"Roughly dressed."

"That isn't much of a description," was the retort. "A lot of the fishermen dress roughly, but they're all right. But we do have some fellows up here who aren't what I'd call first-cla.s.s."

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Howbridge.

"Well, I mean there's a bunch camping on one of the islands here.

Somebody said they were returned miners from the Klondike, but I don't know that I believe that."

"Why, those may be the very men we mean!" cried the lawyer. "One of them claims, or is said to have been, in the Alaskan gold regions. In fact this young man's father is, or was, a Klondike miner," went on Mr.

Howbridge, indicating Neale. "Maybe these men could tell us something about him. Did you ever hear any of them mention a Mr. O'Neil?" he asked.

The dock tender shook his head.

"Can't say I did," he answered. "I don't have much to do with those men.

They're too rough for me. They may be the ones you mean, and they may not."

Further questioning elicited no more information, and Neale and Mr.

Howbridge had to be content with this.

"But we'll pay a visit to that island," decided the lawyer, when its location had been established. "We may get some news of your father in that way."

"I hope so," sighed Neale.

Rather than tie up at the dock that night, which would bring them too near the not very pleasant sights and sounds of a waterfront neighborhood, it was decided to anchor the _Bluebird_ out some distance in the lake.

Accordingly, at dusk, when supper was over and a little stroll on sh.o.r.e had gotten the "kinks" out of their "sea legs," the _Bluebird_ was headed into the lake again and moored, with riding lights to warn other craft away.

In the middle of the night Neale felt the need of a drink, as he had eaten some b.u.t.tered popcorn the evening before and he was now thirsty.

As he arose to get a gla.s.s of water from a shelf in his apartment he became aware of a strange movement. At the same time he could hear the sighing of the wind.

"Sounds as if a storm were coming up," mused the boy. And then, as he reached out his hand for the gla.s.s, he felt the _Bluebird_ rise, fall and sway beneath him.

"Why, we're moving! We're drifting!" exclaimed Neale. "The anchor must be dragging or the cables have been cut. We're drifting fast, and may be in danger!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE STORM

Neale O'Neil was a lad to whom, young as he was, emergencies came as a sort of second nature. His life in the circus had prepared him for quick and unusual action. Many times, while traveling with the tented shows, accidents had happened. Sometimes one of the animals would get loose, perhaps one of the "hay feeders," by which is meant the elephants, horses or camels. Or, worse than this, one of the big "cats," or the meat eaters--including lions, tigers and leopards--would break from a cage. Then consternation would reign.

But Neale had seen how the circus men had met these emergencies, always working for the safety of others.

And now, as he seemed to be alone in the semi-darkness and silence of the houseboat at midnight, Neale felt that the time had come for him to act.

"We must have pulled our anchor, or else some one has cut us adrift,"

decided the lad. "And if any one has cut us loose it must be those men from the motor boat--the tramps--the thieves!"

He visualized their evil countenances and thought of how they had behaved toward Ruth and Agnes--that is, if these were the two men in question.

"And I wonder if Hank stands in with them," mused Neale. "I must find out. But first I've got to do something about the boat. If we're adrift, as we surely are, we may run into some other craft, or one may run into us, or--"

Neale paused as he felt a grating beneath the broad, flat bottom of the boat and the craft careened slightly.

"We may go aground or be blown on an island," was his completed thought.

"But we're safe so far," he mentally added, as he felt the _Bluebird_ slip off some under-water rock or reef of mud over which she progressed.

Then Neale galvanized himself into action. He forgot all about the drink he had been going to get, and, slipping on shoes and a rubber coat that hung in his room, he stepped out into the corridor which ran the length of the boat between the two rows of sleeping rooms.

Neale was going up on deck to look around and, if possible, find out what had caused the boat to break away from her moorings.

As Neale pa.s.sed Ruth's door it opened and she came out, wrapped in a heavy robe.

"What is it, Neale?" asked the oldest Corner House girl. "Has anything happened?"

"Nothing much yet. But it may," was the answer. "We're adrift, and it's coming on to blow. I'm going to see what the matter is."

"I'll come with you," Ruth offered. Neale was like a brother to the Kenway girls. "Shall I call Mr. Howbridge and Mrs. Mac?" she asked.

"Not yet," he answered in a low voice. "It may be that the cable has only slipped, but I don't see how it could. In that case I'll only have to take a few turns around a cleat and we'll be all right. No use calling any one unless we have to."

"I'll come and help," Ruth offered, and Neale knew she could be of excellent service.

Together they ascended the stairs in the half darkness, illuminated by the glow from a night oil lamp in the hall. But no sooner had they emerged on the open deck than they became aware of the gravity of the situation. They were almost blinded by an intense glare of lightning.

This was followed by a menacing rumble of thunder, and then Ruth gasped for breath as a strong wind smote her in the face, and Neale, just ahead of her, turned to grasp her lest she be blown against a railing and hurt.

"Great guns!" exclaimed Neale, "it's going to be a fierce storm."

"Are we really adrift?" exclaimed Ruth, raising her voice to be heard above the howl of the wind.

"I should say we are!" cried Neale in answer. "But the boat is so big and solid she isn't going as fast as an ordinary craft would. But we're drifting all right, and it's going to be a whole lot worse before it's better. Do you want to stay here?" he asked.

"Of course I do! I'm going to help!" declared Ruth. But at that moment came another bright flash of lightning and a terrific peal of thunder.

And then, as if this had split open the clouds, down came a deluge of rain.

"Go below and get on your waterproof and then tell the others to get up and dress," advised Neale. "We may come out of it all right, and again we may not. It's best to be prepared."

"Are we--are we far from sh.o.r.e?" panted Ruth, the wind almost taking the words from her mouth. "Are we apt to be dashed against it, do you think?"

"We can't be wrecked," Neale answered her. "This is a well built boat.

But we may have to go ash.o.r.e in the rain, and it's best for the children to be dressed."

"I'll tell them!" cried Ruth, and she descended, glad to be in out of the storm that was increasing in violence every moment. That little time she was exposed to it almost drenched her. Neale's rubber coat was a great protection to him.

The boy gave one quick look around. The wind was blowing about over the deck a number of camp stools that had been left out, but he reasoned that they would be caught and held by the rope network about the deck.

Neale's chief anxiety was about the anchor.