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They took the runabout's bow rope and swam easily and quietly. There was no hurry. Orvil Harris would need a little time to put out his lines. He would avoid the pole they had placed; its top would be above water at this stage of the tide. Scotty led the way to the opening into the small waterway through which they had gone to the duck blind.
That wouldn't help Orvil, at least for now, and they might possibly be picked off by the riflemen. As they neared the pier, Scotty moved out of the way while Rick backed the big crab boat into the runabout's place. Before he had finished, Steve was coming down the walk at a run. The agent took the line Rick tossed and made it fast, then caught another line and secured the bow.
The runabout's driver had taken less than a half dozen steps in all; during his short descent to the ground. But Lad did not stop until he had found and identified each and every step. "He knows!" marveled the Mistress. "He saw the brute jump down from his car. And he has found his footsteps. He'll remember them, too." "Little good it will do the poor chap!" commented the Master.
Steve said nothing for a moment, then he headed directly toward the crabber. As the two boats closed, Harris paused in his crabbing and watched the three in the runabout approach. Steve matched the crab boat's speed and nudged the runabout alongside. "Howdy," he called. Orvil Harris reached out and caught the runabout's gunwale, then took the line Rick passed to him.
He stood up beside the driver and hailed him, but Harry did not even turn around. The beat of his horse's hoofs drowned the sound. The deep lines of the runabout's wheels in the dust held his gaze and his senses to one thing alone the rescue of Pauline. He urged the poor beast to its last tug of strength. Weak and dizzy from his wound, he knew that he could go but a little way afoot.
Halding struck him roughly over the head and scrambled into the machine with him, reaching with his one disengaged hand for the self-starter button. Before he could touch it, the Mistress was on the running-board of the car. As she ran, she had opened her wristbag. Now, flinging on the runabout's seat a ten and a five-dollar bill, she demanded "Give me my dog! There is the money you paid for him!"
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