"There's some craft, motionless, just a bit ahead." Tom, without stopping his work at the oars, turned enough to glance forward. "Why, it's---it's the 'Morton'!" he gasped. "I believe it is," declared the superintendent, staring keenly at the nearly shapeless black mass ahead. Tom, with his jaws set close, bent harder than ever at the oars. "Senor!" wailed Nicolas, gaspingly. "If you do not go more easily I shall expire for lack of breath. I cannot keep up with you." Reade fell into a slower, stronger stroke. "Drop the oars any time you want to, Nicolas," Reade urged. "There won't be much more rowing to do, anyway." Presently Tom himself rested on his oars, as the boat, moving under its own headway, approached the motor boat. "Going to board her on the quarter?" the superintendent asked. "No; by the bow," Tom answered. "Let go the tiller ropes. I'll pull alongside." As they started to pass the boat a sound reached them that made Reade grow wild with anger. Snore after snore, from five busy sleepers! Tom pulled softly up to the bow. "There's the anchor cable!" snorted Tom, Pointing to a rope that ran from the bow of the "Morton" down into the water. "Did you ever see more wicked neglect of important duty? And not even a lantern out to mark her berth! Get aboard, Mr. Renshaw, and go aft to start the engine. Nicolas, you take this boat astern and make fast. Don't wake the sleepers---poor, tired shirkers!" Tom, in utter disgust, leaped aboard the boat at the bow. There, behind the wheel, Evarts lay on the floor of the boat, his rolled-up coat serving as a pillow. Almost noiselessly Tom hauled up the light anchor. Then he stood by the wheel. "All ready at the engine, Mr. Reade!" called the superintendent, softly. "Let her go," Tom returned, "as soon as Nicolas boards." The Mexican was quickly aboard, after having made the rowboat's painter fast. "Headway!" announced Renshaw, throwing over the drive-wheel of the engine. "Put-put-put!" sputtered the motor. Then the "Morton" began really to move. With the first real throb of the engine the electric running lights gleamed out. Aft Conlon began to stir. Then he opened his eyes. "What---" he began. "Silence!" commanded Mr. Renshaw. "Tell me who's at the wheel?" Conlon begged. "Mr. Reade," replied the superintendent, dryly. "Now, keep still!" "Whew---ew---ew!" whistled Conlon, in dire dismay. Then he sank back, watching the engine with moody eyes. The other three men aft still slept. Presently Tom, in shifting his position, touched one foot lightly against the foreman's head. Evarts half-awoke, then realized that the boat was moving. "Who started this craft against my orders?" he drowsily demanded, as he sat up. "I did," Tom retorted witheringly, "though I didn't hear your orders to the contrary." "You---Mr. Reade?" gasped the foreman, leaping to his feet.