“Yes, Robinson Crusoe never made a haul like this!” laughed Carl; but Bob did not laugh. His face was dark and frowning as he groped after the hidden stores.
It took some time to turn the contents of the “cellar” entirely out, and then the cabin looked like a general store after a whirlwind. There must have been hundreds of dollars worth of merchandise of every description, from canned tomatoes to gold watches, nearly all in unopened packages, and in many cases bearing the stenciled addresses of firms in villages along the upper river.
“What does it all mean?” cried Alice. “Old Dick never put all this stuff there.”
“Can’t you guess?” said Joe, who had guessed already. “Warehouse thieves. River pirates. Blue Bob.”
“That’s it,” said Bob curtly.
“Oh!” Alice gasped; and Sam’s jaw dropped at the name of the river outlaw whom he had encountered once.
The Harmans had heard a good deal that winter of the depredations of gangs of thieves along the river, who had been robbing freight warehouses at the boat landings. Many of these warehouses are at uninhabited points on the shore, built of plank and protected only by a padlock, though occasionally containing valuable goods for a day or two after the steamer’s arrival. Blue Bob and his houseboat men were reputed to have been active at these piracies, but they had worked so cunningly that no one could prove it, though ambushes and traps had been set.
“That’s it, beyond a doubt,” said Joe. “This must be where they stored their loot. You see, the bees were their guards. Nobody but a bee-man would ever have dared to come up around the cabin. They spread the word that these bees were man-eaters. They must have had to come up here at night themselves. It’s the safest place imaginable. No wonder they didn’t want us to settle here!”
“Then Candler must be one of that river gang!” Carl exclaimed.
“Not a doubt of it. At least he’s somehow connected with them.”