The River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio; Or, The Three Blue Lights

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!”