“I don’t believe,” Jule said, throwing himself off his bunk in a moment,
“that the _Rambler_ has made successful trips on the Amazon, the
Columbia, the Colorado, the Mississippi and the St. Lawrence to become
lost on an inland river like the Ohio! In some way, we’re going to get
out of this scrape and continue our journey.”
The boy sat down by the little stationary table in the cabin and studied
out the problem in his own boyish way. There were police boats on the
river, and eventually the attention of some captain would be attracted
to a splendid motor boat like the _Rambler_ in the hands of a couple of
river toughs.
Besides, the _Rambler_ was entirely unmanageable, and would doubtless
soon bring up against a sand bar or a mass of wreckage. In this case the
first boat coming within sight would undoubtedly stop to inquire the
cause of the trouble.
Thus reasoning himself into a more hopeful state of mind, the boy went
out onto the little deck and watched Gid and Mike panting and sweating
at the oars and sweep in their vain efforts to keep the _Rambler_ off a
sand bar which lifted its white surface above the river on the Kentucky
side.
For a time the men succeeded fairly well, but the current set directly
toward the bar, which was, in fact, one of its creatures, and the
_Rambler_ soon thrust her nose into the firm sand with a shock and
shiver which seemed to loosen every rivet and bolt.
Gid rattled the oar he had been using down on the deck and wiped his
streaming brow with a dirty hand. Mike sat down on the gunwale and swore
earnestly and with originality.
“What’s the answer?” Mike asked in a moment.
Gid shook his head gravely.
“If we don’t get off this everlasting sand bar before daylight,” Mike
said in a moment, “there’ll be a procession of river boats up here to
know what’s wrong. They’ll all be wanting to pull us off, and they’ll
all be wanting a pocketful of money for doing it. Have you got any
money, Gid?”
“Have I got any money?” repeated Gid. “If the whole world was selling
for a dollar, I couldn’t buy dirt enough to stop a watch! I was lucky
enough to get out of Louisville with a whole skin. What did you do with
your money?” he asked, looking Mike keenly in the eye.
“I bought lottery tickets with mine,” Mike replied. “I’ve got the
lottery tickets in my pocket yet, and I never have any luck when I have
the things around. Honest, Gid,” the Irishman continued, “I’ve carried
lottery tickets in my clothes for five years, and during all that time
no band ever played in front of me on the street. And that’s a fact, if
you want to know!”
“Mike,” Gid observed with a smile, “do you study the dream book every
night and morning? You’re as superstitious as an old woman!”
“Now look here, Gid,” continued Mike. “That’s the exact truth I told you
about those lottery tickets. Look here, now, here’s an illustration. I
was standing on South Clark street, Chicago, one morning with three
Louisiana lottery tickets in my pocket. There was a procession coming
down the street with twenty bands in it. And I said to the boys who were
with me that I would bet the cigars for the crowd that there wouldn’t a
band play when passing the spot where we stood.”
“You got your nerve to bet on a hoodoo,” Gid laughed.
Jule was now becoming interested in the conversation, which he had heard
from his position at the prow, and drew closer to the two men. He
noticed that they used remarkably good language, and also that they
seemed to know Chicago well, so he resolved that he would try to learn
more about them as soon as an opportunity offered.
“That lottery ticket hoodoo is one that is safe to bet on at any spot in
the road,” Mike continued. “Well, as I was saying, there was a
procession coming up South Clark street with twenty bands in it, and I
was betting there wouldn’t a band play in front of the spot where we
stood. This was on account of the lottery tickets I had in my pocket. I
was just plumb hoodooed with those tickets. Why, look here!” he
continued, “if I had thrown those tickets overboard, we wouldn’t be on
this sand bar now. I tell you they have just plumb hoodooed me. I think
I’ll throw them overboard now.”
“What about the twenty bands and the procession?” asked Jule, with a
grin on his face. “Tell me about that.”
“Hello, kid!” Mike said with a chuckle. “Did you hear me talking that
fool stuff about the lottery tickets?”
“Sure I did,” Jule answered.
“Well, you take warning by me and don’t ever buy any!” Mike declared.
“Well, what about these twenty bands?” Jule insisted.
“Sho’, of course, I nearly forgot all about the bands. Well nineteen
bands passed our corner without a note of music. Walked by just like
they were going up the street in a political parade. You know, son,”
Mike continued, “that musicians think they are paid to walk in parades
on account of their uniforms, and not on account of their music.”
“What did you say these twenty bands did?” laughed Jule.
“Nineteen marched plumb by without ever blowing a horn. The twentieth
one started in half a block below us. I just had a notion then that that
band was going to play, and that I would have to buy the cigars, and
then I thought that one of the tickets might draw a prize so I wasn’t
kicking any. Well, sir, do you know that that big band headed up to us
in full tune.”
“So you had to buy the cigars?” asked Jule.
“Did I have to buy the cigars?” repeated Mike. “Say, kid, twenty feet
below us a horse hitched to a carriage filled with ladies reared up on
his hind feet and they had to stop the music until they got by us so as
not to frighten the horse any more. You bet I don’t have to buy the
cigars on any bet like that!”
Encouraged by the friendly voice and manner of the Irishman, Jule asked
what they intended doing with the _Rambler_.
“It’s just this way, boy,” Mike replied, “we’ve been skinned and cleaned
up, and knocked out, in every enterprise we ever undertook. We’re both
printers, and used to work on the old Chicago Herald when Jim Scott
owned it. Well, we beat the faro bank until we didn’t have a cent. We
played poker and roulette until the other fellows held a mortgage on our
pay envelopes. So we’re just plumb disgusted with civilization. We
haven’t got the brains to become city pirates and run gambling houses
and elect aldermen and all that, but we have got muscle enough to become
river pirates, so here we are, and here your boat is.”
“Are you going to keep the boat?” asked Jule.
“Of course, we’re going to keep it!” Mike declared.
“You bet we are!” Gid put in. “No man we ever played with ever gave us
any Christmas presents after he’d cleaned us out.”
“Well,” Jule announced, “I’ll set up a yell the first boat comes near us
and your hoodoo lottery tickets will probably land you in jail.”
“We don’t want to be rough with you, kid,” Mike went on, “but when you
see a boat coming if you don’t hustle into the cabin and go to bed and
cover up your head and ears, we’ll take the hide off your back in long,
wide strips.”
“I don’t believe it!” Jule answered with a faint smile.
“That’s all right,” Mike answered, “we’re pretty good fellows, but we’re
just plumb disgusted with everything in the world. Now, really,” he went
on, “this boat belongs to that pirate gang over there, and we stole it
from them. We didn’t steal it from you. We’re innocent bystanders, as it
were.”
“Why doesn’t the _Hawk_ come over here and get you?” asked Jule.
“I don’t know exactly,” replied Mike, “but it is my idea that there is a
police boat somewhere in sight. We can’t see around the bend, and so
wouldn’t know if one was coming, but the _Hawk_, lying nearer to the
other shore, would know it right quick.”
“I hope there is a police boat coming!” Jule said.
“Well, when you see one, you duck into that cabin,” Mike ordered, “and
do it mighty quick. No Federal officer would believe your word against
ours, so you wouldn’t gain anything by making a fool of yourself.”
The _Hawk_ did seem to be acting strangely. It was now deep twilight and
yet she could be seen lying over near the Indiana shore, her great bulk
dim against the gathering darkness. Not a light was to be seen on board.
Not a sound was to be heard.
“I reckon there is a police boat coming,” Gid said, after a short pause,
“but if we lie right still and don’t show any lights, she’ll pass on the
other side. Anyway, she can’t help seeing the _Hawk_, and she’ll go
there first.”
Half an hour passed and it grew dark on the river. Clouds were driving
over the valley, and it was likely to be a rainy night. A wind came up
the river as the darkness increased, and the moaning of the trees and
the rush of the waters made conversation quite difficult, even when the
parties stood close together, as the three did on the deck of the
_Rambler_.
Jule stepped back to the cabin entrance and stood close to the electric
switch which controlled the strong searchlight on the prow. Mike and Gid
stood leaning over the gunwale, their eyes fixed intently on the bulk of
the _Hawk_, now almost lost in the darkness. A faint light, something
like that of a candle or a small kerosene lamp, now showed on the
freight deck of the river pirate.
“There’s a Government boat coming up the river, and that’s no dream!”
Gid cried.
“There’s no other way to account for the mighty strange actions of the
captain of the _Hawk_,” Mike responded.
“Perhaps if we keep all lights out and lie perfectly still, the police
boat won’t see us!” the other suggested.
The two men stood long at the gunwale, watching the pirate boat as long
as the falling night permitted. Jule, too, remained on deck, standing by
the switch which controlled the searchlight.
Once or twice, when the sound of a steam exhaust came from below, he put
his hand to the switch, but always drew it away again when no lights
showed over the dark river. He was waiting until the right moment.
Directly a sharp whistle sounded from below, and then the lights of a
steamer flashed into view around the bend. Jule put his hand to the
switch but brought it away once more when the lights turned toward the
_Hawk_, still lying near the Indiana shore, motionless.
“Now,” Mike said in a moment, “if we could only get this consarned boat
off this idiotic bar, we’d be able to slide out of sight while that
gold-laced officer is listening to the lies the captain of the _Hawk_
will tell him. Prime liar, that fellow is!”
Standing on the deck with all close individual sounds shut out by the
wash of the waters and the roaring of the trees, they saw the steamer
head directly toward the _Hawk_, then in a moment the pirate craft was
ablaze with light.
“Crafty chap, that captain!” Mike declared. “He knows he’s been
observed, and so lights up.”
Jule could wait no longer. With one motion of his hand, he turned the
switch and the strong prow light flashed out over the river. Gid sprang
toward the boy with a leveled revolver.