THE NIMRODS
When "Captain Bob" appeared at the wharf, he was greeted by Tom Clifton
and Dick Travers. Sam Randall soon after came hastening along, and last
of all, as everybody expected, the stout form of the "Oh ho" boy was
seen moving across the clearing. Bob slipped away his watch, which was
only one minute and twenty seconds beyond the appointed time, and Dave
Brandon, having made one of his best records for promptness, strode up
with a beaming face.
There was no delay in getting on board. The lines were cast off, Bob
gave two vigorous turns to the engine wheel, and with its familiar
chug-chug the motor immediately responded.
As the "Rambler," with a bright-colored pennant floating at the stern,
swung out and headed for midstream, a chorus of enthusiastic shouts
floated off on the breeze.
A slight haze suffused the landscape, and the aspect of all nature had
that indefinable charm and freshness of early morning. The sunlight
bathed hills, fields and woods with a mellow glow, while off in the
distance a steeple glistened brightly against the sky. A flock of noisy
crows passed close overhead and disappeared beyond the crest of a hill.
Sam Randall and Dick Travers got out their shotguns, eager to try
their skill should any unwary bird venture to fly too near, while Dave
Brandon, the picture of contentment, stretched himself out on top of a
locker.
The "Rambler" had proceeded some distance beyond Fir Island, when Tom
Clifton uttered an exclamation, and began scanning the surface of the
water.
"Seems to me that I hear an echo," he observed.
Sure enough, a chug-chug was borne faintly over the air, and yet it
seemed impossible that it could have any connection with the "Rambler."
"It's very strange, indeed," ventured Sam Randall, in a puzzled tone.
"The sound is exactly like another boat. Stop the engine, Bob, and
see."
In a moment the "Rambler" was forging ahead by its own momentum, and to
their eager, listening ears came a rapid, monotonous pulsating sound,
the meaning of which could not be misunderstood.
"Well, that surprises me," declared Bob Somers. "I thought we had a
monopoly, and yet, just as we start out--"
"There it is!" cried Sam Randall, eagerly, and he waved his arm astern,
in the direction of Fir Island, whose richly verdured expanse loomed
forth clear and distinct against its surroundings.
"You're right," chimed in Bob. "Dave, I say, Dave Brandon, look at
that."
But an unmistakable snore came from the direction of the locker.
The easy, gliding motion had lulled the poet laureate to sleep. An
energetic shake thoroughly aroused the devotee at the shrine of Art
and Poetry. He sat up and stared long and earnestly at the far-off
speck--then stared with equal intensity at his companions.
"What did you stop the boat for when there was a chance to run into
something?" he inquired, with a laugh. "I hope the trip is going to be
lively enough to keep me awake."
The captain made no response. He was gazing earnestly at the mysterious
motor boat through a powerful field-glass.
"What is it, Bob? What do you see?" asked his companions, eagerly.
"Fellows, this is most astonishing. I believe Nat Wingate and his crowd
are in that boat."
"Nat Wingate? Impossible!" cried the others, incredulously, and even
Dave Brandon uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"I can scarcely believe it. How in the world could Nat get a motor
boat?" queried Sam.
For an answer, Bob handed him the glass. Sam looked long and earnestly,
while the others crowded around.
"By George! Bob, I believe you are right," he burst out, at length. "If
this isn't the biggest surprise. Perhaps Nat's threat wasn't an idle
one, after all."
Successively, the field-glass was passed from one to another, and the
amazing fact now became apparent to all, that the rapidly approaching
motor boat did contain the rejected applicant, as well as three of his
particular chums, John Hackett, Kirk Talbot and Ted Pollock.
"H'm," said Dave, "he's got a fine lot of scrappers with him, that's
sure."
By the way Nat's craft cut through the water, it could be seen at a
glance that it was a much speedier boat than the "Rambler."
"I'll wager that Mr. Wingate examined our boat so that he could get a
better one," said Bob, earnestly.
"But it scarcely seems possible that he would make Nat such a handsome
present," declared Dave.
"And Wingate was always protesting about his uncle's stinginess, too,"
put in Tom. Then he added: "Are you going to let them pass us?"
"By the look of things, it can't be helped," responded Bob, grimly.
Just then the sound of Nat's familiar voice reached their ears. He was
standing at the bow, holding a huge megaphone, while one of his chums
frantically waved a gaudily colored flag.
"Halloa there!" shouted Nat, using his funnel-shaped instrument to good
effect. "Get out of the way! Don't block up the stream--this is the
lightning express, and nothing can stop it. Hurrah for the Nimrod Club!"
This shout was echoed lustily by his companions.
"So this is the Nimrod Club," commented Bob. "They certainly seem to be
enjoying themselves."
Of this there could be no doubt. The exuberance of Nat and his
chums, judging from their language and actions, was on the point of
overflowing.
The rival boat, headed toward them, its graceful lines sparkling where
the water had splashed upon it, was soon close at hand.
Suddenly, the chug-chug ceased, and the "Nimrod" glided gracefully
across the bow of the "Rambler."
"The Nimrod Club of Kingswood greets the Ramblers!" shouted Nat, with
unnecessary force; and he bowed mockingly. His brown eyes danced with
excitement and triumph.
"And the Rambler Club salutes the Nimrods!" laughed Bob, although he
was not a little apprehensive that the arrival of Nat and his followers
boded them no good.
"Do you want a tow-line?" spoke up their leader.
"Say, is your old tub fast enough for you to know which way it's
going?" added John Hackett.
The Nimrods all thought this very funny, and laughed uproariously.
"Safety before speed," said Dave Brandon, blithely. "When you get
swamped, boys, just call for us."
"Look out, look out, here we go!" cried Nat, although there was not the
slightest use for such a remark. "Say, be careful about canal-boats;
there are some fast ones on this line."
The "Nimrod" was put in motion, and swept speedily forward. Bob started
the "Rambler."
"Nat has a fine boat," he declared; "but ours is better."
"I wish they hadn't come along," commented Sam Randall. "I'll wager we
are in for some lively times."
"Well, I, for one, propose that we don't stand any nonsense," exclaimed
Dick Travers. "Give that crowd a chance, and--"
"Hey there, old slow-pokes, are you moving or standing still?" shouted
Nat. "You need help."
"So will you, if you keep that up," retorted Dick, who was not so
disposed to be good-natured as his companions.
The motor boats were dashing along at full speed in midstream, when the
"Nimrod," which was easily distancing its competitor, slowed down and
allowed the other to approach.
"Shut off your power, back there in the tub!" shouted Nat,
authoritatively. "Now mind what I say, or there's going to be trouble."
Deliberately, he swung his boat around, so that the hull was presented
broadside to the rapidly approaching "Rambler."
"Look out! What are you trying to do?" came in a chorus from the latter
boat.
It seemed as though the Nimrods were absolutely regardless of
consequences. Quick as a flash, Bob shut off the power and jammed the
wheel far around.
Thus suddenly swerved from its course, the motor boat careened far
over, and just grazed the side of the "Nimrod," which was now scarcely
moving.
Before any of the Ramblers could divine his intention, Nat Wingate
quickly passed a stout rope through an iron ring at the bow of their
boat. "Go ahead, Kirk--full speed!" he shouted.
Darting forward, the "Nimrod" suddenly pulled the line taut with a
force that jarred the "Rambler" from stem to stern.
"We've turned pirates!" yelled Nat. "Whoop la, oh ho, this is our first
catch." And his companions joined in a hearty laugh.
It was not until the "Rambler" had swung around and was actually being
headed for Kingswood that the astonished boys decided to remedy the
matter in a summary fashion. Sam Randall pulled out his jack-knife and
proceeded to sever the rope.
"We've had enough of this," he shouted, as his eyes flashed with
indignation. "Why can't they let us alone?"
"Patience ceases to be a virtue," drawled Dave Brandon. "What a pity we
haven't the faster boat."
Bob Somers kept perfectly cool, but he began to feel that his good
nature was being taken for weakness, and that unless some decisive
action was taken in the beginning, the Nimrods would give them no peace.
"You'll be walking the plank next!" cried Wingate, in a terrible voice,
through his megaphone. "We're the Pirates of the Bounding Deep."
"Of the bounding, bounding deep!" echoed Hackett, hilariously.
"How long do you suppose this interesting crowd is going to follow us?"
asked Tom Clifton, in disgust.
"Dear only knows," returned Sam; "I guess Nat Wingate's threats had
more truth in them than we suspected."
Both boats were again on their course, with the "Nimrod" leading.
"Little boys, I say, little boys!" cried the irrepressible leader of
the Nimrods; "we're going down the river a bit, and will come back to
see you later."
"Don't hurry; we can wait," called out Dick Travers.
"The question of the length of time, my young friend, will be
determined by the Pirates of the Bounding Deep."
Nat waved his hand and smiled.
"Thank goodness, they are off," cried Sam, with a sigh of relief, as
the "Nimrod" began slowly drawing away.
Now, for the first time, the boys were able to enjoy the scenery, and
talk about their plans for the day. Already, the fresh air had given
them a decided appetite, and Tom Clifton agreed that at the proper time
he would officiate at the oil-stove.
This decision had hardly been reached, and they were engaged in
preparing a menu, when Bob, who was at the wheel, called out: "They are
coming back, fellows."
This was quite true. The "Nimrod" was seen to describe a wide circle
and head directly for them. On it came, at full speed, the engine
making a loud and continuous roar.
Bob altered the course of the "Rambler" slightly. The helmsman of the
other boat did the same, and they continued to near each other, both
headed directly for the same spot.
It was at once evident that the reckless Nimrods had determined
to annoy them by compelling Bob to change his course. Now the
"Rambler," in spite of the fact that the "Nimrod" had beaten it, was,
nevertheless, a speedy boat, and it thus happened that almost before
they knew it the two craft were dangerously near each other.
"Stop, stop!" commanded Nat. "Don't you see where we are going?"
The sound of both engines ceased. Bob reversed his an instant later.
"Look out!" continued the commander of the Nimrods, frantically. "What
is the matter with you? You're running us down!"
But the crash could not be averted. The side of the "Rambler" swung
against the "Nimrod" with such force that Nat Wingate was almost
pitched to the deck.