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.