“The water has been cutting a channel for a long time,” Gregg explained. “It needed only a slight push to send the remaining bank down. There are few obstructions in the new channel, as I figure it out, and I believe we would go through like a top once we got started. And we’d better hurry, if we are going to do anything, for, of course, they have seen your lights. They wouldn’t have stopped here if they hadn’t.”
“But the propellers!” urged Clay. “They’re broken.”
In a moment one of the men had his clothes off to the undersuit and was diving down at the stern of the Rambler. He remained under the water so long that the boys began to fear that he had met with some accident, or been attacked by a snake or an alligator. He came up smiling, however.
“Only clogged!” he cried. “You, Gregg and Eddie, get axes and chop the east tree down! The boat will then swing away from the other. You must make the cut down in the water, then we’ll have to lift the prow over the stump.”
The plan suggested proved successful, and the Rambler, under power, and trailing the mattresses, was soon feeling her way down the new channel. Then excitement was observed on the steamer, and she was headed about for the main stream again. It looked like a race was on!
[CHAPTER XXII—THE SHERIFF KNOWS A LOT]
It was still raining when the Rambler headed into the Mississippi, and there was no glimmer of light in sight save that which came from the steamer, still puffing at the mouth of the bayou, and that which lighted the path of the motor boat. The wind had gone down, and the slow, soft rain dominated the night.
It was evident from the very start that the steamer was no match for the Rambler when it came to a question of speed. As well might a delivery truck attempt to compete in swiftness with a perfect touring car.
Besides the power of speed, the Rambler had another quality which enabled her to rapidly increase the distance between the two boats. The river was still covered with wreckage, and the motor boat was a good dodger! She responded quickly to her helm, avoiding the driftwood ahead easily, while the steamer was slower in picking her way.
“Your boat is a peach!” Gregg exclaimed, enthusiastically, as the lights of the steamer dropped out of sight behind a bend in the river. “Nothing would please me better than a long trip in her.”