CHAPTER XXVIBUG'S PROPOSITION
There was dead silence for a while. It was only too evident that Moxley meant what he said, and though Jeffries and Hocker were brave men, they were reluctant to engage in a struggle with all the odds against them.
Accompanied by Ned and Bug they moved down to the edge of the water—a distance of less than thirty feet in the present condition of the creek—and ensconced themselves in some thick bushes. There was no slight risk that Moxley would shoot through the crevices if the moonlight afforded him a tempting chance.
"If we can wait in patience the game will fall into our hands," said Jeffries. "The rascal has been drinking, and the fiery stuff has given him false courage. After a while he will either fall asleep or become helpless from intoxication."
"I wonder if the boys know that help is outside," remarked Ned, "I wish I could get a few words with them."
"Of course they know it," replied Hocker. "They heard every word that was said, and they have toomuch sense to make any outcry. We'll get them out of the scrape before long, never fear."
Just then the farmer's shrill voice rang out distinctly from the hillside behind the mill:
"Keep back, you rascal. If you crawl out that window I'll drop you quick as a wink."
"Moxley is trying to escape from the second floor," muttered Hocker. "Wait a moment. I'll be back right away."
He crept down the shore of the creek, and crossed the slope to the wasteway.
"Is it all right, Zinn?" he called out.
"Yes," came the reply. "The rascal stuck his ugly head out of the winder a moment ago, but I scared him back. He can't escape on this side."
Hocker was about to rejoin his companions when a dark figure came down the road and passed through a strip of moonlight which served to reveal his identity. It was Abner Peck, the farm hand.
In response to a whispered command from Hocker the man jumped into the boat and pulled hastily across the wasteway. Hocker briefly explained the situation, and after a little further conversation Abner recrossed to the main land, while Hocker hurried back to his companions and related what had occurred.
"I sent him up to the house for provisions and a rope," he concluded, "and when he returns we'll try to get the lads out of the closet."
This piece of news cheered Ned considerably, andhelped him to endure the suspense with fortitude. Nearly an hour passed by without a sound from the mill or the alert watcher on the hillside.
The creek was still rising by slow degrees, but the sky was rapidly clearing and gave every promise of continued fair weather.
Finally a low whistle was heard, and Hocker noiselessly disappeared. He returned in less than five minutes, and announced that Abner was waiting with the provisions and the rope.
"Now I have an idea for working this little scheme," he added. "Jeffries, you go to the other end of the mill and open a conversation with Moxley—let on you want to reason with him some more. Keep him talking as long as you can, and meanwhile me and this lad will slip up the wasteway in the boat and try to get the lads free. If anything goes wrong, whistle."
Jeffries was quite satisfied to take the part assigned to him. He moved off in one direction, while Hocker and Ned took the other. Bug was left alone in the bushes.
Jeffries was already in conversation with Moxley when his companions reached the wasteway. They could hear the voices of the two men indistinctly.
Hocker motioned Ned to the rear seat beside Abner; then seizing the oars he pulled the boat swiftly into the deep shadows under the mill. The next step was a more difficult one.
Bidding Abner take the oars, and keep the boat inthe same position if possible, he tossed the rope over the very beam to which Ned had descended, and catching the end, tied it to the main part of the rope in such a way as to form a sort of swinging loop, which could not slip. By standing on the seat he managed to get one foot in this loop; then clutching both parts of the rope he drew himself quickly up, and after swaying to and fro for an instant, threw one arm over the rafter. An instant later he was straddling it, and pulling the rope after him he untied the loop.
"Now, lad," he whispered, "call your companions. They won't know my voice."
But this was rendered unnecessary by a sudden rasping noise above, as the loose plank was carefully lifted from its place.
"Randy! Randy!" whispered Ned. "It's all right. We're going to rescue you."
A glad murmur of voices was heard, and Randy incautiously replied: "Hurry up then. Now's your time, for Moxley is at the other end of the mill talking."
"Not so loud, lad," whispered Hocker. "Hold steady now and look out for the rope end."
But before Hocker could throw it footsteps came hastily over the floor above, and then a loud shrill whistle was heard—Jeffries's signal.
An instant of breathless suspense was followed by the sudden thrusting of a shiny object through a hole in the floor a little to one side of the closet.
"No you don't," cried Moxley in a savage voice. "You can't play that game on me. Get out of that at once, or I'll riddle you with buckshot. In ten seconds I shoot."
It was not a time to hesitate or parley. The plank dropped into place, and by a reckless swing and drop Hocker landed fairly in the center of the boat, very nearly capsizing it. Abner dropped the oars, and the current whirled the craft swiftly down the wasteway.
It was a bitter disappointment, especially to Ned. Jeffries hastened to the spot as the party landed.
"I'm awful sorry," he said, "but it couldn't be helped. The rascal must have heard some noise you made."
"It's hard luck, that's a fact," muttered Hocker. "I'll square accounts with that scoundrel afore I'm many hours older. The idea of his threatenin' to shoot me with my own gun; that's what riles me most. It's a pity we didn't get the food up. The boys'll have to starve a little longer, I reckon."
"It will be only a little, too," replied Jeffries grimly. "I don't intend to stand any more nonsense. We'll think over the matter and decide on some kind of a move. Moxley has got to come out of that mill. That settles it."
The party went slowly back to the bushes, and Ned satisfied his hunger with the bread and cold meat Abner had brought, while Jeffries and Hocker carried on a low, earnest discussion.
Presently the quiet was interrupted in an unexpectedmanner. Being restless and unhappy Bug wandered up toward the mill, and unwittingly strayed into a patch of silvery moonlight.
Moxley must have been on the watch, and the sight of his old chum put him into a fury. He was ignorant of Ned's escape, and naturally attributed his misfortunes to Bug.
"You black hearted dog," he cried savagely. "I'll get square with you. If I go to jail you'll go with me. It was all your fault anyhow. You persuaded me to go after these boys, and it was you who broke into the cabin and stole the gun and boat. I tried to keep you from it, but you wouldn't listen.
"Oh, you'll pay up for your treachery. I'll swear to all these things—and a good many more—in court. That is if I get there—which ain't at all likely. And if Idoget out of this hole I'll hunt you down, if it takes a year."
Moxley's rage was so violent that Bug prudently retreated to the bushes.
The ruffian kept up his abuse and called Bug all manner of vile names until he was compelled to stop for sheer want of breath.
Bug came down to Hocker and Jeffries and stood before them.
"Look here," he said hoarsely, "what that rascal says ain't true—at least the most of it ain't. What part I had in stealin' the boat I've made amends fur already, and now I'm willing to do a good deal more. A little while ago I felt kinder sorry for Moxley becauseme an' him has been together a good part of the summer. But when a man goes back on an old friend, an' calls him bad names, an' tries to get him into trouble by lyin', then I'm done with that man fur good.
"I'd sooner see him in jail now than runnin' loose, an' if you give me a fair show an' take these irons off, I'll find a way to get into that mill and capture the mean rascal. He's more'n half drunk now, and I'm a good deal stronger than I look. When the chance comes I'll know how to use it. I'm talkin' on my honor now, an' mean what I say. You needn't be afraid to turn me loose. I can't escape if I'd want to. You know that."
CHAPTER XXVIITHE BURNING OF THE MILL
There was no mistaking the sincerity of Bug's proposal, and coming, as it did, at a time when Hocker and Jeffries were unable to decide on any feasible plan of action, they were disposed to give a favorable answer.
"It ain't a bad idea," said Jeffries. "But how do you expect to get in without being seen?"
"I'll find a way," returned Bug. "There air plenty of holes an' loose boards."
"An' Moxley is watchin' them all, too," remarked Hocker. "Your plan ain't very definite so far."
Bug hesitated, and before he could reply something occurred that totally changed the situation.
"I see you again, you rascal," came the farmer's voice from the hillside. "You can't fool me. Get away from that winder now."
Hocker and Jeffries exchanged glances of mutual understanding. The latter quickly unlocked the bracelets and freed Bug's wrists.
"Now's your chance," he whispered. "Moxley is on the second floor. Slip in before he comes down. There's a loose board just below that middle window.There ain't time for more than one to get in or we'd follow you. When you need us sing out. Here, take this."
He pressed a pistol into Bug's hand, and the latter bounded noiselessly up the slope. He reached the mill, drew the lower end of a loose plank a foot from its place, and vanished through the orifice.
Let us follow Bug on his perilous quest. Not until he was fairly inside, and crawling on hands and knees over the rickety floor, did he realize the great danger that lay in what he had undertaken to do. For an instant he trembled with fear, and then the memory of his wrongs steeled his heart and nerves.
A sudden noise overheard caused him to crouch midway on the floor. A moment later the stairway creaked, and Moxley began to descend. His progress could be noted as he passed the crevices in the wall.
Bug lay motionless, wondering what he should do next. The possibility of being discovered made him tremble violently. He quite forgot that he had a pistol.
Moxley had now reached the floor, and with cautious steps he moved along the wall toward the lower corner.
Suddenly there was a sound of a heavy fall, followed by a volley of profanity, and the next instant something flew against the wall, and was shivered to fragments that fell with a tinkling noise.
"He's tipped over a bottle," thought Bug, "andnow he's smashed it because he's mad. That's like Moxley."
This haphazard guess was absolutely correct. All was silent for a second or two after the glass had fallen; then Moxley grumbled in an audible tone: "Confound the luck! I hope that wasn't my whisky bottle. It ain't in my pocket."
Of such dire import did the question seem to the ruffian that he ventured to strike a match—little dreaming what the impulse would cost him.
Bug's heart beat wildly when he heard the crack and saw the light flash through the darkness. He jammed the pistol into his pocket and rose on his hands and knees.
Moxley was standing before the sawdust heap with his face to the wall. As the match flared up he dropped the gun and seized a greenish bottle that was lying at his feet.
"Here's luck!" he muttered contentedly. "It was the oil bottle I brought from the canoes that got in my way."
He lifted the fiery poison to his lips, still holding the burning match between the fingers of his other hand, and remained in this attitude for a brief moment.
Bug stood erect and moved across the floor with the caution of a creeping tigress. Nearer and nearer he came, and when less than four feet separated him from his intended victim, Moxley heard some slight noise and wheeled around.
Bug was on him with one spring, and down they fell with a great crash, and rolled in furious strife over the shaking floor—Bug crying for help at the top of his voice, Moxley uttering hoarse threats and imprecations.
Blinded with rage they did not observe that the burning end of the match had fallen on the very spot where the widely scattered kerosene oil was most plentiful. Even when the hissing blue flames spurted up and licked the rubbish on all sides with greedy tongues, they fought on desperately, now one uppermost, now the other, as they verged toward the center of the floor.
When Hocker and Jeffries burst into the mill, followed by Ned and Abner, the conflagration was beyond control. The flames were devouring the planking of the wall with a great roaring and crackling, spreading on each side and to the floor above.
The scene was one long to be remembered. The cries of the struggling men on the floor mingled with the furious kicking and shouting that came from the imprisoned boys in the closet, and amid all the din and confusion the farmer rushed down from the hillside and battered his way into the mill with the butt end of his gun.
Fright gave Moxley the strength of a madman, and by a determined effort he tore loose from his plucky assailant, and springing to his feet started to run. He struck Hocker, who jumped in front of him, a furious blow that sent him reeling backward, butbefore he could make use of his advantage, he tripped on a log, and came down heavily.
As he partially rose Bug leaped upon him, and both men rolled over to the edge of a gaping hole in the floor. They struggled an instant on the brink, and then fell through, landing with a terrific splash in the flooded wasteway far below.
Hocker and Jeffries rushed precipitately from the mill to head them off, while the farmer insanely attempted to check the conflagration by tramping through thedébristhat was burning here and there on the floor.
The whole affair had taken place in a very few seconds, and Ned was at first so dazed by the confusion and the flames that he was quite incapable of doing anything. The terrified cries of his companions roused him from his stupor, and he dashed through the intense heat to the closet door.
A quick jerk threw the bolt open, and the frightened boys poured out. The lurid glare of the flames and the spark laden volumes of smoke were more than they could stand. One and all bolted for the nearest aperture in the creek side of the mill, and fortunately reached it without falling through the gaps in the floor.
Ned would gladly have followed their example, but he suddenly bethought him of the plunder Moxley had packed up to carry away. Such a loss would be irreparable, and without hesitation he dashed toward the burning wall.
The heat was intense, but he managed to get near enough to snatch the bag. One end was badly scorched. He suddenly spied Hocker's gun, and knowing how the owner valued it, he made another rush and carried it off in triumph.
Thus laden down he tottered across the floor in imminent fear of dropping through to the wasteway, and overwhelmed at times by the suffocating smoke and fiery sparks. When his courage and endurance were all but spent he reached a broken place in the wall and staggered into the refreshing outer air. How good it seemed!
Abner had long since preceded him, and the farmer made his appearance a moment later, still grasping Randy's blackened gun. The boys had been waiting on Ned in terrible suspense, afraid to venture back into the mill, and when he appeared with his burden their joy knew no bounds.
They were ignorant of the disaster that had befallen Bug and Moxley, and when Ned told them, the whole party started off on a run.
They searched the wasteway just as Jeffries and Hocker landed from the boat, pushing Moxley before them, and followed by Bug. The ruffian's hands were already manacled. With the exception of dripping clothes neither of the men seemed the worse for their struggle and subsequent fall.
"They were still locked together when we pulled them from the water," said Jeffries. "That little fellow is a plucky one. He deserves great credit forraising the siege. We've got our man at last, and bitterly he'll rue this night's work."
"It's a bad job fur me, too," observed the farmer. "The old mill will soon be a heap of ashes. It's insured fur about what the lumber's worth, but that ain't much consolation. I hate to see it go after standin' here fur nigh onto seventy years."
"It's hard," muttered Hocker, "that's a fact."
Then all were silent, watching the flames as they rose higher and higher, and licked every corner of the doomed building. It was a grand sight while it lasted, but in twenty minutes nothing was left save a few blackened beams and smoldering heaps of ashes.
"That ends the fireworks," said Jeffries. "We may as well be moving along. It's past two o'clock in the morning."
He drew a second pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and to Ned's wrath and indignation, clapped them suddenly on Bug's wrists.
CHAPTER XXVIIIA GOOD DEED
Ned was the only one who showed any surprise at the constable's action, and quite naturally, since he alone was acquainted with all the facts in the case. Hocker had already taken Moxley to the boat and seated him; the ruffian had lost his defiant manner, and was cowed and sullen. Jeffries now started to follow with Bug, but was stopped by a detaining touch on the arm.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Jeffries," said Ned, trying hard to control his feelings, "but you surely don't intend to carry off Bug to jail after all he has done to-night? We owe everything to him."
Jeffries looked at the lad half sternly.
"Law is law," he replied in a pompous tone. "I am an officer of justice, and must do my duty. This fellow was clearly concerned in the theft of Mocker's gun and boat, and what he did before or after that don't wipe out the crime. Why, if I'd turn him loose now I'd be compoundin' a felony. Of course I'll speak a good word for him when he comes up for trial—I'll promise you that—and it may lessen his sentence."
"Jeffries is right," said the farmer. "If a man will commit crimes he must suffer for them. Both fellows air guilty, no doubt."
Bug threw a grateful glance at Ned, and then turned appealingly to Hocker.
"I don't deny that I was with Moxley when he broke into your cabin," he said huskily, "but I was only with him because I wanted to help these boys. I couldn't leave him without spoilin' my plans, and I couldn't persuade him to let the cabin alone, though I tried hard enough. He gave me the slip next morning, as it was, an' I had to tramp it down the creek the rest of the way. It's purty hard fer a feller to get into a scrape like this under them circumstances."
Hocker's face wore a perplexed expression as he replied slowly:
"I'm sure I don't know what to say. Jeffries has the law at his finger ends, and it ain't fur me to contradict him. I reckon things will have to take their course."
Bug's hopeless looks and attitude went straight to Ned's heart, and he resolved to make a final appeal in his behalf. He was satisfied that Hocker would help him if he could be made to see the matter in its proper light, so he drew him aside and told all he knew about Bug in a simple, earnest way—dwelling especially on the fact that Bug's desire to keep the boys out of a scrape was the sole cause of his own misfortune.
The appeal carried conviction with it, and Hocker's sympathies were aroused.
"I reckon I can fix this matter," he said after a little consideration. "I owe you lads something anyhow, and this is a good time to pay the debt."
Hocker was as good as his word. He walked over to the boat and surprised Jeffries by saying in a grave tone, "Look here, old man; I've sorter veered round on this thing. Now that I've got Moxley safe and sound I don't intend to prosecute the other chap. I reckon what he says is true, an' you know yourself what he did fur us to-night—more than you or me would have done. He deserves to go free."
"Well, if you're determined not to make a charge, why that settles it," replied Jeffries a little stiffly. "I have nothing agin him personally, and I hope he'll take warning by this affair and keep out of bad company."
He turned around and quickly removed Bug's handcuffs.
"You're a free man now," he said. "See that you stay free and justify the clemency of the law by leadin' a respectable life in future."
Bug was dazed at first by the unexpected transition from despair to hope. He stammered out a few inarticulate words of gratitude to Hocker and Jeffries and then approached Ned.
"This is your doin'," he said brokenly. "You saved me from goin' to jail. I shan't forget it—" He choked and broke off short.
Ned drew him down the wasteway to a little clump of bushes, out of earshot of the others.
"Bug," he said earnestly, "if you are really grateful to me for saving you from a term in prison, I'll tell you how you can prove it. Your brother told me the whole story of your life, and what a shadow it has cast on your home. You are breaking your mother's heart, and even your father feels the disgrace keenly, and would welcome you back if you came prepared to lead a different life. Go home, Bug, and make them all happy. You will never regret it if you do. You are not bad at heart, I know, and evil company has been the cause of all your trouble. Let Moxley's fate be a warning to you. Turn over a new leaf from to-night. Will you do it, Bug? Will you go straight home and lead an honest, respectable life?"
Tears were standing in Bug's eyes, and he brushed them away with his coat sleeve.
"I'll do it," he said in a firm, but husky voice. "I've been wantin' to go home fur a long time, but I didn't dare to. I'm sick enough of livin' in this way, an' what you've done an' said to-night will make a different man of me. I mean it all, and I'll stick to it. I'll do no more lyin' or stealin', and I'll keep away from bad company. I'll stay at home and work. Here's my fist on it."
Ned warmly shook the proffered hand, and then both went slowly back to the boat.
Bug's appearance was the signal for a most outrageousburst of profanity and threats from Moxley, and when Jeffries had finally subdued the ruffian by strong measures, the whole party crossed the wasteway, and moved up to the farmhouse, which was half a mile distant.
Mrs. Zinn spread a huge table with all sorts of tempting food, and the starved boys attacked it with a vigor that made her open her eyes in amazement. The others were almost as hungry after all they had gone through that night, and did ample justice to the viands. Moxley's bracelets were taken off and he was allowed to eat his fill with the rest.
It was four o'clock on Saturday morning before the tired crowd got to sleep. The four boys were given a room containing two large beds, and the adjoining apartment was occupied by Hocker and Jeffries, and their prisoner. Bug was accommodated with a cushioned settee in the kitchen.
The boys woke up, refreshed in mind and body, about three o'clock in the afternoon. They came down stairs just in time to see Hocker and Jeffries drive away in a buggy with the sullen faced prisoner between them. Hocker had made arrangements with the farmer to take the boat back to the cabin in a wagon.
Moxley had been compelled to disgorge his plunder, and the boys were highly gratified when Jeffries handed over the watches and money the tramp had so coolly taken from them.
Half an hour after the trio had departed for Carlislejail Bug took an earnest farewell of the boys, and struck across the country in a bee line for his home at the Gap. His last word to Ned was a renewal of the promise to stay at home and lead an honest life, and Ned sincerely believed that he meant it.
"That load of salt I put into Moxley's legs turned out for the best after all," said Randy in a roguish tone. "If I hadn't pulled trigger that night Bug Batters would still be treading the path of wickedness, with no hope of a reformation."
"Your foolishness had one good result, I'll admit," replied Ned. "But don't try the experiment again. It's too costly."
The boys tacitly agreed with Ned. Even Bug's conversion was rather a high price to pay for the fright and indignities they had endured at the hands of Mr. Dude Moxley. They remembered also that the burning of the mill was indirectly due to Randy's foolish shot.
The certain prospect of the insurance money effectively silenced any resentment that Mr. Zinn might otherwise have felt toward the boys. He warmly invited them to stay over Sunday, and the invitation was promptly accepted. They went down after supper to examine the canoes, and allowed them to remain where they were on the farmer's assurance that nothing could happen to them. The grain bag containing the greater part of the baggage had been taken up the house the night before. The tin boxes had perished in the flames, but this was a trifling loss,and did not trouble the boys much in the light of what might have been.
Sunday was a day of peaceful enjoyment after the turbulent events of the past week.
"Three square meals were not to be sneezed at," as Randy irreverently expressed it; and not the least pleasing incident of the day was the five mile drive to a country church with the farmer's family, on which occasion Nugget braved the ridicule of his companions, and proudly wore his linen shirt and piqué vest.
Monday morning dawned clear as a whistle, and after a hearty breakfast the boys trudged down to the creek laden with all manner of country produce, for which the good natured farmer would accept only a beggarly recompense.
Half an hour later the gold and crimson pennant fluttered proudly in the breeze as it led the Jolly Rovers down the swift and turbid channel—for the creek was still a few feet above low water mark.
CHAPTER XXIXRANDY GOES SAILING
Monday and Tuesday of that week were rather uneventful days. The boys paddled steadily, and with the aid of the rapid current covered a good many miles.
On both evenings they found suitable camping places, and had some excellent sport fishing for catfish and eels by night.
The creek was almost at its normal level now, but Wednesday morning dawned amid conditions that promised a speedy repetition of the high water. The sky was hidden by murky gray clouds that hung far down toward the earth. So thick were they that no mist that blurred the hills and the windings of the faintest glimmer of the sun could peep through. A creek was in the air, and the east wind had a keen, biting touch that was more in harmony with November than July.
Some discussion ensued at first on the question of breaking camp under such circumstances, but it was finally decided in the affirmative.
"This place won't shelter us very well if a heavy rain comes on," said Ned. "The chances are that itwon't rain before afternoon or night, so we had better make the most of what time we have by choosing a better spot."
The value of Ned's advice had been tested on many previous occasions, so preparations to start were hastily commenced. This was about eight o'clock in the morning, after breakfast had been eaten and the dishes cleared away.
Randy was the first one up that morning, and much to the mystification of his companions he had been working since daybreak in a thicket of young timber not far behind the camp. Just as the tent was being rolled up he made his appearance with a lurking smile on his face, and under his arm a bundle that resembled a red flannel seine wrapped tightly on its sticks.
"Hullo, Randy, what have you there?" queried Nugget.
"What is it?" exclaimed Clay, in a tone that implied some doubt as to whether he referred to Randy or the object under his arm.
But Randy was not disposed to be communicative just then.
"You'll know what it is in good time," he replied, and then turning to Ned he asked: "Can I have one of the tent poles?"
"What do you want with it?" demanded Ned. "Has it anything to do with that piece of tomfoolery?"
"Yes, it has," replied Randy aggressively. "Thatpiece of tomfoolery, as you call it, is a sail. I'll make you fellows open your eyes after a while."
"I don't doubt it," exclaimed Ned laughingly, "There will be lots of sport in watching you try to sail on a stream like this. And what a sail, too! Why, it's made out of a red blanket! What put the notion into your head, Randy?"
"Oh, you can make all the fun of it, you please," replied Randy; "you'll all wish you had one like it after a while. Just look at that breeze blowing straight down the creek. In an hour from now it will be twice as strong, and then I'll leave you fellows so far behind that you can't overtake me in a week."
"It doesn't occur to him that the creek changes its course about every half mile," reflected Ned as he resumed his work. "If he tries the thing on he'll come to grief."
Randy was troubled by no such misgivings. He appropriated one of the jointed tent poles and lashed it on the fore deck of his canoe beside the queer looking sail. The Water Sprite, it may be said, had been built with a view to sailing, and it contained a mast hole and block just forward of the cockpit.
Not until the Jolly Rovers had been afloat an hour or two did Randy's opportunity come, for during that time the channel was one succession of short, jerky curves that encountered the wind every which way. But his patience was finally rewarded by a clear half mile stretch of water, licked into tiny undulations by a crisp down breeze.
Randy discreetly grounded the canoe on a little grass bar in mid-channel, and proceeded to rig up. His sail was merely a light weight blanket with each of its narrow ends sewed to a trimmed sapling—just like a banner, in fact. He attached this to his improvised mast, fastened each end securely, and drove the latter into the mast hole.
The Water Sprite was quite transformed by the addition. It presented a quaint, foreign appearance, for the high square sail was exactly like that of a Chinese junk, while its flaming red color was irresistibly suggestive of the craft that ply in Venetian lagoons.
So Randy thought, anyhow, and he was more than pleased with his handiwork. He applied the finishing touches by tying a cord to each lower corner of the sail, and by this device he proudly hoped to control the movements of the canoe.
Randy was considerably overestimating his skill as a sailing master, but no one could have made him believe it at the time. He proudly seated himself, and with a shove of the paddle freed the canoe from the bar.
The breeze quickly bulged out the thirty square feet of sail, and away went the Water Sprite like a Chinese pirate in chase of booty. It gained speed with every instant, and swept by the sluggish little fleet of canoes under full pressure.
Randy turned around to laugh and wave his hand. He had to admit to himself that he was very glad theboys were now in the rear, for the sail hung so low that he could see no further than the prow of his canoe. Still more disconcerting was the fact that the cords were useless, since the least jerk to right or left threatened to capsize the canoe instantly.
"I must keep a sharp eye on the shores if I want to stay in mid-channel," thought Randy. "I'm good for half a mile of this, anyhow, before the wind changes."
But his calculation did not embrace any possible obstructions that might lie in the way, and Randy was considerably surprised to find himself grounded on a ledge of rocks before five minutes had passed. It was hard work to get the canoe free, and just as he succeeded the boys caught up with him.
"Better take the sail down now," suggested Ned. "You'll surely run into something if you don't."
"No danger," laughed Randy. "I'll stop before I get to the curve. This is great sport. You fellows just ought to try it."
He sent the Water Sprite off again by a touch of his paddle and skimmed swiftly away from his half envious companions, leaving a trail of foam behind him.
It was aggravating to be thus outstrippped and the boys started to paddle with all their might. For a little while they actually seemed to gain on Randy, but a lively puff of wind came down the creek, and the Water Sprite took a spurt that made the chase hopeless.
The wind had veered a slight degree, and withoutknowing it Randy was now paddling straight for a bushy point of land that jutted out from the left shore exactly where the channel made its abrupt bend. Just below this little promontory, and in midstream, was anchored a long, squarely built flatboat.
It had three occupants. On a low stool in the very center sat a tremendously stout man in a blue flannel shirt and wide brimmed straw hat. Beside him was a lean, scrawny man sitting on an upturned bucket. The other end of the boat was occupied by a yellow dog, whose eyes were fixed with intent longing on a lunch basket a few feet distant.
The big fat man held in one hand a light, slender fishing rod, while the little lean man supported on his knees a twenty foot pole that looked like a young tree denuded of its branches. Both were waiting patiently for a bite—as was also the dog—and under the circumstances it did not occur to them to look around.
Meanwhile the Water Sprite swept onward to the jutting point of land, and missed it by little more than a hair's breadth, just as Randy turned pale with the sudden discovery of his danger. He breathed easier as the canoe passed swiftly on toward mid-channel. He could see nothing ahead, and was therefore blissfully ignorant of the obstruction that now lay in his path.
Just at this moment the three boys, coming on behind, caught a glimpse of the anchored boat and were quick to grasp the situation.
"Look out, Randy!" cried Ned at the top of his voice. "Danger ahead! Paddle to the right, quick!"
Randy turned around and looked stupidly at his companions for an instant. Then he seized the paddle and tried hard to follow Ned's advice. Too late! The Water Sprite was forging ahead now under full pressure, and was not to be diverted from its course.
The two occupants of the boat had heard Ned's warning cry without catching the words, but they did not turn around because each happened to have a bite at that moment.
Then the little man jerked out a plump catfish, and as he reached for the line, which had swung behind him, he saw the flaming red sail looming almost overhead. He had barely time to spring to his feet and utter a terrific yell, when the collision came.
The shock tossed the fat man off the stool and threw him across the edge of the boat. As the little man was knocked down at the same instant, the one sided pressure naturally caused the boat to tip, and over it went, throwing fishermen, dog, and all into the water.
CHAPTER XXXA NIGHT ALARM
By that strange destiny which oftentimes frowns on the good and lends a helping hand to the evil, Randy experienced no very disastrous results from the collision. The canoe rebounded a few feet, and the sail fell from the mastpole into the water.
He was terribly shaken up, it is true, but far greater was the shock when he realized what he had done. At first nothing was visible but the upturned boat and a yellow dog paddling on all fours for the nearest bank.
It was manifestly impossible that the dog could have been the only occupant of the boat, and besides Randy had heard a shrill cry just before the collision. He was much relieved therefore when a head shot above the water a few feet below the boat.
This belonged to the little man, and an instant later his fat companion came to the surface. The latter had lost his hat, and the top of his head was as white and shiny as a billiard ball.
The little man sounded for bottom, and not finding it, swam vigorously for shore. The fat man tried the same experiment, and being a good head and ahalf taller than his companion, obtained footing at a depth which brought the water almost to his chin. Having thus strengthened his position, he spat the water from his mouth and turned his head around to see what occult power was responsible for his misfortune.
When he saw Randy quietly sitting in the canoe a few yards above his face purpled with rage.
"You'll pay for this outrage," he stuttered hoarsely. "I'll beat you black and blue when I get hold of you. I'll give you six months in the county jail at hard labor, you brainless young ruffian—you audacious wooden headed idiot, you—"
Just then the angry gentleman's string of epithets was cut short in a summary manner, for the wet folds of the blanket sail, which had somehow managed to drift around the corner of the boat, slapped him on the mouth, and the unexpected shock caused him to lose his balance and slip under water.
Such an opportunity was not to be neglected, and with quick, furious strokes Randy paddled around the upturned boat and headed down stream, bent on escaping the promised chastisement.
The fat man came up directly beneath the sail, and consequently had to go under for a second attempt. This time he was all right, and the moment his head was out of water and his feet planted on the bottom he caught sight of Randy, who was just gliding by at a distance of half a dozen feet.
"Stop, you rascal, stop!" he yelled hoarsely.
Randy did not obey; he only paddled the faster.
The irascible old fellow glared at him in helpless rage for a second, and then his face lit up with an awful smile as he saw the big fishing pole floating on the water within reach. The line was fastened in some way to the boat.
It was the work of an instant to snatch the pole and tear it free. Then lifting it overhead the man made a furious stroke at the rapidly receding canoe.
Whisk! whisk! came the elastic end with stinging force against Randy's back and shoulders. Maddened by the pain he partially rose and leaned forward. At the second blow he reeled to one side, stumbled against the combing, and went out of the canoe backward without upsetting it.
His enemy was by no means satisfied with what punishment he had already inflicted. He dropped the pole, and made haste to join the little man and yellow dog on the bank.
"Ebenezer," he cried angrily, "pursue that young rascal. Chase him down the creek. If you catch him I'll give you a five dollar bill."
More from fear of disobeying than from any hope of earning the reward, the little man started off on a run with the yellow dog at his heels.
Just at this moment Ned and his companions reached the scene of the disaster. The fat man stopped wringing the water from his trousers to shake his fist at them.
"You're all alike," he growled, "all alike! Inever saw a boy that wasn't a born reprobate. I wish I had you out on shore; I'd teach you a lesson."
Ned tried to explain that the upsetting of the boat was a pure accident, but the angry man refused to hear him.
"Don't tell me," he muttered, "I know better."
Realizing that further argument would be futile, the boys made what amends they could by chasing the two fishing rods and the hat, and then lifting the anchors of the boat and pushing it to shore.
The fat man acknowledged these favors with a surly nod of his head, and so threatening was his manner that the boys hastily retreated from the bank, and paddled down stream, stopping on the way to recover the sail.
Meanwhile Randy had quietly swum down the creek some distance, pushing the canoe ahead of him, and landed on the left shore. The boys could see him plainly as he stood on a rock wringing the water from his clothes.
Having no inclination to swim the creek, Ebenezer had given up the chase and was now returning along the right bank. When he came opposite the boys Ned called out:
"Say, tell me who that stout gentleman is, will you?"
The little man hesitated before replying. "That's Judge Gibson, of Carlisle," he said finally in a very impressive tone. "You fellers may be glad you ain't sittin' afore him in the dock this minute—especiallythat chap down yonder. O, my! wouldn't you get salty sentences though!"
A loud summons from the judge started the little man off in a hurry, and the conversation came to an abrupt ending.
The boys soon joined Randy, and finding him in a decidedly bad temper, they made as little allusion as possible to what had occurred. It was evident from the way he shrugged his shoulders that the blows of the fishing pole had left a good deal of a sting.
Not knowing what might be expected of Judge Gibson, the boys concluded to be on the safe side, and as soon as Randy had changed his clothes they paddled away from the vicinity.
About one o'clock a halt was made for lunch, and as the air was disagreeably damp and cutting, Ned boiled a pot of coffee.
The cruise was resumed an hour later, and during the afternoon a close watch was kept for suitable camping places. The indications all presaged bad weather, and there was no doubt that rain would set in by morning—if not sooner.
About four o'clock a camping ground was discovered that met with general approval—a sheltered spot amid great pine trees on the right bank. In the rear was a steep hill, and a limestone spring was conveniently close.
The boys spent just one solid hour in arranging things to their satisfaction, for their stay was likelyto be a protracted one, and they wanted everything snug and comfortable before the rain came.
The tent was staked with more than ordinary care, and then a ditch was dug around all four sides and the dirt thrown on the edges of the canvas. A stone fireplace was built between two trees and within easy reach of the tent door.
A layer of fragrant pine boughs was spread on the floor of the tent, and both front corners were piled with firewood. The arrangements were completed by dragging the canoes to the top of the bank and removing all that they contained.
"That is what I call snug," said Randy complacently. "I won't mind staying here two or three days. How are we fixed for provisions?"
"Bread will run short to-morrow, but we have plenty of everything else," replied Ned. "No doubt there are farm houses near."
This satisfactory report encouraged the boys to prepare a more than usually sumptuous supper. They washed the dishes by firelight, and just as the last one was dried the rain began to fall—at first in pattering drops, then in a steady, persistent sheet.
A great log was thrown on the fire, and after a short chat in its warm glow the boys drew the tent flaps, and were soon sleeping soundly on the soft pine boughs.
Some time in the night Ned awoke, and feeling thirsty sat up and reached for the pail of water andtin cup which were always kept just outside the tent door.
He took a drink and was in the act of putting the cup down when he heard distinct footsteps outside. They passed the tent and went on toward the creek. Whoever the nocturnal stroller might be he was taking no pains to conceal his presence.
"Say Ned, is that you?" came in a startled whisper from the rear of the tent.
Ned recognized Randy's voice.
"Areyouawake?" he exclaimed in surprise. "Don't make any noise. Some one is walking about outside."
"I know it," replied Randy. "That's what wakened me. My gun is missing. I had it right beside me, and now it's gone."
"By Jove! this looks serious," muttered Ned. "Wait a moment," he added. "I'll take a peep outside. It's pitch dark and I can't be seen."
He quickly lifted one flap of the tent and crawled under. A few seconds passed—full of terrible suspense to Randy—and then came a clattering noise followed by a brief red flash and a stunning report.