“Why don’t you have them arrested?” asked Alex.
“Arrested!” exclaimed the other. “They’re here one night and the next night they’re hundreds of miles away, with a new coat of paint and a new name on their boat. Besides all that, you can’t get half the officers along here to take any action at all. You go to them and make a complaint and they’ll say that the robbery wasn’t committed in their county, or in their township, or in the state of Kentucky, or something of that kind! My honest opinion is that they’re afraid of the pirates.”
“Don’t put it too strong,” the other advised. “There’s some pretty good officers along the river. Besides, there’s the Government boats.”
“Yes, there’s the Government boats,” decided the merchant, “but the Government boats are as easy to keep track of as a white elephant would be in our main street. The river rats wait until Uncle Sam’s boats get out of sight before they attempt any mischief.”
During this conversation, the boys had been listening for more pistol shots from the direction in which the Rambler lay. They had little doubt that Clay and Jule were in trouble. They knew, too, that the Rambler was virtually helpless, so the boys had no chance whatever of escaping from any hostile boat. Directly Alex turned to the merchant and asked:
“Do you keep motor boat supplies?”
The merchant turned to his friend and indulged in a long, slow, insulting wink.
“So,” he said significantly, “you boys have a motor boat up the river?”
“Yes,” Case replied, “but the motors are out of order.”
“Is that where the shootin’ is?” asked the merchant.