[Illustration: Outlined against the night in a vivid green glare was
what appeared to be a boat of living flame. (_Page 76_)]
THE BORDER BOYS
ALONG THE ST. LAWRENCE
By FREMONT B. DEERING
Author of
“The Border Boys Across the Frontier,” “The Border Boys with the Mexican
Rangers,” “The Border Boys with the Texas Rangers,” “The Border Boys in
the Canadian Rockies,” “The Border Boys on the Trail.”
[Illustration: Series Logo]
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Printed in U. S. A.
Copyright, 1914,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Through the Rapids 5
II. A Close Shave 15
III. The Mysterious Gray Night Craft 23
IV. On the Trail of the Ghost Craft 32
V. Down to Montreal 46
VI. Homeward Bound 54
VII. Run Down 62
VIII. A Misleading Light 73
IX. Adrift at Night 83
X. On Windmill Island 94
XI. Ralph Investigates the Explosion 103
XII. Saved from the Ruins 111
XIII. A Race for the Doctor 119
XIV. Harry Hears a Noise in the Bushes 127
XV. Cross Purposes 137
XVI. Harry Plays Detective 147
XVII. A Visit to the Hospital 157
XVIII. The Three Conspirators 165
XIX. Ralph Gets a Telegram 175
XX. Thinking Things Out 184
XXI. A Big Surprise 193
XXII. “Not Just Yet, Stetson!” 201
XXIII. The Missing Boat 211
XXIV. In the Grip of the Storm 218
XXV. La Rue’s Wild Leap 226
XXVI. Looking for Their Chum 234
XXVII. A Dazzling Discovery 242
XXVIII. Checkmated 251
XXIX. A Hermit of the St. Lawrence 258
XXX. The Stolen Skiff 266
XXXI. Afloat Again! 276
XXXII. A Joyous Meeting 283
XXXIII. Off on the Chase 289
XXXIV. The Tunnel Entrance 296
XXXV. Hands Up! 303
The Border Boys Along the St. Lawrence.
CHAPTER I.
THROUGH THE RAPIDS.
“Steady, Ralph, old fellow, the Galoups are right ahead.”
“All right,” responded Ralph Stetson from his position at the steering
wheel of the swift motor boat the _River Swallow_, “I saw them ten
minutes ago, Hardware. Just give Persimmons down below a hail and tell
him to slow up a bit. They’re wild waters and we don’t want to go
through them too fast.”
Harry Ware, who (from the fact that his initials were H. D. Ware) was
known to his chums by the nickname Ralph Stetson had just used, hastened
to the speaking tube connecting the bridge of the _River Swallow_ with
the engine room, in which Percy Simmons, another of Ralph’s chums, was
tending the twin racing engines with assiduous care.
“Slow down a bit, Persimmons,” he yelled, “we’re just about to hit up
the Gallops.”
“Whoop! Hurray for the Glues!” floated back up the tube, as Persimmons
abbreviated the name of the famous rapids into the form by which they
were locally known. “Hold tight, everybody. Zing! Zang! Zabella!”
The rapids the boys were approaching had been well named by the early
French settlers along the St. Lawrence the Galoups, or, in plain
English, the Gallops, or, again, to give them their local name, the
Glues.
For two miles or more near the American side of the river the
white-capped, racing waters tore along at thirty miles or so an hour.
The great rocks that lay concealed under the tumbling foam-covered
waters caused the river to boil and swirl like a hundred witches’
caldrons.
To an experienced skipper, however, the Galoups held no particular
terrors. All that was needful was familiarity with the intricacies of
their currents and whirlpools and they could be “run” in perfect safety.
During the three months that the Border Boys had been the guests of Mr.
Stetson at his summer home on Dexter Island, some miles below, they had
gained the necessary skill to negotiate the racing, tumbling Glues.
Aside from the fact that he had ordered the engines of his father’s fast
craft, the _River Swallow_, slowed down as they approached the place,
and that his hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly, Ralph
Stetson, only son of King Pin Stetson, the Railroad Magnate, felt no
particular qualms as the whitecaps of the rollicking Glues appeared out
of the darkness ahead.
The _River Swallow_ was a narrow, sharp-stemmed motor boat which had
more than once successfully defended her title of the fastest craft on
the St. Lawrence. She was about sixty feet in length, painted a
gleaming, lustrous black, with luxuriously fitted cabins and engines of
the finest type obtainable, which drove her twin propellers at twelve
hundred revolutions a minute. No wonder the boys, who, since their
sojourn on the island, had become adepts at handling her, enjoyed their
positions as captain and crew of the craft.
One of the two paid hands, who berthed forward, came up to Ralph just as
the latter reached out for the simple mechanism which controlled the
powerful search-light mounted near the steering wheel.
The boy had decided to use the rays of the great lamp in picking out his
course. In one or two places big rocks bristled menacingly out of the
boiling rapids, and if the craft should happen to strike one of them,
even with a glancing blow, a terrible accident would be almost certain
to result. But with his search-light to act as a night-raking eye, Ralph
felt small fear of anything of the sort occurring.
The man who came up to Ralph, just as a sharp click sounded and the
bright scimitar of electric light, its power increased by reflectors,
slashed the night, was a rather remarkable looking man to be an ordinary
paid hand on a wealthy man’s pleasure boat.
Fully six feet in height, powerfully built and erect, he had at first
glance a look of refinement and intelligence that did not, somehow,
appear to blend well with the somewhat inferior position he occupied. It
is true that it was honest, clean employment, of which no decent man
need have been ashamed, but Ralph felt every time he looked at him that
Roger Malvin—such was the name the man gave—might have secured some more
suitable occupation.
Yet the first favorable impression that Malvin gave did not, for some
reason, survive closer acquaintanceship. Underlying his air of frank
intelligence was something else that Ralph had not so far been able to
understand. There was something almost sneaking and furtive about Malvin
at times. But Ralph, loath at any time to distrust any of those with
whom he was thrown in contact, decided that probably this was a mere
peculiarity of manner with no foundation behind it.
The other paid hand seemed a less complex person. Olaf Hansen was a
short, rather insignificant looking little Norwegian, with light blue
eyes, a ruddy complexion and a shock of yellow hair. He appeared to be
rather under the sway of Malvin, who, before the boys had arrived, had
had command of the _River Swallow_. Whether or not Malvin held any
grudge against them for assuming charge of the boat and depriving him of
the easy berth he had enjoyed, Ralph was not able to determine; but once
or twice he had noticed little things about the man which more than half
inclined him to the belief that such was the case. If this were actually
so, Malvin had so far adopted no active measures of reprisal and obeyed
orders with alacrity and willingness, just as he might have done had he
always “berthed forward” in the cramped quarters assigned to the crew of
the _River Swallow_.
“Want a hand to get through the Gallops, sir?” he asked respectfully as
he came to Ralph’s side.
“No, thank you, Malvin,” was the rejoinder. “I guess by this time I’m
enough of a skipper to take her through without any trouble.”
“The river’s fallen a little and they are pretty bad to-night,” hazarded
Malvin. “I thought if I took the wheel——”
He laid a hand on the spokes as he said this.
“Be good enough not to do that again,” said Ralph, rather sternly, as he
spun the wheel, thus shaking off the man’s grip. “You made me swerve
from my course quite a bit, and that isn’t safe right here, as you
know.”
He looked sharply at the man as he spoke. The _River Swallow_ had been
up to Piquetville after supplies, groceries, and so forth, for use on
the island. Malvin and the other hand had been given leave to go uptown
while the boys marketed. For an instant a suspicion flashed across
Ralph’s mind that Malvin had been intemperate during his “shore leave.”
But a minute later he decided that it was only his imagination. Still,
he did not like the way in which the man had deliberately tried to wrest
the wheel from him. It savored of insubordination, something which he
had never noticed in Malvin’s conduct hitherto.
“You can tend the search-light, Malvin,” he ordered sharply. “Try to
pick up Big Nigger rock. Our course lies to starboard of that. Then
we’ll pass the Needles on the port. After that it’s a clear run. The
current will carry us through without much help from the engines.”
“Very well, sir,” said Malvin respectfully, taking up his position by
Ralph’s side, one hand on the mechanism of the search-light.
Suddenly the even tenor of the _River Swallow’s_ course was changed. It
was apparent that a force superior even to her powerful engines had hold
of the craft. Her light fabric shook as if in the grip of a giant’s
fingers. She wallowed, swerved and plunged in the swift waters, throwing
spray high over her bow as she entered the grasp of the Gallops.
Ralph thrilled. There was something that made the blood race through his
veins as fast as the rapids themselves in the swift, sweeping dash
through the treacherous channel. Once in the grip of the Gallops, there
was no turning back. The task of bringing the _River Swallow_ safely
through lay in his hands and in his hands alone. On his nerve and skill
everything depended during the next two miles.
The _River Swallow_ shot forward, drawn by the tension of the racing
rapids.
Suddenly Ralph’s attention was attracted to Malvin. For the second time
that evening an ugly suspicion flashed into his mind.