THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE RIVER
OR
The Boat Race Plot That Failed
By GRAHAM B. FORBES
AUTHOR OF "THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH," "THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH
ON THE DIAMOND," ETC.
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY
GROSSET & DUNLAP
_The Boys of Columbia High on the River_
CONTENTS
I. RUN DOWN
II. THE ADVENTURE ON THE RIVER ROAD
III. A STRANGE HAPPENING
IV. SURPRISING CHIEF HOGG
V. THE STOLEN EIGHT-OARED SHELL
VI. THE WORK OF THE TRAINER
VII. THE LAST TRY-OUT
VIII. A NIGHT ALARM
IX. ON GUARD
X. A PLOT FRUSTRATED
XI. THE WINNING OF BUSTER
XII. IT LOOKS LIKE COLUMBIA'S DAY
XIII. EVEN LEF GETS HIS SHARE
XIV. THE GREAT RACE
XV. WHERE THE SPRING CROSSED THE ROAD
XVI. TO EVEN UP OLD SCORES
XVII. THE COMING OF THE HOUNDS
XVIII. TIT FOR TAT
XIX. "HONOR TO WHOM HONOR IS DUE"
XX. THE SUNKEN ROWBOAT
XXI. MAROONED ON THE ISLAND
XXII. LANKY LIFTS THE VEIL OF MYSTERY
XXIII. ON THE HOME STRETCH
XXIV. CONCLUSION
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE RIVER
CHAPTER I
RUN DOWN
"I call it a punk boat, Frank, to go back on us like this!"
"Well, it does seem a bit rough, Lanky, that's a fact."
"Rough? Wow! here we are, marooned like a couple of innocent babes on
Rattail Island, and two big miles from home! Rough!"
Lanky Wallace put on one of his most woe-begone looks as he bent over
to help drag the boat out of the river, and up on a shelving shore.
Frank Allen, his chum, laughed as though more amused than distressed.
"I agree with every word you say, old fellow--all but that innocent
babe part. That's drawing it too strong for my blood," he observed;
"and now, suppose we turn the boat over to let the water out and see
just what _is_ the matter with her."
"And there's the sun gone out of sight. Lucky for us this is a warm
July night, if we have to camp on Rattail Island," grumbled Lanky.
"Oh! shucks! that's all humbug, and you know it," chuckled his
companion, as he bent over to examine the bottom of the upturned water
craft.
"Well, if the old boat can't be fixed up, it's either stay here, or
swim ashore for us," complained the tall chap, who secretly loved to
find cause for growling at times.
"All right, the swimming is fine! But just wait before you tumble
overboard and try it. We'll find a way to mend the boat, I guess," said
Frank, seriously.
"If anybody can do it I reckon you will. There's mighty little that
feazes you--excuse me for saying it to your face, though," chuckled
Lanky.
"Now, that's odd!" muttered Frank.
"What, my casually remarking that I always had faith in my chum to pull
through any difficulty? I don't see how you make that out," remarked
the other, pretending to be provoked, when in truth he was secretly
amused.
"Why, no, I was referring to something strange about this hole in the
bottom of my boat, that's all," answered the other.
"Hole?" cried Lanky. "Well, according to my notion a hole's only a
hole. Perhaps we knocked it in on a snag while rowing up this beastly
old river; or perhaps I wore the planking through with my heel, trying
to keep pace with your pulling."
"Got a match, Lanky?" asked Frank, ignoring this pleasantry.
"Sure, a dozen of them, if you say so. Always carry a bunch along," and
as he spoke, with cheerful alacrity he brought out several.
"That's lucky, for I left my safe in my other coat at the boathouse,"
and Frank struck one of the matches.
"What about this funny old hole?" demanded Lanky, thrusting his head
down.
"Look at it; don't you see something strange about it?" asked his
comrade.
"Why, yes, it's as round as a ten-cent piece!" exclaimed Lanky.
"Ever see a snag push through planking like that? The wood's as sound
as a dollar all around it, too. Don't it look different from any hole
you ever doctored up in a rowboat?"
"It certainly does. I should say the worm that bored that hole----"
"Worm!" echoed Frank, with a laugh; "this worm turned, and was at the
end of a brace, and known to carpenters as a quarter-inch bit!"
"Wow! you surprise me, you sure do! If I get your meaning clear you're
intimating that some fellow bored that hole through your boat on
purpose?" said Lanky, with rising indignation.
"That's just what I believe. I know for a fact that there was no such
round opening in that gar-board streak three days ago, for I went over
every inch of it with a varnish brush, and examined it closely."
"This is something interesting you're telling me. But why didn't we
notice it long ago--why didn't the river slip in early in our trip up
over the race course?" and Lanky pushed his nose closer to the gap to
examine it better.
"I don't exactly know. But evidently there must have been a plug fixed
in the hole, and so arranged that sooner or later the feet of a rower
would be apt to dislodge the same. Then the water would run in fast,"
muttered Frank, looking moodily at the work of a vandal.
It was not so much the wanton destruction of his property that made him
angry, as the malicious spirit back of the thing. He could give a good
guess, too, as to whom he might thank for the mean trick.
"I see now. It just held in till we were about to land on Rattail
Island, and then let go. That plug was in the conspiracy to maroon us
here, all right. But it's a measly old game, whoever did it. Where d'ye
suppose the plug has gone to, Frank?"
"I was looking; but it isn't in sight. We turned the boat over before
it was all the way out of the water, so I reckon the piece of wood
floated down-stream. That doesn't matter much, anyhow, for there must
have been a plug, you know, Lanky."
"Seems like it. But what are we going to do now," asked the tall boy,
usually depending on his friend to suggest remedies in an emergency
like this.
"Cut a plug and drive it in. Anything will hold till we get back to the
boathouse. It's getting dusk too, so we'd better hurry."
"I tell you what, I'm going to make a little fire so that you can see
to work. It is a weakness of mine, you know, Frank. Never get chances
enough building fires. Any objection?" queried Lanky, eagerly.
"Not a bit, so go ahead. I may have some trouble finding a piece of
wood suitable for a plug, and the light will help out," and Frank began
to hunt around on the shore for signs of driftwood, thinking thus to
discover a block that might have been cast on the island by the river
at its higher stage in the spring.
While both lads are thus engaged it might be well to say a few words in
connection with their object in ascending the Harrapin river at this
late hour on a July day, and also concerning their aims and ambitions.
Frank Allen was the son of a merchant in Columbia, a thriving town of
more than twenty thousand inhabitants, and situated on the bank of this
same broad river. Lanky Wallace was one of his particular chums, and
had also been a junior in the famous high school during the year just
closed.
Among the two hundred and fifty students of Columbia High School were
many who loved athletic sports, and during the preceding winter there
had existed quite a rivalry between certain of the boys as to which
could take the lead both in the gymnasium and on the ice of the frozen
Harrapin. Some of these fiercely-fought contests will be found related
in the first volume of this series, called, "The Boys of Columbia High;
or, The All Around Rivals of the School."
Later on, in the spring, the one subject for every boy in Columbia who
loved clean sport, was baseball. There had been a league formed between
the teams of Columbia High and those of sister towns along the river,
Bellport and Clifford. These rival high school nines fought hard and
bitterly for supremacy, and the concluding game had only been recently
played.
How that pennant was won, and what part Frank had in bringing it to
Columbia High can be discovered by reading the second story, just
preceding this, and called "The Boys of Columbia High on the Diamond;
or Winning Out by Pluck."
A great regatta had been planned for the glorious Fourth, now but
two days distant, in which the boat clubs of the three schools were
entered, and a bitterly-contested race loomed up.
Frank, being the coxswain of the Columbia High School crew, had been
desirous of going over the course once again, to note any change in
conditions since his last trip. All the way up he had paid particular
attention to each little current and swirl, knowing that even such
minor things were apt to help or mar the work of a crew in a close
contest.
Lanky was a member of the crew, and equally interested in learning
every yard of the course; which was to be up to Rattail Island and back
again to the railroad bridge at Columbia, a distance of four miles,
counting the crooks in the river.
The fire was soon blazing brightly, and Lanky seemed to be getting a
vast amount of delight over his feat of playing fireman.
"Found the right kind of wood yet, Frank?" he questioned, seeing that
the other appeared to be whittling something.
"I think so. Now to see if I can tap it smartly enough with this rock,
so as to fill in. The wood I selected is rather soft, for it must swell
and fill the hole tight. After all, it's just a temporary job, and
meant to hold only long enough to get us safe back home."
As he spoke, Frank began to use the stone he had picked up, giving
several taps on the head of the long plug.
"Now, wait till I cut it off close down, and I guess there's no danger
of the thing giving out in a hurry," he remarked, satisfied with his
work.
"Well, it's pretty near dark, too, with all that rim of a new moon up
there in the west. Say, wouldn't it be a rough deal if we had an upset
going back? Guess I'll keep my swimming rules in hand, and try not to
be surprised if we find ourselves in the drink all of a sudden. The
Harrapin isn't the nicest river in the world to navigate in the gloom,
you know," observed Lanky, wisely.
"I guess there's as much chance of catching a weasel asleep as to find
you unprepared for trouble. Why, I imagine you sit up nights looking
for it," Frank remarked, knowing his friend's peculiarities only too
well.
Lanky did not deign to notice the slur.
"Who do you suppose did that neat job, Frank?" he asked, suddenly.
"I wouldn't like to say what I think, because you see I haven't a
single bit of evidence, and the party might have me prosecuted for
libel," suggested the other.
"Libel!" said Lanky, with a snort of disgust; "as if anybody could
ever say things too strong to cover the case of Lef Seller, the meanest
boy in Columbia, and a fellow who has tried to injure you for a whole
year."
"Well, I wouldn't mention his name again until we find some proof that
he did it. Take hold now, and we'll get afloat once more, Lanky,"
remarked Frank, quietly, though his eyes were flashing the indignation
that filled his soul in connection with this new evidence of spite work
on the part of his inveterate foe.
"Huh! perhaps he didn't actually gouge that hole himself, but ten to
one he hired some crony of his to do it, Bill Klemm, Tony Gilpin, or
maybe that sly sneak of an Asa Barnes. Oh! I know the breed all right."
Thus grumbling, Lanky picked up one of the oars and climbed into the
boat, which was speedily passing down the darkened river.
"Better not try to hurry, Lanky. The current is nearly strong enough to
carry us along; and remember, we counted lots of snags around when we
came up," cautioned Frank.
"We aren't the only ones on the river, I reckon," announced the other,
presently.
"So it seems. I heard that chugging of a motor-boat up-stream as much
as a full minute ago; and it's coming pretty fast too, seems to me,"
ventured Frank.
"Hey! don't you think we'd better pull in nearer the shore? The idiots
might run us down out here! Some reckless Clifford chaps heading for
Columbia I reckon, to get something decent to eat," ejaculated Lanky,
uneasily.
"It's too late now, for they're right on us, and seem to be heading
straight this way. Get out a match and give them a flare. Perhaps they
don't see this green boat on the water. Quick! Lanky!" said Frank,
seizing the oar from his companion's hand, and thrusting it into the
rowlock on his left.
Lanky fumbled for a second or two, muttering at his hard luck in
getting an obstinate matchsafe open. Meanwhile Frank had partly turned
the boat toward the nearest shore, hoping that they might yet get out
of the way of the power craft that was coming bustling along so noisily.
"Hey! there, sheer off you fellers!" shouted Lanky, as he finally
scratched one of his matches along the leg of his trousers, and held
the flame aloft so that it would illumine the faces of the occupants of
the rowboat.
The furious popping of the power-boat's exhaust ceased, but there was
little abatement to the speed of the craft. Frank was sure he heard a
low laugh as of fiendish glee just as the prow of the speed launch
crashed against the side of the rowboat. The next instant both he and
Lanky found themselves floundering in the water of the Harrapin, as the
force of the collision turned their boat turtle!