The Golden Boys on the River Drive

by L. P. Wyman

“I guess it’s all right,” he thought, as he stepped softly into the stern of the steamer and lifting the light canoe from the water placed it bottom up across the back of the boat.

This accomplished, he crept softly forward toward the engine room, stopping every few feet to listen. The door of the engine room was closed, and as he reached it he again paused and placed his ear against it. Was it fancy or could he hear someone inside the room breathing?

“I don’t know whether I’m hearing things or not,” he thought as he stepped back a bit, “but it sounds as though there’s somebody in there asleep.”

After thinking the matter over for a few minutes, he drew the flashlight from his pocket and stepping forward, placed his hand on the door knob. Carefully, without making the slightest sound, he pushed open the door a few inches and again listened. No longer was there any doubt as to the room being occupied. The deep breathing of a man was plainly audible. He pushed the door open still farther and quickly threw the light of the flash within the room. There on the floor in front of the furnace, with his back against the coal bin, was a man fast asleep. Bob recognized him at once as an employee of Big Ben Donahue. A few months before, as recorded in a previous volume, Bob had prevented him from selling or giving liquor to the men of his father’s crew. It was the same man beyond the shadow of a doubt, and Bob grinned as he quietly closed the door, as the remembrance of his former encounter with the man flashed through his mind.

He had closed the door and crept back to the stern of the boat in order to have time to consider what was best to be done. There was not much doubt in his mind as to the way things lay. That it was a move on the part of Big Ben to delay them in getting a raft of logs started down the river he did not doubt. Knowing that the wind was blowing down the lake, he would figure that it would not be necessary to start the engine. The wind would carry the boat directly past his camp, where the man would be taken off and the steamer allowed to drift wherever the wind blew it after that. The man had frayed the end of the rope, thus making it appear that it had chafed in two. The one weak point in his scheme was that his man had fallen asleep on the job.

“So far so good,” Bob mused. “And now what’s the next move?” he asked himself.

For a moment he considered hitting him with a stick of wood just hard enough to stun him, but he immediately dismissed that plan knowing that he would never be able to bring himself to hit a sleeping man. He had been aware of a strong odor of cheap whiskey in the engine room and the knowledge that the man was undoubtedly drunk was, he considered, a point in his favor, and he determined to try to tie him up without waking him. He had, during the trip the previous day, noticed several pieces of small rope in the engine room, and had no doubt about being able to quickly find something to answer his purpose. His mind once made up, he hesitated no longer.

Quickly he stepped to the door and again pushed it open. His light showed him that the man had not moved. A bracket lamp was fastened to the wall just inside the door and making as little noise as possible he struck a match and lighted it. Still the man did not move. He found the bits of rope without difficulty and selecting two pieces suitable for his purpose he knelt in front of the sleeping man. Carefully he raised first one foot and then the other, and slipped the rope beneath them. He was congratulating himself that the man was too sound asleep to be easily awakened, when suddenly without the slightest warning, he sprang to his feet. Bob quickly followed his example and for an instant the two stood facing each other.

For only a moment however did the man hesitate, then stepping quickly forward he aimed a vicious blow at Bob’s head with his huge fist. Bob dodged the blow easily, and as the man’s impetus carried him slightly off his balance, the boy succeeded in getting in a good stiff punch just behind the ear. The blow staggered the man for an instant and he reeled against the side of the room. Had Bob followed up the blow he might have ended the fight at once, as the man was more or less dazed from the blow coming when he was only half awake. But he failed to take advantage of the opportunity and in another minute it was too late. The man quickly recovered himself, and maddened to the point of frenzy by the blow, he rushed at the boy. The room was so small that there was little space to dodge, and although Bob succeeded in getting in another blow on the nose, which started the blood, the man seized him about the waist in his powerful arms and in another instant they were rolling over and over on the floor.

Almost instantly Bob realized that so far as mere strength went he was no match for the burly Frenchman. He must pit his skill against the strength of his antagonist. Almost at once the Frenchman secured a grip on Bob’s throat, but he had managed to free himself before the man could shut off his wind. It was this hold that he feared and he exerted all his skill to prevent a recurrence of it and for a time was successful. But soon, despite his best efforts, the Frenchman again got his huge hand on his throat and this time the boy was not able to squirm free. Quickly the man’s grasp tightened and Bob realized that unless something happened the fight would soon be over. At that instant, just when the man’s grip had tightened so that he was hardly able to breathe, the thought of a trick which he had learned some years before, flashed into his mind.