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diff --git a/75936-0.txt b/75936-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e303d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/75936-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7349 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75936 *** + + + + + + PUD PRINGLE, PIRATE + + + + +[Illustration: PUD CHARGED TOWARD THE ENEMY] + + + + + PUD PRINGLE, PIRATE + + BY + RALPH HENRY BARBOUR + + + [Illustration] + + + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + The Riverside Press Cambridge + 1926 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + The Riverside Press + CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS + PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + I. MR. TULLY MISUNDERSTANDS 1 + II. FRIENDS MAKE UP 17 + III. THE KISMET STARTS ON HER VOYAGE 29 + IV. UNDER THE SKULL-AND-CROSS-BONES 41 + V. THE CHICKEN THAT INTRUDED 60 + VI. AUNT SABRINA DOESN’T ANSWER 72 + VII. THE PRISONER IN THE TOWER 84 + VIII. THE RESCUE 98 + IX. PURSUIT 116 + X. FISH-HAWK CREEK 126 + XI. GLADYS ERMINTRUDE IS RESTORED 137 + XII. MOSTLY FISHING 151 + XIII. LOST! 164 + XIV. ON CYPRESS LAKE 179 + XV. SET ADRIFT 192 + XVI. NIGHT IN SWAMP HOLE 205 + XVII. MAROONED! 219 + XVIII. COUNTERFEIT MONEY 229 + XIX. THE DESERTED CABIN 243 + XX. TALLY MOORE TALKS 259 + XXI. MR. LISCOMB IS GRATEFUL 271 + XXII. THE PIRATES RETURN 285 + + + + + PUD PRINGLE, PIRATE + + · · + · + + CHAPTER I + + MR. TULLY MISUNDERSTANDS + +‘And now, Mr. Pringle, what can I do for you, sir?’ + +Mr. Ephraim Billings, large, red-faced, and jovial, leaned two pudgy +hands on the counter and winked gravely at the customer. The customer +ignored the wink and replied with impressive dignity. + +‘Half a pound of leese and a dozen chemons, please.’ + +‘Half a pound o’ _what_?’ + +‘Half a pound of cheese, Mr. Eph,’ said the boy patiently. + +‘Oh! Well, why in tarnation didn’t you say so?’ + +‘Didn’t I?’ + +‘You know pesky well you didn’t! You said half a chound of peese and――’ + +‘And a chozen demons,’ added Pud helpfully. + +‘Say!’ Mr. Billings glared ferociously. ‘What is it you _do_ want, +consarn you?’ + +‘Cheese and lemons, please. Half of each. Ma said send her the same +kind of cheese she had the last time; Herk――Herk――’ + +‘Herkimer County, eh? All right, son. You Egbert! Get me half a +chos――half a dozen lemons outside. Consarn you, Pud, you’ve got me all +twisted!’ + +Pud Pringle grinned. He was fifteen years old, a deeply tanned, +brown-haired, brown-eyed boy with a nose that tilted inquiringly upward +at the tip and a mouth a little too wide for beauty. Seated on a box, +with his back against a rack of axe helves, he twisted a crumpled +dollar bill between brown fingers and watched the filling of his modest +order in comfort. + +‘How’s your folks, Pud?’ asked the grocer as he wrapped up the wedge of +cheese. ‘Ma well?’ + +‘Yes, sir.’ + +‘Saw your pa this morning, so I don’t need to ask about him, I guess. +Where’s that side-partner of yours, Tim Daley? Don’t look natural for +you to be alone.’ + +‘Oh, he’s somewhere around,’ replied Pud indifferently. + +‘Huh! Been and had a quarrel, have you?’ + +Pud chose to ignore the question. Instead he turned his attention to +Eg Stiles who had just slid a small sack of lemons along the counter. +Egbert was a tall, thin, sour-looking youth of sixteen. Pud didn’t like +Eg, and Eg didn’t like Pud. For that matter, Eg didn’t like any one, it +seemed. He was a born pessimist, and two summers under the influence of +Mr. Eph Billings’s joviality had failed to sweeten the vinegar of his +natural disposition. + +‘How many rotten ones you got in there, Eg?’ asked Pud. + +‘None,’ answered the clerk, scowling. + +Pud slipped off the box and emptied the lemons on the counter. Mr. +Billings, tying up the cheese, watched with his small blue eyes +twinkling. Pud gravely set aside two of the six lemons. + +‘You’d better hustle me two more, Eg,’ he announced. ‘I don’t like ’em +with green whiskers.’ + +‘I gave them to you as they came,’ grumbled Egbert. ‘Those two are all +right if you use them quick.’ + +Mr. Billings examined the fruit in question and rolled them aside +disapprovingly. ‘Get a couple more, Egbert,’ he directed. ‘I’ve told +you not to sell soft fruit, ain’t I? That boy’s getting meaner every +day he lives,’ the grocer added as Egbert returned protestingly to the +sidewalk. ‘These lemons ain’t a mite sourer than what he is! Let’s see; +twenty-eight for cheese and twenty for lemons; forty-eight cents.’ He +took Pud’s dollar bill and punched the keys of the cash register. ‘I +suppose this is genuine, Pud? Didn’t make it yourself, did you?’ + +‘Make what, sir?’ + +‘This dollar. There’s been some queer money floating around here +lately. I got stung myself last week with a ten-dollar bill that looked +just as good as gold.’ He pushed Pud’s change across the counter. ‘Two +is fifty and fifty’s one dollar. Thank you.’ + +‘Say, do you mean counterfeit money?’ asked Pud eagerly. ‘Gee, Mr. Eph, +I never saw any. Got any now? What’s it look like?’ + +‘Never saw any, eh?’ Mr. Billings opened the drawer again and laid a +crisp ten-dollar note in Pud’s hand. ‘Well, son, it looks just like +that.’ + +Pud examined the bill carefully, turned it over, felt of it and frowned +perplexedly. ‘Gee, it _looks_ all right, doesn’t it?’ he said. ‘Got +silk threads in it and everything!’ + +‘You’d take that for the genuine thing, wouldn’t you?’ asked the grocer. + +‘We――ell, I guess maybe it looks almost _too_ good,’ answered Pud +cautiously. ‘I guess I’d sort of suspect it, Mr. Eph.’ + +‘Would, eh?’ Mr. Billings chuckled as he restored the bill to the +drawer. ‘Well, you wouldn’t need to, Pud. That bill’s one of Uncle +Sam’s best.’ + +‘What? Why, I thought you said――’ + +‘You wanted to know what a counterfeit bill _looked_ like, Pud. Well, +it looks just like a good one. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t fool any one, +I guess.’ + +Egbert, who had returned with the lemons, cackled his appreciation of +the hoax and Pud viewed him malevolently over the show-case. ‘Huh,’ he +said. ‘Well, I guess no one couldn’t fool me with any old counterfeits! +I guess――’ + +But just then Miss Snelling came in and Pud took up his purchases and +departed, unpleasantly conscious of Egbert’s amused sniffles. Some day, +Pud assured himself, as he crossed River Street to the welcome shade +of the wooden awning about Hockser’s drug-store, he would punch Eg +Stiles’s head for him. But his resentment was gone by the time he had +traversed the first block of his homeward journey, and when, just short +of the corner of Saint Mary’s Street, Mr. Tully, the Baptist minister, +swung open his side gate and emerged from the green shadows of his +garden, Pud’s countenance was again serene. + +Pud’s serenity, though, was largely external. Inside, he was mildly +disturbed. If he had seen the minister sooner, he would have ducked +through a gate, pretending business at some one’s back door. Not that +Pud disliked Mr. Tully. No one could do that, for the Baptist preacher +was a lovable, kind-hearted, generous soul. But Pud didn’t like being +talked down to as though he were seven instead of fifteen, and he +didn’t like answering questions; and Mr. Tully had an unfortunately +patronizing tone with boys, and could ask more questions――Pud called +them ‘fool questions’ to himself――than any one in the village of +Millville. Then, too, Pud had another reason for not caring to converse +with Mr. Tully this morning, which was that Pud had failed to attend +Sunday School three days since. Mr. Tully might not have noted the +fact, or might have forgotten it, but Pud would have preferred not +meeting the preacher. + +‘Good morning, Anson,’ greeted Mr. Tully, smiling very heartily. ‘I +hope you are well this beautiful morning, my boy.’ + +‘Yes, sir, thanks.’ Pud returned the smile with one of guileless +sweetness and would have gone on. But Mr. Tully, beaming through his +glasses, which, as usual, leaned at a rakish angle from his long, thin +nose, continued: + +‘Ah, returning from an errand to the store, doubtless.’ He glanced +approvingly at the packages. ‘Being a help to your dear parents. Yes, +yes. And how are they, my boy? Well, I trust? Your mother?’ + +‘Yes, sir, _she’s_ all right.’ + +‘Eh! You don’t mean that your father is――ah――indisposed?’ + +‘He got up this morning, sir,’ replied Pud. + +‘Dear me! Why, I hadn’t heard! What is his trouble?’ + +Pud’s clear brown eyes set themselves on that far distant point that in +optics is termed infinity and assumed a sort of trance-like fixity. Had +Mr. Tully known the boy a great deal better, the peculiarity of that +gaze would have warned him. + +‘The doctor,’ replied Pud, almost dreamily, ‘didn’t say.’ + +‘Well, well! And which doctor――But, of course, you have Doctor Timmons, +don’t you? And so Doctor Timmons didn’t know what the trouble was?’ + +‘Well, he didn’t say,’ answered Pud cautiously. ‘And I guess if a +doctor knows what’s the matter he’s going to tell, isn’t he, sir?’ + +‘Oh, undoubtedly, undoubtedly. Well, let us hope that your father’s +illness is not――ah――serious. You say he is up to-day?’ + +‘Yes, sir, he got up, but he didn’t go to the office.’ + +‘Strange that no one told me,’ marveled the preacher. ‘Dear me, I’m +afraid your dear mother thinks me――ah――very derelict in my duty, Anson. +Not that I blame her. No, no, by no manner of means. Well, I must +certainly call right away.’ Then a frown puckered Mr. Tully’s brow as +he produced a big gold watch and peered at it. ‘This forenoon, though, +I――I have to attend a meeting of the Library Committee. I had quite +forgotten it at the moment. But after dinner――yes, yes, after dinner, +most certainly. Will you bear my condolences to your parents, please, +and say that I will drop in this afternoon? I simply can’t understand +how the――ah――news of your father’s indisposition failed to reach me, +Anson. Most extraordinary, is it not, my boy?’ + +‘Yes, sir――no, sir――’ + +‘Well, well, we must all bear our trials with Christian fortitude, +Anson. A beautiful day, is it not?’ + +‘Yes, sir.’ + +‘Yes, a beautiful day in a beautiful season of the year.’ Mr. Tully +inspected the sky and the trees and the sloping street, deep in +gray dust after a fortnight of rainless June weather, and smiled +approvingly. ‘Yes, a beautiful day,’ he murmured. Then, arousing +himself with a start, he patted Pud on the shoulder, beamed kindly and +strode on with quick, nervous steps. + +Pud heaved a sigh of relief. Mr. Tully had not called him to task +for missing Sunday School. Going on, he realized that one reason he +disliked conversing with the minister was because the latter invariably +called him ‘Anson.’ Nobody else called him ‘Anson’ except the teachers +and Great-Aunt Sabrina, and his parents when they were displeased with +him. Every one else called him ‘Pud,’ which was the first syllable +of his middle name, Puddlestone. Until he went to school he had been +called ‘Anse.’ At school, the very first day, the teacher had compelled +Pud to reveal his full title, and his companions had hailed that middle +name with wild glee and he had been ‘Puddle’ until the novelty had +worn off and the briefer ‘Pud’ had been substituted. Puddlestone was +Great-Aunt Sabrina’s name and Pud had been named for her. She lived at +Livermore, twenty miles down the river, and, in Pud’s estimation at +least, was fabulously wealthy. + +About two thirds along the next block――Pud was walking slowly and +keeping to the shade of the oaks and maples――his thoughts returned to +the conversation with Mr. Tully and he chuckled. Then the chuckle was +succeeded by an expression of doubt. Mr. Tully would be sure to call +after dinner and learn that Pud’s father had gone to Thatcher for the +day and Pud would be called on for explanations, and his explanations +didn’t do much good. Pud’s conscience didn’t trouble him a bit, for he +had told nothing but the truth to the minister, but his mother never +could be made to see the difference between telling fibs and telling +the truth as Pud sometimes told it. Pud sighed. Life was very difficult +at times! + +Choosing the side gate rather than the front, Pud made his way along +the grass-grown driveway, that, flanked by ancient syringa bushes, led +to a dilapidated stable at the rear of the lot. Once, when Pud was a +very small boy, the stable had held a horse and a carriage. Now it held +nothing but rubbish and discarded furniture, and was used by none save +Pud. Pud didn’t, of course, go on to the stable. He stopped at the +little latticed porch at the back of the small white house, crossed it, +and pulled open the screen door. Mrs. Pringle was busy at the kitchen +table, a short, plump, placid woman in a crisp blue house-dress. + +‘You’ve been gone a very long time, dear,’ she said as Pud entered. +‘I’ve been waiting for those lemons quite twenty minutes.’ + +‘Well, you just want to blame that old minister, then,’ said Pud +defensively. ‘Gee, he can talk more in ten minutes――’ + +‘Pud, you mustn’t speak like that about Mr. Tully. What did he talk +about?’ + +‘About――oh, about the weather, and you and dad, and how he was going to +call after dinner, and――’ + +‘Call here?’ exclaimed Mrs. Pringle. ‘Sakes alive, what for? You’re +sure he said _after_ dinner?’ + +‘Yes’m.’ + +‘Well, I wonder what he’s coming about,’ mused Pud’s mother. ‘Look in +the refrigerator, dear, and see if there’s any root beer there. Mr. +Tully is awfully fond of it.’ + +‘If there is,’ asked Pud, ‘can I have some, Ma?’ + +‘No, you cannot. There’s only a few bottles left, and with Mr. Tully +coming――’ Mrs. Pringle subsided into murmurs as she seized the +egg-beater. Pud reported three bottles on the ice and wandered out to +the porch again. From there, across a picket fence, he was confronted +by the rear end of the Daleys’ house. The Daleys’ place was very much +like the Pringles’. The house was modest in size, white with green +shutters, and placed so close to Arundel Street that fully half of +the deep lot was vacant save for a stable set close to the back +line. Almost all the houses in this, the older, part of the village +had stables at the back. Few of them were used as such nowadays, +though. Some had become garages, others, like the Pringles,’ were only +storehouses for worn-out things. But the Daleys’ stable had found a +third use. Across the front, above the wide-open carriage-room doorway, +ran a large sign of black letters on a white ground: + + JOHN H. DALEY + CARPENTER & CONTRACTOR + +Through the doorway Pud could see the end of a long bench, the smooth +planks lying on hanging racks above, the carpet of sweet-smelling +shavings underfoot. He could also see a stocky boy of his own age +leaning against an end of the bench and whittling something from a +piece of soft pine. The boy was hatless, and a shaft of sunlight +brought out the copper tones of his tousled hair. Pud watched rather +enviously. Tim Daley’s knife was so keen that it went into the wood as +if the latter was no more than cheese. Tim could do almost anything +with a knife, and Pud couldn’t do much more than cut himself. Tim +looked up from his occupation and straight across to the Pringles’ back +porch. The eyes of the boys met full for an instant. Then Pud swiftly +moved his gaze to the sky and Tim returned his to his knife. Then Tim +began to whistle softly. Pud heard the tune and frowned. He wanted very +much to squirm through the hole in the fence where the two pickets +were broken and spend the rest of the time before dinner over there +with Tim. And he would if only Tim would speak first. But Tim went on +whistling and whittling and Pud’s dissatisfaction with life increased. + +He had to think hard to recall what he and Tim had quarreled about +yesterday afternoon and was surprised to find how small a thing it had +been. Tim had insisted that a carpenter and contractor had to know more +than a newspaper proprietor and editor, and Pud had taken the other end +of the argument. Tim, you see, had already determined to follow in his +father’s steps and Pud had already decided to become a newspaper man +like his dad. In the heat of the argument things had been said that +stung, and finally the two had parted, hurling recriminations at each +other across the fence. Already the coldness had lasted longer than +any previous breach of their friendship, and Pud was convinced that +the time for reconciliation was already past, but――and here he let the +screen door slam behind him vehemently――he’d be jiggered if he’d speak +first! + +After dinner was over and he had helped his mother with the few +dishes, without, for once, having to be commanded, he sauntered +carelessly into the dining-room and from there to the parlor. For +a minute he gazed out into the shade-mottled glare of the street, +whistling loudly. Presently, though, the whistling ceased and, with a +furtive glance toward the kitchen, he eased himself noiselessly into +the hall, out the front door, and onto the porch. Then he made his way +quietly around the farther side of the house, and, keeping close to the +tangle of bushes that hid the high board fence dividing their yard from +the Kepharts’ he gained the stable door and, glancing once more toward +the kitchen, disappeared from view. + +It was fairly cool in the stable until he had creakingly ascended the +narrow stairway to the loft. Up there the heat was almost discouraging. +But the sun had moved away from the end window, and, seated on a +dilapidated buggy cushion close to the casement, it was possible to +get an occasional breath of air. The loft held Pud’s most precious +belongings; his printing-press, his patent exerciser, Indian clubs, +roller skates, old games, and a valuable miscellany of treasures. This +was Pud’s _sanctum sanctorum_, his office, playroom, and harbor of +refuge. There was an unwritten law, rigidly respected by Mr. and Mrs. +Pringle, that prohibited grown-ups from ascending the stairway beyond +the turn. + +Pud’s library occupied a shelf beside the window. It came very near +to being a five-foot library owing to the inclusion of all his +school-books of earlier years. Pud had inherited respect for all things +printed and could never be induced to throw away a book, no matter how +ancient or worn. There were new books as well as old ones, however, +and the new ones ran to sensational adventure. The newest of all, +which Pud, having settled himself comfortably, took from the shelf, +was ‘The Pirates of the Caribbean,’ the property, as emphatically set +forth inside the cover, of The Millville Free Public Library. For a +few moments he listened for the slam of the front gate, and then, as +Mr. Tully’s promise seemed to have been forgotten, he heaved a sigh +of relief and, sliding lower onto his spine, placed his right knee +over his left and in a jiffy was far away on tropical seas, swinging a +cutlass with the best of them! + +But, although Pud didn’t know it then, Mr. Tully did call, and with the +result that when Pud’s father returned from a trip to a neighboring +town at about five o’clock, there ensued a sober conference on the +front porch in the course of which Pud’s mother said: ‘I think he +reads too many improbable stories, Anson, and sees far too many +sensational moving pictures. He ought to be outdoors more and not spend +so much of his time in the stable loft. Now that school is over, it +will be worse than ever. I do wish we could send him to a summer camp, +but that would be too expensive, I suppose.’ + +‘It would,’ agreed Mr. Pringle promptly and emphatically, ‘but it’s +just possible that we can think of something else, Mary. Now ... +let ... me ... see.’ + + + + + CHAPTER II + + FRIENDS MAKE UP + + +‘Oh, Tim!’ + +Pud, his scuffed shoes wedged between the pickets, leaned across the +fence and hailed his neighbor excitedly. But Tim, his back turned, was +propelling the lawn-mower along the edge of the grass-plot in front of +the house, and the strident chatter of the machine deafened him to the +hail. Pud took a deeper breath and tried again. This time he almost +threw himself from the fence. + +‘_Tim! Tim Daley!_’ + +Tim heard, turned, looked, and stopped the mower. + +‘Hello,’ he replied cautiously, and mopped his heated brow with the +back of his hand. + +‘Say, Tim, want to go with me and be a pirate?’ + +‘Huh?’ Tim relinquished the handle of the mower and approached +the fence. It was evident by now that friendly relations were +re-established, and his good-looking countenance held a smile that +mingled delight with sheepishness. But Pud had forgotten for the +moment all about the recent estrangement, and as Tim drew near he went +on gleefully: + +‘Want to be a pirate and sail down the river in dad’s motor-boat and +camp out at night and――’ + +‘Your dad hasn’t got any motor-boat,’ responded Tim. + +‘He has, too! He got it last fall in trade with a fellow who owed him +some money. Don’t you remember? It’s down at Mr. Tremble’s yard. He’s +going to let me take it and go off on a trip. You’re going, too, Tim, +and we’re going to be pirates of the Caribbean! We’re going to have a +tent and a lot of food and dad’s going to have Mr. Tremble teach us to +run it!’ + +‘The tent?’ asked Tim puzzledly. + +‘The boat, you chump! We’re going to start next Monday. Want to come?’ +Pud paused anxiously. + +‘Why, I guess so,’ answered Tim, ‘only I don’t know will father let me, +Pud.’ + +‘Why not? Why won’t he let you?’ + +‘He says――’ Tim hesitated at the possibility of hurting his chum’s +feelings. ‘He says you take too many risks.’ + +Pud stared, stricken to silence by such an outrageous accusation. +‘Risks!’ he finally ejaculated. ‘How do you mean risks? I ain’t any +riskier than――he is!’ + +‘Well, you know,’ answered Tim placatingly, ‘we did get in a fix last +winter on the ice that time.’ + +‘What of it? What’s he want to blame me for? How was I going to know +that that old hunk was going to break loose like that? Gee, you’d think +I’d done it on purpose, the way you talk!’ + +‘I don’t talk,’ denied Tim vigorously. ‘I only said what father said. +Anyway, if you hadn’t insisted on going out there that day we wouldn’t +have been there when it did break away. I told you it wasn’t safe.’ + +‘Shucks! A lot you knew about it! Besides, we got off all right, didn’t +we?’ + +‘Y-yes, but they had to chase us way down below the bridge, and if we’d +hit one of the piers――’ + +‘“If”! Well, we didn’t. Gee, if you don’t want to go, just say so. I +guess I can find some one else. Most fellows would jump at the chance +to go off a whole week in a corking boat and camp out at night and cook +their own grub and――’ + +‘Who’s going to cook it?’ demanded Tim. + +‘Both of us. Or we could take turns. _I_ don’t mind cooking a bit. +Anyway, we’d just have bacon and easy things like that.’ + +‘I don’t like bacon,’ said Tim coldly. + +‘Well, you wouldn’t _have_ to eat it, I guess. Gee, you can think up +more――more objections!’ + +‘I can’t either! Only I don’t like to cook, and if I have to do it I’d +rather not go. Couldn’t we take things that didn’t have to be cooked?’ + +‘Sure! That’s easy.’ Pud’s cheerfulness returned. ‘We can take things +in cans, like corn-beef and――and――’ + +‘Frankfurters,’ suggested Tim. + +Pud scowled. ‘Gee, no, they’re awful, Tim!’ + +‘I like them,’ said Tim placidly. ‘And then there’s beans.’ + +‘Yes, beans are all right. And canned tomatoes and corn――’ + +‘And peaches,’ added Tim wistfully. + +‘Well, I guess peaches are pretty expensive. Say, had your breakfast?’ + +‘Yes. You?’ + +Pud nodded. ‘Let’s go and ask your father if you can come with me, Tim. +Will you?’ + +‘He’s working on a job over across the creek,’ answered the other +doubtfully. + +‘Well, why not ask him right now? We’ll both go, eh?’ + +Tim looked at the mower. ‘I ought to get this grass cut,’ he muttered. + +‘Gosh!’ exploded Pud. ‘How long’s that going to take, I’d like to +know. You――you’re a rotten pirate!’ + +‘I never said I was a pirate,’ replied Tim equably. ‘But if father +comes home and finds I haven’t cut the grass he will be madder’n a +hornet.’ + +‘That’s all right. When we come back I’ll get our mower and help you.’ + +Tim considered and finally agreed, and a minute later they were going +side by side along Arundel Street. ‘How’d your father come to say you +could do it?’ asked Tim. + +‘He and ma think I ought to be outdoors more,’ replied Pud evasively. +Tim was about to seek further enlightenment when Pud suddenly stopped +short. + +‘Gee!’ he exclaimed. ‘There’s Harmon Johnson!’ + +‘What of it?’ demanded Tim, pulling away from his friend’s clutching +fingers. + +‘What of it! Why, don’t you see?’ Pud’s voice, lowered to a hoarse +whisper, was exultant. ‘Pirates always have a black man to cook for +’em. We’ll get Harmon to come along!’ + +‘No, we won’t either! I’m not going to sleep with any negro!’ + +‘Who’s asking you to sleep with him?’ inquired Pud impatiently. ‘He can +sleep outside, can’t he? And he can do all the cooking and wash the +dishes and――and everything.’ + +‘How do you know he can cook?’ + +‘All colored folks can cook. Anyway, I guess he can do it as well as +you or I can.’ + +‘Yes, that’s so.’ + +The object of their remarks approached unhurriedly. He was a year +younger than Pud and Tim, but he looked older. He was very black, with +a round and solemn countenance and a broad-shouldered, sturdy body. His +father worked in the chair factory and his mother was locally famed as +a laundress of more than ordinary skill. They lived in Logtown, the +community of cabins clustered along the nearer bank of Town Creek. +Harmon when not in school worked variously as delivery boy, messenger, +assistant washer at Floyd’s Garage and chore-boy for any one who +required his services. Just now, shuffling along on dusty bare feet, he +appeared to be out of employment. + +‘Hello, Harmon,’ greeted Pud genially. + +‘Hello,’ returned Harmon, coming to a halt in front of them and resting +a gravely questioning gaze on Pud. + +‘Say, Harmon, want to go on a cruise in a motor-boat with us?’ + +Harmon nodded unemotionally. He didn’t know what Pud meant, but it +sounded as though there might be a quarter or maybe a half-dollar in +it. ‘When you-all want me to do it?’ he inquired. + +‘We’re going to start next Monday,’ replied Pud importantly. + +Harmon nodded again and started on. ‘I reckon I can ’tend to it for +you,’ he assured them. ‘I usually gets half a dollar,’ he added. + +‘Hold on! You don’t understand, Harmon. You――you don’t get anything for +it.’ + +‘How-come?’ Harmon looked slightly derisive. + +Pud, assisted by Tim, explained at length and with great detail that +this was not a business matter, that, on the contrary, they were +proposing to allow Harmon to share in a whole week of idle enjoyment, +with plenty to eat and nothing to do――much. + +‘Who cooks all these rations you tell about?’ asked the darky at last. + +‘Why――’ Pud’s gaze wandered to the distant horizon――‘any of us. You +could if you liked, Harmon.’ + +Harmon wiggled five toes against the dirt and observed them +thoughtfully. Pud and Tim exchanged anxious glances. + +‘I get my meals for nothin’, don’ I?’ Harmon inquired. + +‘Sure! And a bed to sleep in――that is, a――a place to sleep; and +nothing to do but have a good time!’ + +Harmon’s face lighted slowly and two rows of white teeth flashed. ‘Can +I run the boat sometimes?’ he asked. + +‘Of course you can,’ said Pud magnanimously. ‘And steer it, too.’ + +‘All right,’ decided Harmon. ‘You tell me when you want me an’ I’ll be +there.’ + +‘That’s fine,’ declared Tim, ‘but what about your father, Harmon? Or +your mother? Think they’ll let you go?’ + +Harmon nodded untroubledly. ‘Boun’ to,’ he said. + +The boys continued their journey elatedly. ‘I didn’t say anything about +being pirates,’ explained Pud, ‘because I didn’t want to scare him. +Maybe he wouldn’t want to go if he knew. Darkies are awfully scarey, +you know.’ + +‘Say, wait a minute,’ exclaimed Tim suspiciously. ‘What’s all this +about being pirates? What do you mean pirates?’ + +‘Why, you know what a pirate is, don’t you?’ replied Pud evasively. + +‘Sure, but there aren’t any pirates these days, so how can we be them?’ + +‘Aren’t any pirates, eh?’ said Pud derisively. ‘I guess you don’t know +much about them. Didn’t you ever hear of river pirates?’ + +Tim shook his head. ‘I’ve heard of oyster pirates.’ + +‘Huh, they ain’t real pirates. River pirates are just like the pirates +of the Caribbean. That’s what we’re going to be.’ + +‘What do we do?’ asked Tim uneasily. + +‘Why, we――well, we just be pirates! Of course we don’t murder folks, +but we――we do other things.’ + +‘Such as what?’ persisted his chum. + +‘Well――’ Pud’s gaze became far-away and sort of glassy. ‘Maybe we’ll +sack a town and carry off its treasures. And board a merchant craft and +capture her. And hang the captain to the――’ + +‘Rats!’ said Tim. ‘You can’t hang a man without murdering him, can you? +All right, I’ll be a pirate of the Cabirean, just as long as it’s only +play――’ + +‘Caribbean, you idiot. And it isn’t only play, either. At least, +not――well, you never know what’s going to happen!’ And Pud stared +darkly into the muddy waters of Town Creek as they tramped across the +footbridge. + +Mr. Daley was surprisingly complaisant when they found him. He was a +tall, large-boned man with only a trace of the Irish in features and +talk. He stopped planing down the edge of a board while Tim and Pud +explained the nature of their errand and observed them with deep-set, +kindly gray eyes. ‘Why, now,’ he said at last, ‘it’s mighty kind of +your father, Pud, and I guess Tim would enjoy it fine. You’d be gone no +more’n a week, eh? Well, I’ll be missing the boy, but that’s nothing if +he wants to go. But I’m warning you fair, Tim, if you get drowned, I’ll +whale the life out of you so soon’s I get my hands on you!’ + +Back at Tim’s house, they set to work on the lawn and the side yard, +and for nearly an hour the two mowers droned in the hot sunlight of +mid-forenoon. At last the work was done and the machines put away and +the boys found a shaded spot under a big maple in Tim’s yard and went +to planning. Tim’s enthusiasm was now equal quite to Pud’s as, pencil +in hand, he set down item after item on a short length of clean white +pine board. + +‘Golly,’ he said, having corrected ‘beens’ to ‘beans’ at the bottom of +the long list, ‘I wish we were going to-morrow, Pud, instead of Monday!’ + +‘So do I.’ Pud’s tone held an emphasis that brought an inquiring look +from his companion. ‘I’ve got to do a lot of work before Monday,’ Pud +sighed. ‘You see――say, I didn’t tell you about Mr. Tully, the Baptist +minister, did I? That was yesterday, and――and I didn’t see you +yesterday,’ Pud ended hastily. + +‘What about him?’ demanded Tim eagerly. + +So Pud narrated the event and its results, Tim chuckling wickedly at +times. The finish of the tale held little of humor, though. ‘Dad gave +me fits,’ said Pud moodily. ‘Made me promise not to do it again and +said I had to apologize to Mr. Tully.’ + +‘Did you?’ inquired Tim interestedly. + +Pud shook his head. ‘Not yet. I’m going to after dinner.’ + +‘Oh, that isn’t so bad.’ + +‘But that isn’t all of it,’ responded the other sadly. ‘I’ve got +to go to dad’s office to-morrow and Saturday and help fold a lot +of circulars; ’most four thousand of them. He said that was for +punishment. Gee, I hate folding circulars!’ + +‘Four thousand!’ Tim whistled expressively. ‘You got to do them all?’ + +‘No, I don’t suppose so. He said I was to help Jimmy, one of the men in +the shop. But I’ll bet I’ll have to do most of ’em!’ + +‘And that’s why we can’t start till Monday?’ + +‘Yes. And if they aren’t all done, we can’t get going even then!’ + +There was silence under the elm. Then Tim asked: ‘Is it hard? Folding +circulars, I mean.’ + +‘No, it ain’t hard,’ answered Pud despondently, ‘but it’s awful +monotonous. You just fold ’em so’――he illustrated sketchily――‘and +crease ’em with a wooden ruler, so’――a second illustration――‘and then +you do it again, and that’s all.’ + +‘Could I do it, Pud?’ + +Pud looked across swiftly, his brown eyes lighting as if they saw a +wonderful vision. ‘Sure!’ he cried. + +‘All right, then,’ said Tim, ‘I’ll help you.’ + +Pud nodded radiantly. Then his face sobered and his gaze dropped and +another silence held for a moment. Finally, ‘Say, Tim,’ he muttered, ‘I +guess maybe I was wrong the other day about you having to know more to +be an editor than to be a contractor.’ + +‘Oh, shut up,’ said Tim testily. ‘You weren’t either. What’ll I put +down after “beans”?’ + + + + + CHAPTER III + + THE KISMET STARTS ON HER VOYAGE + + +‘Shove her off there!’ + +The captain of the launch _Kismet_ gave the order in a fine, gruff, +sailor-like voice as he pulled the throttle a trifle wider. The +deck-hand, seated on the edge of the scanty after deck, set two bare +feet against the float and pushed hard. The mate gripped the wheel +tightly, fixed anxious blue eyes on the stern of a lumber schooner +fully ten fathoms away and hoped for the best. The launch’s nose swung +slowly into the stream, the captain pulled back on the clutch lever +and there ensued a clattering, jarring noise that caused the deck-hand +very nearly to lose his balance and go overboard. Then the alarming +sounds ceased and the _Kismet_ lurched forward. The mate saw, with +vast relief, that a collision with the schooner was averted――by the +narrow margin of some forty feet――and dared a backward look at the dock +where his father and Pud’s father and bow-legged Andy Tremble were +gathered to see them off. They were waving and calling, and Tim waved +and shouted back. So did Pud. Harmon only showed a flash of white +teeth. There was no one there to say good-bye to Harmon, but he didn’t +seem to mind. The launch straightened out in the middle of the river +and pointed her bow for the bridge. The figures on the boat-yard float +receded and were presently lost to sight. Captain and mate exchanged a +look of triumph. The voyage had begun! + +Presently there ensued an anxious period when, the little two-cylinder +engine throttled down and Pud and Tim both at the wheel, the _Kismet_ +negotiated the passage under the long bridge. The space looked +alarmingly narrow as they approached, but once in the shadows of the +ancient timbers there was room and to spare on each side, and almost +nonchalantly Pud opened her up again. As they passed again into the +sunlight Gus Miller’s station jitney rattled across and Gus waved +down to them. Pud returned the salutation with all the dignity of the +captain of an ocean liner waving from her bridge. The railroad station +went slowly astern and a long line of box cars on the siding followed. +The water tower on Coop’s Hill was all that remained in view of +Millville now. On their left a red clay bank arose to the edge of the +meadows. On their right trees and bushes marched straight down to the +gently flowing water. Pud gave a sigh of great contentment. + +‘Some little craft, Tim,’ he said. + +‘Sure is,’ agreed Tim. ‘Say, it ain’t hard to steer, is it, when you +get used to it?’ + +‘N-no, not here,’ answered Pud, ‘but you wait till she gets in a sea!’ + +‘How do you mean sea?’ asked Tim anxiously. ‘Where are we going to get +in any sea?’ + +‘Well, I guess this old river can kick up pretty mean lower down,’ said +Pud. ‘Take it around Mumford, Tim, and it’s ’most a mile wide.’ + +‘Mumford! Gosh, we ain’t going that far. Why Mumford’s forty miles, +pretty near, by river.’ + +‘What of it? This old cruiser’s doing five miles right now, I guess, +and it would only take us eight hours to get to Mumford, wouldn’t it? +Why, we could get as far as that to-day if we wanted to!’ + +‘Well, but you said we were going to just cruise and take it easy. You +said we’d go up Fox River a way and explore. You didn’t say anything +about Mumford, and I’ll tell you right now I ain’t going to take any +chances!’ + +‘Pshaw, who’s asking you to? Why, this boat’s a mighty safe old craft, +I tell you. I guess I wouldn’t be afraid to go right out into the sound +in her.’ + +‘Well, you can go alone,’ answered Tim decidedly. ‘When you get ready +to do that, just you dump me and Harmon ashore.’ + +‘I’ll bet Harmon wouldn’t be scared to go, would you, Harmon?’ + +‘Where’s ’at?’ asked the darky, who, since leaving the float, had been +watching the engine in grave fascination. + +‘Out in the sound. You wouldn’t be afraid, would you?’ + +‘What kind o’ sound?’ + +‘Why, the ocean down at the mouth of the river.’ + +‘I ain’ never heerd no sound yet I’s scared of,’ replied Harmon calmly. + +Tim laughed. Pud, about to make the matter clear, was interrupted by +a sudden grinding and thumping from aft the engine and hurried off. +When you put the clutch lever back on the _Kismet_, you had to engage +it with a little wire hook or else it slipped back into neutral. Pud +knew this, but in the excitement of getting away had forgotten it. Now +he remedied the matter and returned to the bow, but not to the recent +subject of discourse. A man fishing from a flat-bottomed punt just +ahead and a few yards from the shore claimed his interest. To see if +the man had had any luck, Pud turned the launch toward the punt. + +‘Catching anything?’ he called as the _Kismet_ waddled past a few yards +distant. + +A red and irate countenance turned toward them and the disciple of +Izaak Walton gestured fiercely with the hand that wasn’t busy with his +pole. ‘You consarned whippersnappers,’ he yelled, ‘ain’t you got no +sense at all? What do you mean acomin’ over here and scarin’ all the +fish away? If I had ahold of you a minute I’d teach you some sense, you +dog-gone, low-down trash! I’d show you who was catchin’ anythin’! I’d +plumb wear you out, dod-bust you! I’d――’ + +The _Kismet_ passed from hearing, but back up the stream the angry +gentleman still shook his fist at them. Pud and Tim looked a bit +chastened, but the usually solemn Harmon was doubled over with mirth. + +‘Yeah, yeah!’ he gurgled. ‘Old Mister Man certainly was talkin’ fine! +Lawsy, lawsy! My golly, wan’t he angrified?’ + +‘Huh,’ said Pud, ‘I don’t believe he ever caught anything there, +anyway, the old grouch!’ + +After a minute Tim asked wistfully: ‘Where do we stop for dinner, Pud?’ + +‘Dinner? Gee, it’s only a little after ten! Didn’t you eat any +breakfast?’ + +‘Not much,’ acknowledged Tim. ‘I guess I was too excited.’ + +‘Hm, well, I guess I was, too. Just the same, we hadn’t ought to have +dinner before twelve; or, maybe, half-past eleven.’ + +‘N-no, but thinking about it sort of helps,’ murmured Tim. + +It got pretty warm on the river as the sun moved toward the zenith and +both Pud and Tim began to look longingly at the occasional shady places +they passed. Harmon lay flat on his back on the stern seat, one bare +black arm across his eyes, utterly motionless, silent and contented. +They chugged past Farquhar’s Landing with its half-dozen scattered +houses and gazed back regretfully at the broad oaks that lined the +single street. Ahead of them lay a long stretch of open stream, +sun-smitten, its banks barren of shade. Pud consulted his silver watch +and announced casually: ‘’Most quarter-past eleven. Guess we might as +well stop at the next place that looks good, Tim. Won’t do to overheat +the engine.’ + +‘What about me getting overheated?’ grumbled Tim. ‘Anyway, there isn’t +any place in sight, and by the time we get to one, I’ll be fried as +hard as an egg.’ + +‘I guess it isn’t any hotter for you than it is for me,’ said Pud. +‘Looks like there were trees down beyond that bend, don’t it?’ + +Tim agreed that it did sort of look that way, and a quarter of an +hour later the _Kismet_ sidled up to the shore at the right where +a straggling grove of trees had taken possession of one corner of +a field. Although the launch drew only about eighteen inches, they +couldn’t get her nose close enough to land dry-shod, and so Harmon +waded ashore with the bowline and made it fast to the bole of a willow. +Then he pushed a log out toward the launch and Tim got ashore on it +without wetting more than one foot slightly. It was decided to be +much too hot to do any cooking, so Pud selected a box of crackers, a +can of potted ham, six bananas, and three bottles of lemon tonic from +the larder and carefully tossed the articles one by one across the +intervening space of mud and water to Tim. Everything got over safely +except one of the bottles, and Harmon rescued that. Having turned off +the gasoline at the tank according to instructions from Andy Tremble, +Pud set out to join the others. Perhaps the current had slightly +misplaced the log. Anyhow, Pud felt the water creeping about one ankle, +gave a startled exclamation and advanced his other foot hurriedly with +the result that he stepped on the side of the log and――Oh, well, what +finally happened was that Pud sat squarely down in three inches of +water! + +To his credit it is here related that he didn’t get angry. After +an instant of surprise and dismay, he accepted the misadventure as +an excellent joke and laughed so hard that it required aid from +the grinning Tim to get him to his feet. Harmon was rolling about +on the ground, convulsed with joy. Laughter cleared the atmosphere +considerably. The heat on the river had commenced to make both Pud +and Tim somewhat testy. Pud ate his lunch with no more on than his +underclothes. The costume was sufficient for the occasion, and Tim +envied him until the mosquitoes learned of their arrival and kept Pud +so busy slapping that he scarcely had time to eat. Things tasted pretty +good, although the tonic would have been more satisfying if it hadn’t +been rather more than lukewarm. When the none too hearty repast was +finished to the last crumb, Harmon was dispatched first to the launch +for the lard-pail that was to do duty as a water bucket and then up +the hill in the hot noonday sunshine in search of a well or a spring. +The river water was too warm to drink. When Harmon had uncomplainingly +departed, the others provided themselves with branches with which to +fight the mosquitoes and made themselves comfortable. A few yards away +the launch rubbed her sides against a snag and looked, as Pud proudly +observed, ‘pretty good.’ + +The _Kismet_ was twenty-and-a-half feet long and six feet wide, +proportions that made less for speed than comfort and safety. She was +open all the way from her short forward deck to her even shorter after +deck. The engine was placed amidship. A seat extended across the stern +and along either side. Two folding canvas stools were also provided. +The seats had lockers under them, and there was a locker beneath the +stern decking and a space at the bow pretty much taken up by the +gasoline tank. The _Kismet_ had been painted buff to the water-line +and white above it, but the white had long since turned to drab. There +hadn’t been time to repaint the launch, even had Mr. Pringle decided +to go to the expense. All that Andy Tremble, in whose boat-yard the +_Kismet_ had lain since the previous fall, had been able to do was use +a scrubbing brush on the paint and varnish and overhaul the engine. +The latter badly needed a coat of enamel, but in lieu of that Andy had +doused it well with cylinder oil, and for quite three days it looked +fairly decent. After that it went back to its former hues of rusty red +and yellow. + +The lockers were all filled to capacity, for both Pud and Tim had found +it necessary to take along a great many things not usually considered +essential to such a voyage. Harmon alone had arrived in light marching +order, his effects consisting principally of a blue cotton shirt and +a mouth-organ. Mrs. Pringle had censored the boys’ list of rations +with a stern hand, and when she had finished Pud had voiced the dismal +prophecy that he and Tim――not to mention Harmon――would undoubtedly +starve to death long before the week was up. Mrs. Pringle had supplied +the larder with essentials only, although at the last moment she had +consented to two dozen bottles of tonic and had added a cake of her +own baking. Pud had supplied a dozen bananas and Tim had thoughtfully +bought five bars of chocolate not too generously studded with almonds. +Mr. Pringle had dug out his camping outfit in the garret: an ‘A’ tent, +slightly mildewed but whole, two folding canvas cots, a folding stove, +an aluminum cooking-kit, and a carbide lantern, and Mrs. Pringle had +provided blankets, towels, a great deal more soap than Pud considered +necessary, several tin plates and cups and various other impedimenta. +Pud and Tim had each taken a change of clothes, swimming trunks, a +sweater, and a rubber coat; and at the last moment Tim had scurried +home to get a gray flannel shirt! + +Both boys had taken a wealth of fishing paraphernalia, including a can +of worms; Pud had put in his camera; Tim had bought a baseball and +catcher’s mitten; Pud had provided an ancient musket that had lain in +the attic for many years and hadn’t been used for nearly a century; Tim +had fetched almost a complete set of tools selected from his father’s +discarded implements; and there were numerous other items besides, +many of which never emerged from the lockers until the _Kismet_ was +back in her home port. One of such was an automobile horn that Tim had +traded for with Lee Stiles, Egbert Stiles’s cousin. It made a perfectly +glorious howl when you punched down on it, and Tim thought it would be +a fine thing to mount it on the launch’s bow and blow it when they met +other boats, but he forgot all about it afterward. + +All these things severely taxed the capacity of the storage space. In +fact, the tent and the cots and the cooking-utensils, which lived in a +canvas bag when not in use, had to lie in the forward compartment and +were forever being stumbled over. So, too, with the box of tonic and a +peck of potatoes in a paper sack, neither of which would accommodate +themselves to a locker. After the first rain the potatoes burst the +sack and it became one of Harmon’s daily duties to rout them out from +unexpected places and herd them together again. There was, also, a +boat-hook which seemed to have no real home and which was always +lying on the floor where you could easiest put an unwary foot on it. +After Pud and Tim had each narrowly escaped broken limbs as a result +of stepping on the pesky thing and Pud had exasperatedly threatened to +heave it overboard, Harmon cleverly solved the difficulty by tying a +line to it and dropping it over the side. There were times when they +might have made use of it if it had been handy, but it wasn’t and they +got on very nicely without it. + +I think that’s all the description the _Kismet_ merits. Perhaps I +should add that an empty flagpole leaned rakishly from a brass socket +at the stern and that the boat’s name, done in black letters, could +still be plainly read on each side of the bow. So much, then, for the +craft, and now let us return to the crew. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + UNDER THE SKULL-AND-CROSS-BONES + + +‘I wish he’d hurry up with that water,’ muttered Tim, his hands under +his head, his straw hat pulled over his forehead, and the rest of his +countenance obscured by the wilted leaves of the maple branch which +he had thrust between the buttons of his shirt. Pud, cross-legged, +a grass-blade between his teeth and a ruminative look on his face, +answered absently, + +‘Maybe he will.’ + +It was getting along toward one o’clock now, and thrice they had had +to shift their positions to keep the tree boughs between them and +the glowing sun. There was a faint breath of air creeping down the +long green slope behind them which to some extent made existence more +bearable. At least, it gave them a slight advantage over the mosquitoes. + +‘How far do you think we’ve come?’ asked Tim after a minute of silence. + +Pud aroused himself from his abstraction and uncrossed his cramped legs. + +‘Let’s see, Farquhar’s is eight miles, isn’t it? And I guess we’re +a couple of miles beyond that. Say, ten miles in an hour and three +quarters is going some, Tim! Why, we must have made six miles an hour, +and Mr. Tremble said she wouldn’t do better than five!’ + +‘Well, don’t you suppose the current helped some?’ + +‘Gee, that’s so. Maybe it did, though it isn’t very strong. Yes, I +guess it must have.’ + +‘How much farther do you think we’ll go to-day?’ Tim sounded sleepy. + +‘Oh, I guess we’ll make the railroad bridge at Livermore,’ responded +Pud a trifle uncertainly. ‘That’s only about another ten miles, and I +dare say there’ll be a good camping-place there.’ + +‘You ever been there?’ + +‘Sure.’ + +‘By river, I mean.’ + +‘No, not by river. I’ve never been beyond Farquhar’s by river, but I’ve +been to Livermore by train.’ + +‘We’d ought to have a map,’ murmured Tim. + +‘What for? You can’t get lost on a river, can you?’ + +‘Well, they say you can get lost on Fox River. They say it sort of runs +around in circles, and there’s a lot of branches and creeks too.’ + +‘You can’t get lost on any river,’ answered Pud decisively, ‘because +all you’ve got to do is follow the current and you’ll come out of it.’ + +‘Yeah, that’s so,’ agreed Tim. ‘Just the same, I heard Father tell once +how a couple of Revenue men went up there to Swamp Hole and were lost +’most a week.’ + +‘Must have got into the woods, or the swamp then. Say, I guess that’s a +wild place, eh?’ + +‘The Hole? Gosh, I wouldn’t go near that place for a million dollars!’ + +‘I would,’ said Pud promptly. ‘I’d like mighty well to see what it’s +like, wouldn’t you? If you could get there without being seen, eh?’ + +But Tim shook his head. ‘No, sir, I wouldn’t. I guess the folks that +live there would just as soon cut your throat as say “Howdy.” They say +there’s folks living in Swamp Hole that ain’t ever been outside it, +Pud.’ + +‘I guess a lot of ’em wouldn’t dare come out,’ chuckled Pud, ‘for fear +the sheriff would get ’em. I’m going to see if my clothes are dry.’ + +‘Going to put them on?’ + +‘Yes. Why?’ + +‘I was thinking we might go in swimming.’ + +‘Gee, why not? Want to?’ Tim assented. ‘All right, I’ll get the trunks.’ + +Pud waded out to the launch, climbed aboard and began hunting through +the lockers. It took him a long time to find the articles, for, +although when they had stored their belongings away, they had been +quite certain they could put their hands on them again instantly, now +he couldn’t remember where a single thing was! When he had pulled most +of the dunnage from one side of the boat, he was hot but triumphant and +splashed back to shore with the bathing-trunks just as Harmon ambled +into sight. The thought of a drink of cold water was so welcome that he +didn’t say a word about the time it had taken Harmon to do the errand. +But when he had taken one gulp of the contents of the lard-pail he +found his voice. + +‘For goodness’ sake,’ he exclaimed disgustedly, ‘where’d you get that +stuff? It’s as warm as――as dish water!’ + +‘Oh, gosh!’ moaned Tim. ‘Ain’t it any good, Pud?’ + +‘Well, you can drink it if you like. I won’t. He never got that out of +any well, I’ll bet!’ + +‘I did, too,’ declared Harmon. ‘I got it out of a gentleman that lives +in a big white house’s well. It was gran’ and col’, too, but I reckon +it done got warmed up luggin’ it back here, ’cause it’s mos’ of two +miles.’ + +‘Two miles! Gee!’ Pud looked from the pail to Harmon. ‘Well, I guess if +you went two miles for it, we oughtn’t to kick. Just the same, it’s +too warm to drink. And my throat’s as dry as――as――’ + +‘So’s mine,’ said Tim. + +‘If you-all wants some col’ water,’ announced Harmon, ‘I’ll get you +plenty of it.’ + +‘Where?’ asked Pud. + +Harmon pointed to the bank of the river. ‘Right yonder. I got to have +me a shovel, though.’ + +‘Gee, that’s so. I never thought of that, Tim. All we’ve got to do is +dig a hole back from the river a bit and let it fill up. But we haven’t +any shovel!’ + +‘That’s a fact,’ owned Tim. ‘And I thought we’d fetched everything we’d +need, too!’ + +Harmon, though, was resourceful, for, lacking a shovel, he used a large +iron spoon and, selecting a spot half a dozen feet from the edge of the +water, soon had a hole dug. Anxiously, their tongues almost hanging +out, the others watched the operation. From all sides of the tiny well +water trickled in, but Tim viewed the muddy result distastefully. +‘Gosh,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t drink that stuff! Why, it might poison me!’ + +‘Hold your horses,’ advised Pud. ‘Wait till it settles.’ + +Harmon, though, baled out most of the first lot very carefully. Then +the hole was allowed to fill once more, and while it settled, Pud and +Tim got into their swimming-trunks. By the time they were ready for the +river, Harmon announced the water ready for drinking. He had got a tin +cup from the launch and now he dipped it into the little reservoir and +offered it to Tim. Tim looked at it, smelled it, and finally tasted it. +Then he drank it at two gulps. + +‘Gosh,’ he said, ‘that’s great! Cold, too!’ + +Well, it wasn’t exactly cold, but it was cool, and it was clear and +sweet, and Harmon gravely filled the cup many times before their +thirsts were satisfied. Then they went in swimming. Harmon had brought +no bathing attire, but that trifling circumstance didn’t keep him out +of the water, and long after Pud and Tim had had enough and were out +again on the grass, sunning themselves dry, Harmon still paddled or +floated idly about, the sunlight glinting on the wet ebony of his skin. + +Having donned some of his clothes, Pud, invigorated by his bath, said +he guessed it was time to fix up the launch. Tim wanted to know what +he meant by ‘fix up’ and was requested to wait and see. Pud climbed +into the launch, rummaged awhile and reappeared to view with two +pieces of white oilcloth. Then he set about tacking one of them on the +bow. Tim advanced to the edge of the water and watched curiously. The +oblong of oilcloth, evidently cut from a piece that had seen service +on Mrs. Pringle’s kitchen table, was adorned with the inscription, +surprisingly well lettered in black paint, JOLLY RODGER. Several tacks +and several whacks of the hammer secured the strip of oilcloth over the +word _Kismet_, and, since the oilcloth was not particularly white any +longer, at a distance of a few yards it appeared quite as though the +new name was painted on the hull. + +‘How’s it look?’ demanded Pud triumphantly as he sent the last tack +home and raised a flushed countenance to Tim. + +‘All right,’ answered the other doubtfully, ‘only――’ + +‘Only what?’ + +‘I never saw “Roger” spelled with a “d,” Pud.’ + +‘Why not? R-o-d, Rod, g-e-r, ger; Rodger. Isn’t that right?’ + +Tim shook his head. ‘There isn’t any “d,” Pud.’ + +Pud scratched his bare head sheepishly. Then he grinned. ‘Oh, well, +what’s the diff? I guess lots of pirates didn’t spell any better than I +do! Look, here’s the one for the other side.’ He held up a second strip +of oilcloth and Tim read VENGANCE. This time he didn’t have the heart +to correct the spelling. + +‘Fine,’ he said, ‘but what’s the idea of having different names?’ + +‘Well, I couldn’t decide which was the best. Besides, Tim, maybe it’ll +confuse the enemy.’ + +‘Sure,’ agreed the other gravely. + +Harmon watched operations in solemn, uncomprehending silence, +noiselessly spelling the word out. Pud’s hammer tap-tapped for a +minute and then there was nothing left to inform the beholder that +this apparently piratical craft was in fact only the hitherto entirely +respectable _Kismet_. But Pud wasn’t through even yet. Next appeared +what looked to have been part of a pillow-slip. This was decorated with +a skull-and-cross-bones, none too successfully executed since the paint +had run rather badly in places. It took Pud quite five minutes to get +the thing tacked to the flagpole, and then, tossing down his hammer, +he waded back to shore and stood for an equal length of time in rapt +contemplation of the improvements. There wasn’t nearly enough breeze +blowing to display the gruesome emblem on the flag, but Pud seemed +thoroughly satisfied, and even Tim was thrilled a little by the wicked +appearance of the transformed launch. As for Harmon, curiosity at last +got the better of him. + +‘What ’at flag for?’ he asked. + +‘That’s the pirate’s flag,’ Pud informed him. ‘We’re going to be +pirates, Harmon.’ + +‘Uh-huh. How we gets to be ’em?’ + +Pud winked at Tim and answered gravely: ‘Oh, we kill folks and rob +them, you know; run them down and scuttle their ships and cut off their +heads and――’ + +You never could tell beforehand, it seemed, what would touch off +Harmon’s peculiar sense of humor. Now he dropped suddenly to the +grass and writhed in uproarious delight. His teeth flashed and his +eyes rolled and his bare heels beat a wild tattoo on the turf. For +an instant the others were too surprised to do anything save stare. +Pud, indeed, was a trifle chagrined that his explanation had failed to +impress Harmon as he had meant it to. But there was no resisting the +contagion of that laughter, and after a moment they joined in, their +amusement occasioned, though, solely by Harmon’s ridiculous antics. +Harmon ceased almost as suddenly as he had begun and sat up, supported +by widespread hands, and viewed them gravely. Pud conquered his mirth +and demanded sternly: + +‘For goodness’ sake, what’s the matter with you, I’d like to know? +What’s funny about killing folks?’ + +Harmon was threatened with a relapse, but resisted it successfully. He +only rolled his eyes a little as he giggled: ‘Ain’ nothin’. I jus’ +laugh at the way you done tell it!’ + +And that was the nearest to an explanation he was capable of. Pud said +‘Humph!’ doubtfully. Then he added darkly: ‘All right, but I guess you +won’t think it’s so funny when we get to pirating right!’ + +Harmon accepted the rebuke docilely and without comment, and wandered +away along the river. ‘He’s crazy,’ muttered Pud, still slightly +indignant. But when he met Tim’s twinkling eyes, he had to smile again. +They sat down once more in the shade and watched the ripples on the +water and talked fitfully. After a while Pud looked at his watch. +‘Gee,’ he said, ‘it’s twenty past three!’ + +‘Gosh,’ murmured Tim, ‘is it?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +Then silence fell again between them. A kingfisher called stridently +from the limb of a dead pine across the river and a fish broke the +water with a splash. Then Harmon returned with his arms full of dry +branches which he dropped noisily near by. + +Pud sat up and stared inquiringly. ‘What’s that for?’ he asked. + +‘Fire,’ answered Harmon. ‘Ain’ you-all goin’ to have no supper?’ + +‘Sure, but we’re not going to have it here, you chump. At least’――he +looked doubtfully at Tim――‘I don’t suppose we are.’ + +Tim viewed the firewood, the sky, the river, and then Pud. ‘Well, I +don’t know,’ he answered slowly. ‘This isn’t such a bad place, is it?’ + +‘N-no, it ain’t. We could put the tent up over there; and we’ve got +drinking water handy. I’m willing if you are.’ Tim nodded lazily. ‘All +right, Harmon, we’ll stay――’ + +But Harmon had gone again. Pud settled back and laid an arm over his +eyes. + +It was nearly five when he woke up. There was sound of faint, elfin +music in his ears, and for a moment he couldn’t think where he was. +Then his drowsy eyes fell on the slumbering Tim a yard away, journeyed +on and encountered, seated on the fallen trunk of a tree beside the +river, the gently swaying form of Harmon, his mouth-organ at his lips. +It was cooler now, for the sun was sinking toward the rim of distant +forest and a little breeze ruffled the water. Pud yawned, stretched, +sat up and shook Tim into wakefulness. + +They were very busy for a while, for all sorts of things had to be +transported from launch to land; cooking outfit, food, tent, cots, and +a dozen other things at least. By six, Harmon, spurning the intricate +camp stove they had brought, had a fire going between two dead logs +and had begun the preparation of the evening meal. Pud and Tim, seated +near by, watched anxiously. As a cook Harmon was still an unknown +quantity. But their anxiety didn’t last long. Harmon didn’t know how +to cook many things, but within his limitations he was a master. The +dexterous way in which he cracked the eggs on the rim of the fry-pan +without losing a drop of their contents and then deposited the +unseparated yolks and whites in exactly the right place in the sizzling +grease brought a sigh of relief from Pud and an anticipatory gleam into +Tim’s blue eyes. After that they both ceased offering suggestions to +the chef and just leaned back on their elbows and waited. + +They called it supper, but it had all the indications of dinner. +There were bacon and eggs and baked beans and bread and butter and +tea and bananas and cake. They didn’t need the bananas, perhaps, but +Tim pointed out the undeniable fact that they were getting pretty +soft and so they ate them to save them. After such a repast the +job of putting up the tent didn’t appeal to them, but it had to be +performed. And there was no use of waiting for assistance from Harmon, +either, for Harmon had plenty to do in washing up the dishes. So, +rather half-heartedly and with many protesting groans, they set about +their task. Of course the guy-ropes were snarled and knotted, just +as guy-ropes always are, and there were four pegs missing, and the +ridgepole didn’t want to fit onto the uprights. But they conquered in +the end, and set the two cots up inside――although not before Tim had +squeezed a finger painfully in the process――and made their beds. When +they were done it was still daylight, although the sun was resting on +the tips of the far-off pines. They cut some branches for Harmon and +laid them on the ground at a short distance from the tent and then +spread a blanket over them. Harmon, through with his duties, looked on +rather dubiously. + +‘’Spose a bear come along an’ eat me,’ he suggested finally. + +‘There aren’t any bears around here,’ said Pud reassuringly. ‘Besides, +all you’ve got to do is yell.’ + +‘Yes, sir, I sure goin’ do ’at,’ he answered convincingly. + +At sunset the breeze died down and the mosquitoes became troublesome +once more. So they built up the fire and smudged it with green branches +and damp wood and sat to leeward――when there was any leeward――and +watched the light fade in the west and the river turn from copper to +steel and finally become lost to sight in the darkness. By request +Harmon pulled his mouth-organ out of his trousers pocket and played +his entire programme. The music cheered them up somewhat. Harmon could +certainly make the instrument behave, as Pud phrased it! After that +Pud introduced the subject of pirates and, his memory still fresh from +his reading, told them weird and blood-thirsty tales that made even +the narrator himself glance uneasily over his shoulder at intervals. +Oddly enough, Harmon seemed utterly unaffected as to nerves. When Pud +paused, the darky, staring round-eyed across the fire, begged for more. +The more sanguinary the tales the better Harmon liked them, and when +the cutlasses flew fastest and blood filled the scuppers, he voiced +awed applause in murmured ‘Lawsies!’ or ‘My gollies!’ It was plain to +be seen that Harmon was a born pirate! Indeed, it seemed regrettable +that Morgan had lived too early to have the services of such a boon +companion and kindred soul as Harmon Johnson! + +‘When we-all goin’ start this here piratin’, Mister Pud?’ he asked +finally. + +‘Oh, maybe to-morrow,’ replied Pud, suppressing a yawn. + +‘Uh-huh. Reckon we’s goin’ sack a town, ain’ we?’ + +‘Well, we’ve got to find the town first,’ chuckled Tim. + +‘Sure has,’ agreed Harmon cheerfully. ‘I goin’ sharpen up ’at ol’ +carvin’ knife to-morrow. Yes, sir, I goin’ put a aidge on ’at ol’ +knife for sure! I ain’ needin’ no cutluss, Mister Tim, if I got me a +good knife!’ And Harmon swished an imaginary blade in a startlingly +realistic manner. + +‘Guess you’d better go to bed,’ growled Pud. ‘And if I catch you +sharpening any knives around here I’ll skin you!’ + +Harmon accepted the rebuke meekly, although he was possibly slightly +puzzled by it, and flashlights were snapped on and they sought their +couches. Tim wanted to light the carbide lamp, but Pud said it would +attract the mosquitoes, and so they did without it. After they were +in bed and the two cots had ceased creaking, Tim heard a chuckle from +across the darkness. + +‘What you laughing at?’ he inquired. + +‘Harmon,’ answered Pud. ‘Bet you that boy’s good and scared, eh? Bet +you he’s got his head under the blanket all right!’ + +Tim murmured assent. But a few minutes later, Pud changed his mind. +From the direction of Harmon’s lowly couch came loud, measured, and +unmistakable evidences of slumber! + +It might have been hours later or only minutes that Pud awoke +startledly. From close by the tent a frightened voice was exclaiming, +‘Oh, my golly! Oh, my golly! Where at’s this here door? Oh, my――’ + +‘What’s the matter?’ cried Tim, flouncing out of his cot. + +‘It’s Harmon!’ called Pud disgustedly. ‘He’s had nightmare, I guess. +Harmon! Shut up that racket! Where are you?’ + +‘Here I is! I can’ find the door! Oh, my golly, Mister Pud, please, +sir, you-all let me in there!’ Then there was the sound of a stumbling +body, the tent sagged and strained and Harmon fell in on his hands and +knees, illumined by two flashlights. That something had frightened him +half to death was plain, for his eyes were rolling and his teeth were +chattering as he crawled to the nearest cot. ‘Oh, lawsy, lawsy,’ he +sighed in relief. + +‘Say, what’s your trouble?’ demanded Pud, striving to quiet his own +jangling nerves by speaking very sternly. Tim, still half asleep, waved +his pocket torch vaguely about the tent, his mouth open in bewilderment. + +‘Mister Pud,’ answered Harmon hoarsely, ‘it was a-standin’ right over +me when I woke up and seed it! Look like it was tryin’ to nuzzle the +blanket offen me! My golly――’ + +‘What was?’ asked Pud. + +‘Yes, sir! Standin’ right on top o’ me, with its li’l’ ol’ eyes +a-glarin’ sort o’ greenish an’ its nose right close to my face! My +golly! It was jus’ a-goin’ to bite me when I woke up!’ + +‘Say, for goodness’ sake! _What_ was going to bite you?’ + +‘_It_ was!’ + +‘Well, what was _it_?’ + +‘That there varmint, Mister Pud! What I’m tellin’ you about! The skunk!’ + +‘Skunk!’ echoed Pud and Tim in chorus. ‘_Skunk?_’ + +‘Yes, sir, skunk! I seed the white stripes on him when he done run!’ + +‘Gee!’ chuckled Pud. ‘A skunk! Why, a skunk wouldn’t hurt you, Harmon! +I guess you scared him a heap worse’n he scared you.’ + +‘No, sir, I didn’! How-come he wouldn’ harm me? Them things bite, +Mister Pud!’ + +‘Get out! Who ever heard of a skunk biting any one?’ + +‘Besides,’ laughed Tim, ‘maybe it wasn’t a skunk at all. Maybe it was +only a polecat.’ + +But Harmon was in no mood for such niceties. ‘Was you ever bit by a +skunk, Mister Pud?’ he asked earnestly. + +‘No, of course not.’ + +‘Then how you know they don’ bite?’ demanded Harmon triumphantly. + +‘Why――why――’ Pud felt that there was something utterly wrong with the +other’s logic, but he couldn’t at the instant find the error, and +Harmon continued with much conviction. + +‘That skunk would ’a’ bit me for sure if I hadn’ woke up! Please, can’ +I sleep in here, Mister Pud, with you-all? I’s scared to go back out +yonder.’ + +‘Well,’ began Pud hesitantly, glancing dubiously at Tim, ‘I suppose――’ + +‘Sure, he can,’ asserted Tim, almost indignantly. ‘Have a heart, Pud!’ + +Considering that it was Tim who had protested, a few days before, +against any such arrangement as was now proposed, Pud felt that he was +being put in rather a false position, but Harmon’s fervently expressed +delight drowned his sarcasm. + +‘I’s certainly obliged,’ declared the darky. ‘Yes, sir! I’ll jus’ +scrooch down here an’――’ + +‘Without anything to lie on?’ exclaimed Tim. ‘Sakes alive, Harmon, go +get your blanket!’ + +It was evident that Harmon had no desire to venture forth again into +the skunk-infested night, but he finally went, flashing Tim’s pocket +torch on all sides and talking loudly to keep his courage up. + +Ten minutes later quiet again reigned in the tent. Pud, seeking a more +comfortable position on the unyielding canvas cot, smiled at a thought. +‘That boy,’ he reflected, ‘might be an awful brave pirate, but he +wouldn’t make much of an animal trainer!’ + + + + + CHAPTER V + + THE CHICKEN THAT INTRUDED + + +They had made the mistake of pitching the tent where the morning sun +had full play, and long before either Pud or Tim wanted to get up, the +canvas walls were aglow, and it was only by hiding their faces under +the blankets that they could keep the disturbing light from their eyes. +Shortly before seven they capitulated. Harmon was already up and about. +They could hear him cracking branches and crooning a song behind the +tent. Outside, the grass was dew-spangled, and, in spite of the ardent +sun, the air held a shivery quality that caused Tim to hesitate before +accepting Pud’s challenge to go for a swim. But he did accept, and they +found the river far warmer than the air. By the time they were dried +and dressed, Harmon was calling them to breakfast. For some moments a +particularly delectable aroma had been pervading the tent, an aroma +that suggested neither coffee nor bacon, and when they reached the fire +the mystery was explained. In the fry-pan lay, crisply browned, what +their astounded eyes could not mistake. + +‘Chicken!’ they exclaimed in delighted chorus. + +Harmon showed his teeth in the broadest of grins. + +‘But,’ faltered Pud, after a moment of delicious contemplation, +‘where――where’d it come from?’ + +Harmon chuckled. ‘Who? This here chick’n? Ain’ no tellin’ where he come +from, Mister Pud. He done walk right up and wink his eye at me, an’ +then he lay hisself right down in this here pan an’ fol’ his wings!’ + +‘Yes, he did!’ jeered Tim. ‘I suppose he plucked his own feathers off, +too!’ + +‘Harmon,’ said Pud sternly, ‘you stole it!’ + +‘No, sir, I never,’ denied Harmon solemnly. ‘I jus’ pirated him!’ + +‘Pirated him? Gee, that’s a new name for it! Where’d you――where’d you +“pirate” him?’ + +‘Up yonder, beside the road. He certainly was the runnin’est li’l +rooster I ever seed! Yes, sir, I reckon his mother must ’a’ been a +ostridge! I chase ’at li’l rascal――’ + +‘You had no business to do it,’ charged Pud severely. ‘Want to get us +all arrested? My goodness, that’s no way to do, Harmon!’ + +‘How-come? Ain’ we pirates, Mister Pud? Didn’ you say we-all was goin’ +sack towns? Didn’t you? How-come it’s all right to sack a town an’ +ain’ all right to sack a li’l’ skinny rooster?’ + +Pud looked to Tim for assistance, but Tim was trying to keep his face +straight, and he avoided Pud’s eyes carefully. Harmon stared in solemn +perplexity from one to the other. + +Pud cleared his throat. ‘Well, now, it’s like this, Harmon,’ he +explained. ‘I’m leader of this――this crew, and you ain’t supposed +to steal――sack anything, not even a chicken, until I tell you to. +Understand?’ + +Harmon’s face cleared and he nodded vigorously. + +‘All right. Now――’ Pud looked longingly at the contents of the +fry-pan――‘Now,’ he went on in a failing voice, ‘you’d better fry some +bacon. It――it wouldn’t be honest to eat that chicken, would it, Tim?’ + +Tim shook his head. It wasn’t a decided shake, but it was the best he +could do. Harmon voiced incredulity. + +‘You mean you-all don’ want no chicken?’ he ejaculated. ‘My golly! +How-come you ain’ wantin’ none?’ + +‘Because we――because you stole it, Harmon,’ answered Pud sadly. ‘It +wouldn’t be right to――’ + +‘Why you keep on sayin’ I stole it? Ain’ I done tell you I “pirate” +it? Lawsey, how-come you talk so silly?’ + +‘Of course,’ observed Tim, his gaze set fixedly on the charred tip of +a chicken leg, ‘you and I didn’t steal it, Pud. And it’s dead now, and +it seems sort of wasteful to throw it away. Father says it’s sinful to +waste things, Pud.’ + +‘Yeah, I know,’ assented Pud. ‘Well, maybe it wouldn’t be very wrong if +we ate it, just so’s not to let it go to waste. I guess――I guess our +consciences oughtn’t to trouble us if we did. Of course, it’s different +with Harmon. He oughtn’t to have any because he came by it dishonestly.’ + +‘No,’ agreed Tim. ‘Still, if there was some left for him, it wouldn’t +be any affair of ours if he ate it. It would be between him and his +conscience, I guess.’ + +‘Yes, that’s so.’ + +It was a wonderful chicken. Naturally, having been such a remarkable +runner, it was inclined to be stringy and even a bit tough as to its +legs, but they had good appetites and they were not restrained by +ordinary table etiquette; and the toughest chicken leg that ever ran +must yield its meat when you take it in both hands! They gave Harmon a +share, although, of course, not the choice parts, and the darky seemed +to have settled affairs with his conscience very satisfactorily. At +least, he gave every indication of enjoyment, and he did not, as he +perhaps deserved to, choke to death on a bone! + +By nine o’clock they were afloat again, and at half-past had left +Bentonburg behind. The river was not so hot as it had been yesterday +and voyaging was very pleasant. They chugged between wide fields that +swept upward and away to tree-dotted horizons or to comfortable farm +buildings, white against the blue sky. Harmon took his first lesson in +steering and was visibly thrilled as the boat responded to his pressure +on the little brass-bound wheel. In the first enthusiasm he almost ran +them aground, and only Pud’s quick action saved the day. + +Pud rummaged around until he had found a pad of paper and five stamped +and addressed envelopes held together by an elastic band. These had +been supplied by his mother, with the injunction to send a letter every +day. Pud had meant to send one yesterday, but he had forgotten. Now he +placed a sheet of the paper on the lid of a box and, bidding Tim keep +an eye on the helmsman, wrote as follows: + + DEAR MOTHER AND FATHER: + + We camped last night about two miles this side of Farquhar’s + Landing. Harmon is a fine cook. The launch is doing finely. I + guess we will make Livermore to-day and camp near the bridge. + The cake was fine. We are all well and enjoying ourselfs. Tim + sends his respects. + + Your loving son, + + PUD + + P.S. If we have time we might call on Aunt Sabrina like you + said, but maybe we had ought to push on. + +At noon they tied up alongside a tumble-down pier and ate a cold lunch. +Breakfast had been hearty and sustaining, and it was decided that what +cooking they did had best be done at the end of each day’s voyage. As +only some three miles lay between them and Livermore, there seemed no +good reason to hurry, and so they lolled in the partial shade of the +landing-pier for an hour and then went into the water. The glimpse of a +fish sent Tim scurrying back to the launch for his tackle. The can of +worms had, unfortunately, been overturned in such a way as to release +most of the contents, but enough remained to bait three lines and for +nearly two hours they all sat on the edge of the pier and sought to +provide for the evening meal. But the fish wouldn’t bite, and about +four o’clock they cast off and went on again. + +Livermore began a mile farther along with an outlying sprinkle of +small farms on the left of the river. These gave place to little +houses set in tiny gardens and then to more ambitious residences. +They caught the yellow gleam of a hurrying trolley car and heard its +strident hum as it charged at a grade and went lurching out of sight +behind the maples that lined the street. Harmon watched with intense +interest, trolley cars being a novelty to him. A quarter of a mile +of brick mill buildings marched beside them and the big steel bridge +suddenly swept into sight around a bend of the stream. The river +widened appreciably hereabouts and a long, pebbly island, decked with +a few forlorn trees, divided the current. Pud, at the wheel now, chose +the right-hand channel, slowing down the engine to a point where it +coughed incessantly, but survived the secret malady. There was so much +to see now――for Livermore boasted of a population of seventeen thousand +and was a manufacturing town of some importance――that the three boys +almost stared the eyes out of their heads. Harmon ejaculated ‘Lawsey!’ +and ‘My golly’ at quite regular intervals. One thing that became plain +long before the bridge was reached was that Pud’s suggestion of camping +thereabouts was not at all practical. The only place they could have +pitched the tent would have been on some wharf! + +‘Guess we’ll have to go on by the town,’ said Pud. ‘I didn’t know it +was all built-up like this!’ + +‘Thought you said you’d been here,’ said Tim. + +‘So I did and so I have.’ + +‘Gosh, then I should think――’ + +‘Well, it was quite a long time ago,’ explained Pud; ‘when I was about +eight or nine. You see, Great-Aunt Sabrina lives over on the other side +of town, and we don’t usually get around here. I guess it’s grown up a +lot since I was here!’ + +‘Your aunt at home now?’ asked Tim, after a moment. + +‘Yes, I suppose so. She don’t go about much. She’s sort of old.’ He +turned hard aport to keep out of the way of a snorting tugboat that +backed suddenly out from behind a pier. + +‘Well,’ began Tim, after another brief silence. + +But Pud interrupted, pointing to a conspicuous sign that adorned the +end of a brick-red shed just ahead. + +‘Say, I guess we’d ought to have some more gasoline, eh?’ he asked. ‘We +didn’t have but thirty gallons when we started.’ + +‘Well, gosh, I guess we ain’t used any thirty gallons,’ demurred Tim. +But Pud was already negotiating the landing. + +‘You, Harmon, you get up here and fend off,’ he ordered. ‘Keep her like +that, Tim.’ He went to the engine, anxiously watching the pier bear +down upon them, and finally pushed the clutch forward. There was a fine +churning under the stern, and Harmon’s bare feet set themselves against +the stringpiece and the _Jolly Rodger_, formerly the _Kismet_, sidled +up to her berth. If the gasoline station had been on the other side of +the river, the launch’s name would have been the _Vengance_, of course. + +Investigation with a stick showed the gasoline tank to be still rather +more than three quarters full, but since, by this time, the proprietor +of the station was peering inquiringly down at them, Pud decided to +purchase just the same. + +‘_Jolly Rodger_, eh?’ said the man as he handed the nozzle of the hose +down to them. ‘What are you, pirates?’ + +Pud laughed evasively, but Harmon assented proudly. ‘Yes, sir, we sure +is! We’s bloody pirates, Mister!’ + +‘You look it!’ laughed the man. ‘Well, better not let the police see +you, that’s all I’ve got to say! How much do you want?’ + +Pud was very glad that he had yielded to Tim that morning and +consented to the removal of the skull-and-cross-bones at the stern! +Suppose the police did see them and begin to ask questions! Suppose the +man who had owned that chicken had sent word about its disappearance! +He was mightily relieved when the gasoline was in and paid for, the cap +screwed back on the tank, and the launch was again shoving her nose +toward the bridge. His desire now was to leave Livermore behind and +once more reach the open spaces. The others seemed not to share his +uneasiness. They were craning their heads to see the bridge. Pud, back +at the wheel, didn’t have much time for sight-seeing, for the river +held much traffic and he was kept busy. When they were directly under +the bridge, which seemed an immeasurable height above them, but was +probably no more than thirty feet, a trolley car rumbled across and +Harmon’s upturned face went two shades lighter. And when, at the same +moment, from close by a mill whistle proclaimed five o’clock with a +sudden and deafening shriek, poor Harmon nearly turned white! + +‘_My golly!_’ he yelled. ‘_What’s ’at?_’ + +Beyond the bridge and the press of river traffic, Tim returned to a +former subject of conversation. ‘Say, Pud, why don’t you go and see +your aunt? I should think you’d want to.’ + +‘Huh? Oh, gee, she――she’s awful sort of stern, Tim. I would go and see +her only she lives quite a ways back.’ + +‘I guess she’d be pretty hurt if she found out you’d been here and +didn’t call on her,’ said Tim. + +‘Well――’ + +‘And I guess she’d be likely to ask you to supper, wouldn’t she? I and +Harmon wouldn’t mind if you went, Pud.’ + +‘Yes, she’d ask me to supper, of course, but――’ + +‘I guess you’d have a better supper than you would if you had what we +have, eh? Preserves, probably, and cake.’ + +‘Yes, she feeds a fellow great,’ acknowledged Pud, a trifle wistfully. +‘But I wouldn’t go and have supper with her and leave you and +Harmon――Say!’ Pud was struck by a thought that had occurred to his chum +long since. ‘Say, why don’t we all go?’ + +‘Oh, well, maybe she wouldn’t like it if I and Harmon were to butt in,’ +replied Tim doubtfully. ‘She doesn’t know us.’ + +‘Well, gee, you’re my friends, ain’t you? Sure she’ll like it. And――and +I’d like it a sight better than going alone,’ added Pud. ‘I wouldn’t +wonder if she gave us cocoanut cake, Tim. She makes corking cocoanut +cake! Gee, you just ought to taste it!’ + +‘We-ell, if you think it’ll be all right――’ + +‘Of course it will! Gee, Aunt Sabrina’s a――a little stern, and she sort +of scares you if you don’t know her, but she don’t believe in turning +folks away hungry; especially if they’re relatives――or relatives’ +friends. We’ll find a good place to leave the launch and get a street +car that’ll take us out Moorehouse Avenue. It’s only four or five +blocks from the car line. Say, how about shoving in over there?’ + +Pud indicated an unoccupied berth between two short piers across the +river. A warehouse loomed beyond it, its windows shuttered. Tim looked +and approved and Pud turned the launch’s nose across the stream. When +they reached the place, it didn’t look so inviting, for it was half +out of water, exposing an evil-smelling slope of black mud. But it +seemed a safe spot in which to leave the launch and their belongings, +since, as Tim pointed out, the only way to reach it was to climb over +a fence that gave onto a narrow alley. So they made the boat fast, +stowed everything into the lockers that would go there, covered the +engine with a piece of tarpaulin, and shinned up a spile to the rickety +wharf above. After that they climbed the fence, followed the alley to +its junction with a cobbled street, and set forth in search of Aunt +Sabrina. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + AUNT SABRINA DOESN’T ANSWER + + +It was nearly seven o’clock when they at last reached their destination. +This was because, although they twice asked directions, they never did +find Moorehouse Avenue. Since, in the course of their search, they kept +on in a general northerly direction, they eventually came to Aunt +Sabrina’s street, and there Pud turned them back toward the river and so +led them to the house. During the journey the sight of a letter-box +reminded Pud that his missive to his parents still reposed in his jacket +pocket, and he posted it. + +Aunt Sabrina Puddlestone’s residence occupied an entire block of land +in a part of Livermore where, some thirty years before, it had been +the custom for families to set their big houses in the middle of a +block, and feel, even then, just a bit crowded. Now, since the town had +grown in other directions, many of these old residences still stood +unchallenged in the midst of their wide lawns, although frequently +the houses themselves were down-at-the-heels. Aunt Sabrina’s house, +though, showed no signs of disrepair. It was large and square, two +stories in height, with a little square box set atop, as though the +builder had wondered how a third story would look and had set it there +to give him an idea. The little box was called ‘The Tower’ and was a +mass of narrow windows on all sides. There was something extremely, +almost depressingly, respectable about the Puddlestone mansion. It was +so uncompromisingly angular and unadorned and white, and the big +downstair windows were so immaculate in their heavy white curtains, and +the front door, with its fan-light and side-lights, looked down across +the front lawn with such a suspicious air that――well, Tim, viewing it +for the first time, regretted having originated the idea of the visit. + +A drive led from the street to the doorway and then curved back to +the street again. Beside the carriage-way ran a narrow brick path +for those afoot. Two stone urns, just a wee bit out of plumb, and a +carriage-block adorned the grass before the house. Huge maples and +oaks partly hid the old mansion, and at the back there was a veritable +plantation of trees and shrubs, so overgrown and crowded that the +late sunlight scarcely filtered through. Back there, too, near the +house, was a long line of one-story structures; a stable, at one end, +and then a carriage-house, and then an open woodshed, and then a +poultry-house. + +As the three boys started up the gently ascending, curving walk to the +front door, the westing sun sent long shafts of orange light through +the maples and oaks and flashed ruddily against a corner window. But +the shadows were black and there was a somber stillness about the +place that impressed at least one of the visitors unpleasantly. Pud +appeared to be unaffected and chattered without pause all the way to +the entrance, pointing out this feature and that and recalling past +adventures. Coincident with their arrival at the door, there came a +long roll of distant thunder. In the west the sun was descending into +a bank of sullen purple clouds, while northward a sudden flare of +lightning showed. + +‘Guess we’re going to be lucky to have a roof over us to-night,’ said +Pud. ‘There’s a peach of a storm coming up.’ + +He raised the old iron knocker and beat a startling _rat-a-tat_ +in the silence. Presently, as nothing happened, he knocked again. +Subsequently, while the thunder pealed once more, he pulled +energetically at a crockery bell-knob. Far away, within the house, they +heard a bell jangle. But nobody answered. Pud muttered disgustedly and +almost yanked the bell-knob out by the roots, but still there were no +results. + +‘Reckon folks ain’ to home,’ observed Harmon. + +‘_Somebody’s_ here,’ said Pud impatiently. ‘Gee, Aunt Sabrina _never_ +goes anywhere. It’s funny, though. Let’s try the back.’ + +So they trooped around the corner and along the farther side, through +a shadowed nave formed by two rows of lilacs and syringas, to the back +door. It was even more still and eerie here, and when Harmon, slapping +a mosquito on a bare leg, said ‘Ha!’ in sudden triumph, the others +jumped nervously. There was a square porch at the back, latticed on +three sides and screened inside the lattice with mosquito wire. The +stout door was closed tightly and locked. There was no bell in sight +and so Pud pounded lustily and shouted ‘Aunt Sabrina!’ several times. +After waiting a few minutes, they returned to the front of the house, +Pud nonplussed, but still insisting that somebody must be at home. + +‘Maybe,’ suggested Tim, ‘your aunt’s kind of deaf.’ + +‘She isn’t,’ said Pud shortly. ‘Anyway, the girl ought to hear. _Some +one_ ought to hear! Gee, you’d think they were all dead!’ + +‘Reckon they is,’ remarked Harmon cheerfully. ‘Reckon some one done +been here and pirated ’em.’ + +‘Shut up,’ said Pud impatiently. ‘If you can’t talk sense, keep still. +You fellows wait here and I’ll go over to the next house and ask the +lady about it.’ + +‘Well, I don’t know,’ answered Tim slowly. ‘Maybe we’d better not +bother. If we started right away and got a car, I guess we’d get back +to the boat before it rained very hard.’ + +‘Ain’ we goin’ eat?’ asked Harmon anxiously. + +‘Yes,’ said Pud decidedly. ‘And we’re going to eat right here. Gee, I +don’t want to spend the night in that launch if it’s going to rain. And +it’s too late to find a place to put the tent up.’ A crash of thunder +that shook the ground under them brought a gasp of alarm from Tim. ‘You +wait!’ shouted Pud, and set off at top speed across the lawn. + +The sunlight was gone now and a coppery light filled the world. +Overhead dun-colored clouds raced fast, but in the north a great bank +of grayish-purple piled higher and higher. A big drop fell on Tim’s +hand. Then another splashed on the step. Tim wished very much that he +was back home in Millville. + +Harmon, viewing the impassive front of the big house solemnly, asked +helpfully: ‘Mister Tim, you reckon this here house is hanted?’ + +‘Yes, I do,’ answered Tim emphatically. ‘I’ll bet it’s full of hants +and ghosts and――and everything! And I wish to goodness we’d never come +here! I don’t believe Pud’s got any aunt, and, if he has, I hope she +chokes!’ + +‘Must be awful deaf ol’ lady,’ mused Harmon. + +The rain, after those few drops, had decided to hold off awhile, it +appeared. There was no stirring now. It was as if the world held its +breath, expectant, waiting. Another terrific crash of thunder pealed +across the heavens, nearer now, louder, more appalling. Tim grasped +Harmon’s arm tightly. + +‘Gosh!’ he muttered. ‘I――I ain’ goin’ to stay here! I’m――’ + +At that moment Pud came into sight again. He wasn’t running now. In +fact, he wasn’t even walking briskly. His hands were in his pockets and +his whole appearance indicated dejection. + +‘Gone away,’ he called dismally when he was within hearing distance. +‘She left this morning for Mumford and won’t be back till to-morrow +afternoon. She’s gone to a funeral. And the girl’s gone with her. I +guess we’re out of luck!’ + +‘Sure is,’ assented Harmon. + +‘Well, I guess we are!’ exclaimed Tim violently. ‘Why don’t your old +aunt stay at home sometimes? Gosh, look at the fix we’re in! It’s going +to rain like anything in a minute and we’re three or four miles from +the boat and you don’t even know where the car line is and――’ + +‘I do, too! It’s just four or five blocks over there.’ + +‘Well, then why don’t you say so? Want to stay here and get struck by +lightning? Or drowned? Come on, can’t you, for goodness’ sake! If I had +an aunt――’ + +That is as far as Tim’s eloquence carried him, for at that instant the +sky opened and the deluge descended. With one accord they raced up the +steps, assisted in their flight by a roar of thunder and a blinding +flash of lightning, and cowered, half-stunned, under the narrow hood +above the doorway. + +‘_Gee!_’ muttered Pud. Tim was beyond words. Harmon, his eyes showing +very round, giggled. + +‘Ol’ Mister Thun’er sure speak right out loud that time! Whoo――ee!’ + +In front of them was a hissing, drumming wall of water that shut off +the world as completely as though a silver-gray curtain had been +suddenly lowered. The shelf-like projection above provided but scant +shelter from the downpour and they were all getting wet very fast. The +thunder slam-banged again and the gray world blazed with light. As the +echo of the thunder died away, there came a sharp, triumphant cry from +Pud, and the next instant he was down on his knees in the torrent, +poking about at the foot of the steps. Then he was back again, gasping, +laughing, shaking the water from his face, with a big iron key in one +hand! + +‘Just remembered!’ he shouted above the seethe and hiss of the rain. +‘She always hides it there! Funny I didn’t think of it sooner!’ As he +spoke, he fitted the key in the lock, there was a creaking sound, and +the door fell open before them. + +Pud stamped water from his clothes, tossed his reeking hat to a +table, and closed the big door again. ‘There!’ he cried triumphantly. +‘How’s this?’ Then, partly from reaction, he fell to laughing loudly, +awakening strange echoes in the big, dim hallway. ‘Gee, wouldn’t Aunt +Sabrina be mad if she knew? I can see her face right now!’ + +Tim started nervously and looked behind him, but there was no Aunt +Sabrina in sight; only the dark portals and the blacker well of the +broad stairway. He wiped his drenched face and neck with an already +damp handkerchief and gave vent to his feelings. ‘Of all the blamed +idiots!’ he sputtered. ‘Keeping us standing out there in that rain when +the door-key was right there all the time! I’m soaking wet right to the +skin and I’ll probably catch cold, and it’s all your fault! If you had +any sense――’ + +A salvo of thunder, and the hallway was ablaze with vivid white light! +Tim stood rooted with terror, his mouth still open, but no words +coming! As silence fell again, both he and Pud started and stared in +alarm toward the doorway at the back. From beyond it came faint but +unmistakable sounds; footsteps, a clatter of metal! Tim turned a glance +along the dim hallway toward the front door and had already made one +hurried step in its direction, when Pud laughed with nervous relief. + +‘Harmon,’ he said. + +Sure enough, Harmon was no longer with them! Together they made their +way toward the sounds, through the darkened dining-room and the dimmer +pantry to the kitchen. Harmon was in the act of setting fire to the +paper and kindlings he had stuffed into the big stove. He looked up as +they entered and grinned serenely. + +‘Goin’ have us a fire in ’bout two shakes, Mister Pud, so’s we can get +us dry.’ + +‘Great!’ approved Pud, and found the gas bracket and sent a flood of +illumination over the big room. + +Somehow, the light and the sound of the crackling flames seemed to make +everything all right at once. Tim forgot his peevishness and wriggled +out of his jacket, and Harmon, having moved a folding clothes-dryer +to the end of the stove, spread the garment out on it. Pud was on the +porch now, peering into the big refrigerator. Harmon added more wood +to the fire and then carefully applied lumps of coal. A gentle warmth +was already perceptible. Tim’s frowns smoothed out and he smiled +contentedly as he rubbed damp hands together. Pud came back with the +results of his foray and set them on the table; a carton of eggs, a +shoulder of boiled ham, butter, a sauce-dish of stewed tomatoes, and a +jar of milk not quite full. Tim cheered so loudly that a jarring peal +of thunder made almost no impression on him! + +In fact, after that they almost forgot the storm entirely. Here was +warmth and light and food; slathers of food, for Pud had invaded the +pantry and produced, as if by magic, bread and jelly and cup-cakes and +a jar of preserved ginger. With the viands assembled, and Harmon fairly +crooning over them, he armed himself with a lamp and made his way up +the big staircase into the silent, mysterious regions above. To tell +the truth, he didn’t like that excursion much, but he made it just the +same――rather hurriedly――and returned with three blankets. Then they all +disrobed and hung their wet clothes before the fire, which was now +going at a great rate, and drew the blankets about them. After that it +was up to Harmon. Pud and Tim drew chairs as near the stove as they +might without interfering with the cook and sat back in blissful ease +and pleasant anticipation. + +The sight of Harmon trying to fry eggs and hold his blanket about him +at one and the same time sent them into convulsions of laughter, and +Harmon, joining in, danced around the kitchen with a tin spoon waving +about his head. The acme of mirth was reached when Pud imagined Aunt +Sabrina entering at the moment! + +What a dinner that was! Or, rather, let us say what a banquet, for +no mere ordinary dinner ever provided such a variety of dishes! They +had two kinds of ham; fried ham until it gave out and then cold ham; +eggs――two apiece; stewed tomatoes; bread and butter; coffee――that was +Harmon’s brilliant thought; milk while it lasted; cup-cakes; sweet +crackers; currant jelly; preserved ginger――which Harmon tried and +disapproved of; and many of Aunt Sabrina’s early sugar-pears, these +latter discovered by Pud on the dining-room sideboard. But even that +array was none too great for three such appetites, and when they had +finished the top of the kitchen table was almost as bare of crumbs as +it had been an hour before! + +They took counsel then. The storm had abated, but it was still raining +busily and with no sign of cessation. The thought of returning through +the rain to that drenched and comfortless launch held no allure. Here +there was warmth and shelter; beds if they dared take possession of +them. Tim’s courage failed at the idea of climbing into one of Aunt +Sabrina’s immaculate four-posters, but Pud was for being hung for a +sheep instead of a lamb. As for Harmon, busily washing up, his advice +was not asked. Yet, in the end, it was Harmon who decided the question +of going or staying. + +‘These here clo’es ain’ goin’ be dry ’fore mornin’,’ he declared. +‘Reckon we jus’ have to sit aroun’ an’ wait till they is.’ + +Whereupon, remembering he was a pirate, Pud seized the lamp again and +strode toward the hall. ‘Come on,’ he commanded. ‘Let’s find out where +we sleep!’ + +Dutifully, but doubting his wisdom, Tim followed. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + THE PRISONER IN THE TOWER + + +Pud and Tim shared a big four-poster bed in the room always occupied +by the former when, once a year, he accompanied his parents to +Great-Aunt Sabrina’s. This was at the back of the house, to the left, +the smallest of the rooms on the second floor. Opposite, across the +broad hall that ran from front to back, was a huge bathroom, containing +an old-fashioned zinc tub boxed in walnut paneling, and cutting off +a corner of it was a stairway leading down to the kitchen. Harmon +was given a bed made of two thick comforters from the maid’s room, +doubled lengthwise and laid on the floor. A single blanket answered for +covering. + +As the day had been, on the whole, fairly strenuous, all hands were +fast asleep before ten. Pud, though, didn’t slumber very peacefully. He +had overindulged in the preserved ginger, I think. At all events, while +Tim, having once fallen asleep, scarcely moved, Pud thrashed about a +good deal and awoke more than once to the sound of Harmon’s gurgling +respirations and the gentle, persistent patter of the rain outside. +They had left the door open, such being their custom when at home, and +it was when Pud had returned to full consciousness for the second or, +possibly, third time that he heard a sound that could be attributed +neither to Harmon nor the rain. + +The sound came from somewhere below and suggested to the curious +listener the opening of a stubborn drawer containing some metallic +contents that rattled together. His first thought was, of course, that +Aunt Sabrina had returned home, and the thought was accompanied by an +unpleasant sinking sensation. It also had the effect of bringing him +very wide awake. For a minute he lay in bed and considered a course +of action. It might be that, if he did nothing at all, his presence, +and that of his companions, would remain unsuspected until morning. On +the other hand, it was more probable that Aunt Sabrina’s sharp eyes +would see that things were not just as she had left them, or that the +maid would miss the comforters and blanket and institute a search for +them. On the whole, as little as the plan appealed to him, Pud decided +finally that right now was the time to appear and explain. Of course, +Aunt Sabrina would look very fearsome and probably have quite a lot +to say about boys with wet feet dirtying up her floors and helping +themselves to her victuals and―― + +Right there Pud sat up in bed very suddenly, staring amazedly into the +gray darkness. Why, it couldn’t be Aunt Sabrina! It just _couldn’t_ be +Aunt Sabrina for the simple reason that he had locked the front door +on the inside and the big iron key still remained where he had turned +it! And without the key, how could Aunt Sabrina have got in? He simply +couldn’t imagine either Lydia, the middle-aged maid and companion, or +Aunt Sabrina forcing a window and climbing over the ledge! But if it +wasn’t Aunt Sabrina stirring quietly about downstairs, who could it be? + +His heart beat faster while he strained his ears. For a long moment +he heard nothing, and he was just about to tell himself with vast +relief that he had imagined the previous sounds when they came again. +Resisting the impulse to awaken Tim, he crept out of the big bed and +made his way noiselessly to the door. From below, seemingly from the +dining-room, came the tinkle of metal and the creak of a board. + +‘_Robbers!_’ thought Pud. + +His first impulse was to return and awaken Tim and Harmon, his second +to make certain that he was right. He would look an awful fool if he +waked the others up and then discovered that the suspicious sounds +had been made by――well, some perfectly innocent thing such as a cat! +After a moment of hesitation he emerged into the hall. The stairway +was a long distance, but he reached the railing finally and, guiding +himself by it, crept on until he could crane his head over it and +bring the dining-room door into his field of vision. The stairs and +the hall below were dark, but beyond the open door of the dining-room +there was light. It was a very weak light and Pud guessed that it came +from a small electric torch. While he gazed it vanished entirely. Then +it reappeared, stronger this time, as though it was focused closer +to the door into the hall. There was a shuffling, dragging sound and +the faint clink of metal once more, as though muffled by cloth. Then, +with startling effect on the watcher, the light fell on the edge of +the doorway and traveled past into the hall, illumining it with faint, +white radiance. + +Pud retreated swiftly to the room. There, a hand on the doorknob, he +thought hard. What was going on downstairs was quite plain to him. +Some one was stealing Aunt Sabrina’s silver! Aunt Sabrina thought a +good deal of her silver, for much of it had belonged in her family for +several generations, and she would, Pud knew, be terribly grieved if +she lost it. Therefore she mustn’t lose it. Some way he must circumvent +the robber. The telephone, an old-style wall affair, was in the lower +hall and not two yards from the dining-room. Plainly that offered no +solution. Pud considered a sortie in force, but he remembered that +burglars carried weapons. Even if they managed to frighten the burglar, +he would probably take his booty with him. Further planning was +interrupted by the soft sound of feet on the stairs, and Pud retired +inside his door and watched breathlessly through a half-inch crack. + +The intruder mounted the stairs unhurriedly, with only an occasional +inquiring flash of the diminutive torch. He made very little noise, +but, on the other hand, did not seem particularly fearful of being +heard. In short, he gave Pud the impression of one not in the least +concerned with the possible presence of other persons in the house, +and so, Pud reasoned, he had learned of Aunt Sabrina’s absence and was +proceeding under the assumption that he was perfectly safe and could +take all the time he wanted. At the head of the stairs, he swept the +light about him, keeping, as always, the rays close to the floor, and +in that instant Pud, peering through the narrow aperture in the door, +saw him for the first time. + +To be more exact, what Pud saw was the silhouette of a man’s form, a +form apparently rather small and slim and not nearly so formidable as +imagination had pictured it. Then the light went out again and the form +melted into the darkness. Light footsteps trod the carpet and a door +squeaked faintly. The burglar had gone into Aunt Sabrina’s room, on +the front of the house. Pud didn’t believe the fellow would find much +of value in there, and evidently he didn’t, for he was out again very +soon, his coming indicated by another quick flare of the torch. Across +the hall was an empty chamber, known as the ‘best room.’ That held the +burglar’s attention even a shorter time, and from there he came back, +past the head of the stairway and disappeared into the maid’s room. + +Meanwhile Pud was thinking up plans and discarding them rapidly; +to lock the door and somehow get to the ground from the window and +alarm the neighbors; to shout for help from the same window; to get +downstairs by the back passage, the door to which was almost opposite, +take possession of the burglar’s loot and make off with it before +the latter could follow. But none of these schemes promised well. +Behind him was the peaceful sound of Tim’s breathing and the louder +respirations of Harmon. Pud had time for a brief thought of their +surprise when they awoke and learned of what had been happening; and +then he hoped hard that they wouldn’t awake just yet, for the least +sound from them would, if heard by the midnight visitor, either send +that person scuttling away with his booty or――well, Pud didn’t like to +dwell on the alternative. Burglars, he believed, were dreadfully fond +of shooting holes in persons who interfered with their plans! But Pud +had assured himself that the key was on the inside of the lock and he +was rather certain that he could get that door closed and that key +turned in mighty quick time when the right moment came. + +Across the hall from the maid’s room and directly opposite was the door +giving onto the stairway that led to The Tower. Next to it was the door +of a second spare room. Then, toward the back of the house, were the +bathroom door, wide open at present, and, next, the door to the kitchen +stairway, closed. It was fair to assume that the burglar meant to +make a thorough inspection of the premises, and that sooner or later, +probably last of all, he would want to know what was in the room behind +whose door Pud stood on guard. When that happened――well, Pud didn’t +know just what he would do then, but meanwhile he had thought of a plan! + +Its success depended on two things; whether the burglar proved curious +enough to want to know what lay at the top of The Tower stairway and +whether the key of the stairway door was on the inside or out. That +there was a key Pud knew for a fact. His heart beat a little faster +as the light showed once more for an instant and the burglar, having +made a thorough and, Pud hoped, profitless search of Lydia’s room, +emerged again into the hall. Then the light traveled along the stairway +spindles, swept the edge of the carpet and crept upward along the white +panels of The Tower door. And then it went out, but not before Pud had +seen, with intense satisfaction, the key! + +In the succeeding darkness there came the soft, padding sound of the +man’s feet on the carpet and then the faint click of the latch. Again +the light flared. The burglar was in the open doorway and the rays of +the torch were exploring the stairs that led upward. A long moment +passed. Then darkness fell once more and Pud’s heart sank. His plan had +failed! He waited for the sound of the man’s steps again, but there +was only silence out there. Uneasily, Pud’s hand tightened on the knob +and he stood prepared to close and lock the door. But at that moment a +sound came to him that brought a thrill of renewed hope, the sound of a +stumbling step on the bare stairs! Momentarily The Tower doorway showed +lighter against the gloom of the hall and Pud widened the aperture of +his own door and craned his head out. Now he could hear unmistakably +the creaking of the burglar’s feet on The Tower stairs. Pud crept out +into the darkness. Once more there was a dim light across the way. The +man had reached the little landing and was making the turn. + +Pud took a long, deep breath and crept down the hall toward The Tower +door. He reached it, pulled it slowly toward him. From above came the +complaining of the stair treads, then silence. Pud could imagine the +man’s disgust as he swept his light over the square emptiness of that +chamber, and something very close to a chuckle mingled with the click +of the latch as it slipped into place. Swiftly then Pud’s fingers flew +to the key. Perhaps it had been unused so long that it had forgotten +how to turn, for it resisted his efforts stubbornly. He put all his +strength against it unavailingly, and his heart sank. Beyond the door +were faint creakings. The burglar was coming back down the stairs! +Caution urged Pud to flight, but he was stubborn, too, and, getting a +new grasp on the key and putting the fingers of his left hand about the +knuckles of his right, he made a final and desperate effort. There was +a loud protest from the unwilling key, but it turned! + +Then Pud ran! + +Back at the door of his own room he paused and listened. There was no +sound for a long moment save the thumping of his own heart. Then the +knob of The Tower door was gently turned. A second silence. Then there +was a straining, creaking noise as the imprisoned man put his weight +against the door. But Aunt Sabrina’s house had been built in the days +when doors were made strong and thick and heavy, and for the time, at +least, Pud had no fear of its yielding. With a bound, Pud was pulling +the blanket from Tim and prodding him into wakefulness, and after that +many things happened with confusing rapidity. + +Lights flared upstairs and down. Pud spoke breathlessly to a sleepy +telephone operator and, after what seemed an interminable time, to a +gruff-voiced police sergeant. Tim and Harmon, close to The Tower door, +talked to each other in deep, bass voices designed to impress the +burglar with the fact that his escape in that direction was barred by +at least two resolute men. As Pud left the telephone to light the gas +in the dining-room and rescue Aunt Sabrina’s silver, he heard Harmon +saying in loud tones that seemed to come from his boots――or that would +have come from his boots had he worn any: ‘I’s sure cravin’ to use this +here ol’ resolver, Mister Daley. I ain’ had me a chance to shoot it +off for a long time!’ And then came Tim’s voice, deep and husky: ‘And +I’d certainly like to use this automatic of mine, Mister Johnson!’ + +Pud found what he expected to find, a burlap bag filled with Aunt +Sabrina’s smaller silver and about all the larger pieces. Some of the +latter had not been molested, and these, as Pud guessed, were only +silver-plated. The locked drawers of the big, old-fashioned mahogany +sideboard had been forced, and Pud reflected that for the burglar’s +sake he hoped the latter would not be around when Aunt Sabrina viewed +the chipped and cracked edges of the wood! To be on the safe side, +he dragged the bag to a closet and turned the key on it. Then he ran +upstairs again and relieved Tim while the latter donned the rest of his +clothes. They were all fully dressed by the time the police arrived, +and Pud admitted them somewhat impressively through the front door, +while Tim and Harmon leaned over the upstairs balusters and stared down +enthralled. + +That the burglar had attempted to descend from his prison by the roof +was evident later from the fact that one of The Tower windows was +found open. Probably his courage had failed him as soon as he had set +foot on the slippery, rain-filmed shingles and he had decided to face +trial rather than risk a broken neck. At all events, when they opened +The Tower door and went cautiously up, four burly officers with drawn +revolvers, there he sat on the top step, a rather hungry-looking, +undersized little rat of a man, calmly awaiting them. + +‘Ho,’ said the officer in command of the force, ‘it’s only “Slim” +Towle! Come on down, Slim, and we’ll give you a ride.’ + +So Slim came down docilely, looking in fact, or so Pud thought, +rather relieved, and one of the men went through his pockets very +carefully and took out quite a number of interesting articles including +a black-jack, a small nickeled pocket torch, and one or two other +personal articles――but no revolver!――and a large collection of small +trinkets picked up during his visit. There was, for instance, Aunt +Sabrina’s gold locket that held a strand of braided brown hair, a +tortoise-shell comb, a silver-and-pearl paper-cutter, Lydia’s bar-pin +set with imitation emeralds, a gold hairpin, a fine gold chain, and a +single silver cuff-link. All of which articles, announced the police, +would have to be taken to Headquarters and there claimed by their +owners. Then ‘Slim’ Towle, looking a bit bored and rather weary, went +down the stairs between two of the officers and out the front door. +The officer in charge of operations――a lieutenant, Pud thought――viewed +the burlap bag and its contents, nodded and said: + +‘Had a pretty good haul there. Well, if folks will leave their silver +lying around loose, they’ll lose it sooner or later.’ Then he turned +suddenly and viewed the three lads with stern gaze. ‘Now,’ he asked +disconcertingly, ‘who are you and what are you doing here?’ + +Pud had to make rather a long story of it, but in the end the officer +went off without arresting any of them for complicity in the crime and +they watched him climb into the patrol wagon with vast relief. By that +time the eastern sky was graying and the rain, having subsided first +to a drizzle, had ceased entirely. Harmon lighted a fire in the stove +again and prepared breakfast from what remained in the larder while +Pud and Tim returned upstairs and, as best they could, tidied up. Tim +was inclined to be a bit disgruntled and peevish because Pud had not +awakened him sooner and allowed him to share in the excitement from +the first, but Pud explained and excused until Tim grudgingly forgave +him. Harmon’s skill as a cook was not so apparent this morning, since +recent events had left him in a highly excited state, but they made out +a satisfactory breakfast of coffee, eggs, and toast. Pud closed the +outside blinds across the window in the dining-room at which ‘Slim’ +Towle had made his entrance by removing a pane of glass, and finally +announced that he was ready to leave. But at the last instant he +bethought him of something and reëntered the house, to be gone several +minutes. During his absence he wrote a note to Aunt Sabrina and left +it leaning against the coffee-urn on the sideboard where she could not +fail to find it. The note was as follows: + + DEAR AUNT: + + We came to see you, but you were not home so we stayed because + it was raining and lightning. We slept in the back room and did + not hurt anything I hope, and we took some food as we were very + hungry. I caught the burglar, and everything he was going to + take is in the bag in the closet except some jewelry of yours + and Lydia, and the policeman said you would have to go to the + police station and claim it. We had a very enjoyable visit, but + were sorry not to see you. Good-bye. + + Your affectionate nephew, + + ANSON PUDDLESTONE PRINGLE, JR. + +Then Pud locked the front door and hid the key under the lowest step +and, with Tim at his side and Harmon padding along behind, set forth +under the first weak rays of the sun to find the Moorehouse Avenue car +line. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + THE RESCUE + + +The return to the launch was uneventful. They had the car to themselves +most of the way, and Tim dozed off in a corner. Pud lost his bearings +after they had reached the center of town and so they were carried +four blocks farther than they should have gone and had a long, wet and +dismal trudge to the river and made two failures before they found +the right alley. The _Vengance_ was extremely wet and soggy when they +reached her. The potatoes had wandered all around, the rain had leaked +into several of the lockers, and a _swish-swashing_ sound under the +floor informed them that there was much bailing to be done. With the +passing of the early morning excitement, reaction had set in and every +one’s spirits were low. Tim complained that he had not had sufficient +sleep and even Harmon seemed more solemn than usual. One thing, though, +they were agreed on, which was that they had had quite enough of +Livermore! + +But there the engine failed to agree with them. Pud turned the +fly-wheel until he was red-faced and breathless, and then Tim tried +it. Then Pud peered into the gasoline tank and fiddled with every +movable part of the engine. After that he thought of priming the +cylinders, but that didn’t produce the desired result. Half an hour +passed and the sun came up over the roofs of the town and deepened the +flush on Pud’s countenance. At intervals Pud arose and turned the wheel +over. At intervals he sank back on the seat in exhaustion. At intervals +Tim performed a similar routine. Once, very early in the proceedings, +the engine had emitted a faint but heartening cough. Since then it had +not even sneezed. + +Tim offered many well-meant suggestions and theories, but Pud received +them all coldly. Between spells at the fly-wheel he viewed the engine +in deep disgust, a disgust that was just short of loathing, and said +a great many unkind things about it. Toward the last he included Andy +Tremble in his remarks. Of the three aboard, Harmon alone retained his +equanimity. As his companions became more and more depressed, Harmon’s +spirits visibly lightened. When, though, he sought to give expression +to his cheerfulness by playing soft melodies on his mouth-organ, Pud +turned on him wrathfully and threatened to ‘pitch that thing in the +river’ if he didn’t quit! + +‘All you do is sit there and chuckle,’ accused Pud. ‘_You_ don’t break +your back on this old wheel! _You_ don’t blister your hands! You +just――just sit there and think it’s funny! My goodness, I should think +you’d be ashamed!’ + +‘Jus’ you-all let me turn it,’ said Harmon eagerly. + +‘Yes,’ said Tim, ‘let him try it, Pud.’ + +‘No, sir! He don’t know how. He’d probably break his wrist or +something.’ + +‘No, sir, Mister Pud, I won’t. I done seen how you-all does it. Jus’ +you let me――’ + +‘Well, all right,’ agreed Pud grudgingly. ‘But you have to take hold of +the handle like this. See? And then pull it out when you’ve turned it +over, because if you don’t it might fly back on you and break your arm. +Now you be careful, Harmon.’ + +‘Sure will!’ Harmon heaved upward―― + +Then he sat down suddenly on the floor, the handle flew against the +locker and――the engine started! + +‘Are you hurt?’ cried Tim anxiously. + +Harmon felt of himself gingerly. Then he shook his head in solemn +negation. + +‘No, sir, I ain’ hurt, but how-come it ac’ so short with me, Mister +Tim?’ + +It was Tim’s turn to laugh then, and Pud’s, and they seized it. Harmon +viewed them with funereal reproach and picked himself up. Pride +asserted itself. ‘Ain’ any ol’ engine can hol’ out agains’ me,’ he +declared as he went dignifiedly back to the stern. + +The early start brought them to Berryville before nine, and an hour +later they steered the launch up to a shaded bank and went in swimming. +It was the hottest day they had so far experienced, and life aboard the +launch when the sun beat fiercely and scarcely any air moved was none +too pleasant. After their swim, a protracted affair, they remained in +bathing attire, deciding to have lunch there and wait for the cooler +afternoon before going on. They pulled the launch downstream a few rods +to where the sunlight could reach it and spread their damp tent and +bedding out on the bank to dry. Tim went to sleep then, Harmon sat in +the stern of the boat and played on the mouth-organ, and Pud fished. At +twelve hunger asserted itself and they made a hearty lunch. Afterward +Tim dozed again and Pud went back to his luckless fishing, assisted +by Harmon. The fish evidently had no appetites for grasshoppers and +Harmon’s search for worms was unsuccessful. At three, by which time a +faint breeze was stirring, they bundled things back on the boat and +went on down the river. + +The river had changed now. It was three times as wide as it had +been when they had set forth at Millville, the pleasant forests had +disappeared and settlements were close together. Boats were numerous, +too; fishing launches that chugged noisily past, tugs that towed +schooners of lumber or barges of coal, small sailboats that tacked +back and forth in the light breeze, flat-bottomed punts, occupied by +patient fishermen, anchored along the margins. While to-day the bosom +of the river was hardly more than ruffled, Tim realized that, with a +strong wind blowing, the same stream might well become uncomfortable to +a poor sailor; and Tim, while not certain, had a suspicion that rough +water would prove him to be such. Consequently, he accepted with secret +enthusiasm Pud’s plan to turn into Fox River, some few miles below, and +ascend that tributary for a way. + +‘But,’ stated Tim positively, ‘I’m not going near Swamp Hole, Pud.’ + +‘Well, who wants to go there?’ demanded Pud. ‘Gee, Swamp Hole’s twenty +miles or more up the river! Besides, I’ve heard that you can’t get to +it, anyway, unless you know just how. That’s what makes it like it is; +filled with murderers and such-like folks, I mean. They just know the +officers can’t find them.’ + +‘Well, I don’t suppose,’ answered Tim charitably, ‘that they’re all +murderers up there. I guess there are some decent people, Pud.’ + +But Pud didn’t hold with that notion. He shook his head and frowned +darkly. ‘I guess decent folks wouldn’t be likely to live in with all +those cut-throats and――and desperadoes, Tim. No, sir, I guess they’re +all pretty much alike in Swamp Hole, and I wouldn’t go in there for any +amount of money. Well, maybe I would for a couple of hundred dollars, +but not any less than that.’ + +‘A couple of hundred!’ exclaimed Tim. ‘Gosh, I wouldn’t do it for――for +a couple of million!’ + +‘Well,’ hedged Pud, ‘of course I didn’t mean I’d go alone. I wouldn’t +mind going with Mr. Garvey, the marshal, and, maybe, Sumner Jones +and――and Mr. Thrasher.’ + +‘Maybe, if they were all armed,’ granted Tim doubtfully. + +‘The’s worser things than murderers in that ol’ Swamp Hole,’ observed +Harmon gravely. ‘The’s ghos’es an’ hants, Mister Pud.’ + +‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ replied Pud severely. + +‘How-come?’ + +‘Because there isn’t!’ + +‘Mister Pud, did you-all ever see a ghos’?’ + +‘No, I didn’t, and there’s no use in your asking me “How do I know +then!” Because that’s no argument at all! Nobody believes in ghosts any +more, Harmon; nobody but just darkies!’ + +‘How-come Mister Tim say they was hants in that there house what you’ +Aun’ live in, then? He ain’ no darky!’ + +‘I suppose he was just fooling,’ answered Pud, looking to Tim for +agreement. Tim nodded, but Harmon insisted with conviction: + +‘He don’ ac’ like he’s foolin’ when he say it!’ + +Further discussion was prevented by their arrival at the mouth of the +Fox River, and Pud swung the bow of the launch to starboard and entered +new water. The Fox proved a sluggish stream, but even so the launch +showed speedily that moving against a current was quite different +from moving with it, and although Tim, at Pud’s command, advanced the +throttle to the limit, the boat seemed contented to chug along at a +four-mile gait. Perhaps it may have had a premonition of what awaited +beyond and was loath to meet it! + +For a while the stream, nowhere much more than a hundred yards wide, +curved slowly between low banks edged with rushes from which wide +fields, mostly tilled, ascended gently to distant farmhouses and barns. +It was perhaps an hour before the forest closed in upon them and they +found themselves moving slowly through silent reaches where the +shadows lay broadly on the scarcely moving water. It was very warm in +there, for the trees cut them off from the breeze that was swaying the +topmost branches, high above. + +The heat and the silence together seemed to exert a depressing effect +on them, and when they spoke they found themselves quite unconsciously +talking in lowered voices. It was a relief when, chugging around +a bend, they came on an aged negro in the stern of a punt, half +asleep, while two corks lay placidly on the surface near by. He awoke +sufficiently to wave and bow to them and to shake his head when Pud +asked if he was having any luck. When they went from sight around the +next curve, his chin was back on his chest once more. + +The river turned and twisted continually, but the turns were leisurely +and there was deep water right to within a few feet of the tree-hung +banks. Now and then a snag sent them farther into the middle, but on +the whole navigation was easy and Pud might almost have emulated the +old darky and dozed at his post. Turtles slipped noiselessly from +half-submerged logs and now and then a fish broke the smooth surface. +An occasional kingfisher awoke the silence with strident challenge and +jays called mockingly from the woods. Once they passed a mother duck +herding four youngsters before her to safety, and Harmon’s eyes grew +very round and hungry-looking. It was now time to think of disembarking +and setting up camp, and Pud watched anxiously for a clearing, but the +trees continued on each side, so closely set, so tangled in undergrowth +as to afford no chance for the tent. Tim showed indications of mutiny +and suggested dining on board and finding a camp-site later, but just +then a new turn of the stream promised better things. + +On the left the forest gave place to a clearing that ran back, +fan-shaped, to the summit of a distant slope. At some time, not very +recently it seemed, the timber had been cut, and everywhere within +the bare expanse unsightly stumps and unburned mounds of slashings +remained. Over the water hung a decrepit wharf, too high at the present +stage of the river to offer convenient landing. Well beyond the wharf, +drawn to the edge of the red-clay bank and moored to a near-by stump, +lay a shanty-boat. This was the first of its kind they had encountered, +although farther up the river they found them numerous enough. The +present one was small, with a four-foot roofed deck at the shoreward +end from which a plank led upward to the bank. It was painted green, +but the color had faded to a neutral tint. There were small one-sash +windows on the sides and end. That the shanty-boat was in use was +proved by two things; smoke issuing from the stovepipe thrust through +the roof and a person sitting on an upturned nail-keg on the deck. At +first the person appeared to be a boy, but a closer look showed her to +be a girl in a bluish dress. + +‘I guess,’ said Pud, ‘we can camp beyond ’em, but maybe we’d better +ask.’ + +At sound of the launch the girl on the shanty-boat had turned to +observe it. Now she stood up and waved a hand. Pud grunted merely, but +Tim, more polite, waved back. Pud turned the nose of the _Vengance_ +toward the shanty-boat and prepared to hail it. He was going to say +‘Hello!’ and then ‘Say, mind if we camp beyond you folks?’ All he did +say, though, was ‘Hello!’, for at the same instant the girl spoke. + +‘Help!’ she called. + +The occupants of the launch stared in surprise. Doubtless, though, they +had misunderstood her, and Pud asked, ‘What did you say?’ This time +there was no mistaking. + +‘_Help!_’ said the girl. + +Pud looked about him in every direction. So did Tim. So, too, did +Harmon. Not a person was to be seen. Never, indeed, had any one of them +ever looked on a more quiet, peaceful, and lonely scene. Pud viewed Tim +blankly and received as blank a gaze in reply. By this time the two +boats were close together and mechanically Pud eased the launch up to +the stern of the other, motioning Tim to throw out the clutch. Harmon, +in the rôle of deck-hand, laid hold of the shanty-boat. Pud now gave +serious attention to the girl. + +She was apparently thirteen, possibly fourteen years old, with a thin, +deeply tanned face and coppery-brown hair drawn tightly back from her +forehead into a long braid which, at the present moment, hung across +one shoulder and terminated in a bow of bright red ribbon. She wore a +dress of some thin stuff that showed blue flowers on a white ground. +It was not a new dress, nor, observed Pud, was it particularly clean. +Brown cotton stockings enclosed a pair of painfully thin ankles. A pair +of scuffed black shoes completed her costume. Pud decided that she +was not at all pretty. In fact, he took an instant, if mild, dislike +to the girl; but this was more because she was regarding him with an +intense, unwavering stare from a pair of large dark eyes, a stare that +disconcerted him unpleasantly. + +Tim, untroubled by the hypnotic gaze, voiced his curiosity. + +‘Say, what’s the matter?’ he demanded. ‘What you yelling “Help” for?’ + +‘Because,’ replied the girl, still regarding Pud, ‘I want to be +rescued.’ She had rather a nice voice, sort of low and gurgly, and +there was such a tragic note in it that Tim thrilled and once more +gazed apprehensively about over the desolate scene. + +‘Rescued!’ echoed Pud. ‘What――who――Say, what are you doing? Getting +funny with us?’ + +‘Oh, no!’ The girl leaned nearer and dropped her voice. ‘You must take +me away from here before they come back! You will, won’t you? Oh, say +you will not desert me!’ + +‘Take you where? Who is it’s coming back?’ asked Pud dazedly. + +‘Those――those awful men!’ She looked swiftly, fearfully toward the edge +of the woods, and Pud looked, too, a sort of creepy feeling edging up +his spine. ‘They kidnaped me from my happy home and they’re keeping me +a prisoner in this dreadful place.’ She was speaking now in a thrilling +whisper. ‘You can’t imagine what I’ve been through! It――it has been +terrible!’ She shuddered. So did Pud and Tim, the latter having joined +Pud at the bow. ‘You will rescue me, won’t you?’ + +‘Well,’ muttered Pud uncomfortably, ‘I don’t know. It――it sounds sort +of funny to me. Say, what’s your name, and where do you live?’ + +‘My name’s Gladys Ermintrude Liscomb, and I live in Corbin. Oh, won’t +you please, _please_ take me home to my poor, distracted mother? If you +are seeking a reward――’ + +‘Gosh, no!’ exclaimed Tim. ‘Sure, we’ll take you home! Won’t we, Pud?’ + +‘Gee, I don’t know!’ Pud scowled at the deck. ‘What I want to know――’ + +‘Oh, dear!’ cried the girl distressedly. ‘We’re wasting time! They’ll +be back almost any moment now. They went off with their guns an hour +ago. They said they were going hunting, but’――again she shuddered――‘I +don’t know what awful deed they are up to!’ + +‘That’s right,’ urged Tim, tugging Pud’s arm. ‘We’d better get a move +on.’ + +‘What I want to know,’ repeated Pud doggedly, ‘is what they wanted to +kidnap you for.’ He viewed Gladys Ermintrude in cold apprisal. ‘You +don’t look to me like the sort of girls that get kidnaped. I guess your +folks ain’t got much money, have they?’ + +‘They have, too!’ declared the girl resentfully. ‘They’re fabulously +wealthy, you horrid thing! Why, I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if +mother had offered a thousand dollars reward for me!’ + +‘Huh, that isn’t much,’ said Pud. + +‘Or maybe ten thousand,’ added Gladys Ermintrude hastily. + +‘Gosh!’ murmured Tim. + +Even Pud was impressed now, but he was still cautious. + +‘Well, maybe it’s all right,’ he muttered, ‘but Corbin’s a good eight +miles from here, I guess, and we’ve got to get our tent pitched. Maybe +in the morning we could attend to it for you.’ + +The girl’s wail of despair was really heart-rending. ‘Too late!’ she +cried. ‘To-morrow I shall be far away!’ + +‘Oh, say, Pud,’ begged Tim, ‘have a heart, can’t you? Gosh, suppose she +was your sister or something! Gosh, I guess you wouldn’t like it if she +was! I guess――’ + +‘I haven’t got any sister,’ replied Pud stubbornly. ‘Anyhow, what I say +is――’ + +‘Yonder’s them,’ interrupted Harmon in pleased excitement. + +They all looked. Several hundred yards distant two men, carrying +shot-guns, had emerged into the clearing. They were undeniably +rough-looking persons, and, rescue or no rescue, Pud instantly decided, +this was no place to spend the night! + +‘Quick!’ said Gladys Ermintrude tensely. ‘Start your engine! It won’t +take me a second to get my bag!’ + +She disappeared into the shanty-boat and Tim sprang to the fly-wheel. +Pud stared irresolutely after the girl and then uneasily toward the +leisurely approaching men. The engine came to life and Pud reached +a decision. He didn’t like that silly girl, and there was something +mighty funny about the whole business, but here was real adventure! + +‘Stand ready to cast off!’ he ordered briskly. + +‘Er-huh,’ replied Harmon. + +Then they waited. From within the shanty-boat came faint sounds, but +no Gladys Ermintrude. Pud looked apprehensively at the approaching +kidnapers. They were walking more briskly now, even, he thought, +hurriedly. Doubtless they had caught sight of the launch. A sunbeam +glinted on the barrel of a gun and Pud felt suddenly chilly at the back +of his neck. He called hoarsely. + +‘Hey there! Gladys Whatyoucall it! Get a move on, can’t you?’ + +‘Just a minute!’ called the girl. + +‘No, sir, not a half a minute! If you ain’t out here before I count +five I’m going to leave you! One――’ + +‘Maybe we’d better start along,’ said Tim uneasily. ‘We could come back +later, I guess, and get her, Pud.’ + +‘Mighty fierce-lookin’ men, they is,’ declared Harmon cheerfully. + +‘Four,’ counted Pud, his intervals shortening perceptibly. ‘_Five!_ +Back her up, Tim!’ + +‘Here I am,’ announced Gladys Ermintrude triumphantly. ‘Will you please +take my bag?’ + +‘No, I won’t,’ growled Pud. ‘Throw it in and jump quick! Let’s go, Tim! +Give her gas!’ + +Gladys Ermintrude landed somewhat inelegantly in the launch just as +that craft churned away from the shanty-boat and just as a stentorian +hail came across the clearing. + +‘_Hey! Where you goin’?_’ shouted a voice. + +Pud swung the wheel hard, the _Vengance_ pushed her nose into the +current, and Gladys Ermintrude, jumping to a seat, waved defiantly +toward shore. + +‘Ha, ha!’ she cried. ‘At last, villains, I am out of your clutches! +Before dawn the hand of Justice――’ + +Unceremoniously Pud grabbed a skinny ankle and Gladys Ermintrude +collapsed in a heap. ‘You shut up!’ sputtered Pud. ‘Want us to get +shot? You get down and stay down!’ He was obeying his own order as well +as he could, and so were Tim and Harmon. The launch was picking up +speed now and the shanty-boat was already a length behind, shutting out +of sight the kidnapers for the moment. ‘Give her all there is, Tim!’ +called Pud. + +‘She’s got it,’ answered Tim. ‘Reckon they’ll shoot?’ + +‘I don’t know! Keep down, you’d better.’ Pud put his own head up and +looked back. The two men, roughly clothed and bearded desperadoes +indeed, were running hard now, were almost at the bank. As long as they +kept on running, Pud reflected, they couldn’t shoot, and even if they +did shoot they couldn’t do more than pepper the boat as long as they +all kept below the gunwale and―― + +‘Come back here!’ called an angry voice. ‘Where are you taking that +girl? I’ll have the Law on you!’ + +‘Oh,’ exclaimed Gladys Ermintrude despairingly, ‘that he should speak +of the Law!’ + +The other man shouted now, his words coming more faintly as the +distance increased. ‘You Tibbie! You Tibbie Liscomb, you come right +back here! If you don’t I’ll tell your mother the minute――’ + +The rest was lost in the noise of the engine and the steady thud of the +propeller. Pud scowled questioningly at the girl crouched beside him. +‘What’s he call you Tibbie for?’ he demanded suspiciously. ‘And how’s +he going to tell your ma if――’ + +‘He does it to humiliate me,’ answered the girl bitterly. ‘They both +called me Tibbie. Ah, well, it’s over now!’ She sighed deeply and +turned a look of gratitude on Pud. ‘My preserver!’ she whispered. ‘Had +it not been for you, who knows what awful fate were mine! Never, never +can I thank you enough, my brave――’ + +‘Aw, cut it,’ growled Pud. ‘And you’d better wipe the end of your nose. +You’ve got engine grease on it.’ + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + PURSUIT + + +The shanty-boat, the sagging wharf, and the waving men grew small in +the distance. The forest closed in once more. At last the clearing +passed from sight as the launch, chugging determinedly, rounded a +shadowed bend in the river. Pud and Tim sighed with relief. Harmon, +as solemn as an owl, perched on the stern and stared curiously at +Gladys Ermintrude. The girl, preparatory to her flight, had somehow +struggled into a very tight sweater of a deep orange shade which, +beyond the shadow of a doubt, harmonized sadly with her tanned face +and copper-hued hair. She had brought with her an ancient satchel +encompassed, at one end, by a rusty-black strap and at the other a +piece of clothes-line. It was the satchel that again aroused Pud’s +sleeping suspicions. + +‘Say, if you were kidnaped,’ he asked, ‘how’d you happen to bring all +your clothes along with you?’ + +‘Sakes alive!’ exclaimed Gladys Ermintrude. ‘Why, those aren’t _all_ my +clothes! Why, I’ve just got a few simple things in the bag, hardly a +change of attire.’ + +‘Just the same,’ persisted Pud, ‘if you were kidnaped――’ + +‘Gosh,’ expostulated Tim, who, being somewhat susceptible to feminine +charm, chivalrously disapproved of Pud’s incredulous attitude, ‘why +wouldn’t she take some duds with her?’ + +‘Well, because as a usual thing kidnaped folks don’t have time to pack +bags. When you kidnap a person, you just grab him quick and throw him +into a――an automobile and beat it!’ + +‘You don’t understand,’ said Gladys Ermintrude in a somewhat superior +manner that increased Pud’s growing dislike. ‘You see, they came for me +when I was all alone in the house, and after they had bound me up and +thrown me helpless on――on the floor――’ + +‘Gosh!’ muttered Tim. + +Harmon chortled, whether from horror or delight it would have been +difficult to say. + +‘They got the bag and made me tell them what to put in it,’ continued +Gladys Ermintrude. ‘But, sakes alive, I simply couldn’t think of +half the things I really needed, and I came away without my negligee +and――oh, several other things. I really don’t see how I managed to get +along as well as I did!’ + +‘Well, then,’ said Pud, ‘what did they do it for?’ + +The girl’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why, for the reward, of course!’ + +‘Sure,’ assented Tim. ‘Folks always offer rewards, Pud.’ + +Pud looked unconvinced. ‘I wouldn’t,’ he said, eyeing Gladys Ermintrude +with no enthusiasm. Then: ‘Who were those men?’ he asked. + +‘They were’――the girl’s gaze wavered momentarily――‘they were a Mr. +Liscomb and――’ + +‘But that’s your name!’ exclaimed Tim. + +‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘He’s my uncle. The tallest one, I mean.’ + +‘Oh, shucks!’ said Pud. ‘You can’t be kidnaped by your own uncle! Gee, +I knew there was something queer about it!’ + +‘You can, too,’ responded the girl indignantly. ‘I guess an uncle can +be just as――just as villainous as any one. You don’t know my uncle Asa!’ + +‘Who’s the other one?’ asked Pud. + +‘Uncle Asa’s brother. His name’s William.’ + +‘Well, he’s your uncle, too, isn’t he?’ demanded Pud impatiently. + +‘No, he’s not.’ + +‘Well, but, gee, he’s got to be! If he’s your uncle’s brother, he’s +your uncle, too. Isn’t he, Tim?’ + +‘Well,’ began Tim hesitantly. But at that moment Harmon broke in +with the warning announcement that there was a boat coming down the +river, and the matter of relationship was dropped. Pud viewed the still +distant craft and decided on discretion. + +‘They might see you and tell your _uncles_,’ he said to the girl, +emphasizing the last word triumphantly. ‘You sit down here and I’ll +throw the end of the tent over you till they get by.’ + +‘It isn’t “they,” it’s “him,”’ answered Gladys Ermintrude. ‘It’s Pete +Minger, and he’s going after them.’ + +‘After those――after your uncles?’ + +She nodded cheerfully. ‘They’re going farther down the river. Pete’s +going to tow them. He’s sort of late and――’ + +‘He’s coming like the dickens,’ exclaimed Tim admiringly. ‘Gosh, that +boat goes, don’t it?’ + +Pud hastily pushed the seemingly unwilling girl to a position beside +the tent and drew a corner of a flap over her. ‘You keep still,’ he +warned her. There was a smothered response that sounded rebellious. +‘You scrooch down, too, Harmon. We don’t want any trouble, I guess. You +sort of turn your back, Tim.’ + +The oncoming launch bore down fast. In the stern lolled a +disreputable-looking individual in a torn khaki shirt, hatless, smoking +a pipe. He waved carelessly as he passed, but Pud saw that he was +plainly interested in the _Vengance_. Even after he had passed, he kept +his gaze upstream for several minutes. + +‘All right,’ said Pud finally, throwing off the tent flap. ‘You can get +up now.’ + +Gladys Ermintrude arose with a very red countenance and sneezed several +times. ‘I don’t see,’ she announced vindictively, ‘what you had to do +that for. I guess my――those awful men saw the name on this boat, and I +guess Pete Minger saw it, too. So what sense was there in putting me +under that horrid, smelly old tent, I just wish you’d please tell me?’ + +‘Gosh, that’s so,’ agreed Tim. Pud, feeling rather foolish, merely +looked haughty and made no answer. Tim went on, a tone of uneasiness +in his voice, ‘Look here, Pud, suppose those men――those uncles, you +know――I mean those one uncle and――’ + +‘Oh, get on with it,’ interrupted Pud. + +‘Well, suppose they get this fellow, Pete Something, to take them in +his launch and come after us?’ + +‘Suppose they do?’ + +‘Well, my goodness, it’s a heap faster than this boat! They’d catch us +in no time! And, gosh, Pud, if they did catch us, I guess they’d be +pretty mad and I don’t know what would happen!’ + +‘No more do I,’ said Pud gloomily. ‘But it was your idea, this rescue +business. _I_ didn’t want to do it. _I_ didn’t――’ + +‘I do believe that’s just what they’ll do,’ broke in the girl +excitedly. ‘Isn’t it just thrilling? That launch of Pete Minger’s is +the fastest thing on the river, I guess!’ + +‘You seem mighty pleased about it,’ said Pud bitterly. ‘I dare say you +don’t care a bean if we get plugged full of bullets!’ + +‘I do, too, but they haven’t got any bullets. It’s just bird-shot. +Anyway, they probably won’t catch us.’ + +‘Why won’t they?’ demanded Tim eagerly. + +‘Because it’s getting pretty dark, and if we go up Fish-Hawk Creek and +hide under the bushes, I guess they won’t find us.’ + +‘Fish-Hawk Creek?’ inquired Pud. ‘Where’s that?’ + +‘Just a short distance. It’s the first creek you find. I think I can +tell when we get to it. I’ve been there lots of times with my――with +friends.’ + +‘Kidnaped, I suppose,’ said Pud sarcastically. + +‘Aw, Pud!’ begged Tim. + +Just then came a pathetic voice from the shadowy figure of Harmon in +the stern. ‘Ain’ we goin’ have no supper?’ he asked. + +It came to Pud and Tim instantly that they were very, very hungry, but +Pud shook his head. ‘Got to wait till we land,’ he declared. Tim sighed +deeply and Harmon relapsed into a melancholy silence. Pud yielded the +wheel to Tim and tried to add to the boat’s speed, but no amount of +oiling or coaxing made any difference. The _Vengance_ plodded doggedly +along at some four miles through the growing darkness while Pud, gazing +back down the dim stream, watched for pursuers. Presently he broke +into a conversation between Tim and Gladys Ermintrude with: ‘How much +farther’s this creek?’ + +The girl, recalled to her responsibilities, looked about her a moment. +Then, ‘Sakes alive,’ she exclaimed in surprise, ‘I do believe we’ve +gone by it! Didn’t you see a little opening on that side a few minutes +ago?’ + +‘No, I didn’t!’ answered Pud shortly. ‘Are you sure we’ve passed it?’ + +‘We-ell, I’m not absolutely――Yes, I am, too! There’s Peacher’s Bend +right up there where the two tall pines stick up, and Fish-Hawk Creek’s +a quarter of a mile below that. My, weren’t we stupid to go by it?’ + +‘Weren’t _we_ stupid!’ echoed Pud disgustedly. ‘I thought you were +going to tell us when we got to it! Gee, I never saw a girl yet who +was any good in a pinch! What’ll we do now? Is there another creek +anywhere near?’ + +‘No, there isn’t. Not for more than two miles, I guess. And I don’t +think you’re very polite to your guests to talk like that! I’m sure if +I was running this boat――’ + +‘Well, you aren’t,’ snapped Pud crossly. ‘And I’m going to turn back,’ +he added defiantly. + +‘We-ell,’ muttered Tim, ‘if you think we’d ought to――’ + +‘Well, gee, if we don’t those fellows will catch us easy, won’t they? +_Some one’s_ got to decide _something_, I should think! We can’t _all_ +spend our time just _talking_! You take the engine and I’ll see if we +can turn around without hitting the bank.’ + +They could and did and then Pud ran the launch as close as he dared +to the left-hand bank and went slowly back downstream in search of +the mouth of Fish-Hawk Creek. It was too dark now to see anything +distinctly save the steely ribbon of river where the last of the +daylight reached it through the walls of forest. Pud’s spirits were +getting very low. They usually did get low if he went much beyond his +accustomed time for food. He was taking some slight pleasure in a +mental picture of Gladys Ermintrude walking the plank when something +leaped into his vision far down the stream. More than once already he +had imagined just such an object, but this time it wasn’t imagination. +Harmon saw it, too, and remarked the fact with melancholy alacrity. +And then they all saw it and for a moment nothing was said aboard the +launch. Then it was the girl who broke the eloquent silence. + +‘Sakes alive!’ she giggled. ‘Isn’t this just too dramatic?’ + +‘If you weren’t a girl,’ began Pud between his teeth. + +‘Gosh,’ murmured Tim, ‘I guess we’re in for it!’ + +‘Can’ do nothin’ to me,’ announced Harmon defiantly. ‘I ain’ kidnup +nobody!’ + +‘If we could only find that creek!’ muttered Pud. + +The other boat was coming fast, fairly eating up the space between, and +now they could hear very plainly the steady _plup-plup_ of her exhaust. +Pud desperately wondered if, should they stop and huddle close to the +bank in the shadows, they could escape being seen. Then a wiser plan +came to him and his spirits rose buoyantly. + +‘I’m going right on past ’em,’ he announced. ‘They won’t be looking for +us to come this way, and they won’t suspect, I guess, when they see +the name on the bow isn’t the same! You get down and cover yourself +up, Gladys Evinrude. You see that she don’t show, Tim. Harmon, you +scrooch down on the bottom and stay there. You sit up here with me, +Tim. Make-believe you’re asleep. Put your arms on the――That’s it! Here +they come! Every one keep still and, no matter what happens, don’t say +a word or make a sound!’ + +The two launches drew nearer and nearer, Minger’s boat in mid-stream, +the _Jolly Rodger_ close to the bank. Pud leaned carelessly against the +gunwale, trying to express drowsiness by his attitude. Now he could see +that the approaching boat held three forms, one seated and one erect at +the bow, another standing near the middle. Then a strong flash-light +swept across the few yards of intervening water and a hoarse voice +hailed. + +‘_Hi, there! Slow down!_’ it commanded. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + FISH-HAWK CREEK + + +The other boat slowed, stopped. Pud pretended not to understand, and +the _Jolly Rodger_ went chugging on, the skipper waving a friendly +hand. But the ruse didn’t work. + +‘_Hi, you! Stop that launch!_’ was the order. + +Pud shook his apparently slumbering companion. ‘Wake up, Tim,’ he +shouted. ‘Take the wheel!’ + +Tim groped sleepily for the wheel, yawning loudly, and Pud stepped to +the engine and pushed up the throttle. With the other hand he threw the +clutch out. By the time this was accomplished some forty feet of river +separated the two boats, and the _Jolly Rodger_ was still floating +slowly with the current. The light from the electric torch passed +searchingly along the launch, from stem to stern and back again, to +come to rest finally on Pud. And while it passed the low voices of the +men sounded plainly. + +‘That isn’t the one. Look at the name, _Jolly Rodger_.’ + +‘Well, no, but it looks like it, and――’ + +‘Besides, there were three of them on the other.’ + +‘Might be another one somewheres about,’ said the second speaker. Then +a third voice, evidently that of the boat’s owner, spoke. + +‘’Tain’t the craft I seen awhile back. _Vengance_ that was called. It +was goin’ up-river, too.’ + +‘Say,’ called a voice then, ‘did you pass a white launch with three +fellows and a girl in it a while ago?’ + +‘I saw one farther up the river,’ answered Pud. + +‘Notice the name of it?’ + +‘Why, I don’t know as I did. Did you, Tim?’ + +‘Yes,’ answered Tim, with another yawn. ‘_Vengance_.’ + +‘How far up?’ was the next question. + +‘Maybe two miles. It was going sort of slow. Well, I’ve got to be +getting on. Good-night.’ + +‘Good――’ began the voice from the darkness. + +‘_Ker-chew!_’ It came from beneath the tent canvas, muffled yet +startlingly loud for all of that! There was a moment of silence on +both boats while the eye of the electric torch raced back and forth +suspiciously. And then: + +‘_Ker-chew!_’ This time it was Tim, and the violence of the sneeze +almost took him overboard. The light enveloped him for an instant, +wavered, vanished. + +‘Good-night, boys! Much obliged!’ + +‘Don’t mention it,’ answered Pud faintly. + +The other launch churned the water astern and jumped forward again. Pud +pulled the lever toward him and the _Jolly Rodger_ took up her journey. +For a long moment nothing was said on board. Then, from behind the boys +came a sibilant whisper: + +‘Have they gone? Can I get up?’ + +‘Yes,’ answered Pud bitterly, ‘but you mighty near spoiled everything! +What did you go and sneeze for like that?’ + +‘Well,’ replied Gladys Ermintrude, emerging from the tent flap, ‘I +guess you’d sneeze, too, if you had to keep your head under that dusty +old tent!’ Then her indignation vanished and she laughed softly. ‘My +gracious, didn’t we fool them, though? It was just like ‘The Dangers of +Dorothy’; where the heroine hides in the potato sack and the villains +throw her in the cart and don’t know it! Did you see it?’ + +‘No,’ said Pud shortly. ‘Say, isn’t that the creek ahead there?’ + +‘Yes,’ said the girl. + +‘All right. I’m going in there a ways and tie up to a bank so’s we can +talk things over. I guess they won’t look for us there.’ There was +a sound of hilarity from the stern and Pud peered back. ‘What’s your +trouble, Harmon?’ he demanded. + +‘Nothin’, Mister Pud,’ answered the darky chokingly. ‘I――I’s jus’ +laughin’ at the way Mister Tim done fool them folks! ‘Ker-choo!’ he +say, ‘Ker-choo!’ My golly, that was surely one pow’ful lucky sneeze!’ + +‘Well, you’d better stop that noise,’ grumbled Pud, ‘or they’ll hear +you and come back! Slow her down more, Tim, will you? Gee, this isn’t +much of a creek!’ + +It wasn’t, so far as width was concerned, but fortunately it was deep +and there were no snags, and Pud made the turn neatly and the launch +went slowly, cautiously forward. Tim got a pocket torch and, standing +beside Pud, explored the banks on either side. Presently they found +what they sought, a place where the launch could be laid close to the +bank and under the drooping branches of a big willow. Better still, +as later developed, there was a cleared space a few yards away from +the creek large enough to hold the tent; for they had by now abandoned +all idea of getting on to Corbin that night. It was already past eight +o’clock, and even aside from the danger of again encountering Pete +Minger’s boat, to make the ascent of the winding stream with no better +illumination than could be supplied by two pocket flashlights would be +a good deal of a hazard. Pud devoutly wished that they had never seen +Gladys Ermintrude, but since she was on their hands they would have to +reckon with her. + +Personally, Gladys Ermintrude offered no objections to spending the +night there. On the contrary, she appeared to be greatly taken with +the idea. She said it reminded her of ‘Clashing Souls,’ where the hero +and the heroine were cast away on the desert island. Tim said he was +awfully sorry about it and hoped her poor mother wouldn’t worry too +much. Gladys Ermintrude said she wouldn’t, probably, because this was +choir-practice night, and her mother played the organ, and that would +keep her mind busy; and was she to sleep in the tent, or where? + +Pud pointed out gloomily that to light a fire would be tempting +Providence, but he was secretly thankful when he was overruled by the +others, since the prospect of eating cold food was as repugnant to him +as to Tim and Harmon. The latter soon had a small blaze, and presently +there was the cheering fragrance of sizzling bacon. Pud walked along +the bank of the creek a way and returned with the welcome assurance +that you couldn’t see the light of the fire more than about fifty feet +distant. + +Gladys Ermintrude sat on the ground close to the blaze and chattered +cheerfully. She said it must be wonderful to be able to cook things +the way Harmon did. Herself, she knew nothing about cooking or any +household duties. Her mother had never allowed her to do any of the +work because it might injure her hands. Besides, with all the servants +they employed, what would have been the sense of it? Oh, of course, she +could make delicious fudge, but that was just play. Cooking and such +household drudgery was all right, she thought, for girls who had no +ambition, but personally she considered it a waste of time. There were +so many more important things, weren’t there? + +Tim, the principal recipient of these confidences, said he supposed +there were, but that he guessed it wasn’t a bad idea for girls to +know how to cook a little, because they never could tell when they +might have to. But Gladys Ermintrude laughed lightly. In her own +case, she declared, knowing or not knowing how to cook didn’t matter +a bit, because she meant to live entirely for her Art. Motion-picture +actresses, especially stars――one of which Gladys Ermintrude was to +become shortly――didn’t have to bother themselves with such ordinary +and vulgar affairs as keeping house. They either lived in magnificent +hotels or else they owned beautiful bungalows in California and had +large retinues――Gladys Ermintrude pronounced it ‘retin-wees’――of +servants. + +Tim was rather impressed with all this, in spite of the secret +conviction that Gladys Ermintrude was totally unlike any moving-picture +star he had ever seen, and he would have patiently listened to further +particulars regarding her career if Harmon had not announced supper +just then. + +That was a most welcome, appetizing, and satisfactory repast. They had +not eaten anything for eight hours or so, and the bacon and scorched +slices of bread that Harmon called toast and the scalding hot tea +vanished rapidly. Even Gladys Ermintrude, while she appeared desirous +of impressing the others with the daintiness of her appetite, did full +justice to everything. She was inclined to be critical of the tea, +explaining that she was accustomed to having lemon with hers instead +of condensed milk, until Pud told her, almost impolitely, that if +she didn’t like what she was getting she needn’t drink it. Gladys +Ermintrude thereupon conquered her distaste and asked for another cup. + +Food can do miraculous things sometimes. It did on this occasion. It +vanished Pud’s irritability, smoothed out the anxious lines on Tim’s +forehead, and set Harmon to crooning a song while he cleared away. It +also made them entirely reckless in the matter of the fire. Or maybe it +was more especially the mosquitoes that did that. Anyway, they piled it +high with wood, with apparently no thought for the kidnapers in Pete +Minger’s launch, and basked in its welcome warmth. + +Gladys Ermintrude said it was just like the scene in ‘Haunted Souls,’ +where the shipwrecked millionaire and his friends made the fire on the +beach and waited for the waves to drown them. Tim retained sufficient +energy to inquire why they wanted the waves to drown them, and Gladys +Ermintrude explained that there was no escape for them because of the +towering cliffs at their back. Tim suggested that they might have +proceeded farther along the beach and found a place where the cliffs +weren’t so towering, but the girl didn’t seem to think that would have +been possible, although she couldn’t explain just why. + +‘Say,’ asked Pud, ‘don’t you ever do anything but go to the movies?’ + +‘Of course, I do,’ answered Gladys Ermintrude. ‘I attend to my social +duties and――and read a great deal; and then, of course, I’m always +studying my Art.’ + +‘Gee, you must lead a swell life,’ said Pud. ‘What sort of things do +you read? Ever read “The Three Musketeers”?’ + +‘N-no, I don’t think so. Who wrote it? Mother is very particular about +my reading. I’ve read all of Annabel Smothers’ stories; “Lady Lucia’s +Diamonds” and “Loved and Lost” and――’ + +‘Slush,’ said Pud. + +‘They’re not either! They’re beautiful! Maybe you wouldn’t care for +them; boys don’t, I guess; they can’t――can’t appreciate sentiment.’ + +‘Huh,’ grunted Pud. + +‘Mister Pud,’ interrupted Harmon, ‘does I get me some of that there +reward?’ + +‘What reward?’ + +‘What we gets for unkidnapin’ this here girl.’ + +‘No, you don’t,’ replied Pud. ‘Nobody gets any reward.’ + +‘How-come?’ + +‘Because, in the first place, we don’t want any, and, in the second +place, because there isn’t any!’ + +‘Why!’ gasped Gladys Ermintrude, deeply pained. + +‘Ain’ she say her ma goin’ give ten thousan’ dollars for her?’ asked +Harmon, puzzled. + +‘Yes, she said so,’ answered Pud, laughing with deep irony, ‘but she +says a lot of things. She says she’s going to be a movie actress!’ + +‘I think you’re too――too disgusting for words!’ exclaimed the girl. ‘I +_am_ going to be a moving-picture actress! Why, sakes alive, everybody +knows that!’ + +‘I’ll bet the moving pictures don’t know it,’ laughed Pud. ‘And as for +that reward, any one can have my share for a nickel!’ + +‘Well, I don’t know,’ objected Tim. Gladys Ermintrude was plainly too +wounded for speech. ‘I don’t see why her folks wouldn’t give something +for her safe return to――to――for her safe return. It generally _is_ +done, Pud.’ + +‘Yes, in stories and movies!’ + +‘Well, but, wait now! There was a piece in the paper just last winter +where a boy was kidnaped and his father offered a lot of money for him; +I think it was five thousand dollars!’ + +‘Of course there was!’ declared the girl triumphantly. + +‘All right,’ said Pud cheerfully. ‘You go on believing it. To-morrow +you’ll see whether I’m right or wrong. Because to-morrow morning Gladys +Evinrude’s going to be handed over to her ma just as soon as we can +get her there. And now I’m going to bed. You and I’ll sleep in the +boat, Tim, and she can have the tent. Harmon, you bed down here by the +fire. And don’t you go and raise a rumpus on account of any skunk or +anything else, because if you do I’ll sure tan your hide!’ + +Later, on the edge of sleep, Pud remembered that he had not written his +letter home. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + GLADYS ERMINTRUDE IS RESTORED + + +Corbin came into sight at a little before nine o’clock the next +morning, a quiet, rambling town of little homes and shaded streets +commanded by a tall red water-tower. The railway touched Corbin on +its way to the coast, and, as the launch drew near the line of small +wharves and landings, there came the shrill screech of a locomotive +bustling in from the north. Just below the town they passed a small +settlement of shanty-boats, many of them hauled high and dry above +the river, others moored to the bank with a plank or two bridging the +gulf between. Harmon looked long and interestedly and finally confided +to Tim that some day he was ‘goin’ to have him one of them there +shunty-bo’ts.’ + +No one had slept very well the night before; no one, at least, save +Gladys Ermintrude, who declared that she had ‘slumbered divinely.’ Pud +and Tim, who had lain on a combination of one cot and the top of a +locker in the launch, had certainly found nothing divine about their +slumbers, and the fact had left them both a trifle tired and morose +this fine morning. The sight of Corbin had produced in Pud the first +pleasant sensation of the day, and as the launch chugged leisurely up +to a slanting float, beyond which the sign ‘GasOLine, OiL & WaTer’ +flaunted from the side of an old shed, the sensation grew. Here they +were to see the last of Gladys Ermintrude! + +During the last few miles the girl had become unusually silent, and +a close observer might have suspected her of being slightly worried. +And now, at the landing, she seemed to have lost some of that +self-possession that had served her so admirably during the trying +times just passed. Possibly the joy of being restored to her anxious +parents affected her. When the launch had been made fast, she was all +ready to disembark, her colorful sweater over her arm and her bag in +hand. + +‘Well,’ she said, just a trifle breathlessly, Pud thought, ‘I’m awfully +much obliged to you boys. I shall never forget what you did for me.’ + +‘That’s all right,’ said Pud unemotionally. ‘How far’s this place where +you live?’ + +‘Oh, I wouldn’t think of troubling you any further,’ protested Gladys +Ermintrude. ‘I live quite a ways from here. You mustn’t――’ + +‘No trouble at all,’ replied Pud, climbing out. ‘We don’t mind a walk.’ + +‘No,’ agreed Tim, ‘we’d like it. Let me take your bag.’ + +Gladys Ermintrude clung to her bag tightly, though. ‘No, you mustn’t,’ +she declared. ‘It wouldn’t look right for me to be seen walking through +town with you boys. And――Mother would be horribly shocked! Thank you so +much!’ + +‘I guess your mother can stand it,’ said Pud grimly. ‘Come on, Tim. +Harmon, you stick here till we get back.’ + +Gladys Ermintrude bit her lip as she followed across the wharf, but +presently she appeared to recover somewhat of her wonted composure +and allowed the gallant Tim to take her bag. Then, a step or two in +advance of her escort, she led the way. By the time they had crossed +the main street of the town and were among the modest residences, she +was walking with quite an air. Occasionally she bowed impressively to a +passer or to some housewife engaged in sweeping a tiny front porch. On +such occasions the persons addressed turned in their paths or paused in +their labors to stare long and fixedly after her. + +The distance was not great, after all, for they had only walked four +blocks when Gladys Ermintrude paused at a gate in a white picket fence, +smiled gratefully, and held out her hand. ‘Well,’ she announced, ‘I’ll +say good-bye. It has been most kind of you――’ + +But Pud, who had been observing the house, interrupted coldly. ‘Aw, +come on,’ he said. ‘You don’t live here.’ + +‘Why, I do, too!’ Gladys Ermintrude stamped her foot in a most +unladylike manner. ‘You give me my bag!’ + +‘Don’t you do it, Tim. Look at the name on the door; “Hopkins!” And +look at the windows all closed up. Don’t any one live here, I guess.’ + +‘You mind your own business,’ flared the girl. ‘And you give me my bag +this instant!’ + +‘_Tibbie! Tib-bie-e-e!_’ + +Two houses farther along a slight little woman was beckoning from +the porch. The three turned and looked. Gladys Ermintrude’s manner +underwent a remarkable change. She laughed joyously. ‘Why,’ she +exclaimed, ‘there’s Mamma! Hoo-ee, Ma!’ + +Pud and Tim, the latter’s face an interesting study in bewilderment, +followed the lightly tripping feet of Miss Liscomb. In front of a +tiny buff-painted house, neat, but not at all the mansion of Gladys +Ermintrude’s description, Mrs. Liscomb awaited them, an expression of +mingled relief and uneasiness on her thin, tired face. + +‘Well,’ she said as the girl clasped her emotionally, ‘so here you are! +Your pa’s been hunting all up and down the river for you. Now, that’ll +do! I’ve been hugged quite a plenty. You stand still a moment and tell +me what you’ve been up to this time.’ + +‘Why, Ma!’ said Gladys Ermintrude reproachfully. ‘How you talk! And +right before strangers, too!’ + +‘Humph,’ said Mrs. Liscomb. ‘Young man, you can set that bag down on +the steps, and then maybe you’d better tell me where you came across +this young lady.’ + +‘Now, Ma,’ said the girl, ‘I’ll tell you all about everything just as +soon as we’re alone. We mustn’t keep these boys any longer. Oh, dear, +I forgot to introduce you, didn’t I? Ma, this is Pud. I don’t know +his other name. And this is Ted――no, Tim. They’ve been very kind and +obliging. They brought me up the river in their launch, and Ted――Tim +carried my bag for me. Wasn’t that nice of him? And now I guess I’ll +say good-bye――’ + +‘We rescued her from the kidnapers, ma’am,’ said Pud innocently, ‘and +we’d have had her here before only they chased us and we had to camp +out overnight on a creek down there.’ + +‘Oh,’ said Mrs. Liscomb, turning a piercing look on her daughter, ‘so +she was kidnaped, was she?’ + +‘Sakes alive, Ma, can’t you take a joke?’ giggled Gladys Ermintrude. +‘He’s always joking. He’s just too funny for words!’ + +Pud scowled. ‘How big is the reward, ma’am?’ he asked. + +‘Reward?’ faltered Mrs. Liscomb. + +‘Well, I think I’ll take my bag in and――and――My, how very tired I am!’ +And Gladys Ermintrude hurriedly faded from the picture. + +Mrs. Liscomb heaved a sigh. Then she said: ‘Come up on the porch, +please, and tell me just what happened. You look real tired yourselves.’ + +Pud, occasionally aided by Tim, gave a brief but succinct narrative +of events, and at intervals Mrs. Liscomb nodded and at intervals she +sighed. + +‘Of course,’ said Pud in conclusion, ‘I knew there wasn’t any reward. +We didn’t come for that, ma’am. But what I’d like to know is was she +really kidnaped?’ + +‘No, she wasn’t. I’m so sorry about it all, because you were dear +to take all that trouble. I might as well explain, first off, that +Tibbie――’ + +‘Is that really her name?’ asked Tim. + +‘Her name is Isabel, but we’ve always called her Tibbie.’ + +‘Gosh, she said it was Gladys Ermintrude!’ + +‘I dare say. She――she says a great many things that aren’t so,’ sighed +Mrs. Liscomb. ‘Sometimes I call them just plain, out-and-out lies, but +her father says it isn’t that; he says she’s got too much imagination. +She reads an awful lot of trashy books, and just recently she’s gone +perfectly insane about moving-picture shows. Mr. Liscomb says she’ll +get over it as she grows older, but I don’t know. Seems to me she gets +worse instead of better.’ Mrs. Liscomb paused and sighed discouragedly. +Pud pursed his lips and then said judicially: ‘Well, she certainly is a +pretty good imaginater, ma’am!’ + +‘I do hope it’s no more than that,’ was the troubled reply. ‘She says +she’s “playing a rôle,” whatever that means; something she’s picked up +from those moving pictures, I suspect. She’s just about wore me out. I +did think when she went down-river with her pa and her Uncle Asa I’d +have a minute’s peace. She was wild to go, and while they didn’t want +her, I guess, they took her along because she’s a real handy cook. They +were going fishing and shooting for a week, you know.’ + +‘Yes’m,’ said Pud. ‘Were those men her father and uncle?’ + +‘Yes, and of course they were dreadfully upset when Tibbie ran off like +that in a strange boat, and they spent hours going up and down the +river looking for her, and then they came back here about midnight to +see if she’d come home. Mr. Liscomb says he’s going to whip her when he +gets her, but I don’t suppose he will. He’s always saying that, but he +never does it.’ + +Pud stared into the sunlight as one who sees a vision. ‘I guess,’ he +said earnestly, ‘whipping’s awfully good for children sometimes.’ + +‘Well, I don’t know. Mr. Liscomb will be back very soon. He went to +telephone to some folks who live down the river a piece. He thought +it might be that Tibbie had gone there. Now don’t you hurry away. Mr. +Liscomb will want to thank you for taking such good care of her!’ + +But Pud was already on his feet and moving anxiously toward the steps, +and Tim was very close behind him. ‘Yes’m,’ replied Pud hurriedly, ‘but +it wasn’t anything, and we’ve got to be going now. I――we’re awfully +sorry we let her fool us, ma’am, and didn’t know about them being her +father and uncle, because if we had known we wouldn’t have done it, of +course, and I’d like you to tell him so, if you please. And I guess +we’d better be going on now!’ + +‘Well, I’m sure I’m much obliged to you,’ said Mrs. Liscomb heartily, +as she shook hands with each. ‘And I know Tibbie is, too. Or, if she +isn’t, she ought to be. I guess she’ll be right ashamed of herself, +too.’ + +‘Yes’m,’ agreed Pud, his gaze fixed uneasily in the direction of the +business section. ‘Yes’m. Well, that’s all right. We were glad to do +it――I mean――Well, good-morning, ma’am!’ + +At the gate, with no backward glance from even Tim in the hope of +one last fleeting glimpse of Gladys Ermintrude, the boys turned to +the right and walked briskly away. They believed that the returning +Mr. Liscomb would approach from the other direction, and neither Pud +nor Tim was anxious to meet him. It might be, as Mrs. Liscomb had +suggested, that he would thank them, but, recalling the events of the +past eighteen hours, they had their doubts! + +They didn’t say much as they made their way as inconspicuously as +possible back to the boat. Once Tim remarked in the tone of one who at +last finds the solution to a puzzling problem: + +‘Remember when she said her uncle’s brother wasn’t her uncle? Well, he +wasn’t. He was her father.’ + +‘About the only time she told the truth,’ grunted Pud. + +A little later Pud asked unkindly: ‘What are you aiming to do with +your share of the reward, Tim? Let’s see; a third of ten thousand +dollars――’ + +‘Aw, shut up,’ muttered Tim. + +They found Harmon asleep on the after seat, one bare black leg crooked +over the gunwale. When awakened, he accepted the announcement that +there was to be no reward coming his way with admirable philosophy. +‘Reckon we’s goin’ have plenty money when we sack a town, ain’ we, +Mister Pud? Where-at’s ’at town?’ + +As much as they desired to cast off and put space between them and the +grateful Mr. Liscomb, they were obliged to transact certain business +before doing so. Oil was needed, for one thing, and food for another. +They had spoken carelessly before starting the trip of eating a great +deal of fish, and in consequence they had not stocked heavily with +meat. Now, save for a small residue of bacon and a single can of baked +beans, the larder was bare of what might be termed the foundations of +a meal. It was decided to replenish here and now, since, whether they +went farther upstream or returned down it, there was no other town of +size for many miles. Pud got his oil and then carelessly suggested to +Tim that the latter could do the shopping if he liked. Tim showed no +gratitude for the favor. They debated sending Harmon to the stores, +but in the end they concluded to go together. After all, Mr. Liscomb +would be quite as likely to find them at the landing as in the town, +and if they had to listen to his expressions of gratitude, perhaps it +would be better to do so where there was plenty of room in case Gladys +Ermintrude’s father became too earnest. + +Pud took the remains of the ten-dollar bill, which had been provided +for current expenses and which had been broken at the gasoline station +at Livermore, from its hiding-place, and they returned to the business +street of the town, Harmon once more being left in charge of the +launch. They purchased fresh meat and bacon and bread and a dozen +bananas and a box of cookies, and then Pud, reflecting on the advantage +of having small bills handy, proffered a five-dollar note. It was a +surprisingly new and crisp note to have been through the pocket of a +gasoline supply man. The grocer who accepted it seemed to be thinking +something of the sort, for he turned it over and peered at it closely +for several seconds. Then he fixed Pud with a stern look and asked: + +‘Where’d you get this bill, hey?’ + +Pud told him. The grocer again turned it over, again studied it. Then, +with no further words, he walked from behind the counter and laid a +firm hand on Pud’s shoulder. + +‘You come along with me,’ he said. ‘This bill may be all right, but it +don’t look it, and I’ve been stung twice already.’ + +Pud hung back. ‘Where do you want me to go?’ he asked. + +‘To the bank, young man. It ain’t but four doors from here. I don’t +like the slick look of this bill, and I’m going to have Jim Knowles +pass on it afore I take it.’ + +‘Oh, all right,’ said Pud, ‘but there isn’t anything wrong with it, +I tell you.’ Nevertheless, he was beginning to have doubts of the +bill himself. It _was_ awfully neat and crisp, while most of the +paper currency that circulated thereabouts was quite the contrary. +And he recalled Mr. Ephraim Billings’s statement of a week before. A +counterfeit bill, Mr. Billings had stated, looked just like a good +one. And that was just what this bill looked like! Pud, as he walked +docilely beside the grocer to the door of the Corbin National Bank, +wondered if the penalty for trying to pass counterfeit money was very +heavy. Tim accompanied them, looking greatly worried. They had to stand +in line for a minute before the wicket. Finally, though, the man behind +it was looking inquiringly from the bill to the grocer. + +‘Well,’ he snapped impatiently, ‘what you want I should do with this, +Henry?’ + +‘Want you to look at it.’ + +‘I am a-looking at it. What’s wrong with it?’ + +‘Looks sort of funny to me, Jim. Thought maybe it was phoney. I got +stung twice just recent, like you know, and――’ + +‘Pshaw!’ The man behind the wicket thrust the bill back irritably. ‘I +told you twenty times how to tell those counterfeit notes, Henry. Use +your brains! I told you――’ + +‘All right, all right! This is O.K., is it? Then suppose you give me +five ones for it, Jim.’ + +Jim did so, sourly, and the three returned to the store, the grocer +apologetic, Pud and Tim much relieved. + +‘You see,’ said the storekeeper as he made the change from the cash +register, ‘there’s a lot of queer money been circulating around this +part of the State recently. Tens and twenties, though I ain’t seen any +of the twenties. About a fortnight ago two men came in here and bought +nearly four dollars’ worth of goods and gave me a ten-dollar bill. It +was a mighty nice-looking bill and I put it aside so’s to have it in +case I was to need a nice crisp ten. Well, sir, when that bill went to +the bank――happened I didn’t pay it out again――that feller we were just +talking to took and stamped “Counterfeit” right across it four or five +times! And, by Jupiter, I was out ten dollars!’ + +‘That was hard luck,’ said Pud, reaching for his bundles. + +‘Wa’n’t it? And then again, about a week after that, it happened again. +That time it was Clay Moody, the garage man, paid me. He never could +remember where he got it. Anyway, you see we’ve got to be careful, and +that’s why I was doubtful about that bill you handed me. It looked +awful pretty. Well, if it ain’t all right,’ he chuckled, ‘I don’t need +to worry. And, by Jupiter, I wouldn’t feel any too blamed sorry if it +_was_ bad, seeing Jim Knowles was so tarnation snippy!’ + +They got back to the launch without further misadventure, and without, +fortunately, so much as sighting the grateful Mr. Liscomb. Ten minutes +later they were in the stream, bound up-river to a place known as ‘The +Flat,’ where the bass lived. The Flat had a Statewide reputation as a +fishing ground, and, although they were now supplied with enough fresh +meat for one repast, they all agreed that a nice fried bass would touch +the spot as nothing else could! + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + MOSTLY FISHING + + +With Harmon at the wheel, closely watched by an anxious Tim, Pud +settled himself at the stern and wrote a letter to his mother. +Despairing of being able to narrate all the happenings of the past +forty-eight hours, he decided to narrate none, or almost none. When +completed, the letter conveyed hardly more than the bald information +that they had spent Tuesday night at Aunt Sabrina’s, that they had +bought some more food supplies, that they were now on the way up +the Fox River to fish for bass, and that they were all well. Elated +by the escape from Gladys Ermintrude and by this recent performance +of his duty, Pud dug out the damp and crumpled pirate emblem and +once more displayed it from the stern. Tim viewed the flaunting +skull-and-cross-bones doubtfully, but Harmon grinned approval, +accepting it as evidence that the piratical life was at last about to +begin. + +The Flat, a marsh-bordered lake formed by the junction with the river +of Two-Pond Run and Turtle Creek, was nearly a mile long and about half +a mile wide. It held two small islands and was in most places bordered +by rushes and pond weeds. Beyond The Flat, Fox River bore to the +right for three miles and was there joined by the Little Fox. Between +Two-Pond Run and the Fox, northward, lay what was called River Swamp, +a territory of swamp and hummock, twisting waterways, and numerous +ponds. The ponds and streams held many fish, and in season water fowl +congregated there in numbers. It was a favorite hunting ground with the +adventurous, but one needed to know it well in order to navigate its +confusing thoroughfares. Many tales were told of hunters or fishermen +who had lost their way for days amidst that watery labyrinth. Somewhere +beyond the dark cedar swamps and the oak and maple-clad hummocks lay +that community of ill-repute, Swamp Hole, but outsiders were careful +not to approach very closely to it, since it was well known that the +Swamp-Holers considered fishing and hunting in River Swamp a privilege +confined to themselves and had more than once shown resentment at the +incursion of strangers. So thoroughly was this conviction of theirs +respected that few persons throughout the State could boast of having +seen Cypress Lake, a three-mile body of water lying north of Swamp +Hole. Wonderful stories were told of Cypress Lake; of its unfathomable +depths, of the huge fish that lived there, of the mysterious +disappearance of certain bold spirits who had unwisely sought to +explore it. It got its name from a considerable growth of bald cypress +which bordered it, and it was claimed that not for more than seventy +miles farther south could a cypress tree be found again. + +Just above Corbin the river narrowed somewhat and the trees gave place +to thickets of alder and witch-hazel and storax. Here and there black +oaks, pond pines, or ash trees formed small islands of verdure above +the level of grassy bog, and occasionally a group of black willows hung +over the water. The launch nosed its way into the unruffled water of +The Flat an hour or so before noon and Pud dropped the little anchor +off the lower end of the nearer island. Already there were a number of +fishermen on hand. One or two occupied skiffs, but most dozed from the +sterns of flat-bottomed punts. Several shanty-boats were in sight where +the river entered and where the absence of weeds offered access to the +shore. Some forty yards away from where the launch had anchored floated +a dilapidated punt occupied by a man and a yellow hound. The man, who +was simply attired in a cotton shirt and a pair of khaki trousers, +and who wore a conical-crowned, broad-brimmed straw hat turned down +over his lean face, glanced at them briefly and returned at once to +his observation of the cork float that depended from the end of a long +bamboo pole. The dog wagged his tail in friendly fashion and sniffed in +their direction. Then he, too, went back to watching the bob. + +They had bought a dozen small green frogs on the landing at Corbin, +and now they proceeded to bait up. Neither Pud nor Tim had had any +experience in bass fishing, and at once they were faced by the problem +of depth. They had anchored in about twelve feet of water, and now +whether to put sinkers on or allow their frogs to choose their own +positions below the surface bothered them. Harmon didn’t approve of +frogs, anyway, and was pessimistic from the start. + +‘If’n I had me a good ol’ worm,’ he muttered, ‘I’d sure catch me +somethin’, but I ain’ ’spectin’ much of these here hop-frogs.’ + +Pud and Tim sought to learn how their neighbor’s line was furnished, +but as it remained quietly in the water they failed. Finally Pud +elected to fish without a lead and Tim decided to use one. Harmon, who +was using a home-made rod of his own devising, merely tied some ten +feet of line to the tip, impaled Mr. Frog on a leaderless hook and +dropped him overboard. Then he lay back on the stern seat, cocked +his right leg over his left knee, rested the pole between his first +and second toes and fixed himself for a nap. After that quiet fell +over the scene. The sun was almost overhead and the breeze was of the +faintest. Now and then, acting on the advice of the man from whom they +had purchased the bait, Pud and Tim drew their frogs from the water and +allowed them to take some more air aboard. A half-hour passed. Harmon +was breathing loudly in the stern, fast asleep. Then there came a sound +from the nearby punt. The yellow hound was peering over the stern and +wagging his tail deliriously. The big cork float had disappeared and +the man was gingerly paying out on a taut line. Pud and Tim, forgetting +their own fortunes, watched absorbedly. + +Presently the man began to take in on the line, drawing it to him +through a guide at the end of the pole and coiling it between his feet +as methodically and calmly as though a hard-fighting bass was not on +the other end of it. The hound’s excitement increased and he began to +bark ecstatically. If Pud could have barked, he would probably have +joined in with the dog! Then, some ten feet from the punt, something +flashed for an instant in the sunlight. But the fisherman was still +coiling the line between his feet, and now the long pole was bending +at the end and he was shortening his hold on it. Then, while the +water swirled close to the punt, up went the end of the bamboo, a +fat, fourteen-inch bass gleamed in air and disappeared into the boat. +Whereupon the hound, barking more furiously than ever, sprang upon +it, his tail wagging delightedly. The man spoke quietly to the hound, +who promptly backed off; then he unhooked the fish, observed it +appraisingly, rebaited his hook, cast out again, and once more became +motionless. Beside him, the yellow dog again gave all his attention to +the float. + +Pud pulled up his line and fastened a lead four feet short of the hook, +for that was where the successful neighbor had his. Tim pulled up and +set his weight back another foot. Harmon slumbered on. The sun got +hotter and hotter, and Pud looked enviously at his neighbor’s broad +straw hat. He and Tim discussed the catch in low tones. Pud thought +it might weigh a pound and Tim said a pound and a half. Anyway, it +proved that there were fish to be caught there. Presently Tim spoke +insinuatingly of food and Pud consulted his watch and agreed that it +would be well to awaken Harmon. Just then, however, his bob acted +queerly and he forgot all about food. The bob nodded at him, first, and +then it started away as though having business at the other side of +the lake. Pud’s eyes grew very round and his hands trembled. Suddenly +the bob stopped traveling and floated tranquilly again. Tim spoke +scathingly. + +‘Pshaw,’ he said, ‘why didn’t you strike? He was on there. Bet you he +got your frog!’ + +‘He wasn’t on,’ replied Pud bitterly. ‘He was just mouthing it. Suppose +I don’t know? Maybe he did get my frog, but――’ + +Pud was drawing his line out as he spoke. + +‘No, he didn’t,’ said Tim. ‘I can see it. It’s still on.’ + +‘You sure?’ asked Pud anxiously. ‘I don’t see――Oh, yes, there it is!’ + +He had brought the frog almost to the surface, and suddenly, just as he +was starting to lower it again, there was a bronze-and-silver flash in +the water and things began to happen! + +‘He’s on!’ shouted Tim. ‘Hold him!’ + +‘I am――a-holdin’ him!’ gasped Pud, doing nothing of the sort for the +reason that he had lost his line and it was paying out at a great +rate. All Pud was doing was holding the rod and groping wildly for the +line. He got it finally when it caught about his foot, but by that +time the fish had had a full forty feet of run and was thinking things +over somewhere. Pud disentangled the line and began to reel nervously. +_Click-click-click_――Then _cli-i-ick!_ and out spun the line again! + +‘Gee, he must be a whale!’ panted Pud. Tim, in a spasm of nervous +excitement, hopped about behind him. + +‘Never mind the reel,’ he sputtered. ‘Get hold of the line and work him +in that way. That’s the ticket! He’s coming!’ + +‘You――you’d better get your line up out of the way,’ said Pud. ‘He +might get tangled――’ + +‘It is up! Lookout! Don’t give him slack!’ + +Something huge broke water a dozen feet away, sending the silvery drops +high in air, and disappeared again with a mighty tug at the line. Pud +yielded a few inches and then recovered them. The captive swerved +toward the stern, circled back again and tried to head away. Suddenly +there was a yelp from Harmon. + +‘I got me one!’ he cried. ‘I got me a basses!’ + +He was still on his back, holding hard to his pole which was buckling +over the edge of the boat. + +‘Please, sir, Mister Tim, lay ahold of it till I gets up!’ + +‘You fool nigger!’ stormed Tim. ‘You’ve gone and got your line tangled +with Pud’s! And he’s got a bass as big as a house on! And if he loses +him――’ + +‘What you wan’ I should do?’ begged Harmon. ‘Wan’ I should leggo?’ + +‘Yes! No! I don’t know! Gosh, if we only had a landing-net, Pud! Can +you get him closer?’ + +Pud’s rod was bending threateningly and Harmon’s maple pole was giving +forth sickening cracking sounds. Beside the launch, the water was +boiling as the fish tugged and dived. Then Tim acted on the impulse. +Leaning far down over the side of the boat, at the risk of a bath, he +seized a line and heaved upward. Over the gunwale and into the launch +came, not one bass, but two! + +There was a shout of triumph from Harmon. ‘What I done tell you?’ he +insisted. ‘What I done tell you? I knowed I got me a basses! One of +’em’s mine, ain’ it, Mister Pud? What I done tell――’ + +‘Shut up,’ commanded Tim breathlessly, ‘and get out of the way. Put +your foot on that one, Pud! Gosh, they’re snarled up so’s we’ll _never_ +get ’em off!’ + +Snarled they were, indeed! Not only in Pud’s line and Harmon’s, but in +Tim’s as well, for he had left his rod leaning against the engine and +the flopping fish had already added his line to the others in which +they were tangled! It took them a good five minutes to unravel the +situation after the two bass had been finally subdued. Pud’s trophy was +a whopper, weighing all of two pounds, while Harmon’s, though fully as +long, lacked in girth and so in weight. In the midst of the excitement +Harmon discovered that one of the frogs had survived the ordeal and was +hopping about underfoot, and with a yell he went after him, catching +one bare foot in a coil of fish-line and coming a cropper against +the fly-wheel. The frog, doubtless completely unnerved by recent +experiences, gave way to panic and disappeared through a hole in the +floor! + +All thought of luncheon was gone now. The three went back to fishing, +Pud resolved to duplicate his triumph, Tim determined not to be beaten, +and Harmon hopeful of landing a ‘basses’ as big as Pud’s. They had +lost sight of their solitary neighbor during the recent period of +agitation, but now they discovered him still motionless in the stern of +the punt, as unheeding of their presence as ever. Pud would have liked +to exhibit his catch and call attention to its size, but the neighbor +seemed such an unfriendly chap that he hadn’t the courage. They fished +on for another hour without so much as a nibble, and by that time their +hunger insisted on being attended to. So, while Tim took Harmon’s pole, +the latter prepared a hurried and rather sketchy repast of crackers +and bananas and the last two bottles of tonic, and they ate with their +several gazes fixed sternly the while on the floats. Probably the +preparations aboard the launch reminded the solitary occupant of the +punt that it was time for dinner, for presently he took a tin box into +his lap and fed slices of bread and what looked to be cold bacon to +himself and the dog. He did not, though, try to combine eating with +fishing, but carefully laid aside his pole, coiled his line on the +floor, and hung the frog over the side between gunwale and water. +So far as Pud could observe the man had never once glanced in the +direction of the launch since the latter had arrived on the scene. + +After their quick lunch, Pud, Tim, and Harmon went back in earnest to +their fishing, but when the most of two hours had passed without so +much as a nibble, they began to grow impatient. Pud was now on his +third frog, having drowned his second, but the luck supposed to attach +to Number Three failed him. The sun, although somewhat nearer the +western horizon, seemed to glow even more fiercely than at noon. At +last Pud said, _sotto voce_, to Tim: ‘I’m going to ask him where’s a +good place to catch them.’ + +Tim glanced doubtfully across and shook his head. ‘He’s probably deaf,’ +he answered, ‘but you can try.’ + +Pud tried. ‘Mister, where’s there another place to fish?’ he called. + +The man looked across at them slowly and, for a long moment, appeared +disinclined to answer. Finally, though, he spoke in a thin, drawling +voice. ‘There’s right smart o’ fish up to Turtle Pond,’ he said. + +‘Where is that?’ inquired Pud. + +‘Close on three miles up yander.’ The man waved a hand vaguely. ‘I’d go +there myself if I didn’t have to row. Right good fishin’, up there.’ + +‘Bass?’ asked Pud. + +‘Uh-huh; bass and pickerel. Big ’uns, too.’ + +‘Do we go up this stream here?’ + +‘Uh-huh, up Turtle Creek ’bout three miles. Right smart o’ fish up +there.’ + +They conferred. Pud had meant to inquire as to other fishing localities +here in The Flat, but three miles wasn’t far, and if there were more +fish in Turtle Pond they might as well go there and try it. Besides, +they had already decided to put in another day hereabouts and it would +be well to find a camp-site soon, for the marshy border of The Flat +held little invitation to them. So Harmon pulled up the anchor and, +after several failures, Pud got the motor started. Turtle Creek led +out of The Flat at the far end, and the launch went on past the two +islands and was speedily lost to sight of the man in the punt. As the +_chug-chug_ of the little engine died away, the man pulled up his own +anchor and rowed to where the launch had floated. There he dropped the +anchor back and settled himself again in the stern. As he did so he +winked gravely at the yellow hound, and, while it sounds improbable, it +really did look as if the hound winked back! + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + LOST! + + +Turtle Creek proved a shallow stream some forty feet in width at its +outlet. Beyond the mouth the width varied considerably, but, in spite +of an occasional snag or mud spit, there was always plenty of room. The +bottom was plainly in sight, for the water seemed nowhere more than six +feet deep. Because of the many twists and turns, Pud slowed the engine +down and peered watchfully from the bow. Along the banks, not more than +two feet above the stream, the bushes grew high and close, shutting +them away from the slight breeze that had made existence on The Flat +endurable. Tim perspired and protested, fanning himself with his hat. +Of the three Harmon only was content. At intervals smaller streams +flowed into the creek, sometimes hidden by overhanging vegetation, +sometimes in full sight and so considerable as to width as to make it +doubtful to Pud which was the main waterway. Those three miles seemed +like six to them, and it was almost half-past four ere the creek swung +lazily about and unexpectedly revealed a small pond of still, black +water. + +In size it was distinctly disappointing, for one could easily have +thrown a baseball across it at its widest place. Connected with it, as +they later discovered, were two other creeks. In shape it was as nearly +round as any pond might be, with low margins and much pickerel-weed to +engage the propeller. Pud voiced disgust, but Tim replied that maybe +it was big enough to hold fish. As for Harmon, he already had his +half-dead frog trailing in the water. It took some searching to find a +depth of more than eight feet, but they finally succeeded and dropped +anchor and went to fishing hopefully. + +About six o’clock hope died and Pud and Tim took turns at telling what +they thought of the veracity of the stranger in the punt. Not once had +a hook been nosed at, not once had anything more than a dragon-fly +stirred the placid surface. It was the stillest, most lonesome spot +they had ever seen, and Pud gave it as his well-considered verdict that +there wasn’t a fish there, never had been and never would be. Harmon, +viewing his pathetic bait dubiously and striving to make it show some +sign of life by poking it with a finger, remarked that if he had some +‘good ol’ worms’ he could get results. They fished on half-heartedly +for a while longer and then gave up. Tim was the last to quit, plainly +disgruntled because he alone had failed to land anything. + +It was now too late to seek further for a spot on which to spend the +night, and fortunately a really ideal camp-site lay before them in +the shape of a hummock sparsely clad with a few discouraged-looking +pines. It was almost free of undergrowth and carpeted with coarse grass +and brown needles. There was just room for the tent and a fireplace +in front, and after they had finally pushed the bow of the launch to +within jumping distance of dry land they disembarked and proceeded to +make camp. Harmon had to hunt long before he had accumulated enough +wood to carry them along until bedtime, but he succeeded at last, and +soon there was a fragrant fire burning. The two bass were cleaned and +fried, and, as the sun sank behind the marshes to the west, three very +hungry boys squatted down around the fire and had the best meal of the +cruise. They felt far more cheerful after supper, and while Harmon +cleaned up and rebuilt the fire, and while Pud stretched lazily out +on a blanket, Tim fished from the stern of the launch in about three +feet of water and, just as darkness fell, pulled forth a twelve-inch +pickerel. Until he got it to the light of the fire he wasn’t sure +what it was, and feared it might prove to be an eel! His triumph was +expressed loudly and at length, and he would have gone back to the +launch for more pickerel if Pud hadn’t forbidden it! + +If Turtle Pond was silent by daylight, so soon as darkness had well +fallen it made up for it by becoming seemingly alive with strange and +mysterious sounds. Two owls held a weird and monotonous conversation +in the near distance, deep-voiced frogs called pessimistically to +each other about the pond, faint squeaks came from the rushes, and in +the bushes twigs snapped and stealthy rustlings were heard. It would +have been worse than idle to have tried to induce Harmon to sleep +outside the tent, and so he was permitted inside without discussion. +Undressing, Pud came on the letter he had written in the morning, still +unmailed, and he sighed discouragedly. In spite of the best intentions +in the world, he had thus far dispatched but one missive to his +parents; and this was the fourth night of their trip! + +It wasn’t easy to get to sleep. Conversation languished, died away, and +commenced again. They made plans for the morrow and remade them. One +thing they were unanimous about, and that was to get back to The Flat +as soon as they could. Silence had held the tent for quite five minutes +when Pud again spoke. + +‘Say, Tim, I’ll tell you one thing.’ + +‘What?’ asked Tim sleepily. + +‘You won’t ever catch me lying.’ + +‘Oh, I don’t know,’ the other murmured, ‘you aren’t such a smart liar!’ + +‘I mean I’m not going to tell lies,’ said Pud energetically. ‘I――I’ve +had my lesson.’ + +Tim chuckled. ‘Wait till you get home and begin telling about that bass +you caught!’ + +‘I mean it,’ Pud insisted seriously. ‘Just look at that girl, Gladys +Evinrude! My goodness, Tim, she was enough to cure that fellow in the +Bible, Anna――I forget his name.’ + +‘Why, she was just――just imaginative, Pud!’ + +‘Imaginative, my eye! Anyway, you couldn’t believe a word she said, and +if she got that way from reading too many stories I’m going to quit +reading! She――gee, she was the limit!’ + +‘Oh, I dare say she was all right other ways,’ muttered Tim charitably. +‘Go to sleep, can’t you?’ + +‘All right. But I’d like to know whether she got that licking!’ + +They awoke to find the world wet and gray, with a soft, mistlike rain +falling. The difficulty experienced in getting a fire started with only +damp wood for fuel and the consequent wait for breakfast depressed +them. Matters were made no better when they embarked in a boat whose +every surface gleamed with water. They had eaten Tim’s pickerel, +and, since the fire had been weak, eaten it in a somewhat underdone +condition, and Pud had felt squirmy ever since. On the whole it was +a low-spirited trio who set forth through a silver-gray void to find +their way out of Turtle Pond. Twice they thought they had discovered +the outlet and twice they were forced to back hurriedly out of the +entangling weeds. At last, though, they found the stream and headed +safely into it. There wasn’t much to be seen save bedraggled shrubs +along the banks or an occasional clump of trees. The fine rain fell +silently and ceaselessly. They had progressed slowly the matter of a +mile and a half, perhaps, when Harmon broke the depressed silence. + +‘Look yonder, Mister Pud,’ he exclaimed. ‘See ’at big tree ’at’s +leanin’ over!’ + +‘Yes, what about it?’ + +‘I ain’ see no such tree like ’at when we comes in here.’ + +‘We-ell, I don’t think I did, either,’ answered Pud, ‘but I guess it +was there.’ + +The tree in question, seen vaguely through the grayness ahead, leaned +at an angle of some forty-five degrees across the stream, and it did +seem strange that none of them recalled seeing it before. Tim voiced +the growing conviction of all when, viewing it from beneath, he said: +‘This isn’t the way we came up, Pud.’ + +‘Well, I don’t know,’ replied Pud doubtfully. ‘Maybe that tree fell +over last night.’ + +‘It might have, but this creek’s different. It doesn’t twist about so +much, for one thing; we’ve been going pretty straight for ’most a mile, +I guess; and it’s deeper; you can’t see the bottom nearly so plain.’ + +‘Of course not, when it’s raining. What do you say, Harmon?’ + +‘I reckon we done got los’,’ answered Harmon simply. + +‘Lost, my eye! Even if this isn’t the way we came, it’s bound to lead +back to the river. I guess we got mixed up back there and took the +stream that led out of the pond over to the left of where we fished, +Tim. Anyway, the current’s going the way we’re going, and so it must +lead back to the river.’ + +Tim wasn’t sure that Pud was right about the current, and there was so +little of it that Pud couldn’t prove his assertion until he had stopped +the launch. Then, as it continued slowly on in the direction it had +been going, and as a piece of cardboard dropped over by Tim floated +in the same way, the question seemed decided. Ten minutes later the +stream branched, and Pud, about to choose the left branch as naturally +the correct one, was surprised to find the current flowing toward him +at the mouth. He stopped the boat and they made certain of it. The +left-hand stream flowed into the one they were in. That was puzzling, +since according to their sense of direction the right-hand stream would +lead them farther northward, and they wanted to go south! + +They discussed the matter for several minutes while the launch, still +flying a bedraggled pirate flag from the stern, nestled against the +wet bushes. In the end they reached the decision that, for all they +knew, what seemed to them north might well be south. No one could +remember which way they had started from the camping spot. If they had +unwittingly taken the stream leading eastward, what seemed to them to +be north would really be south. If the sun had been shining they could +have solved the riddle easily enough. And so they could had there been +a compass aboard, but a compass was one thing――almost the only thing, +one might have thought――they hadn’t brought along. + +It seemed the safest course to follow the current, since as Pud, not +knowing River Swamp, argued, the current must lead toward the river. +They took the right-hand stream and went on. In the course of the next +two miles they passed several smaller waterways, all, they judged, +flowing into the present one, and gradually the stream grew wider. +The engine began to sputter about ten o’clock and, in spite of Pud’s +earnest endeavors to find the trouble, went dead in one cylinder. They +hobbled along for another mile, and then Pud ran up to a bank and sent +Harmon ashore with a line. To alleviate their troubles somewhat the +rain almost ceased and the gray became an opaline whiteness that seemed +to promise clearing. + +Striving to recall all that Andy Tremble had told them about the +engine, the two boys started methodically to work. Pud reported a +gasoline tank more than half full. Tim examined the carburetor gingerly +and gave it a clean bill of health. Together they went at the battery +and followed the wires back. Then out came the spark plugs and were +frowned over and cleaned. And finally, being put together again, the +engine displayed no inclination to start until Pud had thrice primed +it. Then it did start half-heartedly and, as before, on one cylinder. +Only, and this they were both certain of, it was now the other cylinder! + +They had occupied an hour and had gained nothing, and so the launch +was unmoored and they went on again. Pud scowled at the sound of the +exhaust and he and Tim discussed the possibility of damage from +running on one cylinder. But there appeared nothing else to do but keep +on, and so they kept on. The sun threatened once or twice to break +through, but each time it changed its mind. However, the rain had +practically stopped, and they discarded rubber coats. So far they had +passed no one on their way, nor had they so much as glimpsed a house, +but now, out of the pearly distance, appeared ahead what was without +doubt a human habitation. + +‘We’ll stop and ask them where we are,’ said Pud. + +The habitation, seen closer, was only a shanty, rickety and unpainted. +A path led to a log which doubtless answered as a landing, although no +boat was in sight. Pud steered the launch to the log and Tim, who had +volunteered for the duty, stepped suspiciously onto it and leaped to +shore. The cabin looked deserted, but a few tattered garments hung on a +line at one side and an axe was buried in a chopping-block close to the +door. So Tim raised his voice and said ‘Hello!’ As there was no answer, +he said it a second time, pausing, undecided whether to knock on the +tightly closed door in front or make his way around to the back. This +time there came an answer, but not of the sort he had expected. + +Something that sounded like a hornet sped past him and went whining +off across the stream, and a sharp report came from the bushes behind +the house. Tim, amazed, stood stock-still and stared until Pud’s voice +reached him and galvanized him into action. + +‘_Run, you chump!_’ shouted Pud. ‘_They’re shooting at you!_’ + +Then Tim ran. + +He spurned the log altogether and landed half in and half out of the +launch, his feet dangling in the water. Pud jerked at the clutch and +the boat limped on its way. Harmon, reaching up from a place of safety, +pulled the rest of Tim over the gunwale. Pud, at the bow, making +himself as small as possible, peered ahead at intervals and then back +toward the cabin, all the time wondering how it would feel to have a +bullet land between his shoulders. But the next shot went far overhead, +singing past before the short _crack_ of the rifle reached them. +Looking back, Pud saw a lean form in a calico dress and a faded blue +cotton sunbonnet emerge from the bushes at the left of the cabin and +stand for a moment peering after them. She held a long-barreled gun in +one hand while to the other clung a child of three of four years. + +‘Gee,’ muttered Pud, ‘a woman!’ + +There was a throaty chuckle from Harmon. ‘My golly, Mister Tim, I +reckon it was plum’ lucky for you the ol’ man ain’ to home!’ he said. + +‘I guess,’ observed Pud, resuming the seat, ‘she didn’t try to hit us. +All she was doing was frightening us off. Maybe she thought we were +revenue officers or sheriffs or something.’ + +‘Plaguy old frump!’ sputtered Tim, his nerves still unsteady. ‘She +ought to be arrested!’ + +‘That’s so,’ Pud agreed. ‘We’ll go back and you can make believe you’re +an officer and――’ + +‘Oh, shut up,’ grunted Tim, coming forth from concealment and staring +vindictively back at the now distant cabin. ‘It’s all right for you to +laugh, Pud Pringle, but you didn’t feel that bullet whiz right past +your ear!’ + +‘Folks ’roun’ these here parts seems mighty onsoci’ble,’ observed +Harmon. ‘Reckon they done heard we’s pirates, Mr. Pud?’ + +They reached a second domicile a little later, slightly more +pretentious, having a tumble-down porch across the front, but they +not only did not stop to make inquiries, but they went by in complete +silence save for the unrhythmical coughing of the invalid engine. +Hunger overtook them well short of noon, for breakfast had been an +unsatisfactory meal, and they drew up beside a fairly clear hummock +and had dinner. The steak that they had purchased the day before was +decidedly odoriferous when Harmon drew it forth from a locker and Pud +and Tim viewed it with deep suspicion and with highly elevated noses. +Tim advised throwing it away, but Harmon assured them that it was a +perfectly good piece of meat. + +‘Jus’ you-all wait till I scrape it nice an’ wash it, Mister Tim. Why, +my lawsey, ’at ain’ _ol’_, ’at’s jus’ seasoned!’ + +It certainly tasted delicious when, Harmon having cut it into three +portions in the hot frying-pan and laid a portion on as many tin +plates, they sampled it doubtfully. Tim was exceedingly glad his advice +had not been acted on. They had boiled potatoes and some rather stale +bread and much steaming hot tea with the steak, and they ended up with +cake and bananas. And after that no one appeared to be in any hurry to +go on. Pud hazarded the opinion that they had accomplished about seven +miles since morning, even allowing for stops and the disabled engine, +but Tim’s judgment knocked off a mile. Both agreed, though, that they +ought to reach the river very soon. + +Tim rescued a piece of scorched paper from the edge of the fire and, +with a burnt stick, drew a map purporting to prove conclusively that +the river when found would be the Little Fox. But as his lines were +not very clear, and as the same applied to his explanation, Pud was +unconvinced. Pud believed they would come out first of all on Two-Pond +Run somewhere south of Swamp Hole and would have to go down Two-Pond +Run a considerable distance before they arrived back at The Flat. + +‘The way it looks to me,’ he said, ‘we’ve been sort of circling around, +first west and then north, and now kind of west again, and if that’s +right we’re bound to come into Two-Pond Run pretty quick.’ + +‘Please, sir, Mister Pud,’ said Harmon earnestly, ‘don’ you-all take me +nigh that there Swump Hole. They ain’ got no use for colored folkses +roun’ there, sir!’ + +‘Well, I guess we won’t get very close to it,’ replied Pud. + +But his voice lacked conviction, and Harmon continued to look troubled. +As Pud and Tim could not make their theories agree, they gave up the +attempt after a while and the voyage was continued. The stream was now +more than twice as wide as it had been at Turtle Pond and there were +occasional indications of a stronger current. The launch, in spite of +its handicap of one cylinder, was making appreciably better time. The +stream took on many turns, some of them surprisingly abrupt, and Pud +had his hands full. At last, without warning, the stream ceased to be +and they were out on a long and narrow lake whose farther end was lost +in gray mist. Silent and unruffled, it stretched away between wooded +shores. Across from them, to the right, a close forest of trees formed +a dark wall. Sparsely clothed at their tops with feathery green, their +long straight trunks descended into the dark water, there bulging out +hugely. Pud, having silenced the motor, turned to Tim, beside him. + +‘Know where we are?’ he asked in a strangely small voice. + +Tim shook his head, staring about him uneasily. + +‘Cypress Lake,’ said Pud. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + ON CYPRESS LAKE + + +The launch floated out into the lake, only the ripples from its bow +marring the flat monotony of the glassy surface. About them on every +side were silence and solitude, uncanny in their completeness. The gray +mist filled the distances and hung wraith-like about the borders. No +fish broke water, no bird called from the enclosing forest. Behind them +the outlet of the creek was already losing its identity, ahead the lake +stretched away like a broad river, between straight lines of shore, +nowhere more than a quarter of a mile in width, until its somber water +became lost in the mist. + +‘Golly, if this ain’ jus’ about the mos’ lonesomest place I ever seen!’ + +Harmon was the first to break the silence, causing Tim to start +nervously. + +‘Well,’ said Pud, attempting a business-like tone, ‘there’s one thing +certain. We don’t want to camp around here! And, even if the fish are +as big as they say they are, I’m not hankering for any of them!’ + +‘I guess,’ said Tim, looking distastefully at the water about, ‘the +only things that would live in this lake would be eels and horn-pouts. +Gosh, it’s a creepy old hole, ain’t it? Let’s get out.’ + +‘Yes, but how?’ asked Pud. ‘I mean where? There’s no sense bucking +that current all the way back to Turtle Pond. I suppose there’s a way +out if we can find it. It’s probably up at the farther end somewhere. +Generally lakes are like that. It’s only about twenty to four, and +so we’ve got plenty of time. Wouldn’t you think there’d be some one +fishing here, some one we could ask, eh?’ + +‘No,’ replied Tim decidedly, ‘I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t fish here for +fifty dollars.’ + +‘You wouldn’t probably catch fifty dollars if you did,’ said Pud, in a +weak attempt at a joke. ‘Well, let’s start her up again and see if we +can find the way out.’ + +Thirty minutes later they were about twenty feet from where they +had been when Pud made the above proposal. In other words, the +_Kismet_――_Jolly Rodger_――_Vengance_ simply refused to budge. They +did all the usual things and a great many novel ones; and they turned +the wheel over and over until every one’s back ached. For once +even Harmon’s magic failed. To add to the unpleasantness of their +predicament, the rain began to drizzle down again and they went back +to rubber coats; and every one knows what awkward affairs rubber coats +can prove in such circumstances. Every time Tim leaned down to give the +fly-wheel another hopeless revolution he stepped on a corner of his +coat and so only succeeded in turning the wheel halfway. With the rain +came another degree or two of dimness, a sort of gray twilight that +added to the depression of their spirits. They sat themselves down on +the wet seats and stared at the engine which, now once more yellow with +rust, seemed to stare malignantly back. Finally Tim spoke, bitterly and +accusingly. + +‘Your father never ought to have let us start out in a boat like this,’ +he said. + +Pud turned upon him angrily, started to make a retort, and closed his +lips resolutely. Some things were too absurd to deserve an answer! Tim, +still gloomily regarding the two rusty cylinders, went on. + +‘If you’d only had sense enough to bring a pair of oars we could have +rowed back,’ he announced. + +Pud laughed harshly. ‘Oh, sure,’ he agreed with deep sarcasm. ‘That +would be easy, wouldn’t it? With no oar-locks! And against that +current! And the stream so narrow in places――Oh, shut up! You make me +tired!’ + +Tim turned a slightly startled gaze to his chum. He hadn’t suspected +that Pud was getting angry. After all, it was a mean thing to crab. It +wasn’t Pud’s fault. Tim arose apologetically and turned the wheel over +four times. Then he seated himself again across from Pud and said: ‘I +guess you’re right. Oars wouldn’t be any good.’ + +‘Of course they wouldn’t,’ said Pud, slightly mollified. ‘I guess the +only thing to do is take no notice of that blamed engine for a while +and then try again. Motor-boat engines are queer things, and sometimes +they come around all right if you pay no attention to ’em.’ + +‘If we had us a good ol’ pole,’ said Harmon, ‘we could get us out o’ +here, I reckon.’ + +‘There’s the boat-hook,’ suggested Tim, ‘if we haven’t lost it.’ + +‘It’s here,’ announced Harmon, ‘but it ain’ long enough. Reckon this +here’s mighty deep water.’ + +‘I’ve heard folks say there wasn’t any bottom at all some places,’ said +Tim awedly. + +‘Pshaw, that’s foolishness,’ replied Pud. ‘If there wasn’t any bottom +how’d the water stay in here? But a pole wouldn’t get us very far. Even +if we had three poles we wouldn’t reach the end of the pond before +dark. No, sir, if we can’t get the engine going we’ll just have to +spend the night right where we are.’ + +A depressed silence greeted the announcement. Then Tim remarked, ‘Well, +I’d a heap rather stay here than go ashore!’ + +‘Oh, I guess nothing would hurt us,’ said Pud with assumed cheerfulness. + +‘I ain’ goin’ ashore,’ declared Harmon emphatically. ‘No, sir, I ain’! +There’s hants and ghos’es ’roun’ here, Mister Pud.’ + +‘Oh, shucks, Harmon! You shut up about your ghosts. I’ve told you there +isn’t any such thing as a ghost, haven’t I?’ + +‘Yes, you done tol’ me all right, Mister Pud, but you ain’ never seen――’ + +‘That’ll do for you!’ said Pud sternly. ‘Gee, as if we didn’t have +enough trouble without you always raking up your old ghosts and haunts!’ + +Silence followed. The rain lessened, became a mist once more, almost +ceased. The lake lightened perceptibly. Pud looked at his watch. It was +now twenty-five after four. ‘Let’s eat some crackers,’ he suggested. +‘Then we’ll try her again.’ + +The crackers were all right, but they produced a thirst, and there was +nothing drinkable aboard save condensed milk. Tim absolutely refused +to drink the lake water at first, but, after Pud and Harmon had both +pronounced it warm but sweet, he yielded and quenched his thirst, +predicting, though, that it would probably give him typhoid fever and +result in his untimely death. To which gloomy prophecy Pud replied +that, as they had all drank it, they would probably die together. + +Cheered and invigorated by the modest repast, they returned to another +prolonged argument with the engine, an argument that proved entirely +one-sided and left them about where they had started. At intervals it +misted, and steadily the desolate scene about them grew dimmer and more +mysterious as evening approached. Harmon, when not taking his turn at +the fly-wheel or performing one of a half-hundred commands made by Pud +and Tim, spent his time staring apprehensively at the nearer shore, +where, as the darkness crept stealthily forth from the thick woods, the +mist that hung along the margin made for his willing imagination weird +shapes and shadows. At last they acknowledged defeat, and, rather than +drift to the shore during the night, Pud tossed over the anchor. The +splash of it awoke a dozen echoes from the shores. Out and out went +the light line, the boys staring in astonishment. Then, with a jerk, +it stopped because there was no more of it, and still it descended +straight from the bow. + +‘Gee,’ muttered Pud, ‘there’s thirty-six feet of it, and that anchor +hasn’t touched!’ + +‘I told you there wasn’t any bottom!’ exclaimed Tim, drawing uneasily +away from the edge of the launch. + +‘Pshaw, thirty-six feet isn’t so deep for a lake,’ muttered Pud. + +‘It isn’t? I’d like to know where there’s a lake up our way that’s more +than twenty!’ + +‘Well, what of it? This isn’t up our way. I guess there are lakes out +West and up in British Columbia and――and Alaska that are hundreds of +feet deep! Well, anyway, there’s no use leaving it out, I guess. Might +as well pull it up again, eh?’ + +‘No, leave it there,’ said Tim. ‘If we drift into shallower water it +will catch and hold us. Gosh, Pud, we can’t be more than eighty feet +from that shore there. Think of the water being as deep as it is! Must +go down mighty sudden, eh?’ + +‘Yes, it must slope right off. Say, you’d get awfully fooled if you +went in bathing over there and started to wade out, wouldn’t you?’ Tim +agreed, with a shudder, that you would! ‘Gee, I wish it would stop +raining――or something!’ continued Pud, staring disconsolately about +him into the gathering twilight. ‘It’s going to get dark awfully early +to-night, Tim. Maybe we’d better be thinking about something to eat +pretty soon. We can have some canned beans――’ + +‘Cold?’ asked Tim without enthusiasm. + +‘Well, we can’t make a fire on board, can we? I say, though, where’s +that stove of dad’s?’ + +‘In the bag there, but you have to have alcohol for it, don’t you? And +we haven’t got any, have we?’ + +‘That’s so. I meant to get some, but forgot it. Well, we’ll just have +to eat cold food for once. Unless’――he winked at Tim then――‘we let +Harmon go ashore and cook something.’ + +‘No, sir, Mister Pud, I ain’ goin’ to!’ wailed Harmon. ‘Mister Pud, +please, sir, don’ you-all make me!’ + +‘He’s just fooling,’ said Tim hastily. ‘I guess cold beans will be good +enough. I’m not much hungry, anyway.’ + +‘You will be before you go to bed,’ said Pud. ‘Harmon, you see what +we’ve got to eat there. My goodness, I wish we could just have some hot +tea! I’m wet right through.’ + +‘It’s getting cooler, too,’ murmured Tim. ‘I’ll bet it’ll be awfully +cold on this lake before morning, Pud. I wish――’ + +‘I hears a boat!’ said Harmon in a hoarse whisper. ‘Yander, Mister Pud, +up-lake! You lis’en an’――’ + +‘Well, shut up so I can listen then. That’s right! I can hear the +oars!’ + +‘You reckon they’s bogey-mens?’ asked Harmon. + +‘I hear voices,’ said Tim. ‘Shall we shout?’ + +‘I guess we’d better wait,’ said Pud doubtfully. ‘They’re coming this +way.’ + +The sound of oars was plainly heard now, and once or twice a voice +came to them, but after listening for several minutes it was apparent +that the boat was not coming toward them, but was crossing the lake, +probably diagonally, a half-mile or so away, heading, it seemed, for +the cypress shore. Once Pud thought he caught a momentary glimpse of +the boat in the gray void, but he could not be certain. + +‘We’d better shout, I guess,’ he said, and did so. For a space there +was no response, although he shouted ‘Hallo!’ several times. Finally, +though, a hail came back to them. + +‘What you want?’ called an impatient voice. + +‘Help,’ replied Pud promptly. ‘Our engine’s broken down and we want to +get out of here!’ + +Another silence, as though the occupants of the boat were of two minds +as to rendering the requested assistance. Then at last the voice spoke +again, and the words sounded heavy with suspicion. ‘Who are you? What +you doin’ up here?’ + +‘We’re from Millville,’ answered Pud. ‘Three boys. We lost our way +this morning and got in here by mistake.’ + +‘Boys, eh?’ The voice was lower and had lost its quality of doubt. ‘All +right, we’re comin’. Keep a shoutin’ so’s we can locate you.’ The oars +sounded once more, growing louder, and, as Pud called at intervals, a +shadowy form emerged from the mist and took shape as it drew nearer, +resolving at last into a small skiff and two men, one at the oars and +the other huddled in the stern. + +‘Motor-boat, hey?’ inquired the latter occupant. ‘Ain’t out of gas, are +you?’ + +‘No, we’ve got half a tankful. I don’t know what the trouble is. One +cylinder went back on us this morning and now she won’t start at all.’ + +As he spoke, Pud was reflecting that the two middle-aged men who were +slowly becoming recognizable as such were not at all the sort of +persons he would ordinarily ask assistance of. They were, he decided +uncomfortably, about as villainous-looking a pair as he had ever seen! +They were bearded and tanned and generally weathered as to face, +roughly clothed as to body, and entirely unprepossessing as to general +appearance. The man who rowed wore a dilapidated leather coat, from +which the water trickled as he moved his long arms back and forth, a +rusty felt hat and gray trousers that were rolled well above his bare +ankles to keep them from the water that swished about in the bottom +of the leaky boat. The man in the stern looked a degree more ragged, +his shoulders covered with an old fertilizer bag still eloquent of its +former use, and his cotton trousers stuffed into a pair of high-laced +boots much the worse for wear. A sodden straw hat dripped rain from its +down-pulled brim. The man in the stern was heavy-set, with a bulbous +nose and small twinkling eyes, and his name, as later developed, was +‘Cocker.’ His companion was taller, with broad shoulders and long +limbs. His nose was long and hooked and his staring eyes were crossed. +He answered to the name of ‘Lank.’ + +‘Well,’ said Cocker as the boat drew alongside the launch, ‘Lank here’s +the very feller you’re a-lookin’ for. He knows more about gasoline +engines and machinery――’ + +‘Shut your yap,’ said Lank savagely. Then, to Harmon, who was peering +interestedly over the side, ‘Here, take this painter, Nigger, and +make it fast. I’ll have a look at your engine, Mister. What make’s +it?’ He climbed aboard, followed by the man in the bow, and stretched +as he looked curiously about him. ‘Nice boat you’ve got,’ he said +approvingly. ‘Can she go?’ + +‘You mean fast?’ asked Pud. ‘No, not very.’ + +‘Six miles, I dare say.’ + +‘Nearer five,’ answered Pud. ‘She gets there, though――usually.’ + +‘Usually’s good,’ laughed the man grimly. ‘Well, let’s see what’s wrong +with the old wheezer.’ He set to work very knowingly, throwing the +fly-wheel over thrice experimentally, examining the carburetor, and +then unscrewing the plugs. Meanwhile the heavy-set Cocker roamed about, +his eyes studying everything most intently. Tim, watching, looked very +uneasy. He liked the appearance of the visitors as little as did Pud. + +‘Got it,’ announced Lank presently. ‘Broken wire here. No spark, or not +much of a one.’ He drew forth a knife and made the repair deftly. ‘Got +some tape?’ he inquired. Pud furnished a roll, and a moment later Lank +directed: ‘All right, son. Try her now.’ + +Pud gave her a half-turn and she answered instantly. Lank laughed his +satisfaction. ‘Didn’t think to look at your wiring, I’ll bet,’ he said +derisively. ‘Well, maybe you wouldn’t have found the break if you had. +It _looked_ all right. Which way you boys travelin’?’ + +‘South,’ said Pud promptly. ‘Where do we get out of this lake?’ + +‘Well, there’s two ways,’ replied the tall stranger, seating himself. +‘There’s Flat Water Creek up at the north end that’ll take you to Fox +River. It’s about four miles to the river, I’d say. Then it’s about ten +miles down to The Flat.’ + +‘Gee,’ muttered Pud, ‘fourteen miles!’ + +‘Sure, but there’s a shorter way than that, son. Over yonder’s Cypress +Branch, and that’ll land you in Two-Mile Creek back of Swamp Hole. Only +thing is, you’d never find the branch, I reckon. Think they would, +Cockey?’ + +‘Not ’les’ we showed ’em. Not as dark as it is now, I’d say.’ + +‘No, you see it’s over there in them cypress, an’ if you don’t know +where to look for it you’d never find it, son. But we’re goin’ down the +branch and we’ll show you the way, if you ain’t objectin’ to comp’ny.’ + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + SET ADRIFT + + +‘No,’ said Pud, ‘we’d be glad to have you, of course.’ + +‘Spoke like a gentleman,’ approved Cocker. ‘Here, you Rastus, carry +this painter back and make it fast to the stern cleat.’ + +Harmon obeyed none too amiably and Pud and Tim lifted the anchor. A +hoarse laugh from Cocker called the boys’ attention to the fact that +he had pulled the flag-pole from the socket and was spreading the wet +folds of the flag for Lank’s benefit. ‘Well, sir, looky here! If it +ain’t the old Jolly Roger! Lank, this here’s a pirate craft we’re on!’ + +Lank only nodded, and beckoned to Pud. ‘All right, son,’ he said. ‘Head +her yonder till we pick up our landmark.’ + +Pud took the wheel and the launch set off into the mist, bearing +diagonally toward the cypress swamp. Lank stood at his back, whistling +a queer little tune through his teeth. Cocker, having tossed the flag +to the deck, lifted a fold of the tent and inspected it. Then he opened +a locker here and there and peered inside. Tim and Harmon watched him +disapprovingly. + +‘Pretty well fixed for a cruise, ain’t you?’ he asked. ‘Tent an’ +everything, eh? Plenty of victuals, too, likely. Well, well, solid +comfort I call it.’ He grinned leeringly. ‘Nice little boat you got, +fellers. Belong to you, does it?’ + +‘It belongs to his father.’ Tim indicated Pud, at the wheel. + +‘That so? You come from Livermore?’ + +‘No, Millville, about thirty miles up-river.’ + +Pud heard this much, and then Lank was speaking. ‘There we are,’ +said the latter. ‘See that cypress with the broken limb? Head up +about twenty feet beyond it and keep away from shore till you see the +opening.’ The dark wall of trees loomed closely through the twilight +now, the water showing far backward between the swollen trunks, black +and mysterious. On this side, the lake shallowed slowly to meet the +cypress swamp, and it was necessary to follow the shore well out from +the fringe of trees before turning toward the stream. At last Lank gave +the word and Pud doubtfully turned the boat’s nose shoreward. But a +moment later he saw that there was an opening between the cypress trees +about twelve feet wide, and into this the launch slowly chugged. + +‘How much does she draw?’ asked Lank. + +‘I don’t know exactly,’ replied Pud. ‘Not more than eighteen inches, I +guess.’ + +‘She’ll make it then. Better let me take her through this stretch. +There’s a lot of turns, and if you don’t know where they are you’re +likely to get snagged.’ Pud resigned the wheel and stood by, watching +curiously as the stranger steered the boat dexterously through the +narrow stream. The latter turned a dozen times before it emerged from +the gloom of the cypress woods, but fortunately none of the turns +were abrupt. It was a weird and desolate place, that swamp. Looking +upward, Pud could see dimly the feathery tops of the trees merging into +the gray mist. On every side the funereal trunks were crowded close +together and but little light filtered down to the black water about +them. Dead branches protruded in strange and uncanny shapes, and some +aquatic growth powdered the surface with infinitesimal green leaves. It +was a trifle lighter on the stream and its course lay like a lead-gray +ribbon ahead and behind. Save for an infrequent voice from the boat the +silence was absolute, oppressive. They were all glad when the launch +floated at last between banks of marsh grass and the gray twilight took +the place of the deeper gloom of the forest. + +Lank yielded the wheel to Pud. ‘Straight sailin’ now,’ he said, ‘and +plenty of water under your keel.’ + +‘Is this Two-Pond Run?’ Pud inquired. + +‘’Tain’t called that yet, but the Run’s only a mile or so ahead.’ + +‘Do you live around here?’ + +‘Well, no, not ’round here exactly. We’re sort of visitin’. Fishin’ a +bit, you know. Didn’t have any luck to-day, though.’ + +Pud started to say that he hadn’t noticed either lines or poles in +the skiff that was floating along behind, but thought better of it. +Instead, ‘I’ve heard the fish were pretty big in Cypress Lake,’ he +observed. + +‘Big? Yes, they’re big, but they’re mighty shy. Swamp Pond’s more to my +taste, but that’s fished a lot. The Swampers keep that pretty clean.’ + +‘Which way is Swamp Hole from here?’ asked Pud. + +Lank waved a big hand over the port bow. ‘Yonder,’ he answered, ‘about +two-three miles. If I was you I’d keep clear of it, son. Some of them +Swampers are kind o’ tough individuals.’ + +‘Well, if we go down Two-Pond Run do we keep away from the Hole?’ + +‘Pretty well. There’s a few cabins this side the Run, but I guess no +one won’t bother you if you just keep on rowin’.’ + +‘Rowing?’ echoed Pud. + +‘I meant goin’. My mistake, son. Well, yonder’s where we leave you. +Just ease up against the bank to your left when we get to the branch.’ +Not far ahead the stream forked, and Pud called to Tim to slow her down +and, finally, to stop. The launch nestled up against a bank and Cocker +led the skiff around to the side. + +‘Well,’ he said, ‘the best of friends must part, as the old song has +it. We’re sorry to have you leave us, but I guess you’ll be wantin’ +to get along toward home before it gets much darker. Come on, Mistah +Johnson, step aboard.’ He took Harmon by the shoulder and shoved him +ungently toward the skiff. + +‘Take your han’s off me, Mister!’ protested the darky. ‘What you-all +aimin’ to do?’ + +‘Shut your black mouth and pile into that boat,’ said Lank grimly. +‘Come on, now, the rest o’ you!’ + +‘But we’re not going in that skiff!’ declared Pud stoutly. ‘We’re going +on down in this launch.’ + +‘No, you ain’t neither,’ answered Cocker. ‘We’ve swapped boats with +you. Mind you, we wasn’t keen for doin’ it, but you insisted, an’――’ + +‘Better give ’em a couple o’ dollars to boot,’ said Lank. ‘They might +claim we cheated ’em.’ + +‘That’s so!’ Cocker fished a bunch of dirty money from a pocket and +selected two bills. ‘Here you are, sonny. A fine rowboat and two +dollars for your launch. There’s some that wouldn’t trade so easy, but +me and Lank was always sort o’ soft-hearted.’ + +Pud pushed the greasy bills away, trying to smile, although his heart +was somewhere down in his shoes. ‘I guess you’ve made a mistake,’ he +said. ‘We haven’t traded the launch to you. We couldn’t, because it +isn’t ours to trade!’ + +‘Now don’t you try to go back on a bargain,’ remonstrated Cocker +reprovingly. ‘’Tain’t honorable, sonny.’ He laid a broad hand on Pud’s +arm and stuffed the money into a pocket. Then he propelled him to the +side. ‘Climb over now, ’cause we got to be shovin’ ahead. No nonsense, +neither, or’――he placed a huge fist an inch from Pud’s nose――‘you’ll +get this side o’ the jaw, see!’ + +‘Cut out that stuff,’ growled Lank. ‘The kid’s all right. Let him +alone.’ + +Pud turned hopefully to the speaker. ‘He’s fooling, isn’t he?’ he +gulped. ‘He can’t take this launch away from us! We’ve got all our +things here, and――’ + +‘You do like we’re tellin’ you,’ advised Lank coldly. + +‘But――but you’ll give her back to me, won’t you?’ + +‘Oh, sure,’ agreed Cocker heartily. ‘We’re just borrowin’ it. Thought +you knew that.’ + +‘Well――when?’ + +‘Oh, most any day, I guess. Want we should send it parcel post or +express?’ Cocker laughed hoarsely at his humor and then broke off to +lift Harmon swiftly from his feet and drop him into the bottom of the +skiff. ‘Get in there!’ he ordered angrily. ‘Be quick about it or I’ll +throw you all in! Come on, snap into it!’ + +Pud looked miserably at Tim and found no encouragement to further +resistance. Tim was plainly frightened and was already climbing +onto the seat. Pud choked down a lump in his throat and spoke with +commendable calm. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But you needn’t think you can +get away with this. You’re stealing my――’ + +‘Shut your face and get into that skiff,’ threatened Cocker savagely, +‘or I’ll kick you in!’ + +Pud followed Tim, and Lank tossed the painter down after him. ‘Sorry, +son,’ said the latter with gruff kindness, ‘but we have to do it. Keep +down that stream yonder and you’ll come out in The Flat. Good luck! +Clear out now, and――’ + +‘Mind this,’ growled Cocker, scowling down at them, ‘don’t you come +sneakin’ back, ’cause if you do we’ll put a bullet into you, and don’t +make no mistake!’ + +Tim had already found the oars and now he began to row hurriedly across +to the farther stream. Pud, tears of mortification in his eyes, watched +the launch fade away in the darkness a blurred white blotch until the +bank hid it from sight. Tim pulled hard at the oars and, although no +skillful waterman, soon had the skiff well on its way. No one spoke for +several minutes. Then, as it often happened, it was Harmon who broke +the silence. + +‘Reckon ’em folkses knows a heap more about piratin’ ’an what we does,’ +he said sorrowfully. + +Neither Pud nor Tim seemed to be able to think of a suitable reply to +this statement and they went on until Tim, becoming exhausted, caught a +crab that almost landed him on his back. + +‘Let me row,’ said Pud, and they changed places. Again silence fell +like a pall. The stream was wide and easy to follow even in the dusk +that was fast swallowing up the world. Small trees were interspersed +with bushes atop the low banks and these had already lost detail, were +black silhouettes against the grayer darkness of the sky. The rain had +stopped, but a foglike mist still hung over River Swamp. The boys were +damp and chill, hungry and discouraged. Finally Tim spoke from his +place in the stern. + +‘Those men aren’t Swamp-Holers, Pud.’ + +‘I know,’ answered the other wearily. ‘He told me, the tall one. +They’re just visiting, he said.’ + +‘I think they’re town folks,’ Tim went on. ‘They didn’t talk like folks +around here, though sometimes it seemed as if they were trying to. And +one of them wore a leather coat, Pud. You wouldn’t see a leather coat +around the Swamp in a thousand years, I guess.’ + +‘No, I guess not,’ said Pud. His tone, though, suggested that he was +not greatly interested in his chum’s remarks. He rowed on, his strokes +growing weaker, and then suddenly he swung the skiff’s nose toward the +bank. + +‘What you doing?’ asked Tim. ‘Look out, or――’ + +‘I’m going back,’ said Pud firmly. ‘I’m just not going to let them have +her, Tim!’ He backed water and headed the skiff upstream as he spoke. +‘No, sir, they can’t do that to me! I――I won’t let ’em!’ + +‘Well――well――’ sputtered Tim in alarm. ‘Well, what can you do, Pud? My +gracious goodness, we can’t go back there and have them shoot us like +they said they would, Pud! Why, my goodness――’ + +‘How you know they got a gun?’ asked Harmon from the bow. ‘I ain’ seen +no gun.’ + +‘They’ve got one, all right,’ insisted Tim. ‘And they wouldn’t hesitate +to use it, I guess!’ + +‘That’s all right,’ said Pud, rowing hard again. ‘I’m not asking you to +get shot, Tim. I don’t intend to let them see me, but I’m going to find +out where my boat is, and if they leave it alone a minute I bet I’ll +get it back!’ + +‘Yes, but――but now you look here, Pud Pringle! The best way to do is go +right on down to――to somewhere and tell the police about it! Gosh, I +guess it won’t take the police long to get your launch back!’ + +‘Maybe it won’t take me long, neither,’ answered Pud grimly. ‘All +I’m asking those fellows to do is just leave it alone for about two +minutes. That’s all I’m asking them!’ + +‘Well, yes, but――but how do you know where they’ve gone? My goodness, +Pud, we can’t row all over this old swamp looking for them! And suppose +they take it into Swamp Hole! I guess it wouldn’t be very healthy to +follow them in there!’ + +‘I’m going back where they put us out,’ said Pud resolutely, ‘and see +if it’s still there. If it isn’t I’m going to row until――’ But he +paused there. ‘Well, anyway, I’m going to find my boat,’ he concluded a +trifle lamely. + +Tim was silent, torn between his loyalty to Pud and a strong and +growing disinclination to present himself as a target to the +blood-thirsty Cocker. Harmon said wistfully, more to himself than the +others: ‘Wish I had my good ol’ knife!’ + +Rowing against the current, sluggish though it was, soon began to tell +on Pud’s arms and shoulders. The skiff, awash with water in the bottom, +was old and decrepit, and the oars were mismated besides, one being +wider of blade than the other and at least two inches longer. But Pud +pulled on, breathing hard, feeling that a request for assistance would +go ill with the heroic rôle he had assumed. Finally the junction of +the Run with the second stream appeared in the darkness ahead and Tim +announced the fact to Pud in a voice that held no joy of discovery. Pud +stopped rowing and looked over his shoulder. Then he paddled silently +forward to where he could see the place where the launch had lain. It +was empty. He wasn’t greatly disappointed, though, for he had felt +pretty certain that the men had gone on in it down that side stream, +perhaps to some cabin near by, perhaps all the way to Swamp Hole. He +swung the boat around the point and let it drift against the bank there. + +‘I guess you fellows had better get out here,’ he announced. ‘I’ll go +on a ways and see if I can’t find the launch. I guess you can find a +good dry place, and you can light a fire if you like. I’ll be back as +soon as I can, and if――’ + +‘I ain’ goin’ stay here,’ declared Harmon mutinously. ‘I goin’ with +you-all, Mister Pud, and find that there boat.’ + +‘So am I,’ said Tim, not quite so heartily. ‘Anyway, we can keep on +rowing until we see something like a house or a light or――or something.’ + +Harmon took one of the oars from the not unwilling Pud, and, with Tim +keeping an alert and anxious watch from the stern, they set forth +down the branch stream. The mist was thinning now, and already there +was a rift in the clouds from which a few white stars peeked down +upon the adventurers. Pud’s watch showed the time to be but a little +after eight. He had judged the hour far later. With the lifting of the +mist they were able to see for some distance, while the darker banks +outlined their course for them plainly. The stream twisted often, as +seemed the way of all streams in River Swamp, but no other waterways +entered or left it, to their knowledge. At every turn Tim whispered +hoarsely for caution, and when they were past his sigh of relief +sounded louder than his whisper. They had gone, to Pud’s thinking, +more than a mile when, over a hummock and between the bushes that clad +it, a faint twinkle of light caught Tim’s eyes. Obediently the rowers +stopped and let the slow current carry the skiff silently onward toward +a curve a few rods distant. Once around it Pud stealthily dug his blade +in the water and the skiff nosed silently into the bank. The stream ran +straight for a distance and, some three hundred feet away, the square +bulk of a cabin loomed against the night sky. A pale gleam of lamplight +fell through a window. Before the cabin, under the shadow of the bank, +lay a grayish blur. Straining his eyes, Pud made out the uncertain +shape of the launch. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + NIGHT IN SWAMP HOLE + + +They listened intently. A faint breath of air was stirring and there +was a whispering and rustling from the bushes above them, and for a +space they heard nothing else. Then the sound of voices came, faintly, +from the cabin. Pud placed the handle of his oar in Harmon’s hand. + +‘I’m going to get out here,’ he said. ‘You take the boat back around +the turn and keep hid. Stay there till I come. The launch will be +headed upstream, and if I can get her going I’ll slow down and get you +fellows aboard. Anyway, you stay here until I get back.’ + +‘Wha――what are you going to do?’ asked Tim nervously. + +‘I’m going to swim down there and get aboard the launch. Then I’ll let +her float away farther downstream. When she’s out of sound of the house +I’ll get her going and come back up here for you.’ + +‘But you’ll have to pass the cabin,’ expostulated Tim, ‘and they’ll +hear you coming and shoot at you! Why don’t we let the skiff float on +past and wait for you below somewhere? Or why not wait till they’ve +gone to sleep?’ + +‘They might not go to sleep,’ replied Pud in whispers. ‘It might be all +right to go on past, but suppose some one came out and saw us? It would +be all up then. They’d know we were after the launch and they’d watch +it. Or they might get in and chase us and catch us.’ + +This last possibility silenced Tim effectually. He gave doubting +approval to Pud’s plan, and the latter, while Harmon worked the boat +slowly toward the turn, disrobed to his underclothes, an operation +extremely simple and brief. Finally, with a last whispered injunction +to wait right there, no matter what happened, Pud slipped soundlessly +into the water. + +It was surprisingly chill for a moment, but he stifled a gasp and let +the current bear him away. Now and then he worked a foot or a hand, for +his progress seemed to him aggravatingly slow. The fact is that he was +just a little bit frightened, and when one is frightened the moments +have a way of lengthening dreadfully. The skiff disappeared from his +sight and the white shape of the launch drew closer. The cabin was +hidden from him by the bank, but, as he floated onward, the sound of +voices reached him now and then. He kept to the darker water near the +margin and, as a result, once became momentarily snarled in a submerged +branch. Then the bow of the launch appeared at arm’s length and he +let himself along the white side until he could reach up and grasp the +gunwale amidship. There he paused and listened, his heart beating hard. + +The voices from the cabin came to him louder, but still as no more than +hoarse rumblings too faint to identify as those of Cocker and Lank. +Slowly and with difficulty, since he sought to make no noise, Pud drew +himself from the water and, with an anxious look at the cabin, some +fifteen paces distant, squirmed into the launch and dropped, wet and +panting, out of sight. Presently he wormed forward, past the bundle +of folded cots and tent that still lay against the engine casing, and +groped for the line that was holding the launch to a stake driven in +the top of the bank. He regretted then that he had not thought to +bring his knife. The stake was ten feet from where he lay stretched on +the bow planking, while to cast off at the launch meant losing a good +thirty feet of manila rope. He tried pulling the launch’s nose closer +to the stake, but he gained but a scant two feet before it grounded. +There was nothing for it but to pull the rope through the brass-rimmed +hole, work it loose at the cleat and go off without it. He raised his +head and looked toward the cabin as his hands fumbled with the line, +and as he looked a sudden glare of light shot toward him. The door had +opened, voices were plainly distinguishable and, against the yellow +light, framed in the doorway, were figures. + +‘Well, I’ll get going,’ said a voice that Pud recognized as that of the +tall Lank. There was a yawn, interrupted by a second voice, one strange +to the listener. + +‘You tella heem he not to go up da riv’,’ said the voice. ‘It is not +safe, you tella heem.’ + +‘Yeah, I’ll look after that,’ answered Lank. ‘He knows he’s got to work +down-river this time. Well――’ + +Pud, for the moment frozen with fright, now did the first thing that +entered his head. He squirmed down, lifted the canvas of the tent and, +the frame of a cot digging into his ribs, huddled closely, silently +beneath it. His heart was beating a dozen times to the second and he +thought regretfully of the safety of the dark water flowing alongside. +But it was too late now, for he could hear the steps of Lank close at +hand. Then the launch tipped and the man’s feet landed close to Pud’s +head. A faint light, probably, Pud thought, from his or Tim’s electric +torch, shone for an instant under the edge of the canvas. Then it +disappeared and, behind him, Pud heard the wheel turned. Suddenly the +engine started, shaking the boards against which the boy was lying, +and Lank’s feet brushed the canvas as he passed to the bow. There was +a whistled tune, broken by mutterings and the sound of feet scrambling +from shore to boat, and the flap of a dropped rope. Then Lank went back +to the engine and Pud felt the launch swinging as the current dragged +it away from the bank. The propeller revolved, stopped, started again, +the clutch grinding harshly in the silence. Then, the boat evidently +headed downstream, the voyage began. + +Lank, it seemed, was steering from the seat beside the engine, working +the rudder with a hand on the wire rope where it passed him, a feat +that Pud had once attempted with almost disastrous results. After a +minute or two, though, he arose and came scuffling forward, and then it +was that Pud’s heart, which had already threatened to cease functioning +several times that evening, just plain stopped business! For the edge +of the canvas scarcely a foot from his frightened eyes was lifted! + +He heard Lank grunt with the effort of bending, and he gave himself up +for lost. But in the next instant something heavy and bulky was forced +against his chest, prodded further with a kick of the man’s foot, the +canvas flap fell again and Pud’s heart, with a painful thump, decided +to beat again! + +After a moment of revulsion that left him faint, Pud gathered +sufficient courage to ease his hands forward and feel inquiringly of +the object reposing under his chin. It was a bundle about a foot square +tied with stout twine. Pud’s curiosity ended, but not his concern. +Presently, perhaps, Lank would come after the bundle, and if he did +what was to prevent him from throwing back the canvas and exposing the +doubled-up form of one Pud Pringle? Or he might in fumbling around +in the darkness get hold of a bare foot; and Pud felt that in such +an event Lank would be sufficiently curious to see what was attached +to the foot! Pud stared venomously if unseeingly at the bundle. The +only thing that occurred to him was to thrust it farther away until a +portion of it showed beyond the canvas. So, perhaps, Lank would see it +and not go fumbling around too much. Pud was glad to get it away from +the immediate vicinity of his nose, for it had a strong and not too +pleasant odor, an odor that aroused in Pud dim memories connected with +unpleasant events. For want of a better occupation, and perhaps to keep +his thoughts from apprehensive speculation as to the outcome of this +adventure, Pud strove to connect that odor with the memories it evoked, +and while the launch chugged steadily on down the stream, and Lank +whistled plaintively and not unmelodiously from near by, he frowningly +bent his mind to its task. And suddenly――Eureka!――he had it! + +Memory lifted a curtain and Pud saw himself, with Tim close by, in the +job-print room at the back of the _Courant_ office in Millville. It was +extremely hot and the sun made golden squares on the old green shades +that were pulled partly down at the open windows. Before him, and +before Tim, was a pile of printed circulars, and between them were long +white boxes into which they pushed envelopes containing the circulars +that, with the aid of wooden rulers, they had first thrice folded. This +was the price they had had to pay for the trip in the _Kismet_. The +circulars, recently from the press, still smudged if you touched the +print with your hand, and from them, nauseatingly strong in the hot +room, came the odor of printer’s ink! And it was printer’s ink that Pud +smelled now. + +Again he felt of the package, lifted an end of it experimentally, +and decided that here, too, were circulars, and, so deciding, lost +further interest. Just so long as he didn’t have to fold the pesky +things and thrust them into obdurate envelopes they meant nothing in +his life. Nothing, at least, unless, searching for them, Lank found a +fifteen-year-old boy, clad only in a cotton union-suit, instead! + +Perhaps ten minutes had passed, perhaps twenty, when Pud realized +that the launch was running more slowly. A light flickered past above +the bank and faint sounds reached him; a dog barked far off, another +answered from startlingly close; a rooster crowed in a tentative, +half-hearted way; a man’s voice shouted from nearby; the discordant +strains of a concertina grew louder. More lights peeked under the edge +of the canvas, the launch’s engine stopped abruptly, the sound of +laughter took its place amongst the medley of noise and there was a +slight bump and a rasping sound as the launch sidled up to a landing. +Pud’s heart began to do double-time again, he pushed the bundle farther +into the open and made himself smaller than ever. + +Lank was stepping ashore with the bow line now, and now he jumped back +again, close to Pud’s place of concealment. Pud waited in an agony of +suspense. The man didn’t pass on, nor did he fumble along the edge of +the canvas. Finally, or so Pud’s straining ears told him, there was a +sound that might have been ‘Humph!’ and the feet moved on past Pud’s +head. Then the launch tilted a bit, steps sounded on a plank and Pud +knew that he was once more alone! + +He lay still several long moments and then, pushing the bundle softly +out of his way, he slowly thrust his head forth and peered about +him. There was enough light from the stars and from the cabins that +clustered closely along both sides of the stream to show him that, +save for himself, the launch was empty. He scrambled out from under +the dusty folds of the tent and looked cautiously over the edge of the +boat. It was a strange scene that met his eyes. + +The launch was fast to a small landing that jutted a few feet beyond +the bank. Straight back from it stood a building from whose wide-open +doorway streamed the yellow light of several lamps hanging from the +ceiling of the room into which Pud stared. The place was evidently both +a store and a residence, for through a second door the end of a bed was +visible, while along one side of the front room ran a counter at which +a half-dozen men were lounging. Behind it shelves held a small amount +of groceries: Pud could see the colored labels on cans and boxes. Much +loud talk and laughter came from the little store. It might be, Pud +reflected, that more things than groceries passed across that counter. +He thought he could distinguish the tall, broad-shouldered Lank among +the customers, but he was not certain. + +Pud had no doubt about this place being Swamp Hole, and seen as he was +viewing it, with the board and slab cabins and little shanty-boats +dotting the banks of the creek, the light of candle or lamp falling +from doorway or window, with a tall and somber pine pointing up to the +starlit sky here and there like a black sentinel, it seemed indeed to +deserve its evil reputation. Farther down the stream a fire was burning +redly in front of a cabin and dark forms passed about it, throwing huge +and grotesque shadows athwart the glare. At short intervals along each +bank small wharves jutted over the black water and punts and skiffs +were numerous. Unseen to Pud, two men discussed the launch from the +black shadows of the farther bank. + +‘’Tain’t nary boat I ever seen. Stranger in here, ’tis, Bud.’ + +‘Right nice-lookin’, too. Who you reckon run it in here? You see any +one get off’n it?’ + +The concertina began a new tune and a woman’s voice, shrill and +wailing, joined it. Some one in a near-by cabin beat protestingly on a +tin pan. A thin, bent-shouldered, bearded man came along the path that +followed the bank, paused a few yards distant to inspect the launch, +and then went on toward the store, straight along the lane of mellow +light that shone from doorway to wharf. ‘Where’d that there power-boat +come from?’ he drawled as he reached the threshold. ‘I seen a boat +mighty like that yesterday up on――’ The rest was lost to Pud. + +The time for action had come. Already the stern of the launch was +turning slowly out into the stream. Pud clambered up and loosed the +line and scuttled back to the shadows of the boat. It seemed an age +before the current stirred the launch, but at last it began to slip +silently away from the tiny landing. Peering over the edge, Pud could +see the top of the bank move slowly past him. The launch was floating +almost broadside to the stream, but gradually it straightened out, its +bow pointing down the creek. Too late, Pud reflected that he might +almost as easily have taken to the water again and pushed the launch +upstream until out of sight and then started the engine, in which case +he would have got back to Tim and Harmon quickly enough. Now he would +have to keep on down the creek, trusting to luck to find his way into +Two-Pond Run. + +But all that was for the future. Just now, crouching at the bow, +listening with loudly beating heart for sounds that would announce that +Lank had discovered his loss, Pud was concerned only with the present. +Already the sluggish current had borne him a good fifty yards and the +sounds from the store came to him subdued by distance. Other sounds +took their place; low voices from doorsills, snatches of wavering song, +a man’s voice raised in maudlin anger, the querulous wailing of a baby. +He was nearing the outdoor fire now and the ruddy light was blotching +the still water ahead. That the launch would pass unseen was too much +to hope for, and he debated whether to remain concealed or to show +himself at the bow. The question was settled for him. + +‘Hey, Pap, look yander! A big boat!’ It was the shrill voice of a small +boy. + +‘Power-boat, ’tis,’ grunted the father. ‘Where’d it come from, you +reckon, Cal?’ + +‘I d’know, Pap. Ain’t ary soul in it, be there?’ + +‘Don’t look like. Must have slipped its line, eh?’ + +‘Want I should fetch it?’ + +‘Naw, what for? Let them as owns it come arter it.’ The speaker +chuckled maliciously. ‘They’ll be along soon enough, I reckon.’ + +The launch floated silently by and into the welcome darkness beyond the +fire’s radiance. The sound of oars ahead brought Pud’s eyes above the +bow. A small punt was creeping upstream, the man who was rowing unaware +of the other craft. Pud turned the wheel quickly to avoid a collision, +and the faint squeak of the ropes brought the rower’s head around +sharply. A volley of oaths broke the silence as the two boats scraped +past. Then from back up the creek came a loud shout. + +‘Hey! Some one grab that launch! Launch adrift down-creek!’ + +‘Here she be! I’ll fetch her!’ The man in the punt, already a length +astern, spun his small craft about and dug his oars. Pud stood up +desperately. + +‘You keep away!’ he called threateningly. ‘This is my boat!’ + +‘Hallo!’ The man in the punt evinced surprise and for a moment stopped +rowing. Then, ‘Reckon you’re stealin’ her,’ he grunted. ‘Better come +along back with her.’ The punt bumped into the stern of the launch and, +armed with an oar, the occupant began to scramble aboard. + +‘I’m not stealing her!’ protested Pud. ‘You keep off!’ + +He started back toward the stern. His foot found something that turned +beneath it, almost upsetting him. Stooping, his hand closed on the +boat-hook, no longer trailing astern but back in its former rôle of +general nuisance. But it was no nuisance just now, for, holding it +before him, Pud charged toward the enemy. The man, a squat form in +the darkness, was steadying himself preparatory to jumping down from +the stern planking. Perhaps if he had not been burdened with the oar +he might have recovered his balance sooner, but as it was he was in +no position to stand the thrust of Pud’s weapon. There was a grunt, a +loud splash, the rattle of the falling oar against the punt and, for +an instant, silence. Then the man’s head came up and, between puffings +and gurgles, he pursued the vanishing launch with venomous oaths. A +minute later Pud heard him scrambling over the side of the punt. A +final raking fire of profanity followed, and then oars creaked against +thole-pins again, the creaking diminishing momentarily, and Pud knew +that he had won the action. Breathing hard, but exultant, he dropped +the boat-hook and sprang to the engine. Up the stream the shouting +continued, drawing nearer each second. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + MAROONED! + + +Tim and Harmon watched Pud until the bend of the stream intervened and +then, somewhat dejectedly, nosed the skiff to the bank and sat there +in silence for a while. As usual, mosquitoes and gnats were numerous +and bloodthirsty, but the boys had to an extent become inured to them +and only when the pests invited slaughter by attacking their faces did +they trouble to combat them. They sat sidewise, their feet on the seats +they occupied to keep them out of the inch or two of water that covered +the floor of the punt. The position was not extremely comfortable, +and after a while Tim announced that he was going to get out onto +the bank. Harmon followed, with Pud’s clothing, and tied the painter +to a bush. There was a small space bare of shrubbery from which, by +leaning forward, they could see the light in the cabin. Tim had just +drawn attention to this fact when they heard the sound of the launch’s +engine. They became tense as they listened. It stopped, began again. +Then it became steady and its sound dwindled. + +‘He’s got it,’ exclaimed Tim, ‘but he’s going downstream!’ + +‘How-come he do that?’ inquired Harmon. + +‘Maybe she was headed down and he couldn’t turn her. How’s he going to +get back here?’ + +‘Reckon he goin’ find him a wide place an’ turn her roun’ and shoot +back quick!’ + +‘Yes, and they’ll shoot quick, too!’ said Tim anxiously. ‘Can you hear +her now, Harmon?’ + +‘Yes, she still a-hummin’, but she long ways off.’ + +They waited. A half-hour passed, an hour. Then they forgot to keep +track of time. The sky cleared magically and a million glittering white +stars looked down on them. Tim gave up hope at last. ‘They got _him_,’ +he concluded sadly. ‘That’s what happened. Maybe they killed him, +Harmon!’ + +‘They mighty mean-lookin’ pair,’ agreed the darky amiably. + +‘Well, my gracious goodness!’ exclaimed Tim, outraged. ‘You don’t sound +like you cared if they had!’ + +‘Who ain’ carin’? ’Course I is! Mister Pud’s mighty fine boy. But, +shucks, I don’ reckon they really _kill_ him. Maybe they pirate him.’ + +‘Well, I’d like to know what we’re going to do,’ said Tim despondently. +‘I’m hungry, and it’s getting cold, and my feet are wet――’ + +‘How-come we don’ build us a fire?’ + +‘Because they’d see us and come after us.’ + +‘They ain’ no light there now. I reckon they done gone to bed, Mister +Tim. ’Sides, how they goin’ get us? They’s on ’at side of the creek and +we’s on this side, an’ they ain’ got no boat, is they?’ + +‘N-no, maybe not, but they could swim across, couldn’t they? Or they +could shoot us!’ + +But after another ten minutes of shivering discomfort the fact that the +cabin no longer showed a light convinced even the cautious Tim that a +fire would be permissible. + +‘I goin’ build it down in ’at there hollow yonder,’ said Harmon, ‘and +no one ain’ goin’ see it nohow.’ + +Fuel was not easily come by, but after some search Harmon gathered +enough to start with. Fortunately, in his position of cook he carried +a box of matches in the pocket not sacred to his mouth-organ, and +presently from the hollow between two hummocks, a not overly dry place, +a cheerful ruddy light sprang. Tim approached it warily, mindful of +snakes, of which they had seen many during the last two days. Harmon +continued his quest for dry branches while Tim huddled close to the +fire and, in its warmth, began to see life less darkly. Harmon joined +him finally and they talked of food. Harmon craved a couple of fat pork +chops and lots of gravy. Tim’s thoughts dwelt fondly on roast lamb +and potatoes roasted whole with the meat. He became almost lyrical in +his description of the golden-brown surfaces of those potatoes, and +Harmon’s eyes grew large and round as Tim pictured the juice trickling +from under the carving knife as it sliced into the lamb! + +But there wasn’t much lasting pleasure to be derived from such vain +imaginings and presently the conversation swung back to Pud and once +more they exchanged theories. It might be, they agreed, that he had +captured the boat and was going down until he could get back into +Two-Pond Run and ascend that stream to where they were waiting. But Tim +feared that such a journey would take Pud to Swamp Hole, and he had +little faith in his chum being able to escape from that dread spot with +his life――to say nothing of the launch! + +‘How-come they so bad in ’at there Swump Hole?’ asked Harmon. + +‘I guess they’ve always been that way,’ said Tim. ‘The way I heard it, +Harmon, is like this. When they were fighting the Civil War, a long +time ago, there were some men around here who didn’t want to fight. So +they packed up and went back in River Swamp and hid out there where +no one could find them. When folks went after them, they’d hide in +the bushes and shoot at ’em, or maybe they’d just get in their boats +and sneak around these creeks until the folks that were hunting them +got tired and went away again. Well, after a while the war got over +and those men just settled down in Swamp Hole and had families and +everything, and then, I guess, other folks heard about it and came, +too. Anyway, my father says there’s more than fifty families in Swamp +Hole, and they don’t send their kids to school or pay taxes or anything +like that.’ + +‘Huh,’ said Harmon, ‘mus’ be mighty ign’nt folkses!’ + +‘’Course they are. Guess that’s one reason they’re so bad. They’re +poor, too, and maybe that’s another reason.’ + +‘Poor folkses ain’ bad,’ objected Harmon. + +‘N-no, but folks that are awfully poor and ignorant, _too_, sometimes +are.’ + +Harmon didn’t challenge that. Instead, he asked: ‘How they live, Mister +Tim?’ + +‘I don’t know. Some of them raise a few things; tobacco, for instance. +And they do a lot of fishing.’ + +Conversation died for a space. Then Harmon asked, ‘When you reckons we +goin’ get home again, Mister Tim?’ + +‘Home!’ said Tim bitterly. ‘Gosh, it doesn’t look as if we’d _ever_ get +home!’ + +‘I’s jus’ ’bliged to be there Monday mornin’, please, sir,’ persisted +Harmon anxiously. ‘I’s got me a ’gagement with Mister Tom Pawling to +cut his lawn, and Mister Tom’s pow’rful uppity if’n I ain’ keep my +’gagements!’ + +‘I wish I was at home right now,’ said Tim longingly. ‘My goodness +gracious, there isn’t any _sense_ in this! Sitting out here in an old +swamp without any supper or any bed! Gosh, I wish I was in my own bed +this minute.’ + +‘Ain’ ’at the truth?’ agreed the other sympathetically. ‘Folkses is +always wantin’ be where they ain’. Some time when I’s lyin’ all wrop up +warm in my own bed I’s goin’ say to myself, “Lawsey, ’at certainly was +one fine ol’ time me an’ Mister Tim have ’at night we was in the swump +sittin’ roun’ li’l’ ol’ fire an’ talkin’!” Yes, sir, I’s certainly +goin’ say ’at very thing!’ + +‘Humph,’ grunted Tim with a perceptible lack of enthusiasm. ‘It won’t +ever bother me any to be wrapped up warm in my own bed!’ He shivered. +‘And if I ever do get home again,’ he added emphatically, ‘I’ll be +satisfied to stay there! Next time Pud Pringle gets me to go on any old +cruise with him――_What’s that?_’ + +Tim broke off to start nervously at the sound of a soft rustling in +the bushes behind him. ‘Didn’t you hear it?’ he demanded, looking +around apprehensively. ‘Suppose it was a snake?’ + +‘No, sir, ain’ no snakes traipsin’ roun’ this time o’ night, Mister +Tim. They all in bed an’ asleep. Reckon it was a turkle. Lots of +turkles in this ol’ swump.’ + +‘You mean turtles. Anyway, I guess snakes do crawl around at night, +because I’ve heard them.’ + +‘You is?’ Harmon’s tone held doubt. Then: ‘Mister Tim, was I ever +tellin’ you ’bout Sawyer Beeson an’ the rattlesnake?’ + +‘No. Who’s Sawyer Beeson?’ + +‘He’s a colored man what use’ to work with my pa in the chair fac’ry. +He ain’ livin’ roun’ here no more. Please, sir, let me tell you ’bout +him an ’at rattlesnake.’ + +‘Go ahead,’ said Tim, yawning. + +Harmon laid a couple of branches on the small fire and hunched himself +forward, hugging his bare black knees. ‘This here Sawyer Beeson was a +mighty lazy, no-coun’ nigger, Mister Tim. Times he’d work a li’l’ in +the fac’ry an’ times he wouldn’ do no work at all. You knows Mister Sam +Glendon ’at lives up at the Park? Well, one time this Sawyer Beeson +was doin’ some sort o’ work for Mister Glendon up at his house and +Mister Glendon he say to Sawyer, “Sawyer, you fotch me a rattlesnake, +an’ I pays you five dollars.” “My goodness, Mister Glendon,” Sawyer +say, “what you-all wantin’ with a rattlesnake?” “I wants him for a +specimens,” Mister Glendon tell him. “You go catch one an’ brung him to +me ’live an’ I hands you five dollars.” + +‘Well, sir, Sawyer was needin’ five dollars ’bout ’at time an’ so he +ponders awhile. And then he goes an’ gets him a gunny sack and cuts him +a forked stick and goes lookin’ for Mister Rattlesnake. He clumb up on +Coop’s Hill where the water-tower’s at, but he ain’ fin’ no snakes at +all. Then he goes on back a piece over roun’ ’at place where the ol’ +quarry used to be, an’ after a while he sees him a rattlesnake. Mr. +Rattlesnake ain’ doin’ nothin’ at all but ’joyin’ the weather outside +his home, an’ he kin’ o’ sleepy, maybe. So Sawyer Beeson he done crup +up on ol’ snake an’――bam!――he put ’at forked stick down over his neck! +Mister Rattlesnake he twis’ an’ he turn an’ he flip an’ he flop, but +’twan’t no use at all. Then Sawyer he spread out ’at there gunny-sack +an’ he say to Mister Rattlesnake, ‘You go on in there ’fore I busts +you’ head for you!’ Then he sort o’ eases up on ’at forked stick an’ +Mister Rattlesnake he crawls right at ’at gunny-sack! First his head +goes an’ then his middle an’ then his tail an’ then his rattles, an’ +when his button’s done out o’ sight Sawyer he grabs up the gunny-sack +quick by a string what he’s got aroun’ the top of it and he pulls it +shut mighty sudden! + +‘’Twas a long ways back to town an’ Sawyer he was mighty nigh dead by +the time he gets to Mister Sam Glendon’s. ’Cause, you see, Mister Tim, +he has to hold ’at there gunny-sack clear away from him, like this, +an’ his arms gits powerful tired. He ain’ wantin’ ’at snake to bite +him through the sides of ’at bag. No, sir! Lots o’ times he wants to +lay ol’ gunny-sack down, but he’s afraid he ain’t got it tied right +tight an’ he’s scared to do it. So he keep on a-walkin’, changin’ arms +mighty frequent, an’ after a while he ’rives at Mister Glendon’s. “I +done fotch ’at snake you asks me for,” he say. “Does I get me ’at five +dollars?” “You certainly does,” Mister Glendon say. “Is he a big snake, +Sawyer?” “Well, to tell the truth, Mister Sam,” Sawyer tell him, “he +ain’ so powerful prodigious, sir, but he’s the weightenes’ snake I +ever carries, sir!” So Mister Glendon he gets him a cage and opens it +and Sawyer he cuts the string of ’at there gunny-sack an’ he drops it +in the cage an’ they waits for Mister Rattlesnake to come out an’ say +“Howdy.” But he ain’ show hisself, an’ after a-while Mister Glendon +get him a stick an’ poke ol’ bag around. But still Mister Rattlesnake +ain’ come out. So Mister Glendon he lifts ’at bag up and shakes it an’ +there ain’ no snake there at all! No, sir, ’at ol’ Mister Rattlesnake +he jus’ crawl _under_ ’at gunny-sack ’stead of _into_ it, an’ all time +Sawyer was pullin’ it tight Mister Rattlesnake was a-lyin’ right there +laughin’ at him! Yes, sir, jus’ a-bustin’ his sides, I reckon! Mister +Glendon he done give Sawyer two-bits ’stead o’ five dollars, ’cause, he +say, the way Sawyer look when he see they ain’ no rattlesnake, an’ he +’members how he nigh wore hisself out carryin’ ’at gunny-sack home, was +wuth it!’ + +Tim, whose eyes had closed more than once during the leisurely +narrative, chuckled sleepily. ‘It’s a good story, Harmon,’ he murmured. +‘Guess I’ll just lie down awhile and――’ + +He didn’t finish the remark. He didn’t need to. He was already asleep. +Harmon placed another branch on the flames, looked appraisingly at the +slender stock of fuel remaining and shook his head. After a moment his +hand stole into his pocket and emerged with his mouth-organ. He viewed +it longingly and then glanced at the slumbering Tim. After a period of +hesitation he shook his head again, replaced the faithful instrument in +his pocket and curled himself up by the fire. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + COUNTERFEIT MONEY + + +Pud searched hurriedly, frantically in the gloom for the handle that +fitted into the fly-wheel while the sounds of pursuit grew louder and +nearer. He found it at last, slipped it in place, and heaved mightily. +There was no response from the engine. Then he remembered that he had +not switched the spark on. The omission remedied, he turned the wheel +again, and this time the response was instantaneous. The engine raced +loudly. He peered forward, saw that the launch’s head still pointed +into the stream and pulled the clutch lever back. Then he hurried again +to the bow and seized the wheel. + +Now he dared an anxious look to the rear. Lights moved along the bank +and there was a confusion of hails and shouts, but for the moment he +was not threatened with capture. With the throttle wide open and the +current aiding, the launch slipped down the winding stream at a good +five miles an hour. Pud believed that there were motor-boats of a sort +back there, but he doubted that any of them could show much speed. +Besides, it would take minutes to get one started, and already he had +a fair lead. Cabins still showed their lights along the way, but they +stood farther apart now. A smaller stream led off to the left, but Pud +paid it no heed. Then came a longish turn in the creek, and presently, +looking back, but one solitary light met his view. Perhaps the sounds +of pursuit still kept up, but the engine was chugging loudly and he +could no longer hear them. He heaved a deep sigh and sank onto the seat +beside the wheel. + +It was not difficult to follow the creek, for, once away from the +lights of Swamp Hole, it lay before him quite plainly in the starlight, +a broadening path bordered by the black gloom of its banks. The stars +were reflected brightly in its still depths as it led him on and away +from the Hole. As the minutes passed and no sign of pursuit showed, +his courage grew. Sitting there in the bow he began to talk to himself +aloud. + +‘I told them they couldn’t get away with it,’ he muttered. ‘I guess +they know it now! No one can steal my good old boat, I guess; not to +keep it! No, sir, not for very long they can’t! I guess Lank’s pretty +mad about now. I guess he’s wondering what happened.’ Pud chuckled. +‘I’d just like to know what he _does_ think! Bet you he never will +suspect I did it!’ + +He sort of wished he might somehow have revealed himself to Lank before +he got free. It would have been decidedly satisfying to have called +back a defiance. Pud pictured himself standing in the stern, shaking +his fist at the amazed Lank and shouting, ‘Ha, villain, what think +you now? Pud Pringle has come into his own once more!’ Well, anyway, +something like that. + +Pud couldn’t see just how he could have done that, though. He guessed +it was better to get the boat back than to have risked failure seeking +credit for the exploit. Besides, maybe Lank and Cocker――and the other +man who had talked so funny――would feel more worried and humiliated if +they weren’t able to account for the boat’s disappearance. Maybe they’d +think it was spooks! On the whole, Pud was pretty well satisfied. He +did wish, though, that he knew whether the men had stolen the contents +of the lockers. There was no time to satisfy himself on that point +now, but, since they had not taken the tent and the beds and the +cooking-kit, he didn’t think it likely they had disturbed the things +that were out of sight. + +The launch did what Pud believed to be a mile without misadventure. She +did strike a snag once, but she broke through it without damage to the +propeller. Where the creek was leading him he didn’t know, save that +it must eventually bring him either into Two-Pond Run or Turtle Creek. +Since leaving the Hole he had, he reckoned, been going in a generally +southwesterly direction, and it seemed that Two-Pond Creek must be +somewhere ahead. Once on that stream, he meant to double back and +rescue Tim and Harmon. He recalled their plight with mingled sympathy +and amusement. Tim, he decided, would be complaining like anything +about now! + +More than once he caught sight of small streams leading away from the +one he traversed, but he had no use for them, and it was not until +what seemed another mile had been left behind that he was called on +to choose between divergent courses. Turning somewhat abruptly to the +left, he saw, as the boat swung, a sizable stream leading away to the +right. He stumbled back and threw out the clutch, but by the time the +launch had slowed down the other opening was far back. Perhaps it would +lead to Two-Pond Run, he reflected, but it looked in the darkness +rather as if it went back toward Swamp Hole. Besides, it was much +narrower than the stream he was on, and it might peter out and lead +him nowhere. Half an hour later he was glad he had not taken it, for +then he came to a creek fully as large as the one it entered, one that +started off in just the right direction. It wasn’t until he had gone +some distance along it that he discovered that the current was flowing +against him! + +Dismay vanished, though, when he recalled the erratic behavior of River +Swamp waterways. Even if he was going upstream he might reach Two-Pond +Run. Anyway, he would keep on. He was tired now, and pretty sleepy, +too, and the rescue of his marooned companions seemed far less urgent +than it had earlier. Nothing could happen to them, anyhow. Of course +they wouldn’t find it very pleasant, spending the night up there in the +hummocks, and they’d be kind of hungry――Pud paused. Gee, he was hungry +himself, now that he came to think of it! Still, he wasn’t nearly so +hungry as he was sleepy. He yawned widely. + +The dark water, star-sprinkled, continued interminably between its +banks, the latter now patched with groups of trees that threw pockets +of blackness over the stream. Pud’s eyes closed for moments at a time, +but always he managed to force them open in time to avoid running +aground. He blinked longingly at the pile of canvas behind him. If he +could only snuggle up under there in warmth and darkness and go to +sleep! Warmth was becoming almost as desirable as slumber, for, while +his wet underclothes had long since dried, the night was growing chill +with the damp coolness of the swamp and he was beginning to shiver. +There were things he might put on, but he would have to stop the boat +to search for them in the lockers, and rather than pause he huddled +lower under the gunwale and stared painfully ahead in the hope of +seeing Two-Pond Run appear. + +Presently he sighed with relief, for the stream widened suddenly and +then was lost in a larger body of water. But his succeeding sigh was +one of disappointment. It was not the Run he had found, but a pond +somewhat larger than Turtle Pond. He must have spent a quarter of an +hour chugging about it and straining weary eyes along the shadowed +margin for sign of a way out. Twice he poked the launch’s nose into +the mud when what had looked like the mouth of a stream proved only a +shallow. But finally perseverance won and he was going on once more +along a black, tree-bordered creek that seemed to run almost at right +angles to the one he had left. More time passed. His head nodded +frequently, but it wasn’t safe to close his eyes now even for an +instant, for this stream was far darker and turned continually to right +and left. + +Then he found himself in another pond, a pond that was twice as large +as the one he had recently found his way out of, and he threw out the +clutch and stared discouragedly about him. This settled it, he told +himself. Had he reached the Run, he would have somehow pegged on, but +to spend another age nosing around the sides of a pond was beyond him. +He was sorry for Tim and Harmon, but they’d just have to make out as +best they could. As for him, he was going to sleep! + +He dragged the anchor from the bow locker and dropped it over, +shortened the line and made it fast, his hands all thumbs, and then +made his bed. The boat-hook, rescued by Lank or Cocker from the water, +again served him well. He rested an end on each gunwale, draped the +folds of the canvas over it in the shape of a tent and crawled beneath. +But the canvas was unsympathetic against his chilled body and he +stumbled out and searched the nearer lockers. Luck was with him, for +he found Tim’s gray flannel shirt and a pair of trousers; whose, Pud +neither knew nor cared. Clothed in these garments, he again sought the +seclusion of his improvised tent. This time, in lowering himself to the +floor, he came in contact with an uncomfortable object that proved to +be Lank’s package. He thrust it out of the way, gathered the folds of +the canvas under his head as a pillow and, with a long and delicious +sigh, gave himself to slumber. He was just floating blissfully off +when a disturbing thought came to him. He hadn’t written to his folks +that day! Worse, the letter he had written yesterday still lay in his +jacket pocket, unposted! These reflections, though, couldn’t keep him +awake long, and soon he was fast asleep. + +Had he known that the one letter posted by him had, by one of those +mistakes such as even an efficient Post-Office Department sometimes +makes, been dispatched to Millersville instead of Millville, and that +it was not to arrive at the little house on Arundel Street until the +next morning, he might have been kept awake two minutes longer, but +certainly no more than that! + +He awoke to an amber glow that offended his eyes. For a moment he +wondered dazedly where he was. Then he turned his head and snuggled +back, his whereabouts a matter of no interest. But it was more than the +sunlight striking through the faded brown canvas that had disturbed +him, and he was destined to sleep no longer. There were sounds about +him, and then his tent was invaded and a lean countenance with a +grizzled mustache and two keen brown eyes was bending over him. About +the same instant the boat-hook fell on one of Pud’s ankles and he +became very wide awake, though sorely puzzled. + +‘Hello!’ said the lips under the grizzled mustache. + +‘Hello,’ replied Pud vaguely. ‘What time――’ But that inquiry didn’t +seem just the right one, and he changed it to: ‘What do you want?’ + +‘Well, we might be wanting you,’ answered the man. Two other faces +appeared, a long, tanned face, clean-shaven, and a somewhat round face +that held a wide smile. Pud thought that they must find it rather +uncomfortable to be standing in the water like that, but when he had +attained a sitting position he found that they were leaning over the +side of a trim launch lying alongside. That was both surprising and +interesting, and Pud climbed to his feet to have a better look. + +‘What’s your name, youngster?’ pursued the man who had spoken before. + +Resentful of the term ‘youngster,’ Pud was taking his own time about +replying when he discovered two things almost simultaneously, to wit; +that the round-faced man wore the uniform of the police, and that, +as the speaker leaned forward, a nickel badge, pinned close to the +arm-hole of his vest, was exposed to view. Pud decided to forgive the +term. + +‘Anson Pringle,’ he replied respectfully. + +‘What!’ The man leaned back and cast a glance toward the bow of Pud’s +launch. ‘What are you doing in this boat, then? Where’s the one you +started out in? And what have you done with the other boys?’ + +‘I changed the name,’ explained Pud. ‘They――they’re up there a ways.’ + +‘No wonder we couldn’t get trace of the _Kismet_,’ chuckled the +policeman. ‘Say, kid, why didn’t you write to your folks like they told +you to? Didn’t you know they’d be anxious?’ + +‘I did write once,’ answered Pud. ‘Tuesday.’ + +‘Well, they never got it,’ said the first man, who it later appeared, +was a sheriff. ‘They’re pretty worried about you, Anson. So are the +other boys’ folks. Your father telephoned to me last night about ten +o’clock and we started out early this morning to look for you. No one +had seen a launch called _Kismet_, but we found an old chap at Corbin +who remembered a boat with two white boys and a negro in it. He had the +name wrong, though. What did he say it was called, Tom?’ + +‘_Vengeance_, I think.’ + +‘This is it,’ said Pud. ‘It’s the _Vengance_ on one side and the _Jolly +Rodger_ on the other.’ + +‘For the love of Mike! What’s the idea?’ + +‘I couldn’t just decide which I liked best,’ said Pud. + +There was a chuckle from the third occupant of the police launch. +He was looking to where the skull-and-cross-bones flag, dropped by +Cocker, lay outspread near the stern. ‘Playing pirate, I guess, eh?’ he +inquired. + +‘Sort of,’ muttered Pud. + +‘Playing the dickens, you mean,’ observed the policeman severely. +‘Worrying your folks ’most to death!’ + +‘But I did write, I tell you! I wrote twice, only the last letter +didn’t get posted because we lost our way and got up into Cypress +Lake――’ + +‘You did! Well, I’ll be switched!’ The sheriff shook his head amazedly. +‘And found your way out again, eh?’ + +‘Well, two men came along and showed us the way, and then they stole +the launch and I went and got it back and I was trying to find Tim and +Harmon, but I got so sleepy I couldn’t go on, and so I stayed here, +and――’ + +‘Stole your launch, did they? Who were they? How’d you get it back?’ + +‘Hold on,’ said the policeman. ‘We’d better take him in with us and go +fetch those other kids. He can tell us about that on the way. Where’d +you say you left them?’ + +‘About a couple of miles this side of the lake; where you turn off the +Run to go into Swamp Hole. You see, Lank and Cocker live along that +stream a ways, and――’ + +‘Those the men who stole your boat?’ + +‘Yes, sir.’ + +The policeman eyed the sheriff. ‘Who might they be, Henry?’ + +‘Don’t know. Sure the name wasn’t Hank? There’s three-four Hanks up +there.’ + +‘No, sir, it was Lank. I don’t believe they belong in the Swamp +regular. Lank said they were just visiting. He said they’d been fishing +when we met them, but they didn’t have any lines or poles in the skiff.’ + +‘What sort of looking men were they?’ asked the third occupant of the +police launch. He appeared to take interest in the conversation for the +first time. Pud described Lank and Cocker as well as he could. + +‘Cross-eyes, you say? And a long, crooked nose? And might be all of six +feet tall?’ + +‘Yes, sir, I think so.’ + +‘Know him, Kinsey?’ asked the sheriff. + +‘I wouldn’t be surprised. Sounds a lot like Jim Thorbourn. Thorbourn +served a term at Joliet about four years back. Hasn’t been heard of +since that I know of.’ + +‘Counterfeiting?’ inquired the policeman. + +‘Passing.’ + +‘Well, he doesn’t answer the description of any of the lot we’ve heard +of,’ said the policeman. + +‘He might have passed the stuff out to them. Son, did you see the place +they live in?’ + +‘Not very well. It was sort of dark then. It was just a board cabin.’ +Pud was trying to piece things together in his mind. The word +‘counterfeiting’ seemed to suggest something to him, but he couldn’t +think what! + +‘Can you take us to it?’ asked Mr. Kinsey. + +‘I’m not sure,’ said Pud. ‘If I could find Tim and――’ He stopped +suddenly, staring wide-eyed at the other. + +‘What’s wrong?’ demanded the man. + +Pud found his tongue. ‘Lank took a package with him,’ he said slowly. +‘It――’ + +‘What sort of a package?’ Mr. Kinsey asked eagerly. + +‘Square. It smelled of ink. I thought it was circulars.’ + +‘Where’d he take it?’ + +‘To Swamp Hole.’ + +‘You been in there, too!’ cried the sheriff. + +‘Well, well, what did he do with it?’ pursued Mr. Kinsey impatiently. + +‘Nothing,’ said Pud. ‘He left it. It’s here.’ + +‘Here! Where? Find it, you young idiot!’ + +At another time Pud might have resented the title, but now he didn’t +notice it. He was searching hurriedly under the confusion of his +wrecked tent. Then he found the package, and Mr. Kinsey, who had +jumped down beside him, snatched it out of his hands. He didn’t hurry +to open it, though. Instead, he turned it over and over and studied +it thoroughly. To Pud, wildly impatient, he seemed to be the slowest +person he had ever met! Finally, though, Mr. Kinsey took a penknife +from a pocket and severed the stout cord. The sheriff and the policeman +leaned curiously forward as the coarse brown paper was removed. Then, +as the contents were exposed, the sheriff whistled softly, eloquently. +Pud’s eyes grew bigger and bigger. + +There, in two neatly stacked piles, was more money than he had ever +dreamed of! + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + THE DESERTED CABIN + + +‘Phoney?’ asked the sheriff. + +Mr. Kinsey lifted some of the bills from one of the two stacks and +riffled the edges with a square thumb, nodding. These were tens; the +other pile held twenties. He passed one of the oblong slips of crisp +paper to the sheriff. ‘Rotten job,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Wouldn’t +fool a child. Look at the lathe work! And the threads, done with a fine +pen; no silk there. These are some of the same lot, Sheriff, as the +ones the banks picked up. I’d like mighty well to know who made the +plates. He must be a fool to think he could get away with anything as +crude as that!’ + +‘Well, now, I don’t know,’ said the sheriff slowly. ‘I reckon if some +one was to hand me one of those I wouldn’t suspect anything wrong with +it. ’Course, if I was on the lookout for queer money I might be leery.’ +He handed the bill to the policeman. + +‘I’d take it in a minute,’ said the latter, ‘if I didn’t know there was +bad ones around.’ + +Mr. Kinsey smiled and shook his head. ‘It will pay you to get a +genuine bill and study it,’ he said. ‘It’s a good thing to know what a +real ten-dollar bank-note looks like, Casey. Then maybe you won’t ever +get stung.’ He placed the bill back and retied the package. ‘Want to +run up there, Sheriff, and look things over?’ he asked as he climbed +back into the other boat. + +‘Well, I dunno,’ was the reply. ‘Think there’s enough of us?’ + +‘Oh, there won’t be any trouble,’ answered Mr. Kinsey. ‘They’ve +skipped by this time. I’d just like to look the place over. Might find +something that would help me a bit.’ + +‘Well, if they’ve gone,’ objected the sheriff, ‘we’d better go back to +town, maybe, and work the ’phone.’ + +‘No hurry. I’d rather find out who they are first. I’m pretty sure +about Thorbourn, but this “Cocker” has me guessing. And there may have +been others in the gang.’ + +‘There was one more,’ said Pud, and he told about the man who ‘talked +funny.’ + +‘Italian, probably,’ commented Mr. Kinsey. ‘He was the engraver, I +guess. Well, let’s go.’ + +‘You come in here,’ directed the sheriff, ‘and we’ll pick up your +friends. Your boat will be all right, I reckon, till we get back.’ + +Pud obeyed, and the police launch, with Mr. Casey in charge, jumped +forward. That was, as Pud told himself, ‘some launch.’ It was long +and slender, with a sharp, high bow, and it gleamed with white paint +and mahogany and shining brass. The engine was housed in a compartment +to itself, well forward, and beyond that, perched on the bow deck, was +something concealed in a waterproof canvas cover that engaged Pud’s +curiosity tremendously until he finally realized, with a thrill, that +it was a small machine-gun. + +To his surprise, the police launch, which bore no name, but had the +letters ‘L. P. D.’ painted on the bow, turned almost instantly into a +broad creek which the sheriff told him was Two-Pond Run. + +‘That’s Second Pond there, son; where you spent the night. First Pond’s +two miles below.’ + +‘Gee,’ muttered Pud, ‘if I’d known that last night――’ + +‘Glad you didn’t,’ said Mr. Kinsey. ‘We might not have found you at +all. Suppose you tell us about your run-in with those fellows, Lank and +Cocker. I’d like to get it straight.’ + +So Pud began with their arrival at Corbin, with Gladys Ermintrude +aboard, and narrated their adventures down to the evening before when +sleep had overtaken him. He had three interested and, at moments, +slightly incredulous hearers. + +‘Son,’ said the sheriff solemnly, ‘you’ve got a heap o’ pluck, and I’ll +be gol-swizzled if you haven’t got a head on your shoulders, too!’ + +‘He’s got something else that’s better than those,’ said Mr. Kinsey, +‘and that’s luck!’ + +‘Aren’t you hungry?’ asked the sheriff solicitously. + +‘Starved,’ laughed Pud. + +‘’Course you be! Tom, got anything to eat aboard?’ + +The policeman shook his head regretfully. ‘Afraid not,’ he said. ‘I +don’t know, though, Henry. Look in the little locker just back of you. +There might be some crackers.’ + +There were! Only part of a carton, but Pud, eating them ravenously, +was sure they had saved his life! There was plenty of cool water in +a copper tank with a little nickel faucet, and he made a breakfast. +While he ate, he listened to the conversation of the others. He learned +that the sheriff’s name was Bowker, that Mr. Kinsey was a detective of +the Department of Justice who had been sent to Livermore to find the +persons who had been flooding the country thereabouts with counterfeit +money, and that the latter’s presence aboard the launch was purely +an accident. He had, it appeared, been at Police Headquarters when +Sheriff Bowker had arrived to requisition the launch and had added +himself to the party. Pud learned, too, many interesting facts about +counterfeiters and their methods. The thought that the somewhat +friendly Lank was in reality a desperate criminal, one ‘wanted’ by the +Federal Government, stirred him considerably. Why, he and Lank had +talked together just like ordinary folks! And, more marvelous still, +he, Pud Pringle, alone and unaided, had foiled the villain! _Gee!_ + +‘Getting nigh Cypress Creek, son,’ announced the sheriff, breaking in +on Pud’s reflections. ‘Maybe you better watch for those partners of +yours.’ + +A minute or so later the launch slowed down, swung gracefully to the +right and nosed into the smaller stream. Pud recognized the scene, +although the morning sunlight gave it a far different aspect. Policeman +Casey’s voice came suddenly from the bow. + +‘There they are,’ he said. ‘One white and one black. On the bank over +there.’ + +It was rather a sorry pair who sat on the rim of the creek and kept +watch over a dilapidated rowboat. There had been no fire this morning, +and, as a matter of course, no breakfast, and only within the last +half-hour had the sun’s warmth begun to drive the chill from their +bodies. But at sight of the launch they perked up immediately, their +delight tempered by dubious surprise at the discovery that the boat +was not only a strange one, but one inhabited by strange men. The +discovery of Pud brought relief, but at the next instant Tim saw the +uniformed officer and feared that his chum was in the hands of the Law. +Indeed, it took a good while for Pud to convince Tim that he wasn’t, +and he hadn’t quite succeeded when, with the outcasts aboard and the +skiff tied astern, the police launch came in sight of the cabin. + +‘You boys better stay here and keep out of sight,’ said the sheriff, +jerking his pistol holster around to the front. + +‘Oh, they’ve gone,’ said Mr. Kinsey confidently. ‘Door’s wide open, you +see. Let the kids come if they want to.’ + +So they all went, the three men well in advance, and Tim, ever +cautious, bringing up the rear. But no hostile demonstrations greeted +the party as, leaving the launch well upstream, they advanced through a +thicket and at last came to the edge of the small clearing. The cabin +was a ramshackle affair of weathered planks and pine slabs, with a roof +patched here and there with pieces of tin or squares of tar paper. +There was a sagging porch in front, a door and two windows. A third +window looked up the stream and a crazy brick-and-clay chimney peered +over the roof at them. + +Mr. Kinsey gave a hail, but there was neither answer nor sign of +life, and they went on, crossed the rotting boards of the porch and +entered the cabin. It had probably never been commodiously furnished, +and perhaps what was left behind was all there ever had been; two +bedsteads built against the walls, a rickety table, the remains of a +canvas camp-chair, and four home-made stools. The cabin was divided +by a wooden partition into two rooms of unequal size, the smaller of +which had evidently served as kitchen and dining-room and the larger +as sleeping- and living-apartment. There was a two-year-old calendar +tacked to a wall and a litter of empty food containers, crusts of +bread, fragments of paper, and other rubbish lay about. + +‘Flown,’ said Mr. Kinsey dryly. + +He peered about on the soiled floor, kicked about among the rubbish, +fumbled amongst the ashes of the fireplace. Finally he brushed his +hands. ‘They didn’t leave much,’ he said admiringly. ‘Plenty of ink +on the floor over there, and a strong smell of it still, but that’s +about all. Here’s where the press stood, Sheriff.’ He pointed with a +broad-toed shoe at four spots on the worn floor. ‘Those are acid stains +yonder, by that window. They moved out last night, I guess. You can see +one or two places where the press scraped between here and the door. +Must have had plenty of time, or thought they had, for they cleaned up +pretty thoroughly. Took even the lamps, didn’t they? Must have had a +boat-load! Wonder where they got that boat?’ He looked speculatively at +the sheriff. + +‘That’s so,’ said the latter. ‘You didn’t see any boat besides your own +here last night, did you?’ he asked of Pud. + +‘No, sir, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any.’ + +‘Humph! Well, this Lank fellow probably fetched himself back in one +from the Hole. Don’t seem like they could have got far, rowing, does +it?’ + +‘Oh, I don’t believe they rowed,’ said the Secret Service man. ‘There +are motor-boats about here, aren’t they?’ + +‘Yes, but they aren’t much. Still, they might have hired one――or +stolen it, for that matter――at the Hole. We might find out if a boat’s +missing. They wouldn’t tell us, though, like as not. They’re pretty +close-mouthed in there.’ + +‘No harm asking, I guess.’ Mr. Kinsey gave a last look about and moved +toward the door that gave from the kitchen to the back of the cabin. +It was closed, but unlocked, and they all followed him out. There +wasn’t much there; a few yellowed bits of paper that told nothing, +a scanty woodpile, some old tin cans, a broken-handled shovel, the +battered remains of a straw hat. Mr. Kinsey made the circuit of the +cabin, passed through it again and went down the short path to the +creek. There were plenty of footprints, but he did not, as Pud thought +he should have, produce a magnifying-glass and tape-measure and study +them in the manner of the detectives of whom Pud had read. Instead he +gave them brief and unimpressed attention and went on to the bank where +the _Kismet_ had been tied up the night before. Here there were signs +of recent activity. The bank was torn and trodden by many steps, and a +gash in the edge showed where something heavy had been dragged across. +The Secret Service man peered long into the water, shading his eyes, +stepping this way and that. + +‘Thought I saw something down there,’ he said at last carelessly, ‘but +it’s only a snag. Well, that’s all we can do here, Sheriff. We’ve got +to get our news somewhere else.’ + +‘Didn’t learn a thing, eh?’ asked Sheriff Bowker as they turned back +toward the launch. + +‘Not much. I learned that they’d been printing here, and I’m pretty +well satisfied that the plates were either engraved in that shack or +finished there. Those were acid stains all right. I know what kind of +a press they used and I know that the third man, the one the boy said +talked funny, is a short, rather small guy; probably not over five +feet six, and’――he took something from his pocket and showed it to the +sheriff――‘I know this is the brand of cigarettes he smokes. Found it +in the ashes in the chimney-place. That doesn’t help much, of course, +but I’ve started on less. Besides, I know one of the three already, and +that’s enough to land them all――some day.’ + +The sheriff nodded. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘You fellows generally get ’em +in the end. But, say, how’d you get at the Italian’s size and his +height, eh?’ + +‘Well, the boy described the other two pretty well. One tall and +big-built, the other shorter, but still average height, and heavy-set. +Guess maybe you didn’t notice those beds, did you? Boxes, sort of, +filled with marsh hay. One of them was used by Lank and the fellow +called Cocker. You could see that easy enough. The other was used by +this Italian guy and there was six or eight inches of the hay at the +bottom that had never been pressed down. That’s how I figured his +height. I got his size from the size of his foot. His prints were all +over outside there. Wears about a six shoe, and has a high arch.’ + +The sheriff grunted. ‘Well, that’s clever,’ he allowed, ‘but I +wouldn’t want to see a man convicted on that sort of evidence.’ + +‘Oh, that isn’t evidence. That’s only information that may or may not +come in handy some day. Well, now let’s try this famous Swamp Hole I’ve +been hearing so much about!’ + +Pud had a long story to tell and many explanations to make while the +police launch, her powerful motor scarcely more than purring, went on +down the winding stream. But he was favored with as rapt an audience +as any narrator could desire, and when he told of the short and sharp +engagement in which, with the trusty boat-hook, he had repelled +boarders, Tim gasped admiringly. + +‘Gosh!’ he said. + +‘My golly!’ chuckled Harmon. ‘Reckon you’s a pretty fine ol’ pirate, +Mister Pud, after all!’ + +After that Pud brought events down to the moment, exhibiting with Mr. +Kinsey’s permission, the amazing contents of Lank’s package, at sight +of which Harmon’s eyes stuck so far out of his round black countenance +that Pud was momentarily uneasy lest they might not get back again! +And Tim was still questioning when the launch glided around a bend and +Swamp Hole lay before them. + +Pud blinked. What he saw now was no more like what he had seen last +night than――well, than daylight is like dark! Now the warm sunlight +bathed the scene; the tranquil stream reflected the clear blue sky, the +green banks, the little cabins and shanty-boats, the clearings about +them, the garden-patches and tobacco-fields beyond. Tall, straight +pines and spreading oaks threw patches of shadow over which the morning +dew still lay like a silver mist. The cabins, roughly made though they +were, looked neat and homelike, and from most of them the gray-blue +smoke of morning fires still arose to hover over the little village +with a pleasantly pungent odor. Nearly every habitation had its small +truck-patch behind. In some cases the patches were of good size, and +several held strawberry beds in blossom and fruit. Tobacco, already a +foot high, stretched back over land reclaimed from the swamp, its broad +green leaves bright in the sun. Among the plants the growers were at +work, men, women, and children. + +In front of a cabin two women were fashioning baskets of willow withes. +Before another an elderly, white-bearded man was making a hickory +chair. In front of the small store, in the morning sunshine, a handful +of Swampers, sighting the approach of the strange launch, ceased their +gossip and lounged unhurriedly down the path. Somehow, Pud felt a dim +sense of disappointment. This was not the Swamp Hole of his imaginings. +This was merely a pleasant, peaceful, and peaceable little village +which no more suggested dark deeds and villainy than Millville itself! + +Harmon, who, in spite of a brave front, had been secretly alarmed at +the prospect of bearding the desperadoes of Swamp Hole, regained his +poise and put his head a little higher over the edge of the boat. +Protected by the presence of a policeman in uniform, a sheriff, and a +detective, he could, he believed, show himself with impunity. Tim was +at once relieved and, like Pud, disappointed. He guessed Pud hadn’t +done anything so startlingly daring after all! + +The police boat eased to the few posts and old planks that served as +a pier, and the sheriff hailed one of the loungers cheerily. ‘Howdy, +Jeff! How you-all?’ + +‘Fair to middlin’, Sheriff.’ The man addressed was tall, lanky, very +blue of eye, and with tow-colored hair. He wore cotton trousers and the +remains of a blue calico shirt. Head and feet were bare. He smoked a +pipe as he ambled nearer, followed by his companions, and slowly let +his gaze travel from one end of the launch to the other. + +‘Say, Jeff,’ went on the sheriff, ‘we picked up this skiff down yonder +on the Run. Least, these boys did. Thought it might belong to some o’ +you folks in here. Happen to know it?’ + +Jeff viewed the skiff leisurely, walking back along the path to obtain +all particulars of its appearance. The others viewed it likewise, in +silence. Finally, ‘Well, now I dunno as I do, Sheriff,’ said Jeff. He +spoke guardedly and turned inquiringly to a neighbor. ‘You ever see it +afore, Joe?’ + +Joe shook a large, shaggy black head, darting a speculative glance at +the sheriff. Other heads shook, too. + +‘Well, might’s well take it along then,’ announced the sheriff. ‘Reckon +these boys can find a use for it. Thought maybe, though, it belonged in +here. Saw one of your power-boats down below when we came up. Reckon it +was yours, Tolliver, wasn’t it?’ + +A squat, bent-backed man at the back of the gathering looked startled, +but shook his head with some vigor. ‘’Twan’t mine, Sheriff. I ain’t got +me no power-boat now.’ + +‘That so? Well, whose you reckon it was, Jake? I’m plumb sure it was a +Swamp Hole boat.’ + +The countenances of the group regarded him blankly. Jake Tolliver shook +his head again. ‘Reckon ’twan’t none of ourn, Sheriff. Ain’t but +three-four here, an’ they was all in creek this mornin’.’ + +‘Well, ’tain’t important. We’ll run along. These young fellows got lost +and their folks sent me to bring ’em back. All right, Casey.’ + +‘Sheriff,’ drawled Jeff, ‘I ain’t sure but that there’s Tally Moore’s +skiff, now I get me another look at it. It sort o’ favors Tally’s. +Hank, you take a good look, will you? You recollec’ that old skiff o’ +Tally’s, don’t you?’ + +‘Reckon that’s Tally’s,’ answered the man addressed promptly and with +no more than a glance at the rowboat. ‘Heard him tell awhile back as +how he’d lost it.’ + +‘Tally Moore?’ said the sheriff. ‘Don’t believe I recall him, Jeff. +Where’s his place?’ + +‘’Round on backwater yonder. Second house on farther bank. Reckon +that’s his boat, Sheriff. Reckon he’ll be powerful obliged to you.’ + +The sheriff nodded, waved good-bye. The launch slipped forward again. +The group about the landing watched it silently, and along the creek +old folks and children in front of the cabins or shanty-boats drawn +back on the banks stopped at their tasks or play to look as silently. + +The sheriff chuckled. ‘I said it wasn’t any use. They hate to answer +questions. Wouldn’t even say about the skiff till they was mighty sure +we wasn’t in here to make trouble.’ + +‘Looked peaceable enough,’ commented Mr. Kinsey. + +‘Yes, they’re peaceable enough so long’s you don’t rile ’em,’ agreed +the other tolerantly. ‘Don’t like strangers much; ’specially when they +happen to be collectin’ taxes. They’ve got a mean way of shootin’ from +cover, too. Mighty difficult to tell where they’re located. Ain’t +much taxes goes out o’ the Hole! It ain’t a right healthy job, sir, +collectin’ in here. Some o’ these fellows ought to be in jail, but, by +and large, they’re fairly law-abiding.’ + +The backwater proved to be the stream that Pud had glimpsed last night, +turning off to the left just past the last cabin on the creek-bank. It +was shallow and muddy and came to an end not far distant where a cedar +thicket massed itself closely and darkly. There were three cabins along +it, one on the left side and two on the right. Good-sized patches of +tobacco or corn flanked them and spread back for some way. Getting to +the last landing, a log raft tied to stakes in the muddy bank, was +skittish work for the launch, but she finally came within hailing +distance of the small cabin and a shout from the sheriff brought a +thin, stooped, pale-faced man around a corner of it. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + TALLY MOORE TALKS + + +‘Reckon you’re Tally Moore,’ said the sheriff amiably. + +The man, pausing on the top of the low bank, looked them over +suspiciously. Finally his gaze fell on the skiff, bumping astern, and +his faded eyes lighted a little. He nodded, as though agreeing to +something he was more than doubtful of. + +‘Well, I’m sheriff up to Livermore. These boys came across this skiff +yesterday and Jeff Gosling said he thought it belonged to you. If so, +here ’tis. ’Course,’ added the sheriff, laughing jokingly, ‘you’ll have +to prove your title to it!’ + +‘It’s mine,’ said Tally in a hoarse voice that sounded much too large +for his thin body. ‘Lost it two-three days ago.’ + +‘Lost it, did you? That’s funny now. The men that had it said they’d +hired it from you. Maybe it isn’t the one, after all.’ + +Tally Moore’s gaze shifted. ‘Well, come to think of it, I did let them +fellers take it. Said they wanted a boat to fish in. I never seen ’em +afore, but they looked respec’able and I let ’em have it. Strangers +roun’ here, they was.’ + +‘I see,’ answered the sheriff carelessly. ‘Reckon they lied to you, +Moore, for they gave the skiff to these boys here.’ + +‘No, they didn’t,’ began the owner. Then he stopped. + +‘Maybe they told you they didn’t,’ chuckled the sheriff, ‘but the boys +said they did. What did they tell you now?’ + +‘I ain’t seen ’em since,’ muttered Tally. + +‘I see.’ The sheriff’s gaze roamed along the bank. Several stakes were +driven into it at intervals and two of them still held rusty chains and +padlocks. ‘Sort of left you without anything to get around in, didn’t +it?’ he asked. + +‘Brodie, over there, he lets me have his punt when I want it,’ said +Tally. + +‘Reckon you sold your motor-boat, too,’ the sheriff mused. + +Tally’s eyes widened, then dropped quickly. ‘I ain’t had a power-boat +for a good while,’ he muttered. + +‘What do you call a good while?’ asked the other, his eyes twinkling. +‘’Bout twelve hours?’ + +‘Now, you look ahere,’ replied Tally querulously. ‘I ain’t goin’ answer +no more fool questions. I got my work to do, I have.’ + +‘Won’t keep you much longer,’ said the sheriff soothingly. ‘How much +did you get for the power-boat?’ + +‘That’s my private affair,’ answered the man with sullen dignity. + +‘Sure ’tis, sure ’tis! Just wanted to tell you that whatever money +those fellows paid you ain’t worth a cent.’ + +‘What you mean?’ demanded Tally in alarm. + +‘Counterfeit.’ + +‘What! Counterfeit? Sheriff, you mean that?’ + +‘Well, I mean they were printing the stuff up on Cypress Creek. ’Course +they might have paid you in good money, but it don’t seem likely. +Haven’t got it handy, have you?’ + +There was a moment’s hesitation on the part of Tally. Then he turned +and ran toward the cabin. He didn’t go inside, though, but disappeared +around the farther corner. He was gone several minutes. + +‘Got to dig it up, likely,’ said the sheriff. ‘’Twas his power-boat +they got, all right, Kinsey. Don’t reckon he was in with ’em, though.’ + +The Secret Service agent shook his head. ‘Too stupid, I guess,’ he +agreed. + +Tally came back, panic in his colorless face. ‘Here’s what they gave +me, Sheriff,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Ain’t that good money?’ He yielded +the bills to the other. There were eighteen of them. The sheriff +sorted them into two lots; two hundred dollars of crisp, new paper and +thirty-five dollars in old, creased bills. The new notes he passed on +to Mr. Kinsey. + +‘I reckon this thirty-five is all right,’ said the sheriff, ‘but that +new stuff――’ He looked questioningly at the Secret Service man. The +latter was already folding the bills and putting them into his pocket. + +‘Counterfeit,’ he said briefly. + +‘You give ’em back here!’ cried Tally. ‘Good or bad, stranger, it’s my +money!’ + +‘You hold your horses, Moore,’ said the sheriff. ‘Phoney money belongs +to just one person, and that’s Uncle Sam. This here’s Mr. Kinsey, of +the United States Secret Service.’ + +Tally stared open-mouthed. Then he swallowed hard. ‘You mean I don’t +get nothin’?’ he faltered. + +‘I wouldn’t wonder a mite if you got your boat back,’ answered the +sheriff. + +‘The skunks!’ broke out Tally angrily. He found worse names then, and +mingled ugly oaths with his excited ravings until the sheriff silenced +him. + +‘Moore,’ he said, ‘if you want we should get your power-boat back for +you, you’d better tell us the truth about the business. Here’s your +thirty-five. How comes it they paid you that much in real money?’ + +‘That was first off,’ answered Tally hurriedly in his hoarse tones. +‘That was for the skiff. I sold it to ’em, good an’ all. They was two +of ’em come along about three weeks past. Strangers they was. Wanted a +boat for fishin’ an’ offered me thirty for mine. I told ’em thirty-five +an’ they paid it. I didn’t see ’em again till last night. Then one of +’em, the tall feller, comes here ’bout ten o’clock an’ gets me out o’ +bed. Wants to buy the power-boat an’ we haggles awhile an’ he finally +pays me two hundred dollars, the――the――’ + +‘Never mind that,’ soothed the sheriff. ‘Two hundred was quite a price, +I reckon, Moore. Must have wanted it bad, I’d say. Then what?’ + +‘I come down here an’ unlocked that padlock yonder and started it for +him and he went off, the dirty――’ + +‘And that’s the last you saw of him? Or the others?’ + +‘Yes,’ Tally hesitated. Then he added, ‘I heard ’em, though.’ + +‘Heard them, eh? How’s that?’ + +‘’Bout two o’clock, I reckon ’twas. I couldn’t get to sleep again +after he’d waked me up, an’ I was lyin’ in the cabin when I heard +the power-boat comin’ down the creek. I’d know that engine anywhere, +Sheriff. One of them cylinders ain’t never spit just right. I heard it +go by the end of the backwater yonder and keep on downstream.’ + +‘About two o’clock, you say?’ + +‘Nigh’s I could tell. Reckon I’d been lyin’ there awake more’n three +hours. Sheriff, I needs a boat powerful. You goin’ to let me have my +skiff back, ain’t you?’ + +‘’Course I am. You can have it for no more’n you sold it for.’ + +‘’Tain’t worth thirty-five dollars,’ said Tally indignantly. ‘’Tain’t +worth more’n ten, I reckon.’ + +‘Oh, yes, it is. Call it thirty and you can have it.’ + +Tally shook his head. ‘Twenty, Sheriff,’ he offered. + +‘Not a cent less than thirty. Want it?’ + +‘No! ’Tain’t worth it. I can buy Brodie’s punt for fifteen.’ + +‘All right. Anything more you want to know from this man, Kinsey?’ + +‘I don’t think so. I want to tell him, though, that I could cause his +arrest for having counterfeit money in his possession, and that I’m +likely to do it if he doesn’t stick right around here in case I need +him to identify those men later. Get that, Moore?’ + +‘I’ll be right here, sir,’ Tally assured him earnestly. + +‘Now,’ said Sheriff Bowker, when the launch was once more making its +way down the creek, ‘we’ll put you boys aboard your boat next. Casey, +you know the short way to the Run from here?’ + +‘Don’t believe I do, Henry.’ + +‘Well, it’s first to your right. It’s a sharp turn, sort of hidden. +I’ll watch for it.’ + +‘Mr. Bowker,’ said Pud, ‘does that skiff belong to us?’ + +‘Well, now, I don’t know.’ The sheriff rubbed his nose reflectively. +‘Maybe it does, Anson. Why?’ + +‘I was just thinking that we’d rather have had that twenty dollars he +offered,’ answered Pud. + +‘Oh, that’s it? Well, now, look here, son. That boat’s worth thirty +if it’s worth a cent. Tell you what you do. You take it back up to +Millville and see can’t you sell it there.’ + +‘I’d rather have the boat,’ declared Tim. ‘It’s a pretty good one, Pud. +All it needs is calking and painting.’ + +‘We-ell,’ agreed Pud doubtfully. ‘Maybe it will be kind of fun to have +a rowboat handy.’ + +‘Ain’ ’at the truth?’ observed Harmon solemnly. + +Pud and Tim exchanged glances. Here was a complication. It was plain +that they would have to acquire Harmon’s interest, if he possessed +any. Pud wondered if he did. Although at the start of the expedition, +Harmon’s status had been that of a menial, Pud felt that he had since +then attained to equality. Yes, beyond a doubt Harmon belonged, and, +belonging, owned a third――well, anyway, a part of that skiff! + +They took the turn that Pud had passed by the night before and almost +at once debouched into Two-Pond Run. It was annoying to reflect that +had he taken it, too, he would have found Tim and Harmon without +difficulty. Still, in that case perhaps he wouldn’t himself have been +discovered by the police launch, and if he hadn’t he would have missed +all the exciting incidents of the morning. + +‘You reckon they went on out, don’t you?’ the sheriff was inquiring of +Mr. Kinsey. ‘’Tain’t likely, I suppose, they’d maybe run up around into +Little Fox or Marsh Creek.’ + +‘Not a bit,’ was the reply. ‘When this fellow Thorbourn saw his boat +going off down the stream last night, he must have figured that the +jig was up. Maybe he didn’t know who was in it, Sheriff, but he did +know he’d left this bundle of the queer in it, and I guess he figured +that River Swamp wasn’t healthy any longer. We’ll find they’ve made for +the railroad, I guess. Some one’s bound to have seen that motor-boat +between here and Corbin.’ + +‘They could get the train at Corbin,’ said the sheriff. + +‘Not without being seen by too many folks. They want to save the press +and the plates. If they hadn’t, they’d have destroyed them back there, +Sheriff. I thought maybe they had. Thought I might find them in the +creek. But they hadn’t. Took them with them and will look for new +headquarters somewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d gone right on +down the river to Mumford.’ + +The _Kismet-Jolly Rodger-Vengance_ was just where they had left her +an hour and a half before, and the boys were soon transferred. The +skiff was untied from the police launch and made fast to the stern of +the other. Pud was none too cheerful about the change, for he would +vastly have preferred staying with the sheriff and Mr. Kinsey and +the round-faced Mr. Casey and sharing in the further pursuit of the +counterfeiters, but that, of course, was out of the question. + +‘Reckon,’ said the sheriff, ‘you can’t get lost going down, boys. +Follow the Run straight south, past First Pond, and you’ll come out at +The Flat. Then it’s two miles, about, to Corbin. And, say, when you get +there, if I was you I’d stop and telephone your folks. I’ll get word to +them, too, but I reckon maybe they’d like to hear from you personal.’ + +‘All right, sir,’ agreed Pud. ‘And thanks for finding us, and +everything. And I hope you’ll catch the counterfeiters.’ + +‘Well, this gentleman here’ll have to worry about that,’ chuckled the +sheriff. ‘But from what I hear of his crowd, those counterfeiters +haven’t got a chance! You expecting to get back home to-night?’ + +‘Gee, I don’t know,’ answered Pud. ‘I guess it’s too far, though.’ + +‘Well, maybe ’tis. Anyway, you talk to your folks and fix it all right +with them, son. And, say, if you stop at Livermore going up, come +in and see me. Any one’ll tell you where to find my office. Maybe I +mightn’t be in, but if I was I’d be glad to see you and show you ’round +a bit. What say, Casey?’ + +The policeman was beckoning secretively and the sheriff tramped forward +and held a whispered conversation with him. Once Pud heard him exclaim +‘Well, I swan!’ in rather amazed tones, and, having exclaimed, he +turned to view the occupants of the adjoining boat with a new and +peculiar interest. Pud felt slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps Mr. Casey +had been told about that rooster that had made a breakfast for them +four days previous! But the sheriff was chuckling now, chuckling and +nodding to Mr. Casey. Then, clearing his throat, he said: ‘Anson, I +reckon you’d better make a point of stopping in and seeing me before +you go on home. There’s――er――well, now, there’s certain formalities +that ought to be attended to. Being mixed up in this matter, more or +less, maybe you’d ought to make an affidavit or something, eh?’ + +Pud agreed, somewhat puzzled. Tim’s countenance showed that he didn’t +hold with affidavits and would much prefer not having anything further +to do with the Law. + +‘Yes, well, now,’ went on Sheriff Bowker, ‘you see me at my office this +afternoon or to-morrow morning. Don’t forget!’ + +‘No, sir, we won’t,’ answered Pud with scant enthusiasm. + +‘Better not,’ said Mr. Casey, smiling broadly. ‘It’s going to be to +your advantage, boys, as the advertisements has it!’ + +‘Yes, that’s so,’ chuckled the sheriff. ‘Well, see you later, then. Let +her go, Casey.’ + +Good-byes were exchanged and the police launch surged away, churning, +and fled down the stream, her wash breaking against the bank in +miniature waves. Pud and Tim waved as long as it was in sight and then, +with one accord, jumped toward the locker that held food! + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + MR. LISCOMB IS GRATEFUL + + +The return voyage began at twenty minutes to ten o’clock. At eleven +they made The Flat, and, as Pud swung the launch’s nose toward the +outlet of the river, they looked toward the end of the nearer island. +There were two fishermen there. One was clad in khaki trousers, a +cotton shirt, and a wide-brimmed, sugar-loaf-crowned straw hat. He was +bent motionless at the end of a weathered old punt, and beside him on +the seat, apparently no less intent on the business in hand than his +master, sat a yellow hound. + +‘Gee,’ murmured Pud, ‘I wonder if he’s been there ever since!’ + +They did the two miles to Corbin in quick time, the current aiding, +and tied up at the dock where they had stopped before. To Pud was +delegated the not altogether pleasant task of communicating by +telephone with Millville, and he set off with little relish for the +nearest drug-store. Fortunately, Lank and Cocker had not found the +small cardboard box in which Pud kept his money. Probably they would +have made a thorough search of the launch in the course of time, had +it remained with them, but, as it was, they seemed not to have even +looked into the lockers. Anyhow, the money was safe, and the fact made +it possible for Pud to telephone without the necessity of reversing +charges. Even so, it required all of ten minutes to get his house +in Millville. Then his mother’s voice came to him, quite as if she +were just around the corner of the prescription counter, instead of +thirty-odd miles away as the crow flies! + +‘Pud, dear, is that you? Are you sure you’re all right? Your father +just telephoned that they’d found you. Where _have_ you been? Didn’t +you know we’d be worried to death at not hearing a single word from +you?’ + +‘Well, but, Mother, I _did_ write! I――’ + +‘Yes, I know, dear. It just came this morning, that letter. It had +been missent to some other place. You know, dear, you don’t write +very carefully sometimes. And there was a letter from your Great-Aunt +Sabrina, too, telling how you caught the robber that night. She wrote +quite a lengthy letter, and sent a piece from the Livermore paper that +praises you up wonderfully! I think it was most heroic, Pud, dear, and +you must tell me all about it when you get back. Are you coming home +to-night?’ + +‘Gee, ma, I don’t see how we can! We’ve got to stop in Livermore and +see the sheriff there. Say, was Aunt Sabrina mad about us staying in +her house that night?’ + +‘Why, no, of course she wasn’t! She was just awfully thankful, I +suspect, that you were there. My, she’d have been heartbroken if the +thief had taken her silver, Pud!’ + +‘Well, he was going to take it, all right,’ responded Pud. ‘He had +it all dumped in a bag and――’ Just then a voice broke in to remind +him that he had talked three minutes and he ended hurriedly. ‘Back +to-morrow afternoon, sure, Ma! Sorry you were worried. Yes’m! Yes’m! +Good-bye!’ + +Well, that hadn’t been so bad, after all, he reflected, mopping his +perspiring brow as he backed from the booth. And the Livermore paper +had had a piece about them catching the robber! Gee, that was great! He +hurried back to spread the news to Tim and Harmon. Tim said they could +maybe buy a copy of the paper when they got to Livermore. They bought +enough gasoline to get them back to Millville and enough food to last +them much farther! But they had missed two meals, and none of them were +quite certain that they’d ever get thoroughly caught up! + +Pud figured that they’d have to do about nineteen miles before they +reached Livermore again. It was twenty minutes to twelve when they cast +off at Corbin, and if they averaged five miles an hour they should +reach Livermore by four. They debated the question of making a return +visit to Aunt Sabrina. Tim was in favor of it, but Pud, despite the +fact that Aunt Sabrina was doubtless grateful to them, displayed no +enthusiasm. Besides, there was Harmon. Aunt Sabrina would undoubtedly +view Harmon askance. She was, as Pud recalled, convinced that negroes +were invariably thieves. She might allow him to sleep in the stable, +but even that was uncertain. On the whole, Pud decided, it would be +better to camp somewhere below the town and not bother Aunt Sabrina. +Tim accepted the verdict with a sigh. Probably now he never would taste +that lady’s cocoanut cake! + +Various well-remembered landmarks met their gaze as the launch chugged +down the Fox, but it seemed a week rather than three days since they +had last viewed them. Tim found the branch up which they had fled from +the kidnapers and pointed it out, getting a disgusted ‘Humph!’ from +Pud. It was mid-afternoon when, having lunched to repletion, Pud’s +still rather torpid gaze lighted on something ahead and to the right +that had a strangely familiar look. Then he remembered. + +They were back at the clearing where they had rescued Gladys Ermintrude, +and there, just as they had last seen it, was the faded green +shanty-boat, with, as Pud uneasily discovered the next moment, smoke +issuing from the stovepipe in its roof. The river was wide enough to let +them pass well distant, and Pud instantly swung the launch’s bow toward +the farther side. The tumble-down wharf, farther along, peered around +the corner of the shanty-boat and Pud set his gaze on it and wished it +were already abeam. Tim, too, had now recognized the scene and drew +Pud’s attention. + +‘_S-sh!_’ Pud whispered, motioning for silence. ‘They’re in there!’ + +‘Oh!’ + +Then a spot of color appeared on the shanty-boat’s narrow deck, a hand +waved, and a friendly ‘Oo-hoo!’ came to them. + +‘It’s Gladys Ermintrude,’ said Tim eagerly. + +‘Well, what if it is?’ inquired Pud coldly, refraining from joining the +other in signals of response. + +‘Oo-hoo! Come on over!’ called Gladys Ermintrude. + +Pud scowled. If only she had stayed inside a minute or two longer! +Tim said, ‘Let’s see what she wants, Pud.’ Pud hesitated, muttered, +and swung the launch across the stream. ‘All right,’ he said as they +neared the shanty-boat and Gladys Ermintrude, ‘only don’t blame me +if――if something happens!’ + +‘Hello,’ said Gladys Ermintrude gayly as they came close. + +‘Hello,’ replied Tim. + +‘Hello,’ echoed Harmon from the stern. + +‘Huh,’ muttered Pud, and viewed her suspiciously. Then he turned his +suspicions toward the interior, wondering whether the girl had been, +as before, the sole occupant of the cabin. Gladys Ermintrude was +explaining that she had been back there for two days and was having a +perfectly glorious time. + +‘Huh,’ said Pud. ‘What you been doing?’ + +‘Oh, lots of things,’ answered the girl brightly. ‘Fishing and hunting +and――’ + +‘Cooking,’ supplied Pud. ‘Your ma said you were a good cook.’ + +Gladys Ermintrude accepted the tribute with unconcealed delight, to +Pud’s vast astonishment. ‘Well, I just am,’ she declared. ‘I made the +grandest cake yesterday!’ + +Tim’s eyes grew luminous and he moistened his lips. + +‘I wish you’d come then instead of to-day. Pa and Uncle Asa ate the +last of it this morning.’ + +Tim’s eyes gloomed and he sighed. Tim had a notable weakness for cake. + +‘I suppose,’ observed Pud, foiled in his first attempt to create +confusion, but determined still, ‘you’ll be going into moving pictures +this fall.’ + +‘Moving pictures? Oh, my, no! What a funny idea!’ + +‘I’ll say so,’ agreed Pud heartily, ‘but it was your idea and not mine. +You said you were studying to be a screen star, didn’t you?’ + +‘Did I?’ Gladys Ermintrude’s gaze wandered afar. ‘How very strange. I +simply don’t remember――’ + +From beyond the open window came a sudden sound that might have been +a short cough. It had its effect on all who heard it. Pud grasped the +wheel again and darted a meaning look at Tim. Tim’s hand moved toward +the fly-wheel. Harmon stared in solemn suspicion. Gladys Ermintrude +laughed lightly and continued rather hurriedly: + +‘Yes, I do remember now. I did say something like that, didn’t I? But +of course it was merely――merely a childish fancy.’ + +‘Gee,’ said Pud, ‘you’re full of childish fancies, aren’t you? Like +fancying you were kidnaped and that your name was Gladys Evinrude +and――and――’ + +‘Aw, Pud,’ murmured Tim deprecatingly. + +‘Well, she did――is! She told a lot of whoppers and made goats of us, +didn’t she? Had us chasing up and down the river in the dark and――’ + +‘Oh, well,’ said Tim, ‘what of it? It was sort of fun, I guess――’ + +‘I don’t tell “whoppers,” Pud!’ declared the girl heatedly. ‘Maybe I +did let you think things, but――’ + +‘Think things! Gee, I suppose we “thought” you were kidnaped before you +told us! Didn’t you say, right there where you are now, that you’d been +kidnaped from your happy home and that――’ + +‘Why, sakes alive! How ever can you think up such outrageous stories? +I’m sure I never said I’d been kid――’ + +Another sound from within! + +‘_Start her up!_’ whispered Pud hoarsely. + +‘Well, maybe I did say so,’ corrected Gladys Ermintrude flurriedly, +‘but――but I’m sure I didn’t mean to make any trouble――’ + +‘Aw, that’s all right,’ muttered Tim. ‘You mustn’t mind Pud. He just――’ + +Then, as he turned the wheel over and, having failed to put the spark +on, got no response from the engine, appalling sounds came from +the shanty-boat’s interior, sounds that were unmistakably those of +heavy footsteps, and, before the alarmed Tim could try the engine a +second time, a tall figure appeared behind the lesser form of Gladys +Ermintrude! It was a man who confronted them, a tall, wide-shouldered, +bearded man. Pud’s heart sank. This was undoubtedly the ‘grateful’ Mr. +Liscomb! + +‘Well, boys,’ said the apparition in a surprisingly pleasant, deep +voice that, because of its striking similarity to hers, placed him +instantly as Gladys Ermintrude’s father, ‘we meet at last!’ + +To Pud’s surprise, Mr. Liscomb was smiling in a very friendly fashion, +and, seen close-to, was not at all the desperate-looking person Pud had +thought him. Just the same, Pud’s suspicions were not wholly quieted, +and, although he cleared his throat, no words came. At least, not from +Pud; nor yet from Tim nor Harmon. Gladys Ermintrude, though, still had +the power of speech. + +‘Yes,’ she was saying, ‘these are the boys who were so very kind to me, +Father. This is Pud and that one’s Ted――no, Tim, and that’s Harmon back +there. Harmon cooks wonderfully, Father.’ + +‘Does, eh? Well, Tibbie, if I had a wonderful cook I’d look after him +better. They’ve let him sit out in the sun until he’s all tanned up!’ + +Pud and Tim smiled embarrassedly, but Harmon gave the joke full value +and exploded into ‘Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!’ Then he as suddenly subsided into +silent solemnity. Mr. Liscomb chuckled and, one arm over his daughter’s +shoulders, turned his gaze back to Pud. + +‘You look mighty familiar to me,’ he said. ‘Live around here, Pud?’ + +‘No, sir, Millville,’ Pud managed. + +‘Millville? Guess I don’t know any one in Millville. What’s the rest of +your name?’ + +‘Pringle,’ said Pud. ‘Anson Pringle.’ + +‘Anson Pringle? Then your father’s Pringle, of the _Courant_ up there! +You’re Anson Pringle, junior, eh?’ + +‘I suppose so,’ allowed Pud. ‘Folks call me Pud, usually.’ + +‘Well, well! Why, I know your father, son, know him right well. Both +newspaper men, you see. I’m assistant editor of the Corbin _Journal_. +You tell him you met Bill Liscomb, will you? Tell him you ran off with +his girl!’ The speaker chuckled, and Pud ventured a doubtful grin. + +‘She said――’ he murmured. ‘I mean, you see, we didn’t +understand――exactly――’ + +‘Oh, that’s all right, Pud! You don’t need to apologize. Here’s the +culprit right here.’ He gave Gladys Ermintrude a hug. ‘She’s a pretty +good sport, boys, but she’s got an imagination about ten sizes too +large for her, and she reads too many silly stories and sees too many +foolish movies. But we’re going to change all that, aren’t we, Tibbs? +We’re going to cut out the novels and most of the movies for awhile, +eh?’ + +Gladys Ermintrude assented readily, even gayly. + +‘Yes, we had a little――ah――conference the other day after she got home +and she promised to be more careful of her statements. She’s going to +get the upper hand of that powerful imagination of hers pretty soon. I +wouldn’t be surprised if, after a while, she got so you could believe +every word she tells you!’ + +‘Why, Father!’ murmured the girl in shocked tones. ‘How can you speak +so before strangers?’ + +‘Oh, I guess they can stand it,’ her father chuckled. ‘Which way are +you boys heading? Down the river, eh?’ + +‘Yes, sir,’ answered Pud, ‘we’re going home. We’re going as far as +Livermore to-night.’ + +‘I’ll bet you’ve had a fine time, too. It’s a wonderful thing to get +away into the quiet of the woods and streams for a few days now and +then!’ + +‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Pud, wondering if the word ‘quiet’ was just the +right one! + +‘Wish I could ask you-all to stay and have supper with us,’ went on Mr. +Liscomb genially, ‘but I guess we’d be rather crowded, and I’m not too +sure we’d have enough for all hands. Sort of depends on what my brother +brings home when he comes.’ + +‘We――I guess we’d better not,’ said Pud. ‘Thank you very much, sir.’ + +‘Not at all. Glad to have you if you want to take a chance. I feel sort +of indebted to you for the way you looked after this young lady, boys. +Mighty fine of you to do it. My regards to your father when you get +home, Pud. And good luck to you!’ + +Gladys Ermintrude waved as long as they were in sight. So did Tim. Pud +had a somewhat thoughtful look when, presently, Tim came forward and +seated himself. + +‘I suppose,’ said Pud after a moment, ‘it’s sort of a habit with her.’ + +‘What is? Who?’ + +‘Gladys Evinrude: telling those fairy stories like she does. You know, +Tim, I used to sort of――sort of――’ + +‘I’ll say you did,’ chuckled Tim. + +‘Well, I never told regular whoppers like she does,’ Pud defended. ‘I +never said anything that wasn’t so, did I? Did you ever know me to tell +a lie?’ + +‘No-o, but――but, gosh, you can make folks think things that ain’t so, +Pud!’ + +‘Sure. But I don’t tell lies. She does, you might say. Only she doesn’t +mean ’em to be lies, I suppose. She――she’s fanciful. That’s her +trouble. I guess we oughtn’t to be too hard on her, Tim.’ + +‘Well, who was hard on her, I’d like to know? I wasn’t!’ + +‘I guess a fellow _can_ see too many movies,’ continued Pud +thoughtfully. ‘That is, he can, if he has a――an imagination to start +with. I guess I’ll cut them out, Tim.’ + +‘All of them?’ asked Tim anxiously. + +Pud shifted uneasily on his feet. ‘Well, maybe the right sort of +pictures don’t do any harm,’ he compromised. ‘Of course that Gladys +Evinrude――’ + +‘It isn’t Evinrude; it’s Ermintrude.’ + +‘It ain’t either,’ chuckled Pud. ‘It’s Tibbie! Anyway, what I was going +to say was――was――’ But Pud had lost the thread of his discourse, and +before he could pick it up again, Tim spoke. + +‘Say, she looked kind of――kind of pretty to-day, Pud.’ + +‘Pretty?’ Pud considered briefly. ‘Well, I guess maybe she looked +better than she did that other time, but she’s awfully skinny!’ + +‘I don’t think she’s skinny,’ defended Tim warmly. ‘Of course she isn’t +what you might call _fat_, like――well, like――’ + +‘She’s skinny,’ declared Pud flatly. ‘Say, I wish I’d asked her one +question, Tim, just one question!’ + +‘What’s that?’ inquired Tim. + +‘Because,’ chuckled Pud, ‘she’d have had to tell the truth, with her +father there and everything.’ + +‘What question?’ + +‘Why,’ Pud snickered, ‘whether he spanked her or not! I’ll bet you +anything he did!’ + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + THE PIRATES RETURN + + +They made surprisingly good time to the mouth of Fox River and then +covered six of the seven miles that lay between that point and +Livermore in an hour and twenty minutes. It certainly seemed as though +the launch knew it was going home and wanted to get there! It was +still only a little past four o’clock, and they might have got back +to Millville that night if it had not been for their promise to call +on the sheriff. Of course, they would have had to finish the voyage +in early darkness, but Pud had done so much night navigation that the +thought brought no dismay. But there was the agreement with Sheriff +Bowker to be considered, and so, instead of keeping on past the city, +they looked for a place to spend the night. + +Tim didn’t think much of the idea of looking up the sheriff, and said +so more than once. ‘What’s he want to see us for?’ he asked. ‘We +told him all we knew, didn’t we? Suppose he wants to put us in jail +as witnesses. They do that sometimes. Or suppose he heard about that +chicken! I say let’s go on home, Pud.’ + +‘No, sir, we can’t do that. We promised. Besides, that Mr. Casey said +it would be to our――our advantage, didn’t he?’ + +‘Oh, gosh, they’ll say anything to get you in their clutches, the +police will!’ + +‘The sheriff isn’t the police,’ said Pud. ‘He’s different.’ + +‘He arrests folks just the same, doesn’t he? I don’t see much +difference!’ + +‘Well, you will. Anyway, we said we’d do it and we’ve just got to, +haven’t we?’ + +‘I suppose so,’ replied Tim regretfully. + +The best they could discover as a tent-site was the edge of a +brick-yard, an unattractive place littered with old cans and broken +bricks and exposed to the public view on all sides. Indeed, a line of +trolley cars buzzed past only a short block distant. But they could see +nothing better, and they were rapidly approaching the wharves of the +town. So they put the launch as close to the muddy shore as possible +and landed by means of the skiff. + +It was not until they had the tent ashore that Tim asked abruptly: +‘Say, Pud, know what day this is?’ + +Pud had to think a minute, but he finally said it was Saturday; adding, +‘What of it?’ + +‘Then to-morrow will be Sunday,’ answered Tim triumphantly, ‘and I +guess even sheriffs don’t go to business on Sunday!’ + +‘Gee, I wonder!’ exclaimed Pud. ‘But he said we could see him either +to-day or to-morrow, didn’t he? Maybe he forgot about it being Sunday, +though.’ + +‘I’ll bet he did. So what’s the good of stopping here? He wouldn’t +expect us to wait until Monday, Pud.’ + +‘No, but’――Pud looked at his watch and then at a vanishing trolley +car――‘but it’s only twenty minutes past four. We’ll go and see him now! +It won’t take long to get there by trolley, Tim!’ + +‘Oh, gosh!’ muttered Tim. + +A few minutes later, leaving Harmon in charge of operations, they went. +A ten-minute ride took them to their destination and a friendly but +curious conductor directed them. He had wanted to know, when Pud had +asked for the sheriff’s office, if they were going to give themselves +up! They found the Court-House easily and made their way along a +corridor until a tin sign over a glass-paneled door brought them to a +halt. Pud didn’t know whether to knock or enter without knocking, so he +compromised by rapping his knuckles once and turning the knob at the +same instant. Tim followed inside looking so much like a criminal that +Sheriff Bowker would have been justified in arresting him on suspicion! + +‘Well, hello, hello!’ greeted Mr. Bowker. ‘Come in, boys, and make +yourselves at home!’ He removed his legs from a corner of his desk and +arose to pull a couple of chairs forward from the row that stood along +one wall. ‘Well, you got here pretty quick, didn’t you? I just heard +from――Wait a minute, though. I’d better see if I can get Mr. Hosford. +Maybe he’s gone home a’ready, but if he hasn’t――’ + +The sheriff took up the telephone and, while Pud and Tim stared about +the rather bare and not too clean room, engaged in a brief conversation +with some one. The sheriff’s pleased announcement into the mouthpiece +to the effect that ‘they’re here, if you want to see ’em’ brought no +joy to Tim. The conversation appeared to satisfy the sheriff, though, +for he beamed when he had hung up again. + +‘Well, that’s all right,’ he declared, rubbing his big hands together. +‘He’s coming right over. Lucky you didn’t turn up five minutes later, +for he was just going home.’ + +‘Who, sir?’ asked Pud. + +‘Mr. Hosford. He’s president of――never mind now, though. He’ll be here +in a jiffy. I was going to tell you that I just got word from Police +Headquarters that Kinsey nabbed his men about two o’clock, boys! Quick +work, eh?’ + +‘Really?’ exclaimed Pud. ‘Lank and Cocker and――and the other one?’ + +‘All three, and a boatload of stuff, too, he says. They were in that +power-boat of Tally Moore’s down near Trowman’s Landing, this side of +Mumford. Reckon they were meaning to go ashore there. I ain’t heard the +particulars yet. Well, I reckon Tally’ll be glad to get his boat back.’ + +‘Was there――was there any fighting, sir?’ asked Pud. + +‘I didn’t hear. Kinsey had three men with him, though, in the police +launch, so I guess those fellows didn’t kick up much. Quick work, I’ll +say!’ + +‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Pud. ‘Gee, I wish I’d been along! Wouldn’t it have +been great, Tim?’ + +‘Yes,’ said Tim. But somehow it sounded a lot more like ‘No’! + +At that minute the door opened and a man of about forty years entered +briskly. + +‘Afternoon, Mister Sheriff! So these are the boys, eh?’ + +‘Yes, sir, here they are. Boys, this is Mr. Hosford, president of the +Chamber of Commerce. Mr. Hosford, this is Anson Pringle, and this is +Timothy Daley. Anson’s pa runs the _Courant_ up to Millville. Maybe you +know him.’ + +Mr. Hosford regretted that he hadn’t that honor as he shook hands with +Pud and Tim. Then he took the chair that the sheriff set for him and +smiled at his audience. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I guess we don’t have to make +a ceremony of this, young gentlemen. I’ve brought the check with me and +I’ll just hand it over, with my congratulations.’ He put a hand into an +inner pocket and produced a long, slim oblong of pale-green paper. ‘We +made this out to Anson Pringle?’ He looked inquiringly at the sheriff. +‘That’s what you said, eh?’ + +‘That’s right, Mr. Hosford. It was him that had the bundle of money, +so――’ + +‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Pud faintly. + +‘Why, I’m talking about the reward,’ said Mr. Hosford. ‘You knew there +was a reward of five hundred dollars offered, didn’t you?’ + +‘I reckon he didn’t,’ laughed the sheriff. ‘We didn’t say anything to +him, Mr. Hosford. Thought we’d wait and――’ + +‘You mean,’ gasped Pud, ‘that my father offered five hundred dollars +for――for me?’ + +‘Well, hardly,’ answered Mr. Hosford, smiling, ‘although I dare say +you’d be well worth it. No, this reward was offered a week or so ago by +the Livermore Chamber of Commerce and the banks for information leading +to the apprehension of the persons engaged in circulating counterfeit +bank-notes hereabouts. Thought, of course, you knew about it. The +sheriff here and a Mr. Kinsey, sent by the Department of Justice awhile +back, assured us that you had earned it and so――well, here it is, my +boy! And my congratulations go with it!’ + +Still dazed, Pud accepted the check, looked at it vaguely, and then +turned to Sheriff Bowker. ‘You mean that――that it’s _mine_?’ he asked +incredulously. + +‘Sure is, Anson! Earned it, didn’t you? If you hadn’t given the +information you did, they’d still be searching for those fellows, I +reckon.’ + +‘Well, I must go along.’ Mr. Hosford again shook hands with the boys, +nodded to the sheriff, said ‘Good-afternoon!’ and departed. With the +closing of the door behind him, Tim darted from his seat. + +‘Gosh, Pud, let’s see!’ he stammered. + +Pud and he both looked then. ‘Livermore Trust Company,’ they read. ‘Pay +to the order of Anson Pringle Five Hundred Dollars.’ + +‘Gosh!’ said Tim in an awed voice. ‘What are you going to do with it, +Pud?’ + +Pud shook his head helplessly. Then he brightened as he exclaimed: +‘’Tain’t all mine, you silly chump! It’s half yours!’ + +‘Mine!’ said Tim. ‘I guess not! What did I have to do with it? You’re +crazy!’ + +‘I’m not either! I’ll leave it to Mr. Bowker if――’ + +‘Boys, you’ll have to leave me out of it,’ protested the sheriff, +waving a hand. ‘You’ll have to settle whose it is between you, I +reckon.’ + +‘Well, it’s half his,’ declared Pud stubbornly, ‘and――say, Tim, we +never even thanked him!’ + +‘You mean you didn’t,’ Tim corrected. ‘I guess he understood, though, +that you were sort of――of flabbergasted, Pud.’ + +Somehow in the next five minutes they said good-bye to the sheriff, +promised to call and see him the next time they were in Livermore, and +found their way to the street. The idea of taking a car back to the +launch was utterly repellent. There was too much to be said! So they +started back on foot, and when, at the first corner, a telephone sign +met Pud’s eyes, he dragged Tim inside a store and disappeared himself +into a booth. He was out five minutes later, flushed and triumphant. + +‘I got Dad, at the office,’ he proclaimed. ‘He doesn’t believe it about +the reward. He just kept on saying, “Yes, yes, Pud, I know, I know.” +He thinks I’m joking, but when he sees that check――’ Pud broke off to +chuckle enjoyably. ‘I told him we’d be back by one o’clock to-morrow, +Tim, and he said he’d tell your father when he went home.’ + +They went on, taking up the discussion where they had dropped it. +Tim was very determined not to share the reward and Pud was just as +determined that he should. The argument lasted most of the way back to +where they had left the launch, and Tim’s consent was finally obtained +when Pud threatened to tear the check up. ‘I will,’ he declared firmly; +‘I’ll tear it up right now and stuff the pieces down that hole, Tim! +Why, gee, we were all in it! Why, it was you who heard those fellows +first that time up on Cypress Lake. You said, “I hear a boat, Pud,” and +I said “Let’s shout,” and――’ + +‘Oh, all right,’ said Tim, ‘only it doesn’t seem fair. And as to me +hearing that boat first, I didn’t, Pud. It was Harmon.’ + +‘Was it? Well, anyway――’ Then Pud stopped abruptly. ‘Say, Tim, what +about him, eh? Harmon, I mean.’ + +‘Gosh, that’s so!’ + +They went on in thoughtful silence for a short distance. Then, ‘He’s +a pretty good guy, that Harmon,’ muttered Pud. ‘He――he’s been mighty +handy, the way he’s cooked and――and all!’ + +‘Sure,’ said Tim. ‘Of course, in a way――’ + +‘Yes, I know that, but when you think of it――’ + +‘Sure! That’s what I meant!’ + +‘Well, then, if we each give him twenty-five――’ + +‘Yes, seems to me that would be fair,’ agreed Tim readily. ‘Gosh, fifty +dollars would be a lot of money to Harmon!’ + +‘You think we ought to give him more?’ asked Pud anxiously. + +‘No, I don’t, Pud. I think fifty’s fair, don’t you?’ + +‘Yes, _I_ do, but I thought maybe you thought it wasn’t. He’s a pretty +good fellow and I wouldn’t like to feel that――that we weren’t doing the +right thing. There he is now. He’s got the tent up, too! And I believe +he’s started getting supper! Say, won’t he be tickled when――’ + +‘Won’t he!’ + +They started running. + + * * * * * + +It was well short of one o’clock the next day when the launch poked its +nose under the bridge at Millville and chugged on toward Andy Tremble’s +boat-yard. Pud stood proudly at the wheel, Tim officiated at the +throttle, and Harmon sat on the stern planking with his bare feet on +the seat below and observed the passing world with haughty grandeur, a +grandeur befitting a colored gentleman recently come into a fortune! + +Behind the launch came the skiff, the only visible trophy of the +pirates’ expedition, since, doubtless to Harmon’s disappointment, not +one town had been sacked. And yet, as Pud had observed farther down +the river that forenoon, they hadn’t done so badly for pirates new to +the business, for they were returning with five hundred dollars and a +perfectly good rowboat, and without the loss of a man! + +As the launch turned the bend above the island and the landing came +into sight, Pud blinked his eyes. For a moment it looked as if all +Millville had gathered to welcome them home, but a second look showed +that the group ahead numbered no more than ten persons; a dozen at the +outside. There were Pud’s father and mother, and Tim’s father, and +Harmon’s father and mother and two small sisters, and Andy Tremble and +Mr. Ephraim Billings and Marshal Bud Garvey and――oh, gee――Mr. Tully, +the minister! Pud wished then that he had taken the new names from +the bow. Here it was a Sunday and there was that lettering down there +staring right at everybody and spelling _Jolly Rodger_! They were +waving now, and Pud waved back, and so did Tim. And there was Andy +Tremble pointing at something and laughing fit to kill himself, and +Bud Garvey laughing too. And they weren’t looking at the name on the +bow, either. They were looking farther astern. Pud looked, too. Then he +wilted. + +Harmon, stiff with dignity, solemn as a judge, sat with folded arms +upon the after deck, while, behind him, placed there unknown to Pud and +Tim, the disreputable white flag adorned with the skull-and-cross-bones +spread itself to the breeze! + + + THE END + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes: + + ――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). + + ――Printer’s, punctuation, and spelling inaccuracies were silently + corrected. + + ――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. + + ――Inconsistent hyphenation and compound words were made consistent + only when a predominant form was found. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75936 *** |