The Rambler was accordingly anchored in a pretty little cove whose banks were covered with trees of large growth. At first, Alex tried to capture a fish from the stern, but, not succeeding in this, he ran out into the river and anchored there, leaving the other boys on shore. It was broad daylight when he felt a strong pull at his line and knew that he had hooked some denizen of the stream.
So busily was he engaged in playing the fish that he heard nothing of the shouts from upstream, or the warning from his chums on the bank. Directly, however, he glanced up to see that a coal tow which appeared to fill the entire width of the river was drifting down upon him.
“Get into the cove! Get into the cove!” cried Clay.
“You’ll be struck in a minute!” shouted Case.
“Release your anchor line and shoot downstream!” Jule suggested.
This last advice appeared to be not only the most desirable but the easiest to follow, so the boy severed the manilla line with one blow of a sharp hatchet and sprang to the motors. When at last the boat was under way headed downstream, the foremost barges were almost upon her.
The men on board the tow seemed to be taking great delight in the thought that the Rambler would soon be completely at their mercy. Several of them stood at the top of their barges making crude and humorous suggestions to the boy.
With the boat under way and headed downstream at a speed with which the tow could by no means compete, Alex amused himself by making scornful faces at the men on the tow.
“Come back here, you river rat!” one of the men shouted. “You’ll get a bullet in your back if you don’t!”
“Fire away!” shouted Alex and promptly ducked down under the protected gunwale of the boat.