the stream, jeering at poor Stephen’s threats and entreaties. The raft
grounded near the bank, and, the coil of rope in his hand, he jumped
ashore, and shoved it off. Then, oh most humane action! he jumped on
the raft again, opened the door of the cage, and cast off the cords and
straps that bound Carlo’s feet, thus leaving the poor beast at liberty to
struggle feebly in his narrow prison. Having made the door of the cage
fast, he landed once more, this time, however, getting his feet very wet.
To set the dog free was evidently an after thought, or he would have
done so before, and so have saved himself time, trouble and a wetting.
Meanwhile, poor Stephen danced excitedly about in the water, shouting
and gesticulating wildly. In fact, the poor boy was at his wits’ end. He
made several desperate efforts to swim after the “jolly young waterman,”
but failed in each effort. He lacked George’s great self-possession, and
allowed his anger to get the better of his judgment. Thus he acted, and
there he remained, until his teeth chattered and his limbs turned into
what is known familiarly to the boys as “goose-flesh.” Then he rushed out
of the water, and pulled on his clothes promiscuously.
To the frantic boy’s horror, he next saw Bob running _up_ the stream,
along the bank whilst the raft, with the dog still on it, was drifting
_down_ the stream.
“The scoundrel!” Steve gasped. “Is he going to run away, and let my dog
drift over the falls?”
Such was not the case. Bob’s _left_ hand was toward Stephen, while in his
_right_ hand he carried and unwound as he ran, the coil of rope. No; Bob
was only “paying out the cable.” But Stephen was too far off to see this.
This one thousand feet of cord, however, did not work so harmoniously as
Bob had imagined it would; it became most mysteriously and provokingly
entangled at every step. The sinker on the cord kept the greater part of
it under water; and when Bob at last reached the end of it, and turned,
he changed it from his right hand to his left hand, so that it was still
out of Stephen’s sight.
Bob stood still a moment, puffing and perspiring, and the raft stopped
drifting and pulled gently, very gently on the cord. Then he moved on
slowly, and to Stephen on the opposite bank, there seemed to be no
connection between him and the raft.
If Steve had looked narrowly, however, he would certainly have seen the
cord coming out of the water in front of Bob; for, if a boy can see the
string leading to his new kite when his mischievous brother is flying it
nearly a quarter of a mile away,--mark this, we do not say that any one
else could see it,--then surely, in spite of the distance between him and
Bob, he could have seen what little of the cord there was in sight.
But Steve’s attention was centred upon the raft, where his dog was.
Let not the peruser of this work of fiction suppose that the raft was
really one thousand feet below Bob. By no means; sundry loose knots,
kinks, or snarls, shortened the distance greatly.
But it was undoubtedly a long way below him.
“Hollo, Stepping Hen!” Bob yelled. “Don’t you see that _your_ raft and
the dog are sailing towards the falls? Why don’t you stir around and save
’em?”
Stephen heard him distinctly, and it seemed to him that Carlo’s doom was
sealed. He was now running madly up and down the margin of the river, in
the vain hope of finding some craft on which he might set out in pursuit.
But he could find nothing that would serve his turn.
Bob saw the boy’s dilemma, and like all orthodox villains, when
successful in their wickedness, he could not conceal his delight. His
powerful imagination saw a log in each broken twig, a huge boulder in
each little stone, a frightful chasm in each slight depression in the
ground; and he passed along by leaps that bore considerable resemblance
to those of an Alpine hunter. He writhed his whole body, distorted his
features, rolled his intensely blue eyes, hallooed, sang and uttered
original and untranslatable interjections, expressive of triumph.
Such actions could not but be injurious to his system; but--fortunately
for himself and the rest of the world,--as Bob afterwards invented and
patented an ingenious saw-horse--they were to be of short continuance.
_Chapter XXVI._
BOB’S DOWNFALL.
To Stephen’s intense relief, he now saw Charley and George coming towards
him from the village. He welcomed them with feverish delight.
“Hollo, Steve!” Charlie shouted. “What performance is that on the other
side of the river? Who has set our raft afloat, and what is that thing on
it?”
A hoot of defiance came booming across the river from Bob. He still felt
himself secure; and instead of one witness of his triumph, there would
now be three.
Stephen ran to meet the new-comers, and told them all that he knew about
the matter, not sparing the arch-villain.
Their expressions of hopelessness and anger exceeded even Stephen’s.
“Isn’t there anything we can float over on?” Charles asked.
“Not a thing. Do you suppose I’d be here if I could cross?” Steve
retorted, angrily.
“Take it coolly, boys,” the Sage advised. “We are not going to let that
Herriman have it all his own way; surely we can work some plan to outwit
him.”
Bob looked on in ecstasy, and hallooed as barbarously as a wild Indian on
the war-trail. His plans had succeeded in every particular--almost beyond
his expectations. Why should he not rejoice and be merry?
This shifting of the scene from one bank of the river to the other is not
conducive to the reader’s happiness or the writer’s reputation. It would
be better to single out one party and let the other go.
After a critical examination of how matters stood, the Sage said
abruptly, “Look here, boys; there is room for hope. In the first place,
Bob and the raft are moving at the same rate; second place, he has a
cord fastened to the raft, with the other end in his left hand--but it’s
an enormously long cord; third place, Will crossed the river in the
village, and he will soon be coming up on the other side. Now, look at
Bob and the raft, and see for yourselves.”
But before he had finished speaking, Steve and Charley had descried the
rope in Bob’s hand.
“Oh, George!” cried Stephen, “you _are_ a philosopher!”
George was right about Will. A few minutes later, he was seen coming up
on the other side of the river, and accompanied by Marmaduke and Jim.
Thus the whole band of heroes was assembling! Gentle reader, when that
event takes place, you know that the villain’s downfall is at hand.
Stephen and Charles, beside themselves with delight, screamed to the
three heroes to pounce on Bob and save Carlo.
The Sage--puffed up with pride at hearing himself called a philosopher
by Stephen, who never flattered anybody--took another survey of affairs,
and remarked: “Look here Steve, that raft is only drifting slowly, and by
swimming out I could easily reach it, and then let Carlo free. The only
objection to this plan is, that I should have to stay on the raft without
my clothes on until I could get to them again. But there is no one to
see me, and I don’t mind when Carlo’s fate hangs by a--a--tow-line. And
by doing so, Will and the rest can chase Bob; for Bob will move nimbly
somewhere in a minute or two.”
This striking idea took well with Charles and Stephen.
“Oh,” groaned the latter, “why didn’t I think of doing that before you
came up!”
Will, Marmaduke, and Jim, hastened on, taking in the whole plot at a
glance.
“Look out for Bob!” they heard from the three on the opposite bank. “See
to Bob; we’ll take care of Carlo.”
Bob, however, had awakened to a sense of his danger. He saw Will,
Marmaduke, and Jim, approaching; but not so soon as the boys across the
river, as the intervening shrubs and inequalities in the ground obscured
his view.
In all his nice little calculations he had not thought of, nor provided
for, such a casualty as this. In the midst of his triumph why should
three boys all at once come upon him? Why should they be coming up on his
side of the river, when he had never known them to do so before?
But there was no time to be lost in idle speculation.
Should he fly? Then in which direction? To fly towards home seemed
madness, for the three would have to be passed, and he knew well that at
least one, Will, could outrun him. Or he might go _up_ the river, as he
would have a start in his favor. But he was already a long way from the
village and his home; of course he would be pursued; and where would the
pursuit end?
His wild behaviour now gave place to gravity, and his last exultant shout
died away on his lips.
He considered a moment, and then rejected both these possible means of
escape, and determined to take what seemed the only course left open to
him. The raft was under his control--he would haul it up and sail away on
it!
If Bob had been a boy of George’s sententious terseness, he would have
said, “I can defy my enemies when I am on the raft.” If he had been a
hero of romance: “So shall I balk my persecutors, and frustrate their
evil designs.” But being neither, he simply said to himself, “I’ll mount
the raft; and then let ’em sing and holler as much as they want to! And
the dog will be under my thumb, too!”
If Bob had reflected a little longer, perhaps he would not have resorted
to this extreme measure; for, although he would be at liberty to float
whither he pleased, in reality he would be as much a prisoner as the dog.
Five resolute boys and one willing-hearted candle-holder, Jim, would
sooner or later contrive some plan to entrap him.
Not a little to the boys’ astonishment, he now began to draw the raft
hastily towards him. He worked as though his life depended on his
agility; and as the rope came in hand over hand, it fell in a loose coil
at his feet. If the raft had caught on a snag or run into the bank, he
would have been left in a sad predicament; for the faster he drew in the
rope, the faster Will bounded towards him. It was a strange, exciting
race--not a race for life, but a race between meanness and its inevitable
punishment.
The three on the opposite bank could not at first guess Bob’s intention.
George was undressing himself preparatory to swimming out to the raft;
but this manœuvre caused him to desist, and with the other two he stood
stupidly gazing at the plotter, eagerly awaiting further developments.
But when the truth dawned upon him, he cheered Will so heartily that all
the boys, together with the squirrels and birds, took up the cry, and
made the place ring again. In fact, there was danger that all this hubbub
might draw on them the wrath of some peace-loving paterfamilias.
Bob had reason to fear that the boys would take dire vengeance if they
should overhaul him, and he toiled worthy of a better cause. Yard after
yard of the rope passed through his hands, but notwithstanding all his
efforts, he saw that Will was gaining on him. Although at his wit send,
he yet had the sagacity to pull steadily and not too fast--that might
break the rope.
At last the raft was alongside; and having gathered up the folds of the
rope,--which he durst not leave behind, because that would put it in the
power of Will easily to secure boy, dog, and raft,--he made a desperate
and final effort, and sprang almost at random.
At the time of the leap Will was almost upon him.
Bob sprang courageously, but wildly. Alas! “the best-laid schemes of mice
and men--” the rest is not English.
The tangled rope in his hands proved his downfall; it coiled round his
feet with a merciless grip, and he alighted on the raft in a sorry
plight. There he lay, sprawling and struggling, a most ludicrous sight.
The more he struggled to free himself, the more tightly he was encircled
by the terrible coils. Boys, the youth who becomes entangled in one
thousand feet of rope is to be pitied.
To add to his misery, shout after shout of laughter burst from the entire
six. _Their_ hour of triumph had, in its turn, come.
The impetus given to the raft carried it on a little farther, but Will
soon reached it, sprang, and almost fell over struggling Robert. No need
to make him a prisoner; both hands and feet were bound fast by the long
rope.
Will’s first act was to liberate poor Carlo, and take off his muzzle.
Bob groaned and shivered, but the noble dog stretched himself and frisked
about the raft, scarcely noticing him.
“Carlo, Carlo, come, Carlo,” Stephen called joyously.
Carlo plunged into the river and swam towards his master, who, half
beside himself with exultation, cried: “Steer for this port, Will; and
bring the prisoner.”
“All right!” Will shouted back, and put the raft to the bank to take on
Marmaduke and Jim, who soon came up.
The raft sank low under the weight of the four, but still it floated
them; and Will and Marmaduke took up the oars and began to work their way
slowly across the stream. Jim sat on the cage and pretended to steer; but
his eyes roved from the prisoner to the boys on the opposite bank, and
then, by way of the oarsmen, back to the prisoner.
The hearts of the six beat loud with triumph; but poor Bob’s heart
sank, and beat very faint. “Oh,” he gasped piteously from among the
serpent-like coils of the rope, “Oh, let me go! For mercy’s sake, let me
go! Don’t take me over to Stephen and his dog; and I’ll promise never to
meddle with you boys any more.”
Will looked pityingly at the abject creature, but answered with firmness:
“No, Bob, I must take you to Stephen. You have played a mean trick on
him, and he must settle with you. But,” whispering in his ear, “I guess
you’ll survive.”
_Chapter XXVII._
THEY PROPOSE TO TURN THE TABLES.
Bob saw that it would be useless to crave further for mercy, and he
remained sulky and silent; but Jim looked in vain to see him blubber. No;
in everything except age Bob was an orthodox villain; and an orthodox
villain never whimpers when his schemes topple about his ears. On account
of his youth and inexperience, he had not provided himself with poison in
the event of failure--nay, he did not even attempt to roll off the raft
into the river.
“This is rather a home-made rabbit-house, eh, Will?” Marmaduke observed,
inclining his head towards the cage.
“It’s kindy weak,” Jim chimed in. “It looks strong enough to hold me, but
it keeps cracking every minute.”
“Hush!” breathed Will.
He had many fine qualities. Even at his early age, he could respect the
feelings of a fallen foe.
“Hello there, Steve,” he said, as they drew near the group of three. “I
killed Tip, but I’ve saved Carlo, so my mind is easy.”
The three returned Will’s grin of pleasure with a shout of applause. So
eager were they to welcome the victors that they tore off their boots
and stockings, rolled their pants _nearly_ up to their knees, and waded
out till the water was two or three inches _above_ their knees. Youth
manifests its enthusiasm very recklessly at times.
At this moment Will experienced some of the triumph of a conquering hero.
“Now, Bob,” Charles began, as they floated the raft into its harbor;
“now, Bob, you will be tried by us for your misdoings.”
“He has surely had punishment enough; let him go;” said tender-hearted
George, sitting down on the bank and looking pityingly at the wild-eyed
captive.
“Yes, Steve; let him go; for how on earth can we punish him?” Will
supplemented.
“No!” Charles said resolutely. “The boy who can float another boy’s dog
over these falls is a scoundrel, and--”
“I never did!” Bob here put in.
“And,” continued Charles, “_he ought to be court-martialed_!”
Bob did not know what this meant; neither did Charles; the former looked
awe-struck, the latter, wise and august.
Steve, however, added promptly: “Of course. His father must have
court-plastered him the other night for his bruises; and now we must
court-martial him for his wickedness.”
“Well,” said Marmaduke, seating himself with great composure, “I am going
to be neutral.”
Poor boy, he thought “neutral” had an imposing look in his history, and
he would seize this opportunity to illustrate its beauties.
With that, the entire six sat down in a circle around the raft. Charles
and Stephen were resolved on punishment. Jim also. For some reason,
George and Will were in favor of pardon.
“Well, boys,” said Will, “of course you can do what you like, but I
believe I should let him go--box, and rope, and straps, and all. I
perished poor Tip, but I’ve rescued Carlo, and I’m satisfied.”
No doubt Will thought this a very genteel expression. Not so Marmaduke:
he sprang to his feet with a gesture of surprise, and said earnestly,
“Oh, Will! _perish_ is a neuter verb!”
Will flushed, and moved uneasily from right to left.
“What is all this nonsense about neuters and neutrals?” Steve asked,
angrily. “What do we care about your neuters? Botheration, you boys have
put off this trial long enough. But,” with a mischievous twinkle in his
eye, “tell us what a _neuter verb_ is; and then, I hope, we may go on.”
Marmaduke was ill prepared for such a question, and he was never prompt
in giving explanations. His face blanched, he sank dejectedly to the
ground, took off his hat and toyed with it nervously; took out his
handkerchief and feebly tried to blow his nose; looked appealingly at
the Sage; and at last began, hesitatingly: “Well, hem, Steve, _Stephen_,
I’m afraid I can hardly make it clear to you, because--because--well,
you know, Stephen, you don’t understand grammar very well. Well,
_perish_--but,” brightening and rising, “I’ll just illustrate it for you.
Now, you see, I’m standing up. Well,” suiting the action to the word, “I
_sit_ down when _I_ go to the ground; but,” suiting the action to the
word, “I _set_ down my _hat_--or _you_, or _any other boy_, or a _thing_,
or a _word_ in a book.”
Marmaduke put on his hat and picked up and pocketed his handkerchief with
the air of a man who has triumphed.
“Yes,” Steve admitted, “you make it pretty plain, Marmaduke; but these
neuter verbs, and conjunctions, and things, were always a muddle to me.
But,” guilelessly, “tell me this, and then we must attend to Bob: Is it
right to say, I _sit_ myself down, or I _set_ myself down?”
Poor Marmaduke! He was struck dumb; he had a new view of neuter verbs.
A look of woe that would have melted a heart of stone passed over his
face. He arose and took a seat where Steve could not see him, muttering
confusedly: “A neuter verb can’t do anything, but active verbs do.”
Stephen chuckled: “I always knew those rules in the grammar wouldn’t work
both ways.”
Charles and Will did not seem inclined to help Marmaduke out of his
difficulty--probably they were as much puzzled as he. As for George, he
was not at all disconcerted: _when he understood a thing, he knew that he
understood it_. He looked on with supreme indifference, not thinking it
worth while to give his views.
“See how Bob behaved himself the night of the experiment,” Charles
observed, coming back to the matter in hand. “He will always be trying to
do us some harm if we let him off this time.”
“Yes,” chimed in Steve, glancing at the helpless captive, who was still
on the raft, “we let him go that night and see how he has rewarded us for
our mercy!”
“You wouldn’t have let him escape if it hadn’t been for me;” Will
corrected.
“We didn’t hunt him down the next day, as we might have done!” Steve
rejoined, as though that settled the question.
“I hope we are hardly such a set of cold-blooded fellows as that!” George
said. “And besides what great harm did he do that night?”
“Oh, you, George Andrews!” Stephen retorted wrathfully. “I suppose you
think we’re harping on your performances that night, but we’re not.”
“You had better not, Stephen Goodfellow!” said George also becoming
wrathful. “You promised that you wouldn’t speak of that to me again.”
It is a lamentable fact, hinted at in the outset of this history, that
these heroes quarreled occasionally. When one of these differences took
place, each one had the strange, boyish habit of calling the other by his
christian name and surname. If you doubt this, fair reader, [she for whom
this is written will understand,] be so good as to play the eavesdropper
on two small and quarrelsome juveniles disputing about the color of an
absent playmate’s marble.
“I’m not; I’m keeping my word;” Steve replied seriously. “But perhaps
your mind is running on _clemency_, that bothered you so much the other
day.”
“Perhaps _yours_ is running on the term ‘_Lynch law_!’”
At this juncture neutral Marmaduke, who was beginning to recover his
equanimity, and who doubtless felt spiteful towards Stephen, hopped up
and declared, in the tone of a dictator rather than of a peacemaker:
“Gentlemen, the jury have disagreed; the case is dismissed.”
“Marmaduke Fitzwilliams,” cried Charles, rising in his turn, “four or
five boys don’t make a jury; you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lawyers would say, _constitute_ a jury,” Marmaduke corrected.
“Well, let ’em say it; _we_ are not lawyers;” Charles roared.
“It would not be acting politically to punish him ourselves,” the
neutral one contended. “There is a whole court-house full of men in the
village, that make it a business to punish people.”
Poor Marmaduke! He seemed to have a preternatural longing to figure in
the courts of justice.
“Marmaduke,” George said musingly, “don’t you suppose you are out of your
reckoning when you say ‘acting politically’?”
“Yes, what does ‘politically’ mean, any way?” Stephen inquired, thinking
to ensnare the boy once more.
This time, however, Marmaduke answered without hesitation.
“Why,” said he, “it’s an adverb, and adverbs always mean, _in a
manner_--_politically, in a political manner_.”
Steve did not seem much enlightened, and Charles with a merry twinkle,
asked, “Always?”
“Always!” firmly.
“Oh, then, _politically_ ought to mean, _in the manner of a policeman_;
_abed, in the manner of a bedstead_; and so on.”
Marmaduke looked aghast, and Charles the persecutor continued
mercilessly: “_Alongside, in the manner of a man who wears a long side._”
The neutral one was now quite discomfited, and he arose and stole back
to his seat, trying to collect himself and make out what “in a manner”
really signifies.
But Steve yelled after him: “And _to go_ means _in the manner of a
goner_.”
At this dreadful outrage it is a wonder that Words did not take to
themselves a voice to howl in the offender’s ear: “We cannot all be
adverbs!”
As for Marmaduke he was utterly demoralized.
“Whatever you do, boys, don’t leave Bob to stiffen in his coils on that
raft,” Will meekly suggested.
Charles and Stephen were so eager to have some one side with them that
they took it for granted that Will, for very weariness, was now in
favor of punishment; and Stephen, on the spur of the moment, made this
startling observation:
“Why not do with Bob as he did with my dog? He has got himself all in a
jumble on the raft--let us give him a ride up and down the river. It will
be good for his constitution.”
Strangely enough, this idea was favorably received by the boys. They
laughed, and applauded Stephen.
“It would be a very light punishment,” he continued, pressing home his
advantage. “Don’t you all agree to it? Come, Will, what is your opinion?”
“It was you Bob was molesting, Steve, and you must stir up your
conscience to see what it says, and then go ahead,” Will answered. “You
put it very mildly, but I suppose your meaning is, to cram Bob into
Carlo’s prison, untangle the rope, and then float him around as he
floated Carlo around.”
“Y-e-s,” Steve assented, somewhat discomposed at this plain statement of
his views.
“I’m tired of all this,” George exclaimed, with a sigh. “Fire ahead,
Steve, and do whatever you like.”
“Hurrah, then,” Charlie cried gladly, “let us give Bob an airing.”
At this instant Marmaduke again appeared before the boys, and opened his
mouth to make some sage remark; but Stephen,--now all animation,--in
tones whose cheerfulness took away the harshness of the words, silenced
him, saying: “Stop your noise, Marmaduke. You’re a neuter verb, you know;
and they mustn’t do anything.”
“Perhaps you ought to consult Bob himself,” Will suggested. “He might
observe some valuable observations about his punishment.”
“Let the prisoner speak,” chimed in the irrepressible neutral one.
“Well, Bob,” said Charles languidly, “moisten your lips and tongue, and
let us have your views. In the first place, what was your plot? What did
you intend to do with Carlo?”