“Who was on board?” questioned Dick, as his brother came down.
“I couldn’t make out.”
“Which is the way to the spot where we tied up?” asked the young Southerner, impatiently. “We must investigate this without delay.”
“Over that way,” answered Tom, pointing the direction out with his hand. “Come, I think I saw a good way to go.”
Then all of the party struck out to reach the landing-place without delay. They felt that something unusual had occurred, but what, they could not surmise.
CHAPTER IX
TWO YOUNG PRISONERS
Left to themselves. Fred Garrison and Songbird Powell hardly knew what to do to pass away the time. With all of the others away the spot where the gasoline launch had been tied up appeared to be unusually lonely.
“I can tell you what, I shouldn’t care to be caught all alone at night in such a spot as this,” said Fred, with something of a shiver. “It is about as dismal as any place I’ve seen.”
“Right you are,” murmured Songbird and then continued:
“The lonely waters washed the lonely shore,
Where they had washed full many a moon before,
I listened pensively—not a sound
Was there to break the tomblike silence all round!”
“Great mackerel, Songbird!” cried Fred. “Don’t go on like that. It’s enough to give a fellow the creeps!” But the would-be poet only continued:
“I listened for a single bird, But not a note my ear there heard, I looked up in the calm, clear sky—”
“And nervous enough was I to fly!” finished Fred, and went on: “Songbird, if you’ve got to make up poetry give us something cheerful. Can’t you make up something about—er—about circus clowns, or apple pie, or—er—”
“Circus clowns or apple pie!” snorted the would-be poet, in deep disgust. “Well, you are the limit, Fred Garrison. No, I can’t make up poetry about circus pie or apple clo—I mean apple clowns or circus, pshaw, you know what I mean—”
“I didn’t mention mixed pickles,” observed Fred, demurely. “But if you can mix—What’s that?”
He stopped short and straightened up on the launch seat, and so did Songbird. Both had heard voices at a distance.
“They must be coming back,” said Songbird. “It didn’t take them long.”
They listened, and set up a call, but no answer came back. Then they looked around searchingly.
“That’s funny,” murmured Fred.
“I don’t think it’s funny,” was the low answer. “Something is wrong.”
“Help! My foot is caught!” came presently, in a muffled voice. “Hello, the launch! Help me somebody, quick!”
“Who is that calling?” asked Songbird.
“Somebody of our crowd and in trouble,” answered Fred, and leaped ashore with Songbird at his heels.
The call had come from a thicket about a hundred feet away, and in that direction dashed the two unsuspecting youths, never dreaming of the plan laid to trap them. As they ran into the thicket four persons came behind them, and in a trice each was thrown violently forward on the ground and held there.
“Wha—what does this mean?” gasped Fred, as soon as he could get his breath.
“It means that you are prisoners,” came in the voice of Gasper Pold. “Keep quiet now, it will be best for you.”
“Blindfold ’em and be quick about it,” came in a low tone from one of the others of the party.
“Dan Baxter!” exclaimed Songbird, recognizing that voice. “Is it possible! I thought you died in the swamp!”
“Hang the luck!” muttered the former bully of Putnam Hall. “I didn’t want them to know I was here.”
By this time the two boys had had their hands tied behind them. Then they were allowed to rise.
“Don’t you make a noise, if you value your lives,” came from another of the men, and to their surprise they saw that it was Sack Todd, one of the head counterfeiters of Red Rock ranch and the only man who had escaped from the authorities at the time the noted gang was rounded up. How slick an individual this chap was those who have read “The Rover Boys on the Plains” already know.
The boys now saw that the fourth person who had attacked them and made them prisoners was the carpenter Solly Jackson. The fellow took small part in the proceedings and was apparently under the thumb of Gasper Pold.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?” asked Songbird.
“You’ll find out quick enough,” answered Dan Baxter, with a chuckle. “So you thought I perished in the swamp, eh? Ha! ha! I thought I’d fool you!”
“Did you get away with Sack Todd?” asked Fred.
“Not exactly—but we soon met—after that fight was over—and here we are, to fix you for interfering with our business,” went on the big bully.
“Look here, Baxter, we can’t stop to talk now,” broke in Gasper Pold. “Those other fellows will be back soon. We’ve got to make the best possible use of our time.”
“Tie ’em to the trees,” said Sack Todd. “Quick now, and then we’ll be off. You say you can run the launch?” he asked, turning to the former bully of Putnam Hall.
“Sure I can—used to do that sort of thing at home, years ago,” replied Dan Baxter.
Without ceremony Fred and Songbird were tied fast to two trees near by, the ropes being passed from their wrists directly around each tree. Then the men and Baxter departed, taking with them several heavy bundles which they had been carrying.
“That stuff they have must be from the houseboat,” said Fred, when he and Songbird were left alone in the forest. “They are going to run off with it on the launch!”
“I reckon you are right.” Songbird gave a groan. “Gosh! they tied my wrists together so tightly the blood won’t circulate!”
“They are first-class rascals, and Dan Baxter is as bad as any of them,” was the answer. “Isn’t it strange that he should escape from that swamp, and after losing his horse, too!”
After that the two prisoners listened intently and soon heard the putt-putt of the gasoline launch, as the power was turned on. Gradually the sound grew fainter and fainter.
“They are off!” sighed Fred. “Perhaps now we’ll never see the launch again!”
“This will make Harold Bird angry, Fred. First his pet dog and now his new launch. He’ll want to land those rascals in jail just as much as we do.”
Half an hour went by—the young prisoners thought it must be four times that long,—and still nobody came near them. Each tried to free himself from his bonds, but without avail. Fred cut one wrist and Songbird scraped off the skin and that was all.
“It’s no use,” sighed the would-be poet. “We’ll have to stay here till the others get back.”
“What fools we were to be deceived into thinking one of our party was in trouble! I thought that cry for help didn’t seem just right. We walked right into the trap.”
“I was afraid—My gracious me! Look!”
At this exclamation both boys looked into the forest they were facing and there they saw a sight that almost made the blood freeze in their veins. Crouching down between some bushes was a bob cat larger than either of those that had been killed the night before.
“Oh!” cried Songbird. “Scat!”
At the cry the bob cat turned and disappeared into the bushes like a flash. But then they heard it leap into a tree, and the rustling of the branches told them only too plainly that it was approaching closer and closer.
“This is—is awful!” groaned Fred. “It will surely pounce down and tear us to pieces. Help! help, somebody! Help!”
Songbird joined in the cry and the forest rang loudly with the sounds of their voices. Then they stopped to get their breath.
“I see him—he is almost over our heads!” gasped Songbi
rd. “Help! Help!” he yelled, at the top of his lungs.
“What’s the trouble?” came from close at hand, and Dick Rover burst into view, with Tom and Sam at his heels and each with his revolver drawn. Not far behind were Hans and Harold Bird.
“A bob cat! Look out for him!” cried Fred.
“Protect us!” put in Songbird. “We are helpless!”
“See, they are tied to the trees!” exclaimed Tom. “What does this mean?”
“I see the bob cat!” said Sam Rover, and without ado fired up into the tree. Down came the beast, spitting viciously and clawing the air, to fall at Tom’s feet. Bang! went Tom’s pistol and then all of the others fired, and almost as quick as I can tell it the beast lay dead where it had fallen. Then the boys looked around for other bob cats, but none showed themselves.
“Oh, how thankful I am that you came,” said Fred, as he was being released.
“And you didn’t arrive a minute too soon either,” said Songbird. “That bob cat was getting ready to spring on us! It was a narrow escape!”
“Who made you prisoners?” asked Dick. “But I suppose it was that Gasper Pold and his tools.”
“Yes, and who do you think his tools are?” answered Fred.—“Solly Jackson, Sack Todd—”
“Sack Todd!” exclaimed Sam.
“Yes, and Dan Baxter.”
“Baxter!” came from the others.
“The young rascal you told me about?” said Harold Bird.
“Exactly, and all of them have run away with your launch,” put in Songbird. “They went quite a while ago.”
“I was afraid of it,” answered the young Southerner. “Of course they must have steered for Lake Sico.”
“Yes, and as they have had a good start, they must be a long way off by now,” added Tom.
CHAPTER X
THE CHASE ON THE RIVER
The whole party walked down to where the launch had been tied up, and Fred and Songbird told their story and then heard of what had happened to the houseboat.
“What rascals!” murmured Fred. “We must do our level best to catch them.”
“I am going to catch them, if I have to follow them a thousand miles!” exclaimed Harold Bird, impulsively.
“That’s the talk!” came from Dick. “We are bound to catch them sooner or later, if we stick to the chase.”
Yet, though he spoke so hopefully, the outlook just then was dismal enough. The gasoline launch had a good start, and they had nothing at hand with which to follow the craft and those on board.
“I’d hate to see the launch wrecked,” said Tom. “But I’d like to see those fellows blow themselves up!”
“Well, in that case I could almost stand the loss of the boat,” answered the young Southerner, with a faint smile.
They sat down and talked the matter over for quarter of an hour, Fred and Songbird in the meantime bathing their wrists and having them bound up with handkerchiefs. Not only was the launch gone, but their food also.
“I saw a few things left on the Dora,” said Dick; “canned stuff and like that, which they forgot to take or ruin. That will give us something to eat.”
“We might find a trail out of the swamp to some plantation,” suggested Harold Bird, “but that would take time, and I think we ought to be following the launch.”
“How?” asked Fred.
“Ve can’t schwim,” put in Hans.
“Go back for the houseboat and follow them in that. It will be slow, but it will likewise be sure.”
“We’ll do it,” answered Dick.
This time all set out for the houseboat. They followed the first trail that had been taken and, remembering the bad spots, covered the distance without serious mishap. By this time all were hungry, and while Hans and Fred set to work to make a fire in the cook stove and prepare the best meal possible under the circumstances, the others turned the houseboat down the inlet and out into the small lake. It was hard work poling the big craft along, but once in the little lake they were delighted to find that the current was fairly strong towards the big lake and the Mississippi. They used both poles and sweeps and worked like Trojans.
“Dinner is ready!” called Fred at last, and one after another took a seat and ate the canned corn, tomatoes, and salmon which had been made ready. They also had a few crackers and a pot of rather weak coffee, but they were sincerely thankful that matters were not worse.
“The worst of it is, we are not the only sufferers,” said Dick to Harold Bird. “The ladies and the girls who have been traveling with us have lost all their valuables—that is, such things as happened to be left on the Dora. Just what is missing they will have to tell us.”
“Well, as I said before, I shall do all in my power to bring them to justice. I should think you’d be more than anxious to have this Dan Baxter locked up.”
“Yes.”
“You say he has been your enemy for years?”
“Yes. When my brothers and I started to go to a boarding school called Putnam Hall, in New York State, we ran across this Baxter. He was annoying Miss Stanhope and her two cousins, Grace and Nellie. We had a row then and there, and ever since that time he has been our bitter enemy and has tried, in a thousand ways, to make trouble for us. Not only that, but his father was a bitter enemy of my father and was locked up. But strange to say, Arnold Baxter has reformed, while Dan seems to go from bad to worse.”
“Then you don’t think Dan will reform?”
“Hardly. If he does, it will be the surprise of my life,” answered the eldest Rover.
The meal, slim as it was, put all on board the houseboat in better humor, and as he washed the dishes Hans hummed a little German ditty to himself. Soon the small lake was left behind, and they found themselves skirting the upper shore of Lake Sico. Nothing was in sight on the broad bosom of this body of water.
“Can the launch be in hiding in some cove?” asked Sam. “We don’t want any more tricks played on us.”
“It is possible,” answered Harold Bird. “Still I think our wisest course will be to get to the river as soon as possible. If the launch has passed out we may find somebody who has seen her.”
All worked with vigor, and by nightfall they gained the bayou leading to the mighty river beyond. As they came out they saw a lumber barge tied up not far away.
“Ahoy there!” shouted Dick, using his hands for a speaking trumpet.
“Ahoy!” came the answering shout, from a man on the barge.
“Have you seen anything of a gasoline launch around here?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Coming from the bayou?”
“Yes.”
“Which way did she head?”
“Down the river.”
“Are you sure of that, Dillard?” called out Harold Bird.
“Hullo, Mr. Bird, that you?”
“I say, are you sure the launch went down the river?”
“Positive, sir—we watched her out of sight. Was she your boat?”
“She was.”
“Stolen?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t say so! Hope you get her back.”
“Who was on board?”
“Four men, so far as we could see. We weren’t very close to her.”
“We are on the right trail!” cried Tom. “Now the question is, How can we follow her down the river?”
“On the houseboat, of course,” answered his elder brother. “If we stop to do anything else we’ll lose too much time.”
“But that launch can run away from us.”
“Perhaps, but you must remember that they’ll have to be cautious, because the craft is strange to them. They won’t dare to run full speed for fear of blowing up or of striking a snag.”
“I vish da struck a hundred of dem snags alretty!” cried Hans.
“Then again, they may tie up as soon as they think they can leave the river with safety. I think we can follow in the houseboat as well as in anything.”
“Yes, let us stick to the houseboat,” came from the young Southerner. “But wait, pole her over to the barge. Perhaps we can buy some food.”
“Yes, let us get food by all means,” added Sam.
They were soon beside the lumber barge, which had a comfortable cabin and sleeping quarters. As Harold Bird knew the owner well, there was little difficulty in obtaining provisions and at a reasonable price. Then off those on the Dora pushed, and soon the current of the broad Mississippi carried them out of sight down the stream.
“We must keep a good lookout,” said Dick, as night came on. “We don’t want to miss them in the dark.”
“And we don’t want to run into anything either,” added Sam.
“Dis ain’t kvite der life on der oceans vaves vot I like,” observed Hans. “I dink me after all a sail ship oder a steamer been besser, hey?”
“Yes, a sailboat or a steamer would be better just now,” answered Tom. “But we have got to put up with what we happen to have, as the dog said who got lockjaw from swallowing a bunch of keys.”
“Did dot dog git dot lockjaw from dem keys?” asked Hans, innocently.
“Sure he did, Hans. You see, they didn’t fit the lock to his stomach, so he couldn’t digest them.”
“Poor dog, vot vos his name?”
“Why, his name was—er—Picker,—but he couldn’t pick the lock, so he died.”
“Is he teat yet?”
“Is he dead—Say, Hans, what do you mean?”
“Oh, it ton’t madder,” answered the German boy, and walked away, leaving Tom wondering if the joke had been turned on him or not.
On and on swept the houseboat over the broad bosom of the Mississippi. Fortunately for our friends, it proved a clear night, with countless stars bespangling the heavens.—They had managed to find two lanterns fit for use and each was lit and placed in position. Most of the boys remained on the forward deck, watching anxiously. Dick was at the rudder, steering as Harold Bird directed.
It was not long before something dark loomed up along shore and they knew they had struck one of the numerous levees, or artificial banks, along the Mississippi, put there to prevent the country from being inundated during the freshets. The levee was very high and looked strong enough to withstand almost any pressure that could be brought to bear against it.
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