All these trips had been crowded with adventure, but both the boys and the boat had proved equal to every emergency. At the conclusion of the Mississippi journey, the boys of the Six River Motor Boat Club had decided to explore the St. Lawrence river from the Gulf to Lake Ontario.
The Rambler had been shipped by rail to a point on the coast of New Brunswick, and the remainder of the journey to St. Luce had been made by water along the treacherous coasts of New Brunswick and Quebec. A fresh supply of gasoline had been taken on just before night fell, and on the approach of daylight the boys would be on their way up the stream.
Although it was early August, the night was decidedly cold, and Clayton Emmett, Alex Smithwick, Julian Shafer, and Cornelius Witters, the four boys who had embarked on the trip, were sitting snugly around a coal fire in the cabin. They were sturdy, healthy, merry-hearted lads of about sixteen, all from Chicago, and all without family ties of any kind so far as they knew. They had been reared in the streets of the big city, and had become possessed of the Rambler by a series of adventures which the readers of the previous volumes of this series will readily recall.
The night grew darker as it grew older, and a strong wind came up from the bay, bobbing the Rambler about drunkenly. Clayton Emmett—always just “Clay” to his chums—arose from his chair after a particularly fierce blast from the wind and approached the cabin door.
“Don’t open that door!” shouted Alex Smithwick. “We’ll be sent smashing through the back wall if you do. This night makes me think of a smiling summer day in Chicago harbor,—it’s so different!”
“Company!” Clay answered, excitedly, “We’re going to have company. Listen!”
“Yes,” laughed Jule Shafer, “I’ve got a flashlight of any one rowing out to us to-night. The river is too rough for a rowboat.”
“Now you look here, Captain Joe,” Clay went on, “don’t you go start anything!”
This last remark was made to a white bulldog of sinister aspect which had arisen from a rug in a corner of the cabin and now stood at Clay’s side, growling threateningly. Joe wagged a stumpy tail in acknowledgment of the advice, but dashed out, snarling, as Clay opened the door and gained the deck.
“All right; go to it!” Alex laughed, as the door closed behind the two. “Stick out on deck a spell and the wind will do the rest.”