s her!” he cried. “It’s the dear old _Tag_ all right! Jinks! but I’m in luck! Now, if none of those fellows are in her, I’ll soon be aboard. And if she’s in running order--” He paused in apprehension. What if the hermit’s crowd had damaged the machinery so that the craft would not run? Tom felt himself grow cold with fear at this possibility. “I’ll soon see,” he murmured, and he settled down into a long, even stroke that quickly brought him close to the floating craft. Now he proceeded more cautiously, for he realized that there might be a plot--an ambuscade to trap him, and make him a prisoner as were his companions. “Ahoy the _Tag_!” he shouted, but there was no answer. The boat continued to drift with the current of the river which made itself felt thus far out in the lake. “Guess there’s no one home,” murmured Tom. “So much the better. I’ll soon be aboard.” A few more strokes put him alongside, and a quick look into the interior of the craft showed him that the machinery, at least, was intact.