“No,” he shook his head, “we’ve got to have another boat.”
Getting the details of his scheme, I took a grip on my club and started out in the direction of the river bridge, two miles away, where old Deacon Pillpopper, who helped us solve the mystery of the ten-ring puzzle, as mentioned in my book, JERRY TODD AND THE TALKING FROG, runs a boat livery.
The moonlight was almost as bright as day. So by keeping away from the bushes and other sheltering things I felt pretty safe. Coming to the road, I lit out on the run, feeling that with every flying step I was leaving the shadowy, crawling thing farther behind me. Strangely, though, even when I was a mile from the house, I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was being watched. And from later developments I cannot doubt that I was watched.
It was two o’clock when I got the surprised and sleepy-eyed boat renter out of bed. Dickering with him for a minute or two, I then set off downstream. Boy, did I ever row! As I look back the wonder to me is that I didn’t snap an oar. Coming within sight of the pirate’s house, with its outstanding chimney, I pulled close to the shore. Then I gave one long “hoot” and three short ones, signifying “thirteen,” which was the signal that Poppy and I had agreed upon.
Several minutes passed. Then I got the expected answering signal—“Hoo-o-o-t! Hoot! hoot! hoot!”—after which the “owl,” himself, soon came into sight.
“The trick worked as slick as a button, Jerry,” he laughed. “As soon as I got your signal I started to snore. The prisoner, of course, thought that I had dropped asleep. And quick as scat he stepped over my body, as I lay in front of his bedroom door, and skinned out.”
The leader then asked me if I had seen anything of the cat killer on my way to the bridge. I hadn’t, I said. Nor had he seen or heard anything of the man at the stone house, he then told me.
Piling into the boat we rowed for dear life, as it was our further scheme to beat the kid and his uncle across the river. In going to their cave they’d never suspect that we were following them, and so, by secretly listening in on their gab, we could get a good line on them.
“Hot dog!” says Poppy, as the other boat came out of the creek into the moonlit river. Flipping the oars harder than ever, we soon turned into the opposite canyon, where we waited in a dark water cave.
Dip! Dip! Dip! We could hear the other oars now. Then the boat came into sight.