CHAPTER IX.—ANOTHER GUEST FROM THE RIVER.
Clay, after Alex and Case were asleep in their bunks, sat out on the forward deck playing with Teddy and informing him what his opinion of him was! The cub appeared to understand the compliments paid him, but Captain Joe looked like he was being overlooked in the allotment of honors for the events of the day. Clay only scolded him for not uttering a warning when King came on board.
The lights of Yuma shone in the distance, and now and then the rush and roll of a Southern Pacific train stirred the air, but for the most part it was very still, except for the murmur of the river, where the Rambler lay.
The happenings of the day had been so remarkable that Clay’s head almost ached as he tried to place them in orderly array for deliberate consideration. The larceny of the money troubled him most, and a good deal of his thought was given to the mystery of the taking.
He had taken a fancy to Don Durand, and did not like the idea that further trouble might come to the lad through a member of the Rambler company. Don would certainly appear, in time, and claim the money. What was there to say to him? Would he believe the naked truth when it was told? Clay was sorry to conclude that he would not!
While the boy worried over the situation, a light showed on the the city side of the river, such a light as might have been made by the flare of a match. Clay watched the point from which it had shown with lazy interest. The person who had struck the match was probably some tramp, he concluded, some vagrant loitering there in the hope of finding a lodging for the night on board the boat.
Directly another match was struck. This time it was swung in a circle until the flame was extinguished by the light breeze which was blowing from the west. Clay began to take a greater interest in the matter, for it seemed that the person on shore, whoever it was, was attempting to attract his attention.
There was no moon, but the stars were out, and the boy knew that the bulk of the Rambler could be quite distinctly seen from the shore. The display of light, he thought, might be either a salute to those on board or a signal to some one on the bank. Curious as to what it really did mean, he resolved to sit still and await developments.
It had been an exciting day, and the previous one had been more exciting still. The most unexpected events had happened since the Rambler had come within sight of the Colorado river. The boy was weary of the complications which had been forced upon his companions and himself, and anxious to be away on stretches of river where there would be only the great facts of Nature to deal with, still his natural curiosity held his attention to the vagrant light on shore.
Half a dozen flares were shown, and Clay began to consider the advisability of responding to them. He put the notion aside for a time, and then, the signals continuing, he got out his searchlight and sent a circle of light toward the shore. Then a boyish voice called out:
“Hello, the boat!”
“That’s not a sailor,” thought Clay, showing his light again. “A sailor would have shouted ‘Ship ahoy!’ Now, I wonder what the fellow wants, at this time of the night?”
Again the voice came out of the darkness:
“I want to come aboard. Can you send a boat after me?”
“We are not at home to-night,” laughed the boy, amused at the impudence of the fellow. “Besides,” he continued, “we have no boat. If you want to see me, you must swim the river.”
This dubious invitation was accepted almost before the words were out of the lad’s mouth, and Clay heard a quick splash in the water. Directly heavy and labored breathing told him that the visitor was nearing the boat, and that he was having a tiresome time on his journey.
Presently the light of the stars showed a head bobbing on the surface of the water, not three yards away, and Clay turned his light in that direction. It revealed only a head of tow-colored hair and a pale, distressed face, with eyes strained and anxious from over-exertion. Then a pair of thin, boyish shoulders lifted above the water.
“It is only some kid seeking adventure,” thought Clay, tossing down a rope. “I’ll take him on board long enough to give him a rest, then he can swim back to the shore. Here, kid!” he went on, “take hold of the rope’s end and I’ll draw you out of the moisture!”
With the assistance of the rope and the strong arms at the boat end of it, the visitor was soon on deck, sitting flat and leaning against the railing, as if every ounce of strength had been used in the swim from the shore. Clay’s light showed the stranger to be a boy of not more than fourteen years—a ragged, hungry-looking boy!
“Gee!” the boy panted, after a time, “I reckon I’m all in!”
“What did you do it for?” asked Clay, wondering if the boy really was as hungry as he looked and wondering, too, if he could feed him without waking the sleepers in the cabin.
The boy did not answer the question, but sat looking over the boat, as if trying to search out some familiar feature or face.
“You might be a fish,” Clay said, “the way you come up out of the river at the end of a rope. What do you want?”
The visitor leaned weakly back against the railing and shut his eyes as if too tired to keep them open. Clay watched him curiously for a moment and started for the provision box at the back of the cabin.
“I know what you want, first of all,” he declared, turning and speaking in a low tone. “You want a square meal? What?”
“That’s the answer!” said the other, opening his eyes. “That’s it.”
“Why didn’t you say so, then?” grumbled Clay, hustling to the provision box and bringing out cold baked beans, bread, fried fish, and a huge piece of pie. “Get busy, now!”
The boy needed no second bidding. He stowed away the victuals in a way highly satisfactory to his host, and looked up with a grin on his thin face.
Clay removed the dishes and sat down by his side, but just then Teddy came nosing out of the cabin and invited the boy to box with him. In a second the kid was on the railing and half over into the water. Clay’s voice was shaking with laughter as he reproved the cub and pulled the boy back on the deck. Teddy walked away on his hind feet in offended dignity.
“You shouldn’t mind a little thing like that!” Clay laughed. “You’d get used to seeing things if you sailed on the Rambler long!”
“Then this is really the Rambler?” asked the other.
“Sure it is! Where did you ever hear of the Rambler? What’s your name? How long have you been growing that appetite you just had on exhibition? It was a corker, if anybody should ask you!”
“My name is Tom, and I’m from Chicago, and I’ve been without food for fourteen weeks, if you want the truth!”
“Hunger doesn’t seem to affect your imagination!” Clay suggested.
“Well, I don’t know how long it has been since I had a square meal like that! I invaded a free lunch counter yesterday morning, but the brute of a barkeep tumbled me out into the street.”
“Did you walk from Chicago?” asked Clay, after a moment’s silence.
“I rode the rods,” was the reply. “I’m all stuffed with sand. I’ll turn into stone, like Arizona wood, in about three weeks.”
Clay regarded the boy curiously. He spoke gravely, saying odd things as one might repeat a lesson at school.
“Tom?” he said, then. “What else besides Tom?”
“Durand—Thomas Jefferson Durand! My parents gave me a long name because it didn’t cost them anything, and they had nothing else to give me. I’ll bet the first Thomas Jefferson wouldn’t look so dignified in his pictures after he had rode the rods from Chicago! Would he, now?”
Clay did not reply, for he was wondering if this Durand and the Durand he had been thinking about that night were brothers. It would be a strange coincidence if they were! This Durand seemed to know about the Rambler! Perhaps, in some mysterious manner Don had warned him to wait for the boat as it passed up the river and ascertain if the fifty thousand dollars had been safely taken out of the sand levee!
This was a disquieting thought, for the money was gone! Clay decided to learn the truth immediately, so he asked:
“Where is your brother Don? Have you seen him lately?”
Tom winked his eyes and pulled at his tangle of tow-colored hair.
“Do you know Don?” he asked. “When did you see him last?”
“So he is really your brother?” demanded Clay, feeling that the hour of settlement for poor Alex was indeed close at hand.
“Sure he is!” was the reply. “He’s out in the desert somewhere. He snatched a lot of money in Chicago and got away with it. So he isn’t in any of the society columns just now. He’s supposed to be in retreat!”
This looked a little better, but Clay kept on with his questions.
“Where did you learn about the Rambler?” he asked. “How long have you been waiting here for us? Who told you to wait?”
“Don did,” was the quiet reply. “He said he’d wait farther down the river. We’re going up the Colorado with you—so Don says!”
“So Don was here recently?”
“Indeed he was, and told me to wait. He came over from Phoenix on a run, with a thousand deputy sheriffs after him. He got a boat and went down the river to meet you. Did he find you?”
Clay did not answer the question. Instead he asked one.
“So you both thought the Rambler would be a good place to hide?”
“Of course we did—to hide in and also to travel on! We know all about the Rambler. The Chicago newspapers wrote you up, you and the boat. We read all about the Columbia river trip, and all about the trip you were ready to take on the Colorado, so, as we wanted to get up into the canyons, we decided to go with you.”
“What are you going to the canyons for?” asked Clay, thinking of the mysterious papers Alex had discovered in Don’s belt. “Are you both going there to hide until the trouble blows over?”
“When we come back from the canyons,” Tom declared, with a weak grin, “J. P. Morgan won’t have a thing on us! You see!”
“Money up there?” asked Clay, shortly, resolved to draw the boy out.
“I’m not going to tell you what there is in the canyons,” was the reply. “Say,” Tom went on, “what do you know about fifty thousand dollars in treasury notes? Ever hear of such a wad as that?”
Clay imagined the truth would have to be told then, but he thought best to put off the evil hour as long as possible, so he said:
“We saw Don down the river, but a deputy chased him away into the mountains. Probably he’ll manage to find us again before long.”
“He was hungry, wasn’t he?” asked Tom, with a wink. “He gets awful hungry sometimes! He’s been out in the desert a long time.”
“Yes, he was some hungry,” Clay replied, with a laugh. “We fed him up on pancakes and honey, and he seemed to like them.”
“You bet he did. He’ll find you again if you remain here a day or two. He’s going up the Colorado river with you. What’s your name? Is it Case, or Clay, or Alex? You see, I know your names!”
“I see you do! Well, I’m Clay, and Case and Alex are asleep.”
“Asleep with the bear and the dog? Well, that’s fine. Only I was scared when the bear came at me. Now, let me tell you, Mr. Clay. If you stay here until to-morrow night Don will find you, and we’ll all go up the river together. He’ll soon be along on some up-river boat.”
Clay was of the opinion, just then, that he would rather not wait for Don! If the meeting could be delayed, he thought, some way of finding the money might be discovered. At least he hoped so with all his heart.
While the boys sat there a river boat came toiling up stream. She puffed past the place where the Rambler lay, dark, and drew up at a little pier some distance up the river. Tom pointed to a number of passengers, outlined against the pier lamps, who were leaving the boat for the shore, and suggested that his brother might be one of the number.
Clay hoped that he was not, and did not consider it probable that he was, for it did not seem likely to him that the boy would venture out into the open with King so eager on his track. Presently the clamor at the pier died out and the night was still again. Tom huddled closer to Clay and pressed a folded paper into his hand.
“Have you ever seen anything like that?” he asked, shivering.
Clay sheltered his electric and opened the paper. Then he was silent for some moments. He wanted to think out this new complication.
The paper showed two rude drawings, duplicates of those which he had seen on the papers taken from the belt! There were the “X” and the sunburst, surrounded by letters and figures! The boy was puzzled.
“What do these drawings mean?” he asked. “Where did they come from?”
“Don got them out of Trumbull’s handbag,” was the evasive reply. “He stole them! That is, he stole the originals. It was the papers he sought when he stole the handbag. He did not know that the fifty thousand dollars were in the bag when he took it, but he kept the money, just the same, and will restore it to its rightful owner as soon as he finds him.”
This was another phase of the matter! The larceny of the money was only incidental! The mysterious drawings were the important things. Then Tom went on to state that the series of drawings was not complete, that there was one missing, without which the others were worthless, and that one could be found in an old house at Yuma, which accounted for the boys making that city their objective point in leaving Chicago! Clay thought he saw a chance to recompense Don, in a measure, for the loss of the money.
“Do you know where this old house is?” he asked, in a moment.
Tom said that he did, and for a long time the boys discussed the advisability of making the search for the third paper that very night. Clay was anxious to do so, for reasons already known, and at last Tom consented, saying that it would be a short trip.
And at daybreak, when the boys awoke, the two had not returned!