Bob was used to paddling on Canadian rivers; Sam was a good canoeman, and with a strong current running they traveled fast. They went past the places they had lately visited on the hunt for Old Dick’s bees. On each shore rose the dense, gloomy woods, broken at intervals by a bayou or creek mouth. Two or three times they paused to look into one of these openings where the houseboat might lie hidden, but there was never any trace of it; and Joe did not really expect to find the river pirates hidden so near.
The river twisted like a serpent, and as they went round every bend they scanned the broad stream ahead for anything afloat. Nothing appeared, nor anything human on the shores, though they kept a close lookout in hopes of seeing somebody who might give them news of the houseboat. It grew near noon, and Joe was desperately hungry, having had nothing but a bite of cold food in the early dawn, back at the camp. Sam was hungry too, and they went ashore to rest and eat.
They went on again after a very brief delay, and for nearly another hour they paddled with the current. Then by good luck they espied a man fishing from a boat close to the shore, a swamp farmer who lived a mile back from the river. They paddled in and hailed him.
“You didn’t see anything of a black houseboat going down the river lately?” asked Joe.
“Shore did. I seen that black boat goin’ down ’bout day this mornin’—Blue Bob’s houseboat.” drawled the fisherman.
“Blue Bob!” exclaimed Joe, startled.
“Yes, sir. I reckon I orter know his boat—dog bite him! I’ve seen him goin’ down the river an’ gettin’ hauled back by the steamboat right smart of times this spring. I dunno what he’s up to. He stole three of my hawgs last month. Are you-all huntin’ him? Has he stole anything of yourn?”
“He certainly has. Do you know if he had a light-haired, yellow-faced man along with him?”
“I reckon he did. There’s a man like that in the gang, an’ some says he’s kin to Bob. Some says he’s wusser’n Bob himself. There’s another man in the gang anyways; sometimes the gang’s more, sometimes less. They’re a right-down des’prit lot. You boys better not fool with ’em none.”
“Where do you suppose they were making for?” Joe asked.