Again the call came to the relaxed muscles to act. Again the mind of wearied Frank Allen awoke to the necessity for dodging the danger which impended. Again Frank’s alertness was to the fore.
This time Lanky was ready to help, and a willing and sure hand he gave as he swung his long body low to the deck of the Rocket, and braced against Frank who stood behind the wheel, turning it as hard as possible, while his foot reached down to cut off the speed of the engine.
An old-time barge, its broad, straight-front nose high out of the water, was floating easily along upstream, with a tugboat at its side, the steady puff-puff of the tug plainly heard as the rush of the wind died down.
This time there was some co-operation, however, from those on the other craft. They had seen the flashlight ahead of them in the bend, and the helmsman of the tug had been wondering what it was. He had been alert to any danger.
There was a clanging and clinking of bells, and then the sudden swish of the water as the towboat’s rudder went into reverse and the engineer tried hard to slow the pace of the great load which was hitched alongside.
The Rocket’s propeller was again in reverse, for the second time within a very short while, and the motor boat came against the side of the towboat, where great manila ropes stood outward from the gunwales, and slid with a bump to the midships of the tug.
“Hi, there!” called a heavy voice from the wheel-room of the tug. “What’s down there? Why not a signal?”
“Beg your pardon, captain,” called back Frank. “I didn’t see you soon enough. I thought the river was clear and did not slow down much to make this bend.”
“Go easy, boy,” answered the man at the wheel of the tug, as half a dozen faces showed up in the dim lights here and there on the sturdy craft. “Always take that bend same as you would in an auto. Can’t always tell about these roads.”
There was a heartiness about the voice that was reassuring to the boys on the Rocket’s deck—the heartiness that is so often met among sea-faring men.