Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.bookcove.net. [image] The River Motor Boat Boys on the Rio Grande In Defense of the Rambler Harry Gordon AUTHOR OF A. L. Burt Company Copyright, 1915, by PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. CONTENTS
THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE RIO GRANDE CHAPTER I A CALL FOR HELP “Listen, boys!” There was silence for a moment, and then the cry was repeated—a long, low, wailing call for help. “It can’t be far away,” said the first speaker. “If the water wouldn’t make such a racket, we might locate it exactly. There! Sounds like the fellow was about all in.” A large white bulldog of most disreputable appearance leaped to the railing of the motor boat and stood looking into the waters of the Rio Grande. In a moment the plea for assistance came again, sounding fainter and farther away. It was evident that the man, whoever it was, was going down with the current. The dog glanced questioningly into the face of the nearest boy as if asking for instructions, and then leaped into the river. “What did you do that for?” demanded Alexander Smithwick, throwing off his coat and shoes. “What did I do?” demanded Julian Shafer, with a wink. “Captain Joe asked permission to go to the rescue, and took it for granted that it would be given. Intelligent dog, Captain Joe! What’s he up to now, I wonder?” In a moment Alex, with one hand on the railing which enclosed the deck of the motor boat, heard the rattle of anchor chains and knew that the boat was drifting downstream. The boys called to the dog, but without avail. Save for the rush of the river, all was still. “Mighty strange!” Alex exclaimed. Night had settled down on the Rio Grande, but the electric lights shone far out on the stream, revealing nothing! When the motor boat reached the point from which the cries had seemed, to come the anchor was dropped again and the boys scanned both shore lines eagerly, hoping, at least, to discover the white form of the bulldog. It was not at all like Captain Joe to remain silent under such conditions. “What do you make of it?” asked Clayton Emmett, in a tone of alarm. “Captain Joe never acted like this before.” “There’s something gone wrong with the dog!” exclaimed Cornelius Witters, who was rather inclined to look on the gloomy side of life. “He may have been drowned.” “Catch Captain Joe getting drowned!” cried Alex Smithwick and Julian Shafer in a breath. In a moment, however, Captain Joe was seen to leave a great mass of rocks which stretched at least a third of the way across the stream and strike out for the motor boat. “Did you lose him, Captain Joe?” Alex asked, lowering a floating platform as he spoke in order to give the dog access to the deck, at the same time keeping out of reach of the torrent of river water deposited on the deck by the dog. “Where is the man you went after?” added Julian Shafer, also taking good care to keep on the other side of the deck. The dog was evidently doing his best to convey to the boys what knowledge he possessed regarding the stranger who was, if still alive, somewhere out in the night. For a time he met with scant success. The boys listened intently, but there was only the rush of the river and the wind sweeping down from the mountains. “Drop downstream to that ledge of rocks,” advised Clayton Emmett. “If the fellow is still alive, we’ll find him there.” This proceeding apparently met with the hearty approval of the bulldog, who was the first to gain the rocky beach. Without loss of time he set off at a swift pace and soon brought up beside the prostrate figure of a lad who could not have been over sixteen. Alex bent over the body with his searchlight and made a hasty examination. “Is he dead?” asked Cornelius Witters, known to his chums as “Case.” “He certainly looks the part.” Alex shook his head. “Let’s get him to the motor boat,” he said, with a shudder of horror. “Somewhere back in the dark ages, before the dawn of civilization, there may have been a kid more badly beaten up, but I doubt it.” “Well, I should say so!” Jule cut in. “Looks like he had been run through a sausage mill! Where’s the fellow who did it?” “Search me!” replied Alex. “The thing to do now, it strikes me, is to get the poor fellow where he can receive the attention of a surgeon. I wonder if one is to be found in this neck-o’-the-woods?” “There are plenty of towns along the river,” Clayton Emmett suggested, “and there must be a surgeon in some of them; but his injuries may not be so serious as they appear to be at first glance. Perhaps it may be well to get the stretcher,” he added, as the boys gathered in an awed group about the silent figure. Jule darted away to bring the stretcher, while the other boys made a rough examination of the injured boy’s wounds. His head was one mass of bruises, and his left leg seemed to be broken. He was still unconscious, and the only wonder was that a person so battered and beaten should be capable of uttering the cries which had brought the dog to his assistance. Presently Alex and Case, leaving Clay to watch beside the stranger, climbed an almost perpendicular wall of rock and, with the aid of their searchlights, looked down the narrow neck of land which connected with the shore. The searchlights illuminated the scene only faintly. The night was very dark, and the rays of light traveled only a short distance before becoming absorbed by the shadows which shut out the landscape. “It’s darker than a stack of black cats!” said Alex, after a moment’s inspection of the scene. “We may as well be on our way back.” The boys started back in the direction of the boat, but came to a halt at the sound of a low, whining cry which seemed to come from behind a ridge of rocks off to the left. “What’s coming off now?” Alex exclaimed, turning his searchlight in the direction of the sound. “Hope it isn’t anything that will bite! Come out of that, you rascal!” But whatever it was it did not seem inclined to obey the command, so Alex dashed off on an exploring trip. “Come back, you mutton head!” shouted Case. “That may be a fake to lure us into a trap!” But Alex’s searchlight was by this time out of sight around a corner of rock and Case followed on behind. After making his way, not without difficulty, along a shelf of rock Case came to a pit-like depression, and, looking down, caught a glimpse of his chum’s light. The lad was bending over some object which was lying on the ground, and appeared to be preparing to take it into his arms. Case was at his side in short order. “What have you got, Alex?” he asked. “Looks like a black cat! It takes you to keep the menagerie from growing shy!” As Alex lifted the object in his arms, however, Case saw that it was a bear cub—certainly not more than a month old—a black bear cub who looked into the faces of the lads with an appeal which was not to be resisted! It softened Case’s heart in an instant. “Now, what do you know about that!” Case exclaimed. “Wonder if his mother is anywhere around?” “She’d be very much in evidence by this time if she was,” replied Alex, hugging the cub. “My!” he continued, as his hands came in contact with the ribs of the cub, “I reckon a square meal wouldn’t come amiss right now! Here, you little cannibal, quit eating my ear!” “I’d like to know what Captain Joe will say about this,” laughed Case. “He’ll want to make one bite of the cub!” “Just let me catch him at it!” exclaimed Alex. When, after rather a long, hard tramp, the boys, still carrying the baby bear, came in view of the place where Clay had been left they saw at once that something was amiss. Clay was nowhere in sight, and Captain Joe, usually the most faithful of sentinels, was not to be seen. The stranger still lay where he had been placed, gazing up into darkness with swollen eyes! It took only a minute for the lads to reach his side. He made an effort to arise to a sitting position as they came running up, but fell weakly back with a groan of agony. “What’s up?” asked Case. The lad turned his head in order to get a good view of his questioner before making any reply whatever. Under the searchlights his face seemed beaten to a pulp. Then Alex remembered that the boy had not regained consciousness at the time of their departure, and hastened to make the proper explanation. The boy again attempted a sitting posture and again failed. Case knelt by the side of the wounded boy. “Do you wish to say something?” he asked. “Ask him where Clay went,” suggested Alex, keeping the baby bear in his arms. “I don’t know,” replied the boy, answering the question asked by Alex. “When I came to consciousness there was a white bulldog drawing me out of the river.” “And is that the last you remember?” questioned Case. “Yes.” “And so Captain Joe fished you out of the drink. Where did he go after that?” “I did not see him go anywhere. I fainted, I guess.” Alex examined the boy’s clothing and found it wet. “The lad is right about the river,” he declared. “The boy must have been swept past our boat. It is a wonder none of us saw him.” “Unless he drifted into the circle of light thrown out by the cabin windows,” Case cut in, “we should not have seen him.” “Captain Joe certainly did a good job in making the rescue,” Alex added. “How long were you in the water, stranger?” “When I drifted by the motor boat,” replied the boy, “I tried to catch hold of a rope, but was too weak and dazed from the beating I had received. If the dog hadn’t found me just as he did, I should have floated on down the river and drowned.” “Good old Captain Joe!” Alex exclaimed. “Somehow he is always to the front!” “There is a gang of robbers up the river about a mile,” said the lad, evidently speaking in great pain. “If you came down the river in a boat, you ought to be looking after her. They are bad men. The marks of their treatment of me are still in sight,” he added, smiling faintly. “They beat me because I refused to deliver my boat to them. Well, they have it now, but they had to fight for it,” he added. “Wonder we didn’t see them when we came down,” said Case, hastily getting to his feet. “For all we know, they may be already in possession of the Rambler!” “The Rambler is too nice a boat for that gang of toughs to ride in,” declared the stranger. “You see,” he continued, “that I know all about you boys. I am from Chicago myself!” Anxious as the boys were to learn more about the lad so strangely met, and to relieve his sufferings, they had other things of more importance, at least to themselves, to look after. Alex, still carrying the baby bear, was off like a shot and Case was not far behind him. The Rio Grande was but a short distance away, but there was a wall of rocks which must be passed before the river came into view. When at last the boys gained the top of the elevation and flashed their lights down upon the wind-swept stream, the Rambler was nowhere to be seen! “Just our luck!” grumbled Case. Alex, still holding the baby bear, wrinkled his nose. CHAPTER II A NEST OF PIRATES To those who have read the books of this series already published the boys of the Rambler will need no introduction. Their adventures on the Amazon, the Columbia, the Colorado, the Mississippi, the St Lawrence, the Ohio, and the Yukon will be readily recalled to mind. Coming originally from the south branch of the Chicago river, they had accumulated handsome fortunes during their journeys in quest of adventure, but they still saw the world through boys’ eyes, and were not satisfied to settle down to a humdrum life. The Rambler, as will doubtless be remembered, was a very speedy boat, fitted up with electric lights and all modern conveniences. She carried an armor of chilled steel underneath as pretty a coat of paint as was ever sent out of the port of Chicago. This trip down the Rio Grande had long been planned, and now that it was actually begun the lads were jubilant. They had been warned time and again against the uprisings for which Mexico is noted, but, boy-like, they had disregarded them. The Rambler had been shipped to Wason on the Denver & Rio Grande, and the journey was on! This town lies some distance east from Silverton, and is surrounded on the north, west and south by the mountains which form a part of the great continental divide. As Alex and Case stood now, on the bank of the Rio Grande, their hearts were very heavy. “If we only knew that Clay and Jule were safe,” Alex finally said, “we could endure the loss of the Rambler. Where do you think they have gone. Mister Teddy Bear, Junior?” he added whimsically, addressing the cub. “I’ll bet you’d tell me if you could!” But the cub nestled closer to the neck of the boy and not being in a conversational mood said nothing at all! “We may as well return to where the injured boy was left,” Case suggested in a moment. “The boys will know where to find us, at least, if we go there, which is more than can be said of any other locality. Just our rotten luck to have Captain Joe find that boy when we haven’t got a thing to give him that might add to his comfort!” “Kick!” laughed Alex. “You’d kick on a mouthful of pie! Say, how would a piece of apple pie go right about now? I’m hungry enough to eat one of those pirates, boots and all!” “You are likely to be a great deal hungrier before you come upon anything to eat in this rotten hole!” grumbled Case, setting off for the designated spot at a fast walk. Alex, however, remained behind, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the lights of the Rambler. It was very dark outside the small circle of light thrown out by the searchlight, and the wind was blowing great guns. It was as wild a night as ever blew over the Colorado hills. As if to heighten the discomfort of the time, a cold rain began to fall in great gusts, sweeping everything movable before it. Alex was soon wet to the skin. “How’s this for a storm, Mister Teddy Bear, Junior? said the boy, addressing the cub. “There’s one thing been overlooked, though,” he added, “and that’s a little thunder and lightning. There certainly ought to be a batch of thunder and lightning with a peach of a storm like this, don’t you think, Teddy?” But Teddy did not have an opportunity to express his thoughts on the subject, if he had any, for just at that instant there came a blinding flash of lightning, followed immediately by a peal of thunder which seemed to shake the solid earth. “Whew, but that was a corker!” cried the boy. “Wonder if I’m all here?” But Alex had no time to consider this last conundrum, for just at that minute the lights of the Rambler made their appearance, coming up the stream. Alex had no means of knowing, of course, whether she was manned by friend or foe, so he switched off his electric and stood on the bank waiting in the wind and rain. Directly the motor boat came to a halt at the side of a little rocky projection which extended into the stream for some distance, and the boy was no longer in doubt as to the character of the crew. A frowsy head appeared above the rail of the boat and a hoarse voice demanded: “Who’s there?” It was clear that the Rambler was in the possession of the pirates! Alex stood mute, awaiting developments. Presently the low murmur of voices was heard, seeming to come from the shore, and Alex listened eagerly, but could not distinguish the voices. At times he was almost certain that the speakers were Clay and Jule, but the wind carried their voices downstream, and he could not be certain. He listened intently, listening at the same time, too, for the sound of advancing footsteps. But the rush of the wind, the downpour of the rain effectually drowned all other sounds save at rare intervals. The frowsy head, evidently gaining courage, now spoke again. “Whoever you are, come aboard!” the voice said. There came a lull in the storm, and Alex was positive that the voices he heard were those of Clay and Jule; still he could not afford to make a mistake. So he waited. The man on the deck of the Rambler either left his position or got out of sight behind the railing, for he was no longer to be seen. For a time all was still, then a voice which appeared to come from the Rambler rang out, causing Alex to almost drop the baby bear in his excitement. He knew that voice! During the long winter evenings in Chicago Jule had made a study of ventriloquism, and had become such an adept that his voice could be heard for a long distance. Although standing within ten feet of Alex, the voice apparently came from the Rambler’s deck. “What are you doing on my boat?” the voice demanded. There was a great bustle aboard the motor boat, as if search was being made for the speaker, followed by a fluttering of wings and a hoarse, croaking voice: “What’s coming off here?” were the words spoken. “That’s Tommy!” said a voice at Alex’s side, and Clay made his appearance in the faint light thrown from the cabin windows. “Where have you been?” demanded Alex, speaking in a voice loud enough to be heard above the rush of the storm. “Thought sure you had been carried off by the robbers.” “The pirates already had possession of the boat when I reached the shore,” Jule explained, “and when Clay came we both followed on down the river in the hope that something would happen to again put us in possession. Say! Just listen to Tommy’s conversation! He thinks he is the whole works! He has a horror of being awakened suddenly.” “Tommy” was a great red and green parrot, who had evidently been sound asleep during the short trip down the river. He was making up for lost time now, however, making the boat ring with his screams. Presently a man’s form shot out of the cabin as if fired out of a gun, with the parrot astride of his shoulders! The red and green feathers of the bird shone and glistened under the electric light, the long tail trailed out behind like the tail of a comet, while the topknot was very much in evidence, standing up straight and rigid. The man thus attacked gave utterance to a string of oaths and billingsgate which would have made a fishwife green with envy. “The bloomin’ bird is clawin’ me eyes out!” he shouted, doing his best to dislodge the bird. “Take ’im off, someone!” By this time two other men were on deck, struggling with Tommy, who did not seem at all inclined to release the excellent hold which he secured in the hair of the robber. At last, however, he was dislodged, and secreted himself behind a chest of drawers in the cabin. “I’ll ’ave ’is bloody life!” shouted the fellow, starting away in pursuit, but a chum blocked his entrance to the cabin. “Have it out with the bird some other time,” he advised, with a broad smile. “Just now we have other fish to fry. We came back to get a kid what can operate this boat. There’s something wrong with the motors. We got it up the river as far as this, and that’s about all, consarn the luck!” “Try him again with your Peter Pratt,” advised Clay, having reference to the boy’s trick of throwing his voice. Whenever this faculty was referred to by any of the lads it was invariably known as “Peter Pratt.” “Let’s see what Peter Pratt can do for us in the way of getting possession of the Rambler.” Jule threw his voice across the rushing, water again, but no attention whatever was paid to it. “That’s strange!” said Alex. “They evidently believe it to be the parrot!” said Jule. “Of course you are right,” admitted Clay. “It is a wonder we didn’t think of that before.” The robbers now appeared to be holding a consultation as to the best means of getting one of the boys on board the Rambler. The boys could not catch a word, although the Rambler lay only a few feet from the shore. The thunder and lightning were now almost continuous, and the robbers sought shelter in the cabin. “Now’s our opportunity,” exclaimed Jule. “I must be pretty dense,” said Clay. “If there’s a chance here I must have overlooked it.” “What’s the matter with the stern deck?” ventured Jule. “I’ve known kids to get on board boats in that way before now!” “Not in the face of a current like that!” replied Clay. “A boy couldn’t swim in that millrace any more than he could fly!” “You just wait a second and I’ll show you!” replied Jule. “Anybody got a rope or a strong cord?” “Alex has,” responded Clay. “I saw him put one into his pocket! Produce it, Alex!” he added, all excitement at the prospect of getting the best of the pirates. “Who’s going to make the attempt?” Jule asked. Alex deposited the baby bear in Clay’s arms. “Here,” he said, “you take charge of Teddy, Jr., and I’ll do the trick myself. You fellows couldn’t make the riffle in a thousand years! This is a man’s job!” As Alex had kept the cub in a measure protected from the storm by his coat, and as the cub had remained perfectly quiet during this conversation, Clay was greatly surprised at being presented with a baby bear. He made a quick examination of his charge and then burst into a hearty laugh. Alex proceeded to unwind his fish line as if the presentation of a cub was the most natural thing in the world. Jule stepped to Clay’s side and gravely shook hands with the bear after locating him in the darkness. “Where did you get the cub?” he asked. “Oh, I presume he picked it off a bush!” Clay cut in. “Alex has an affinity for bears.” “He’s making too much noise,” Jule asserted, as the cub set up a wail which might have been heard on the Rambler. “Better let me take that line, Alex, while you teach your baby manners.” “Mind the nerve of him! Talking about a man’s job!” laughed Clay. “If I had his good opinion of himself, I’d walk on the water out to the Rambler.” “Yes, you would!” commented Alex, throwing off his outer garments preparatory to entering the river. “If you don’t take good care of that cub, I’ll set him on you when you come aboard.” The boys now carried the fish line up the stream a short distance and Alex entered the water. In order to gain the stem deck it would be necessary to follow the motions of the swimmer until the stem was reached and then release the line, trusting to the dexterity of the boy in the water to make connection with the hull of the boat. “Now, boys!” cried Alex, and the next he was feeling the draw of the current. The moment the lad was in the water the bulldog sprang in after him. Jule tried in vain to coax him to return to the shore, but Captain Joe was obstinate and paid no attention to the entreaties and threats of the boy. The dog soon was abreast of the boy, swimming with his head well down in the water. In the meantime Jule was having about all he could do following Alex with his eyes, for the light from the cabin windows was uncertain and the great prow light had been extinguished. “It’s a wonder that Tommy keeps so quiet,” said Clay, holding to the bear cub with one hand and pulling at the line with the other. “He is usually very much in evidence if awakened in the night.” “Here’s hoping he has the good sense to remain quiet until Alex is on board,” added Jule. “The parrot may have been killed, for all we know! If he has, there’ll be doings when we get aboard!” By this time the lights of the cabin were about opposite, and the boys on shore slackened their pace in order to give Alex an opportunity to gain the stem deck, which was, of course, downstream. They saw very dimly indeed, for the rain was now falling in great sheets, obscuring the light from the cabin windows, and making the stem deck very slippery. “Can you see where he is?” asked Clay. “I can see that the line has slackened, and that is about all,” replied the boy. “I wonder where Captain Joe is?” Jule added, tossing the fish line to one side. “He ought to be getting into action pretty soon. There he is now!” The voice of the dog came faintly through the storm, and the screaming of the parrot added to the din. “I’d give a hundred dollars to know exactly how things stand!” shouted Clay, dancing up and down in the excitement of the moment. “That was a fool venture of Alex’s,” was Jule’s comment. CHAPTER III ALEX TAKES A LONG CHANCE Case sat for a long time at the side of the injured boy, doing what he could to relieve his suffering, but there was little he could do in the absence of a surgeon. The boy was in great pain and conversed only at long intervals. “I presume the robbers have taken possession of the Rambler,” said Case, crouching low to escape as much of the storm as possible, “and they may have carried Jule and Clay off with her, but I don’t see what is keeping Alex. He should have been here a long time ago.” “They may have taken him, too,” said the sufferer. “In that case we may stay here until we starve to death. If I could only walk, I’d soon get out of this!” “What’s your name, and how is it that you come to be here on the Great Divide?” Case asked abruptly. “You’re a beauty, I must say!” he added with a grin. “My name is Paul Stegman, and I’m from Chicago, as I told you before,” the boy explained. “I came up here in quest of adventure, and reckon I’m getting enough of it. If I ever get back to civilization you just bet your bottom dollar I’ll stay there!” “Cheer up!” said Case, “the worst is yet to come!” “I fail to see how it could be much worse,” said Paul. “My boat is gone and, unless we can connect with the one you have, there are mountains to climb before we get out of here.” “It does look pretty dark,” Case admitted, “but we’ll find a way out. Suppose I go down to the river and see what’s keeping Alex? The pirates haven’t captured him, I hope!” “It’s pretty dark. And pretty wet, too,” replied Paul, loath to lose Case’s companionship for even a minute. “Perhaps he will come back after he has failed to discover the boys.” Case had his doubts about Alex returning as long as there was any prospect of finding either the boys or the Rambler, but he kept his thoughts to himself. It was very dark when the searchlight was for a moment turned aside, and rain was falling in torrents. The wind, too, was racing over the narrow point of land as if sent for by the Evil One. It was a wild night for early May, and Case, sitting dejectedly at the side of Paul Stegman, could feel the rain trickling down the back of his neck in streams. It was cold too, and the teeth of both boys rattled like castanets. “No use trying to build a fire,” Case grumbled, “for what little wood there is in sight is soaking wet. I guess the Rambler made one trip too many!” There was silence for a minute and then a footfall was heard on the rocky ridge which ran through the center of the peninsula. “Alex at last!” shouted Case, springing to his feet. “Come forward, give an account of yourself! Did you find any trace of the boys or the boat?” But the man who appeared a moment later was not Alex. He stood for a second looking down on the boys and started to join them, swinging a pocket dark-lantern as he advanced. But Case was shy of strangers and ordered the fellow back, at the same time switching off his searchlight. “Oh, all right!” replied the stranger. “I thought you might be in some sort o’ trouble and might need help.” “We are in trouble, and do need help,” Case answered, “but we mean to make sure first that you are just what you pretend to be.” “I hain’t purtended to anything yet,” was the reply. “If you want my pedigree, I reckon you’ll have to want. I came down here lookin’ for a brindle steer what strayed away from the herd an’ saw your light, likewise the light from that boat anchored out there in the river. But, still, if you don’t want me to butt in, I’ll be joggin’ along.” “Wait a minute,” Case exclaimed, starting to climb the ridge, “do you say there’s a boat out there in the river?” “Come up here and see for yourself; seein’ is believin’, as the cat said to the mouse.” Case clambered to the top of the ridge and looked out upon the river. There were the dim lights of the Rambler, but the rest of the scene could not be discerned. “The boat’s there, all right!” the boy said jubilantly, hopping up and down in his excitement. “The boys will soon be here now.” Case looked into the stranger’s face with a question on his lips—a question he might or might not answer. “You didn’t come to this rocky place in quest of any brindle steer,” the boy ventured. “Will you tell me what you did come for?” “Perhaps I’ll do it if you’ll tell me what I want to know,” was the reply, “and that is this: What were you doing with that wounded boy in that nest of rocks?” “You know the lad is wounded, then?” “I don’t suppose you could hear much in this storm, but I’ve walked twice around the spot where you sat,” was the reply. “Well, you didn’t hear anything of any account,” was Case’s reply. “Up to two hours ago I didn’t know there was such a kid living. According to his story, he was set upon by robbers a short distance up the river and beaten up proper.” “So!” said the other. “We, my three chums and myself, were lying up the river, anchored, when Captain Joe—that’s the bulldog—leaped into the river and brought him out, more dead than alive. The dog is on the Rambler now. We boys wouldn’t part with Captain Joe for his weight in gold.” The man looked thoughtfully into the boy’s eyes. “I guess,” he began, but was interrupted by voices coming from the Rambler. The wind was now blowing a fierce gale and the words were indistinguishable, but words were not needed. The prow lights flared up, lighting the deck of the boat as thoroughly as it was possible to do it in the dead of the night. At the same instant the watchers caught sight of a man leaping over the railing of the boat. “There goes one of the pirates!” shouted Case. “I wonder how many of them there are?” “Perhaps he thinks it’s just as dry in the river as it is on board the boat,” the other said with a chuckle, “and I for one think he’s about right. Here comes another.” When three had taken to the water there came a lull in the procession of jumpers and Case observed: “Now we’ll soon be tucked up in our little beds, that is as soon as we get Paul cared for.” “Suppose the robbers return?” the stranger suggested. “They’ll have to be pretty swift in their movements if they connect with the Rambler,” Case answered. “We’ve got a boat that can go some, and then some more!” The two then descended the ridge and were soon standing where Paul had been left. The boy was still in great pain from his broken leg. “This boy shouldn’t lie here in the storm,” said the stranger. “He’ll take the newmonnie.” “He’ll not remain here long now,” replied Case, with a smile at the man’s pronunciation of “pneumonia,” “for we’ll get him to the Rambler in short order. We must get him to a surgeon.” “I thought you’d never come,” groaned Paul. “It’s all right now,” Case assured the boy. “Wait until the boys come with the stretcher, and we’ll have you where you can receive the care of a doctor in three jerks of a lamb’s tail.” Clay soon appeared with the stretcher and the injured lad was carefully placed upon it. Then Clay turned to Case with a smile. “Why don’t you introduce me?” he asked. Case hesitated and the stranger came forward. “I reckon we don’t either one know what to call the other,” he said with a smile. “I’m Rube Stagg.” “Glad to know you, Mr. Stagg,” said Clay with a laugh at the odd appearance of the man. He was at least six feet four inches tall, lean to emaciation, with enormous hands and feet, and just about the reddest and longest head of hair that the lads had ever seen. It came far down on his shoulders and was so tossed about by the wind that it appeared to be in one great snarl. His eyes were blue and bright, his nose blunt stub, and his head was adorned with a pair of enormous ears. His dress was of the sort usually worn by ranchmen. “I’ve got a ranch over here a short distance,” explained Mr. Stagg, “and you are quite welcome to use it if you feel so disposed. That boy has been exposed to the storm too long already.” “We’ll have him under shelter directly,” was Case’s reply, “but we’re a thousand times obliged to you, all the same.” “Well,” Stagg replied, “if you won’t use my shack, perhaps you won’t object to my carrying one end of the stretcher.” “You are all right, Mr. Stagg,” said Clay, heartily. “We are a little short-handed on account of leaving two boys at the boat.” “What was the ruction at the boat?” Case asked. Clay burst into a ringing laugh. “That was the funniest thing I ever saw!” he said as they set the stretcher down for a rest. “Alex, the little monkey, sneaked on board the Rambler when an especially hard shower came on, accompanied by thunder and lightning. Captain Joe was with him, as usual, and when they came to the window which looks out on the stern deck the parrot joined the combination.” “Great combination, that!” laughed Case. “A boy full of mischief, a bulldog full of bites, and a parrot full of the old Nick! What happened then? Did the pirates take to the river as soon as they saw what they were up against?” “No, they attempted to put up a fight,” replied Clay, “and what followed was a jumble of legs, arms, parrot and bulldog. The parrot screamed and the dog got in his work on the shins of the outlaws, who had laid their weapons aside in order to dry their clothing and couldn’t get them without coming in contact with the dog.” “Must have been very funny,” said Case. “I should have enjoyed seeing it.” “I imagine the bandits thought the devil was after them for sure. How that parrot did scream! The racket might have been heard a mile away only for the wind and rain. How it did rain! And thunder and lightning! Say but it was fierce!” “And where was the baby bear all this time?” Case asked. “Of course you knew that Alex adopted another bear?” “Yes, I’m wise to the fact,” answered Clay. “Well, the cub was asleep under my coat until the fireworks started, then he took a hand in the game. It certainly was comical to see that little runt trying to eat a full-sized robber.” The boys now continued their progress to the Rambler, and soon saw the cabin lights shining through the rain. As the lads neared the boat the great prow light was switched on, making everything as light as day. The rain was still falling in torrents, and the wind was blowing a hurricane. In fact, the boys were obliged to stand pretty close together in order to make themselves heard at all. “It’s a wonder the boys didn’t think of that prow light before,” was Case’s comment as they laid the stretcher down on the shore. “It was out of kilter when I left the boat,” said Clay. “What is bothering me now is how to get this boy on board the boat. I don’t think we can get the boat any nearer to the land.” “We must manage it, in some way, before long, for the lad has been exposed to the storm for a long time.” “Why, of course we can get him over to the Rambler,” cut in Case. “You have only to lift the stretcher into the rowboat, then lift it out again when we reach the Rambler!” “Never thought of that!” laughed Clay. “Two heads are better than one, if one is a bit thick!” “Anything to get me out of this storm!” groaned Paul. “I don’t think I shall ever be warm again.” While the boys were getting Paul on board the Rambler Stagg appeared to be very busy about the boy’s head. More than once he bent over the lad, as if trying to recognize him, but the boy was too badly beaten up for that. At last he seemed to give it up, but there was still a look of inquiry in his eyes, and Clay referred to it. “He acts to me like he was looking for a friend,” he said. “He does act rather strangely,” was Case’s comment. “Still, he may be one of the curious kind.” No more was said on the subject at that time, though Clay often wondered if there could be any connection between the two, and also if Mr. Stagg was exactly what he seemed. |