“By Jove! old man, I believe you’re right. Why didn’t we think of that before? Of course he has a boat! He never could get around the way he does if he didn’t have. And it’s up to us to find it. Come on back. We’ll walk along the river bank until we get to the mill. Then we’ll look for the boat.” Buoyed up by new hope, they started back, and, proceeding cautiously, they soon were below, and opposite, the ancient mill. “It’ll be on this side,” decided Tom, “and probably hidden under some bushes. Look carefully, and don’t make much noise. We don’t want old Wallace to chase us again.” The river was far enough below the old mill so that ordinary sounds made at the stream could not be heard at the structure. But still the boys were cautious. They kept a sharp lookout, too, for any sign of the old hermit. Up and down the bank they went, peering under bushes, and in little coves formed by water eddies. Suddenly Jack cried out: “Here it is, fellows! An old tub, but it’s got oars, and we can row to camp in it.” They ran to where he stood beside an old skiff. It looked to be leaky and unsafe, but it was a boat, and they would have almost welcomed a wash-tub in their plight. “Quick!” exclaimed Tom. “I think I hear someone coming. Get in and shove off.” They lost no time in embarking, and, when they were afloat on the river, they found that the craft was better than she looked. “I guess we can get to camp in this,” said Tom with a sigh of relief. “And, on our way, we may see the _Tag_.” “If we’re not caught before we get into the lake,” spoke Jack grimly. Apprehensively they looked in the direction of the old mill. All they heard was the rustle of the wind in the trees. The place seemed silent and deserted. “Say, things are happening all right!” exclaimed Dick. “I never imagined camping was so exciting.” “Oh, things generally happen where Tom Fairfield is,” remarked Jack, with a laugh. Dick was at the oars, and rowed rapidly down stream, being aided by the current. In a short time they were far enough below the mill to make it practically impossible for the old hermit to catch them. “Unless he has our motorboat,” put in Bert. “In that case I’ll let him capture us, and then I’ll take the _Tag_ away from him,” said Tom firmly. Out on the lake they floated. It was a bit rough, but the skiff was a broad and heavy one, and made a good sea boat. They took turns rowing, meanwhile keeping a watch for Tom’s craft, but they did not see her. “You don’t appreciate a motorboat untill you have to row!” exclaimed our hero, as Bert relieved him at the oars. “Oh, well, we’ll soon be in camp,” consoled Dick, and an hour later they were opposite their tents. “Everything seems all right,” said Tom, with an air of relief. “Now to see if we’ve had any visitors.” CHAPTER XIX STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES