WHEN THE _ROCKET_ SHOWED HER SPEED
It was the _Speedaway_! And it was Fred Cunningham running it! He was
a party to this robbing of Mrs. Parsons—at least, all the evidence
was that he was a party to the plan to get away with the loot this
night!
Out into the stream the _Speedaway_ was moving, the engine running in
excellent shape.
“Get your boat and catch him!” cried the chief of police. “Men, watch
those fellows close. Don’t let one of them get away. Shoot to kill if
one of them starts. I’ll go with the boys to help ’em get off!”
Saying this, the chief pushed Frank roughly by the shoulder, and all
five of them, the four boys and the chief, dashed through the weeds
and brush along the bank of the river to the point where the _Rocket_
was tied.
Out on the river they could plainly hear the put-put of an exhaust.
They reached the _Rocket_. Frank stopped a moment to listen.
“He’s going downstream, chief. If I catch him I’ll take him to the
jail. But how shall we get you?”
“Send some one back here to get us,” replied the chief sharply, as he
urged the boys to get aboard and start quickly.
Already Paul and Ralph were on board, and Lanky had untied and thrown
the rope to the deck of the sturdy little craft that was now entering
another race for the day.
Over to the deck of the boat Frank went, Lanky cast the boat off from
shore, leaping aboard at the same moment. Frank gave a twist to the
flywheel of the motor and they were off on the race!
It was when he reached to take the flywheel that he laid down the
package which he had been carrying.
“Chief,” he called as the motor started and they were moving out to
the stream, “I’ve got the box of jewels. I forgot to give them to
you. We found the place where he had them hidden—so they’re safe!”
“Fine work, lad! Good luck to you! Catch that fellow and we’ve done a
good day’s work!” called back Chief Berry.
Lanky had the searchlight going in another second, flooding the
river’s surface in front of them.
Downstream they started, skirting past the island on the bank side
instead of going around it, thus saving some distance.
The steady exhaust of their own engine kept them from hearing
anything of the boat which was in front. And, quite naturally, their
failure to hear the engine of the _Speedaway_ caused Frank to raise a
question as to whether they might miss the wily fellow in front.
What if he should duck to one side of the river in the darkness of
the early morning—for it was well pass the midnight hour and the
darkest time of the night—and disappear in the shadows of the growth
along some island or along one of the shores of the Harrapin?
Studying over this problem, Frank brought a solution to mind and
determined that after they had run a mile or so he would put his plan
into effect.
It was not a meandering or shambling or loitering gait that the
_Rocket_ had taken—quite the contrary. The bow of the craft was well
up from the surface of the river, the propeller blades were churning
and whirling the water into foam behind them, and the breeze created
by the speed was at once cooling and invigorating.
Frank had his accustomed position in the cockpit, his steady hand on
the wheel. Ralph and Paul had their places, flat on the after deck,
helping hold the bow out of the water and permitting the _Rocket_ to
skim and glide along the Harrapin at the fastest rate of speed it had
ever made.
This was a race worth the while—a race with a thief to be caught or
one who had conspired with thieves, and also a race between the two
motor boats.
“See him?” asked Frank of Lanky, as that long lad twisted the
searchlight from side to side.
“Not a see,” muttered Wallace. “If this light were only stronger we
might see him ahead of us. I can’t even hear the exhaust.”
Just at this moment Frank cut off the motor. All was silent on the
_Rocket_. From far ahead of them came the steady, rapidly firing
put-put of the _Speedaway_! It was ahead of them down the stream!
Were they gaining or losing in the race? It was almost, if not quite,
impossible to determine.
Before they could lose much of their momentum Frank had whirled the
flywheel over again, the heated engine picked up explosions at the
first turn, and the Rocket seemed to fairly leap from under them as
it dashed forward.
Feeling sure of their quarry now, Frank’s mind went back to some
of the doings of the past few hours and the past few days. To his
mind came, for a second, a thought of his father, and he wondered if
everything at the hospital was going on as the doctor had said it
would and that his father would show improvement after his heart had
been stimulated by the drug. Then came a brief thanksgiving that his
mother had reached home.
Who was Fred Cunningham? Was he one of the gang of thieves or had he
merely fallen in with these fellows because he owned a fast motor
boat and they could use one?
Why had he come to Columbia, unheralded by any one who knew him or
knew anything of him? Was it he and his influence that had caused
Mrs. Parsons to turn against Frank and his boy friends after they had
been the cause of her release?
How had these men got the silver and the jewels to that rowboat? Had
they gone up the river or down? Was their car really standing outside
on the road during the time when Mrs. Parsons’ car came in?
And, since there were two robbers who looted the house and tied Mrs.
Parsons, who was it driving the automobile that took the thieves
away? That is, there must have been a third one if the auto was
really standing outside the place and had received a signal from the
house.
After all, was the lighting of the match on the river a signal?
“Stop the motor again and see if we can hear him,” Lanky interrupted
Frank’s thoughts.
Frank cut off the engine, and from a distance down the river came the
sound of the exhaust from the _Speedaway_. Instantly the engine was
started again.
“Was it closer this time?” asked Frank.
“I couldn’t tell with certainty, but I believe it was. I believe
we’ve gained a little, but the next mile will tell the story. He has
to go around the broad island, and he’s running without lights—taking
all kinds of chances.”
“Well, he ran upriver without lights,” replied Frank. “I wondered
while we were coming up behind him to-night how he was doing it.”
There was no way to increase speed. The engine was doing its utmost.
There was only one way to gain—except that the _Rocket_ might be
faster than the _Speedaway_—and that was to beat Cunningham at
maneuvering.
Frank set his mind to the task. From the several recent trips up and
down the river he began to put together the knowledge he had gained.
Standing steadfastly at the wheel, his entire being now put into this
purpose of catching the man on the _Speedaway_, Frank Allen cut off
every inch in the bends and around the islands that could possibly be
cut.
“Better be careful, old boy,” called Lanky, as Frank made one close
shave past a bank at a bend in an effort to cut off distance.
“Can’t—right now.” Frank smiled as the spirit of this race seized
full control of him. He was determined, more than ever, to catch the
_Speedaway_!
Taking a long chance at losing some of the space that he felt he had
gained, he suddenly cut off the engine and listened.
They were nearer! They were gaining rapidly! There was no doubt of it
now.
The lights of Columbia came in sight on the far side of the river.
Their engine was running full tilt and the _Rocket_ was bounding
forward like a smoothly running race-horse.
“We’ll catch him right in front of the town!” called Lanky Wallace as
he swung the searchlight about the river.
“Hope so. It’ll make things easy. But maybe he has a gun,” suggested
Frank.
“Couldn’t have, unless it was on the boat. The chief’s men disarmed
them,” laconically replied Lanky.
The lights of the town, only a few in number but enough to act as
beacons to the boys, came closer and closer. They could not yet
discern the _Speedaway_ ahead of them, though they knew it must be
close.
“What do we do when we catch up?” Paul Bird sat up and asked. “Better
lay out a plan so we’ll all do the right thing.”
Frank was once again making a short cut on the last bend above
Columbia. “Well,” he said, “we shall try to get alongside. Then you
two fellows go over and engage him if he shows fight, while I hold
the _Rocket_ close up, and Lanky can take the tie line with him to
tie him.”
That was all there was to the plan. Just general in nature. No use,
thought Frank, of crossing this particular bridge until they got to
it. Time enough to do the right thing after they had caught up with
their man.
“There he is!” cried Lanky excitedly, pointing to the motor boat that
loomed directly in front of them as Frank made the last twist to gain
ground.
Cunningham was peering back over his shoulder as the searchlight from
the _Rocket_ lighted that part of the river.
Suddenly he veered to one side; probably, thought Frank, in an effort
to get to the side opposite Columbia and there beach his craft and
run for it.
Lanky shot the search behind him.
“Look out!” Frank fairly screamed as he saw a tremendous obstacle
loom in front of the _Speedaway_, less than fifteen feet away—too
close to permit the helmsman to again maneuver his boat.
Up out of the darkness, totally unexpectedly, arose the great bulk of
a barge, loaded and piled high with boxes and bales, the towboat on
the farther side.
So exciting had been the chase that neither Fred Cunningham in the
first boat nor Frank and his friends in the second had seen the small
lights of the tug as it steadily pulled its great burden upstream.
Crash! There was nothing else to be expected! Into the side of the
big barge went the _Speedaway_, full power ahead!
There was a noise of splintering wood, cries and yells of warning and
of horror from the men on the barge, yells from the four boys on the
_Rocket_.
The bow of the _Speedaway_ telescoped as if a giant were squeezing
down on it, and the stern dipped deeply into the stream.
There was a flash of light for a second, then the gasoline tank
exploded, spreading gasoline to all parts of the water.
The _Rocket_, being far enough to the rear, could be properly
maneuvered to avoid a repetition of such an accident.
Frank Allen threw the boat over slightly, cut off the engine and
tried to reverse. Even in his excitement, though, he realized that
his momentum was too great to permit anything of the kind.
Throwing the engine into action again, he went down past the barge
and made a wide circle, coming back upstream in a minute or two after
the plunge of the _Speedaway_ against the barge.
The three boys watched closely as Lanky Wallace turned the
searchlight from point to point, seeking to find the wreck.
Débris was scattered over all parts of the rapidly flowing Harrapin.
“Where is Cunningham?” asked Paul Bird.
The wreck of the _Speedaway_ was slowly settling into the river as
the water rushed into it and the weight of the engine helped to drag
it down.
The skipper of the towboat was now around on their side of the barge
and five or six men had ropes, ready to cast them for a rescue.
Suddenly a head bobbed up out of the water. It was Fred Cunningham!
There was a faint cry for help, and he sank again.
“Lanky, hold the light there. Paul, take the wheel and keep going
around in a circle,” ordered Frank, at the same time grabbing the boy
and pulling him into the cockpit.
Splash! Over the side of the _Rocket_ went Frank Allen, to rescue the
fellow who, if not actually his enemy, was certainly no friend to the
boy who was risking his own life to keep him from drowning.