A CALL FROM WRECKERS
Nothing occurred to disturb the slumbers of the _Rambler's_ crew that
night. The cool wind made the cabin of the boat comfortable, and the
street lights of Montreal winked down upon the craft with friendly
eyes. The afternoon of the following day found them at Quebec.
"I've been thinking," Clay said as the boat tied up at the pier they
had occupied on the occasion of their former visit, "that we ought not
to keep this stolen canoe. Of course Max stole it."
"Perhaps he'll come down here and claim it again," suggested Jule.
"If he does," Alex exclaimed, "I'm going on shore to find him and get
even with him. He'd no business to bring that gang of wharf rats onto
us. I hope he's under arrest somewhere."
"There's an idea!" suggested Case. "Suppose we telephone to the chief
of police and find out. We can leave the canoe in the care of the
chief, too, if we want to. He might be able to find the owner."
"It seems to me," Captain Joe interrupted, "that you boys may as well
keep that canoe until we return to Quebec, on our way to the Great
Lakes. It will come in mighty handy when we're prowling around those
two rivers you've been talking about. The owner won't miss it for a
few days."
"That's another good notion," Clay agreed. "We'll use the canoe and
return it when we get back. And now I'll go and telephone to the chief
of police and see if he has discovered anything additional about Max."
Clay was gone only a short time. When he returned, he looked a trifle
anxious. When he spoke, it was in an excited tone.
"Look here, boys," he said, "the chief of police advises to us to give
up that hunt for the lost channel. He says that Fontenelle has just
returned from Cartier island leaving a wrecked launch and a lot of
perfectly good stores stacked on the bottom of the river."
"I had an idea," Captain Joe suggested, "that things would be moving
about the time we got down here. Why, do you know, boys," he went on,
"that this lost channel matter is creating about as much excitement in
Quebec province as the coronation of a new king ought to?"
"The procession seemed to start about the time we struck the river,"
Alex grinned, "and there's been music ever since we left St. Luce."
"Yes," Clay went on, "and the newspapers have been printing feature
stories and describing the family jewels, and the lost channel, and
telling how many land-holders would be made homeless if the charter
should ever be found and sustained. The newspapers are always meddling
with our affairs."
"You let the newspapers alone," advised Captain Joe. "They have
advertised you boys, and the _Rambler_, and the bulldog, and the bear,
from one end of this river to the other."
"Well, what do you think about this advice given by the chief?" asked
Clay. "We ought to reach some conclusion immediately."
"You came down here to find that lost channel, didn't you?" asked
Uncle Joe with a twinkle in his eyes.
"We came down here to look for it," answered the boy.
"Well, then," continued Captain Joe, "we'll go and look for it."
"That's what I thought!" cried Case.
"I wouldn't turn back now for a million!" yelled Alex.
"Boys," smiled Captain Joe, "I never knew any one to get rich by
changing plans every time some fool friend advanced a contrary
opinion. When you make up your mind to do a thing, you go right on and
do it. Did you ever notice the bulldog when he gets into a scrap?"
"I've seen him in several scraps," answered Clay.
"Well," went on the captain, "when the bulldog gets into a fight, the
harder they chew him the tighter he hangs on, and that's about the way
all the money and reputations have been made in this combative world."
"Oh, we hadn't any idea of turning back," Clay hastened to say. "I
only wanted to know what the others thought about it."
"Well you found out pretty quick," laughed Jule. "Why, we've had four
or five days that we haven't had a fight, or seen a midnight prowler,
or been dumped on a sand bar, or experienced any other pleasant little
incident of that description. I was actually beginning to fear that
our river trip from this time on would be one long sweet dream."
The boys passed another restful night and were up with the sun. The
first thing Alex did after bathing and dressing was to spring to the
pier and start off into the city.
"Here, here!" cried Captain Joe. "We don't allow little boys to go
wandering off alone! If you've got to go, I'm going with you."
"That's fine!" shouted Alex, capering about on his toes. "Come along,
and we'll take the old town to pieces to see what makes it tick."
"I'm going uptown," Alex explained as they mounted one of the sidling
streets which led up from the river, "to buy a porterhouse steak that
weighs ten pounds. This will be our last chance."
"Now," said Captain Joe mildly, "don't you think a porterhouse steak
weighing nine pounds and a half would be enough for our breakfast?"
"But we ain't going to have this steak for breakfast," Alex protested.
"I'm going to put this steak in that cute little cold air refrigerator
of ours and when wet get down to Cartier island, I'm going to cook a
beefsteak a la brigand. If you eat a steak cooked in that way once,
you'll never want one cooked any other way. It's simply great!"
"It's a new one on me," replied Captain Joe.
"Oh, well," Alex said, "I'll show you all about cooking it when the
time comes. When we get back to the South Branch, you can have one
every day if you want it. We can get pretty good porterhouse in
Chicago."
The two strolled through the city for a couple of hours, buying
vegetables, condensed milk, tinned goods, fresh fruit and meats.
Later, when the provisions were delivered to the _Rambler_ at the foot
of the pier, Case declared that Alex had spent money enough to take
them all over Europe. Alex was somewhat disappointed to think that he
had not encountered Max in the city, but did not inform his chums how
keenly he had watched for him.
"What did the chief of police say about Max?" asked the boy as they
returned to the boat. "You forgot to say anything about that."
"Sure I did," answered Clay. "Well, he said that Max had blossomed out
in a suit that must have cost a hundred, with a big roll of money in
his pocket. He said, too, that he had strutted around the city for a
few days and then suddenly disappeared. It is the opinion of the chief
that the boy, who is by no means as young as he looks, went down the
river to Cartier island."
"I really hope he has," Alex blurted out, "I'll crack that boy's crust
if I ever come across him."
"And you'll wash dishes, too," laughed Captain Joe. "Oh, I remember
how you boys used to fight against slang up on the South Branch."
That night the boys anchored the _Rambler_ in a cove of good size just
south of Rivere du Loup. They were well away from the wash of the
steamers, and yet not near enough to the houses of the little railway
station to attract general attention.
The night closed down cloudy and dark. The passing vessels on the
river seemed to burn holes in the darkness for only an instant and
then disappear.
The sounds which came from the water rang loudly in the heavy
atmosphere and sounded mysterious and uncanny. There were plenty of
vessels on the river now, as the channel between the gulf and Quebec
is navigable for the largest ocean steamers.
While the boys lay in the cabin, sheltered from the gulf wind which
had been so grateful the night before, the heavy rumbling of a freight
train and sharp call of an engine whistle came to their ears.
"That listens good to me," Alex cried. "Say, fellows, how would you
like to know, just for a couple of hours, that the noise of that train
came from the Union station in little old Chicago?"
"Yes," Jule exclaimed, "I like to look into the river and think I'm
standing on Madison street bridge! Do you remember the stories the
newspapers used to print about the water in the Chicago river, before
the drainage canal was put through? Pretty good fiction, eh?"
Captain Joe chuckled until his shoulders shook like jelly.
"Every reporter on the Chicago papers in those days," the captain
said, "was turning out works of fiction. They used to print pieces
about men falling off Madison street bridge and off Clark street
bridge and dashing out their brains on the solid water below. And then
they used to tell stories about the river being so black the typists
used to color their ribbons in it. There's something about Chicago
that seems to me to stir the imagination! It's a great old town!"
The boys discussed their home city until something like ten o'clock.
They were just going to bed when a call came from the shore at the end
of the cove. All were on deck instantly.
"Perhaps that's Max," suggested Jule, "or one of those river pirates."
"Or it may be a detachment of ruffians looking for the lost channel,"
Case put in.
Captain Joe sat back and laughed heartily.
"Boys," he said, "I believe that lost channel has turned your heads.
You talk about it, and drink it, and sleep it, and I believe you would
eat it if there was anything tangible about it. I'm interested in it,
too, kids, but I don't spread it on my bread instead of butter."
"Hello, the boat," came the hail from the shore.
"What do you want?" asked Clay.
"I want to come on board."
"Beds all full," answered Alex.
"But I want to talk with you," insisted the strange voice.
"All right," Clay said, "proceed with your conversation."
"I'm not here to confide to the whole countryside what I want to say
to you," was the angry reply.
Clay was considering a sarcastic rejoinder but Case laid a warning
hand on his shoulder.
"There may be something in this," the boy said. "Suppose two of us get
into the boat and go over and see."
"Don't you think of such a thing," Captain Joe advised. "That fellow
may not have a boat of his own, but if he is of any account at all, he
can get one long enough to row out to the _Rambler_. The place for him
to talk to us is right on this deck. It may be a trap."
"That's good sense, too," Clay agreed. "He can go away if he doesn't
want to comply with our requirements. He may be only a tramp seeking a
ride on the river. There are plenty of such characters here."
"I wish he would come aboard," Clay suggested, "and I'll see if I
can't coax him," he added, turning toward the shore and making a
trumpet of his hands. "Perhaps he already has a boat."
"Hello, the shore," he called, "we're going away directly, so if you
want to talk with us, you'd better row out."
"You always was the boy with a little prevarication on the end of your
tongue!" suggested Alex. "We're not going away directly."
"Morning is directly," laughed Clay turning toward the shore again.
"Are you coming on board?" he asked.
"I haven't got any boat," was the reply. "Why can't you send one
over?"
Clay's reply elicited a volley of epithets from the shore, and
directly a great blaze sprang up not many feet distant from the water.
"Wreckers!" cried Captain Joe.
"Surest thing you know!" answered Clay. "The only wonder is that they
didn't set their beacon going before."
"And this," Jule suggested, "seems to be more like real life. Things
are livening up. They'll be going good by the time we get to St.
Luce."
"They may be going too fast!" warned the old captain.