“Sure thing,” replied Captain Marsh.
But at that moment a black smoke rolled up over the marshes, and shortly around the bend from above came the LUCY BELLE.
The LUCY BELLE was the main excuse for calling the river navigable. She made trips as often as she could between Redding and Monrovia. In luck, she could cover the forty miles in a day. It was no unusual thing, however, for the LUCY BELLE to hang up indefinitely on some one of the numerous shifting sand bars. For that reason she carried more imperishable freight than passengers. In appearance she was two-storied, with twin smokestacks, an iron Indian on her top, and a “splutter-behind” paddle-wheel.
“There comes his help,” said Orde. “Old Simpson would stop to pick up a bogus three-cent piece.”
Sure enough, on hail from one of the rowboats, the LUCY BELLE slowed down and stopped. After a short conference, she steamed clumsily over to get hold of one end of the booms. The tug took the other. In time, and by dint of much splashing, some collisions, and several attempts, the ends of the booms were united.
By this time, however, nearly all the logs had escaped. The tug, towing a string of rowboats, set out in pursuit.
The SPRITE continued on her way until beyond sight. Then she slowed down again. The LUCY BELLE churned around the bend, and turned in toward the tug.
“She's going to speak us,” marvelled Orde. “I wonder what the dickens she wants.”
“Tug ahoy!” bellowed a red-faced individual from the upper deck. He was dressed in blue and brass buttons, carried a telescope in one hand, and was liberally festooned with gold braid and embroidered anchors.
“Answer him,” Orde commanded Marsh.