Early on the following morning Harry came over to take Jerry for a sail on the lake in the Whistler.

“We can sail and talk at the same time,” he explained. “I know you must be longing for a whiff of the water.”

“You are right there, Harry,” returned the young oarsman. “Lake Otasco is better than the hot pavements of New York City a hundred times over.”

The two boys soon set off. Harry had expected Blumpo to accompany them, but that youth was out in his own boat with a party that had hired the craft for several days.

“Blumpo is making money,” said Harry, “and I am glad of it.”

“So am I,” replied our hero. “He is an odd sort of chap, but his heart is of gold.”

The Whistler was soon on her way up the lake with old Jack Broxton at the tiller, and as the breeze was steady the boys had little to do but talk. Once again our hero related his story, and Harry proved a most attentive listener.

“That Alexander Slocum ought to go to prison for life,” he said, at the conclusion. “The idea of daring to make out that Nellie Ardell was insane.”

“It was a bold scheme, Harry.”

“It seems to me the world is full of bad people, Jerry. Look at such men as that Slocum and his tools, and then at such boys as Si Peters and Wash Crosby.”

“Where do you suppose Crosby and Peters are?”

“The authorities don’t know. But Blumpo told me a few days ago he was almost certain he had seen them on the north shore of the lake. He said they took to their heels in the bushes just about the time he spotted them.”

“They are bound to be brought to justice sooner or later.”

“I don’t know. But I do know one thing; I would like to get back my gold watch.”

Thus the talk ran on, until Hermit Island was reached. Here they ran in for a few minutes, to pass a word with Blumpo’s father, who greeted them cordially. After this, they continued up along the south side of the lake.

As they skirted the beautiful shore they gradually crept up to a large excursion boat.

“Hullo, what’s that boat doing here?” cried Jerry.

“It’s a Sunday school excursion from Cedar Falls,” replied his chum.

The steamboat was not a large one and she seemed to have more than her regular allowance of passengers aboard. Every deck was full of grown folks and children, dressed in their best.

A band was playing a merry air, and some of the children were singing.

“Let’s give them a cheer,” suggested the young oarsman, as they drew closer.

“All right,” replied Harry, pulling out his handkerchief. “One, two, three. Hurrah! hur—”

Harry stopped short, as a cry of horror arose on board of the excursion boat.

A young girl had been standing close to the rail on a camp stool at the bow of the boat.

As the steamboat swung around the girl lost her balance.

She tried to save herself, and, failing, pitched headlong into the water.

Harry saw her go under the greenish waves.

“She’ll be struck by the paddle wheel,” he yelled, and then, splash! he was overboard himself.

Bravely he struck out to save the maiden.

The order was given to back the steamboat.

The wheels churned up the water into a white foam, but still the momentum carried the large craft on. In the meantime Harry came up and struck out valiantly for the girl, who was now going down for a second time.

“Save her! Save her!” shrieked the mother of the girl, in an agony of fear.

Half a dozen life preservers were thrown overboard, but none came to where the girl could reach them.

The mother of the girl wanted to join her daughter in the water but strong hands held her back.

“The young fellow will save her, madam!”

“He’s a true hero!”

Life lines were thrown over, but even these did no good.

The steamboat swung around, but the run of the water washed the girl closer and closer to the paddle wheel.

She now came up a second time. Should she sink again all would be over.

Harry was swimming with all the strength and skill at his command.

At last he was within a yard of the struggling girl.

The maiden threw up her hands and went under.

As quick as a flash Harry dove down.

A second passed. Then up came the youth with the girl clinging to his shoulder.

But now the current was apparently too strong for both of them.

They were hurled up against the paddle wheel of the steamboat, and then disappeared entirely from view.

Jack Broxton gave a groan.

“Harry is lost!”

Jerry shuddered.

“It looks like it,” he replied.

The captain of the steamboat did not dare to move his craft for fear he would do more harm than good.

The mother of the girl continued to struggle to free herself.

But now a cry was heard. It came from the stern of the steamboat.

“There they are!”

“The girl is safe and so is that brave young man.”

Jerry and Jack Broxton heard the cry, and immediately put about in their yacht.

Harry was swimming along on his side. The girl was too weak to support herself, and he was holding her up well out of the water.

It took the Whistler but a moment to run up alongside of the pair. Jerry reached over and caught hold of the girl and placed her on deck.

In the meantime Harry secured a rope thrown by Jack Broxton and pulled himself up.

A cheer arose from those on the excursion boat.

“She is safe now, sure!”

The girl was too exhausted to move, and both boys rubbed her hands and did what they could for her.

Jack Broxton ran up alongside of the steamboat and a little later the girl was placed on board.

The mother clasped her child to her breast.

“Go ahead, Jack,” said Harry in a low voice. “I don’t want the crowd to stare at me.”

“But the mother wants to thank you,” began Jerry.

But Harry would not listen. He was too modest, and made Jack Broxton actually run away from the excursion boat.

But five hundred people cheered Harry and waved their handkerchiefs.

“How did you escape the steamboat?” asked Jerry, when the excitement was over.

“We went under part of her,” was the reply. “I swam for all I knew how, but it was a close call.”

After this Harry retired to the cabin and changed his clothing. He drank several cups of hot coffee, and half an hour later declared that he felt as well as ever.

The remainder of the run down the lake was uneventful. They dropped anchor near the mouth of the Poplar River and started in to fish.

They had all the necessary tackle on board, and procured bait at a boathouse near by.

The yacht was anchored at a well-known spot, and then the sport began.

“I’ve a bite!” cried Harry.

And sure enough he had something. He began to reel in with great rapidity.

“First fish,” said Jerry.

Scarcely had Harry landed his haul than click, click, click went Jerry’s reel. The line went off like a flash.

Jerry began to reel in. That something big was on his hook was certain.

The fish darted in every direction and Jerry had his hands full playing him.

“You’ll lose him!” cried Harry, excitedly.

“I’ll do my best with him,” responded Jerry, quietly.

After playing the fish for nearly five minutes he reeled him in rapidly.

“Get the landing net, Jack,” he said, and the old tar stood ready the moment the fish came into view.

“A bass! A three-pounder!” cried Harry. “By jinks! but that’s a haul worth making!”

It was indeed a beautiful catch, and Jerry was justly proud of it.

After this nothing was caught for twenty minutes. Then Harry landed a fine fat perch weighing a pound. Jack was not fishing, but smoked and looked on contentedly.

Evening found them with a fine mess of bass and perch.

“Not a bad haul,” said Jerry, as he surveyed the lot.

“I reckon it’s about time to be gitting back,” observed Jack Broxton. “We want ter make Lakeview afore dark.”

So the anchor was hoisted and away they went before a nine-knot breeze.

The return was made along the north shore. Here there were numerous little islands, separated from the mainland by a series of channels, some shallow and others deep enough to admit of the passage of a good-sized yacht.

The Whistler was just passing one of these channels, and Jerry and Harry were at the side, cleaning their fish, when suddenly old Jack Broxton uttered a cry.

“What is it, Jack?” asked the young oarsman, quickly, while Harry also raised up.

“There’s a boat over yonder, back of that island, and I’m certain I saw Si Peters and Wash Crosby on board,” was the old boatman’s interesting answer.