CHAPTER XXIII.—THE RAMBLER’S LIGHTS.
Unmindful of the peril which they had so fortunately escaped, Case and Jule made their way through the forest in quick time and finally came to a point from which the camp at the head of the cove was to be seen. It is needless to say that the sight of their chums was more than pleasing.
At the moment of their approach, Alex was taking the fish from the fire, Clay was opening tinned goods, and Uncle Zeke stood mourning over the fact that he had not sooner discovered the presence of the yellow-legged chicken.
The boys dashed down to the fire with shouts of joy, and the reader may well understand that their welcome was a hearty one.
“Where’s the Rambler?” Case asked of Alex after the greetings were over. “She ought to be put there in the cove.”
“The pirates got her!” Alex answered briefly.
“Have you been to breakfast?” Clay cut in.
“Have we been to breakfast?” repeated Case,
“We’ve been captured, and fed, and released since we saw you. Do you know, boys,” he added, dancing cautiously around, “that I’ve got an idea that we’re mixing up with night-riders.”
“We have just been informed of that fact by Uncle Zeke,” Clay answered. “Where did you see night-riders?” he added.
“Just after you left,” Case explained, “a company of men came here on horses. We heard them talking about our being spies. Then we were taken to a house back in the country and locked up. Then we were given a peach of a breakfast by the kindliest old lady you ever saw and turned loose. Now what do you think of all that?”
“Night-riders!” exclaimed Alex. “Why do the riders ride, and why do the riders ride at night?” “You’ve come to the right shop for information,” Jule replied with a grin. “Just before we left Chicago I was reading a book about night-riders. They ride because they can’t get over the ground fast enough on foot, and they ride at night because they don’t want any one to see them riding.”
“That’s all right!” chuckled Alex. “Now tell me what they ride for. In other words, what’s the answer?”
“The night-riders want ten or twelve cents a pound for their tobacco, and the planters on the lower lands near the river are willing to sell theirs for five or six cents a pound, because they can raise more crops a year and because their land is easier tilled.”
“And so they’re getting up a combination in restraint of trade, eh?” laughed Alex. “That seems to be the proper thing to do.”
“I don’t know about that,” Jule went on, “but they’re trying to equalize prices by reducing the supply. Whenever these river planters get nice big warehouses packed full of the weed, the night-riders make their appearance in the dark of the moon and burn them down.”
“This night-rider business was all right ten or fifteen years ago,” Clay insisted, “but I don’t believe there’s anything doing in that line now.”
“Then what are all these men out with their horses for?” demanded Jule.
“Yes, and why did they lug us off to a farm house, and lock us up until some one sent word that we wasn’t spies?” Case demanded.
The boys now turned their attention to the old negro who stood on a little elevation at the back of the cove sniffing suspiciously at the air.
“Where did you get that coon?” asked Case.
“He brought our boat down the river to us,” laughed Alex.
“Honest, did he?” demanded Jule.
“If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t be eating tinned goods would we?” asked Clay.
“Why, you might get those out of the Rambler,” Case ventured. “That was a joke about the pirates getting the motor boat, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed it wasn’t!” Alex replied gravely, and in a short time the story of the boys’ morning adventures was told.
“Now, that’s what I call rotten!” Jule cried out. “And I move that we get to a telegraph office somewhere and notify some central point from which all the police boats on the river can be notified of what has been done. We’ve got to get the boat back!”
“I don’t like to call out the state troops,” Clay grinned. “We got into this scrape, and I want to get out of it without any help from the officers if possible. Uncle Zeke thinks he can take us to the Rambler to-night, and we’re going to wait here until the edge of the evening and make the attempt.”
“What’s the matter with Uncle Zeke?” asked Case. “He stands up there snuffing the air as if he smelled more chicken.”
In a moment the old negro came dashing down to where the boys stood, his eyes almost starting from his head.
“It doesn’t take much to frighten you, Uncle Zeke,” Clay laughed as the old darkey came up on a run. “According to all accounts, you have fits on the slightest provocation. The bear and the dog and the tracks of horses’ feet have all set you going this morning. What is it this time?”
“It’s done broke out! It’s done broke out!” exclaimed the negro looking wildly about and even starting for the rowboat.
Clay caught him by the arm and held him back. “Here,” he said, “you ain’t going away with that boat right now! See if you can’t catch your breath long enough to tell us what’s ‘done broke out’. Put us wise to what the trouble is.”
“De night-riders done broke out!” cried the old negro. “Ah smell ’em!”
“What is it you smell?” asked Clay.
“Burnin’ ’baccy!” was the reply. “Dey done fire some warehouse!”
“Not in the daytime!” exclaimed Jule. “They don’t set fire to warehouses in the daytime!”
“Cain’t nebber tell whut dem night-riders gwine do nex’,” answered Uncle Zeke. “Dey’re pow’ful ornery trash!”
“I know what I’m going to do next!” Alex exclaimed. “I’ve got a misery in my stomach and I’m going to quell it right now!”
“You hungry, Uncle Zeke?” asked Clay.
“Ah sure got mah eye on dat chicken!”
“Well,” Clay went on, “if you run up through that fringe of trees and see what’s burning, I’ll give you some chicken as soon as you get back.”
The old negro was off like a shot. In ten minutes he was back with the report that he had learned from a farmer who was hastening toward the conflagration that the Slocum warehouses, not more than half a mile away, had been set on fire just before daylight and had smoldered for hours before bursting into flames.
“It strikes me,” Case suggested, “that the best thing we boys can do is to get out of this country right now. We’ve bumped into river pirates, and night-riders, and the next we know, we’ll be arrested by some fresh officers charged with being in cahoots with the incendiaries.”
“I’m not going to run away without that motor boat,” Alex muttered, his mouth full of fried fish.
“What’s the use?” asked Jule. “If we start out now, we’re likely to be followed, and if we remain here in camp we may escape observation. The night-riders know we’re here, of course, but they’ll be too busy getting under cover to pay any attention to us to-day.”
“That listens good to me!” Alex put in. “We’ll stay here till night and work our way through the cut-off by the light of burning warehouses. I wish I could say ‘by the light of burning saloon boats’, too.”
“Talk about your wild life at the head waters of the Amazon!” roared Clay, “this peaceful little old Ohio river beats anything we have encountered yet. We seem to get into the thick of it everywhere we go.”
The boys were not molested during the day.
Shortly after noon a negro who looked about as badly frightened as one could imagine, came down the river in an old canoe and stopped to talk with Zeke.
He stated that the night-riders had destroyed several warehouses the night before, and had also whipped several planters who had resisted.
“Ah nebber did done cotton to no night-riders!” the old darkey informed the boys as he repeated the story.
“I wonder if those outlaws will make trouble for Mrs. Peck for letting us go,” mused Case. “Say, Uncle Zeke!” he said in a moment. “If you’ll send this friend of yours up to a farm house in the interior, we’ll give you a dollar.”
“Ah wants dat dollah!” Zeke exclaimed.
“All right, go yourself if you want to,” Case answered. “We want to know if the woman in the farm house has been troubled at all by the night-riders. We want you to go and tell her that we’re down here in the cove, and will do all we can to help her if she gets into trouble.”
“Dat’s mah dollah!” cried Uncle Zeke already on his way.
In a couple of hours the negro returned with the information that he had talked with the woman, and that she had seemed grateful for the offer made. He stated, too, that there were men about the house, and that they had been highly amused at the message he had delivered.
“Dey sure done laugh at dis ol’ coon!” Uncle Zeke added, “when ah tole ’em you-all wanted to come up an’ fight for de lady what gib you-all pancakes an’ coffee. Dey sure did roar!”
“What did they say about the burning warehouse?” asked Clay.
“Ah sure don’ mention no burnin’ warehouse where dem men is,” replied the darkey. “Mought be dey set dat fire demselves.”
“Well,” Case said handing the darkey a silver dollar. “Here’s your money. I would have given more to have informed the old lady that we felt grateful for what she did for us this morning.”
“She shore glad you-all feel so!” Uncle Zeke replied.
At five o’clock in the afternoon, Alex sent Uncle Zeke out to catch more fish and began building up the fire.
“What’s coming off now?” asked Jule.
“What do you ’spose is coming off?” demanded Alex. “I haven’t had anything to eat for two or three hours.”
“The kid is all right!” Clay declared. “We must get supper early and make up a lot of sandwiches for midnight. We may have to lay and wait in the cut-off for hours before we can get to the Rambler. We can’t show any lights, and so it will be impossible to cook. So, as Alex will be sure to be hungry, we’ll take our midnight supper with us.”
“What you going to make your sandwiches of?” asked Jule.
“Huh,” laughed Alex, “I’m going to take fat perch and stuff ’em with beans and chicken. How would a sandwich like that go on South Clark street?”
“It would go down mighty quick!” laughed Jule.
After eating their supper and putting up a large supply of provisions for the night, the boys made ready for their trip to what Zeke declared to be the pirates’ nest. They were at twilight, moving slowly, silently across the river and then down the cut-off, which at high water was navigable for small boats, and which would soon make an island of the peninsula enclosed within the rim of the river.
By nine o’clock it was very dark. The trees overhanging the narrow channel through which the boat was poled and dragged—the water being too shallow in places for the use of the oars—stood like grim walls, shutting out what little light came from the uncertain sky.
Owing to fallen trunks and heaps of rubbish washed in by a recent freshet, the cut-off was difficult of navigation, but just after midnight the lads saw across a wooded point of land a strong light flash out for a moment and then die away.
“And there burn the Rambler’s light” Alex cried.