“Well, you didn’t hear anything of any account,” was Case’s reply. “Up to two hours ago I didn’t know there was such a kid living. According to his story, he was set upon by robbers a short distance up the river and beaten up proper.”
“So!” said the other.
“We, my three chums and myself, were lying up the river, anchored, when Captain Joe—that’s the bulldog—leaped into the river and brought him out, more dead than alive. The dog is on the Rambler now. We boys wouldn’t part with Captain Joe for his weight in gold.”
The man looked thoughtfully into the boy’s eyes.
“I guess,” he began, but was interrupted by voices coming from the Rambler. The wind was now blowing a fierce gale and the words were indistinguishable, but words were not needed.
The prow lights flared up, lighting the deck of the boat as thoroughly as it was possible to do it in the dead of the night.
At the same instant the watchers caught sight of a man leaping over the railing of the boat.
“There goes one of the pirates!” shouted Case. “I wonder how many of them there are?”
“Perhaps he thinks it’s just as dry in the river as it is on board the boat,” the other said with a chuckle, “and I for one think he’s about right. Here comes another.”
When three had taken to the water there came a lull in the procession of jumpers and Case observed: “Now we’ll soon be tucked up in our little beds, that is as soon as we get Paul cared for.”