“Well, that’s enough for me!” Alex declared. “You’ll be seeing green elephants with blue tails next. I’m going to bed.”
In a short time all the boys were abed save Jule, who sat on the prow with Captain Joe and Teddy, the bear. The night had not fulfilled its promise of rain, and the stars now shone dimly down from a misty sky. It was very still on the Rambler’s deck, for no noises came from the landing, and there was no wash of the current against the boat.
The boy was puzzling over the strange appearance and disappearance of the three blue lights. There was a trace of superstition in the nature of the boy, and he was half inclined to regard what had been seen as a manifestation of the supernatural.
“If Clay hadn’t seen the same thing I did,” he mused, “I wouldn’t have any trouble making up my mind. Blue lights don’t rise up out of rivers through human agency.”
The boys were all astir shortly after daybreak, and Alex went on a scouting tour up to the little river settlement at the mouth of Wolf Creek. The Rambler lay only a few feet from a rough pier which had been spiled out into the stream, so the boys had no difficulty in reaching the shore. The rowboat, it will be remembered, had been left up the river when the two boys had set out on their hunting trip.
Early as it was, the boy found people moving about the one street of the little town, which lay on the east bank of the creek bearing its own name. Standing on the rude platform before a small storehouse, the boy saw two men; one of sober aspect, wearing a long gray beard, and the other much younger and showing a laughing face under his dilapidated cap. As he approached the younger man beckoned.
“What do you want, boy?” he asked.
“Gasoline,” was the answer.
The young fellow stepped off the platform and advanced toward the pier where the Rambler lay. The old man sat down on the platform.
“Is that your boat?” the young man asked of Alex.