Captain Joe appeared to be quivering from nose to the tip end of his stumpy tail. His ears were lifted as Alex patted his head, and his teeth snapped between snarling lips. He whined softly as Alex restrained him from jumping into the dark water.
“There’s an Indian about,” Alex whispered. “I bought him of an up-river Indian he seemed afraid of, and every time we’ve passed one he’s acted like this. Seems as if the Indian he’s scenting is in the water—probably swimming toward the boat.”
While the two stood there in silence, listening for some ripple of water to give them the location of the prowler, the quick, sharp ring of a steamer’s exhaust came to their ears. They listened for what seemed to them to be a long time, but the sounds came no nearer.
“That’s the Señorita,” Clay commented, “and she is undoubtedly waiting back there in some bay for a report from the mucker who has been sent on ahead to see what the prospects for a midnight murder are.”
Captain Joe was growing more uneasy every minute, and Alex was having a hard time holding him. His sharp claws were making too much noise on the deck, and the boy tried to throw him over on his side.
“Lie still!” he commanded, but Captain Joe had other notions of what was best to do under the circumstances. He wiggled away from the boy’s hands in the dark and sprang into the water.
“Now you’ve done it!” gritted Alex. “Wait until I get you back on the boat!”
There was now a great splashing in the water, terminating in a shriek of terror and pain, and Clay turned his searchlight on the scene of the disturbance. Two heads were seen bobbing about in the water, one of an Indian, the other of the dog.
“Get him, Captain Joe!” cried Alex, overlooking all caution in the excitement of the moment.
There was a plunge and a cry and both heads disappeared. Directly the flashlight showed the dog’s head on the surface, swimming toward the boat. The Indian was nowhere in sight.