could find him. But you see I can't--_I_ can't
find him."

"You can make these tracks talk to you. I'm a----"

"No, you're not; listen, _please_. I said--you remember how I said I
wanted to be alone with you--you remember? Well, now we are alone, and
it's going to be you to do it, Roy; it's going to be _you_ to bring
Pee-wee back. Just the same as you made me a scout a year ago, you
remember? You're the only one can do it, Roy," he put his hand on Roy's
shoulder, "and I'll--I'll help you. And it'll seem like old times--sort
of--Roy. But you're the one to do it. You haven't forgotten about the
searchlight, have you, Roy? You remember how you told me about the
scout's arm having a long reach? You remember, Roy? Come on, hurry up!"

CHAPTER XII

THE LONG ARM OF THE SCOUT

As Tom spoke, there came rushing into Roy's memory as vivid as the
searchlight's shaft, a certain dark night a year before when Tom Slade,
hoodlum, had stood by his side and with eyes of wonder watched him flash
a message from Blakeley's Hill to the city below to undo a piece of
vicious mischief of which Tom had been guilty. He had turned the heavens
into an open book for Westy Martin, miles away, to read what he should
do.

A thrill of new hope seized Roy.

"So you see it _will_ be you, Roy."

"It has to be you to remind me of it."

"Shut up!" said Tom.

They ran for the boat at top speed, for, as they both realized, it was
largely a fight against time.

"That train was dragging along pretty slow when it passed _us_," said
Tom.

"Sure, 'bout a million cars," Roy panted. "There's an up-grade, too, I
think, between here and Poughkeepsie. Be half an hour, anyway, before
they make it. You're a wonder. We'll kid the life out of Pee-wee for
riding on a train after all. 'Spose he did it on purpose or got locked
in?"

"Locked in, I guess," said Tom. "Let's try scout pace, I'm getting
winded."

The searchlight which had been an important adjunct of the old _Nymph_
had not been used on the _Good Turn_, for the reason that the boys had
not run her at night. It was an acetylene light of splendid power and
many a little craft Harry Stanton had picked up with it in his nocturnal
cruising. Pee-wee had polished its reflector one day to pass the time,
but with the exception of that attention it had lain in one of the
lockers.

Reaching the boat they pulled the light out, connected it up, and found
to their delight that it was in good working