“He’ll climb on their roofs and claw their shingles off!” exclaimed Jule.
“I won’t have to wash dishes in a month!” crowed Case. “That is the slangiest slang I ever heard!”
“I don’t care,” Jule answered as he swung a hanging creeper out of his eyes. “That is just what Captain Joe will do if he gets a chance. But you needn’t go and tell Clay that I said it, all the same!” he added, with visions of many dishes to wash before his eyes.
Another shot came as the boys started away, and Case declared that it undoubtedly came from an automatic revolver, and proved that the boys were putting up a fight.
“Captain Joe told us that,” Jule insisted.
Several other shots were fired before the boys came to the bank of Ruination creek. It was still dark, although a star reflected in the water at rare intervals. Still, the outlines of the trees could be faintly seen across the creek, and the prow light burning on the Rambler cast a white radiance farther down stream.
The three crept out to the margin of the creek and peered over a low, bush-crowned headland toward the boat. From where they stood the forward deck was in plain sight. At the back an overhanging tree made a black blot about the stern. There was no one to be seen.
Another shot came from farther down, and the barking of the dog became fierce and incessant.
“Captain Joe will be eating up that cabin next,” Jule volunteered. “I wish I could tell him what to say!”
“Why don’t they go into the cabin and let him out?” asked Frank.