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!”