DAVE COMES BACK
The Ramblers, as well as their companions, were thoroughly dismayed at
the startling turn in affairs.
"Some one must have stolen the boats," declared Sam Randall; "but what
has become of Dave?"
"Perhaps the thieves kidnapped him," suggested Tom Clifton, brilliantly.
"Why should they do such a thing as that?" returned Kirk Talbot. "I
don't believe it. What do you think, Nat?"
"I never was so completely mystified in my life," returned the leader
of the Nimrods, who accepted the situation with a coolness that greatly
surprised his followers. "It looks as though our grand expedition has
come to an end."
"What is going to be done?" asked John Hackett.
"We had better start out for Kingswood in the morning," said Nat, in
tones of decided conviction.
"And make no effort to recover the boats?" exclaimed Bob, in surprise.
Nat shrugged his shoulders. "We are out in the wilderness. I don't see
any police around, do you?"
"And what about Dave Brandon?"
"We couldn't do him any good by staying here. Ten to one he has simply
rushed off to tell the authorities at Kingswood."
But Nat Wingate's ideas did not meet with approval. The thoroughly
disgusted and anxious boys walked up and down, excitedly discussing the
matter, advancing many possible solutions of the mystery, and entirely
forgetful of their fatigue and hunger.
The unaccountable disappearance of Dave Brandon alarmed them not a
little. Some of the boys now proceeded to skirmish around in the
immediate vicinity, swinging their lanterns in many a dark nook and
corner, others shouted at the top of their voices, but, of course, all
these efforts were without avail.
"Boys," said Bob Somers, at length, "I feel sure that Dave Brandon
knows how to take care of himself. If he doesn't bring us any news of
the boat, I'll find it, if the job takes a year. You seem to take your
loss very coolly, Nat."
"What would you expect me to do? Stand on my head, or tear my hair?"
returned Wingate. "If I never have to bear anything worse than a
robbery I guess you'll find me smiling. I'm going to get the 'Nimrod,'
and in a hurry, too, you can bet on that. I believe that whoever took
the boat went off in the direction of Kingswood. There is a town at the
head of the lake, where the police might get 'em."
"We can't do anything to-night, that's certain, fellows," said Dick
Travers, disconsolately. "But boats or no boats, unless I get something
to eat soon--"
"Yes, I'm almost starved," interrupted Ted Pollock. "I move that we
build a fire and start a meal."
The wisdom of this was apparent to all. In spite of their anxiety, the
whole party managed to eat with a hearty appetite.
It was unanimously decided to keep up the fire, which had been built
near the water's edge, so that in case Dave Brandon might be lost in
the woods, its flaring light would point the way back to camp.
"I'll bet the 'Oh ho' boy ran for his life," declared Nat, with a laugh.
"Dave is no coward," protested Sam Randall, warmly. "Besides if he had
stayed around here, we would have seen him before this."
Night wore on and the boys became more and more anxious. No one felt
like sleeping, so wood was piled on the fire, until leaping, fantastic
tongues of flame threw weird shadows about, while showers of embers
sparkled against the background of trees and sky.
Gradually conversation ceased. They seated themselves, one by one, in
moody silence, yawning and blinking, sleepy, yet unable to sleep.
Another hour passed, when a faint sound made Bob Somers listen with the
keenest attention. Jumping to his feet, he placed his hand to his ear.
"Listen!"
Instantly the lads were all attention.
"What is it?" they cried, in unison.
"My eye! I think I hear a motor boat," exclaimed John Hackett, after
several moments had passed.
"Bears, wildcats and wolves! I believe that's just what it is," chimed
in Kirk Talbot, excitedly.
Nat Wingate seemed strangely agitated, as the sound gradually increased
in volume. He walked nervously up and down, with his hands stuffed in
his pockets.
"If it is only the 'Rambler,'" cried Bob Somers, hopefully. He brought
out his field-glass, sweeping the surface of the river.
"Do you see anything?" inquired Nat, eagerly.
"No! not a thing, yet."
Great masses of vapor, through which the moon shone faintly, were
slowly passing across the sky, but Bob kept his glass leveled toward
the horizon.
"I'll bet it's not either the 'Nimrod' or 'Rambler,'" observed Nat, a
moment later.
"Oh, don't have such dreadful thoughts. You make me nervous,"
expostulated young Talbot.
"It seems an awful long time since we first heard the sound,"
complained Ted Pollock. "If it's the 'Ram--'"
"I see the boat, boys," broke in Bob, energetically.
Dick Travers seized the glass, which Somers extended toward him,
quickly raised it to his eyes and took a long, earnest look.
"Both boats," he announced, joyfully. "One is towing the other."
Greatly excited, the Ramblers and Nimrods crowded to the very edge of
the water, where they awaited, with much impatience, the approach of
the two craft.
"Ahoy, ahoy!" shouted a familiar voice, through a megaphone. "Ahoy,
pirates and brigands, is that you?"
"Dave Brandon," cried Bob Somers, joyously. "Hurrah! Three cheers for
Chubby!"
Their lusty shouts were borne toward the distant boatman.
How slowly the two craft seemed to swing in! It actually was but a
short time, however, before the boys began a steady fire of questions.
"Hold on! Wait until I get these canal-boats safely in shore, and I'll
tell you all about it," cried the poet laureate, hugely enjoying the
sensation caused by his reappearance.
With another chorus of shouts, his friends surrounded him, as he leaped
ashore.
"Give me a chance," pleaded the lad. "I can't answer fifty questions at
once."
When quiet was restored, Dave told what had happened, interrupted by
many exclamations from the deeply interested boys.
The poet laureate found himself raised to the rank of a hero, the
praises showered upon him causing a blush to suffuse his features.
"Bully for you, Chubby!" said Bob Somers, grasping his hand, warmly.
"Our trip would have come to a fine finish. Three more cheers for Dave
Brandon," he called, with a will, and every one joined in.
"If it hadn't been for the 'Nimrod,' you would have lost your boat,
anyway," declared Nat, who, through the entire proceeding, had acted in
a restrained manner.
"It's a good thing that the 'Rambler' is a slow tub, fellows," put
in John Hackett. "If the thieves had had brains enough to take the
'Nimrod,' it would have meant--"
"That we started away from here this very day," finished Nat, glibly;
"but having been so lucky, we must stay a while to celebrate, that's no
joke."
Excitement having come to an end, fatigue and sleep were fast getting
the better of all.
"I'll sleep on board the 'Rambler,'" declared Bob. "It won't do to take
any more chances, eh, Chubby?"
Dave nodded his head.
It was quite late in the morning before the camp was astir. In spite
of the protests of Nat and his fellow Nimrods, Bob Somers decided to
continue their journey.
"By this afternoon, we ought to reach Lake Minnewago," he said. "After
going its whole length, we still have a trip through Wolf River, then a
whopping long journey on Clair Bay."
"Well," said Nat, "if you fellows are going on so are we."
No time was lost in getting off, the boys contenting themselves with a
light breakfast.
Toward eleven o'clock, a few houses were seen here and there, along
the river. Others, appearing at intervals, showed that they were
approaching the town at the head of the lake. Boats were numerous, and
signs of life rapidly began to multiply on all sides.
"What do you say to taking lunch in town, boys?" suggested Bob. "You
know we have to get a supply of gasoline and some more grub."
"Fine idea," agreed Tom Clifton. "Then we can send a few postal cards
home, telling the folks that the Rambler Club hasn't furnished food for
bears or wildcats."
Half an hour later, a church spire was seen rising high above the
surrounding houses, while straight ahead a long iron bridge crossed the
river.
The arrival of a strange boat naturally attracted a great deal of
attention from the idlers lounging around the wharves, and numerous
questions were hurled at them.
A party of small boys in a clumsy rowboat obligingly pointed out the
best place for them to land. It was an old, tumble-down wharf, with an
incline leading down to the water.
Bob swung the "Rambler" in at moderate speed, making a landing in
excellent style. Then the boys drew lots to decide who should be the
first to go on shore. Perhaps there was no actual necessity for this,
but their recent experience had made them careful.
Bob Somers, Dave Brandon and Tom Clifton presently sprang upon the
landing and made their way up to a narrow street fronting the river.
It was lined with small warehouses, stores, and a few manufacturing
establishments. The clash and rattle of machinery assailed their ears
as they walked along, smoke from numerous chimneys obscured the air,
while now and then the odor of tar and hemp was perceptible.
River boats, barges and sailing craft were drawn up at the wharves, and
the street was crowded with drays and trucks.
A short walk brought them to the iron bridge, which crossed overhead.
They saw that it was used by a railroad; in fact, a train approached
just at this time and they could tell by the sound that it soon stopped
at a station.
The boys found a store where provisions and gasoline were sold.
Accordingly Bob made a bargain to have a supply of both delivered to
the "Rambler."
They had now reached a wide street running directly back from the
river, and turning into this, a very few minutes sufficed to bring them
to the principal business section of the town. It was a larger and much
more important place than Kingswood, possessing an opera house, several
large hotels and many handsome stores. The streets were crowded with
vehicles and pedestrians, making them lively and interesting.
The three boys entered a restaurant, ate a substantial meal, and then
continued their tour of inspection. A building with an arched entrance,
painted in white and gold, attracted their attention. It was a moving
picture show, and, having plenty of time, they concluded to go in.
The mishaps of a bicycle rider, the moving throngs at a seaside resort,
and several other scenes from actual life were interestingly displayed,
all of which the boys heartily enjoyed.
By a roundabout course, the three proceeded from street to street until
they again found themselves approaching the waterfront, after which,
they immediately returned to the wharf where the "Rambler" was tied.
Sam Randall and Dick Travers were anxiously awaiting their arrival.
Both had made good use of the time, cleaning their guns and arranging
various odds and ends in suitable places. The pair immediately went on
shore.
During their absence, the groceries and gasoline arrived, and when
the latter had been safely placed in the tank, Bob and his companions
devoted their attention to sending off cards and letters.
As soon as Dick and Tom returned, the trip was resumed. They had
scarcely passed under the railroad bridge when the "Nimrod" came
dashing furiously along, Nat and his megaphone helping to attract
attention to it.
"Those 'Ramrods' don't seem able to stick by themselves, do they?"
remarked Bob, dryly.
"I should say not," grinned Sam. "But I bet they won't try any more
funny tricks on us."
Bob did not hurry the "Rambler," mainly on account of numerous boats
which were passing and repassing, but the Trailers swerved first one
way and then the other, tore at full speed around any craft that
happened to be in the way, and never even deigned to answer the remarks
which came from all quarters.
"Hello, there in the tub!" cried Nat, as the "Nimrod" drew up alongside
of them and reduced speed.
"Hello, boys," replied Bob, good-naturedly.
"I say," remarked John Hackett, loudly, "we have everybody on the river
scared. Even the old canal-boats are hugging the shore."
A burst of merriment came from the Nimrods at this sally.
When it had subsided, Dick Travers inquired: "We heard a while ago that
you nearly ran into a sailboat--what was the matter--wouldn't it get
out of the way?"
Nat Wingate began to laugh.
"It was this way," he explained; "we just ran up a little bit close to
tell him he had no business to sail a boat, when he burst out into a
perfect roar, and called us a parcel of young rascals. We never knew
what was the matter with him."
Nat was disposed to be in a hilarious mood. No sooner had he uttered
the foregoing remark than he put the megaphone to his lips and began
making long, continuous blasts like a whistle.
John Hackett waved his arms wildly and a rowboat ahead was seen to
suddenly veer around and head for the shore.
"Did you ever see such crazy antics in your life?" remarked Ted
Pollock, with a loud laugh. "We're getting a clear track to-day, that's
sure."
"Full speed, Kirk," cried Nat, at this juncture.
The "Nimrod," with its noisy crew, almost instantly began to draw away
from them, the proceeding being accompanied by a wave of the hand from
Nat.
The line of wharves had already given place to a few straggling houses
at the outskirts of the town. These were soon passed, when the Ramblers
saw a wide sheet of water opening out before them.
Its broad, placid surface presented a beautiful picture. The sultry sky
was tinged with a warm hue at the horizon, while to the right and left
the bordering hills, rapidly separating, melted away into the afternoon
haze. High up in the heavens hung great piles of cumulus clouds of
dazzling whiteness.
The entire scene, notwithstanding its beauty, wore a threatening
aspect, which Bob Somers quickly noticed.
"There is going to be a big storm on Lake Minnewago, boys," he said;
"might be a good plan to hug the shore, eh, Dave?"
"Much safer," approved Dave Brandon, with a critical look at the sky.
Bob glanced at a map which was spread out upon a locker, and announced
that they would have plenty of time to reach a small harbor which
lay off to the northeast. The gently heaving water gave the boat a
delightful motion, which proved so fascinating to the boys that they
were just a little tardy in following their own advice. They saw the
"Nimrod" headed directly toward the centre of the lake, and, for the
time being, adopted a course about midway between that and the shore.
Within half an hour they began to realize that they were on a pretty
wide sheet of water. The mouth of the river was no longer to be seen,
and a vague impression of being half out of the world began to steal
over them.
"The lightning has begun already, fellows," volunteered Tom Clifton, at
length.
A copper-colored gleam, low down in the sky, flashed for an instant,
followed quickly by another, but no sound of thunder reached their ears.
"Pretty far off yet," observed Dick. "But it is coming this way fast."
"I wonder what those foolish Trailers are going to do?" put in Tom
Clifton. "They are running a pretty big risk to stay away out there."
A glance through the field-glass showed that the other boat was still
headed away from the shore.
"We can't go off and leave them," said Bob Somers, soberly. "Their boat
is not as safe as ours, and they seem bound to get into trouble."
In the hope of attracting the Nimrods' attention, Bob and the rest of
the boys brought out their guns and fired several shots.
The reports must have been heard, but there was no visible result.
A cool, steady current of air was now blowing in their faces, and the
appearance of the scene began to rapidly change. The advance-guard
of big white clouds passed slowly across the sun, shutting off its
cheerful rays completely. The flashes in the distance became more
frequent, while a low rumble of thunder borne on the breeze reached
their ears.
"The storm will soon be in full blast," exclaimed Dave Brandon. "Those
clouds are a great sight. Whew, what a flash that was!"
A streak of dazzling brilliancy divided the heavens, followed in a few
moments by a heavy peal of thunder.
"Do you think we had better try to make the shore?" ventured Tom
Clifton, nervously.
"Hardly be safe now, Tommy," returned Bob. "If we could only get those
miserable Trailers to follow us, there might still be time, though, to
get to a safer place than this."
Off to the right, at no great distance, a point of land could clearly
be seen, and just beyond that, according to the map, was a small
enclosed bay. Had the boys chosen to think only of themselves, they
would have been, even then, within reach of it.
But they were not that kind. Through the field-glass, the Nimrods
were seen calmly drawing down awnings, and preparing to weather the
approaching gale. They were headed almost broadside to the wind.
"What can they be thinking of?" cried Bob, in alarm. "When a storm
sweeps over ten or fifteen miles of water, it isn't safe to take any
chances with it."
The prow of the "Rambler" was turned toward them, the boys having
decided that they must make an effort to give them assistance, if
necessary.
By this time, the vast, rising body of cloud had assumed a strangely
black and ominous appearance. Streaks of electric fire darted across
the changing, billow-like forms, or shot downward to the earth, while
rain blotted out the middle distance, apparently sweeping onward with
the greatest fury.
Gusts of wind forced the boys to hold tightly to their caps. In a short
time, the surface of the lake had completely changed. Spiteful little
waves with foaming crests began to hurl themselves against the side of
the motor boat.
"Now for the oilskins," shouted Bob, lustily, and the Ramblers, who had
been eagerly watching the storm, hastily donned these garments.
"Here comes the rain!" cried Sam.
A few heavy drops sprinkled around them, then came a lull, which,
however, lasted but a few seconds. Straight ahead, a line, rapidly
advancing, stretched across the lake, a series of furious gusts
heralding its approach.
"Hold on tight, boys," shouted Bob, as he headed the boat squarely into
the wind.
With a roar, the storm struck the little craft. She staggered and shook
under its blast, then plunged her prow into the choppy water, while
clouds of spray dashed over the boys.
A blinding flash of lightning seemed to start directly overhead,
accompanied almost instantly by a crash that fairly dazed them.
Crouching under the awning, the Ramblers screened themselves as best
they could. The rain, however, beat in torrents under it, splashing in
their faces, while the "Rambler," like a toy, bobbed up and down.
It was an anxious time to the little crew. Each passing minute found
the waves growing higher and higher, until they broke over the bow with
a force that made the little boat tremble.
The "Nimrod" could not be seen amidst such a flood of rain, but Bob
courageously held the "Rambler" upon a steady course, and as the boat
had successfully withstood the storm's first onset, he rapidly began to
gain confidence.
"Help, help!"
A series of cries but faintly heard above the roar of the tempest
suddenly reached their ears.
Bob's heart beat wildly. He knew only too well what it meant.
"Help, help!"
Then came the report of a gun.
"There they are!" yelled an excited voice at Bob's elbow.
It was Sam Randall, who had pushed his way forward.
Off to the right and seen but dimly through the driving rain, a barely
perceptible shadow was visible on the foaming surface.
"Trim boat, boys," Bob called. "Get over to windward, all of you! I'm
going to swing her around."
The boys clustered on the weather rail, but exposed to the full force
of the howling blast, the "Rambler" nevertheless keeled far over, every
wave and blast of wind threatening to send her occupants into the angry
waters of the lake.