Nick hurried thither.  He searched through the little clump of trees with the utmost minuteness, till at last, on the farther side, in a bit of soft ground, he found the foot-prints.

They still led in the direction of the river.  Following such faint clews as he could find, Nick continued the search till dawn broke.

* * * * *

“Uncle Jimmy” Redwood has boats to let in Nyack.  He has a boat-house on the river bank from which a flight of steps leads down to a long “float” extending into the river.

His boats are moored to that float, or anchored near the end of it.  He has several fine, fast cat-boats, of which he is very proud.

Uncle Jimmy was overhauling his boats about six o’clock on the morning after the events just described, when a man, whom he had never seen before, came somewhat hurriedly down the steps, and said he wished to hire a cat-boat.

“I want the fastest boat in the fleet,” he said.

Uncle Jimmy looked the stranger over carefully.  There was a bandage around his head.  Uncle Jimmy suspected that something was wrong, but that, after all, might not be any of his business.

“Get the Clio ready for this man,” Uncle Jimmy shouted to an assistant at the far end of the float.

“Ay, ay, sir,” said the man.

The Clio was lying with her nose against the float, and there was nothing to do but hoist her sail.

However, the stranger seemed impatient of even this delay.

When the sail was up, he jumped into the boat, and prepared to get under way.

But Uncle Jimmy’s assistant had hold of the “painter,” or rope, by which the Clio had been fastened to the wharf.

“Avast there!” he said.  “Mr. Redwood don’t let his boats go out that way.”

“What do you mean?” demanded the stranger with the bandaged head.

“He won’t let you go out alone.  How does he know that you will bring the boat back?”

“Nonsense.  I want to go by myself.”

“He wants to take her out himself,” called the assistant to Uncle Jimmy, who stood near the end of the float talking with another tarry old salt.

“He can’t, and that settles it,” said Uncle Jimmy.

“Shall I go with him?” asked the assistant, who held the Clio’s painter.

“No; let Dick, here, go.”

Dick, thus delegated to the duty of skipper, rolled down the float with the gait of an old sailor, and got aboard the Clio.

The stranger with the sore head grumbled, but he could not help himself.  He insisted, however, on taking the helm as the Clio moved out from the float.

She was scarcely a hundred yards away when a young man, panting with haste, rushed down the stairs from the boat-house.  The reader would have known Patsy by his activity, despite his disguise.

“I want a boat,” he cried out.

“Quite a run o’ business for so early in the morning,” said Uncle Jimmy, calmly.  “What sort o’ boat do you want?”