Reade was already racing out on to the small dock. He all but threw
himself into a rowboat that lay tied alongside.

"Cast off and get in," Tom ordered his companions, as he pushed out a pair
of oars. "Nicolas, you're also good with a pair of oars. Mr. Renshaw,
you take the tiller. Inform me instantly when you see the first gleam of
the 'Morton's' search-light. Evarts ought to have caught the scoundrels
this time. Evidently he's been cruising softly without showing a light."

Mr. Renshaw gathered up the tiller ropes as Tom pushed off from the dock.
Then the chief engineer addressed himself to the task of rowing. His firm
muscles, working at their best, shot the little craft ahead. Nicolas, at
the bow oars, did his best to keep up with his chief in the matter of
rowing, though the Mexican was neither an oarsman nor an athlete.

"Don't you make out the motor boat's lights yet?" Tom asked impatiently,
after the first long spurt of rowing.

"Not yet, sir," replied the superintendent. "I shan't miss the light when
it shows."

A few minutes later the superintendent announced in a low voice:

"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.