"Then I believe Poole and Merwell are the guilty parties," declared Dave. "They must have seen us land, and Poole, I know, Is Itching to pay us back for the way we have cut him."
"All of which doesn't bring back the ice-boat," observed Messmer. "The question is, What are we to do?"
"Hoof it back to Oak Hall—there is nothing else," answered the senator's son, sadly.
Hardly had Roger spoken when Dave heard a peculiar sound on the rocks behind the crowd. He looked back and saw Mike Marcy's mule, nibbling at some bushes.
"The mule—I'm going to catch him!" he ejaculated, and made a leap for the animal. Just as the mule turned he caught hold of the halter.
"Whoa there! Whoa, you rascal!" he cried, and then, watching his chance, he flung himself across the mule's back. The animal pranced around in a lively fashion.
"Look out, Dave, he'll throw you!"
"He'll kick you to death If he gets a chance!"
"Remember, he's a vicious beast!"
The mule continued to dance about and kicked high in the air, throwing Dave well forward. But the boy who had been brought up on a farm clung on, grasping the mule's ears to steady himself. Then of a sudden the mule turned and dashed away through the bushes.
