CHAPTER XX.—THE PIRATES’ NEST.
Alex sprang to his feet just as Captain Joe came dashing up to the negro, looking fierce enough to consume him at one bite.
If there had been any extra hair at the top of the old negro’s pate it must have stood horizontal at that moment, for Teddy shambled up to the bulldog and began a series of boxing antics such as the old fellow had never witnessed before.
“Gimme mah two dollahs!” he finally managed to shout. “Gimme mah two dollahs, and Ah’ll done go ’way!”
Before Alex could reply, Clay came into the little opening and stood gazing about with wondering eyes.
“Did you see Case and Jule?” was the first question he asked of Alex.
The boy shook his head silently.
“I left them here!” he said.
Clay stepped toward the bank and looked out over the cove.
“Where is the Rambler?” he asked, not without anxiety in his voice.
“The pirates got her!” was Alex’s reply, and there were actually tears in his eyes as he spoke.
During this short conversation between the two boys, Uncle Zeke had stood, trembling, by the heap of embers, gazing from boy to boy and from bear to dog.
“Ah nebber did cotton to no bulldog!” he said.
“Where did you get that?” asked Clay, forgetting for a moment what Alex’s reply meant to the party.
“That’s Uncle Zeke,” answered Alex with a grin. “He rowed Teddy and I across the river.”
“Ah’m goin’ to hab two dollahs!” put in the negro.
Clay again turned toward Alex, his manner showing great excitement.
“Tell me about it!” he said kindly.
Alex told the story, already well known to the reader, in as few words as possible. Clay did not interrupt him, and at the close stood looking out on the river with a very grave face.
“We’ve got to get her back!” Alex shouted in a moment. “We’ve just got to get the Rambler back!”
“Of course,” Clay said stubbornly, “of course! I was only thinking how. There surely must be some way.”
“Where are Case and Jule?” Alex now asked.
“I don’t know!” was the reply. “I went away to look up something to eat, and when I came back, they were not here.”
“They probably went after something to eat, too!” Alex suggested.
“No,” Clay went on, “I was to bring back provisions, if I succeeded in finding any. When I returned, Captain Joe was here, but they were gone.”
“That’s strange!” Alex muttered. “I don’t see why they should leave camp when they were expecting you to bring them something to eat.”
“I don’t think they left the camp voluntarily,” Clay continued. “If you’ll look at the head of the cove, and at the side of the thicket where they were preparing their beds, you’ll see evidences of a struggle.”
“I’ll tell you what it is,” Alex began, “those pirates from the steamer we sunk got down here on that coal tow and swam ashore.”
“That is very likely!” Clay replied. “We know, at least, that two of them were on the coal tow.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy went on, “they saw the fire here, and recognized the Rambler lying just below the barges, and swam ashore to punish us for ramming their old whiskey boat.”
“There may be something in that,” Clay returned.
“And, then, after the Rambler was crowded downstream, and after you went away to get something to eat, they attacked the two boys and lugged them away. I wish we’d killed them all.”
“You’re the bloodthirsty little fellow this morning!” Clay smiled.
“I don’t care!” Alex responded. “Just think of our motor boat, with all the provisions and ammunition on board, falling into the hands of those outlaws! I’ll just tell you right now, Clay,” he went on, flushing with anger, “if I’d had a stick of dynamite handy, I’d have set the fuse on fire before I crawled out of the cabin window.”
“Then I’m glad you didn’t have any dynamite handy!” smiled Clay.
Uncle Zeke, who had been standing motionless in mortal terror of the dog and the bear, now stepped forward.
“Ah done hear what you-all said,” he remarked.
“Of course,” Clay answered, “have you any idea in your head at all which points to the recovery of our motor boat?”
“Ah nebber done cotton to dem pirates,” said the negro.
“Well, then, show us how to get our boat back!” Alex laughed.
“Ah suah will,” replied the negro. “Dem pirates,” he continued, “has a nes’ nex’ de big bend Ah been dere many a time. You go more ’n forty miles aroun’ de ben’ an’ you go ten miles across.”
“Aw!” laughed Alex. “There isn’t any such bend on the Ohio river in this vicinity. There’s a bend below here that makes a circuit of about ten or twelve miles to get one mile downstream.”
“Ah don’ know ’bout no miles,” Uncle Zeke answered. “Ah know ’bout dat pirate’s nes’ at de horseshoe ben’.”
“Can you get across the neck in a rowboat?” asked Clay.
“Ah suah can,” was the reply.
“You didn’t know, did you, that the boat you have is one that belonged to our motor boat? We lost it a ways up the river.”
“Ah done gib two yaller-legged hens for dat boat,” insisted Uncle Zeke. “Ah buy it of a black nigger.”
“Well, I suppose it was abandoned property, anyway,” Clay said, “so we’ll pay you for it if we find that we need it again.”