“That’s what they all say!” roared a husky brute from the fast disappearing raft. “Go on, Steve, and get the goods.”
“You bet I will!” answered the raftsman, and again the men bent to their oars. Clay fired a warning shot and the boat paused again for a moment.
“Will you send us a case?” shouted the leader of the boat party.
“Send you a case of cartridges!” laughed Alex.
Two of the men now turned to the oars in order to keep the boat from drifting farther down, while the leader sat close to their seat, saying something to them in a low tone. The two oarsmen were shaking their heads, but the other was beating one hand against the other vigorously.
“I know,” the boys heard him say, raising his voice as he became excited “that that is the same boat, and that these are the same boys. You remember what I told you when I came up the river on a fast boat and hired out on the raft!”
The boys could not hear the reply, but presently the leader’s voice sounded again above the wash of the river. He was evidently under great excitement, and was speaking rapidly and vehemently.
“There is more value in that motor boat,” he said, “than there is in the whole raft. What does it matter if the timber does float down without us? We’ve got a boat and can put up any old yarn that comes to mind.”
The rowers still seemed to object to the plan the leader seemed to be urging, and finally the boat was allowed to drift down with the current.
“This old world is a pretty small place after all,” Clay remarked as the stern of the rowboat disappeared around a little bend. “If you don’t believe it, just consider the events of this trip. We meet Max on the river and he laps over on us at Quebec. We meet outlaws on a rocky island three hundred miles away, and they show themselves at the mouth of the Jacques Cartier river.”