CHAPTER VIII.—AN ADDITION TO THE PARTY
The river is wide at Para, and there are always dozens of steamers and trading vessels anchored off the city. This night was no exception. There was a little group of vessels lying within hailing distance of the motor boat. The one nearest, perhaps, was the steamer which Frank had called the Señorita, not a large boat, but one having the appearance of great speed.
There was little stir of life on the river, and Clay watched light after light go out in the nearby craft with a sensation of loneliness. Now and then, it is true, he could hear a voice coming over the water, but usually the words spoken were in an unfamiliar tongue. The air was dry and warm.
The moon, passing farther to the west, had encountered a bank of clouds, and was visible only a part of the time. In these darker intervals, whenever the listening boy heard the rattling of an oar it seemed to him that the boat in which it swung was stealthily approaching the Rambler with some sinister purpose in the hearts of those within her.
He knew that Frank was not asleep, for he could hear him tumbling about in his bunk, and more than once he started up with the purpose of calling to the lad and having the truth of the danger which hung over him clearly defined, but each time he sat down again, reluctant to press him on so delicate a subject. His idea was that, at sometime during the night, something would occur which might give him an inkling of the threatened danger.
Just before daylight, what he half feared, half hoped for, took place. During a dark moment he heard the bunt, felt the jar, of a prow against the side of the Rambler. He sat still and listened, his only motion being that of an arm to bring his automatic revolver into position for use.
Presently the light boat tipped a trifle to the east, as if some heavy body or bodies were keeling her over by clinging to the railing which ran around the deck. Whispered words in Spanish followed, and then the soft pad of a naked foot on the planks.
Clay’s purpose in remaining inactive at this time and permitting the intruders to gain the deck was to allow the invasion of the Rambler to proceed without interruption until the object of the visit was made known by some unmistakable proceeding. For all he knew the object of the intrusion might be larceny. In that case he did not wish to take a human life, as he would be almost certain to do should he open fire with his automatic revolver.
Presently the footsteps moved in the direction of the cabin door, which was wide open. The bulk of the cabin could only be outlined in the darkness, and the creeping figure could not be seen at all. The deck seemed empty save for himself, only the soft pat-pat of naked feet showing the presence of another.
The restless tumblings in the cabin had ceased, and Clay was under the impression that Frank had dropped off into slumber, but in this he was mistaken. He was already rising to his feet to switch on the light in the cabin when another light shot out of the doorway like a bullet.
It proceeded from a powerful electric searchlight, held in Frank’s left hand, and showed a weapon in the right. Straight out of the doorway it flashed, bringing into the center of a white circle the dusky face and evil eyes of a native Indian, such as Clay had observed on the streets of Para that evening.
The Indian was crouching low, his shoulders hunched as if for a quick spring, and a knife flashed back the light, a knife clutched in his right hand, already half lifted. The object of the night visit was no longer in doubt. Clay stepped forward, but quick as he was the Indian was too active for him.
There was a sudden movement and a splash in the river. When they cautiously peered over the railing of the deck, a second later, nothing was to be seen in the water below. Even the boat in which the Indian had reached the Rambler had disappeared. Frank threw the rays of his light far up arid down the current, but no bobbing head came within its circle.
“It is of no use to look for him,” the boy said. “He can swim beneath the surface as handily as on top.”
“But where is the boat?” asked Clay. “I distinctly heard one strike the Rambler.”
“It was probably taken away at once,” answered Frank. “The Indian was to do his work on board and take to the river. Lucky thing you were on guard.”
“It strikes me,” Clay returned, “that I had very little to do with it. You heard him at first?”
“Yes; I hadn’t been to sleep. I anticipated something of the sort. I warned you to-night in order that you might be prepared for anything.
There was a short silence, during which both boys turned their heads toward the Señorita, only a few rods away.
“I have a notion that we’ll hear something doing on board our honorable escort, in a minute,” said Frank, lightly. “They’ll want to know why he fell down on the pleasant task they set him.”
“You think he came from the steamer?”
“I have no doubt of it.”
They waited and listened a long time, but no sounds of any kind came from the Señorita.
“They are too clever to permit him to return after a failure,” Frank concluded. “Now you see what you’re up against,” he added. “Are you ready to set me ashore in the morning?”
“Hardly,” smiled Clay. “We started out together, and we’ll stick together, if I have my way about it. We’ll get our supplies in early and be out of sight of Para long before night.”
“If I have my way about it,” Frank said, with an air of determination, “you’ll leave me behind. It would be a poor return for all your kindness if I should get you all murdered.”
“Promise me that you will make no attempt to leave us without my consent.”
“But——”
“Will you promise?”
“Yes, but you don’t know what is ahead of you if I remain on the boat. We are going into a wild and lawless country, and——”
“I understand. See! It is getting light in the east. There will be no further trouble to-night, so we may as well go to bed.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to sleep,” suggested Frank.
“Then sit here and watch,” Clay advised, “and remember, old man, I hold you to your promise!”
“You may trust me!”
The voice was low and steady, and Clay knew that the boy meant just what he said, so he went off to bed and slept until nine o’clock. When he came out on deck, rubbing his eyes, all the boys were there save Alex. Case and Frank, mindful of Clay’s wish to get away as early as possible, had attended to getting the supplies on board, and the Rambler was ready to set her nose against the streams leading to the Amazon. Clay learned all this while preparing his breakfast.
“But where is Alex?” he asked.
“He is still on shore,” replied Case. “I told him not to go away, but he rushed off when I was away. Now we’ll have to go into the city and get him out of some scrape.”
“You are mild in your prophecy of evil this morning,” laughed Jule. “Ordinarily you would have had him hung, drawn and quartered for trying to rob a bank.”
Case hung his head and smiled at the reference to his failing.
“Well, he ought to be here,” he said.
“I should think you would go out of business as a prophet,” laughed Jule. “All your prognostications fail. See! This one fails, for here comes Alex now. What is that he is carrying?”
“Looks like a large Brazilian monkey,” replied Frank.
“And the kid has an escort, at that!” roared Jule. “Just see the mob chasing after him!”
“That is a dog he has,” Case exclaimed, looking at the advancing boy through a glass. “If it isn’t a half-grown, white bulldog. I’ll wash dishes for a month. Must be heavy!”
“Well,” Clay grinned, “Alex is making a try for the running record, if it is heavy. Look at him cover the ground!”
“Better say, ‘How that boy did run, than here he lies!’” hummed Jule.
“I guess he’s got good cause to run,” Clay observed. “Looks to me as if that mob meant business. You don’t suppose he stole the dog, do you. Case? Why doesn’t he put him down?”
“Just like him to steal a dog and get the boat held up here for a month,” Case answered. “Then the rainy season will come on, and we’ll not enjoy the trip at all.”
The boys all laughed heartily at this new manifestation of Alex’s failing, and the boy turned away from them and jumped into the little row-boat, now ready for the rescue, attached to the prow.
“Here!” shouted Jule, “don’t go off that way! I’m going with you. You can’t fight that mess alone.”
But Case was pushing off, and the next instant was rowing with long, steady strokes toward the pier down which Alex must pass to reach the river front.
The next minute Frank, who had planned to go in the boat, was in the water, headed in the same direction. The race on shore was now drawing to a close.
Clay called out to Case not to leave the boat, but to hold it ready for the pursued youngster to leap into, but this was unnecessary, as Alex reached the end of the pier before the boat could be forced there. Frank was swimming like a duck in the water, but was slowly being swept down stream.
Alex turned for an instant and faced a collection of a score or more of disreputable-looking men and boys who were dashing down the pier after him. Then he lifted his face with a grin, gave out a long “Whoop” of defiance and took to the river.
He still held the dog in his arms as he leaped, and, Alex being obliged to loosen his hold in order to swim, that thoughtful animal immediately clawed his way to the boy’s half submerged shoulders and set up a howl which was as plainly a request for sympathy and assistance as could be imagined.
“Hang to the pup!” called Jule.
But the dog, showing intelligence beyond his years, seemed to realize the insecurity of his perch and sprang for the boat, now advancing swiftly toward the swimmer. The mob on the pier drew up at the very edge of the water and contented itself by showering both boy and dog with a volley of broken bricks and clubs. Case caught the dog as it struck the rim of the boat and drew it inside.
By this time Alex was within reaching distance, and was assisted in, his clothing torn and dripping. Once in the boat, he turned toward his pursuers, placed his thumb on the end of his nose, and swung his four fingers derisively in the air.
“Come on in!” he shouted. “The water’s fine!”
A mixture of blackguard English, Spanish, and Indian, accompanied by another volley of bricks was the only answer. Then, having expressed his indifference to the attacks of the mob, Alex turned his attention to Frank, who was soon drawn out of the water. The dog was the first one on the deck of the Rambler.
“Start her up,” Alex grinned. “There’s more coming.”