"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,