The Project Gutenberg eBook of The River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio; Or, The Three Blue Lights
    
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Title: The River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio; Or, The Three Blue Lights

Author: Harry Gordon

Illustrator: J. Watson Davis

Release date: October 27, 2015 [eBook #50327]
                Most recently updated: October 22, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
        Proofreading Team at http://www.bookcove.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE OHIO; OR, THE THREE BLUE LIGHTS ***

[Illustration: “Here you,” shouted Mose, “don’t you go near those
motors.”]




  The River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio

  OR

  The Three Blue Lights

  By HARRY GORDON

  Author of
  “The River Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence,”
  “The River Motor Boat Boys on the Colorado,”
  “The River Motor Boat Boys on the Mississippi,”
  “The River Motor Boat Boys on the Amazon,”
  “The River Motor Boat Boys on the Columbia.’

  A. L. Burt Company
  New York




  Copyright, 1913
  By A. L. Burt Company

  THE SIX RIVER MOTOR BOYS ON THE OHIO




  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  I.—IN QUEST OF SPARK PLUGS.
  II.—A “FRIENDLY” CAPTAIN.
  III.—RESISTING AN OFFICER.
  IV.—A DIVE FOR LIBERTY.
  V.—CAPTAIN JOE ON SHORE.
  VI.—JULE TURNS THE SWITCH.
  VII.—THE TRAINING OF TEDDY.
  VIII.—CAPTAIN JOE’S MESSAGE.
  IX.—THE THREE BLUE LIGHTS.
  X.—ANNIVERSARY OF A WRECK.
  XI.—CATCHING BIG CATFISH.
  XII.—THE GHOST OF THE MARY ANN.
  XIII.—EXPLORING A LAGOON.
  XIV.—CAPTAIN JOE HELPS SOME.
  XV.—THE RAMBLER STRIKES BACK.
  XVI.—THE COAL BARGES INTERVENE.
  XVII.—THE TWO CLAIMANTS.
  XVIII.—A FORBIDDEN SUBJECT.
  XIX.—TEDDY MAKES A SENSATION.
  XX.—THE PIRATES’ NEST.
  XXI.—FATE TAKES A TRICK.
  XXII.—THE NIGHT-RIDERS.
  XXIII.—THE RAMBLER’S LIGHTS.
  XXIV.—THE LIGHTS HELP SOME.
  XXV.—GRATEFUL NIGHT-RIDERS.




CHAPTER I.—IN QUEST OF SPARK PLUGS.


“That Kentucky shore looks to me like good hunting.”

“What can you get over there?”

“’Possums, coons, rabbits and squirrels.”

“All right, we’ll go right now and get a coon.”

Cornelius Witters threw himself back on the gunwale and laughed and
shook until little wavelets sprang from the sides of the boat and
rippled away over the Ohio river.

“You’ll get lots of coons in the middle of the afternoon,” he said,
finally. “You have to get coons in the night.”

“Well, there’s another night coming, ain’t there?” suggested Alex
Smithwick. “We’re going to stay here in this eddy until morning, ain’t
we?”

“I guess we’ll have to stay till morning,” Jule Shafer cut in. “The
motor has gone wrong, and Clay doesn’t seem to know how to fix it.”

Clayton Emmett looked up from the motors with a very smutty face and
smiled at the last remark.

“I’ll tell you what it is, boys,” he said, “this motor can’t be put in
good shape until we get another consignment of spark plugs.”

The four boys, Clayton Emmett, Alex Smithwick, Jule Shafer and Cornelius
Witters, gathered about the motor, looking with disgust at its
motionless cranks. The boat had been turned into an eddy on the Kentucky
side of the Ohio river about noon, and Clay had been working at the
machinery ever since in the hope of getting farther down the river that
night.

“Well,” Case said, after a short silence, “some one must go out to
civilization and buy some spark plugs. How far do you think we’ll have
to go? Of course these little trading points on the river don’t keep
spark plugs. We’ll be lucky if we even get gasoline there.”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” Clay suggested.

“We may be able to buy or borrow spark plugs from some passing launch or
steamer. There are store-boats on the Ohio, you know, and they may carry
all kinds of motor boat supplies.”

“Oh yes,” Alex grinned, “there are store-boats on the Ohio, and whiskey
boats, and show-boats, and house-boats, and about a thousand other kinds
of boats, but I don’t believe they carry such supplies as we want.”

“It’s just a chance,” Clay went on. “We may be able to get a supply from
some motor boat, but in the meantime we’d better be looking about in
other directions.”

“All right,” Case exclaimed, excitedly, “Alex and I will go out hunting
and steer toward any little river town we get wise to. We may find motor
supplies in any old shanty town.”

“All right,” Clay replied. “Go out and get a mess of squirrels or
rabbits while you’re hunting for a supply store.”

The motor boat _Rambler_ lay in an eddy on the Kentucky side of the Ohio
river, some distance below Louisville. The four owners had put the boat
into the river at Pittsburg, and were making their way to the
Mississippi at Cairo.

They had only recently returned from an extended trip up the St.
Lawrence river. From Ogdensburg they had followed the Great Lakes to
Chicago, which was their home. From Ogdensburg the motor boat had been
accompanied by the launch _Cartier_, which had been presented to Captain
Joe, one of their old-time friends, because of important services
rendered by the boys. Those who have read the previous books of this
series will understand the build and speed of the _Rambler_, and also
the affectionate relations existing between the four boys and Captain
Joe, an ex-sea, lake and river captain.

Captain Joe had been urged by the lads to accompany them on their trip
down the Ohio with his launch, but had objected, saying that the boys
would be sure to get into all kinds of scrapes, and that he did not care
to become responsible for the actions of a crew going about the world
looking for trouble!

The old captain, however, had a very alert and intelligent
representative on board the _Rambler_ in the person of Captain Joe, a
white bulldog of forbidding appearance. This dog had been purchased at
Para, Brazil, by Alex, and had often made himself useful during trying
situations on previous trips.

There was also another passenger on board the _Rambler_ whose name did
not appear on the crew list. This was Teddy, the quarter-grown grizzly
bear which Alex had rescued from a floating tree in the Columbia river,
near the source of that wonderful stream.

The bear and the dog were very good friends, playing together like
kittens. During their many river trips the boys had taught the bear to
box, wrestle and frisk about in the water. Captain Joe was always ready
for a tussle with the bear, and had a habit of following Alex
surreptitiously every time the boy left the boat.

The _Rambler_ was well supplied with provisions and ammunition of all
kinds, but, the supply of gasoline running low, the tanks being
well-nigh empty, and the spark plug badly worn, the boys had proposed
early in the day to merely drift down the river, keeping headway with
the sweep.

But a little experience of this mode of traveling on the great stream
had caused them to tie up in an eddy on the Kentucky side. It was
September, and the Ohio was alive with traffic of all kinds.

During the early part of the day they had passed several excursion
boats, gay with flags and music, almost a fleet of shanty-boats, and
innumerable packets, stern-wheelers and side-wheelers. Drifting with no
control to speak of, the _Rambler_ had several times come very near
collision with larger boats.

On the Ohio, as well as on the Mississippi and the St. Lawrence, the
traffic-men seem to have a great contempt for those who go about in
gasoline boats. Captains and pilots unite in making trouble for the
owners of such craft whenever it is possible to do so.

Once that forenoon the _Rambler_ had come very near destruction because
of a monstrous tow of coal barges moving down upon it. Later, the boys
had been annoyed and insulted by a gang of toughs who were lounging over
the railing of a whiskey boat which was passing up the river.

It was finally arranged that Alex and Case should go ashore and look
about for a place where supplies might be purchased. There were no
settlements in sight from the point where the _Rambler_ lay, but the
boys thought that, as she lay just above a great bend which swept around
a long peninsula, turning to the south at last, there might be business
places not far away which were not in view.

“And while you are gone,” Jule called out as the boys rowed ashore,
“catch a coon and half a dozen squirrels. I can make a squirrel pie that
will bring Captain Joe down from Chicago!”

“All right!” Alex called back. “We’ll bring game enough to last a week.
Get your fires all ready by dark.”

The shore on which the boys found themselves a few moments later was
wild and rocky. There were great oaks towering along the side hills and
immense trees of hickory, beech and walnut shut out the view on all
sides. There was also a heavy undergrowth.

“Where are you heading for?” asked Case, as Alex turned into a thicket
and went tramping through it with a great noise.

“I think,” Alex replied, “that we’d better keep off to the west and
south. I looked at a map of the river just before I left the boat, and
there’s a great bend here. We can walk across it in an hour or two, but
it would take half a day to float or row around it.”

“I see,” Case answered. “There may be a town in a nook around the bend.
That’s where they build towns in this country.”

The boys made good time for an hour or more, when they came out on the
bank of the river perhaps three miles from the boat, across the bend,
and ten or fifteen by way of the river. Just below them, hardly forty
rods from the point where they emerged from the underbrush, they saw a
little river settlement composed of half a dozen ramshackle houses, a
fishing dock, and one store building.

“There!” Alex said. “I’ll bet we find spark plugs there!”

“If we find as many spark plugs there as we didn’t find squirrels coming
through,” Case laughed, “It will take a long time to get our motor
started.”

“Oh, well,” Alex answered, “we didn’t look very hard for squirrels,
anyway. We’ll see what they’ve got here, and do our hunting on the way
back.”

“Clay may get what we want from some of the boats,” Case suggested.
“There are lots of boats on the river that ought to carry spark plugs.
It’s dollars to apples that every motor boat we’ve seen to-day carries
an extra supply.”

“That won’t do us any good,” Alex answered, “if they don’t show a
disposition to pass them around.”

“Do you know,” Case went on, “I’m afraid of some of those river boats.
There’s a tougher gang on some of them than you’ll find on Clark street.
They drink third-rail whiskey, made up in the mountains, and are ready
to do murder after a dozen doses of it.”

“Well,” Alex said, “we’ll just have to watch out, that’s all.”

“You remember that red, white and blue boat we saw yesterday?” Case went
on. “That was a gambling house proper. Just looking over the gunwale
into the cabin windows, I saw roulette wheels in operation and three
faro layouts crowded with excited gamblers.”

“Yes,” Alex assented, “and it looked to me like they were playing stud
poker out in the open. It’s a wonder the people along the river don’t
put dynamite under those boats some night.”

“I reckon,” Case suggested, “that the people along the river are more
afraid of the store-boats than they are of the gambling boats. These
store-boat men steal everything they can get their hands on. They have
been known to raid small towns, strip the shelves of the business
places, and even take valuable furniture and musical instruments from
the residences. When they get a boat load of this sort of plunder, they
take it down to New Orleans, where it is disposed of by men who make a
business of doing that sort of thing.”

Alex scratched his red head and wrinkled his freckled nose for a minute
and then turned to his chum with a grin on his face.

“If they try to get the _Rambler_,” he said, “don’t forget that we have
dynamite under the after deck near the gasoline tanks.”

“If they try to get the _Rambler_,” Case exclaimed, “they’ll do it while
we are away on shore, or asleep. These river rats are too cowardly to
put up an open fight. They do their work in the dark.”

“That’s one reason why I don’t like being away from the boat long at a
time,” Alex went on. “Clay and Jule would do anything any two boys could
do to protect our property, but, all the same, two boys wouldn’t cut
much ice with a gang of river pirates like I’ve seen on those boats.”

As the boy ceased speaking he laid an excited hand on Case’s shoulder
and turned his face in the direction from which they had come.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

Case nodded and turned back to the east.

“It sounded like a gun,” he exclaimed. “I’m going back to the boat.”

Alex held him back and pointed toward the settlement below.

“We may as well see about the spark plugs,” he advised. “It won’t take
us very much longer. That noise may be only hunters, anyway.”

Trying their best to conceal their excitement, the boys moved down the
slope to the river bank and stopped on a level platform before the store
door. The shots were now coming in a volley.




CHAPTER II.—A “FRIENDLY” CAPTAIN.


After the departure of Alex and Case, Clay and Jule continued their
efforts to get the motor into working order. In the meantime, however,
they kept a sharp lookout for the approach of some boat which might
possibly supply them with what they needed.

However, they had little hope of relief from any river craft.

“There must be some towns along the river, below the bend,” Jule
insisted. “The boys will find some sort of place where motor supplies
are sold.”

“If they do,” Clay answered, “I hope they’ll bring a whole pocketful of
spark plugs.”

“And I hope they’ll bring back a dozen squirrels, and six rabbits, and a
coon, and a ’possum!” Jule laughed. “Here we’ve been on this river all
the way down from Pittsburg, and haven’t had any wild game yet! I’ve
eaten fish until I believe there are fins growing on my toes.”

“There’s a large motor boat coming down,” Clay said, pointing up stream.
“Perhaps we can get what we want by going aboard.”

“Looks like a pretty decent sort of a craft,” Jule suggested.

“It looks to me like a store-boat, anyhow,” Clay went on.

“Then we’ll give ’em a hail!”

The call from the _Rambler_ was answered immediately, and a large-sized
motor boat turned in toward the Kentucky shore. The name “Hawk” was
discernible on the prow as she came slowly on.

“What idiot named a sailing vessel after a bird?” asked Jule.

“She may be a bird, at that,” decided Clay. “She looks as if she could
go some, anyway.”

“Hello, the boat!” now came from the _Hawk_.

“Have you got motor supplies?” Clay called back.

“What kind of supplies?”

“Spark plugs,” was the answer.

“Come on board and we’ll fit you out.”

“That’s the talk!” Jule shouted.

“Where are you bound for?” called out a man on the deck of the _Hawk_.

“Just down the river,” Clay answered.

The man who had been speaking from the freight deck of the _Hawk_ now
turned away and conversed for a moment with two men who had been
listening to the conversation. As the fellow talked, he pointed with his
thumb over his shoulder, significantly, at the _Rambler_.

“I don’t like the looks of this!” Clay declared.

“Then let’s cut it out,” replied Jule.

“We can’t very well cut it out!” Clay exclaimed. “They probably know
we’re tied up here with a disabled motor. If they are the kind of people
we fear they are, they’ll come and get us anyway. I wish Alex and Case
were here.”

“Shall we stay here and shoot if they attempt to board us?” asked Jule,
the light of battle flaming in his usually merry eyes.

Clay thought hard for a moment and then turned back to the cabin for his
automatic, which he took good care to keep out of sight.

“Are you coming aboard?” the man shouted from the _Hawk_.

“We haven’t any boat,” Clay replied. “Our friends have gone hunting on
shore.”

“We’ll fix that all right,” was called back, and in a moment a rowboat
rounded the stern of the _Hawk_ and made its way rapidly to the
_Rambler_. The boys watched the appearance of the boat with premonitions
of danger. The two rowers looked like veritable river pirates.

“Pile in!” shouted one of the men gruffly as he held on to the
anchor-chain of the motor boat. “Hustle yourselves in here, and I’ll
have you over to the _Hawk_ in a minute.”

Motioning to Jule to remain where he was, Clay dropped into the rowboat
and told the man to pull away.

“Isn’t your friend coming?” one of the rowers asked.

“We can’t leave the boat alone,” was the reply. “Why, we’ll be right
here alongside,” urged the other.

As he spoke he lifted a hairy, repulsive face toward the _Rambler_ and
shouted:

“Come on, lad, the captain is fixing up a treat for you boys!”

“I’ve got to stay on board,” Jule answered.

“Oh, come along,” ordered the other, almost angrily.

“Pull away,” Clay advised, “we never leave the boat alone, night or day.
It isn’t safe to do so on the Ohio.”

“Perhaps that isn’t a bad notion, either,” one of the rowers replied,
with a sullen smile. “Perhaps the captain will send some one on board to
keep him company.”

Clay saw by the significant and sneering looks passing between the two
men that they considered him a prisoner already. So much of a prisoner,
in fact, that they did not consider it necessary to attempt to conceal
their contempt and their triumph.

Had the _Rambler_ been in fit condition he would have leaped out of the
boat and speeded away. It seemed to him now, however, that the
common-sense course would be to find out exactly what kind of a boat the
_Hawk_ was before taking any steps having the appearance of alarm.

“All right!” the boy answered in response to the rower’s offer to send
some one on board to keep Jule company, “the boy may become lonesome
after a time, although I shall be gone only a very few moments.”

“There’s a mighty jolly crowd on board our boat,” the rower went on.
“There’s many a man gets aboard for an hour’s ride and never gets off
for a hundred miles.”

“I don’t doubt it!” Clay said with a laugh.

It was the work of only a moment to land the unwilling boy on the
freight deck of the _Hawk_. He was at once surrounded by a group of men
who seemed to represent all grades of society. There was the
well-dressed man wearing diamonds and the man who was garbed like a
river rat!

The captain was a hatchet-faced man with rat eyes and a perfect bill of
a nose. His manner was offensive as he approached Clay familiarly and
laid a hand on his shoulder.

“So you’re going down the river on a little trip of your own, eh?” he
asked. “Nice boat you’ve got.”

“Yes,” Clay answered, “it’s not expensive, but it’s pretty well rigged
out. She’s a bit fast, too, when in good shape.”

“Looks like she could go some,” agreed the captain.

“What are you trading in?” asked a handsomely-dressed man who looked
enough like the captain to be his brother.

“Oh,” Clay replied, “we’re just out for amusement; taking our vacation
on the river.”

“That’s a good bluff, too,” the other sneered. “People don’t trail along
the Ohio just for the fun of the thing.”

“If you’ve got whiskey aboard,” another called out, “you want to keep
off our beat. We’re doing a little in that line ourselves.”

By this time Clay was thoroughly frightened. He saw that he was in the
hands of a desperate and reckless gang of river thieves. While
pretending to be a store-boat, the _Hawk_ was merely a floating
receptacle for stolen goods, with gambling as an assistant money-maker.

“You said,” the boy began in a moment, trying his best to conceal what
he really felt, “that you could fit me out with spark plugs if I came on
board.”

“Sure, we can!” answered the captain, with a sty wink at another. We can
fit you out with anything on this little old boat.”

“All right,” Clay answered, “if you’ll get me the plugs, I’ll pay for
them and go back to the _Rambler_.”

“No hurry!” laughed the captain. “No hurry at all. Still,” he continued,
“if you’re anxious to get back, I’ll send one of the boys into the
storeroom to look for the spark plug while you come up for a little
social visit in the cabin.”

“No need of that,” smiled Clay, “I may as well remain on the lower deck.
It probably won’t take long to find what I need.

The captain took the boy by the arm in a manner evidently intended to be
friendly.

“Oh, come on!” he said. “We’ve got a slick little boat here, and I want
you to look her over.”

“You bet we have!” cried another, “and we don’t let guests leave us
without giving them something of a treat.”

Clay’s inclination was to deal the insulting captain a blow in the face,
plunge into the river, and make for the _Rambler_. He knew very well,
however, that such a course would instantly bring about hostilities;
whereas, if he pretended to be unaware of their purpose, assistance in
some form might come to him.

“Yes, come along!” urged the captain. “I’ll send a couple of boys over
to bring your chum, and we’ll have a jolly night of it.”

It was useless for Clay to falter or draw back, so he stepped along as
if grateful for the invitation. His hope was that Jule would understand
the situation of affairs on board the _Hawk_ and stand guard on deck
with a good supply of automatic revolvers.

“Where’d you say you came from?” asked the captain as they ascended the
stairway to the cabin. “Chicago,” was the short reply.

“Nice town, Chicago,” the captain went on with a leer. “I used to live
in Chicago. I know every foot of the North Branch. Goose Island used to
be my favorite resort.”

Clay was thinking that if the captain had ever resided in Chicago he
must have left it at the request of the police, but did not say so.
Reaching the cabin, the captain led Clay to a long, narrow stateroom
looking out on the Kentucky shore. He took pains, however, to seat the
boy so that he could not look out on the _Rambler_.

Before seating himself the captain proceeded to a cupboard hanging on
the wall and took out two bottles and a siphon. One of the bottles
contained whiskey; the other wine.

“It strikes me,” the captain said, “that this moonshine whiskey is a
little bit too strong for boys, so I’ll give you a glass of wine. That’s
prime wine, too. I bought it in Pittsburg and paid a big price for it.
If you were to buy that wine, kiddo, you’d pay about two bits a glass
for it. It’s the right kind of stuff.”

“Then I wouldn’t buy it!” Clay answered with a smile. “The fact is,” he
continued, “we haven’t got any money to waste on drink, and don’t care
for it, anyway.”

The captain went to a faucet with a glass and brought back two goblets
of water. Just before he turned away from the faucet Clay was certain
that he saw him dropping something into one of the glasses.

“Well,” the captain said, sitting down at the table and pushing one of
the glasses over toward Clay, “I don’t urge any boy to drink anything
intoxicating, but it would take a lot of this wine to creep up to a
man’s head. Perhaps a glass of water will be just as good for you.”

Clay suspected that if he drank the water he would soon become
unconscious. The captain of the _Hawk_ was playing a quick game. He had
not been aboard the vessel more than five minutes, and yet here he was
in the captain’s cabin, being urged to partake of a drugged drink!

He arose with the glass in his hand, walked to the open window and
looked out. The glass dropped with a crash. The act was involuntary for
Clay saw the _Rambler_ whirling away down the stream.




CHAPTER III.—RESISTING AN OFFICER.


While Alex and Case stood, hesitating, on the little platform in front
of the store, two men came rushing out with excitement showing in their
faces.

“What’s the shooting, boys?” one of them asked.

“I haven’t any idea,” Alex replied. “We just came from that part of the
country, and everything was quiet when we left.”

“It’s a sure thing,” one of the men, who seemed to be owner of the
store, declared angrily, “that those river pirates have broken loose
again.”

“I’m afraid so,” his companion answered.

“Do they give you much trouble?” asked Case.

“Trouble!” exclaimed the merchant. “They come here and strip my shelves.
They bring a howling mob of river rats into the town and take everything
they can get their hands on.”

“Why don’t you have them arrested?” asked Alex.

“Arrested!” exclaimed the other. “They’re here one night and the next
night they’re hundreds of miles away, with a new coat of paint and a new
name on their boat. Besides all that, you can’t get half the officers
along here to take any action at all. You go to them and make a
complaint and they’ll say that the robbery wasn’t committed in their
county, or in their township, or in the state of Kentucky, or something
of that kind! My honest opinion is that they’re afraid of the pirates.”

“Don’t put it too strong,” the other advised. “There’s some pretty good
officers along the river. Besides, there’s the Government boats.”

“Yes, there’s the Government boats,” decided the merchant, “but the
Government boats are as easy to keep track of as a white elephant would
be in our main street. The river rats wait until Uncle Sam’s boats get
out of sight before they attempt any mischief.”

During this conversation, the boys had been listening for more pistol
shots from the direction in which the _Rambler_ lay. They had little
doubt that Clay and Jule were in trouble. They knew, too, that the
_Rambler_ was virtually helpless, so the boys had no chance whatever of
escaping from any hostile boat. Directly Alex turned to the merchant and
asked:

“Do you keep motor boat supplies?”

The merchant turned to his friend and indulged in a long, slow,
insulting wink.

“So,” he said significantly, “you boys have a motor boat up the river?”

“Yes,” Case replied, “but the motors are out of order.”

“Is that where the shootin’ is?” asked the merchant.

“There was no shooting when we left,” Alex answered.

“Come, come, now!” the merchant advised. “You boys may as well tell me
the truth. Was it one of them pirate boats that sent you here after
motor supplies?”

“We have a motor boat of our own,” Alex answered angrily. “She is lying
in an eddy on the other side of the bend, and we don’t dare to drift her
down stream.”

“That’s too bad!” said the suspicious merchant with another long and
insulting wink. “What is it you want in the way of supplies?”

“Spark plugs,” was the short answer.

“Well,” said the merchant, “extending a bony finger and poking Alex on
the chest, “I keep a few spark plugs because there are a good many motor
boats passing along the river.”

“Yes,” laughed the man who stood with him on the platform, “you keep
spark plugs, but you take pretty good care not to sell them to men who
will put them to unlawful use.”

“That’s the idea!” said the merchant.

“Will you sell us some?” asked Case indignantly.

“I might,” was the reply, “after a time. Just now, you see,” he went on,
regarding his companion knowingly, “just now, we think we’d better hold
you boys until we find out what all that shooting is about.”

“Hold us?” repeated Alex and Case in a breath.

“It’s just this way,” the merchant went on, “this man here is constable
in this township. It was him I was giving the dig to a little while ago
about the officers not being ready to take action.”

The officer turned back the lapel of his coat and ostentatiously
displayed a brass badge.

“Yes,” he said, “I’m constable of this township, and old Bill, here,
never gets tired of telling folks that the officers ain’t no account.”

The two men roared lustily, pounding each other on the shoulders,
evidently regarding the whole affair as a good joke.

“Come,” Alex said, “will you sell me some spark plugs?”

“You can’t buy nothin’ just now,” the constable declared. “You’re both
under arrest!”

“What for?” asked Case.

“We think,” the constable replied, “that the pirates sent you here to
look over the town and see what they could get. That’s too thin, your
talking about spark plugs. Why, every boat carries a lot of them.”

“If this man is a constable,” urged Alex, “why don’t he hasten over to
the other side of the bend and find out what that shooting is about?”

“There,” snarled the constable, “now I know you’re in cahoots with a
gang of river thieves. Old Bill, here, heard you try to get me to go
right up there where they’re shooting, tried to get me to run my neck
right into a noose!”

“They’re dangerous boys,” the merchant suggested. “Why don’t you look
them over for weapons?”

By this time quite a crowd was collecting about the little store. The
merchant and the constable were receiving all sorts of advice, and women
and girls stood about with red hands rolled up in their aprons, watching
the two suspects with frightened eyes.

“I reckon I’d better be seeing what they’ve got on,” the constable said
with an important air. “They probably didn’t come down here without
guns.”

As the constable stepped forward Alex and Case exchanged quick glances,
each asking the other what ought to be done. They understood that arrest
there meant confinement in a country jail for several days, perhaps
weeks, before they could establish their identity.

They knew, too, that their assistance was needed on board the _Rambler_.
The shooting had disclosed a situation anything but peaceful.

“Come on, now, boys!” the constable shouted “Let’s see what you’ve got
in your pockets.”

“And don’t you try to hide nothing away from us, either,” the merchant
added. “Turn your pockets wrong side out.”

“All right,” Alex said, so angry that his face was whiter than Case had
ever seen him before. “We’ll show you what we’ve got in our pockets.”

As he spoke, he drew forth an automatic revolver and held it
threateningly at the head of the constable. Case was not slow in
following his example. The little crowd instantly scattered; some
dashing around the corners of the store and others hiding behind barrels
and boxes. The women present let out such screams as the boys had never
heard before. The merchant and the constable both broke for the store
door. Such a scattering the little town had never seen before that day.

In a second the constable opened the door of the store about six inches
and peered out, shaking a rusty shotgun in one hand. The merchant stood
behind him, looking out of the glass panel and showing an old army
carbine.

“We’re armed! We’re armed!” called out the constable. “Don’t you try to
come in here! You boys will get a life sentence for this!”

“This is highway robbery, and murder, and piracy!” shouted the merchant.

The boys backed away from the platform so as to be out of reach of any
shot from the angle of the building and paused a second for
consultation.

“We’ve got him buffaloed!” was Alex’s, first remark.

“Hadn’t we better be getting out?” Case asked. “I’ve a good mind to go
in there and fill my pockets with spark plugs,” Alex declared.

“That would be a nice thing to do, wouldn’t it?” scoffed Case. “That
would be larceny from a store in the daytime, and you can get fifteen
years for that; and if you went into a store with a gun and put the
keeper in peril of his life, you could get fifty or sixty years!”

“Then I won’t do it!” grinned Alex.

“It’s me for the _Rambler_!” Case declared. “It will take us until dark
to get there now, and as soon as we turn our backs that bum constable
will have a hundred men out after us.”

“And that means that we’ve got to hot-foot through the bushes!” Alex
declared. “We can beat ’em if they don’t get dogs.”

The boys turned into the undergrowth and ran, tearing their clothes and
scratching their hands on wild vines, and occasionally falling over a
protruding tree-root. At one time they both lay in a heap at the foot of
a beech tree, where they had fallen over a mass of vines. When they
scrambled to their feet they heard shouts of laughter coming from a
thicket not far away.

“Guess they’ve got us!” panted Alex.

“I guess they have!” Case agreed.

The next moment the brown barrel of a rifle was thrust out at the boys.
The boys sat flat down on the ground and waited.

“That’s right!” the holder of the gun said, stepping out of the thicket.
“Set right down and take things easy. If you try to unlimber any
artillery, you’ll get the worst of it.”

The man was tall, bony, angular. His face was clean-shaven, showing high
cheek bones, with prominent nose and a cleft chin. His hair was brown,
his eyes blue, and the general expression of his face at that moment was
humorous rather than threatening.

“What’s the idea?” Alex asked.

“You don’t look like a man capable of holding up two boys!” Case put in.
“You look like a pretty decent chap.”

“If you’ve got any masked batteries with you,” the man said a smile
showing on his rugged face, “just poke them out here, handle first, and
then we’ll arrive at some understanding!”

The boys did as directed, although they would have made a fight for
their weapons only for the indescribable air of friendliness about the
man. They rose to their feet as they dropped their revolvers.

“Better put that gun down,” Alex advised. “You might get excited and let
it go off.”

The man sat down on a fallen log and laid the gun across his knees.

“Where you boys from?” he asked.

The man’s voice and manner invited confidence, and the boys told him
briefly the story of the _Rambler_, and of the shooting at the point
where they had left her.

“I think you boys are all right,” the man said, and I think, too, that
river pirates are making trouble for your friends.”

“Do you think they will follow us from the landing?” Case asked,
anxiously. “They may shoot us from the bushes.”

The man pounded his thigh with one ponderous hand and laughed until the
woods rang. The boys looked on in wonder.

“Follow you? I should say not,” he said in a moment. “Why that constable
deputized me to come and take you prisoners. He’s helping old Bill
barricade his store. Now we’ll see if we can find out what’s wrong with
the _Rambler_.”




CHAPTER IV.—A DIVE FOR LIBERTY.


Left alone on board the _Rambler_, Jule lay for a long time behind the
gunwale watching the _Hawk_. He saw Clay surrounded by a group of
ill-looking fellows as soon as he gained the freight deck. He knew by
the boy’s face that all was not going well.

When Clay was taken up the cabin stairs and into the stateroom by the
captain, Jule got out his field glass and scrutinized the windows of the
boat. Directly he saw the captain come to a window facing the _Rambler_
and look out. Clay was nowhere in sight.

Lying thus, almost flat on the deck, watching the _Hawk_ intently, the
boy could not see what was going on on the starboard side of the boat.
Indeed, so closely was he watching the _Hawk_ that he did not notice a
little shiver which ran through the craft as two husky men crept over
the gunwale and stood looking down upon him.

“Hello, kid!” one of the men said roughly in a moment.

Jule turned around to see two revolvers pointing at his head. He laid
down his automatic and rose to his feet. The two men on the deck before
him were signaling to the men on the _Hawk_, while the latter were
shouting words of congratulation.

“Oh, Gid and I got her all right!” one of the men said.

“You bet we did,” the man referred to as Gid went on.

“What shall we do with the boy?” was the next question.

“We’ll send after him,” was the reply from the _Hawk_.

Jule walked over to a chair and sat down. There was nothing whatever he
could do. He knew that Clay was in the hands of the river pirates, and
that resistance would be useless.

“If you don’t mind,” he said finally, “I’d rather stay on board the
_Rambler_. It seems like home here.”

“There’s more fun on board the _Hawk_,” laughed Gid.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything to drink on board this boat?” asked
Gid’s companion.

“There’s plenty of water,” answered Jule.

“Don’t insult Mike with a drink of water,” Gid advised; “Mike likes
water to that extent that he won’t even wash in it.”

“He looks it!” Jule declared.

“No lip, now, young fellow!” Mike broke in.

“What are you going to do with the boat?” asked Jule.

“Why, this boat,” Gid answered, “will make a fine tender for the _Hawk_.
We’ve been wanting a fine boat like this for a long time. You see, we
get parties on board the _Hawk_, sometimes, who need a little more care
than the ordinary river chap. When such get tired of our company, and
we’re willing to let them go, we take ’em home in style.”

“Well,” Jule answered, “the motors are out of order, so you can’t run
the _Rambler_, and I’m not sorry for that, either.”

“We can tow her, can’t we, until we can get the motors fixed?” asked
Mike. “It won’t take much to fix the engine.”

“All right!” Jule said. “When you get her fixed up all right we’ll take
her off your hands.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” laughed Gid. “If you don’t watch out, son,
you’ll be wanting some one to take you off our hands.”

The two men now moved up to the prow of the boat and whispered together
for a long time. They paid no attention to signals and calls from the
_Hawk_, and so a small boat was soon making its way toward the
_Rambler_. Jule saw the two men handling their guns nervously as the
boat supposed to contain members of their own party approached.

The boy watched the situation anxiously. It seemed to him that the two
men who had boarded the _Rambler_ were not at all pleased at the
approach of the rowboat. It appeared, too, that those on board the
_Hawk_ were watching Gid and Mike suspiciously.

When the boat drew near, the man who had been called Mike leaned over
the gunwale with a revolver in each hand.

“Keep away, boys!” he said. “We don’t want you on board!”

“What does this mean?” demanded the mate of the _Hawk_, who was one of
the men in the small boat.

“Never mind what it means,” Mike called out.

“Keep away from the boat if you don’t want to be shot!”

While Mike was holding the mate off with his revolvers, Gid stood by the
boy also with revolvers in sight. The mate of the _Hawk_ threw his hand
back as if to produce a weapon and Mike passed a bullet so close to the
side of his head that it scorched his scalp.

“Don’t try to get out any guns!” the man ordered. “Get back to the
_Hawk_ and stay there!”

“What right have you to take that boat?” demanded the mate.

“No words, now!” Mike shouted. “Get back to the _Hawk_!”

“We’ll sink you if you move away from here!” shouted the mate.

“You’ll do lot’s of sinking, with Government boats patrolling the
river!” mocked Mike. “You’d get pinched in half an hour.”

“How do you expect to get away with that boat?” demanded the mate.

“Why, we’ve got one of the owners on board,” Mike laughed back, “and
he’ll tell the Government officers anything we ask him to.”

“And look here, Mr. River Thief!” Gid joined in, “if you make any noise
about the taking of this boat, or try to make trouble for us, or open
your mouths to the river police, we’ll give the _Hawk_ away good and
plenty. Every murder and every dirty game that’s been played on board
will be in the Government’s books within twenty-four hours.”

Slowly, sullenly, the mate turned the boat around and headed for the
_Hawk_, glancing back over his shoulders with angry eyes as he did so.
Hoots of derision came to him from the deck of the _Hawk_ as he
returned. It was quite evident that those on board the _Hawk_ knew what
had taken place.

“Look here, kid!” Gid said to Jule as the boat turned back, “get down
there and loosen the anchor-chain. We must be getting out of this and we
haven’t got time to hoist her up!”

“I can’t do it while there’s a strain on the chain,” Jule answered.

“Then wait a minute,” directed the other, “and she’ll probably slacken
up.”

Caught in a contrary swirl of the eddy in which she lay, the _Rambler_
gave a lurch ahead, in a moment, and Jule took the opportunity of
slipping the stopper from the chain.

When the boat settled back again the chain ran out of the hawse-pipe
with a clatter which attracted the attention of those on board the
_Hawk_, and many oaths and epithets were passed back and forth over the
water.

Not for long, however, for the _Rambler_ swinging out into the current,
gradually swept down. Now she ran stern against the current, now prow
against the current; now sideways; now swirling round and round in an
ugly whirlpool.

It was at this moment that Clay, approaching the window in the captain’s
stateroom, saw what had taken place. He turned to the latter a face red
with anger, his eyes flashing, his fists clenched.

“What is the meaning of that?” he asked pointing out of the window.

The captain bounded to the window and peered out. At that moment an
imperative knock sounded on the stateroom door.

“What is it?” demanded the captain, opening the door and starting out.
“Why is that boat running away?”

“Mike and Gid have stolen her!” shouted the mate. “They threatened me
with guns when I tried to board her. Now they threaten all on board the
_Hawk_ if we attempt to recapture the _Rambler_.”

The captain tore about the stateroom in a blind rage, dancing up and
down and shaking his fists in every direction. The mate stood by only a
trifle less excited. It looked like a show to Clay.

“I’ll kill the dirty dogs!” shouted the captain. “I’ll murder them both
before they’re a week older! They threatened me, did they? They
threatened to turn us over to the officers, did they?”

“That’s what they did!” shouted the mate. “Mike had the drop on me, or I
would have settled the matter right then.”

While this conversation was going on Clay stood by the stateroom window,
wondering whether it would be possible for him to leap out and drop to
the river. His idea was that the men who had stolen the _Rambler_ could
not by any possibility be more vicious than the men on board the _Hawk_;
besides, if he could reach Jule, the two might stand some chance of
recovering the motor boat.

While he stood making up his mind to undertake the difficult task of
leaving the boat without being detected by those on the outside, two
pistol shots came from the deck. Instantly the captain and mate whirled
out of the stateroom, the latter stopping for an instant to lock the
door before dashing down to the scene of the disturbance.

Clay knew by the trembling of the deck under his feet that they were
getting the _Hawk_ under way. He saw little puffs of smoke coming from
the deck of the _Rambler_, and rightly surmised that the shots had been
fired at her. While he stood undecided, the _Hawk_ began moving down
stream, following in the wake of the _Rambler_.

Without waiting another instant, the boy made his way out of the window
and clung to the casing until his feet came in contact with one of the
fenders. Then he dropped down into the river with a splash which, in the
excitement of getting away, was not observed by those on the lower deck.
Indeed, the boy was some distance from the pirate vessel before his
absence was discovered at all. Then the captain returned to his
stateroom and found it empty.

Rushing to the window, he fired several shots at the boy, but all to no
purpose. He was greatly excited, and the boy was diving and dodging in
the water so not one of the bullets took effect.

When Mike and Gid, on board the _Rambler_, saw the boy swimming in the
water they naturally supposed him to be one of the crew of the _Hawk_.
Therefore, they began firing at him, thus placing him between two
dangers.

Seeing that it would be impossible for him to board the _Rambler_ under
the circumstances, the boy dropped down in the water and made for the
shore, where he landed, sorely out of breath, in a few moments.

It was September, so the water was not very cold, and Clay suffered
little inconvenience from his bath at that time. His first act was to
secrete himself behind the bole of a large hickory tree and watch what
was going on in the river.

The _Rambler_ was still drifting down with the current, wheeling this
way and that, threatened with destruction nearly every instant. The
_Hawk_, now under full power, was shooting past her, evidently with the
intention of heading her off and blocking farther progress.

While the boy looked and waited he saw a white head lifted above the
gunwale and the next moment Captain Joe, the bulldog, leaped into the
river. Clay gave a low whistle to direct the dog in his direction and
stood with his heart in his mouth, almost, waiting to see if the brutes
on board the motor boat would fire at the bulldog.

Just at that moment, however, Gid and Mike were busy with sweeps and
oars trying to get the _Rambler_ out of an eddy around which it was
whirling aimlessly. Jule looked over the gunwale of the boat in a moment
and Clay signaled to him from behind the tree. The next moment the
bulldog sprang upon Clay in joyful greeting and the two disappeared in
the woods.

Jule went back into the cabin and threw himself down on a bunk.

“I don’t believe,” he moaned, “that we’ll ever get the _Rambler_ away
from these thieves!”




CHAPTER V.—CAPTAIN JOE ON SHORE.


“I’ll tell you right now,” Alex declared, panting and out of breath in
his efforts to keep pace with the long stride of the new-found friend,
“that there isn’t anything the matter with the _Rambler_. There never
was anything wrong with the boat, and there never will be. She may be in
trouble, but she’s been there before.”

“Yes,” Case added, “and we’ve always gotten her out of her troubles, and
we’ll do it again. What’s your name, Mister?” he added, turning to the
lanky guide who was forcing them through the thickets at such swift
pace.

“My name,” the other replied, “is Hank Beers. I live up in the
mountains, and I came down to-day to see about negotiating for a little
product I make up there.”

“Are you a moonshiner?” asked Case, innocently.

“No, I’m not a moonshiner,” replied Hank. “I’m making a superior quality
of aeroplanes up in the hills. When I get one finished I put it in a
suit case and bring it down.”

“That means,” Alex laughed, “that the product of your factory is
intended to send people up in the air!”

“Put it any way you like,” laughed Hank. “The point with us now is to
find out what’s become of that boat of yours. You say you left her up at
the stem of the bend?”

“Yes,” answered Case, “we left her to get a spark plug and some
squirrels. That shooting, you know, may not have been at the _Rambler_
or from the _Rambler_. We may be unnecessarily excited about it.”

“Young man,” declared Hank, “when you hear shooting going on like that
in this vicinity, you just make up your mind that the river pirates have
something to do with it.”

“Why don’t they get out and lynch these river pirates?” demanded Case.

“Sakes alive!” exclaimed Hank. “If we Kentuckians lynched all the people
who make us trouble, we’d have to import telegraph poles to hang ’em on.
There wouldn’t be anywhere near enough trees for the business.”

“I thought Kentucky was a law-abiding state,” remarked Alex.

“She’s the most law-abiding state you ever heard tell of,” replied Hank
with a laugh. “All the trouble is,” he went on, “that sometimes we
mountain people make laws of our own, and when we do that the laws have
to be abided by.”

“Oh, yes,” Case grinned, “I remember the Knights of the Golden Circle,
and the Ku Klux Klan, and the Night-Riders, and the White Caps. When
that bunch wanted to kill a man, all they did was to pass a law against
him and then abide by it.”

“There are a whole lot of offenses,” the mountaineer went on, “that
can’t be handled by the laws these here shysters put on the statute
books. But,” he continued, “we won’t talk about that any more. We
wouldn’t agree, anyhow. About how far are we from the point where you
left your boat?”

“Two miles,” declared Alex.

“Three!” suggested Case.

“What time did you leave the boat?” asked Hank.

“Two o’clock,” was the reply.

Hank looked at a ponderous silver watch which he took from a back pocket
of his trousers and shook his head.

“If you left the boat at two o’clock,” he said, “and you had just come
to the settlement when that little ruction started, you were something
like three hours on the way. That means more than three miles.”

“Oh yes,” Alex agreed, “but we wandered about this way and that, looking
for squirrels, and coons, and rabbits, so I think that we ought to be
somewhere near the boat by this time.”

“If we don’t come to it pretty soon,” the mountaineer suggested, “we’ll
have to look for it in the dark. It is getting twilight in here right
now. It will soon be almost impossible to make our way through the
thickets. ’Tarnal bad woods in the night time, these are.”

Darkness was indeed settling over the forest. To make matters worse, a
mass of heavy clouds was drifting up from the Mississippi valley, and
the chances were remarkably good for a long, slow rain. After proceeding
some farther in the thicket, Alex took out his electric
searchlight—without which he never left the _Rambler_—and threw its rays
on the thicket ahead. As he did so Hank seized him by the arm.

“Douse it, douse it!” the mountaineer cried. “Don’t you know any better
than to make a light in here?”

“Where’s the harm?” asked Case. “We’d never get through there without a
light.”

“I’ll tell you where the harm is,” the mountaineer answered. “Them
fellers you stirred up back there at the settlement will shortly be
sending men out here to look you up. I shouldn’t be surprised if they
sent men with bloodhounds.”

“Oh well, then, we’ll have to do the best we can in the dark,” Alex
sighed, turning off the light.

“Let me see that, will you?” asked Hank.

The mountaineer took the searchlight in his great bony hand and examined
it attentively, switching the light on and off and turning it this way
and that, taking the precaution, however, to hold the eye of the
electric close to the ground.

“You Yankees,” he said presently, “will soon be getting searchlights by
wireless! It’s a pretty good light, though, and I don’t object to it if
you do. How much might one of those contraptions cost?” he added.

“All the way from four bits to four dollars,” was the reply. “If you
want a real large one, you may go as high as fifty dollars.”

“I’ll buy one when I bring down my next airplane,” said the mountaineer,
whimsically. “I don’t doubt but that I could use it in my business. I
don’t suppose the wind would put that out, would it? It’s mighty strong
up there in the mountains sometimes,” he added.

“No,” Case answered, “nothing will put that light out until the battery
becomes exhausted. That is, unless you break the lamp.”

The boys were just starting on again when the long terrifying baying of
a hound came to their ears. The dog was still a long distance off, yet
even as they listened his great voice came more distinctly through the
darkness.

“There!” Hank said in a disgusted tone of voice, “they’ve gone and done
it at last! It’s just this way, boys,” he went on, “when you left that
old skinflint of a merchant back there, you were two little boys sent
out by a river pirate to see if the town was worth plundering. Ten
minutes after your departure, you were two river pirates, armed to the
teeth and half drunk on moonshine whiskey. Thirty minutes after you
left, they were saying that the town had been visited by a band of
pirates armed with cannons. By to-morrow morning, they will have the
town pillaged and burned. I never did see the way people exaggerate
things.”

“But where did they get that hound?” asked Alex. “There wasn’t any there
when we were there.”

“They might have got one off of the Government boat,” Hank answered.

“But there wasn’t any Government boat,” Alex insisted.

“There was one just coming up the river,” said the mountaineer. “If we
ever come to the bank of the stream we’ll see her pass up.”

“Well, what are we going to do about the dog?” Case asked. “He’s
evidently out of leash, for, judging from the sound of his voice, he’s
running faster than any man could navigate through the woods.”

“Yes, he does seem to be out of leash,” the mountaineer answered, “and
it may be that he took up the scent on his own hook. Still, the Federals
do have bloodhounds to aid in trailing the moonshiners.”

“Isn’t there any way to get away from the brute?” asked Case. “If we
don’t, he’ll tree us and set up such a howling that the men will be
thicker than bees around us in about an hour.”

“We can shoot him when he comes up,” suggested the mountaineer.

“Seems too bad to kill the dog,” Alex observed.

“Besides all that,” Case went on, “we couldn’t hit a barn in this
darkness.”

“Well,” Hank suggested, “the thing for us to do is to make for the river
as fast as possible. There’s always a good many skiffs and rowboats
scattered along on the Kentucky side. You see, if we can only get to the
water and pack ourselves into a boat, we can sit and make faces at that
hound until Kingdom Come.”

Making what speed they could through the thicket, stumbling over vines
and protruding roots, the boys proceeded on their way for a very few
moments. Then it became evident that the dog was only a few rods away.

“Now that’s too bad,” Hank said, “we’ve got to climb a tree, turn that
bottled gas concern of yours on the dog, and put a bullet plumb through
his head. I never did like to kill dogs, somehow.”

The dog came swiftly on, and it seemed to the boys as if his voice could
be heard for a thousand miles. They were crouching in a thicket,
preparing to vault into the branches of a great beech tree which stood
near at hand, when a great commotion was heard not far away. It seemed
to them that a wild hog, or a bear, or some heavy yet swift denizen of
the forest, awakened from his slumber by the howling of the dog, had set
out to make a swift investigation of his own.

“What was that noise?” asked Alex, clutching his new-found friend by the
arm.

“Well, sir,” Hank replied, “that sounded to me like a dog going out to
hold a little conversation with that hound! It ran like a dog, and,
besides, I think I heard a succession of low growls as it passed us.”

“Here’s hoping he keeps the hound so well entertained that it won’t come
any farther in this direction!” Case said.

In a moment there came a great snarling and growling from a thicket not
far away, accompanied by such a thumping and beating on the ground as
the boys had not heard in many a day. The baying of the hound ceased
entirely, and in a moment only low choking pants of suffering were
heard.

“I’ll tell you what it is, boys!” the mountaineer exclaimed, excitedly,
“that thing that went through here is either a bulldog or a wild hog.
He’s mixing it with the hound right now, and we may as well go and see
the scrap.”

Alex used his flashlight now without reproof. The three pressed swiftly
forward, the sounds of conflict growing clearer as they advanced.
Directly they came to a great patch of bushes, from the center of which
the commotion came.

In spite of the protests of the others, Alex pushed his way into the
jungle and turned his searchlight on two objects struggling desperately
on the ground. The next moment they heard his voice crying out joyfully:

“It’s Captain Joe! It’s Captain Joe!” he said.

“What has he done to the hound?” asked Case.

“Who’s Captain Joe?” demanded the mountaineer.

Alex answered the two questions by dragging the white bulldog out of the
thicket by the collar. His jaws were smeared with blood, and he limped
slightly on one fore leg.

“Captain Joe,” Alex replied, “is the gamiest bulldog that ever lived,
and there ain’t enough left of that hound to bait a trap with.

“Where did the bulldog come from?” demanded Hank.

“Huh!” Alex exclaimed. “That’s just exactly what I want to know.”




CHAPTER VI.—JULE TURNS THE SWITCH.


“I don’t believe,” Jule said, throwing himself off his bunk in a moment,
“that the _Rambler_ has made successful trips on the Amazon, the
Columbia, the Colorado, the Mississippi and the St. Lawrence to become
lost on an inland river like the Ohio! In some way, we’re going to get
out of this scrape and continue our journey.”

The boy sat down by the little stationary table in the cabin and studied
out the problem in his own boyish way. There were police boats on the
river, and eventually the attention of some captain would be attracted
to a splendid motor boat like the _Rambler_ in the hands of a couple of
river toughs.

Besides, the _Rambler_ was entirely unmanageable, and would doubtless
soon bring up against a sand bar or a mass of wreckage. In this case the
first boat coming within sight would undoubtedly stop to inquire the
cause of the trouble.

Thus reasoning himself into a more hopeful state of mind, the boy went
out onto the little deck and watched Gid and Mike panting and sweating
at the oars and sweep in their vain efforts to keep the _Rambler_ off a
sand bar which lifted its white surface above the river on the Kentucky
side.

For a time the men succeeded fairly well, but the current set directly
toward the bar, which was, in fact, one of its creatures, and the
_Rambler_ soon thrust her nose into the firm sand with a shock and
shiver which seemed to loosen every rivet and bolt.

Gid rattled the oar he had been using down on the deck and wiped his
streaming brow with a dirty hand. Mike sat down on the gunwale and swore
earnestly and with originality.

“What’s the answer?” Mike asked in a moment.

Gid shook his head gravely.

“If we don’t get off this everlasting sand bar before daylight,” Mike
said in a moment, “there’ll be a procession of river boats up here to
know what’s wrong. They’ll all be wanting to pull us off, and they’ll
all be wanting a pocketful of money for doing it. Have you got any
money, Gid?”

“Have I got any money?” repeated Gid. “If the whole world was selling
for a dollar, I couldn’t buy dirt enough to stop a watch! I was lucky
enough to get out of Louisville with a whole skin. What did you do with
your money?” he asked, looking Mike keenly in the eye.

“I bought lottery tickets with mine,” Mike replied. “I’ve got the
lottery tickets in my pocket yet, and I never have any luck when I have
the things around. Honest, Gid,” the Irishman continued, “I’ve carried
lottery tickets in my clothes for five years, and during all that time
no band ever played in front of me on the street. And that’s a fact, if
you want to know!”

“Mike,” Gid observed with a smile, “do you study the dream book every
night and morning? You’re as superstitious as an old woman!”

“Now look here, Gid,” continued Mike. “That’s the exact truth I told you
about those lottery tickets. Look here, now, here’s an illustration. I
was standing on South Clark street, Chicago, one morning with three
Louisiana lottery tickets in my pocket. There was a procession coming
down the street with twenty bands in it. And I said to the boys who were
with me that I would bet the cigars for the crowd that there wouldn’t a
band play when passing the spot where we stood.”

“You got your nerve to bet on a hoodoo,” Gid laughed.

Jule was now becoming interested in the conversation, which he had heard
from his position at the prow, and drew closer to the two men. He
noticed that they used remarkably good language, and also that they
seemed to know Chicago well, so he resolved that he would try to learn
more about them as soon as an opportunity offered.

“That lottery ticket hoodoo is one that is safe to bet on at any spot in
the road,” Mike continued. “Well, as I was saying, there was a
procession coming up South Clark street with twenty bands in it, and I
was betting there wouldn’t a band play in front of the spot where we
stood. This was on account of the lottery tickets I had in my pocket. I
was just plumb hoodooed with those tickets. Why, look here!” he
continued, “if I had thrown those tickets overboard, we wouldn’t be on
this sand bar now. I tell you they have just plumb hoodooed me. I think
I’ll throw them overboard now.”

“What about the twenty bands and the procession?” asked Jule, with a
grin on his face. “Tell me about that.”

“Hello, kid!” Mike said with a chuckle. “Did you hear me talking that
fool stuff about the lottery tickets?”

“Sure I did,” Jule answered.

“Well, you take warning by me and don’t ever buy any!” Mike declared.

“Well, what about these twenty bands?” Jule insisted.

“Sho’, of course, I nearly forgot all about the bands. Well nineteen
bands passed our corner without a note of music. Walked by just like
they were going up the street in a political parade. You know, son,”
Mike continued, “that musicians think they are paid to walk in parades
on account of their uniforms, and not on account of their music.”

“What did you say these twenty bands did?” laughed Jule.

“Nineteen marched plumb by without ever blowing a horn. The twentieth
one started in half a block below us. I just had a notion then that that
band was going to play, and that I would have to buy the cigars, and
then I thought that one of the tickets might draw a prize so I wasn’t
kicking any. Well, sir, do you know that that big band headed up to us
in full tune.”

“So you had to buy the cigars?” asked Jule.

“Did I have to buy the cigars?” repeated Mike. “Say, kid, twenty feet
below us a horse hitched to a carriage filled with ladies reared up on
his hind feet and they had to stop the music until they got by us so as
not to frighten the horse any more. You bet I don’t have to buy the
cigars on any bet like that!”

Encouraged by the friendly voice and manner of the Irishman, Jule asked
what they intended doing with the _Rambler_.

“It’s just this way, boy,” Mike replied, “we’ve been skinned and cleaned
up, and knocked out, in every enterprise we ever undertook. We’re both
printers, and used to work on the old Chicago Herald when Jim Scott
owned it. Well, we beat the faro bank until we didn’t have a cent. We
played poker and roulette until the other fellows held a mortgage on our
pay envelopes. So we’re just plumb disgusted with civilization. We
haven’t got the brains to become city pirates and run gambling houses
and elect aldermen and all that, but we have got muscle enough to become
river pirates, so here we are, and here your boat is.”

“Are you going to keep the boat?” asked Jule.

“Of course, we’re going to keep it!” Mike declared.

“You bet we are!” Gid put in. “No man we ever played with ever gave us
any Christmas presents after he’d cleaned us out.”

“Well,” Jule announced, “I’ll set up a yell the first boat comes near us
and your hoodoo lottery tickets will probably land you in jail.”

“We don’t want to be rough with you, kid,” Mike went on, “but when you
see a boat coming if you don’t hustle into the cabin and go to bed and
cover up your head and ears, we’ll take the hide off your back in long,
wide strips.”

“I don’t believe it!” Jule answered with a faint smile.

“That’s all right,” Mike answered, “we’re pretty good fellows, but we’re
just plumb disgusted with everything in the world. Now, really,” he went
on, “this boat belongs to that pirate gang over there, and we stole it
from them. We didn’t steal it from you. We’re innocent bystanders, as it
were.”

“Why doesn’t the _Hawk_ come over here and get you?” asked Jule.

“I don’t know exactly,” replied Mike, “but it is my idea that there is a
police boat somewhere in sight. We can’t see around the bend, and so
wouldn’t know if one was coming, but the _Hawk_, lying nearer to the
other shore, would know it right quick.”

“I hope there is a police boat coming!” Jule said.

“Well, when you see one, you duck into that cabin,” Mike ordered, “and
do it mighty quick. No Federal officer would believe your word against
ours, so you wouldn’t gain anything by making a fool of yourself.”

The _Hawk_ did seem to be acting strangely. It was now deep twilight and
yet she could be seen lying over near the Indiana shore, her great bulk
dim against the gathering darkness. Not a light was to be seen on board.
Not a sound was to be heard.

“I reckon there is a police boat coming,” Gid said, after a short pause,
“but if we lie right still and don’t show any lights, she’ll pass on the
other side. Anyway, she can’t help seeing the _Hawk_, and she’ll go
there first.”

Half an hour passed and it grew dark on the river. Clouds were driving
over the valley, and it was likely to be a rainy night. A wind came up
the river as the darkness increased, and the moaning of the trees and
the rush of the waters made conversation quite difficult, even when the
parties stood close together, as the three did on the deck of the
_Rambler_.

Jule stepped back to the cabin entrance and stood close to the electric
switch which controlled the strong searchlight on the prow. Mike and Gid
stood leaning over the gunwale, their eyes fixed intently on the bulk of
the _Hawk_, now almost lost in the darkness. A faint light, something
like that of a candle or a small kerosene lamp, now showed on the
freight deck of the river pirate.

“There’s a Government boat coming up the river, and that’s no dream!”
Gid cried.

“There’s no other way to account for the mighty strange actions of the
captain of the _Hawk_,” Mike responded.

“Perhaps if we keep all lights out and lie perfectly still, the police
boat won’t see us!” the other suggested.

The two men stood long at the gunwale, watching the pirate boat as long
as the falling night permitted. Jule, too, remained on deck, standing by
the switch which controlled the searchlight.

Once or twice, when the sound of a steam exhaust came from below, he put
his hand to the switch, but always drew it away again when no lights
showed over the dark river. He was waiting until the right moment.

Directly a sharp whistle sounded from below, and then the lights of a
steamer flashed into view around the bend. Jule put his hand to the
switch but brought it away once more when the lights turned toward the
_Hawk_, still lying near the Indiana shore, motionless.

“Now,” Mike said in a moment, “if we could only get this consarned boat
off this idiotic bar, we’d be able to slide out of sight while that
gold-laced officer is listening to the lies the captain of the _Hawk_
will tell him. Prime liar, that fellow is!”

Standing on the deck with all close individual sounds shut out by the
wash of the waters and the roaring of the trees, they saw the steamer
head directly toward the _Hawk_, then in a moment the pirate craft was
ablaze with light.

“Crafty chap, that captain!” Mike declared. “He knows he’s been
observed, and so lights up.”

Jule could wait no longer. With one motion of his hand, he turned the
switch and the strong prow light flashed out over the river. Gid sprang
toward the boy with a leveled revolver.




CHAPTER VII.—THE TRAINING OF TEDDY.


“You confounded idiot!” shouted Mike, catching his companion by the arm.
“Do you want to bring that police boat over here inside of two minutes?
If you do, just fire that gun.”

“Look what he did!” almost panted Gid, in a heat of rage. “He turned on
the light, and they’ll be over here as soon as they get done with the
_Hawk_.”

“Can’t be helped now!” declared Mike.

During this short conversation Jule stood regarding the men intently,
his face pale but his eyes flashing with the spirit of defiance which
was in his heart. Mike regarded him whimsically.

“Will you turn out the light?” he asked. “Or shall I smash it?”

“Turn it out yourself!” ordered Gid, “if you know where the switch is.”

“I don’t know where the switch is,” Mike replied.

“Then coax the boy to turn it out,” sneered Gid. “He seems to be a
special friend of yours.”

“Turn it out kid,” advised Mike.

Jule, realizing that the light must already have accomplished the
purpose intended, turned the switch and the _Rambler_ was again in
darkness. He realized that the light would be extinguished whether he
turned the switch or not, for the lamp could be easily broken.

“Now, boy,” Gid thundered in Jule’s ear, “you get into that cabin and
stay there. If any of these sneaking Government officials come on board,
you’re sick! Do you understand that? You’re sick abed! And we’re your
good, kind protectors! Understand that? If you ain’t good and sick while
they’re here, you’ll be ailing in earnest as soon as they go away.”

“All right,” Jule answered, “I’ll go into the cabin now and lie down.
But, look here,” he continued, “I’d like to have you gentlemen make me a
promise. Will you?”

“What is it?” asked Mike, not unkindly.

It was very dark now, and they could not see each other’s faces,
especially as the glare of the light during its brief presence had in a
manner dazzled their eyes. Perhaps this was just as well, for Gid would
not have liked the look on Mike’s face as he spoke to the boy. It was
all sympathy and feeling.

“Well,” Jule said, with a low chuckle, “when you’re hanged for murder or
piracy, I’d like to have you invite me to the festival.”

Gid uttered a snarl of rage and struck at the boy but Mike only laughed
as Jule dodged the blow, only indistinctly seen, and, entering the
cabin, closed the door behind him.

“They forget,” he thought to himself, “that there are lights in the
cabin which, when turned, will reveal the presence of the _Rambler_.
Anyway,” he added, “I believe the Government officers saw the
searchlight. I don’t see how they could have missed seeing it.”

Teddy, the quarter-grown grizzly bear, now rubbed a soft muzzle against
the boy’s hand, as if in sympathy, and nestled close to his side.

“Teddy,” Jule said, “you and I have been captured by pirates. Captain
Joe has gone off to find Alex, and we’re here in the possession of a
couple of Desperate Desmonds. We want to get away. Now what would you
suggest?”

In the darkness the boy knew that Teddy was sitting up on his hind feet
suggesting a boxing match.

“That’s the thing, Teddy,” Jule said, speaking into the bear’s ear, as
if in belief that the cub understood every word he said. “That’s just
the thing! You suggest a fight, and that’s just what it’s got to be.”

The boy and the bear sat together in the cabin for a long time. Through
the window on the starboard side the boy could see the lights of the
Government boat and the lights of the _Hawk_.

There seemed to be some commotion on board the pirate boat, and the boy
at one time thought he detected the sound of a pistol shot.

“After they get done with those river robbers,” Jule thought, “they will
probably be over here to see why the _Rambler_’s light died out so
quickly. Now, what shall I do when they come?”

The boy failed to reach any conclusion regarding future actions. The
correct course seemed to be to be guided entirely by circumstances. If
the officers came aboard he must find some way of notifying them of the
true condition of affairs. If they did not come aboard, he must, again,
attract their attention.

After half an hour or more the Government boat turned toward the
_Rambler_ and directly the boy heard a call.

“Hello, the boat!”

“Come aboard!” Mike’s voice answered.

“Send a boat!” ordered the officer.

“We’re stranded on a bar,” Mike returned. “Can’t you-help us off?”

The boy could hear the rattle of a boat against the hull of the
Government steamer, and then the creaking of oars. Just then the cabin
door opened and Gid made his appearance, his bulky form clearly shown in
the light from the steamer which came through the cabin window.

“Now, boy,” Gid said, “the Government officers are coming on board.
Buckle down on the bunk and keep your mouth closed.”

The fellow enforced his command with a revolver, and Jule hastened to do
as ordered.

“If Mr. Gold-Lace comes into the cabin,” Gid went on, “I’ll be setting
here peaceful like with the lights turned on. You’ll be over there in
the bunk sound asleep. If you make a move or open your lips, I’ll shoot
you full of holes. See?” he added, thrusting one hand into his right
pocket and pushing the muzzle of a revolver out against the cloth, “I
can do some pretty good shooting from a pocket.”

Jule started to speak, but Gid lifted a heavy hand for silence.

“Mr. Gold-Lace is coming on board,” he said, “now mind what I’ve been
telling you.”

Jule lay still under the blanket he had drawn over his shoulders and
chuckled softly to himself.

“Teddy,” he laughed, “Teddy will be taking that fellow by the leg in a
minute and then there’ll be doings! Just wait till that officer gets on
board,” the boy’s busy brain went on, “and I’ll get that pirate into a
boxing match with the bear.”

It was true that Gid had not observed the bear, for Jule had motioned
him into a dark corner as soon as the pirate’s hulking figure had shown
in the doorway.

Presently Gid arose to his feet and looked out of the glass panel in the
cabin door.

“There’s two coming aboard,” he said turning toward the boy.

“Are you going to put me on the reception committee?” asked Jule, with a
snicker.

“I don’t see that you’ve got anything to laugh at!” Gid declared.

“Oh, what’s the odds?” Jule demanded. “The _Rambler_ is a mascot, and
always was. You can’t do anything to her.”

“I’ll do something to you!” declared Gid, “if you don’t keep that mouth
closed.”

“You don’t dare!” returned Jule. “If you touch me I’ll yell like a loon,
and then the officers will come running in here, and that’ll be your
finish. You’d better go out on deck.”

Gid did go out on deck, arriving just in time to greet two Government
officers as they stepped on board the _Rambler_. This formality over,
the fellow backed up against the cabin door and stood facing the light
now burning at the prow. The cabin door was open, and the boy could hear
nearly every word that was spoken on deck, the wind having in a measure
died out.

“What’s your boat?” he heard an officer ask.

“_Rambler_, Chicago,” was the reply.

“Whither bound?”

“New Orleans,” was the quick answer.

“Who have you on board?” was the next question.

Jule saw Mike point with a hairy fist toward the cabin.

“Only a kid,” he said, “back there in the cabin shaking his bones to
pieces with the ague.”

“How long have you been on this bar?” asked the official.

“We struck it just before dark,” answered Mike, who really was doing a
very good job in the way of convincing the officer that everything was
all right and straight on board the _Rambler_.

“There are a good many motor boats doing illicit business up and down
the river,” suggested the official.

“I know it,” replied Mike. “We’re afraid some of them will come along
while we are tied up on this bar.”

“How did it happen?”

“Lost a spark plug,” was the reply. “At first we limped along in fairly
good shape, and then the others had to go bad with us. Honest,” he
continued, “I don’t think we’ll ever get off this sand bar unless you
give us a line.”

“I’ll gladly do that,” said the officer, “and I’ll do more. I’ll send
over half a dozen spark plugs.”

“That’s kind of you,” Mike suggested. “We’ll be glad to pay for them. It
is a great accommodation to us.”

Jule snickered in his bunk, for he had recently heard the two men
talking about being absolutely penniless. Observing that Gid was not
watching him very closely, the latter’s attention being directed to the
two men standing forward, the boy beckoned to Teddy, who came shambling
up to the side of the bunk and laid a soft paw against the boy’s cheek.

“Now, Teddy,” Jule said, “we’re going to play a trick on those men out
there. Do you think you can do a boxing stunt to-night?”

Teddy sat up on his haunches at mention of the word “boxing” and
admitted in perfectly good bear talk that he could.

“You just wait, Teddy,” Jule went on, “until that police boat draws the
_Rambler_ off this bar and supplies her with spark plugs, and we’ll give
a show that will beat any four-ring circus that ever traveled out of
Chicago. It’ll be something worth buying a ticket to.”

After some further conversation the Government officers returned to
their steamer. A cable was carried to the motor boat and in a minute she
was floating in free water.

“Now,” called an officer from the stern of the steamer, “bend on that
manilla hawser to your spare anchor and throw it out.”

Mike obeyed instructions to the letter, and the _Rambler_ was soon
swinging easily with her grip on the bottom of the river.

“You’ve got a favor coming from us now,” Mike shouted, “if the time ever
comes when we can render you one! Shall I come aboard for the spark
plugs?”

“We haven’t got any rowboat,” Gid reminded his companion.

In the end the steamer dropped down and the spark plugs were tossed
aboard, being caught deftly by the Irishman.

“Now,” said Mike with a grin, “we’ll fix up these motors and get down
toward New Orleans at a right smart gait.”

“Why didn’t you ask the officer about the _Hawk_?” demanded Gid.

“Oh, that old captain lied himself clear, all right,” Mike answered.
“Don’t you see that the _Hawk_ lies there with her lights all going and
the Government steamer is going on up the river?”

Gid turned to Jule with something like a smile on his sullen face.

Jule was standing by the closed cabin door with the bear fully
instructed and trained, brushing against the inside of it.

“Well, boy,” Gid said, “you did remarkably well during the visit of the
officers, so we’re going to let you get us something to eat. While we
fix the motors, you cook up some supper and we’ll soon be sailing down
the river as happy and contented as three peas in a pod. I presume
you’ve got plenty of provisions on board.”

“You bet we have!” answered Jule happily. “I’ll get you a supper that’ll
make your mouth water.”

The boy knew that while preparing the meal he would be tolerably free
from the surveillance of the two men. This would give him an opportunity
to bring a couple of revolvers from the cupboard where they were kept,
and also to confer with Teddy as to the course to be pursued.

“Now, Teddy,” the boy said, as he went into the cabin and shut the door,
“I don’t know what to do to these men. Sometimes I think I’ll drug their
coffee, and sometimes I think I’ll give them a scare that will make
their heads look like the top of a snow-capped mountain.”

The bear turned his head thoughtfully to one side and expressed the
rather selfish opinion that he thought a boxing match would be about the
best thing under the circumstances. The bear had had boxing matches with
river pirates before that night, and he knew pretty well what to do when
the boys set him going on strangers.

“If I drug their coffee,” Jule went on, “they’ll go to sleep and we’ll
have them on our hands. If I give them a scare, they’ll jump into the
river and that’ll be the last of them.”

Looking out of the window the boy now saw the Government steamer
disappearing rapidly upstream. He also saw the _Hawk_ turning her prow
in the direction of the _Rambler_. Mike and Gid stood by the port
gunwale talking earnestly in low tones.

“I guess there’s trouble brewing that I wasn’t counting on,” the boy
said dejectedly. “Teddy and I can’t fight the whole bunch.”




CHAPTER VIII.—CAPTAIN JOE’S MESSAGE.


“Where do you think the bulldog came from?” asked Hank as, with Alex and
Case, he stood watching the dog capering about in the joy of victory.
“He seems to know you boys pretty well.”

“This dog,” Alex answered, “is the champion four-footed traveler of the
world. He’s been on all the big rivers, and in all the big cities. He’s
taken bites out of all the tribes on the face of the globe. He belongs
on the _Rambler_ with us.”

“Seems like a mighty pert dog?” admitted the mountaineer.

“You don’t have to guess again!” Case put in.

“Anyway, he done finished that hound in good shape,” Hank suggested.

He stooped as he spoke and took the end of a rope into his fingers.

“You see how it is,” he said, “the animal broke his leash and got away
from the bunch sleuthing in the woods.”

“Then they won’t be able to find us?” asked Alex.

The bony mountaineer shook his head.

“They might as well look for a needle in a load of hay,” he said.

Alex now bent over and began talking gravely to the bulldog.

“Captain Joe,” he said, “why didn’t you follow me sooner? I might have
been eaten alive at that landing. Next time, you come quicker.”

Captain Joe pointed his blood-stained nose in the direction of the river
and whined softly.

“What’s that?” asked Alex.

The dog drew away from the boy and ran a few steps to the north and
looked back.

“Look here!” Alex said, speaking excitedly to Case and the mountaineer,
“the bulldog says there’s some of our friends over in the direction of
the river.”

“I didn’t hear him talking,” laughed the mountaineer.

“That’s because you don’t know dog talk. Captain Joe has a language of
his own,” laughed Case. “Great dog, that!”

“Anyway,” admitted the mountaineer, “he seems to understand what you say
to him.”

“Oh, come on!” urged Alex. “Let’s don’t waste any more time standing
here. There’s something wrong on board the _Rambler_, or Captain Joe
wouldn’t be here.”

“The _Rambler_,” Case insisted, “is a long way upstream.”

“I guess Captain Joe knows where it is,” Alex replied. “You fellows come
right along. I’m going to follow the dog.”

The boys used their searchlights freely now, and made considerable noise
making their way through the thickets. After walking steadily for
fifteen or twenty minutes, the bulldog darted on ahead and left them to
make their way without his guidance.

Even while the three were discussing the disappearance of the dog, they
heard him barking not far away, and then a voice they knew came to their
ears. The dog’s bark took on a note of welcome.

“Hello, Alex! Hello, Case!” they heard Clay call. “Why don’t you come on
out to the river?” “We’re moving as fast as we can,” Case called back.
“This jungle is harder to work through than a Saturday night crowd on
South Clark street. How did you come to be on shore?” he added.

By this time, the two boys and the mountaineer had gained the spot where
Clay stood.

“What’s doing on the _Rambler_?” Case asked after the mountaineer had
been presented to Clay.

“We have met the enemy and we are theirs!” said Clay dolefully.

In as few words as possible he told the story of the situation on the
_Rambler_ at the time he left it.

“And Jule is still there with those thieves?” asked Case.

“He is unless he’s made a dive for liberty,” replied Clay.

“You say the boat was drifting the last you saw of her?” asked Hank.

“Broadside downstream!” answered Clay.

“Well, then,” the mountaineer suggested, “we’d better be moving on down.
Was she on this side of the river or the other?”

“Pretty close to the Kentucky shore,” answered the boy.

“Then you’re in luck!” the mountaineer laughed. “There’s a sand bar down
here, just around the point, that will be sure to catch her. You may
have my head for a football if we don’t see her wedged against that bar
as soon as we come in sight of it.”

After half an hour’s difficult walking along the river bank, winding far
into the river to escape coves, crossing little runs on fallen trees,
they passed around the point of the bend and looked down a long sweep of
river.

“Thunderation!” shouted the mountaineer.

“Now, what do you think of that?” demanded Clay.

“Rotten!” Alex and Case declared in a breath. What the boys saw was the
_Rambler_ lying at anchor, perhaps forty rods away with the _Hawk_
bearing down upon her.

“It looks to me,” the mountaineer said, “as if those pirates were bound
to have that boat.”

“And it looks to me,” Case put in, “as if they’re going to get her, too!
They seem to have the top hand in this game.”

“I don’t know about that,” declared the mountaineer. “I don’t think we
ought to let those brigands run away with that boat.”

“Well, then, suggest something!” urged Clay.

Before Hank could speak again, the _Rambler_’s anchor was hauled in and
she was headed directly for the shore almost at the exact spot where the
four stood. The _Hawk_ steamed steadily after her.

“What’s she doing that for?” demanded Case.

“That boat of yours,” suggested the mountaineer, “will almost float in a
heavy dew, while the _Hawk_ as you call her requires a considerable
depth of water.”

Clay nudged his companions and laughed.

“That’s shows that you’re not familiar with boating,” he said, in a
moment. “That old barge out there will float in twenty-five inches of
water, while the _Rambler_, sticking her keel down like a knife,
requires at least thirty-five inches. I guess the truth of the matter
is,” he added, “that the pirates on board the _Rambler_ are coming this
way in the hope of dodging the _Hawk_.”

“Why don’t they do a little shooting?” Case asked. “Those fellows aren’t
usually so saving of their ammunition.”

“I guess the police boat isn’t far away,” suggested the mountaineer.
“She may be just downstream, or just upstream, but they know she’s
hereabouts, and there’d be plenty of shooting if they didn’t suspect her
presence. Those fellows usually shoot to kill, too.”

The _Rambler_ came in within a dozen feet of the shore and then turned
prow down. The _Hawk_ dropped down, too, edging in upon her every
minute. The boys watched the maneuvers with anxious eyes.

“I hope they won’t get to shooting,” Clay said, “because Jule and Teddy
must be still on board.”

“If those fellows on the _Rambler_ knew the game they are playing,” Alex
declared, “they would turn the motors on full speed and run away from
that pirate. Perhaps they don’t know it, but our boat can go three miles
while the other boat is traveling one.”

“Let’s go aboard and show them how to run it!” suggested Case.

The prow light was still burning on the _Rambler_, and the cabin was
also brightly illuminated. Through the small window on the port side,
they could see Jule busily engaged over the electric coils at the back
of the cabin.

“I believe I can get on board that boat without being seen,” Alex
declared, and before the others could offer a word of remonstrance, the
little fellow was in the river swimming mostly under water toward the
after deck of the motor boat. They saw him climb up on the deck and peer
in at the window in the rear wall of the cabin.

“The little monkey!” chuckled Clay. “I don’t think I would have
undertaken a game of that kind for a million dollars.”

“Well,” Case said excitedly, “we’re going to do exactly the same thing.
Those fellows on board are so busy watching the pirates that they won’t
see us, and the pirates are so busy watching the _Rambler_ that they
won’t see us. We’ve just got to get on board.”

The mountaineer threw himself at full length on the ground and laughed
until his lean sides shook.

“And what will you do when you get on board?” he asked directly. “You’re
the gamest lot of kids I ever saw.”

“About the first thing I do,” Case declared, “will be to get something
to eat. I’ll just bet you a red apple that Alex has got his nose into
the provision chest this minute.”

They all glanced toward the _Rambler_ at mention of the boy and saw that
the after deck was vacant.

“It’s a sure thing he’s got his nose into some kind of food if he’s
inside the cabin,” Clay remarked.

“But, honest, now, boys,” the mountaineer asked, “what do you think of
doing after you get on board? You can’t fight the pirates on your boat
and the pirates on the _Hawk_ too.”

“Why,” Clay said, “we’ll run away from that boat in a minute. In three
seconds after we get our hands on the motors, we’ll be going so fast
downstream that a bullet from the _Hawk_ couldn’t catch us.”

“You kids certainly beat my time,” chuckled the mountaineer. “If I
didn’t have plenty of business at that little aeroplane factory of mine
up in the hills. I’d be tempted to go with you.”

“This man,” Case explained to Clay, “makes moonshine whiskey up in the
hills. He calls his still an aeroplane factory because his product sends
people up in the air.”

“It will send a man pretty high up in the air if he drinks enough of
it,” the mountaineer chuckled.

“Why don’t you quit it and play fair with the Government?” asked Clay.

“Sho’, boys,” answered the mountaineer, “I wouldn’t enjoy life if it
wasn’t for the skirmishes I have with the Government officers. Besides,
there ain’t nothing else a man can do in this country. When a man can
make a hundred dollars’ worth of moonshine out of ten dollars’ worth of
corn, and do it with mighty little trouble, what’s the use of his coming
down into the valley and shoveling coal into a steamer for a dollar and
a half a day?”

The argument was never completed, for at that moment the boys saw the
cabin door open and Teddy, standing erect in a boxing attitude, move
out. He was getting to be quite a good-sized bear now, and he bulked
fierce and heavy against the lights. At first, neither one of the river
thieves on board the _Rambler_ saw him.

In fact, the first indication Mike had of his presence was when he felt
a sharp claw laid on the arm lying across the gunwale. He turned
quickly, looked for one instant into the pig-like eyes of the bear, and
with a cry which echoed down the river, sprang into the stream.

“I guess he thought the bear was going to eat him!” Case observed.

The mountaineer now lay rolling and tumbling on the bank of the river.
The scene had opened so unexpectedly; the bear’s appearance had been so
fierce and intimidating, that he had at first felt a little shiver of
fear, but now he saw that the bear was merely performing tricks he had
been taught While he chuckled, Gid also leaped into the river, and then
he saw Case and Clay, followed by Captain Joe, swimming lustily toward
the _Rambler_.




CHAPTER IX.—THE THREE BLUE LIGHTS.


The entire situation on board the _Rambler_ had not been observed from
the shore. The boys and the mountaineer had seen only Teddy in the
center of the stage, so they had naturally supposed that the swift
departure of the pirates had been occasioned by the sudden appearance of
the grizzly. Had they been in a little different position, they would
have seen Alex and Jule standing in the open doorway of the cabin with
threatening automatics in their hands.

“Now, that’s a funny proposition,” the mountaineer deliberated, as Clay
and Case clambered to the after deck. “Them pirates are watching the
_Rambler_, and yet they don’t see that the boys are getting possession
of her. They must be a stupid lot.”

The next minute, however, convinced the mountaineer that he had been
mistaken in his estimate of the intelligence of the pirates. Half a
dozen pistol shots came in quick succession, making little spurts of
water on the surface of the river near the stern of the boat. However,
Clay and Case were soon climbing, dripping with river water, through the
window at the rear of the cabin.

Still watching from the shore, the mountaineer saw Clay creep up to the
bridge deck which concealed the motors, keeping down below the level of
the gunwale. Bullets from the _Hawk_ continued to spatter about the
motor boat, but seemed to do no damage whatever.

As those who have read the previous volumes of this series will
understand, the entire exterior walls of the _Rambler_ were sheathed
with bullet-proof steel. This fact, it will be remembered, had preserved
the lives of all the boys during the voyage to the head waters of the
Amazon river.

Directly the watcher saw the anchor, which had been dropped again when
the boat had taken her position near the shore, lifted and the next
instant, the motor boat went gliding like a shot downstream.

The moonshiner bent his head forward and rubbed his eyes in wonder. It
was all new to him, this wonderful speed. His acquaintance with motor
boats had consisted almost entirely of a slight knowledge of the large
flat-bottomed scows hardly worthy the name of motor boats. When the
_Rambler_ darted away at a speed not less than twenty miles an hour, it
all seemed to him like magic.

He stood for a moment on the bank watching the little spurts of flame
shooting from the _Hawk_ and then turned into the thicket with a chuckle
which shook his broad shoulders.

“Sho’,” he exclaimed, “we mountaineers don’t know much about river
folks, after all. I never knew there was anything on the face of the
earth that could go as fast as that motor boat went.”

He tramped along in the darkness for a long time and then stopped and
made a small fire, by the side of which he slept until morning. With the
appearance of the day he was out toward the hills, and also forever out
of the lives of those on board the _Rambler_.

“Now, see here,” Clay suggested as the Rambler speeded beyond reach of
the bullets from the _Hawk_, “we can’t long keep this gait with empty
gasoline tanks.”

“If we pull in at the landing just below here,” Alex laughed, “we’ll all
get pinched. If you leave it to that old store keeper, we’re pirates,
and Case and I are little rhinoceros birds sent on ahead to see whether
the picking is good.”

“Well,” Clay continued, “we don’t have to strain the motors right now,
so we’ll keep just enough gasoline burning to give us headway. Perhaps
we’ll strike a more hospitable settlement farther down.”

“I don’t believe that old fellow had any gasoline to sell, anyhow,”
laughed Case. “If you boys could have seen the rubes fall all over each
other when we pulled our automatics, you’d have nearly died laughing!”

“Suppose we stop and see how they feel about the matter to-night,”
suggested Alex. “I’d like to drag that constable out of bed!”

“No use of looking for trouble,” Clay advised. “After all, you must
remember that those fellows have the law on their side.”

“Yes,” Case declared, “and if they could once get us into jail they’d
keep us there for years. They’re likely good and angry about the way we
bluffed them before their own townspeople.”

Teddy now came up to where the boys were standing and demanded
appreciation for the part he had played in the recapture of the boat.
Captain Joe, also, advised the boys of his presence by nipping them
quietly on the legs.

“I know what’s the matter with the menagerie,” Alex exclaimed. “They
haven’t had any supper. And that makes me think,” he went on, making a
dive for the cabin, “that I haven’t had any supper, either.”

“What are you going to get for supper?” Clay asked, following the boy to
the cabin door.

“Oh,” Alex replied with a grin which wrinkled his freckled nose, “it’s
almost midnight now, and we’ll just get a light little luncheon.”

“You make lots of bad breaks trying to talk the English language,” Case
advised. “You mustn’t say ‘luncheon’ unless you have pie. It’s ‘lunch’
when you don’t have pie, and ‘luncheon’ when you do have pie.”

“I said ‘luncheon’, didn’t I?” asked Alex.

“You certainly did,” was the reply.

“Well,” Alex said, “then we’re going to have pie.

“The only kind of pie we can have now,” Case objected, “is fish pie.
I’ll go and catch a couple of river perch and you can make a fish pie.”

“Say, look here,” Alex said, shutting the cabin door in Case’s face and
talking through the glass panel, “what do you know about pie? I suppose
you’ll be wanting me to make a liver pie next.”

“That would be fine fodder!” laughed Case. “I guess you are joking!”

“You’ve forgotten about those canned apples,” Alex insisted. “I’m going
to make hot apple pie for our midnight luncheon. And we’re going to have
ham and eggs, and potatoes, and soda biscuit, and a whole lot of good
things.”

“Go to it!” grinned Case, as he went back on the prow and sat down to
watch the river.

The boat slipped steadily down with the current for about an hour before
any lights were seen on the Kentucky side. Then Clay got out his map of
the river and they all examined it intently.

“Here’s the big bend below Brandenburg,” Case said with his finger on
the representation of the river. “Just now, we are free of the big bend,
and so that light on the south bank must be at Wolf Creek.”

“Je-rusalem!” Jule exclaimed. “The name sounds fierce, all right!”

“Anyway,” Clay went on, “there’s a little stream enters the Ohio at Wolf
Creek, and we can tie up there until morning. If they haven’t got any
gasoline there, we can shoot over to the Indiana shore as soon as it
gets daylight and see what we can do there.”

The suggested plan was carried out so far as entering the mouth of Wolf
Creek was concerned. The first thing the boys did, however, was not to
search the few stores the village boasted for gasoline. In the first
place, they did not care to awaken the store keepers, as there was no
necessity for their going on that night. In the second place, they
desired to keep their arrival at the landing as quiet as possible, as
some rumor of the show of arms at the landing above might have filtered
down the river, in which case they would all be regarded with suspicion.

As soon as the boat was fairly at rest in the mouth of the creek, Alex
opened the cabin door and announced in a joyous voice that dinner was
served “in the dining-car.”

For the next hour the boys paid little attention to anything save the
bountiful meal provided by their chum. Alex’s soda biscuit and hot apple
pie proved very attractive to the hungry boys.

“Now then,” Alex declared, walking out on deck after leaving the table,
“I’m going to bed for the night!”

“You’ve surely earned a little sleep!” Case grinned. “That’s the best
dinner we’ve had in many a day.”

“Oh, I guess I can go some when it comes to cooking,” laughed Alex, “and
I’ll wake up in shape to cook another good breakfast in the morning.”

“I’ll be thinking all night what we’re going to have for breakfast,”
Clay suggested. “How did you ever come to think of that hot apple pie?”

Before Alex could answer the question, Jule caught him by the shoulder
and pointed out to the surface of the river almost directly opposite the
mouth of the creek.

“What do you know about that?” he asked.

“About what?” demanded Alex.

The three blue lights!” answered Jule.

The other boys were all attention now, but all declared that they could
see no lights whatever. Presently Jule bounded to the top of the
gunwale, steadying himself by the roof of the cabin, and looked toward
the distant Indiana shore.

“There they are!” he shouted, “There they are! Three blue lights! Now
what do you suppose they mean?”

“They’re probably in a boat?” Clay asked, tentatively.

“Nix on the boat!” Jule protested. “They’re just floating right down
flat on top of the wet water.”

Clay now vaulted to the gunwale and followed the direction of the boy’s
pointing finger. As he did so, a sharp detonation came from the river,
echoing down the stream weirdly, and then the lights he had seen only a
moment before disappeared from view.

That was the boys’ first experience with the three blue lights!




CHAPTER X.—ANNIVERSARY OF A WRECK.


There was a blank look on Clay’s face as he stepped back to the deck of
the _Rambler_. Jule also showed great excitement as he faced his friend.

“Did you see them?” the latter asked of Clay.

“See what?” demanded Alex.

“The three blue lights!” Jule answered.

Alex and Case punched each other in the ribs and chuckled.

“You’re the boy that’s been reading out of the dream book,” the latter
said.

“Didn’t you see three blue lights right down on the surface of the
river?” asked Jule, again turning to Clay.

“I certainly did!” the latter answered.

“Then they’re there yet,” Alex insisted, vaulting to the top of the
gunwale. “They must be there yet, for no boat could disappear so
quickly. I’ll take a look at them myself.”

“But I tell you they wasn’t in any boat!” insisted Jule. “They were
floating right on the surface of the water—three large and very
brilliant blue lights.”

“Did you see them, Clay?” asked Alex, scornfully.

“Yes,” replied Clay, “I did, and they were actually floating directly on
the surface of the river.”

“Why can’t I see them, then?” demanded Alex from his position on the
gunwale.

“Because,” laughed Jule, “it is only the eye of the believer that sees.
Clay believed, and he saw.”

“Honest, Clay?” asked Case.

“Yes, I saw three blue lights down to the level of the river,” answered
Clay, “and I saw something more. You-all heard the explosion?” he asked.
“Well, when that explosion came, there was a puff of smoke and the
lights went out in a second.”

“Wasn’t there any one in sight?” asked Alex.

“No one in sight!” replied Clay.

“No boat, or anything of that kind?”

“Not a thing!” shouted Jule. “I tell you those three blue lights came
right up out of the bed of the river. And then there was an explosion,
and they disappeared, just like they’d been winked out. Strangest thing
I ever saw!”

“Well, that’s enough for me!” Alex declared. “You’ll be seeing green
elephants with blue tails next. I’m going to bed.”

In a short time all the boys were abed save Jule, who sat on the prow
with Captain Joe and Teddy, the bear. The night had not fulfilled its
promise of rain, and the stars now shone dimly down from a misty sky. It
was very still on the _Rambler_’s deck, for no noises came from the
landing, and there was no wash of the current against the boat.

The boy was puzzling over the strange appearance and disappearance of
the three blue lights. There was a trace of superstition in the nature
of the boy, and he was half inclined to regard what had been seen as a
manifestation of the supernatural.

“If Clay hadn’t seen the same thing I did,” he mused, “I wouldn’t have
any trouble making up my mind. Blue lights don’t rise up out of rivers
through human agency.”

The boys were all astir shortly after daybreak, and Alex went on a
scouting tour up to the little river settlement at the mouth of Wolf
Creek. The _Rambler_ lay only a few feet from a rough pier which had
been spiled out into the stream, so the boys had no difficulty in
reaching the shore. The rowboat, it will be remembered, had been left up
the river when the two boys had set out on their hunting trip.

Early as it was, the boy found people moving about the one street of the
little town, which lay on the east bank of the creek bearing its own
name. Standing on the rude platform before a small storehouse, the boy
saw two men; one of sober aspect, wearing a long gray beard, and the
other much younger and showing a laughing face under his dilapidated
cap. As he approached the younger man beckoned.

“What do you want, boy?” he asked.

“Gasoline,” was the answer.

The young fellow stepped off the platform and advanced toward the pier
where the _Rambler_ lay. The old man sat down on the platform.

“Is that your boat?” the young man asked of Alex.

“Yes, that’s our boat,” replied the boy. “Our gasoline tanks are empty.
Can I buy a supply in town, do you think?”

“Certainly!” was the answer. “Father keeps it for sale. During the
course of the season a good many motor boats tie up here. We keep all
manner of supplies.”

“Well, then,” Alex replied, “We’d like to get about a dozen spark plugs.
I don’t think that porcelain insulation is as good as it used to be, for
we break a good many. They go smash at the least little jar.”

“All right!” the young man replied. “Step up there and tell father what
you want and he’ll open the store now. Are your friends on the boat
awake?”

“Sure!” replied Alex. “They’re all awake except the bear and the
bulldog.”

The young man laughed and turned toward the pier, while Alex hastened
toward the place where the old gentleman sat on the store platform.

The boy explained his wants briefly and the old gentleman unlocked the
battered door of his place of business. It was an uncouth, unpainted,
sidling little store, with broken panes showing in the windows and new
shingles speckling the roof.

The interior, however, showed considerable care in the arrangement of
goods and the stock seemed to be large and of good quality. Without
making any pretense of waiting on the boy, the old dealer, who
introduced himself as Martin Groger, seated himself in a much whittled
arm chair and pointed Alex to another.

“Boy,” he said with a very serious expression of countenance, “did you
sleep in the motor boat at the mouth of Wolf Creek last night?”

“Part of the night,” answered Alex.

“What did you hear along after midnight, say an hour or two after
midnight?”

“Nothing special,” answered the boy.

“Did you hear anything that sounded like an explosion?” the old man went
on, “—something like the explosion of a boiler?”

“Why, I heard something of that kind,” Alex replied, wondering what the
old gentleman was getting at. “Did you hear that, too?”

“Yes, I heard it,” answered the old gentleman, drawing his long beard
through his fingers and fixing his grave eyes on those of the lad. “Yes,
I heard it,” he repeated, “and I’ve heard it a good many nights when
there wasn’t any one else awake to hear it—when there wasn’t any one
else astir in the village but me, and no boat tied up at the mouth of
Wolf Creek. Did you see anything?” he added eagerly.

“What would you expect me to see?” asked Alex, with a smile.

“I ain’t saying anything about that,” replied the old gentleman. “I’m
asking you a plain simple question. Did you see anything just before
that explosion?”

“No, I didn’t,” the boy answered, “but two of my chums did.”

The merchant leaned forward with suspicion in his eyes.

“You’re not lying about this?” he asked.

“I would have no object in doing that.”

“Then tell me what you saw.”

“Two of my chums saw three blue lights floating on the surface of the
river—at least that’s what they said.”

“And this was just before the explosion?” queried the old man.

“The lights disappeared after the explosion,” Alex explained. “Do you
know anything about them?” he asked.

“Boy,” the old man exclaimed, moving about in his chair excitedly, “your
chums have seen what only one person in this section has ever been able
to locate.”

“Why,” Alex declared, “any one, I guess, might have seen the lights. The
boys said they stuck out from the river like a sore thumb.”

“Just so!” answered the old gentleman, eagerly. “Just so! Now let me
tell you something about those blue lights,” he went on. “I’ve seen them
time and time again, but the people hereabouts always deny seeing them.”

“Isn’t that remarkable?” asked Alex.

“There’s my son Charles, now,” continued the old man. “I’ve tried to
point them out to him, but he says they don’t exist. Flings out at his
old father just like that. Says they don’t exist!”

“How often do they appear?” asked the boy.

“I haven’t heard of their being about before last night for several
months,” answered the old merchant. “I was in hopes they’d never be seen
here again.”

“What’s the matter with ’em?” asked Alex.

“Matter enough,” was the reply. “They bring disaster!”

“Alex restrained a burst of laughter with difficulty, but finally
managed to face the old gentleman gravely.

“Bring disaster, do they?” he asked.

“Indeed they do!” was the reply. “Whenever the ghosts of the river dead
walk on the surface of the water, it means trouble for all river
dwellers.”

“Many years ago,” the old man continued, “the _Mary Ann_, as trim a
passenger packet as ever sailed between Cincinnati and the Mississippi,
blew her boilers all to flinders right opposite the mouth of Wolf Creek.
There were two hundred passengers on board and they were dancing when
the explosion took place.”

“The deck where they were amusing themselves was lighted by three blue
lights! Ever since that night, the three blue lights have warned of
impending calamity.”

“So you think they’re ghost lights, do you?” asked Alex.

“I know they are!” replied the old merchant. “And I’ll tell you why.
Those lights never fail to appear on the anniversary of the wrecking of
the boat.

“The Mary Ann went down ten years ago to-night, and on every anniversary
of the drowning of those two hundred people, the three blue lights are
seen rising over the exact place where she sank.”

“That’s remarkable!” exclaimed the boy.

“Those who were drowned,” the merchant continued, “went down in their
sins. They were dancing to the devil’s music when they sank. Their
bodies rest uneasily on the bottom of the river, for none of them were
ever found.”

“Why, that’s singular!” Alex remarked. “It would seem that the bodies
might have been recovered.”

“They never have been found,” was the reply. “River men say they were
carried off by an undercurrent and whirled down into the Mississippi,
but I believe the bodies are in there yet.”

“And every anniversary of their death, they show three blue lights, do
they?” asked the boy wonderingly.

“Three blue lights!” said the old man, “and after the three blue lights,
the explosion. I have watched for the lights and the noise every night
for nine years and I have never failed to see and hear.”

“And trouble always comes after the exhibition?” queried the boy. “Then
there is another mystery for the crew of the _Rambler_ to solve.”




CHAPTER XI.—CATCHING BIG CATFISH.


On his way back to the _Rambler_ after his rather remarkable
conversation with the old merchant, Alex met Clay and the old man’s son
hastening toward the store.

“It’s all right!” Clay announced to the boy. “They’ve just got in a big
stock of gasoline, and we’ll fill all the tanks and buy a few red cans
on the side.”

“And for the love of Mike,” Alex interposed, “buy about a peck of spark
plugs. And say,” he called out as Clay mounted the little platform in
front of the place of business, “buy a couple of fish lines that would
bring a freight car out of the water, and the right kind of hooks to go
with them.”

“What’s the idea?” Clay called back.

“Well, you just bring the hooks and lines and I’ll show you where the
idea is,” replied the boy.

When Alex reached the deck of the _Rambler_ he found Case and Jule busy
over a great stack of pancakes. One was spreading them thick with honey
and the other was making them more eatable by the use of bacon gravy.
Eggs were frying in the skillet over the stove and a great pot of coffee
was simmering on the electric coils.

“Whew!” shouted the boy, sticking his nose into the cabin, “you fellows
smell good in here.”

“Yes,” Case laughed, “and you took good care that you didn’t help
produce the fragrance which pervades this apartment.”

“I got supper last night,” pleaded Alex.

“That’s all right,” Jule cut in, “it was your turn to get breakfast this
morning, too. You know what we all agreed to when we left Chicago on the
first trip. The boy that talked slang had to cook the meals and wash the
dishes.”

“Aw, when did I talk slang?” demanded Alex.

“You’ve been talking slang for a week!” Case declared.

“What’d I say?” demanded Alex, scornfully.

“You said one of those river pirates was balmy in the head,” answered
Jule. “You’re always making some break like that. If I had a twirler
like that you carry around with you, and couldn’t keep it under any
better control than you do yours, I’d throw the belt off the wheels.”

“I know who’ll cook meals and wash dishes now,” laughed Alex. “When it
comes to talking slang, you’ve got me backed up on a blind siding with
my fires drawn.”

“Go to it, boys!” roared Case. “Go to it. Get it all off your chests,
and I won’t have to do any work for a month.”

Alex was soon busy at the breakfast table, and when Clay returned with a
great load of gasoline and provisions from the store, everything was
neatly cleared away in the little cabin.

“There!” Clay said, throwing a great package at Alex’s, head, “there’s
your fish line and your fish hooks, and for fear you’d want to use the
coal stove or one of the motors for a sinker, I brought along a section
of railroad iron. I guess that’ll hold your line.”

As the boy spoke, he threw about four inches of steel railway iron down
on the deck with a great thud.

“What did that old gentleman at the store say to you about the three
blue lights?” asked Alex, as Clay prepared to get the boat under way.
“Did he have a ghost story to spin?”

“He didn’t say a word to me about the three blue lights,” Clay replied.
“We didn’t have any time to talk about such things, and we haven’t any
time now, so you fellows just get up here and help fill these tanks.”

All four boys were busy in a moment and young Groger from the store
assisted materially in getting the gasoline on board.

In less than an hour all was ready for departure. The young merchant
shook the boys heartily by the hand and asked them to call if they
returned home by way of the river.

“Oh, we’ll come back all right,” Alex called out. “At least, I’m coming
back. I’m bound to know something more about those three blue lights.
I’m the original mystery investigator!”

“So father told you about that, did he?” queried young Groger.

“Of course, he did!” Alex replied. “He couldn’t talk about anything
else. He seemed to be glad that Clay and Jule saw the three blue lights.
I guess he’s got an idea that the people around here think he’s been
talking about something that never existed.”

“I’m afraid he is,” replied the young man. “He’s always talking about
the three blue lights and the wreck of the _Mary Ann_, and the
explosion, and all that, but he’s the only one about here who ever saw
the lights or heard the explosion.”

“Well, you’re mistaken there!” replied Alex. “Clay saw them last night
and Jule saw them, and all four of us heard the explosion.”

Watching the young man’s face closely as he stepped ashore, Clay thought
that he saw a sudden pallor come over it. The son was evidently as fully
superstitious as his father.

“Now, what did the old merchant tell you about the three blue lights?”
demanded Jule, as the boat swung off down the river.

In as few words as possible Alex explained the mystery of the three blue
lights according to the aged merchant’s theory.

“Well,” Jule said, after a moment’s thought, “the three blue lights did
bob up out of the river. There wasn’t anything there to keep them
floating down with the current, or to sustain them on the surface. And,”
he went on, “there wasn’t anything there to cause an explosion.”

“Ho!” Alex scorned. “You’ll be saying next, that you believe in the
ghost story! Now, just to show you that there’s nothing to it,” he
continued, “I move that we come back up the river after a time and find
out where those blue lights come from, and where they go to.”

“What do you say to that, Clay?” asked Jule.

“You needn’t ask me whether I’m interested or not,” Clay replied. “I’ve
been thinking about those three blue lights a whole lot. I don’t believe
in ghosts, or superstitions of any kind, but I do believe that there is
something significant about those lights.”

“Then it’s settled that we’ll return and investigate?” Alex asked.

The boys all replied in the affirmative and then Alex opened the package
Clay had brought him and unrolled his fish lines, which looked more like
cables than anything else. Case and Jule laughed until they found it
necessary to hold their sides.

Clay looked on with an amused expression on his face. He knew that Alex
usually had a pretty good reason for anything he did, and was expecting
something novel and original. He was not disappointed.

Paying no attention whatever to the jeers of his chums, Alex bent the
great hooks to the cable-like line, took a turn with each around the
section of railroad iron, and moved the whole contraption to the stern.

“Now, you fellows help me to get these lines in right,” he commanded.
“It wants one boy to a line so they won’t get tangled when I dump this
sinker in. Hurry up now, we want this fish.”

“Sinker?” repeated Jule. “I thought your idea was to build a submarine
railroad.”

“Fish!” laughed Case. “What kind of fish do you expect to catch with
that layout? That won’t catch fish!”

“Huh!” answered Alex. “If I had a book containing all you boys don’t
know about catching fish, I’d have to rent the Coliseum in Chicago to
put it in. You boys mean well, but you’re ignorant.”

“Where’re you going to put this fish after you get it?” demanded Jule,
snickering. “We haven’t got any contract for feeding any state troops,
have we? What do you want a big fish for, anyway?”

Alex merely thrust his hands inside the waist band of his trousers and
grinned.

“I’ve got plenty of storage room,” he finally declared.

“Honest, now, Alex,” Clay asked, “what kind of a fish do you expect to
catch?”

“Catfish!” was the short reply.

“Wow!” exclaimed Jule. “I wouldn’t eat a catfish any quicker than I
would eat a cat.”

“What are you putting all that weight on the lines for?” asked Case.

“It’ll sink the hooks into the mud about a foot,” Jule put in.

“Sure it will!” continued Case. “And catfish are never found at the
bottom of the river. They call them catfish because they climb up on
things.”

“You’re the wise little fisher boy,” laughed Alex. “A catfish couldn’t
climb to the surface of the river if they had an electric elevator. They
live in the mud and eat in the mud. After they get a square meal, they
stretch out on a bed of silt like a cat on a sitting room floor. Now get
these lines over and I’ll show you what a real catfish looks like.”

The boys took the lines into their hands and leaned over the stern. Alex
with the iron poised in air stopped suddenly and laid it down on deck.

“I guess I need a little instruction myself,” he said. “You can’t catch
catfish by trolling for them. You’ve got to let the line lay wiggling
from a weight in the mud of the river.”

The boy rushed back to the motors, shut off the power, and then dropped
the anchor.

“Now, boys,” he said, “if you’ll all get back into the cabin and remain
quiet, I’ll coax a catfish two feet long out of the river.”

“You have my sympathy,” Case answered, “and I’ll help you all I can.
I’ll go back into the cabin and make a noise like a dish of cream.”

Regarding Case’s offer as light and trifling, Alex got his lines into
the water and sat down to await results.

“I don’t know,” he said after a while, “but I ought to have waited until
we came under that wooded island just ahead. Catfish have a way of
hovering in the mud around the towheads.”

“We can drop down if you think best,” Clay proposed.

“Just you wait a minute!” Alex exclaimed all excitement, “I’ve got a
bite right now. Two bites!” he yelled the next moment. “Both lines are
running out! Catch one, quick!”

The boy’s announcement that the lines were moving out brought his three
chums instantly to the front. Case and Jule both grabbed for the same
line, with the result that the tops of their heads came together with a
thud and the line continued to wiggle along the deck. Clay stepped on
the moving line and Alex seized it.

The boy now held a line in each hand and was drawn tightly against the
after gunwale.

“Hold on, Alex, hold on!” shouted Case.

“Pull ’em in, pull ’em in!” yelled Jule.

“You bet I’ll hold on!” panted Alex. “Why don’t you boys catch on to the
line?”

The boy sprang for the lines again, but their fingers met only the bare
deck. Alex, hanging on like grim death, stood for a moment with his feet
braced against the gunwale and then went head-first into the river.

“Great spoons!” Jule exclaimed. “Talk about catfish! I’ll bet he’s got a
team of wild colts at the end of those lines!”

Alex, hanging to the lines, went bobbing down the stream.




CHAPTER XII.—THE GHOST OF THE MARY ANN.


“Don’t loose your fish!” jeered Jule, leaning over the gunwale, his face
red with laughter.

“What do you think you are?” called Case. “A blooming pilot?”

Alex could make no headway swimming in the direction of the boat, for
the creatures he had hooked were pulling him, iron and all, toward the
Indiana shore. Now and then the boy was drawn beneath the surface and
came up spluttering, but still grimly holding to the lines.

“Why don’t the little idiot let go?” asked Jule as the boy’s head
disappeared under water for the third or fourth time.

“He’ll never let go!” Case exclaimed. “Why don’t we get the _Rambler_
under motion and pick him up?”

The motor boat was soon racing toward the boy. Alex was still hanging to
his fish lines, and the catfish, or whatever was at the other end, were
making fast for the center of the stream.

It took some moments to reach the boy, and more time to land him on
deck, for he still persisted in hanging on to the fish lines.

Not until the thick lines were securely fastened to a deck cleat would
the boy release his hold.

“Now,” Clay laughed, “if anybody can find a derrick, we’ll get these
fish on board.”

“Aw, those are not fish,” Jule exclaimed, “they’re alligators!”

“Whatever they are,” Alex grinned, “I didn’t let ’em get away with me!
They ducked me, but they didn’t get away!”

“Well,” Clay said in a moment, observing that the lines had ceased to
move about in the water, “your fish must be pretty well tired out by
this time, so we’ll take them ashore.”

“All right!” Alex replied. “While you’re towing them to a shallow place,
I’ll go and get on some dry clothes.”

When at last the motor boat drew the hooks and the sinker to a shallow
spot on the Kentucky side, the boys saw two monstrous catfish squirming
weakly. In grabbing for the raw beef with which the hooks had been
baited, they had been caught far back in the jaws, so no amount of
pulling could have released them.

“They’re alive yet!” shouted Jule.

“I’ll fix that in a minute!” Alex declared, appearing on deck in a dry
suit. “I’ll administer a couple of lead pills which will cure the ills
of life.”

“Hear him talk Shakespeare!” jeered Jule.

Alex considered this remark too immaterial to notice. He leveled his
automatic at the fish and fired a volley at their heads.

“Now, where’s that derrick?” asked Case.

As the fish were nearly two yards in length, it was evident that only
one need be brought aboard for food, so one was sent sailing down the
stream and the other was, with no little difficulty, lifted to the deck.
Alex danced about his prize joyously.

“Why, look here!” Case exclaimed. “This fish hasn’t got any scales!”

“Do you think I’ve been going through all this to get a sturgeon?” asked
Alex. “I should think not!”

“The catfish,” Clay explained, “belongs to the bullhead tribe, and has a
hard, tough hide instead of scales.”

“Is it good to eat?” asked Jule.

“Of course it’s good to eat,” answered Alex. “Do you think I’d go to the
floor of the river with a fish that wasn’t fit to eat?”

“I’d like to know why they call these things catfish,” Case exclaimed,
turning the monster with his foot.

“Huh!” snickered Jule. “They have back fences at the bottom of the
river, and these fish climb up and give midnight concerts.”

“Jule,” said Alex gravely, “your imagination seems to be getting the
best of your conscience. If we had an Ananias club on board this boat,
you surely would be the Perpetual Grand.”

“All right,” Jule said, “when you get a club formed I’ll take the
office. But who’s going to cook this fish?” he went on.

“I’ll cook him if you’ll skin him,” Case offered. “We want only a few
pounds of catfish steak,” Clay observed.

“I’m going to boil about half of him!” Alex declared, “so as to give
Captain Joe and Teddy the feast of their lives.”

“It’s a wonder Captain Joe didn’t jump into the river after you when the
fish invited you down into the mud,” Jule laughed.

“Captain Joe and the bear were both asleep in the cabin,” Case
explained.

The boys had a merry time preparing that fish for cooking. It is not
hard work to dress a catfish if you know how, but these boys did not
know how. At last, however, a great hunk was boiling in a pot and slices
were ready for frying. By noon the meal was ready, and the boys all
admitted that Alex’s, catfish was a very good substitute for salmon,
although nothing at all like it in appearance.

The boys drifted slowly on the river that day, taking in the wild
scenery and stopping now and then at cosy little landings on the
Kentucky side. It was a warm, clear day in September, and the world
never looked brighter to them than it did at that time.

They passed river craft of all shapes and sizes during the day. There
were monstrous steamers having the appearance of floating hotels, there
were great freight boats loaded to the guards, there were house-boats,
motor boats, and great coal tows which dominated the stream as they
passed.

“There’s a boat,” Clay said just before twilight, “which looks to me
like a river saloon and I think those on board are watching the
_Rambler_.”

“If it is,” Case suggested, “we’d better take to our heels. We don’t
want any more experience with river pirates.”

“I should say not!” broke in Alex. “Those fellows don’t own the river.
We’ve got just as much right here as they have. If they try to come
aboard, we’ll set Teddy on them.”

The suspicious steamer checked her speed as the boys slowed down on the
_Rambler_, and it was soon evident that those in charge of the whiskey
boat were desirous of speaking with the boys.

“Hello, boys!” called a voice from the cabin deck of the steamer.

“Hello, yourself!” Alex called back.

“How’s the bear?” asked the voice.

“Fine!” Alex answered.

“What do you know about our bear?” Case demanded.

“I was on the _Hawk_ last night,” was the reply.

“Did you see those two men head for the water?” Jule asked with a
snicker.

“Funniest thing I ever saw!” the other answered.

There was a short silence and then another voice called out from the
steamer:

“Why don’t you boys come on board?”

“Nothing doing!” answered Clay.

“Some of our people want a look at the dog and bear!” the first speaker
said. “So, if you don’t object, we’ll come on board.”

“No, you don’t!” Clay answered.

“We’ll see about that!” came from the boat.

The steamer shot ahead so as to come up to the port side of the
_Rambler_.

“Keep off!” ordered Clay. “We don’t want any of that whiskey crowd on
board! If you try to put foot on our deck, we’ll shoot.”

“I guess not!” laughed the other.

While Clay had been talking with those on board the steamer, Case had
been at work with the motors, and the _Rambler_ now shot ahead at full
speed, drawing swiftly away from the steamer.

There was an instant commotion on the deck of the saloon boat and then
she, too, shot ahead at a good rate of speed.

Given a clear stretch of water, the _Rambler_ would soon have been out
of sight of the steamer, but on turning a bend, a monster coal tow came
into view. There were rows on rows of barges heaped high with coal, all
headed for the Mississippi. In the rear was a gamey tug swinging from
side to side in order to keep the fleet under control.

“Now we are up against it!” exclaimed Clay. “We never can get by those
barges!”

“How do the steamers get by?” asked Jule.

“They don’t get by at all when the coal tow is passing around a narrow
bend like that!” was the answer.

“Well, what are we going to do?” Alex asked. “Let those fellows come on
board here and eat us up?”

“If there weren’t so many people on board that saloon boat,” Case
declared, “I’d dynamite it. She ought to be blown out of the water,
anyway. We can’t be bothered all the way down with these whiskey boats!”

“We shall be if we don’t make a record in some way!” Clay said. “I move
we run into the little creek there on the Indiana shore and shoot if
they come near us.”

“Say!” Alex said in a moment. “That isn’t a creek at all. Don’t you see
that the main river is on the other side of it? That’s a big island with
a lagoon in the middle, and an opening on the upper end.”

“That’s not the main river on the other side!” Case observed. “It is
wide, but it looks shallow. If it was the main river, we could pass
through there and so get in ahead of the coal tow.”

“Well, then, suppose we run into the lagoon,” suggested Alex.

It was now quite dark, and the lights of the saloon boat showed that
those on board were holding some sort of conference with those on board
the tug in charge of the tow. The boats were some distance apart, yet
even in the gathering darkness the boys could see the crew of the barges
racing over the coal in order to do business with the bartender on the
steamer.

“Before morning,” Case observed, “those saloon pirates will have every
dollar there is in that bunch of rivermen. I wish there was some way to
separate the two crews.

“What do we care?” laughed Alex. “Either bunch would rob us if they
could.”

“Now,” Clay said in a moment, “turn the boat in toward the entrance to
the lagoon, keep all the lights off, and let her drift. They’ll think
we’ve gone downstream on the other side of the island.”

“That lagoon looks pretty good to me,” Jule observed. “I feel like I
hadn’t had any sleep for a week. We’ll just tie right up in that little
pond and sleep all we want to.”

“That will be a nice place to tie up!” laughed Case. “Alex won’t run any
risk of being towed down the Mississippi if he goes fishing again.”

And so, with no lights showing, the _Rambler_, under the impetus of the
last push of the propeller, glided noiselessly into the mouth of the
lagoon. Both arms of the island were heavily wooded and in a moment, the
boys were out of sight of the tow and the saloon boat. It was dark and
still along both shores of the lagoon. Wild birds settling for the night
called to each other across the narrow stretch of water, but otherwise
all was silent.

“Nice and quiet,” Jule declared, “but just look ahead there, if you
will. You can all see the three blue lights, now, if you want to! The
ghost of the _Mary Ann_ must have lost his bearings.”




CHAPTER XIII.—EXPLORING A LAGOON.


“Are those blue lights on the water or on the shore?” asked Clay.

“You can search me!” Alex replied.

“They’re on the water!” insisted Jule. “Can’t you see the blue gleam
shining on the waves?”

“Wherever they are,” Clay said, “I’m going down and investigate.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Alex. “We’ll go down and see what the ghost
of the _Mary Ann_ has to say for himself.”

“I was thinking of taking Captain Joe for company,” Clay laughed.

“All right,” Alex grinned, “go on with Captain Joe if you want to.”

“I’m afraid two will make too much noise making their way through the
thickets,” Clay said thoughtfully.

“How are you going to get ashore?” asked Alex, briefly.

“I’m going to pole the _Rambler_ up close enough so I can jump,” was the
answer.

“I guess you can do that all right,” Case cut in. “This water seems to
me to be about fifty feet deep.”

“This is an odd looking island,” Jule observed. “The land seems to be
shaped like a horse shoe.”

“There are numerous odd-shaped islands in the Mississippi and Ohio
rivers. You can see easily enough how this peculiar formation came
about,” Clay observed, “some forest fire burned the timber out of the
center of the island. When the roots and stumps died out, the river
carried the soil away. If the big trees on the two arms of the island
should be cut down, the river would eat the soil away in a very short
time.”

“Well, what are you going to do when you get over to shore?” asked Alex.

“I’m going to sneak down to where the lights show, and see what it is
that makes them.”

“All right,” Alex said with an aggrieved air, “while you’re out having
fun with the blue lights and the dog I’ll go to bed.”

“Oh, come along if you want to,” Clay laughed.

“No,” Alex replied more cheerfully, “I think I’ll go to bed. You boys
can blunder around all night if you want to.”

The boy made his way to the cabin, and Clay warped the boat toward the
north shore. In a few moments the keel seemed to strike bottom and then
the boy examined the bank with a searchlight. All was clear so he sprang
lightly across the narrow stretch of water and disappeared in the
darkness.

The three blue lights were still observable not far from two hundred
yards from the boat. They lay in a straight line up and down the lagoon.

The boys heard Clay making his way through the thicket for a few
moments, and then all sounds on the shore ceased.

“I don’t believe he’ll find anything in there,” Jule said.

“Then what makes those lights?” demanded Case.

“The old merchant up at Wolf Creek told us what made the three blue
lights,” chuckled Jule.

“I just believe,” Case replied, “that that is some signal.”

“What would be the use of a signal, out in the middle of the river
opposite Wolf Creek?” demanded Jule.

“I can’t explain it,” Case answered, “but it’s a signal, just the same.
It just can’t be anything else.”

“And what would be the use of a signal in this little old shut-in
lagoon?” continued Jule.

“Then if it isn’t a signal, what is it?” asked Case.

“It’s just some natural phenomenon,” was the reply. “When Clay gets down
there he won’t see anything at all. It may be that you can’t see the
lights from any direction except this! You’ve seen wandering lights in
swamps, haven’t you? Well, it’s my idea that this is that kind of a
light.”

“We may know something more about it when Clay comes back,” Case
suggested. “He may find out what it means.”

While the boys sat on the deck watching the mysterious lights with
puzzled eyes, there came a quick, sharp explosion and the lights
disappeared. The explosion sounded like the touching off of dynamite.

Both boys arose to their feet and leaned over the gunwale of the boat,
gazing down the lagoon with mystified faces.

“Alex went to bed too early!” Case suggested.

“Yes, he should have seen that little old Fourth of July celebration,”
Jule replied. “Let’s wake him up and tell him about it.”

“You wake him up,” Case answered.

Jule made his way into the cabin and felt around on the bunk occupied by
the boy. Teddy, the bear cub, lay there sound asleep but Alex had
disappeared! Jule returned to the deck with a grin.

“That little idiot,” he said, “has left the boat again.”

“We might have known he would!” answered Case. “He runs away from the
boat in the night every time he gets a chance, especially if Clay is
ashore. They’ll both be back here before long.”

“Clay probably will,” Jule observed, “but we don’t know when Alex will
return. We usually have to get him out of some scrape.”

In the meantime Clay was pushing steadily through the thicket which
lined the north arm of the peculiar-shaped island. For some moments he
guided his steps by the blue lights which seemed to him to rest upon the
water. Then came the explosion which the boys had heard and the lights
were no longer in view.

“Now that’s a funny proposition,” the boy mused. “Why should those
lights be hidden in this out of the way lagoon, and why should they pop
out like that?”

Captain Joe, following close at the boy’s heels, now forced his way
through the underbrush to the water’s edge and began uttering a series
of low growls. Clay whistled softly but the dog refused to return. In a
moment he ceased his verbal demonstrations and lay still, looking across
the lagoon to the other shore.

“What’s the matter with you, Captain Joe?” Clay demanded in a whisper.
“If you see some one who might have produced those lights, why don’t you
say so? And don’t make so much noise about it, either!”

The dog advanced a few feet into the water until his shoulders were well
covered and then backed out again. All this time his snarling muzzle was
directed toward the opposite bank.

Directly he came out of the lagoon and crouched down at Clay’s feet.

“There’s something going on here, dog,” Clay whispered, patting Captain
Joe on the head, “and we’ll just settle down right here and find out
what it is. All you’ve got to do in order to help out is to keep still.”

The dog nodded his head knowingly, and the two crouched down in the
darkness of the thicket to listen and to watch.

While they waited, the lights of the _Rambler_ showed farther up, and
Clay understood that something unusual was in progress there.

“They might as well invite that saloon boat to come sailing in here as
to turn on those lights!” Clay muttered. “There must be something
serious or they never would illuminate the _Rambler_ in that way.”

Captain Joe now began moving restlessly about, and finally started up
the lagoon toward the motor boat. Clay followed slowly, and soon came
within the circle of light from the deck. He found Case and Jule looking
over the gunwale.

“Why don’t you put out the lights?” he asked.

“We turned them on to direct you boys home,” was the reply.

“You boys home?” repeated Clay.

“Yes, you boys!” answered Jule. “Alex jumped out about as soon as you
left. Did you see him anywhere?”

“I don’t think he came out on this side” Clay replied.

“If he didn’t,” Jule went on, “he’s in some mixup over on the south arm.
There’s doings of some kind over there.”

“How do you know?” asked Clay.

“Because, just a few moments after we discovered that the boy had gone,
a large rowboat came in at the mouth of the lagoon, passed along our
port side and ducked into the bank some distance down. We couldn’t see
her, of course, only just for a second as she came opposite us, and then
only indistinctly, but we could hear her when she landed.”

“The question before the house now,” Case observed, “is about getting
you on board again. You can jump from the gunwale to the shore but you
can’t jump from the shore back to the gunwale.”

“There’s a long board under the forward deck between the storage bins,”
Clay answered. “Get that out and I’ll climb it.”

The board was brought, and Clay was soon on deck. The first thing he did
was to turn off the lights.

“What did you do that for?” asked Case. “Alex never will find his way
back here in the darkness!”

“Alex can hide in some thicket until we find out what’s going on,” Clay
answered. “As for the _Rambler_, we want to drift down so those in the
boat won’t know exactly where she lies.”

The boat drifted down on the sluggish current of the lagoon for perhaps
two hundred yards, and then the anchor was dropped at a point very near
to where the three blue lights had shown.

“Now, we’ll keep as quiet as three bugs in a rug till we find out what’s
going on,” Clay said.

“What did you find out about the lights?” asked Jule.

“They went out before I got to them,” Clay answered.

“What do you think about them?” Jule insisted.

“I don’t think!” was the reply.

“Case insists that they are merely signals,” Jule went on.

“That’s my idea, too,” Clay answered. “The lights certainly do not come
up out of the water.”

“But who would be signaling in this lonely old lagoon?” demanded Jule.

“That’s what we don’t know,” Clay returned. “All we’ve got to do is to
lie here and watch.”

“Say!” Case exclaimed in a moment. “What did you do with Captain Joe?”

“Why, he was right there when I came on board,” Clay replied. “I thought
he came up the long plank right after me.”

“Well, he didn’t?” Case went on. “I took in the board after you came up,
and the dog was nowhere in sight.”

“I’m glad of that!” answered Clay. “I certainly am glad of that!”

“I don’t see any good reason for celebrating the disappearance of the
dog!” growled Case.

“I do!” Jule cut in. “Captain Joe will go and find Alex.”

“Sure he will!” admitted Case. “I never thought of that.”

The three boys sat for a long time on the deck of the motor boat looking
out into the darkness. Now and then they heard the sound of rustling
bushes on the shores, but as a rule the scene was very still. It must
have been near midnight when Jule caught his chums by their arms and
drew them closer to the port gunwale.

“There,” he said, nodding his head to the west, “there are the three
blue lights. They are close to the south arm of the island this time.
Now what do you make of it?”

“Let’s wait and see if they blow up like the others did,” suggested
Case. “They, too, may explode with a loud noise.”

“What else can we do?” chuckled Jule.

“There’s only one thing we can do,” Clay advised, “if we want to settle
this mystery right here and now, and that is to turn on the motors and
shoot down there like a rocket.”

“I’m for it!” Jule declared. “Let’s ram the ghost out of the water!”




CHAPTER XIV.—CAPTAIN JOE HELPS SOME.


Alex did not remain long in the cabin of the _Rambler_ after Clay’s
departure. His two chums were seated on the prow of the boat, and the
lights were out, so he had little difficulty in dropping unobserved into
the water. Before leaving the cabin, he had drawn on an old suit of
clothes used for just such purposes, so he did not mind getting wet.

Once in the water, he struck out for the south arm of the island. It was
his idea that the coal tow and the saloon boat would hover about that
spot for some little time. Those who had whiskey to sell would be sure
to keep in the company of the tow, and those who had the whiskey thirst
would be pretty apt to rush on board the steamer for the purpose of
satisfying it.

The boy, of course, did not understand that the tug in charge of the
barges could not have held them against the push of the current in any
event. His idea that the tow and the saloon boat would keep company,
however, was the correct one.

Almost as soon as his feet came in contact with the sloping shore of the
south arm, he heard shouts of laughter coming across the wooded stretch
of land between the lagoon and the main channel of the river. Proceeding
on as rapidly as was possible in the darkness, he soon came to a
position from which he could see the lights of the steamer. She was
standing perfectly still some distance down the stream from the mouth of
the lagoon, and the tug and barges seemed to have halted, too.

Directly he saw lights flashing along the barges and heard exclamations
of anger and dismay from the front ranks. Then he saw what had taken
place. The crew of the tow had paid too much attention to whiskey and
too little to navigation.

The front line had grounded at a bend just below, and the others were
piling against them. Even with his limited knowledge of river work, the
boy saw that it would be hours before the barges could be towed off the
bar. A good many of the men supposed to be in charge of the tow were
still drinking on board the saloon boat.

“That’s always the way with whiskey,” Alex said. “It jumps into the
places where it can make the most trouble. “If I ever take a drink of
the stuff, I hope I’ll get five years for every drop I swallow. A person
who drinks whiskey is no good, anyway, and might as well be in prison as
anywhere else.”

There was now a great commotion on board the steamer, and the boy saw
that those in charge of the tow were forcing their unruly employes back
to their duty. Directly the steamer anchored a short distance up the
river. The barges which were grounded were detached from the main tow,
and the whole mass went swinging down the river again, followed by
shouts of laughter from the steamer.

“Now,” mused the boy, “I wonder whether that pirate boat will keep on
after the tow in order to get what little money those poor fools have
left, or whether it will be kept here in the hope of annexing the
_Rambler_?”

The question was answered in a moment, for the steamer edged in close to
the shore and threw out an anchor.

“That’s fine!” Alex muttered. “Now they’ll be running over this island
to find the _Rambler_, caught like a rat in a trap. I’m glad they
haven’t got sense enough to run up and block the lagoon!”

The lights of the steamer made a fair illumination on the bank where
Alex lay, and directly he saw a boat put out and head for the very
thicket which concealed him. He crept softly back toward the interior
and waited for developments. When the boat touched the shore two men
stepped out and pressed through the thicket toward the lagoon.

“This is foolishness,” the boy heard one of the men say. “I tell you,
Bostock,” he went on, “that the motor boat made the north passage and
went on down the river while we were fooling with that tow crowd.”

“I don’t believe it, Davis,” was the reply. “They just doused their
lights and dropped into the lagoon. I was watching the river and no
lights showed below the island.”

“Well,” Davis said, “we can soon find out. It isn’t far from here to the
lagoon, though it’s mighty unpleasant traveling in the night time. You
may be right, but I don’t believe it.”

The two men passed within six feet of where Alex lay, concealed, and as
soon as the thicket closed behind them, he crept along in their wake. As
the men made considerable noise themselves, he figured that they would
not be likely to hear any racket he might make.

In fifteen minutes the three reached the highest point on the island,
from which, in daylight, both the main channel of the river and the
lagoon might be seen. Just at the moment they came within sight of the
inner channel the lights flared out on the _Rambler_.

Alex restrained an exclamation of disgust with great difficulty.

“The confounded idiots!” he said under his breath. “To go and light
those lamps at this time! Why, we crawled in there to hide!”

“There!” the boy heard the man who had been called Bostock exclaim, “I
told you the motor boat had made for the lagoon!”

“Well, you were right,” was the reply.

“Now, all we’ve got to do,” Bostock went on, “is to run the steamer up
to the mouth of the lagoon and nail these boys in good and tight.”

“That’s right,” the other answered, “and once we get hold of that motor
boat there isn’t a thing we can’t do on this river. I’ve heard of the
exploits of those boys all the way down from Pittsburg. That boat is
built with the motors of a sea-going tug, and can outrun anything on the
river. Besides that, unless I am greatly mistaken, the cabin and the
deck under the gunwales are bullet-proof.”

“Right you are!” Bostock answered. “There isn’t a thing we can’t do
after we get hold of that boat, but what are we going to do with the
boys?”

“We’ll have to make some arrangements for keeping them out of the way,”
Davis suggested. “If they put up a fight, well, the lagoon is a pretty
good place to leave them.”

“Now, then,” mused Alex, “the thing for me to do is to shoot both of
those murderers, and so get the _Rambler_ out of this scrape!”

Without any intention of following his own advice, the boy thrust his
hand into his pistol pocket and found it empty.

“Anyway,” he muttered, “it wouldn’t have been any good after swimming
over here. It seems as if I never did have a gun when I wanted one.”

The boy struck off to the east, his idea being to gain a position a
short distance above the _Rambler_ and then swim aboard. He had
proceeded but a few yards when a rustling in the bushes just ahead
attracted his attention. The rustling was soon followed by a low growl,
and directly the damp muzzle of the bulldog was thrust into the boy’s
face.

“So you’ve gone and run away, too, have you Captain Joe?” demanded Alex.
“I’ve a great mind to send you out to eat up two pirates.”

It was too dark to see the bulldog distinctly, but Alex knew that he was
accepting the commission joyfully.

“I don’t think it will do any good, doggie,” the boy finally whispered.
“Those pirates are about like skunks—you kill one and half a dozen more
come to the funeral. If those fellows don’t get back to their steamer
directly, there’ll be a mob of their companions on this island before
daylight. All we can do now is to get to the _Rambler_ and head her out
of this lagoon before the steamer gets to the entrance.”

With this object in mind, the boy and dog made their way swiftly through
the thicket, paying little attention to the noise they made. Far in the
rear they heard the river pirates calling out to them, but paid no
attention. When Alex reached the shore of the lagoon he was at a loss
which way to turn. There was now no illumination to show the location of
the _Rambler_.

“What’s your notion now, Captain Joe?” he asked of the dog. “If you can
tell me which way to turn to find that motor boat, I’ll give you a chunk
of catfish as big as your head when we get aboard.”

Thus urged and bribed, the dog lost no time in turning to the west.

“I think you’re wrong, Captain Joe!” Alex urged.

The bulldog insisted that he was right, and as the boy had no good
grounds upon which to dispute his judgment, he followed along after him.
It was by no means good walking along the bank, for in many places trees
and shrubs had been undermined during high water, and trunks and masses
of smaller growth often stretched out into the water.

“I tell you what it is, Captain Joe,” Alex said as they went along. “If
you dare to take me back where those saloon pirates are, I’ll advise
Teddy to take a bite out of your ear when we get aboard the _Rambler_
again, if we ever do.”

Captain Joe’s only reply was to seize Alex by one trousers’ leg and
hustle him along over a mass of boughs which seemed to the boy to be
several miles high.

At last, after a great deal of this climbing, Joe stopped on the bank of
the lagoon and pointed with his nose out over the water. The two of them
must have made considerable racket scrambling along the beach, for just
as Joe stopped a soft whistle came out of the darkness.

“Captain Joe,” whispered Alex, patting the dog on the head, “you’re the
candy kid! That’s Clay, without the shadow of a doubt. Now you tell him
that we want to come aboard.”

As if understanding every word spoken to him by the lad, the dog fawned
about for a moment and then uttered a short, sharp bark.

“Come aboard, you runaway!” a voice whispered from the boat.

“Don’t you think we won’t! exclaimed Alex. “Can’t you show a light just
for a minute? It’s so dark I wouldn’t know the river was wet if I didn’t
feel it.”

A flashlight was turned on for just an instant and then shut off.
Captain Joe greeted the finger of light with a joyous bark and plunged
into the lagoon. Alex was about to follow his example in the matter of
taking to the water when he felt himself seized by the collar and drawn
back. It was evident that the two had made altogether too much noise,
and had been followed by the men from the steamer.

“Keep your mouth closed now!” whispered one of the men in Alex’s ear.

“Ram your gun down his throat if he doesn’t!” another voice said.

Alex knew that the purpose of the pirates was to prevent his warning his
companions of the presence of the steamer and its crew in that vicinity.
He knew, too, that unless he could notify those on board the _Rambler_
of the intentions of the pirates, their retreat from the lagoon would
soon be shut off.

He knew, too, that he was taking great chances in making the situation
understood. Still, he decided to risk his own life in order to warn his
friends. With the pirate holding him by the collar, he sprang forward
and cried at the top of his voice:

“Captain Joe! Captain Joe!”

Something in the tone of the boy’s voice told the dog as well as those
on board the motor boat that Alex was in deadly peril. It was not his
habit to ask for assistance unless it was very badly needed.

Answering the indefinite but well-understood appeal, the dog turned back
to the shore, unseen but plainly heard in the disturbed waters.

One of the men struck fiercely at his head with the butt of a gun as he
swept past him. The man who had hold of the boy fired a shot at the dim
rushing figure. The bullet went wide of its mark.

The next instant the bulldog had a set of very capable teeth clamped
about the throat of the outlaw. The man struggled and gurgled horribly
as the impact of the dog’s body threw him back, releasing Alex from his
grasp. The boy sprang away and shouted:

“Turn on the lights, boys, turn on the lights!” In a second the powerful
searchlight on the prow of the _Rambler_ was turned on the spot from
which the call had proceeded. It revealed one of the men lying helpless
on the ground, writhing under the dog’s jaws and the other disappearing
in a thicket.

Alex picked up the outlaw’s revolver, which had fallen to the ground,
and called the dog away. He was stooping over the prostrate figure to
ascertain, if possible, the extent of the injuries inflicted by the dog
when a shot came from a tangle a short distance away.

“Come on, Captain Joe!” the boy shouted. “Let him alone.”

Leaving the two outlaws on the bank, one-half unconscious, the other
raging helplessly in the jungle, the boy and the dog sprang into the
lagoon. As they did so another harmless shot came from the interior, and
then the lights on the _Rambler_ were switched off.

Several spiteful shots were now fired toward the boat, but the two
swimmers were, of course, out of sight of the outlaws, so the bullets
were not directed at them.

In a very brief space of time, Alex and Captain Joe were hauled on deck,
where they lay dripping and panting for an instant before a word was
spoken. The lights were still out.

“You’re a beautiful pair!” Jule whispered, then. “We were just talking
about you two getting into a scrape before we got out of the lagoon.”

“Never mind the scrape!” Alex panted, still breathing hard. “Put on full
power and steam up out of the lagoon. That whiskey boat is going up to
block the way!”

Without waiting for further information on the subject, Clay sprang to
the motors and the _Rambler_ was soon making her way upstream.

When they came to a low-lying portion of the south arm, they saw the
lights of the steamer across the point, trying to head them off.




CHAPTER XV.—THE RAMBLER STRIKES BACK.


“Just let me get up on the prow with a gun!” Alex exclaimed, pulling
himself out of a puddle of water on the deck. “I want to get a couple of
shots at those devils on board that steamer!”

“What did they do to you?” asked Case.

“They didn’t do nothing to me, only choked me nearly to death with the
collar of my own shirt,” said the boy, “but I heard them planning to
leave us lying at the bottom of the lagoon and steal the boat.”

“That’s what they’re here for!” Clay answered. “When you see a whiskey
boat on any river, you may make up your mind that the men on board will
commit murder if they find it necessary.”

“If we don’t get more speed on,” Case exclaimed, pulling Alex away as he
made a dash for the prow, “they’ll beat us to the entrance to the lagoon
now.”

Clay rushed back to the motors to see if another ounce of power could
not be turned on while Jule seized the lines and headed the boat off on
the port side.

“They’ll come in from the river side,” he said to Case, “and we may slip
through between their prow and the little bend which tops the lagoon on
the north side.”

The _Rambler_ was moving much faster than the steamer, but the latter
had several rods the start. As they raced desperately for the narrow
strip of water between the two arms of the island it was an open
question as to which would win.

“I just believe she’s going to get there first!” Jule said drawing still
farther away to port. “Can’t you make her go any faster, Clay?”

“Every pound of power is on!” Clay replied. “You boys would better be
getting your guns ready. If we come together they may try to board us.
If you shoot, shoot to some purpose.”

“We ain’t a-going to come together!” Jule whispered to Alex, who now
occupied a position at his side. “At least, we’re not going to come
together so they can jump over on our deck.”

“What are you going to do?” Alex asked. “Look here!” Jule queried. “The
_Rambler_’s sides and prow are braced with steel, aren’t they?”

“You know it!” Alex answered with a chuckle as he began to understand
the purpose of his chum.

“Well, then,” Jule declared, “I’m going to ram her! If that steamer gets
her nose in our way, I’m going to send the _Rambler_ plumb through her.
I wonder how they’ll like that?”

“If you do,” Alex advised, “reverse the minute you strike. If you don’t,
you are likely to get wedged into any hole you may make.”

“I tell you I’m going to send the _Rambler_ clear through her!” insisted
Jule. “I’m going to bang her with all the force of the motors.”

“Go to it!” Alex exclaimed. “I’m game for any racket of that kind. Only
don’t you say anything to Clay about it. He’d be afraid of breaking the
motors or something.”

The _Rambler_ was now almost to the entrance. The steamer was still
moving upstream. As the boys looked the prow of the whiskey boat turned
almost directly into the path which the motor boat must follow in order
to leave the lagoon.

Jeers of triumph arose from the cabin deck of the steamer as those on
board took in the significance of the situation. They now considered it
certain that the _Rambler_ would soon be at their mercy, blocked beyond
the possibility of escape in the lagoon.

Jule at the helm of the motor boat, however, had a very different idea
as to how the scene ought to terminate. In a second the great steamer,
lumbering and loosely built, lay broadside to the oncoming _Rambler_.
Clay gave a cry of warning as the boy swirled the boat so as to strike
the steamer amidships, but Jule held on to his course.

Before Clay could utter another cry of warning, the steel prow of the
_Rambler_ crashed into the steamer about a third back from the prow!

It seemed for a moment as if Jule’s prediction that he would go clear
through the lumbering old steamer was to be fulfilled, for the steel
prow cut into the thin sides of the steamer as a knife cuts into cheese.
The shock was terrific.

The boys were knocked off their feet, and Jule found himself rolling on
the deck with the tiller ropes still grasped in his hands!

Shouts of rage and alarm came from the sinking boat, and there was an
immediate rush for the railing overlooking the motor boat. The steamer
was still staggering under the impact of the blow, and those on board
were reeling like drunken men.

Clay’s first act was to reverse the motors. Much to his delight and
surprise, the _Rambler_ backed slowly out of the cavity she had cut into
the side of the steamer. The side wall of the ponderous old boat had
been shattered into bits many feet on either side of the actual cut!

As the _Rambler_ backed away, the steamer began drifting downstream,
moving as chance would have it, toward the main channel of the river
instead of toward the lagoon. The boys saw at once that she was filling
with water, and would probably sink where she lay. They saw, too, that
men with pistols in their hands were threatening them from the cabin
deck of the steamer.

With fear and trembling Clay set the motors going again, wondering
whether they had been injured in the collision so as to render the
_Rambler_ unmanageable. The motors responded nobly, however, and in a
moment the boys had the satisfaction of seeing her glide past the
dipping prow of the steamer.

It was dark as ink over the surface of the river, and Alex turned on the
lights as the _Rambler_ rounded the sinking saloon boat and swept on
downstream. Once well under way, Clay walked up to the prow and looked
it over.

“Any harm done?” called Jule.

“No harm that paint and putty won’t repair,” answered Clay. “That is,
not here,” he added. “Some of you boys would better look into the
cabin.”

The cabin certainly was in a mess. Alex’s cherished catfish lay rolling
on the floor, with Teddy shambling back and forth after it. Many of the
lockers had been burst open, and a heap of broken crockery lay on the
floor not far from the electric coils. The glass panel in the cabin door
was shattered, and the coal stove, which had been used in lower
latitudes to keep the boys warm, lay on its side.

“Everything’s all right in here!” Alex cried sticking his freckled nose
through the sash formerly occupied by the glass panel. “Nothing wrong in
here at all, except that the stove is tipped over, and the dishes are
all broken, and our expensive wardrobes are rolling in the dirt, and
Teddy’s eating up my catfish. Oh, we’re all right in here!”

Clay left the prow and looked through into the cabin.

“We ought to charge this to Jule!” he said with a laugh.

“All right!” said Jule. “I wouldn’t have missed that for a thousand
dollars. Do you think I sunk that boat?”

“You certainly did!” answered Clay. “The last I saw of her as we came
around the bend her cabin lights were shining mighty low.”

“And now,” Case complained, “they’ll be sending word on down the river
to have us arrested for piracy on the high seas.”

“Don’t you ever think they will!” Alex put in. “I don’t believe there’s
a man on board that boat that dare step foot either into Indiana or
Kentucky. They sell drugged moonshine whiskey, and they rob every man
that comes on board, so it’s a sure thing that there’s a warrant for
them in every town along the river.”

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Jule!” Clay laughed.

“What’s the answer?” Jule questioned.

“I didn’t think you had the nerve to ram a boat the size of that one. It
was a desperate thing to do.”

“Huh!” grinned Jule. “I guess if I hadn’t rammed her, we’d be packed
like sardines in some dirty old steamer hold now.”

“And that’s no dream!” Alex shouted.

With her prow light burning brightly, the _Rambler_ proceeded slowly
down the river. In a few moments they came to four great coal barges
stranded on a sand bar. As they glided by a man in a rowboat shot out
into the circle of light and called out:

“What’s the trouble up the river, boys?”

“Oh,” Alex answered, “a saloon boat ran into something and broke in two.
I guess she’s sinking.”

“I thought I heard a crash of some kind,” answered the stranger.
“Anybody likely to get drowned?”

“I hope so!” Clay answered. “That’s one of the meanest outlaw boats on
the river. I was glad to see her going down.”

“Indeed it is,” agreed the other. “I saw the men on board of her getting
the bargemen drunk. You see the result here. Hundreds of tons of
perfectly good coal wasted.”

“Suppose we run into a cove here, or up against one of those barges,”
Jule whispered, “and see if this man knows anything about the three blue
lights.”

The _Rambler_ was steered under the lee of the lower barge downstream
from the sand bar and the stranger rowed alongside.

Clay was about to question him regarding the phenomenon, now twice
witnessed, when the hum of low voices came from the shore. The boy
listened intently and the next moment the heavy tramping of horses’ feet
came to his ears. Directly the sharp whinny of a restive horse cut the
still air!




CHAPTER XVI.—THE COAL BARGES INTERVENE.


The stranger looked at the boys sharply as they stood listening to the
noises on shore. There was an expression of displeasure on his face as
he noted how watchful they were.

“What’s that?” asked Alex.

“Sounds like horses and men, replied the stranger, speaking sharply and
turning away as he did so.

“What are they doing out on the river bank at this time of night?”
queried Jule. “What’s coming next, I wonder?”

The stranger, who had turned away abruptly, now moved back so that his
face was plainly seen under the prow light of the _Rambler_. When he
spoke it was with an attempt at heartiness, but the boys saw that he was
worried.

“I may as well tell you all about it,” he began with an insincere air.
“You’ve heard the horses trampling, and heard the men talking, so you
may as well understand what they’re here for. These river pirates have
been making a lot of trouble lately. They coax our plantation hands on
board their pesky boats and that’s the last we ever see of them. There’s
many a good crop gone to waste along the Ohio river because those
outlaws carry whiskey to sell.”

“We’ve seen quite a lot of that,” Clay suggested.

“Everybody who is on the river sees a lot of it,” the stranger
continued. “Well, now we’ve decided not to stand it any longer. We came
here to destroy that boat, and I’m half sorry that an accident prevented
our accomplishing the work. One boat nicely blown up would warn a score
away. They need the lesson.”

“Well,” Clay laughed, “it wasn’t an accident that destroyed the steamer.
She tried to block us in the lagoon and we rammed her with our steel
prow. That boat will never make you any more trouble.”

“You are to be congratulated!” the stranger observed. “You have my
permission to ram every whiskey boat on the river.”

The man’s face was smiling enough, and his manner was sufficiently
friendly, still the boys all found themselves wondering if he was
telling the exact truth. They knew very well that many people scattered
along the river on both banks were in touch with the whiskey boats, even
supplying them with moonshine and tobacco.

“Why don’t some of those men with the horses show up?” asked Jule
presently. “Why are they hiding in there now?”

“Because they don’t care about being identified as being mixed up in a
raid on a whisky boat!” was the reply. “Only for the fact that you got
the start of us we could have destroyed that boat without one of us
being recognized. We don’t care for lawsuits.”

“If they remain here a few hours,” Case suggested, “they will probably
have a chance at another boat. The _Hawk_ was not far from this place
not very long ago.”

“And you had a bit of a tussle with her?” laughed the stranger.

“Oh, they got a little gay, but we managed to keep away from them,” was
the reply. “They tried to steal our boat.”

“Yes, I presume they would like a trim little motor boat like yours,”
suggested the stranger. “And now,” he continued, “I may as well get back
to my friends. It will be daylight in an hour or two, and we’ve got to
work at this dirty business in the dark if we work at all.”

Jule opened his lips to ask the man a question regarding the three blue
lights but Clay, as if understanding his purpose, drew him back and
whispered in his ear:

“No more questions just now, boy.”

“Why not?” Jule asked impatiently. “That’s just what we came up here
for—to find out something about the three blue lights.”

“I have an idea,” Clay explained, “that this man didn’t tell the truth
about the other things, and that he won’t tell the truth about the three
blue lights—that is, if he knows anything about them at all.”

“I’ve been a little bit leary of him all along,” Jule replied.

While the boys were talking together, the stranger left the stranded
coal barge upon which he had been standing and, pushing his boat along,
joined his friends on the bank. The boys could hear a murmur of
conversation following his arrival there, and now and then the light of
a match flared up.

“There’s one thing I can’t understand,” Clay said as the boys put out
into the current again, “and that is, why we have seen no wreckage from
the steamer coming down.”

“That’s easy,” Alex grinned, “the boat must have dropped into the mouth
of the lagoon.”

“No she didn’t!” Case cut in. “She sunk south of the arm of the island.
She’s lying there now in twenty feet of water unless I am very much
mistaken. Still, we should have seen wreckage by this time.”

“Suppose we take a run up and see what the situation is there,”
suggested Alex. “It would give me great joy to see a lot of those
fellows marooned on that island, with nothing to eat or drink for a
week.”

“We’ll only get tangled up in some kind of a mess if we go there,” Clay
advised, “so I think we’d better go on down the river and see if we
can’t shake off all this trouble and have a pleasant, leisurely river
trip. We’ve had trouble in plenty on all our other trips, but I thought
the Ohio journey would mostly consist of floating in the sunshine
through cities and back yards.”

“All right!” Alex said. “I’m just as willing to get out of this mess as
any one. Anyway, it will soon be daylight, and we’ll then be needing
breakfast. Who does the cooking this morning?”

“We all cook,” answered Case, “for we all talk slang except Captain Joe
and Teddy, and they probably have done something in that line themselves
only we didn’t understand them.”

“Look here!” suggested Jule when a faint line of daylight began to show
upstream. “Suppose we pull over to that wooded cove and build a roaring
fire on the bank. Then we’ll send Alex out to get another catfish and
bake it Indian fashion.”

“He didn’t make a success of Indian cookery on the St. Lawrence,”
suggested Case. “I don’t want any foolishness about this breakfast.”

“Well,” Alex laughed, “there was something the matter with the soil over
there. I guess it leaked gas or something of that kind. Anyway, the clay
along the Ohio is all right.”

“Very well,” Clay said, “we’ll run into the cove and give the boy a
chance to serve catfish a la Indian. The combination of gritless clay
and green leaves ought to produce fine results.”

“You just watch me!” Alex insisted.

The _Rambler_ was accordingly anchored in a pretty little cove whose
banks were covered with trees of large growth. At first, Alex tried to
capture a fish from the stern, but, not succeeding in this, he ran out
into the river and anchored there, leaving the other boys on shore. It
was broad daylight when he felt a strong pull at his line and knew that
he had hooked some denizen of the stream.

So busily was he engaged in playing the fish that he heard nothing of
the shouts from upstream, or the warning from his chums on the bank.
Directly, however, he glanced up to see that a coal tow which appeared
to fill the entire width of the river was drifting down upon him.

“Get into the cove! Get into the cove!” cried Clay.

“You’ll be struck in a minute!” shouted Case.

“Release your anchor line and shoot downstream!” Jule suggested.

This last advice appeared to be not only the most desirable but the
easiest to follow, so the boy severed the manilla line with one blow of
a sharp hatchet and sprang to the motors. When at last the boat was
under way headed downstream, the foremost barges were almost upon her.

The men on board the tow seemed to be taking great delight in the
thought that the _Rambler_ would soon be completely at their mercy.
Several of them stood at the top of their barges making crude and
humorous suggestions to the boy.

With the boat under way and headed downstream at a speed with which the
tow could by no means compete, Alex amused himself by making scornful
faces at the men on the tow.

“Come back here, you river rat!” one of the men shouted. “You’ll get a
bullet in your back if you don’t!”

“Fire away!” shouted Alex and promptly ducked down under the protected
gunwale of the boat.

The boys on shore saw the _Rambler_ speeding away with many expressions
of disgust. Jule even started on a run down the bank, but soon gave over
the attempt to catch the swiftly disappearing boat.

The men on the tow, observing the boys on the bank, greeted them with
insulting epithets and amused themselves by heaving chunks of coal
toward them. Case replied with a pistol shot but did not succeed in
wounding any of the men. The coal came thicker after that for a time,
but the barges were soon too far down the river to make such an attack
effective.

“Now, we’re in a nice box!” Jule cried, as the steamer in charge of the
tow disappeared around a bend in the river. “How do you suppose that
little monkey will ever get that boat back to us?”

“Aw, that’s easy enough!” Case answered. “River boats pass those coal
tows every day in the week, and I guess Alex can get the _Rambler_
upstream again. In fact,” he added, “I don’t think he needed to run down
so far. He might have ducked over to the other shore and let the barges
go by. Anyway,” the boy added with a smile, “he’ll lose his fish. And
serve him good and right at that!”

“And we lose our fish breakfast!” Clay returned. “And that won’t serve
us good and right!”

“That’s a fact!” shouted Jule. “We haven’t got a thing to eat on this
bank!”

“We probably won’t have to wait long for the boy to come back,” Clay
assured the others. “He may be afraid the bargemen will make trouble for
him, and may run down until he comes to the mouth of a creek or deep
cove in which he can hold the _Rambler_ until the tow passes by. In that
case, he may be away an hour or so, but I reckon we won’t starve to
death in that time.”

“I’ve a good notion to go and hunt out some farm house and buy something
to eat!” Jule declared. “We’re most out of eggs, anyway.”

“It seems to me,” Clay laughed, turning to Case, “that Alex and Jule
have been having most of the adventures lately. Now what I propose is
that you two boys stay here and wait for the _Rambler_ to return while I
cut back into the country and see what I can buy in the way of
provisions.”

“That will be all right,” Case replied. “And while you are gone, Jule
and I will flop into a thicket and go to sleep. I’ve had to prop my
eyelids open with my fingers for the last hour. The bulldog can keep
watch while we get our forty winks.”

“Why,” Clay said, “I didn’t see Captain Joe come on shore. I guess
you’ll find that he’s on board the boat with Alex and the bear.”

“Oh, he was here all right,” Case insisted. “I saw him running about on
the other shore of the cove acting as if he had got scent of a rabbit or
a squirrel.”

“Then he’ll be back all right!” Clay replied. “Be sure that he is before
both of you go to sleep. He’ll stand guard, all right, if you tell him
to watch for Alex. You wouldn’t like to have the _Rambler_ come back
here and not find you!” Clay added.

And so, leaving the boys preparing a bed of leaves in the thicket, Clay
turned away to the south and disappeared in the forest.




CHAPTER XVII.—THE TWO CLAIMANTS.


Sailing swiftly down the stream in the early morning, Alex was not at
all in bad humor as he regarded the general situation. He figured that
he could very readily elude the coal tow and return upstream to his
chums. In fact, the portion of the incident which he regretted most was
the loss of his fish.

“Now,” he pondered as he whirled the boat over towards the Indiana shore
in order to find open water for his passage upstream, “I’ll have to go
and hook another catfish before we can have breakfast.”

He chuckled softly to himself as he thought of the chums marooned on the
shore of the little cove without a thing to eat. At the time of his
sudden departure with the _Rambler_, no supplies of any kind had been
carried ashore. He laughed as he thought of the rage of the boys.

“I’ll throw out a troll-line as I go up,” he mused, “and perhaps I’ll
have a pickerel or something of that kind all ready for the hot stones
when I get up to the cove.”

When within a short distance of the Indiana shore, the boy saw a long
line of floats extending out from the bank, indicating the location of a
fishing net. The boy sprang to the motors in the hope of saving the net
by shutting off the power, but he was too late. In fact, his effort only
made the meeting with the net more disastrous.

Running at full speed, the boat might have cut the net and passed on,
but drifting with the current as she was when she came to it, something
like two hundred feet of stout fibre were wound about the propeller,
about the skag, and about the rudder and rudder-post, as the motors were
reversed in an effort to back away.

As the boy leaned over the stern to ascertain the extent of the damage,
the clatter of the motors died out and he knew that the clogging of the
propellers had been responsible.

In a moment the _Rambler_ was drifting aimlessly downstream, swinging
this way and that with the current, spinning along broadside to the wash
of the river oftener than in any other position.

“Now, I’m in a beautiful mess!” the boy declared. “I shall never be able
to get that stuff out of the propeller without beaching the boat.”

As the boy was lifting a heavy oar in the hope of sending the motor boat
over to the Indiana side of the river, he heard a slow, drawling hail
from the mouth of a little creek some distance down.

“’Tend to your rudder!” shouted a hoarse voice. “You’ll go over the
rapids in a heap if you keep on that way!”

“Propeller and rudder clogged!” shouted Alex. “Come on out and tow me
in! You’ll be well paid for your work.”

The boy thought, in a moment, that the last sentence had been entirely
superfluous, for their experience on the river had been that waterside
characters were always too willing to assist any crippled boat. At all
times their charges were exorbitant.

“All right!” the man called from the shore, and then the boy saw a small
skiff shoot away from the side of a dilapidated-looking shanty boat
which lay half hidden by a thicket at the mouth of the creek.

When the man in the skiff reached the _Rambler_, he rowed completely
around her as if examining her good points. He was a long, lanky,
sour-visaged individual with long black hair and beard. He was dressed
in the homespun cotton so common with rivermen.

“Right pert boat you’ve got there,” he said, at last.

“Never mind the boat now,” Alex answered. “She’s drifting downstream
every minute. Tow her to shore and help me to get this net out of the
propeller.”

“So it’s a net in the propeller, is it?” snarled the man from the
houseboat. “I hope you hain’t gone and took up my net.”

“Did you have a net out in the river?” asked the boy.

“I certainly did!” was the reply. “And if you’ve gone and cut it up,
you’ll pay for it.”

Alex knew very well that the man from the houseboat had never owned a
net of the value of the one he had destroyed, but he decided to have no
words with the fellow until the _Rambler_ was ready to proceed on her
journey. He saw that the man was evidently seeking a quarrel.

“Yessir!” the riverman went on. “If you’ve gone and cut up my net you’ll
pay me a good price for it. There’s too many of you sports romping up
and down the river with your gasoline boats.”

“Time enough to talk about that when we get the boat over to the shore,”
Alex declared. “I don’t want to drift downstream any farther.”

Scowling and complaining over the exertion required, the fellow finally
managed to work the _Rambler_ into the mouth of the creek where the
houseboat lay. As Alex took in the situation at one quick glance, he saw
two evil-faced fellows lounging on the deck of the houseboat.

“What you got, Mose?” one of them called out to the riverman.

“I’ve salvaged a motor boat!” was Mose’s reply.

“What’s the trouble with her?” was the next question.

“She’s got my net wound around her propeller!” answered Mose.

“Sho’,” returned the other. “That new net of yours that cost a hundred
not a week ago?”

“Yessir, that same new net!” returned the riverman.

Alex saw that the men were preparing to make trouble for him. He knew
that they could not collect a cent of salvage for towing his boat out of
the stream. He was positive that the net did not belong to them.
Houseboat people of their class consider themselves fortunate in the
possession of ordinary fishing lines and spears.

However, he only smiled as they talked of their hundred-dollar net, and
dropped over into the shallow water of the creek to inspect the damage
done to the propeller and rudder.

So far as he could see, there was nothing broken. The net which was
wound about everything at the stern of the boat seemed to him to make a
bundle as large as a whiskey barrel. He took out his knife preparatory
to cutting it away.

“Look here, you boy you!” shouted Mose. “Don’t you go to cuttin’ up that
net. You just take your consarned old propeller and rudder off the stern
so that we can unwind it.”

Alex knew that this would be impossible. His idea was to cut the net
away, spring to the motors, and pass out of the reach of the houseboat
men before they suspected what he was up to.

Therefore, he at once set to work with his knife and began slashing the
strong threads of the net. The three men looked on angrily for an
instant and then Mose said:

“I told you not to cut that net, boy!”

“I’m afraid there is no other way,” Alex answered very civilly.

“I hope you’ve got the money in your jeans to pay for it,” Mose shouted.
“If you haven’t, I’ll just naturally have to take charge of that boat. I
can’t afford to lose that net.”

“All right,” Alex replied, cutting industriously away at the
obstruction, “my chums are up the river a short distance and they will
be down here directly. Then we can talk about paying. We’ll fix you out
all right as soon as they get here.”

“You better see that you do!” Mose responded angrily.

It took some time to cut away the great net, but the propeller and
rudder and skag were free at last and then Alex climbed back on the
deck.

“Here, you,” shouted Mose, presenting the muzzle of an old-fashioned
double-barreled shotgun. “Don’t you go near those motors. I’ve been
expecting you’d try to run away without paying your just debts.”

“No fear of my going away just yet,” Alex answered. “I’ve got to wait
somewhere along here until my chums come.”

While Mose held the rusty old gun in a threatening manner, his two
companions attached a heavy cable to the forward bitts of the _Rambler_
and carried it ashore. After winding it around the trunk of a great
tree, they returned to the houseboat and lay down on the forward deck to
gaze impudently at the boy.

“Now, we’ll see if you make a sneak down the river!” Mose cried
triumphantly. “The best way for you to get away from this creek is to
lay down about a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“I didn’t know there was so much money in the world!” laughed Alex.

“If your chums don’t come in one hour,” Mose went on, “we’ll take
possession of your boat. This man here,” pointing over his shoulder with
his thumb, “is a constable! Ain’t you, Clint? And he can sell your boat
right here on the river bank. Can’t you, Clint? We’ll see if these
sports are coming down here and destroy our property without paying for
it!”

In all his experience in river journeys, Alex had never been confronted
by so puzzling a proposition. He knew that the rivermen had no claim
upon him whatever, although he considered Mose entitled to some
compensation for his friendly act. Still he realized that for the time
being the fellows held the whip hand.

It happened that he had considerable money—two or three hundred dollars
in his possession, having taken charge of the expense fund only a few
days before. His inclination now was to pay the men the money demanded
and get away. Then he reasoned that the exhibition of such a sum of
money would only arouse the greed of the outlaws. That they would never
let him depart with any money at all in his possession, he knew very
well. It was a trying situation.

While he stood deliberating over the problem, a a loud hail came from
upstream and turning he saw the coal tow sweeping down the river.

“Hold that boat!” shouted a harsh voice from one of the foremost barges.
“Hold that boat ’till we get there.”

Scenting an additional profit in the arrival of the tow, Mose sprang
into his skiff and rowed out. As the first barge came down, Alex saw two
men spring into the skiff which was at once headed for the shore. The
two men lounging on the houseboat at once sprang over to the deck of the
_Rambler_, the man with the rusty shotgun keeping it in full view.

When the skiff reached the _Rambler_, the two men clambered on deck
while Mose ran the skiff up into the creek. The two men were extremely
well-dressed although their clothing showed connection with the water of
the river and the smut of the coal barges. They were both very much
excited, and the first thing one of them did was to shake his fist under
Alex’s, nose.

“Now, you young thief!” he shouted. “We’ve got you at last!”

“No rough house, pardner!” exclaimed the houseboat man who held the gun.
“No rough house here, because, you see, we’ve got a claim on this boy
ourselves. He just destroyed a net worth a hundred dollars!”

“A hundred dollars!” snarled the whiskey boat man. “Do you know what he
did to us?” he went on. “He stole this motor boat and sunk our steamer
with it. He’s cost us more than twenty thousand dollars!”

Alex stood silent in the face of all these accusations. He had
recognized the two men from the barge as men he had seen on the whiskey
boat, and he knew that they would do their best to make him trouble. For
a moment it seemed to him that the fate of the _Rambler_ was sealed.

“What do you say to all this, boy?” asked the man with the gun.

Alex sat down dejectedly on the gunwale.

“I guess I’ll let you fellows fight it out between you,” he said.

“I can’t see as there’s anything to fight out!” one of the men from the
whiskey boat shouted.

“This is our boat and we’re going to take it away! As for this boy,
we’ll place him in the custody of the first United States marshal we
come to!”

Once more the rusty barrel of the old shotgun in the hands of the
houseboat man was hoisted to a threatening position.

“Don’t you forget,” the man said viciously, “that this boat busted our
net. We don’t care whose boat it is, we’re going to hold it until we get
paid for our property!”

“You talk like a fool!” shouted the man from the steamer.

“And you act like a fool!” insisted the other.

“I don’t believe you fellows ever owned any net!” the enraged outlaw
shouted. “I’ve seen your old houseboat sneaking along the river here for
months. You’re the kind of men who never have the price of a drink
unless you can steal it. If you try to hold this boat, I’ll fill you
both full of bullet holes!”

The eyes at the stock of the shotgun flashed wickedly, but the man’s
voice was remarkably smooth as he said:

“If you move, either one of you, or try to get out a gun I’ll blow the
tops of your heads off! You observe,” he went on, “that there are two
barrels to this gun, and I’ll tell you right now that they’re both
loaded with slugs.”

“This is nonsense!” roared the man from the steamer.

“That’s what I’ve been calculatin’,” replied the other.

Alex was thinking fast. It seemed to him at that time that it would be
better to leave the _Rambler_ in the hands of the houseboat men than in
those of the men from the steamer.

The houseboat men would be satisfied with a small amount of money as
soon as they discovered that they could get no more, while the other
outlaws would insist on taking the _Rambler_ for their alleged debt.

Taking this view of the situation, he turned to the man who was holding
the shotgun.

“These two men,” he said, “are whiskey boat men. They have no more claim
on this boat than you have.”




CHAPTER XVIII.—A FORBIDDEN SUBJECT.


While Alex was having his troubles with the two gangs of outlaws, and
while Jule and Case were asleep in a thicket at the cove, Clay was
pushing his way through a heavy undergrowth in the direction of a
shabby-looking farm house which stood in the center of a weed-grown
tobacco field not far away.

As he approached the uncared for fence which surrounded the field, he
heard horses stamping and champing at their bits in the woods not far
away to his left.

At first he thought seriously of visiting the undergrowth on a tour of
investigation, but finally decided that his actions might be
misconstrued, so he passed on toward the house in the tobacco field.

It seemed to him that half a hundred dogs of all sizes and breeds leaped
out as he advanced through the weeds toward the front door.

He was having his hands full with the dogs, fending them off, when the
door opened and a woman made her appearance on the threshold.

“Down, you ornery purps!” she shouted in a voice that sounded more like
that of a man than that of a woman. “Come right along in, stranger,” she
added. “I reckon they won’t bite you up none.”

Under the protection of the woman’s voice and presence, Clay finally
succeeded in making his way to the house.

“I’m sure ashamed of them ornery purps,” the woman declared, striking at
a large brindle dog with a mop stick. “Somehow I can’t beat no manners
into ’em!”

“They appear to be a fine lot of dogs!” Clay said, resolved to
conciliate the woman if possible. “I’m used to Kentucky dogs, so I was
not at all afraid of them.”

“What mought be your business, stranger?” the woman asked then.

“Well,” Clay answered, “I’m looking for something to eat.”

“Sho’!” answered the woman. “A nice, likely lookin’ lad like you goin’
around hungry! I’d be glad to give you a set-down of flapjacks and
coffee. Come right in.”

“That would help some!” laughed Clay. “But what I want is provisions to
carry away to my chums—eggs, chickens or anything of that sort you may
have to sell.”

“And where mought your chums be?” asked the woman, a little suspiciously
as Clay thought.

“We came down the river in a motor boat,” the boy replied, “and I left
the boys in a cove some distance from here.”

“I wonder, now,” the woman queried, “whether you might have been on the
river last night.”

Clay replied in the affirmative.

“Well,” the woman went on, “I’ve been waiting all morning for news from
the river. My men went out last night at dusk and haven’t returned.”

“There were horsemen along the river last night,” Clay suggested.

“That would be them.”

“And I heard horses champing their bits just as I came up to the fence,”
Clay went on.

“Sho’!” answered the woman. “My men always have fresh hosses near the
house. What did you hear on the river last night?” she added.

“It seemed rather quiet,” Clay replied, “except that a whiskey steamer
got wrecked some distance up.”

“That’s too bad, now!” declared the woman.

“There’s one thing peculiar I noticed about the river last night,” Clay
went on, “and that was something which looked to me like a signal. We
saw three blue lights resting on the surface of the water. Then there
came an explosion and they disappeared.”

The woman almost staggered back in the doorway. Her ruddy face became
slightly pale, and Clay saw that the work-worn hands were trembling.

Clay sprang to a pail of water which stood near, dipped up a liberal
supply in a gourd which hung on a wall, and approached the woman with it
in his hand.

“Sho’, now!” the woman almost gasped, placing her hands at her sides,
“here I be havin’ another spell with my heart. Seems like I was always
havin’ trouble with that pesky organ.”

Clay did not believe the explanation given by the woman for her sudden
fright. He had no doubt that the mention of the mysterious three blue
lights had led to this alleged heart failure.

“I’ll shore be better in a minute,” the woman said, dropping into a
home-made chair which stood just inside the house. “What was it you said
about the three blue lights? I was took sudden just as you began
speaking of them.”

Clay repeated what he had said regarding the mysterious lights, watching
the woman closely every second. She did not again show sign of emotion
of any kind.

“Why,” the woman said directly, “them’s the ghost lights that are often
seen on the Ohio. The steamboat _Mary Ann_ went down with a dancing
party on board ten years ago, and ever since then the lights have been
seen on the river.”

“But the _Mary Ann_ went down just off Wolf Creek,” Clay suggested.

“There is a story,” the woman began in a hushed voice, “that the lights
show every year about the time the boat went down, at the exact place
where she sunk. And then, again,” she continued, “they do say that
wherever a body from the _Mary Ann_ remains unburied at the bottom of
the river the three blue lights show at least once a year.”

“So they really are ghost lights?” asked Clay.

“Why, stranger,” the woman continued, “boats have been pushed directly
into them lights as they floated on the surface of the river, and they
have burned right on after being submerged! Them explosions have been
heard time and time again, and nothing has been found which could have
produced them. We people along the river are mighty skeery of them ghost
lights.”

“I have heard that they bring disaster,” Clay suggested.

“They sure do!” replied the woman. “But come in,” she went on, “here
I’ve been talkin’ like a foolish old gossip, and you standing hungry in
the doorway. Come in and sit down.”

Clay took the proffered chair but he was not thinking of the breakfast
being prepared for him.

He was thinking, instead, of the sudden panic into which the old woman
had fallen at the mention of the three blue lights. He saw now that
there was some significance to the signal.

He came to understand, sitting there watching the still troubled face of
the woman, that the three blue lights indicated some desperate action on
the part of the river people—some desperate action which took the men
away from their homes and left the women anxious and afraid. He saw that
the woman in trying to deceive him by her words was still telling the
story of some terrible situation by her voice and manner. He wondered
but could reach no conclusion.

The boy was supplied with a bountiful breakfast of corn pancakes, fried
eggs and coffee, and then he opened negotiations with his hostess for a
supply of provisions for the _Rambler_. The woman looked distressed and
answered his inquiries with downcast eyes.

“I’m sure sorry,” she said, “but we had a lot of friends here to dinner
yesterday, and they eat about everything in the house. Them eggs you’ve
just et were laid this morning.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Clay replied, “but if you haven’t got provisions, you
can’t sell them. Perhaps I can find a supply at some near-by farm house.
How far is it to the nearest one?”

“It is a long way through the thicket,” the woman answered, “and I
wouldn’t advise no boy like you to be wandering in the woods in this
vicinity right now. It ain’t safe!”

“Why, there ought not to be anything to be afraid of!” Clay suggested.

“You don’t know this region as well as I do, boy!” the woman replied.
“These folks that come up from the river are mighty bad sometimes, and
I’ve known people that didn’t live on the river to do desperate, bad
things occasionally.”

Clay sorely puzzled, looked the woman frankly in the face and asked:

“Do you imagine trouble because the three blue lights showed on the
river last night?”

“Well,” was the reply, “they surly do bring trouble.”

“In what way?” insisted Clay.

“Oh, there’s wrecks, and burnings, and shooting, and all manner of
things going on, somehow, after them three blue lights show.”

“Then perhaps I’d better be getting back to the river!” Clay suggested.

“I wouldn’t leave no boat that was worth ready money long alone along
the Ohio river at this time of year,” the woman answered. “And let me
tell you another thing,” she went on. “If you see three blue lights,
keep away from them! Don’t go near where they are, and get out of the
vicinity of them as fast as you can.”

“We’re not afraid of ghosts!” laughed Clay.

“I can’t say more!” the woman continued. “I don’t know but I’ve said too
much now. I hope you’ll take an old woman’s advice and keep out of
trouble. Where might you boys be from, now?”

“Chicago,” replied Clay.

“Sho’, now!” exclaimed the old woman. “I’ve never seen any one from
Chicago before. “I’ve heard of it often, though. Must be a right pert
place. Some one told me it was almost as big as Paducah.”

“Yes,” Clay replied, “Chicago is some city. Will you accept pay for my
breakfast?” he continued.

“You’re only a boy,” the woman replied, “and so don’t know any better
than to offer a Kintucky woman pay for a feed. But I wouldn’t do that
any more if I were you.”

Thanking the woman from the bottom of his heart for her hospitality and
her kindly advice, the boy started away in the direction of the river.

On his return he took care to pass through that portion of the thicket
where he had heard the horses on his way in. He found three remarkably
fine-looking animals, all saddled and bridled, standing in the thicket.
As he stepped toward one of them, a boy, certainly not more than twelve
years of age, leaped at him.

“What you doing here?” the youth demanded.

“I have just come from the house,” Clay replied. “Your mother gave me a
fine breakfast.”

“Did she, now?” asked the boy suspiciously.

“She certainly did,” answered Clay resolved to continue the conversation
with the lad until he learned something more concerning the three blue
lights. The boy dropped his hostile attitude at once.

“I was going on to other houses in search of provisions,” Clay went on,
“but your mother advised me that it wouldn’t be safe.”

“It shore ain’t safe!” the boy replied.

“She told me,” Clay resumed, “that it was never safe in this section
when three blue lights burned on the river.”

“Did she, now?” asked the boy. “And did you-all see the three blue
lights?”

“Twice,” answered Clay. “Last night and the night before—once opposite
Wolf Creek and once in the lagoon at that odd-shaped island just up the
stream.”

Clay thought that the boy shivered a little in his ragged clothes.

“What is all this about the three blue lights?” he asked in a moment.

The boy shook his head gravely.

“We-uns ain’t allowed to talk about the three blue lights,” he answered.

“You think they are ghost lights, eh?” asked Clay.

“We-uns ain’t allowed to talk about the three blue lights,” repeated the
boy. “We never mention them.”

Seeing that further conversation with the boy was likely to prove
without result, Clay again turned to face in the direction of the river.

“I wish I knew,” he mused, as he pushed his way through tangled thickets
and descended and ascended rocky slopes, “I wish I knew exactly why that
woman came near fainting when I mentioned the three blue lights.

“I have an impression,” he went on, “that there’s some feud coming to
life. In the first place, I don’t believe the story told at the stranded
coal barges last night.

“Those men never sought the river with the intentions of destroying that
steamer. They wouldn’t have brought their horses along if that had been
their object.

“The horses, of course, might have been used in the way of
transportation to the river, but, at the same time, men out on such a
mission would not care to be seen riding so openly through the country.”

It is needless to say that the boy did not believe one word of the story
told him by the woman who had given him his breakfast. He was too
hard-headed to believe in ghosts or supernatural demonstrations of any
sort.

He knew however, that there must be some reason for the display of the
lights, and knew that no little ingenuity had been shown in the placing
and extinguishing of them. So studying over the problem, the boy finally
came to the little cove where he had left Case and Jule.

Captain Joe fawned about him as he advanced, but when he approached the
thicket where the boys had been preparing their rough beds, he saw that
they were not there. He lost no time in making a close examination of
the ground, both at the landing and at the entrance to the thicket.

What he saw set his heart to bounding excitedly: At both points there
many indications of a desperate struggle.

Had he known the plight in which Alex found himself at that moment, Clay
would have been doubly alarmed.




CHAPTER XIX.—TEDDY MAKES A SENSATION.


“What’s that you say?” thundered one of the men from the steamer, as
Alex explained to the houseboat men that neither party had any interest
whatever in the _Rambler_.

“You’d better keep truth on your side, young man!” the other whiskey
boat man put in.

“That’s right,” Alex declared, dodging away from one of the men who made
an attempt to seize him. “That’s right! These whiskey boat men never saw
this craft until last night. We rammed their steamer because they tried
to block us in a lagoon, and I hope we sunk her.”

“You did all of that!” one of the others replied.

“According to the boy’s statement,” Mose cut in, “you fellows have no
right on this boat at all, so I’d advise you to make yourself skurce.”

The recent arrivals saw that they were not making good in their bluff to
the houseboat men and so resorted to sterner measures.

Quick as a flash one of them seized the muzzle of the rusty old shotgun,
drew it away from the clumsy hands holding it, and dropped the weapon
into the river. Almost at the same instant, two automatic revolvers
flashed out of the hip pockets of the outlaws.

“Now,” the man who had been doing most of the talking thundered, “you
river thieves get off this boat!”

“We will when we get pay for our net!”

“You never owned a net!” shouted the other. “You never had the price of
a dozen fish hooks at one time, say nothing about a net!”

“Anyway,” Mose insisted, “I brought you over to this boat and kept the
boy from running away before you got here.”

“Now, you’re talking sense,” the outlaw sneered. “Throw him a couple of
dollars, Chet,” he added.

The fellow’s companion tossed two silver dollars scornfully down on the
deck and turned to Alex.

“You get into the cabin,” he said, “and stay there. We’ll settle with
you later on.”

Alex had no idea of remaining on board the _Rambler_ after it had passed
into the possession of the outlaws. He knew that the desire for revenge
on their part might lead to murder. He had no fear of being turned, over
to the officers of the law, for the outlaws were in no position to make
charges against others. He stepped into the cabin as requested and
closed the door after him.

“Now, Teddy Bear,” he said, “you and I have got to jump away from this
darling old boat, and we’ve got to do it right soon.”

Teddy, awakened from a sound sleep, scratched his nose with a soft paw
and replied in the most polite of bear talk that he would do whatever
Alex thought best.

The men who belonged on the houseboat were by this time off the deck of
the _Rambler_. The outlaws, however, were watching the boy very closely.
They laughed when they saw him talking with the bear.

“That’s a cute pet you have there!” one of the men exclaimed, speaking
through the broken panel of the door.

“It is indeed,” Alex answered cheerfully. “Teddy Bear is a pretty good
friend. We’ve had him a long time.”

“What’re you going to do with him?” asked the outlaw.

“Take him back to Chicago with us.”

The outlaws laughed and regarded the boy and the bear with humorous
faces. Alex sat down and watched them curiously.

“I don’t see you getting back to Chicago right away,” one of them
finally said. “That is, not to-day nor to-morrow.”

“Oh, we’re going down to Cairo first!” Alex grinned.

The two outlaws turned away with a laugh, and as soon as their backs
were in view Alex opened the swinging sash of the rear window and
motioned for Teddy to leap out.

The bear cub followed instructions, and landed lightly on the after
deck. In an instant Alex was through the window and the two sprang into
the water and made for the shore.

The outlaws would doubtless have remained unconscious of the escape
until the boy and his companion had reached the thicket only that the
men on the houseboat shouted and pointed at the bear.

“Look at the menagerie!” one of them cried.

This brought the outlaws to the shore-side of the boat, and directly
several harmless bullets whizzed close to the two swimmers.

“Go it, boy! Go it, bear!” was shouted from the houseboat.

The three men already disgruntled by the manner in which they had been
treated by the outlaws, were now inclined to support Alex and the bear
in their efforts to escape.

While the men on the _Rambler_ sent badly aimed bullets after the two in
the water, the men on the houseboat hurled billets of wood and whatever
else they could lay their hands on at the outlaws.

This action on their part, while doing no physical harm whatever, had
the effect of directing the attention of the outlaws from the boy and
the bear to the three men. When Alex and Teddy disappeared in the
thicket on the east side of the little creek, immediately in the rear of
the houseboat, the outlaws were still firing, and the others were still
pitching wood and pieces of coal over the deck of the motor boat.

After a very long run upstream, out, perhaps fifty yards from the
water’s edge, the boy and the bear threw themselves down on the moss
beneath a forest tree and panted out congratulations to each other on
their escape.

“Teddy,” almost whimpered Alex. “We’ve gone and lost the _Rambler_!”

The bear looked very grave indeed.

“We’ve gone and lost the _Rambler_!” Alex went on, “and have nothing to
show for it at all! I set out to catch a fish, and lost the boat!”

Teddy rubbed his soft muzzle against Alex’s, cheek and looked
sympathetic. He seemed to understand every word said.

“And now, bear,” the boy went on, “we’ve got to walk five or ten miles
up this bank of the river and swim across. I guess the boys must be
pretty near a dozen miles away.”

Teddy, while looking sympathetic, thrust his muzzle into Alex’s, pocket
looking for crackers.

“Je—rusalem!” exclaimed Alex. “I wish I had some, Teddy. I never was so
empty in my life!”

After a short rest, the boy arose and the two proceeded on their
difficult journey. Now and then they came to weedy fields where corn had
been grown and where great shocks of stalks still stood, but for the
most part their way lay through a narrow slice of forest which fringed
the river. Alex took occasion, after a time, to investigate some of the
corn shocks but found no ears.

“Pretty soon,” the boy mused, “I’ll be hungry enough to eat the stalks.
And the boys must be hungry, too,” he went on, “but all the provisions
we had are on board the _Rambler_. I don’t know what they’ll say to me
when I go back and explain what happened.”

After a long, long walk, during which it seemed to the boy that he had
covered at least a score of miles, he discerned on the opposite bank of
the river the little cove in which the _Rambler_ had been moored that
morning. Although he strained his eyes hoping to see the familiar
figures of his chums, he could see no motion whatever.

“I guess they’ve got starved out and gone away,” the boy complained. “I
suppose when I get over there, there’ll be only a burned-out camp-fire
and nothing to eat. The next time I go out fishing for catfish, I won’t
go. It always brings bad luck.”

Realizing that he might have to swim across the whole width of the
river, the boy kept on upstream knowing that it would be better to have
the current in his favor when he entered the water.

While he sat looking across the stream, several river craft passed, some
going up and some going down. Once he thought of calling to a small
motor boat and asking the occupants to ferry him across the river. But
he soon changed his mind not knowing what sort of people he would be
likely to find in any of the river boats.

While the boy stood near the bank of the river looking out, Teddy, as
usual, was nosing about looking for something to eat. The boy had hardly
noticed the absence of the bear when a succession of long shrill
squealings came from a thicket not far distant.

“There!” the boy mused, starting away on a run. “Teddy has gone and
scared the life out of some one.”

“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake! Fo’ de Lawd’s sake!”

The voice died away, and was succeeded by a commotion in the bushes just
ahead of the running boy.

The next moment a little short, fat, dumpy negro with a fringe of gray
hair running around an otherwise bald head, came into view, trying to
run very fast, but succeeding only in stumbling over every obstruction
which came in his way, and landing flat on his back with his heels high
up in the air. The sight was indeed a comical one.

“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake! Fo’ de Lawd’s sake!” repeated the negro, his eyes
rolling in his head like great white marbles.

Teddy, evidently unconscious of the sensation he was creating, came
dashing after the fallen darkey, and at once assumed a boxing attitude.

“Take him away! Take him away!” roared the negro. “Ah’s done bein’ eat
up! Take de b’ar away, take him away!”

Instead of taking the bear away, Alex, hungry and tired as he was, threw
himself down on the grass and roared with laughter.

“Ah’s done bein’ eat up!” shouted the negro although Teddy was at least
two yards away.

“He won’t hurt you,” Alex said as soon as he could control his voice.
“Teddy is a tame bear.”

“Ah never did take to bears!” the negro shouted rolling his fat body
farther away. “Ah don’ see no good in b’ars.”

After some persuasion the boy induced the negro to come nearer. This he
did with fear and trembling, and ever with a watchful eye on the playful
cub.

“What’s your name?” asked Alex.

“Uncle Zeke,” was the reply.

“Do you live here?” was the next question.

“Ah libs way up de ribber,” was the guarded reply.

“Then you must have come down in a boat?” asked the boy.

“Ah sure did!” answered the negro.

“Well,” Alex said then, “we want to get over to the other side of the
river. Will you take us across?”

The negro backed away from the bear again and seemed to be about to take
to his heels. He turned back in a moment, however, as if anxious to be
friendly with the boy and declared:

“Ah nebber did cotton to no b’ar!”

“Oh, he won’t hurt you,” the boy explained, “he’s just a tame cub. We’ve
had him ever since he was as big as a kitten. Row us across to that
little cove over there and I’ll give you a dollar.”

Uncle Zeke fingered his bald pate and entered into negotiations for the
job, still with his eyes fixed suspiciously on Teddy.

“Ah’ll done row you over for a dollar,” he said.

“But the bear’s got to go,” Alex insisted.

“Dat’ll be anudder dollar,” insisted Uncle Zeke.

“All right,” Alex laughed, “where’s your boat?”

Delighted with having made so good a bargain, Uncle Zeke led the way to
the river bank not far away and pointed out a fair-sized rowboat rocking
in the water.

“Why!” Alex exclaimed excitedly. “Where did you get that boat?”

“Ah bought it,” replied the negro.

The boat was the one belonging to the _Rambler_!

It had been left, it will be remembered, on the Kentucky shore of the
river some distance above Wolf Creek. The boys who had landed in search
of gasoline and spark plugs had left it hidden in a thicket. During
their absence, the _Rambler_ had made her way downstream for some
distance, and so the rowboat had not been recovered. It looked familiar
to Alex now.

“Where did you buy it?” asked the boy.

“Niggerman sold me dat boat,” answered the other.

“All right,” Alex said. “Take us across and I’ll give you the two
dollars.”

He had no intention of leaving the _Rambler_’s boat in the possession of
the negro, but he thought it advisable not to make any claim to the boat
until he had reached the other side of the river.

With Teddy sitting at the very stern of the boat as far as possible from
the rower, the two were ferried across, striking the bank a few paces
above the east shore of the cove.

“Now,” Alex said as he stepped ashore, “come on over to the camp and
I’ll give you your money.” Uncle Zeke eyed the bear critically.

“Ah nebber did cotton to no b’ar!” he said.

“Well,” Alex went on, “you’ll have to come over to the camp or I can’t
give you your money.” Very reluctantly the fat, old negro waddled over
to the heap of embers which was all that remained of the fire the boys
had built early that morning. Alex’s wandering attention was brought
back to the negro directly by a short, sharp cry of alarm.

“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake!” he cried. “Fo’ de Lawd’s sake!”




CHAPTER XX.—THE PIRATES’ NEST.


Alex sprang to his feet just as Captain Joe came dashing up to the
negro, looking fierce enough to consume him at one bite.

If there had been any extra hair at the top of the old negro’s pate it
must have stood horizontal at that moment, for Teddy shambled up to the
bulldog and began a series of boxing antics such as the old fellow had
never witnessed before.

“Gimme mah two dollahs!” he finally managed to shout. “Gimme mah two
dollahs, and Ah’ll done go ’way!”

Before Alex could reply, Clay came into the little opening and stood
gazing about with wondering eyes.

“Did you see Case and Jule?” was the first question he asked of Alex.

The boy shook his head silently.

“I left them here!” he said.

Clay stepped toward the bank and looked out over the cove.

“Where is the _Rambler_?” he asked, not without anxiety in his voice.

“The pirates got her!” was Alex’s reply, and there were actually tears
in his eyes as he spoke.

During this short conversation between the two boys, Uncle Zeke had
stood, trembling, by the heap of embers, gazing from boy to boy and from
bear to dog.

“Ah nebber did cotton to no bulldog!” he said.

“Where did you get that?” asked Clay, forgetting for a moment what
Alex’s reply meant to the party.

“That’s Uncle Zeke,” answered Alex with a grin. “He rowed Teddy and I
across the river.”

“Ah’m goin’ to hab two dollahs!” put in the negro.

Clay again turned toward Alex, his manner showing great excitement.

“Tell me about it!” he said kindly.

Alex told the story, already well known to the reader, in as few words
as possible. Clay did not interrupt him, and at the close stood looking
out on the river with a very grave face.

“We’ve got to get her back!” Alex shouted in a moment. “We’ve just got
to get the _Rambler_ back!”

“Of course,” Clay said stubbornly, “of course! I was only thinking how.
There surely must be some way.”

“Where are Case and Jule?” Alex now asked.

“I don’t know!” was the reply. “I went away to look up something to eat,
and when I came back, they were not here.”

“They probably went after something to eat, too!” Alex suggested.

“No,” Clay went on, “I was to bring back provisions, if I succeeded in
finding any. When I returned, Captain Joe was here, but they were gone.”

“That’s strange!” Alex muttered. “I don’t see why they should leave camp
when they were expecting you to bring them something to eat.”

“I don’t think they left the camp voluntarily,” Clay continued. “If
you’ll look at the head of the cove, and at the side of the thicket
where they were preparing their beds, you’ll see evidences of a
struggle.”

“I’ll tell you what it is,” Alex began, “those pirates from the steamer
we sunk got down here on that coal tow and swam ashore.”

“That is very likely!” Clay replied. “We know, at least, that two of
them were on the coal tow.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy went on, “they saw the fire here, and recognized the
_Rambler_ lying just below the barges, and swam ashore to punish us for
ramming their old whiskey boat.”

“There may be something in that,” Clay returned.

“And, then, after the _Rambler_ was crowded downstream, and after you
went away to get something to eat, they attacked the two boys and lugged
them away. I wish we’d killed them all.”

“You’re the bloodthirsty little fellow this morning!” Clay smiled.

“I don’t care!” Alex responded. “Just think of our motor boat, with all
the provisions and ammunition on board, falling into the hands of those
outlaws! I’ll just tell you right now, Clay,” he went on, flushing with
anger, “if I’d had a stick of dynamite handy, I’d have set the fuse on
fire before I crawled out of the cabin window.”

“Then I’m glad you didn’t have any dynamite handy!” smiled Clay.

Uncle Zeke, who had been standing motionless in mortal terror of the dog
and the bear, now stepped forward.

“Ah done hear what you-all said,” he remarked.

“Of course,” Clay answered, “have you any idea in your head at all which
points to the recovery of our motor boat?”

“Ah nebber done cotton to dem pirates,” said the negro.

“Well, then, show us how to get our boat back!” Alex laughed.

“Ah suah will,” replied the negro. “Dem pirates,” he continued, “has a
nes’ nex’ de big bend Ah been dere many a time. You go more ’n forty
miles aroun’ de ben’ an’ you go ten miles across.”

“Aw!” laughed Alex. “There isn’t any such bend on the Ohio river in this
vicinity. There’s a bend below here that makes a circuit of about ten or
twelve miles to get one mile downstream.”

“Ah don’ know ’bout no miles,” Uncle Zeke answered. “Ah know ’bout dat
pirate’s nes’ at de horseshoe ben’.”

“Can you get across the neck in a rowboat?” asked Clay.

“Ah suah can,” was the reply.

“You didn’t know, did you, that the boat you have is one that belonged
to our motor boat? We lost it a ways up the river.”

“Ah done gib two yaller-legged hens for dat boat,” insisted Uncle Zeke.
“Ah buy it of a black nigger.”

“Well, I suppose it was abandoned property, anyway,” Clay said, “so
we’ll pay you for it if we find that we need it again.”




CHAPTER XXI.—FATE TAKES A TRICK.


Left alone in the thicket at the head of the cove, Case and Jule waited
for some time for the appearance of Captain Joe. While not actually
afraid of any attack upon themselves in that quiet place, they much
preferred leaving the bulldog on watch when they went to sleep.

“Captain Joe ought to be here before long,” Case observed searching the
thickets with his eyes in the hope of discerning the bulky form of the
dog. “It is a rare thing for him to go away alone, but when he has done
so in the past he soon returns.”

“I wish he’d come back right now,” Jule replied, “I’m so sleepy I
couldn’t eat a breakfast if we had one. Look here, Case,” he went on,
“why is it that we always have such infernal bad luck when we start out
on a river trip? Its been night-and-day trouble ever since we left
Pittsburgh.”

“Yes,” Case replied, “and it was night-and-day trouble on the Amazon,
and on the Columbia, and on the Colorado, and on the Mississippi, and on
the St. Lawrence. I’ll tell you what I think we ought to do,” he
continued with a grin, “we ought to take an aeroplane along so we could
mount up into the blue sky when things got mixed.”

“I wouldn’t mind being several miles up in the blue sky right now,” Jule
laughed, “if I could find a nice soft cloud to sleep on. They look like
feather beds, don’t they?” he asked, pointing to wandering clouds in the
sky some of them tipped with the early sunlight.

“They certainly do,” answered Case, “but I’m afraid you wouldn’t find
them very soft or very dry. In fact, you’d fall right through and
probably tumble into the river. Did it ever occur to you,” he went on,
“that a cloud is a great big bluff? It looks solid and handsome, and all
that, from the surface of the earth, but it’s nothing but a great big
fog.”

“I never lost much time considering clouds, Jule replied. “Suppose you
go out into the woods and see if you can’t find Captain Joe.”

“No use to look for him,” Case replied, “if he’s got the trail of a
rabbit, he’ll run from now until next week at two o’clock.”

“Then let’s go to sleep,” Jule proposed. “We can lie right down here in
the thicket, and if anyone should come poking around, they wouldn’t be
able to see us. We didn’t have any sleep last night at all, you know.”

“I don’t know what’s the matter with the bunch, anyway,” Case said,
rather crossly. “Clay goes off to get breakfast and doesn’t come back,
and Alex goes out to get fish and gets chased off by a coal tow, and
Captain Joe runs away and doesn’t return!”

“Alex ought to be here by this time,” Jule complained. “There’s plenty
to eat on board the _Rambler_, so if Clay doesn’t find any provisions we
won’t go hungry. Everything seems to be going wrong.”

“Moved and supported that we go to sleep,” Case replied. “The ayes have
it! Motion prevails! You just watch now and see me flop down here in the
bushes. I’m going to sleep a week!”

“All right!” Jule answered with a yawn. “When it comes to sleeping, you
haven’t got anything on me.”

“And when we wake up,” Case continued, “we’ll see the _Rambler_ riding
out there in the cove, with Alex cooking the catfish a la Indian, and
Clay exhibiting the eggs and milk he bought at some romantic farm
house.”

“Go to sleep and dream all that!” Jule snorted.

The boys lay down on the beds of leaves which they had prepared in the
undergrowth and were soon sound asleep. After all, they had nothing
serious to worry over, for they both believed that a situation something
like that forecast by Case would present itself when they awoke.

The sun rising over the river cast long lances of light into the thicket
where they lay. The cool breeze of the morning stirred the leaves about
them like a lullaby. The birds darted and sang in the sweet air. The
scene was as peaceful and pastoral as one might well imagine.

But only for a time. Directly the heavy tramp of horses was heard, the
rattling of rings and the champing of bits.

The riders, a score or more, advanced through the woods to the cove and
halted on the east shore. There they tied their horses to trees and
threw themselves upon the ground. They were sturdy men, clean-limbed,
alert, with fierce eyes and determined faces.

All unconscious of the presence of the riders, the boys slept on.
Presently a lean hound belonging to the company ran sniffing and
snarling around to the thicket where Case and Jule lay. There he sat up
such a baying as might have awakened the Seven Sleepers.

The two boys sleepily rubbed their eyes and looked about. It seemed to
them at first that Captain Joe had returned, but they soon saw the
difference between the lean hound and the white bulldog.

“What’s got into your dog, Peck?” one of the men asked.

“He’s found something in the bushes.”

“The consarned brute is always finding something in the bushes, when we
want to keep under cover!” snarled the other man.

“Look here, Hart,” Peck said sternly, “you let the dog alone. He’s done
us many a good turn in his time, and he’s likely to do more. I wasn’t
thinking about the dog at all,” Peck went on. “Just take a couple of
sniffs at the air and see if you can locate that wood fire.”

“There surely is a fire hereabouts!” Hart answered in a conciliating
tone. “Perhaps there are tramps here and the dog has come and caught
them. If so, we’ll send them about their business.”

The two men arose, passed around the cove and soon came to the thicket
where Case and Jule were struggling to their feet rubbing their eyes
sleepily as they did so.

“Hello here!” Hart exclaimed. “This seems to be quite a find.”

The two boys, now thoroughly awake, reached for their automatics as they
gained their feet. The men’s faces glared down upon them sinister and
suspicious.

They glanced eagerly about hoping to see the _Rambler_ riding in the
cove but, as the reader understands, the motor boat was not there. Clay
had not returned and the fire built for the purpose of cooking the fish
had burned down to embers.

“None of that, boys!” Peck threatened as Case and Jule reached their
hands back to their hip pockets. “You don’t have to draw any guns on
us.”

“If you try it,” Hart cut in angrily, “you’ll get a taste of good birch
rods. We have no time to fool with boys.”

By this time the men lounging on the bank of the cove were on their
feet, taking note of what was going on near the fire. Seeing their
companions talking with two boys who seemed to them to be tramps, they
dropped back to the ground again without interest.

A tall, rather pleasant looking man however soon left the group and
approached the place where the boys were standing.

“What seems to be the trouble, Peck,” he asked as he drew near.

“Well, Ball,” Peck answered, “we seem to have come upon two boy tramps.
They’re harmless enough, I guess.”

“Where are you going, boys?” Ball asked.

“Waiting for our chums to come back with the boat,” answered Case.

“So you’ve got a boat have you?” Hart exclaimed.

At the mention of a boat, Ball leaned forward and eyed the boys
critically, a suspicious gleam in his eyes.

“Where is the boat now?” he asked.

“Down the river,” was the reply.

“You see,” Jule went on, helping Case to answer the question, “one of
the boys went out to catch a fish and a coal tow chased him down. He’ll
be back directly. Ought to be here now.”

“What kind of a boat is it?” asked Ball.

“Motor boat,” replied Case.

Ball beckoned Peck and Hall a short distance away and the three stood
for some moments in earnest conversation.

“Oh, I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with the boys,” Peck was
heard to say. “No use to trouble them.”

“We can’t afford to take any chances,” Hart replied. “Just where did you
see that motor boat?” he went on turning to Peck.

“Some distance up the river,” was the reply. “I went out to a bar where
several coal barges had stranded to see if the pirates had had anything
to do with the trouble, and there I saw a motor boat.”

“Did you talk with the boys?” Peck asked.

“Yes,” Peck answered, “I talked with the boys, and they talked straight
enough, but I didn’t like their suspicious actions. They couldn’t give
any account of themselves, except that they were going down the river
just for the fun of the thing. Besides, I’m certain they heard the men
talking and the horses fussing on the bank. I saw them looking that way
several times. I’m rather afraid of them!”

“Did they ask you a lot of questions?” demanded Hart.

“Why,” was the reply, “I told them we were out after the river pirates,
and they seemed satisfied with that.”

“It seems to me,” Hart insisted, “that we ought not to turn these boys
loose. I just believe they’re spies sent here by our enemies. It can’t
do any harm to take charge of them for a little while, anyway.”

“Still, this motor boat,” Peck suggested, “is a mighty fine craft, and
these boys appear to me to belong to wealthy families. The boat will
soon be back here, if what the boys say is true, and then inquiries will
be made, and the first thing we know the District Attorney will have
every one of our names before the grand jury.”

“You may be right,” Hart said reluctantly, “and if I thought the boys
would go on about their business as soon as the boat returns, I’d be in
favor of letting them alone, but I don’t believe they will. They’ll just
sneak and pry around here until they get us into trouble.”

“Perhaps we’d better put the whole matter up to the others,” suggested
Ball, “then, whatever action is taken, we can’t be blamed.”

“Now see here, fellows,” Peck exclaimed, “there are quite a number of
reckless fellows in that company over there, and I’m afraid they
wouldn’t take into consideration the fact that they are dealing with
little boys. Now I’ll tell you what I propose.

“If you think best, I’ll take the boys up to the house and leave them
there with the old woman. Then we’ll scatter, and by the time the boys
get back with their friends, the country will be as peaceful as a stony
farm in Massachusetts.”

“That will be all right,” Hart agreed, “provided some of us remain here
and take charge of the other boys when they return.”

“Yes, I think that advisable,” Peck admitted. “Now, I’ll tell you what
you do, Ball, and perhaps you’d better go with him, Hart—you take these
boys over to my place and leave them there with instructions to the old
lady to keep them safe and sound until I get back. While you’re gone.
I’ll dismiss the company and stay on watch here.”

“That’s a good idea!” Ball declared. “We don’t mean any harm to these
boys, but we certainly must keep track of them until they get out of the
country. If their friends come back here and seem to be all right, we’ll
pack them all off in their own boat, and wish them good luck on their
trip down the river. We can’t be too careful, you know.”

The plan mapped out in this conversation was carried out. Case and Jule
were marched to the farm house where Clay had taken his breakfast and
locked up in a room guarded by the motherly old lady who had been so
kind to Clay. Dismayed but not disheartened at the sudden change of
fortune, the boys sat down on rude chairs in their not very secure
prison and regarded each other with humorous glances.

“And when we wake up,” Jule mocked, “well see the _Rambler_ riding in
the cove and Alex cooking a catfish a la Indian at the fire! If I
couldn’t get things any straighter than you can, Case, I’d certainly go
out of the prophet business! As a forecaster of future events, you’re
about as big a frost as the weather department of the United States
Government! What does all this mean, anyway?”

“You can search me,” Case answered a little sourly. “I don’ know whether
we’re under arrest, or whether we’ve been snatched up by a choice
collection of river pirates, or stored away for ransom by whitecaps.”

“The leading impression in my mind, if you want to know,” Jule
announced, “isn’t in my mind at all; it’s in my stomach!”

“You’re always hungry!” laughed Case.

“Hungry!” repeated Jule. “The word hunger doesn’t express it. I wonder
if the old lady will give us something to eat.”

“And indeed I will!” cried a feminine voice from the other side of the
door. “Sure I will, boys! Somehow it seems to be raining boys on this
’tarnal old farm this morning!”

“Let us out,” Clay suggested, “and we’ll help you get something to eat.
You’ll want water or wood to be brought, or something of that kind. We
won’t run away.”

“I reckon my old batter pail will be empty if any more hungry lads come
up from the river,” Mrs. Peck went on, opening the door.

“Did you have one hungry boy here this morning?” asked Case.

Mrs. Peck replied in the affirmative, and Case and Jule exchanged
significant glances. They understood very well who that hungry boy was,
and, in answer to questions asked of the friendly old woman, were soon
in possession of all the facts connected with Clay’s visit to the place
and return to the river.

And while the boys were eating a generous breakfast prepared by their
kind-hearted jailor, Alex, Clay and Uncle Zeke were discussing the
possibility of reaching the _Rambler_ by the cut-off across Horseshoe
bend.

While they talked and planned two pair of black, suspicious eyes were
gazing out at them from the undergrowth on the east side of the cove,
and the dog was sniffing suspiciously in that direction.




CHAPTER XXII.—THE NIGHT-RIDERS.


While the two boys laid their plans by the embers of the camp-fire, Peck
and his companion, the watchers, moved stealthily over in their
direction and came within sound of their voices.

“Now, Uncle Zeke,” they heard Alex say, “if you can get us through the
cut-off and bring us out to where the pirates have their ‘nest’, as you
call it, we’ll give you ten dollars, and if we succeed in getting the
_Rambler_ away from them, we’ll take you down the river with us and get
you a good job up north.”

“Ah’d hab to work up norf!” Uncle Zeke answered with a grin.

“You certainly would,” Clay laughed.

“Ah nebber did cotton to no work!” the negro replied.

“Well, then,” Alex promised, “if we get the boat, we’ll give you
twenty-five dollars. Now, you’ll do your best to get us through, won’t
you? We’ve just got to get that craft and slide out of this country.”

“That’s about what I thought!” Peck whispered to his companion. “All the
boys want is to get their boat back and get out of the country.”

“What was it that kid said about pirates?” asked the other.

“Perhaps the pirates stole their boat,” suggested Peck.

“If we keep still, we’ll soon find out, probably.”

“Before we leave this country,” Clay said in a moment, “we ought to get
even with those pirates in some way. They tried to shut us into the
lagoon so they could get possession of the boat, and we got away from
them. Now they’ve actually captured the _Rambler_, and may do a lot of
harm to the motors before we can get it back. I don’t believe they know
how to run a boat like the _Rambler_!”

“There!” Peck exclaimed, nudging his companion in the side. “Them pesky
pirates are to blame for the boys being here. Now if these boys have
seen anything that might make us trouble, these river robbers are to
blame for it. I wish we hadn’t sent the two kids we found here up to the
house. They are having troubles enough of their own.”

“Well,” Peck’s companion observed, “I don’t see any necessity for us to
remain here after this. We’ve got to see a lot of the boys to-day, after
we find out exactly what is to be done to-night, and so we may as well
go on about our business.”

Peck hesitated for a long time before he replied.

“The boys,” he said then, “seem to be bribing the old nigger to show
them the way through the cut-off.”

“That’s the way I get it.”

“And the old coon’s been telling them that the pirates have a rendezvous
somewhere near the end of the cut-off. Is that the way you understand
it?”

“That’s what the boy said,” was the answer. “Anyway, they’re expecting
the nigger to take them to the pirates’ rendezvous and help them get
their boat back.”

“Then,” Peck continued, “if you’re satisfied that it’s the right thing
to do, I’ll go back to the house, turn the other boys loose, and tell
them where they can find their friends.”

“That’ll be all right so far as I’m concerned.”

Captain Joe ran inquisitively toward the thicket as the men moved away,
but made no demonstration, as the intruders were not approaching the
fire.

“Now,” Alex said, “if we can persuade Uncle Zeke to bring in a large,
long piece of firewood, or a stone from the river, or some edible thing
of that sort. I’ll have breakfast. If you can’t find anything of that
sort that I can digest, Uncle Zeke,” he went on whimsically, “pass me
one of the oars and I’ll take a light lunch off that.”

“Why,” Clay laughed, “what’s the matter with Uncle Zeke going out and
getting a fish?”

“That may be all right,” Alex replied. “But look here, Uncle Zeke,” he
went on, “if you get hold of a fish of the forty-mule-power variety,
don’t you ever try to pull him in! He’ll drag you down the river, and
there’s a party of thieves in a houseboat down there who are waiting for
some nice fat darkey to cook for their dinner.”

“Ah nebber did cotton to no houseboat trash!” the negro exclaimed.

“Can you catch a fish for this starving boy?” demanded Clay.

“Ah suah can!” answered Uncle Zeke. “Dar’s plenty ob fish in de ribber,
but Ah hain’t got no hook an’ line.”

“Can you find bait?” asked Alex.

“Worms and grubs!” replied the darker pointing to the bank of the river.

“Well,” Clay informed him, “there are hooks and lines under the prow of
the rowboat. You’ll find all kinds of fishing outfit there, including a
piece of a jointed bamboo rod. If I wasn’t so nearly dead for want of
sleep, I’d go and catch a fish myself!”

“That’s the ticket!” cried Alex. “You crawl under there and go to sleep,
and when Uncle Zeke and I come back from our fishing trip, you’ll be
somewhere up in the blue sky looking for Case and Jule.”

“Mighty funny thing where those boys went to!” Clay suggested. “Do the
pirates ever come over into this cove, Uncle Zeke?” he added.

The negro, being somewhat puzzled at the abrupt question, Clay explained
to him that two of their chums had disappeared in a mysterious manner.
After listening to the explanation, the old negro made a circuit of the
cove, examining the turf closely as he passed along.

When he returned to the embers of the fire, what was left of his gray
hair was standing almost on end notwithstanding its natural kinkiness.
The terror he had felt at the sight of the bear was nothing to this.

“What is it, Uncle Zeke?” Alex asked.

“Night-riders!” replied the old darkey.

“You’ll have to get a new dream book, Uncle Zeke!” Alex laughed. “Ten or
fifteen years ago there were night-riders, and all that sort of thing in
Kentucky, but nothing of that kind goes now.”

“Ah nebber did cotton to no night-riders!” exclaimed the negro.

“What makes you think night-riders have been here?” asked Clay.

“’Cause,” answered the negro, “dey’re gettin’ mighty promiscuous lately.
Ah’m feared ob dem night-riders.”

“What did you see over there?” demanded Clay,

“Hoss tracks!” answered the negro.

The two boys looked at each other with understanding in their eyes.

“Do you remember the trampling we heard at the bar where the barges were
stranded?” asked Alex.

“Yes,” replied Clay, “and I remember, too, the horses tied in the
thicket near the house where I had breakfast.”

“Do you think the night-riders carried the boys away?” asked Alex.

“Ah sure do!” replied Uncle Zeke. “Mighty ’spicious people, dem
night-riders! Ah nebber did cotton to ’em.”

“Well,” Alex suggested in a moment, “you go see if you can get a fish.
I’ll stay here with Clay and watch for night-riders. If they show up
while you’re gone. I’ll pick out the fattest one and eat him for
breakfast. I’m hungry enough to eat a night-rider, horse and all!”

Uncle Zeke disappeared in the direction of the boat with a grin on his
black face, and in a few moments Alex had the satisfaction of seeing him
haul a couple of good-sized perch from the river. The boy instantly
darted into the thicket after dry wood, and before many minutes the old
darkey was on shore with his catch.

“Now,” Alex asked, “how am I ever going to get them cooked?”

“Why,” Clay answered, “there’s a small frying-pan in the bow locker of
the boat. Don’t you remember how we always kept a few provisions and
cooking utensils in there in case of accident?”

“What kind of provisions?” shouted Alex, dancing about.

“Why, canned beans, and tomatoes, and chicken!” answered Clay.

“Je—rusalem, my happy home!” shouted Alex. “Do you mean to tell me that
all that good eating has been in the boat all this time while my stomach
has been growing to my back bone?”

He dashed off to the boat as he spoke, and soon returned with a beaming
face, his arms piled high with tinned goods. He soon had some of the
cans opened and before many minutes, the perch were sizzling in the
frying-pan.

“Ah sure should know ’bout that chicken!” grinned Uncle Zeke as he
watched the boys open a tin can.

Clay sat back and laughed heartily at the puzzled expression on the
negro’s face.

“If you’d only known about that chicken being there, you’d have found a
place for it long before this, wouldn’t you. Uncle Zeke?” he asked.

“Ah sure would!” replied the old darkey. “Ah sure done gettin’ hungry
right now! Yaller-legged chicken! Huh!”

“All right!” Clay suggested. “As soon as Alex gets the fish ready, we’ll
all have breakfast. I’ve had one good feed this morning, but I can stand
another.”

“Tell you what,” the old darkey continued with his eyes fixed ravenously
on the frying fish. “Ah don’t go through no cut-off wid de sun up! Dat
country’s full of pesky pirates.”

“Mother of Moses!” cried Alex. “Have we got to wait here until night? If
we have, I’ll spend the time eating.”

“That might not be a bad idea!” Clay exclaimed. “Case and Jule may come
back before long. If they really have been captured by the night-riders,
they won’t be held very long.”

“We don’t know that,” Alex insisted. “The man we talked with up at the
barges was probably a night-rider, and he talked fair enough, but if
they suspect the boys of being spies, it will be a long time before they
gain their liberty.”

“Anyway,” Clay suggested, “if we have to remain here until twilight, we
can look about on the chance of finding the kids.”

“Ah’m advisin’ you boys not to do no lookin’ about in dis here country!”
Uncle Zeke exclaimed. “Mighty ’spicious people, dem night-riders!”

“That’s exactly the idea, Alex!” Clay expressed himself. “The
night-riders probably suspect that we are here as spies and that’s why
they have taken the boys away. Now there’ll probably be something doing
here before long, for the riders seem to be out in force.

“After they have accomplished the purpose of their gathering, they’ll
probably disband, and there’ll be no more trouble with them until they
get ready to burn down another tobacco warehouse, or beat up some
defenseless grower, whose only crime is to want to get rid of his
product.”

While these events had been taking place at the landing, Case and Jule,
very much to their surprise, had been released from surveillance at the
farm house and advised to make their way back to the river.

“My old man declares there’s no harm in you-ins,” Mrs. Peck said, as she
patted the boys on the shoulder in a motherly way and wished them good
luck. “You’ll probably find your friends at the cove,” she said, “for
our folks just returned from there, and the boys were waiting for you to
show up. Only don’t say a word about having been brought here at all. It
will be better for you not to.”

The boys agreed to this, and shot away at a double-quick pace toward the
cove, anxious to meet their chums, and doubly anxious to be on the deck
of the good old _Rambler_ again. They were hardly outside the clearing
in the middle of which the old farm house stood when a party of a dozen
men came dashing across the weed-grown field and approached the old
woman now standing in the doorway.

“Where are those boys?” the man who seemed to be the leader of the party
demanded. “Bring them out here, quick!”

As he spoke, several members of the party flourished long beechen whips
which had evidently been cut from the forest very recently.

“What do you-uns want of the boys?” asked the old lady mildly. “We’ll
explain that to them!” answered the leader, his face flushing with
anger. “We don’t have to be cross-examined by you.”

“I sho’ hope those boys hain’t done no mischief,” the woman replied.

“They’re spies!” the leader shouted. “We’ve just found out that they’re
spies! The word came down the river! Where are they?”

“I’m sure sorry,” Mrs. Peck answered, “but Ball done brought me word
from my old man to turn the lads loose.”

“Which way did they go?” demanded the leader. Mrs. Peck hesitated. She
knew what her fate would be should she attempt to deceive these lawless
night-riders, and should be detected. Her idea was to protect the boys
as far as lay in her power, yet she did not want to render herself and
family liable to the wrath of the riders.

“Sho’, now,” she said after a moment’s silence, “them boys ducked out of
the clearing somewhere west, and I was that stupid that I didn’t see
whether they kept straight on west or not.”

“Oh, what’s the use of talking with a woman?” demanded one of the
riders. “The boys undoubtedly returned to the river. We’ll find them
there if we make haste.”

“And when we do find them,” the leader declared spitefully, “we’ll give
them a bit of instruction according to Doctor Birch. We have desperate
work on hand for the next week, and we can’t afford to have our plans
frustrated by a few school-boys!”

The party dashed away at a gallop. The old lady saw them approach the
forest with a sinking heart.

Before they reached the tumbled-down fence, however, she saw them wheel
suddenly about and point with their whips to the south, where a mass of
flame and smoke was roaring skyward.




CHAPTER XXIII.—THE RAMBLER’S LIGHTS.


Unmindful of the peril which they had so fortunately escaped, Case and
Jule made their way through the forest in quick time and finally came to
a point from which the camp at the head of the cove was to be seen. It
is needless to say that the sight of their chums was more than pleasing.

At the moment of their approach, Alex was taking the fish from the fire,
Clay was opening tinned goods, and Uncle Zeke stood mourning over the
fact that he had not sooner discovered the presence of the yellow-legged
chicken.

The boys dashed down to the fire with shouts of joy, and the reader may
well understand that their welcome was a hearty one.

“Where’s the _Rambler_?” Case asked of Alex after the greetings were
over. “She ought to be put there in the cove.”

“The pirates got her!” Alex answered briefly.

“Have you been to breakfast?” Clay cut in.

“Have we been to breakfast?” repeated Case,

“We’ve been captured, and fed, and released since we saw you. Do you
know, boys,” he added, dancing cautiously around, “that I’ve got an idea
that we’re mixing up with night-riders.”

“We have just been informed of that fact by Uncle Zeke,” Clay answered.
“Where did you see night-riders?” he added.

“Just after you left,” Case explained, “a company of men came here on
horses. We heard them talking about our being spies. Then we were taken
to a house back in the country and locked up. Then we were given a peach
of a breakfast by the kindliest old lady you ever saw and turned loose.
Now what do you think of all that?”

“Night-riders!” exclaimed Alex. “Why do the riders ride, and why do the
riders ride at night?” “You’ve come to the right shop for information,”
Jule replied with a grin. “Just before we left Chicago I was reading a
book about night-riders. They ride because they can’t get over the
ground fast enough on foot, and they ride at night because they don’t
want any one to see them riding.”

“That’s all right!” chuckled Alex. “Now tell me what they ride for. In
other words, what’s the answer?”

“The night-riders want ten or twelve cents a pound for their tobacco,
and the planters on the lower lands near the river are willing to sell
theirs for five or six cents a pound, because they can raise more crops
a year and because their land is easier tilled.”

“And so they’re getting up a combination in restraint of trade, eh?”
laughed Alex. “That seems to be the proper thing to do.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jule went on, “but they’re trying to equalize
prices by reducing the supply. Whenever these river planters get nice
big warehouses packed full of the weed, the night-riders make their
appearance in the dark of the moon and burn them down.”

“This night-rider business was all right ten or fifteen years ago,” Clay
insisted, “but I don’t believe there’s anything doing in that line now.”

“Then what are all these men out with their horses for?” demanded Jule.

“Yes, and why did they lug us off to a farm house, and lock us up until
some one sent word that we wasn’t spies?” Case demanded.

The boys now turned their attention to the old negro who stood on a
little elevation at the back of the cove sniffing suspiciously at the
air.

“Where did you get that coon?” asked Case.

“He brought our boat down the river to us,” laughed Alex.

“Honest, did he?” demanded Jule.

“If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t be eating tinned goods would we?” asked Clay.

“Why, you might get those out of the _Rambler_,” Case ventured. “That
was a joke about the pirates getting the motor boat, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed it wasn’t!” Alex replied gravely, and in a short time the story
of the boys’ morning adventures was told.

“Now, that’s what I call rotten!” Jule cried out. “And I move that we
get to a telegraph office somewhere and notify some central point from
which all the police boats on the river can be notified of what has been
done. We’ve got to get the boat back!”

“I don’t like to call out the state troops,” Clay grinned. “We got into
this scrape, and I want to get out of it without any help from the
officers if possible. Uncle Zeke thinks he can take us to the _Rambler_
to-night, and we’re going to wait here until the edge of the evening and
make the attempt.”

“What’s the matter with Uncle Zeke?” asked Case. “He stands up there
snuffing the air as if he smelled more chicken.”

In a moment the old negro came dashing down to where the boys stood, his
eyes almost starting from his head.

“It doesn’t take much to frighten you, Uncle Zeke,” Clay laughed as the
old darkey came up on a run. “According to all accounts, you have fits
on the slightest provocation. The bear and the dog and the tracks of
horses’ feet have all set you going this morning. What is it this time?”

“It’s done broke out! It’s done broke out!” exclaimed the negro looking
wildly about and even starting for the rowboat.

Clay caught him by the arm and held him back. “Here,” he said, “you
ain’t going away with that boat right now! See if you can’t catch your
breath long enough to tell us what’s ‘done broke out’. Put us wise to
what the trouble is.”

“De night-riders done broke out!” cried the old negro. “Ah smell ’em!”

“What is it you smell?” asked Clay.

“Burnin’ ’baccy!” was the reply. “Dey done fire some warehouse!”

“Not in the daytime!” exclaimed Jule. “They don’t set fire to warehouses
in the daytime!”

“Cain’t nebber tell whut dem night-riders gwine do nex’,” answered Uncle
Zeke. “Dey’re pow’ful ornery trash!”

“I know what I’m going to do next!” Alex exclaimed. “I’ve got a misery
in my stomach and I’m going to quell it right now!”

“You hungry, Uncle Zeke?” asked Clay.

“Ah sure got mah eye on dat chicken!”

“Well,” Clay went on, “if you run up through that fringe of trees and
see what’s burning, I’ll give you some chicken as soon as you get back.”

The old negro was off like a shot. In ten minutes he was back with the
report that he had learned from a farmer who was hastening toward the
conflagration that the Slocum warehouses, not more than half a mile
away, had been set on fire just before daylight and had smoldered for
hours before bursting into flames.

“It strikes me,” Case suggested, “that the best thing we boys can do is
to get out of this country right now. We’ve bumped into river pirates,
and night-riders, and the next we know, we’ll be arrested by some fresh
officers charged with being in cahoots with the incendiaries.”

“I’m not going to run away without that motor boat,” Alex muttered, his
mouth full of fried fish.

“What’s the use?” asked Jule. “If we start out now, we’re likely to be
followed, and if we remain here in camp we may escape observation. The
night-riders know we’re here, of course, but they’ll be too busy getting
under cover to pay any attention to us to-day.”

“That listens good to me!” Alex put in. “We’ll stay here till night and
work our way through the cut-off by the light of burning warehouses. I
wish I could say ‘by the light of burning saloon boats’, too.”

“Talk about your wild life at the head waters of the Amazon!” roared
Clay, “this peaceful little old Ohio river beats anything we have
encountered yet. We seem to get into the thick of it everywhere we go.”

The boys were not molested during the day.

Shortly after noon a negro who looked about as badly frightened as one
could imagine, came down the river in an old canoe and stopped to talk
with Zeke.

He stated that the night-riders had destroyed several warehouses the
night before, and had also whipped several planters who had resisted.

“Ah nebber did done cotton to no night-riders!” the old darkey informed
the boys as he repeated the story.

“I wonder if those outlaws will make trouble for Mrs. Peck for letting
us go,” mused Case. “Say, Uncle Zeke!” he said in a moment. “If you’ll
send this friend of yours up to a farm house in the interior, we’ll give
you a dollar.”

“Ah wants dat dollah!” Zeke exclaimed.

“All right, go yourself if you want to,” Case answered. “We want to know
if the woman in the farm house has been troubled at all by the
night-riders. We want you to go and tell her that we’re down here in the
cove, and will do all we can to help her if she gets into trouble.”

“Dat’s mah dollah!” cried Uncle Zeke already on his way.

In a couple of hours the negro returned with the information that he had
talked with the woman, and that she had seemed grateful for the offer
made. He stated, too, that there were men about the house, and that they
had been highly amused at the message he had delivered.

“Dey sure done laugh at dis ol’ coon!” Uncle Zeke added, “when ah tole
’em you-all wanted to come up an’ fight for de lady what gib you-all
pancakes an’ coffee. Dey sure did roar!”

“What did they say about the burning warehouse?” asked Clay.

“Ah sure don’ mention no burnin’ warehouse where dem men is,” replied
the darkey. “Mought be dey set dat fire demselves.”

“Well,” Case said handing the darkey a silver dollar. “Here’s your
money. I would have given more to have informed the old lady that we
felt grateful for what she did for us this morning.”

“She shore glad you-all feel so!” Uncle Zeke replied.

At five o’clock in the afternoon, Alex sent Uncle Zeke out to catch more
fish and began building up the fire.

“What’s coming off now?” asked Jule.

“What do you ’spose is coming off?” demanded Alex. “I haven’t had
anything to eat for two or three hours.”

“The kid is all right!” Clay declared. “We must get supper early and
make up a lot of sandwiches for midnight. We may have to lay and wait in
the cut-off for hours before we can get to the _Rambler_. We can’t show
any lights, and so it will be impossible to cook. So, as Alex will be
sure to be hungry, we’ll take our midnight supper with us.”

“What you going to make your sandwiches of?” asked Jule.

“Huh,” laughed Alex, “I’m going to take fat perch and stuff ’em with
beans and chicken. How would a sandwich like that go on South Clark
street?”

“It would go down mighty quick!” laughed Jule.

After eating their supper and putting up a large supply of provisions
for the night, the boys made ready for their trip to what Zeke declared
to be the pirates’ nest. They were at twilight, moving slowly, silently
across the river and then down the cut-off, which at high water was
navigable for small boats, and which would soon make an island of the
peninsula enclosed within the rim of the river.

By nine o’clock it was very dark. The trees overhanging the narrow
channel through which the boat was poled and dragged—the water being too
shallow in places for the use of the oars—stood like grim walls,
shutting out what little light came from the uncertain sky.

Owing to fallen trunks and heaps of rubbish washed in by a recent
freshet, the cut-off was difficult of navigation, but just after
midnight the lads saw across a wooded point of land a strong light flash
out for a moment and then die away.

“And there burn the _Rambler_’s light” Alex cried.




CHAPTER XXIV.—THE LIGHTS HELP SOME.


I’d give a good deal to know just how many people there are around that
boat!” Clay whispered.

“If you’ll just push this old scow up a little closer, I’ll sneak over
there and find out,” said Alex.

“If he tries to get away, tie him up with a rope!” whispered Jule.
“Every time that boy gets out of sight, he lands in trouble up to his
long ears!”

“There were only two when I left the _Rambler_,” Alex exclaimed, making
a sly face at Jule. “They shot a dozen bullets at me while I was getting
away, and never turned a hair!”

The boat was worked slowly through another hundred yards of the cut-off,
and then the boys could see the bulk of the _Rambler_ outlined against a
cloudy sky. There were no lights on board and no sounds were heard.

The boat lay in a sort of a bight carved out by the river as it bent
away to the north just before it made the western turn. Behind it was a
tangle of swamp.

In front swept the heavy current of the river. The rowboat halted within
perhaps a hundred yards of the place where the stolen _Rambler_ lay.

“If they had had the good sense to anchor on the other side of the
river,” Case whispered to Alex, “they might have made us a lot more
trouble. I’m glad they stopped where they did.”

“I’m afraid there are a whole lot of outlaws on board,” Clay whispered,
as the boys sat in the rowboat, watching the dim bulk of the _Rambler_.

“Then the two thieves who stole the boat have picked them up out of the
river,” Alex insisted. “There were only two when I left the deck, and
they came off from a coal tow which was going downstream.”

“If there were only two, we ought to go and blow the tops of their heads
off, and take the boat away from them, just to show that we can,” said
Jule. “We ought to do something to show them that they’re not the only
apples on the tree. Don’t you think so, boys?”

“You’re the bloodthirsty little pirate now!” laughed Clay. “I’ll be
satisfied if we can dump them in the river and get on board the good old
_Rambler_ again.”

The boys sat still in the boat for a long time, hardly knowing what
course to pursue. The sky was clearing of clouds, and the glow of the
stars shone dimly down on the _Rambler_. Although no lights showed on
board the motor boat, suspicious noises in the cabin and on the deck
informed the lads that people were moving about there.

“They’re awake and watching us, all right!” Alex whispered, after a
time. “We’ve got to do something to place them off their guard!”

While the boys were listening and waiting, Captain Joe sprang out of the
boat and waded and swam over to the hard ground on the south of the
cut-off. The boys saw only a white flash as the bulldog left the water
and disappeared in the darkness of the jungle. Teddy, the bear, seemed
inclined to follow him, but the boys held him back by main force.

“Now I wonder,” whispered Jule, “if the pirates are over there, too! If
they’ve got us surrounded, we’re likely to open a barrel of trouble in
about a minute.”

The noise made by Captain Joe and also by the struggle with the bear
apparently attracted the attention of those on board the _Rambler_, for
a faint light blazed up in the cabin of the motor boat for an instant
and was then extinguished.

“They’re getting their guns ready, I guess,” Clay whispered. “Suppose we
pull the boat under the shadow of the bank and take to the shore. We
might be safer there.”

“I’ll tell you what I think,” Case observed. “When those fellows turned
on the light they were getting ready to set the motors going. If we
don’t watch out, they’ll have the _Rambler_ whizzing downstream at the
rate of twenty miles an hour.”

“Well,” Jule declared, “if we go ashore we may get into trouble there,
so I propose that we land on the north side of the cut-off and try to
make a sneak on board.”

“Whatever we do,” Clay advised, “we ought to keep the boat within reach
so that, if they do go on downstream, we can follow them as fast as the
current will carry us.”

The boys argued in whispers for some time over Clay’s proposition and
then Alex broke out:

“If you fellows will push over to the south shore for a minute, I’ll get
out and see what is going on there. I don’t like the idea of having a
gang of pirates come up behind us after we land and advance to the
_Rambler_. That wouldn’t look well.”

“Don’t you never let him go!” Case advised. “If you do, he’ll get mired
in a swamp or bring a company of night-riders on top of us.”

Alex, however, did not wait for the boys to either pole the boat to the
south shore, or to decide as to whether he ought to land. Before any
further objections could be offered, he was up to his waist in water
moving toward the shadows on the south bank.

“The little monkey!” whispered Case. “I wish I had a rope around his
neck!”

“What shall we do now?” asked Jule. “We can’t go away and leave him in
that patch of woods.”

“I think we’d better go on over to the north shore and see if we can
retake the _Rambler_” Clay answered. “Alex, probably, has some notion in
his head which we don’t understand, and, anyway, he is capable of taking
care of himself.”

In accordance with this idea, the three boys landed and, leaving Uncle
Zeke in charge of the boat and the bear, with instructions to answer
Alex’s call from the south bank, they took their way to the bight in
which the _Rambler_ lay. They had only a shore distance to go, and were
soon within a few feet of the motor boat, which lay within a couple of
yards of the shore.

From the position they now occupied, they could see a dilapidated old
houseboat lying beyond the _Rambler_, her nose resting lightly on the
bank.

“That’s where the pirates have been living!” whispered Case. “If we
could only do something to drive them back to the old hulk, we might
possibly get the _Rambler_ away.”

All remained dark and silent on board the motor boat, still the boys
knew that the men on board were awake and alert. They had seen the prow
light turned on when farther up the cut-off, and only a few moments
before a light had shone in the cabin.

The boys waited for what seemed to them an hour or more, watching and
listening, hoping for Alex’s return, and hoping, too, for some
indication of the intentions of the pirates.

“We’ve just got to make a break pretty soon,” Jule said. “I believe
those fellows on board the boat know that we’re in the vicinity. They’re
not asleep, and they wouldn’t be sitting there in the dark unless they
were suspicious.”

“If you boys will stay here,” Clay suggested, “I’ll attempt to gain the
after deck of the _Rambler_. If I succeed, I may be able to drive the
pirates out of the boat.”

“I was just thinking of that myself!” whispered Case.

“You remain here,” Clay went on, “and I’ll see what can be done.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the “chug, chug, chug,” of
motors was heard, and the _Rambler_, still showing no lights, glided
softly upstream!

After proceeding a few paces, however, the power was shut off, and she
remained swinging in the almost stagnant waters of the bight. Her
position was, perhaps, a hundred paces to the north of the cut-off, and
perhaps ten paces from the shore where the boys were.

“I guess they’ve got us going now!” Case exclaimed regretfully. “They’ll
shoot upstream in a minute, and that’ll be the last of the merry old
_Rambler_! We’ll have to build another boat, boys!”

No one replied, for just at that moment the splash of oars and poles was
heard, coming swiftly down the cut-off. The boys turned their eyes in
that direction and almost shouted in their amazement as three blue
lights, following the channel of the cut-off, proceeded to the west, to
all appearances floating six or eight feet above the surface of the
water! The boys stood silent for a moment.

“Now, what do you think of that?” whispered Clay. “Three times and out!”

“I know now what the three blue lights mean!” gasped Case. “They
constitute a signal used by the night-riders!”

“There ain’t any tobacco warehouses to burn here!” Jule scoffed.

The three blue lights came on steadily, stopping after a time at the
very mouth of the cut-off, two or three hundred feet from where the
_Rambler_ lay.

Heretofore the lights had seemed to be floating in the air. Now the boys
could faintly distinguish the bulk of a boat looking weird and ghostly
under the mysterious illumination.

“I wonder if that won’t scare the pirates?” asked Jule.

The answer came from the _Rambler_ itself, for the motors were turned on
and the boat whirled swiftly away toward the opposite bank of the river.
Then a volley of shots rang out from the mysterious boat, and a voice
called over the water:

“Obey the signal, boys! If you don’t, we’ll fill you full of lead! You
know what three blue lights mean!”

Much to the amazement of the boys, the motors ceased their clatter and
the _Rambler_ lay swaying just at the edge of the current.

“Do you mind that now?” whispered Case. “The pirates on board the
_Rambler_ don’t know that the outer walls are all bullet-proof!”




CHAPTER XXV.—GRATEFUL NIGHT-RIDERS.


The next moment the great flashlight on the prow of the _Rambler_ blazed
out over the waters.

“Why!” exclaimed Clay, “that’s our boat, and there’s some one holding
three blue lights up on a stick!”

“Yes,” exclaimed Jule, fairly dancing up and down in his excitement,
“and that little monkey in the prow is Alex! He’s the one that’s holding
up the three blue lights! Now where do you suppose he got that layout?”

“He has a way of picking things out of the atmosphere!” laughed Case.

“Looks like a scene in a play!” cried Jule.

“That would be a mighty good place to drop a curtain!” suggested Case.

“Not quite yet,” Clay insisted. “The scene mustn’t close just yet. The
audience wants to know what the three blue lights are going to do to the
_Rambler_.”

The boys were not long kept in waiting in this regard. The rowboat, sunk
almost to the guards under the weight of four men and a boy, swept up to
the _Rambler_. Directly all were on the deck of the motor boat. Alex
dancing excitedly up and down when he was not waltzing over the deck
with the white bulldog.

“Why don’t you let us in on that?” demanded Jule from the bank.

“Oh, there you are!” shouted Alex springing up on the gunwale. “We
thought you boys had gone and got lost. Wait a minute, and I’ll row the
boat over to you.”

The lad dropped into the rowboat with a tunk, and soon had his wondering
companions on the deck of the motor boat. What they saw there added, if
possible, to the surprise of the previous five minutes.

Four men, two of whom Alex recognized as the men who had stolen the
boat, lay tied hard and fast on the deck, and four other men, two of
whom had visited the camp at the cove during the forenoon, were standing
over them with guns in their hands. The prisoners seemed to be trying to
the best of their ability to conciliate their stern-faced guards.

“We didn’t know that you had an interest in the outfit,” one of the
prisoners was saying. “Those boys rammed our steamer, and we were bound
to get even with them.”

“It’s hands off the boys!” exclaimed Peck sternly. “What do you think we
ought to do with them?” he asked turning to his companions.

“We ought to stretch their necks!” was the fierce reply.

“I wouldn’t mind assisting at a necktie party,” Peck answered, “but,
under the circumstances, I think we’d better not become too prominent in
any such society event. You three men pitch them over into the old
houseboat and drift along the river until you come to a Government
steamer. Then turn them over as outlaws and return on the Government
steamer if it’s going upstream to the cove. If it’s going downstream,
get the first upboat you can.”

Peck’s authority seemed to be supreme, for in five minutes the four
bound men were transferred to the houseboat which was then nosed out
into the stream by the _Rambler_. This done, Peck sat down in a deck
chair and regarded the four boys quizzically.

“Where’s the old negro?” he asked in a moment.

“Didn’t you hear him splash in the water?” asked Alex. “When you showed
the three blue lights, he waddled ashore with a face so white it made a
chalk-mark on the night.”

“What does it all mean?” asked Clay.

As he spoke he pointed to the blue lights still burning on the prow of
the rowboat.

“It’s all easily explained,” Peck replied with an engaging smile. “Just
after two of you boys left my house to-day, a gang of good fellows
laboring under a misapprehension came up with a supply of birch whips
intended for the backs of you kids. Their attention was attracted to a
burning building, or they would have overtaken the lads before they
reached the cove and beaten them half to death.

“When I reached home, my wife told me of the incident, and I began
worrying for fear the boys would be caught and mistreated. While we were
talking it over, that old nigger came up and said that you boys wanted
to do something for my wife because she had been so good to you.

“This kindness on your part—this willingness to do anything you could if
we needed your help—stirred me up considerable. So we started out
through the woods for the cove. When we got to the cove, which was after
dark, of course, you were not there, and we’ve been floundering around
in the water and woods and bushes ever since. We crossed the stream in a
rickety old scow and landed on the peninsula, thinking that perhaps the
river pirates, known to have headquarters here, had made trouble for
you.

“Just as we were about to turn back, this little chap,” pointing at
Captain Joe, “came plunging through the bushes and we knew that you were
not far away. Then this boy came panting along and we grabbed him. He
was frightened half to death for a minute, but when things were
explained, he told us the kind of a mixup you were in.

“Well, we came down to the cut-off and got into the boat and came down
here. Then we remembered that the river pirates stand in deadly terror
of the three blue lights—our boys having been a little rough with
them!—so we put up the signal you saw, and I guess that’s about all!”

“I guess I know what the three blue lights mean,” Alex blurted out.
“They constitute a signal used by the night-riders. I don’t wonder the
pirates are afraid of them!”

“And I guess the night-riders are the ones who keep the ghost stories
about the lights going!” Jule added.

“Of course,” Peck replied with a whimsical smile, “I don’t know anything
about that. One of my friends, here, just happened to have three blue
lights with him, so we put ’em up to scare the pirates. We thought that
if we could make the outlaws believe that we belonged to the
night-riders, we could throw a bigger scare into them.”

“Of course,” Case laughed, winking at Peck, “we never thought for a
moment that you gentlemen belonged to the night-riders!”

“Of course not!” laughed Peck, winking back. “Nobody around here belongs
to the night-riders! You might travel up and down the river, and over
the mountains, for a thousand miles, and not find a night-rider in the
whole country! Fact!” he added, significantly.

“Do they put out blue lights whenever they’re going to burn some one’s
warehouse?” asked Alex.

“Boy,” answered Peck, patting Alex kindly on the shoulder, “you mustn’t
ask any questions about the night-riders in this section of the country.
They think they are protecting their own interests in what they do, and
that’s all I know about it.”

“I’d just like to know how they make the lights go out so quickly,” Jule
grinned. “They go out with a loud noise, don’t they.”

“I had that explained to me once,” replied Peck with a queer smile, “and
if you won’t say anything about it. I’ll tell you how it’s done.”

“The three blue lights are placed on a board, either floating on the
water or suspended from some elevation. On the same board is a stick of
dynamite with a long fuse. After the lights burn a few moments—they are
just little kerosene lamps with blue globes, you know—the dynamite
explodes and that ends the display. Perfectly simple, ain’t it, boys?”

“I should think it was!” answered Clay.

Peck remained on board the _Rambler_ until daylight, and then the boys
took him back up the river to the little cove near his own home. When at
last he shook hands with the lads at parting, they did their best to
reward him, but he refused every offering made.

“I did this for you boys,” he said, “just because you sent that word up
to my wife. You thought she was alone, and might be in trouble, on
account of the rough characters you had seen about, and you notified her
that you were ready and willing to fight for her if she wanted any
assistance. That was enough for me!”

After cooking breakfast at the old camp at the head of the cove, the
boys again set out on their journey. During the rest of the trip they
avoided saloon boats and coal tows.

They also tied up at night near some city or town. Now and then they
read in the daily newspapers stories of alleged outrages by
night-riders, but their experiences with the men of the three blue
lights led them to make many excuses for them.

They spent nearly a month loitering along the river, stopping here and
there, sometimes tying up for two or three days at a time. When at last
they saw the lights of Cairo they were heartily sorry that the journey
was ended.

“We have had a pleasant trip, mixed with a little healthy excitement!”
laughed Case, as they threw out their lines at one of the lower wharves.

“A little excitement?” repeated Alex. “Say, look here, kid, the Ohio is
the sixth river we’ve navigated, and she’s given us the liveliest run
for our money we’ve had yet.”

“And now,” Case said rather soberly, “we’ll sail up the Mississippi,
through the Illinois river and the canal, and get back to our little
pier up on the South Branch.”

“Whew!” exclaimed Alex, “won’t Captain Joe, the old sea-captain, be glad
to see us come sailing in?”

“I don’t believe he’ll accept half our three-blue-lights’ stories as
true!” Jule put in.

“Anyway,” Clay replied, “we’ve had the experiences, and Captain Joe can
think what he likes!”

THE END.







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