“Perhaps those men want to be taken off,” suggested the sailor.
“They need their heads taken off,” Clay observed. “I am certain from what I overheard that one of the men was with the outlaws down the stream. They left a timber raft here, as I believe, for the sole purpose of attacking us in the night and trying to get our motor boat away from us.”
“I should imagine from the build of the boat,” the other observed, “that they would have to do some pretty fast traveling if they caught the Rambler now that she is free. She must be a speedy boat.”
“She certainly is,” Clay replied. “She’s built like an ocean-going tug.”
After Clay landed on deck the boys held what they called a council of war. They were not exactly looking for trouble, still they did not like the idea of sailing off upstream and leaving the outlaws unpunished.
“They bunted into us,” Alex insisted, “and we ought to do something to them. If they take their boat and row down after the timber raft, I’d like to follow them in the Rambler and tip them over.”
The others felt in about the same way, but it was finally decided to go on up the river to Montreal, remain there for a couple of days, and so pass on to the great lakes.
“If we can keep Alex in the boat at Montreal, we’ll be doing a good job,” Jule said. “He’s been lost in about every city we’ve come to, and I think he ought to be locked in the cabin just as soon as we touch the pier. It isn’t safe to turn him loose at night.”
“All right,” Alex agreed, “you may lock me up any old night when I want to sleep. That will keep me from standing guard.”
The boys anchored in a cove that night, well out of the wash of passing steamers, and in the middle of the following afternoon, saw the spires of Montreal. They gazed at the great mountainous bluff which lies above and beyond the city with wondering eyes. There battles had been lost and won. The flags of France and Great Britain had in turn floated over the city from the heights they saw.