“Don’t loose your fish!” jeered Jule, leaning over the gunwale, his face
red with laughter.
“What do you think you are?” called Case. “A blooming pilot?”
Alex could make no headway swimming in the direction of the boat, for
the creatures he had hooked were pulling him, iron and all, toward the
Indiana shore. Now and then the boy was drawn beneath the surface and
came up spluttering, but still grimly holding to the lines.
“Why don’t the little idiot let go?” asked Jule as the boy’s head
disappeared under water for the third or fourth time.
“He’ll never let go!” Case exclaimed. “Why don’t we get the _Rambler_
under motion and pick him up?”
The motor boat was soon racing toward the boy. Alex was still hanging to
his fish lines, and the catfish, or whatever was at the other end, were
making fast for the center of the stream.
It took some moments to reach the boy, and more time to land him on
deck, for he still persisted in hanging on to the fish lines.
Not until the thick lines were securely fastened to a deck cleat would
the boy release his hold.
“Now,” Clay laughed, “if anybody can find a derrick, we’ll get these
fish on board.”
“Aw, those are not fish,” Jule exclaimed, “they’re alligators!”
“Whatever they are,” Alex grinned, “I didn’t let ’em get away with me!
They ducked me, but they didn’t get away!”
“Well,” Clay said in a moment, observing that the lines had ceased to
move about in the water, “your fish must be pretty well tired out by
this time, so we’ll take them ashore.”
“All right!” Alex replied. “While you’re towing them to a shallow place,
I’ll go and get on some dry clothes.”
When at last the motor boat drew the hooks and the sinker to a shallow
spot on the Kentucky side, the boys saw two monstrous catfish squirming
weakly. In grabbing for the raw beef with which the hooks had been
baited, they had been caught far back in the jaws, so no amount of
pulling could have released them.
“They’re alive yet!” shouted Jule.
“I’ll fix that in a minute!” Alex declared, appearing on deck in a dry
suit. “I’ll administer a couple of lead pills which will cure the ills
of life.”
“Hear him talk Shakespeare!” jeered Jule.
Alex considered this remark too immaterial to notice. He leveled his
automatic at the fish and fired a volley at their heads.
“Now, where’s that derrick?” asked Case.
As the fish were nearly two yards in length, it was evident that only
one need be brought aboard for food, so one was sent sailing down the
stream and the other was, with no little difficulty, lifted to the deck.
Alex danced about his prize joyously.
“Why, look here!” Case exclaimed. “This fish hasn’t got any scales!”
“Do you think I’ve been going through all this to get a sturgeon?” asked
Alex. “I should think not!”
“The catfish,” Clay explained, “belongs to the bullhead tribe, and has a
hard, tough hide instead of scales.”
“Is it good to eat?” asked Jule.
“Of course it’s good to eat,” answered Alex. “Do you think I’d go to the
floor of the river with a fish that wasn’t fit to eat?”
“I’d like to know why they call these things catfish,” Case exclaimed,
turning the monster with his foot.
“Huh!” snickered Jule. “They have back fences at the bottom of the
river, and these fish climb up and give midnight concerts.”
“Jule,” said Alex gravely, “your imagination seems to be getting the
best of your conscience. If we had an Ananias club on board this boat,
you surely would be the Perpetual Grand.”
“All right,” Jule said, “when you get a club formed I’ll take the
office. But who’s going to cook this fish?” he went on.
“I’ll cook him if you’ll skin him,” Case offered. “We want only a few
pounds of catfish steak,” Clay observed.
“I’m going to boil about half of him!” Alex declared, “so as to give
Captain Joe and Teddy the feast of their lives.”
“It’s a wonder Captain Joe didn’t jump into the river after you when the
fish invited you down into the mud,” Jule laughed.
“Captain Joe and the bear were both asleep in the cabin,” Case
explained.
The boys had a merry time preparing that fish for cooking. It is not
hard work to dress a catfish if you know how, but these boys did not
know how. At last, however, a great hunk was boiling in a pot and slices
were ready for frying. By noon the meal was ready, and the boys all
admitted that Alex’s, catfish was a very good substitute for salmon,
although nothing at all like it in appearance.
The boys drifted slowly on the river that day, taking in the wild
scenery and stopping now and then at cosy little landings on the
Kentucky side. It was a warm, clear day in September, and the world
never looked brighter to them than it did at that time.
They passed river craft of all shapes and sizes during the day. There
were monstrous steamers having the appearance of floating hotels, there
were great freight boats loaded to the guards, there were house-boats,
motor boats, and great coal tows which dominated the stream as they
passed.
“There’s a boat,” Clay said just before twilight, “which looks to me
like a river saloon and I think those on board are watching the
_Rambler_.”
“If it is,” Case suggested, “we’d better take to our heels. We don’t
want any more experience with river pirates.”
“I should say not!” broke in Alex. “Those fellows don’t own the river.
We’ve got just as much right here as they have. If they try to come
aboard, we’ll set Teddy on them.”
The suspicious steamer checked her speed as the boys slowed down on the
_Rambler_, and it was soon evident that those in charge of the whiskey
boat were desirous of speaking with the boys.
“Hello, boys!” called a voice from the cabin deck of the steamer.
“Hello, yourself!” Alex called back.
“How’s the bear?” asked the voice.
“Fine!” Alex answered.
“What do you know about our bear?” Case demanded.
“I was on the _Hawk_ last night,” was the reply.
“Did you see those two men head for the water?” Jule asked with a
snicker.
“Funniest thing I ever saw!” the other answered.
There was a short silence and then another voice called out from the
steamer:
“Why don’t you boys come on board?”
“Nothing doing!” answered Clay.
“Some of our people want a look at the dog and bear!” the first speaker
said. “So, if you don’t object, we’ll come on board.”
“No, you don’t!” Clay answered.
“We’ll see about that!” came from the boat.
The steamer shot ahead so as to come up to the port side of the
_Rambler_.
“Keep off!” ordered Clay. “We don’t want any of that whiskey crowd on
board! If you try to put foot on our deck, we’ll shoot.”
“I guess not!” laughed the other.
While Clay had been talking with those on board the steamer, Case had
been at work with the motors, and the _Rambler_ now shot ahead at full
speed, drawing swiftly away from the steamer.
There was an instant commotion on the deck of the saloon boat and then
she, too, shot ahead at a good rate of speed.
Given a clear stretch of water, the _Rambler_ would soon have been out
of sight of the steamer, but on turning a bend, a monster coal tow came
into view. There were rows on rows of barges heaped high with coal, all
headed for the Mississippi. In the rear was a gamey tug swinging from
side to side in order to keep the fleet under control.
“Now we are up against it!” exclaimed Clay. “We never can get by those
barges!”
“How do the steamers get by?” asked Jule.
“They don’t get by at all when the coal tow is passing around a narrow
bend like that!” was the answer.
“Well, what are we going to do?” Alex asked. “Let those fellows come on
board here and eat us up?”
“If there weren’t so many people on board that saloon boat,” Case
declared, “I’d dynamite it. She ought to be blown out of the water,
anyway. We can’t be bothered all the way down with these whiskey boats!”
“We shall be if we don’t make a record in some way!” Clay said. “I move
we run into the little creek there on the Indiana shore and shoot if
they come near us.”
“Say!” Alex said in a moment. “That isn’t a creek at all. Don’t you see
that the main river is on the other side of it? That’s a big island with
a lagoon in the middle, and an opening on the upper end.”
“That’s not the main river on the other side!” Case observed. “It is
wide, but it looks shallow. If it was the main river, we could pass
through there and so get in ahead of the coal tow.”
“Well, then, suppose we run into the lagoon,” suggested Alex.
It was now quite dark, and the lights of the saloon boat showed that
those on board were holding some sort of conference with those on board
the tug in charge of the tow. The boats were some distance apart, yet
even in the gathering darkness the boys could see the crew of the barges
racing over the coal in order to do business with the bartender on the
steamer.
“Before morning,” Case observed, “those saloon pirates will have every
dollar there is in that bunch of rivermen. I wish there was some way to
separate the two crews.
“What do we care?” laughed Alex. “Either bunch would rob us if they
could.”
“Now,” Clay said in a moment, “turn the boat in toward the entrance to
the lagoon, keep all the lights off, and let her drift. They’ll think
we’ve gone downstream on the other side of the island.”
“That lagoon looks pretty good to me,” Jule observed. “I feel like I
hadn’t had any sleep for a week. We’ll just tie right up in that little
pond and sleep all we want to.”
“That will be a nice place to tie up!” laughed Case. “Alex won’t run any
risk of being towed down the Mississippi if he goes fishing again.”
And so, with no lights showing, the _Rambler_, under the impetus of the
last push of the propeller, glided noiselessly into the mouth of the
lagoon. Both arms of the island were heavily wooded and in a moment, the
boys were out of sight of the tow and the saloon boat. It was dark and
still along both shores of the lagoon. Wild birds settling for the night
called to each other across the narrow stretch of water, but otherwise
all was silent.
“Nice and quiet,” Jule declared, “but just look ahead there, if you
will. You can all see the three blue lights, now, if you want to! The
ghost of the _Mary Ann_ must have lost his bearings.”