CHAPTER XVIII.—A FORBIDDEN SUBJECT.
While Alex was having his troubles with the two gangs of outlaws, and while Jule and Case were asleep in a thicket at the cove, Clay was pushing his way through a heavy undergrowth in the direction of a shabby-looking farm house which stood in the center of a weed-grown tobacco field not far away.
As he approached the uncared for fence which surrounded the field, he heard horses stamping and champing at their bits in the woods not far away to his left.
At first he thought seriously of visiting the undergrowth on a tour of investigation, but finally decided that his actions might be misconstrued, so he passed on toward the house in the tobacco field.
It seemed to him that half a hundred dogs of all sizes and breeds leaped out as he advanced through the weeds toward the front door.
He was having his hands full with the dogs, fending them off, when the door opened and a woman made her appearance on the threshold.
“Down, you ornery purps!” she shouted in a voice that sounded more like that of a man than that of a woman. “Come right along in, stranger,” she added. “I reckon they won’t bite you up none.”
Under the protection of the woman’s voice and presence, Clay finally succeeded in making his way to the house.
“I’m sure ashamed of them ornery purps,” the woman declared, striking at a large brindle dog with a mop stick. “Somehow I can’t beat no manners into ’em!”
“They appear to be a fine lot of dogs!” Clay said, resolved to conciliate the woman if possible. “I’m used to Kentucky dogs, so I was not at all afraid of them.”
“What mought be your business, stranger?” the woman asked then.
“Well,” Clay answered, “I’m looking for something to eat.”
“Sho’!” answered the woman. “A nice, likely lookin’ lad like you goin’ around hungry! I’d be glad to give you a set-down of flapjacks and coffee. Come right in.”
“That would help some!” laughed Clay. “But what I want is provisions to carry away to my chums—eggs, chickens or anything of that sort you may have to sell.”
“And where mought your chums be?” asked the woman, a little suspiciously as Clay thought.
“We came down the river in a motor boat,” the boy replied, “and I left the boys in a cove some distance from here.”
“I wonder, now,” the woman queried, “whether you might have been on the river last night.”
Clay replied in the affirmative.
“Well,” the woman went on, “I’ve been waiting all morning for news from the river. My men went out last night at dusk and haven’t returned.”
“There were horsemen along the river last night,” Clay suggested.
“That would be them.”
“And I heard horses champing their bits just as I came up to the fence,” Clay went on.
“Sho’!” answered the woman. “My men always have fresh hosses near the house. What did you hear on the river last night?” she added.
“It seemed rather quiet,” Clay replied, “except that a whiskey steamer got wrecked some distance up.”
“That’s too bad, now!” declared the woman.
“There’s one thing peculiar I noticed about the river last night,” Clay went on, “and that was something which looked to me like a signal. We saw three blue lights resting on the surface of the water. Then there came an explosion and they disappeared.”
The woman almost staggered back in the doorway. Her ruddy face became slightly pale, and Clay saw that the work-worn hands were trembling.
Clay sprang to a pail of water which stood near, dipped up a liberal supply in a gourd which hung on a wall, and approached the woman with it in his hand.
“Sho’, now!” the woman almost gasped, placing her hands at her sides, “here I be havin’ another spell with my heart. Seems like I was always havin’ trouble with that pesky organ.”
Clay did not believe the explanation given by the woman for her sudden fright. He had no doubt that the mention of the mysterious three blue lights had led to this alleged heart failure.
“I’ll shore be better in a minute,” the woman said, dropping into a home-made chair which stood just inside the house. “What was it you said about the three blue lights? I was took sudden just as you began speaking of them.”
Clay repeated what he had said regarding the mysterious lights, watching the woman closely every second. She did not again show sign of emotion of any kind.
“Why,” the woman said directly, “them’s the ghost lights that are often seen on the Ohio. The steamboat Mary Ann went down with a dancing party on board ten years ago, and ever since then the lights have been seen on the river.”
“But the Mary Ann went down just off Wolf Creek,” Clay suggested.
“There is a story,” the woman began in a hushed voice, “that the lights show every year about the time the boat went down, at the exact place where she sunk. And then, again,” she continued, “they do say that wherever a body from the Mary Ann remains unburied at the bottom of the river the three blue lights show at least once a year.”
“So they really are ghost lights?” asked Clay.
“Why, stranger,” the woman continued, “boats have been pushed directly into them lights as they floated on the surface of the river, and they have burned right on after being submerged! Them explosions have been heard time and time again, and nothing has been found which could have produced them. We people along the river are mighty skeery of them ghost lights.”
“I have heard that they bring disaster,” Clay suggested.
“They sure do!” replied the woman. “But come in,” she went on, “here I’ve been talkin’ like a foolish old gossip, and you standing hungry in the doorway. Come in and sit down.”
Clay took the proffered chair but he was not thinking of the breakfast being prepared for him.
He was thinking, instead, of the sudden panic into which the old woman had fallen at the mention of the three blue lights. He saw now that there was some significance to the signal.
He came to understand, sitting there watching the still troubled face of the woman, that the three blue lights indicated some desperate action on the part of the river people—some desperate action which took the men away from their homes and left the women anxious and afraid. He saw that the woman in trying to deceive him by her words was still telling the story of some terrible situation by her voice and manner. He wondered but could reach no conclusion.
The boy was supplied with a bountiful breakfast of corn pancakes, fried eggs and coffee, and then he opened negotiations with his hostess for a supply of provisions for the Rambler. The woman looked distressed and answered his inquiries with downcast eyes.
“I’m sure sorry,” she said, “but we had a lot of friends here to dinner yesterday, and they eat about everything in the house. Them eggs you’ve just et were laid this morning.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Clay replied, “but if you haven’t got provisions, you can’t sell them. Perhaps I can find a supply at some near-by farm house. How far is it to the nearest one?”
“It is a long way through the thicket,” the woman answered, “and I wouldn’t advise no boy like you to be wandering in the woods in this vicinity right now. It ain’t safe!”
“Why, there ought not to be anything to be afraid of!” Clay suggested.
“You don’t know this region as well as I do, boy!” the woman replied. “These folks that come up from the river are mighty bad sometimes, and I’ve known people that didn’t live on the river to do desperate, bad things occasionally.”
Clay sorely puzzled, looked the woman frankly in the face and asked:
“Do you imagine trouble because the three blue lights showed on the river last night?”
“Well,” was the reply, “they surly do bring trouble.”
“In what way?” insisted Clay.
“Oh, there’s wrecks, and burnings, and shooting, and all manner of things going on, somehow, after them three blue lights show.”
“Then perhaps I’d better be getting back to the river!” Clay suggested.
“I wouldn’t leave no boat that was worth ready money long alone along the Ohio river at this time of year,” the woman answered. “And let me tell you another thing,” she went on. “If you see three blue lights, keep away from them! Don’t go near where they are, and get out of the vicinity of them as fast as you can.”
“We’re not afraid of ghosts!” laughed Clay.
“I can’t say more!” the woman continued. “I don’t know but I’ve said too much now. I hope you’ll take an old woman’s advice and keep out of trouble. Where might you boys be from, now?”
“Chicago,” replied Clay.
“Sho’, now!” exclaimed the old woman. “I’ve never seen any one from Chicago before. “I’ve heard of it often, though. Must be a right pert place. Some one told me it was almost as big as Paducah.”
“Yes,” Clay replied, “Chicago is some city. Will you accept pay for my breakfast?” he continued.
“You’re only a boy,” the woman replied, “and so don’t know any better than to offer a Kintucky woman pay for a feed. But I wouldn’t do that any more if I were you.”
Thanking the woman from the bottom of his heart for her hospitality and her kindly advice, the boy started away in the direction of the river.
On his return he took care to pass through that portion of the thicket where he had heard the horses on his way in. He found three remarkably fine-looking animals, all saddled and bridled, standing in the thicket. As he stepped toward one of them, a boy, certainly not more than twelve years of age, leaped at him.
“What you doing here?” the youth demanded.
“I have just come from the house,” Clay replied. “Your mother gave me a fine breakfast.”
“Did she, now?” asked the boy suspiciously.
“She certainly did,” answered Clay resolved to continue the conversation with the lad until he learned something more concerning the three blue lights. The boy dropped his hostile attitude at once.
“I was going on to other houses in search of provisions,” Clay went on, “but your mother advised me that it wouldn’t be safe.”
“It shore ain’t safe!” the boy replied.
“She told me,” Clay resumed, “that it was never safe in this section when three blue lights burned on the river.”
“Did she, now?” asked the boy. “And did you-all see the three blue lights?”
“Twice,” answered Clay. “Last night and the night before—once opposite Wolf Creek and once in the lagoon at that odd-shaped island just up the stream.”
Clay thought that the boy shivered a little in his ragged clothes.
“What is all this about the three blue lights?” he asked in a moment.
The boy shook his head gravely.
“We-uns ain’t allowed to talk about the three blue lights,” he answered.
“You think they are ghost lights, eh?” asked Clay.
“We-uns ain’t allowed to talk about the three blue lights,” repeated the boy. “We never mention them.”
Seeing that further conversation with the boy was likely to prove without result, Clay again turned to face in the direction of the river.
“I wish I knew,” he mused, as he pushed his way through tangled thickets and descended and ascended rocky slopes, “I wish I knew exactly why that woman came near fainting when I mentioned the three blue lights.
“I have an impression,” he went on, “that there’s some feud coming to life. In the first place, I don’t believe the story told at the stranded coal barges last night.
“Those men never sought the river with the intentions of destroying that steamer. They wouldn’t have brought their horses along if that had been their object.
“The horses, of course, might have been used in the way of transportation to the river, but, at the same time, men out on such a mission would not care to be seen riding so openly through the country.”
It is needless to say that the boy did not believe one word of the story told him by the woman who had given him his breakfast. He was too hard-headed to believe in ghosts or supernatural demonstrations of any sort.
He knew however, that there must be some reason for the display of the lights, and knew that no little ingenuity had been shown in the placing and extinguishing of them. So studying over the problem, the boy finally came to the little cove where he had left Case and Jule.
Captain Joe fawned about him as he advanced, but when he approached the thicket where the boys had been preparing their rough beds, he saw that they were not there. He lost no time in making a close examination of the ground, both at the landing and at the entrance to the thicket.
What he saw set his heart to bounding excitedly: At both points there many indications of a desperate struggle.
Had he known the plight in which Alex found himself at that moment, Clay would have been doubly alarmed.