“There may be something in that,” Clay returned.
“And, then, after the Rambler was crowded downstream, and after you went away to get something to eat, they attacked the two boys and lugged them away. I wish we’d killed them all.”
“You’re the bloodthirsty little fellow this morning!” Clay smiled.
“I don’t care!” Alex responded. “Just think of our motor boat, with all the provisions and ammunition on board, falling into the hands of those outlaws! I’ll just tell you right now, Clay,” he went on, flushing with anger, “if I’d had a stick of dynamite handy, I’d have set the fuse on fire before I crawled out of the cabin window.”
“Then I’m glad you didn’t have any dynamite handy!” smiled Clay.
Uncle Zeke, who had been standing motionless in mortal terror of the dog and the bear, now stepped forward.
“Ah done hear what you-all said,” he remarked.
“Of course,” Clay answered, “have you any idea in your head at all which points to the recovery of our motor boat?”
“Ah nebber done cotton to dem pirates,” said the negro.
“Well, then, show us how to get our boat back!” Alex laughed.