“Oh, yes!” sneered Sam. “We let you off on the tree, and you go on down and call out the police at the first landing. Not for your uncle!”
“Go on,” shouted Red, to Clay. “I’ll steady you with the pole, and when the limb is off you give it a poke and come on board. Will you do that?”
“Sure!” answered the boy. “I have no intention of going off and leaving the Rambler! Hand me the axe when I get down on the trunk, will you?”
Without waiting for any further conversation, which was difficult because of the roaring of the river, Clay crept over the gunwale and landed on the tree, which sank lower under his weight. Then he reached for the axe, which Red promptly passed to him.
“I wouldn’t get down on that tree for a thousand dollars!” cried Sam. “If he don’t time himself to a second, he’ll get knocked into a cocked hat by the boat when she swings loose! I’m not stuck on taking any such chances.”
“That is some kid!” Red exclaimed, admiringly, as Clay chopped away at the limb. “I wish we had him with us!”
“You want to look out for him!” Sam cautioned. “He may prove to be too much of a kid for both of us, but I’ve got him covered, so if he tries to——”
The limb dropped away after a few strokes with the axe, and the boat righted and swung against the trunk. The swaying of the trunk upon which Clay stood threw him into the water, but he clung to the tree and tried to work back to the boat. Sam lifted the pole to strike his unprotected head.
“May as well get rid of him now,” he declared, with an ugly oath.
Red struck the would-be murderer a savage blow in the face and reached down to assist the boy to the deck. For a moment it seemed that both of them must be drawn under the boat, but the big fellow’s strength won, and Clay was hauled, dripping and exhausted, up on deck. Sam eyed him malevolently and snarled.