“Then I’ll start after it in less than an hour; but whether or not I’ll get it is another and a deeper question. Good-by.”
Jack walked off whistling, for trouble sat lightly on his broad shoulders, but the moment he stepped on the Venango’s boiler-deck and faced the two boys sitting there, they knew what had happened as well as they did when it was explained to them.
“I can see Arkansas written all over you,” exclaimed Rodney.
“And can you see that I want you two to be ready to leave the boat at Baton Rouge?” replied Jack. “We’ll not make a landing, but just run close enough to give you a chance to jump.”
“I never could jump worth a cent,” said Dick.
“Look here, Jack, we’re not little boys to be disposed of in any such way as you propose. We have seen as much service as you have, and if it is all the same to you we’ll stay here. I am not going home to worry my folks with the report that you are going into such danger that you thought it best to drop us overboard,” chimed in Rodney.
“If the guerillas catch us they’ll only put us afoot,” observed Dick. “That’s what they did with the Tacoma’s crew.”
Good-natured Jack turned on his heel and walked away, showing by his actions that he did not expect his order to be obeyed. In an hour’s time the Venango was on her way up the river. She passed Skipwith’s Landing the next night after dark, running close enough in to give the boys an indistinct view of the long black hull of the ram Samson, lying alongside the repair shops, and the battle-scarred iron-clads at anchor a short distance farther up, and in due time she was whistling for the landing on the Arkansas shore eight miles above. It was dark there, and the boys could see nothing but a dense forest outlined against the sky, and not the first sign of a clearing; but that there was somebody on the watch was made evident a few minutes later, for an iron torch basket filled with blazing “fat wood,” such as steamers use when making a landing or coaling at night, was planted upon the levee, and the pilot steered in by the aid of the light it threw out. There were three men on the levee and a few bales of cotton near by.
“Is that all you have?” demanded Jack, as the Venango’s bow touched the bank and a couple of deck-hands sprang ashore with a line.
“What boat is that?” asked one of the men.