CHAP’S AMBASSADOR.
The stretch of white sand, of which Adam had spoken, was so far away
that neither of the boys had noticed it; but the practised eyes of the
sailor had singled it out as a place where a landing could be made, and
toward it The Rolling Stone was now steered, Phœnix taking the tiller,
and Adam using the pole whenever he could.
Phil was ordered to refresh himself with some crackers and cold meat,
as it would be some time before they could have their coffee.
“I’m not going to eat anything,” said Phœnix, “till we have cooked a
regular supper; but I tell you it’s jolly to think of getting something
good and hot when we land.”
“That’s so,” said Adam.
And Phil assented heartily. But not one of them imagined how hot a
thing was waiting for them.
The Rolling Stone thus moving slowly up the river, gradually came into
sight of the keen-eyed maiden, who surveyed the water from the high
ground in the vicinity of the Browns’ cabin, and, as we have seen, she
informed Chap and his companions of its approach.
When the boat at last touched the shore, it was still light by the
river, and Chap and the Indians were well concealed in the dusky
recesses of the forest, not far from the water; and over the underbrush
and between the trees Chap could catch sight of the little red pennant,
made from an old handkerchief which he himself had hoisted to the
topmast of The Rolling Stone.
The sight made him furious to rush down and recapture his boat; but the
others restrained him. It was not time yet. The fellows must have no
chance to push off and get away.
“Look here,” said Mary Brown, who had closely followed Chap’s party, “I
wish there wasn’t goin’ to be a fight. I’d hate to see people killed so
near our house. I’ve been thinkin’ of a good thing to do, and I’ll tell
you what it is. I’ll go down and talk to them fellers. They won’t be
scared off when they see a girl comin’, and then I’ll just tell ’em the
whole thing. I’ll tell ’em there are five of you here, and you’re bound
to have the boat back, and they might as well give it up first as last,
and not have nobody shot.”
“And as soon as you began to talk that way,” said Chap, “they’d all
jump aboard and push off.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” said the girl; “for I wouldn’t talk to ’em if they
wasn’t all ashore, and the minute any of ’em started to go aboard, I’d
give a scream, and then you all could come peltin’ down.”
“And what would we do with them,” asked Chap, a little contemptuously,
“if they agreed to all that? Let them walk off, scot-free?”
“There ain’t no use a-doin’ anythin’ to ’em,” said Mary Brown, “when
you’ve got your boat. That’s all you want.”
The Indians, who understood all that Mary Brown said, and had listened
to her with great attention, now expressed themselves as well satisfied
with the plan she proposed. If the men would give up the boat without
fighting, what was the good of fighting? But this did not satisfy Chap.
“I want the rascals punished,” he said.
“Humph!” said The Talker. “S’pose you first one shot. Won’t do you no
good then to lick ’em.”
“They won’t believe you,” said Chap to Mary, “when you tell them there
are five of us. They’ll think it a trick.”
“That’s their lookout,” said the girl. “If they don’t believe me, you
can pitch into ’em; but you oughter try first to do without fightin’.”
Finding that his companions were very unwilling to resort to violence,
if the boat could be regained peacefully, Chap was obliged to submit,
and Mary Brown started off to treat for a surrender of The Rolling
Stone.
“Mind,” she said, as she left, “if they cut up, or try to get back into
their boat, I’ll scream, and then you all come.”
“Oh, we’ll come quick enough!” said Chap, clutching his club. “You
needn’t be afraid of that.”
When Mary Brown went out on the river-beach, she saw only Adam and
Phil, for Phœnix had gone up the shore to look for dry sticks for the
fire. She walked up to our two friends, who were quite surprised to see
her, not knowing that there was any habitation in the neighborhood, and
after wishing them “good-evening,” she related to them the purpose of
her mission.
While she was speaking, Phœnix came up, and his appearance made her
quite uneasy. She had supposed there were only two persons in the
boat, but if there were three, it would make the fight a great deal
worse, if there should be one, and she therefore urged, with increased
earnestness, that they should give up the boat peaceably, before they
were set upon by the determined men in the woods.
“Give us a moment to think this over,” said Adam, when she had finished.
And the girl retired to a short distance, while our friends drew close
together in anxious consultation.
“Those two rascals,” said Adam, “must have waded ashore somewhere, and
come across these Indians. And now they’re a-goin’ to try to take the
boat from us. They’ve had time enough to get around here, for we came
up very slow.”
“Perhaps it’s all a made-up story,” said Phœnix.
“That couldn’t be,” said Phil, “for how would that girl know that we
had taken the boat from anybody?”
“Whether her story is true or not,” said Adam, “we’re not goin’ to give
up the boat, are we?”
“No, indeed!” answered both of the boys.
“I’m glad we took the guns from them fellers,” said Adam, “for now
we’ve each got one. Let’s jump aboard and get the shootin’-irons.
That’s the first thing to do.”
The three now moved toward the boat, which had been drawn up in shallow
water.
“Don’t go aboard yit!” exclaimed Mary, quickly stepping toward them;
but, as no attention was paid to her words, she gave a loud scream, and
ran into the woods.
[Illustration]