A MISLEADING LIGHT.
“Can you make out anything of that craft yet, Harry?”
The chase had been on for half an hour, and still the elusive light
bobbed along ahead of them.
Percy Simmons, down in the engine room, had been fully informed by young
Ware of what was going on, and he was coaxing his fine machines to their
top notch of effort.
“I can’t see anything of her outlines yet, Ralph,” was Harry’s response
to Ralph’s interrogation. “She must be a flyer.”
“She’ll have to be to get away from us.”
“Anyhow, it looks like a stern chase.”
“But not necessarily a long one. I haven’t heard of a craft yet that
could get away from the _River Swallow_, at least, in these parts.”
“You mean an earthly craft,” rejoined young Ware, in rather quavery
tones.
“Good gracious! What’s got into you? You surely don’t think that the
boat we are after is anything but a motor boat like this one, run by men
who have a good reason for not wanting us to catch up with them?”
“Um-er, I just had a shiver. A ‘goose walked over my grave.’ My
grandmother says that that means that some sort of spirits are about.”
“Rubbish! I thought you were a different sort of a fellow from that,
Harry. We’ll have to quit calling you ‘Hardware’ if you are going to be
so soft as to think there is anything supernatural about that elusive
boat.”
“Just the same, there’s something queer about her.”
“Nothing but what will admit of an explanation,” was the reply. “As for
the way they are dodging us, it’s just what I expected. Honest men would
not run away from us any more than they would go sneaking about in such
a mysterious way at night.”
“Maybe they are only fish dynamiters,” suggested Harry Ware. “You know
how strictly the law is dealt out to those rascals, and there have been
several Canadian fish destroyers caught on the American side lately, and
stiff terms dealt out to them.”
“Pshaw! Fish dynamiters are poor, poverty-stricken fellows who are too
lazy to get fish in a proper, lawful manner, and crawl out at night to
ply their trade in wretched, patched-up boats! No mere fish dynamiters
could afford a swift, powerful craft such as the one ahead surely is.”
“That’s so,” agreed Harry, “but that craft ahead is surely a riddle just
the same. I think——”
He broke off with what might be fairly termed a yell.
“Ow!—oo! Look there! _Now_ do you say that there isn’t something more
than natural about that boat?”
In spite of himself, Ralph felt his scalp stiffen as he beheld the
extraordinary sight to which Harry’s alarmed exclamation had attracted
his attention.
Outlined against the night in a vivid green glare was what appeared to
be a boat of living flame!
The water around her burned lambently as the apparently flaming boat
plunged along through it.
“Gracious!” gasped Ralph, as he looked at the strange spectacle. There
was a touch on his arm. He started in spite of himself and turned
quickly.
Malvin was at his elbow. He was pointing at the green, blazing craft
ahead of them.
“It’s—it’s the _Lost Voyageur_!” he exclaimed, in trembling tones.
“Don’t chase it any more, sir! The legend is, that it means death to
those who see that boat and pursue it.”
By this time Ralph had recovered his equanimity. His sturdy common sense
asserted itself. He listened impatiently while Harry exclaimed
triumphantly:
“There; what did I tell you! That’s the boat I heard about! The boat in
which a party of the old voyageurs committed all sorts of outrages on
the St. Lawrence Indians. In revenge for their cruelties the Indians
attacked the boat one night and massacred the whole party. Ever since,
at times, the ghost craft has been seen on the river, and death has
followed every one who has tried to chase it or inquire into its
mystery.”
“Oh, dry up!” snapped Ralph. “Malvin, get forward where you belong
instantly.”
“But, sir——”
The man appeared genuinely frightened, but somehow Ralph had an idea
that he was not so scared as he seemed.
“See here, Malvin, obey my orders. I am in command of the _River
Swallow_. Get forward at once and keep a bright lookout. As for you,
Harry, I’m more than astonished at your being foolish enough to believe
such a pack of children’s stories.”
As Malvin left the bridge, seemingly with reluctance, Harry spoke up:
“But, Ralph, look at that green fire! Ugh! it makes me shudder.”
“Heard of phosphorus, haven’t you?”
“Y-y-y-yes, but——”
“No ‘buts’ about it. Those fellows think that we are just a pack of kids
that they can scare by a foolish ghost trick. See, the light is dying
out. Well, they’ll find out in a few minutes that their trick didn’t
scare us. I’m more convinced than ever now that we have tumbled headlong
into a big game of some kind. What it is I can’t imagine, but that
fellow Malvin knows more about that boat than we do.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Why did he come butting in up here on the bridge and try to get us to
stop chasing that craft?”
“Scared, I guess. I know _I_ was.”
“Scared! Nonsense. If I read Malvin rightly, he’s not the sort of fellow
to shy at a child’s trick like the one those fellows played. No, Harry,
there’s something back of all this, and I for one mean to find out what
it is before I’m many hours older.”
“Go ahead,” was all young Ware had to say, but to himself he muttered:
“We’ll never overtake that craft, and—I hope we don’t!”
The night shut down blacker than ever as the green glare that had
outlined the fleeing craft in such startling fashion died out.
But right ahead the light still shone, the light that Ralph knew was the
stern lamp of the craft they were pursuing. It had apparently been
hoisted in defiance, and this made the young captain all the more
determined to find out more about the gray stranger.
“What are you going to do if you do overtake her?” asked Harry.
This question was a poser. Ralph, in the excitement of the chase, had
not considered this. He had no right to board the stranger or even to
question those on board, for legally he had nothing upon which to
proceed.
“It may prove to be a foolish chase, after all,” he admitted. “It may
all come to nothing, but I couldn’t sleep unless I did what I could
toward unraveling the mystery that I am sure envelops that craft. No men
would go to the pains to rig up a ghost scare and all that unless they
had a mighty good reason for doing so. I’m going to keep after her till
I get close enough to hail her.”
“What then?” demanded Harry.
“Why, I don’t just know,” admitted Captain Ralph, “but if I don’t get
satisfactory answers to my questions I mean to follow her till she makes
port and report the matter to the authorities, and then it will be up to
them. I feel justified in doing this from the fact that she has been
seen off our island, presumably on mischief bent.”
There came a sudden sharp outcry from the bow.
Ralph gazed ahead and his heart fairly jumped into his throat.
Dead ahead, right under the bows of the onrushing _River Swallow_, was
the light they had been pursuing, the stern light of the other motor
boat.
“Great Scott! We’ll be crushed like an eggshell when the collision
comes!” was the thought that flashed through his brain as he rang, half
automatically, for “full speed astern!”
“Back her!” roared the voice from the bows, the voice of Malvin.
Harry Ware stood speechless, gripping the rail. He was helpless for the
moment in the face of the impending disaster. The _River Swallow_ was
making almost thirty miles an hour. To collide with a solid body such as
the craft ahead at that speed meant disaster, swift and certain.
Then a yell of terror burst from his lips. A sharp cry was torn from
Ralph’s throat simultaneously.
The next instant, at almost top speed, the _River Swallow_ struck.
Fairly head on, she had collided with the obstacle before her.