was a trim-built craft, and under a good breeze her bow cut the shining waters of the lake like a knife.
The only one on the boat who was not in good humor was Arnold Baxter. When he got the chance he called Tom Rover to him.
"Rover, what do you intend to do with me?" he asked.
"We intend to hand you over to the authorities."
"You are making a great mistake."
"I'll risk that."
"If you'll let me go I'll promise to turn over a new leaf, and, more than that, I'll help your father to make a pile of money out of that mine in Colorado."
"Your promises are not worth the breath they are uttered in, Arnold Baxter. You belong in prison, and that is where you are going."
At this Baxter began to rave and utter words unfit to print. But Tom soon stopped this.
"Keep a civil tongue in your head, or we'll gag you," he said, and then Baxter relapsed into sullen silence.
The breeze was favorable, and it was not long before the sloop rounded a point of the island and came in sight of the Wellington.
"Let us surprise old Crabtree," suggested Sam.
