MAN OVERBOARD
As the Ramblers drew near the island, a picturesque and lively sight
met their gaze. Merry-go-rounds, switchback railways, buildings
decorated with gilt and splashes of bright color were scattered around,
while a Babel of noise attested to the merriment that was going on.
Groups of people moved to and fro, many crowding to the edge of the
water as the "Rambler" moved slowly by.
"I didn't know there was anything like this around here," said Bob.
"Hello, the island is divided by channels."
A rather wide waterway opened out before them.
"Shall we go through?" he asked.
"Of course," replied Sam, quickly.
Accordingly, the motor boat was turned into the winding reach of water.
At intervals, picturesque little rustic bridges crossed the stream.
They soon learned, from the numerous questions and remarks, that the
Nimrods could not be far off. One stout man, with a very red face and
choleric manner, at the risk of breaking the rail, leaned far over, and
emphasizing his remarks by vigorous shakes of a large cane, roared:
"You young rascals! You irresponsible set of young Indians! you'll be
arrested before--"
The rest of the sentence was lost, as the "Rambler" passed on.
"He must have seen the Trailers," chuckled Bob; "and their
monkey-shines set his nerves on edge."
At the next bridge, upon which quite a crowd was congregated, the boys
heard enough to convince them that the Trailers had been enjoying a
high lark, dashing about at full speed, with their usual recklessness.
"Big park, this," drawled Dave. "Just look at all the shows. I'll bet a
fellow could have some fun in there."
"I see a picture of a fat man and a thin lady," said Dick; "ten cents,
I guess, to see 'em both. I say, if you're not careful, Dave Brandon,
your phiz will be painted like that some day."
"Just so," laughed Dave; "that's what I have been training for. It's
the easiest way to make a living I know of."
During this time, numerous boats, some shaped like Venetian gondolas,
were passing and repassing, their occupants being careful to give the
"Rambler" a wide berth.
"Funny how the scene has changed," observed Brandon, languidly; "only
the other night a wildcat tried to interview us, and now look at all
this crowd."
"Twenty miles makes a big difference in this part of the country," said
Sam Randall.
"So far, we have had some pretty lively times," put in Bob. "Perhaps
nothing will happen for the rest of the trip."
He reduced speed as they were approaching a bend. Loud laughter and
voices reached their ears.
"The Trailers again," sniffed Sam Randall.
"Having lots of fun, eh?" observed Bob. "This is a pretty risky place
to do any cutting-up in. It's a wonder they haven't sunk five or six
boats already."
Almost immediately the point was rounded. Just ahead, the "Nimrod"
rested motionless, facing a small canoe. The occupant of the latter, a
light-haired young fellow, seemed to be considerably annoyed.
"If you had bumped into me," he was shouting, "I would have had you
taken up."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Nat. "It would have been worse than a pumpkin falling
on a frog. Christopher!" he cried, in wondering accents, as the
"Rambler" approached. "So you got the old tub fixed up. I didn't expect
to see you again for--"
"A week," chimed in Hackett. "Have a blacksmith at the next corner
hammer the old thing in shape, eh? Look out there, Jack, in the duck
boat. Give 'em plenty of room. They have everybody on the bounding deep
afraid of their lives. Navigation all tied up."
"Be careful," admonished the young man, darting an angry glance at
Hackett; "my father will--"
"Your pa can't scare us, Jacky. Hurry up there, Somers, get that old
floating log out of the way."
"Going to stay in town?" inquired Bob.
"No, can't. Pa's going to get after us. Give the spinning-wheel a turn,
Kirk--full speed. Don't block up the channel, Jack."
Having uttered these words, Nat Wingate raised the megaphone to his
lips and uttered a long, loud screech. Standing erect, he put all the
force of his lungs into it, and just at that moment, the motor boat
began to glide ahead.
Instantly it was seen that the reckless boy had made a miscalculation.
A sudden lurch caused him to clutch the steering-wheel for support, and
it was given a sharp turn in the wrong direction.
"My stars--Christopher!" screamed Nat. "Stop! Shut down the engine!"
Kirk, who had failed to notice the incident, obeyed, but not with his
usual degree of promptness. The bow of the "Nimrod" was seen to swing
around and bump squarely against the frail canoe.
Taken altogether by surprise, the light-haired young man lost his
balance and tipped over sideways. A great splash followed, as he
plunged into the water, while the canoe turned over and floated bottom
upward.
Screams and shouts came from the hundreds who had witnessed the
incident. It looked as if the act had been done on purpose.
Nat and his companions only waited long enough to see that the victim
of their recklessness was able to swim.
"Don't let anything more happen to him, Bob Somers," yelled Nat; "but
look out for his pa. Full speed, Kirk, or we may not be a mile away
before the cops get here."
The motor of the "Nimrod" began to work furiously, and it drew rapidly
ahead.
The young man did not reply to the Ramblers' proffers of assistance,
but swam after his canoe and began pushing it toward the shore.
"Whew, isn't he mad, though? I don't blame him a bit either," whispered
Tom Clifton.
"The Trailers may get into trouble for this," said Sam Randall. "Let's
stay here until we see what mister towhead does."
A few moments later, the involuntary bather stood on a landing,
surrounded by a crowd of sympathetic spectators.
"I tell you, this gang is a regular pack of outlaws," the Ramblers
heard him say, as he began to wring out his dripping clothes.
"Going to have 'em took up?" inquired some one.
"Well, I guess so. If the whole crowd isn't up before Squire Peterson
this very night, I'm badly mistaken."
"It would serve them just right," observed Sam Randall.
"But we don't care to be mixed up in any scrap," added Bob. "Start the
motor, Dave, and let us get ahead."
"Yes, they might want us to see the squire, too," laughed Brandon.
"Don't pay any attention to them," he added, as shouts came from the
shore.
The "Rambler" slowly wended its way through the channel until the
amusement park was passed, after which full power was switched on and
the islands rapidly passed.
When the Ramblers emerged into the main river they saw the "Nimrod" far
ahead.
"The Trailers are certainly getting out of the way," observed Bob, with
a laugh.
The boys now saw that they were in the midst of an industrial
community. From high chimneys columns of smoke poured forth, while
clumsy barges, stacked high with lumber, seemed to indicate the
flourishing condition of that industry. Evidences of business activity
were on all sides.
The continuation of Wolf River which connected Lake Minnewago and Clair
Bay proved to be a much wider stream than the other branch.
"Aren't there rapids near here, Bob?" questioned Dave.
"About five miles further on. We have to go through a canal."
"But it's getting pretty late," objected Tom Clifton; "don't you think
it would be better to tie up for the night?"
"Of course not, sonny; we can sleep on board the 'Rambler' for once,"
returned Bob.
"Yes, we don't want to do the same thing all the time," said Sam
Randall, and Dave, likewise, heartily endorsed the idea.
Numerous craft, of many descriptions, were seen. A wheezing, puffing
steam tug, drawing a line of heavily laden barges, passed close by,
while an old-fashioned side wheeler, which Dave laughingly declared
must have belonged to "the vintage of 1860," sent a rippling line of
swells to rock the "Rambler" from stem to stern.
There were so many picturesque features connected with this part of the
river that they were almost sorry when the canal was reached. Already,
the ruddy glow had left the clouds and a few far-off lights began to
twinkle.
Bob turned the "Rambler" into the artificial waterway without stopping.
The boat was soon gliding along at the base of a steep hill, with about
a quarter of a mile separating them from the river.
At length a roaring sound, which they knew to be the rapids, reached
their ears, and soon after the canal lock loomed ahead of them.
"We'll have to wait here some time, I'll bet," observed Bob. "Look at
those clumsy tubs ahead of us."
"Rub up against some of 'em, and there'll be a job for a painter,"
declared Dick.
"To say nothing of a boat builder, if we get crowded between two
of them," added Sam. "Try to get in with that little steamer," he
advised, indicating one manned by two men.
"Oh ho, but this waiting is tiresome," drawled Dave; "hope we won't
be here all night. If I only had a duck's leg to help keep down my
appetite."
"You wouldn't have it without a good scrap, I can tell you that,"
laughed Sam. "Ah, our turn next. Look lively, Bob."
The gates of the lock slowly opened. A barge entered first, then the
small steamer mentioned, and a number of other boats, not, however,
without some confusion and a great deal of unnecessary shouting.
When the gates closed upon them, the Ramblers lay back to enjoy the
sensation as the boat slowly sank to the lower level. In due course,
they passed slowly out between stone walls which towered a dozen or
more feet above them.
"Might as well get out the oil-stove, and get things going," spoke up
Bob; "and light a couple of lanterns, somebody. We don't want to do any
Nat Wingating on this trip."
"No, because the other boat might be the stronger," chuckled Dick.
"Let the motor out a bit, Dave, and we'll run by some of these old
hulks."
Dusk was now upon them. Lights, in long, tremulous lines, reflected in
the dark waters of the canal. From the cabins of several indistinct
craft a cheerful glow appeared, and, as the "Rambler" passed them, they
heard the rattle of knives and forks.
"I declare, I'm glad to see the river again," said Bob, as they came
out into the stream. "How is supper progressing, cooks? Hungry--well, I
should say so."
"It's a good thing we brought plenty of stuff along," commented the
poet laureate. "Tom Clifton, keep away from that pot. Put the salt out
of sight, boys."
"You needn't be afraid, Chubby. I wanted to see what kind of a mess
they're getting up. I say, this is a dismal-looking place, isn't it?"
"Wouldn't care to be out here alone," Dick chimed in. "Think of getting
tangled up in that marsh. Don't run in too close, Bob; you'll get the
propeller all choked up with weeds. Listen to those dogs barking. How
far away do you suppose they are?"
"Two miles from nowhere, and that's here," yawned Dave. "I can tell
you, nothing will disturb my rest to-night."
"Switch off the power, and heave your anchor," commanded Bob. "The
current is swinging us around, but it doesn't make any difference. Now
for supper."
The boiled ham, bacon, and canned corn, with coffee and preserves,
rapidly disappeared.
"Don't like this place a little bit," growled Tom; "wish we were on
shore. Say, doesn't that water look black?"
"What color would you expect it to be--blue?" asked Dave. "You can hear
it gurgling and swishing against the sides of the boat, but there isn't
even a sparkle to be seen."
"I'm glad there isn't," said Bob; "for in that case it would seem like
being in some enchanted region, and we all might have bad dreams. It
certainly is black, though."
The "Rambler" had been moored about twenty-five feet from the shore,
in a place which was about as desolate as could well be imagined. The
stars were partially obscured, and not a light twinkled on either
shore. A barely perceptible patch of light, low down in the sky,
indicated the position of the town and the amusement park.
"I think I'll turn in," said Dave, finally; "I certainly do feel tired."
"Sleep on one side of the boat, then," said Sam. "All the rest on the
other ought to keep the 'tub' from sinking."
Dave laughed good-naturedly as he spread out a blanket.
"Going to be close quarters," exclaimed Bob. "Never mind; choose your
places, fellows."
This was soon done, but either the novelty of the situation or the
restriction of their quarters prevented most of them from passing a
comfortable night. The principal exception was, of course, Dave Brandon.
All were astir when the morning mists hung in long streamers over the
river and shore, and the distance was blotted out by yellow haze.
Bob Somers and Sam Randall went ashore with their rods and
fishing-lines and made their way to a partly submerged log.
"Ought to be a good place," observed the former. "Let's see what we can
catch for breakfast."
The young anglers knew from experience that fish often haunt tree roots
and hollows. They moved with the greatest caution, casting their lines
with skill and success.
The excitement and uncertainty of landing the catch made time pass so
quickly that loud calls began to come from the others while they were
in the height of their enjoyment.
But Bob and Sam did not deign to answer. The rippling water,
occasionally broken by eddies and swirls, quiet pools, framed by reeds,
and humming insects all possessed a charm which made them loth to leave.
Finally, a string of four glistening white fish were gathered up, the
boys then making their way back to the boat.
"Splendid!" exclaimed Dick Travers, viewing the catch with great favor.
"We thought you were going to stay there all day."
"I declare, it would suit me to do just that thing," asserted Sam.
"Look out, Dave Brandon, don't put salt in my cup!"
"Oh ho, beg pardon," yawned the poet; "thought it was sugar. I don't
believe I'm getting enough rest."
"The only time you are not lazy is at meal-times."
"I know it," replied the stout boy, mildly; "and when those fish are
ready--oh ho!"
He did not conclude the sentence, but his comical expression made the
others laugh heartily.
Breakfast over, the "Rambler" got under way. The boys found plenty to
interest them on both shores. Several tumble-down shacks, apparently in
the last stages of dilapidation, and probably the homes of squatters,
brought forth various comments.
"You can see what laziness will bring people to," remarked Dave,
humorously. "Boys, take warning."
About noon, they saw a picturesque tributary entering the river on the
right hand shore. It was such a cool, pleasant-looking retreat, shaded
by overhanging trees, that all thought it best to make an exploration.
"It may be a long time before we come to such a dandy place again,"
said Bob.
They had proceeded but a short distance up the tributary, when a spot
was discovered which Dick Travers declared was "simply grand."
An arching bower of leaves afforded an ideal shelter for the motor
boat. Through the thick masses of foliage, splashes of sunlight mingled
with deep shadows, and bright bits of blue sky shone here and there,
all reflected as a confused blur, in the eddying current of the stream.
The chattering of birds, now mild, then loud and imperious, filled the
air.
Dave Brandon, whose eyes had been roving around, touched Bob Somers.
"Let's have your field-glass," he said. "I'll bet that's a bald eagle."
He pointed toward the top of a fine old sycamore. Upon one of the
highest branches was what appeared to be, at first glance, only a patch
of bark, but on a second resolved itself into the form of a great bird.
He gave no indication that their presence was known, but slowly moved
his head from side to side.
"Look, he's going!" cried Sam. "Phew, what a whopper! Never saw one so
close before. Don't I wish we could get a shot at it?"
"Jehoshaphat, those wings, aren't they great?" put in Dick.
The eagle soared majestically away over the tree tops, and was soon
lost to view.
"There must be plenty of game around here. What do you fellows say to
taking a little jaunt?" asked Sam.
"Good plan," agreed Bob. "Get out that oar, Sam, and ease her over a
bit. You, too, Dick. See if we can't get right under that spreading
branch. Better pitch all the stuff we'll need for lunch on shore now,
eh, Tom?" he added.
A few moments more, and the "Rambler" was snugly drawn up.
To get on land without wetting their feet proved rather difficult, but,
at length, all save Tom stood on shore.
"Catch, Dave," he called, and one by one the necessary provisions were
tossed into the poet laureate's waiting arms.
Tommy Clifton's legs were a trifle shorter than those of the others,
therefore he looked rather blankly at the marshy stretch between
himself and the shore.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Dick. "And that branch over your head isn't strong
enough to hold."
"Here goes--look out!" cried Tom.
He made a flying leap, falling on his hands and knees, but the ground
was soft, and no harm resulted.
"The boat is pretty well hidden," observed Bob, with satisfaction.
"Guess there is no danger in leaving her."
"Of course not. Come along," urged Sam; "I'm all cramped up. Feel like
an old salt."
"No sign of the Trailers," said Tom; "and whoever damaged the engine
must be miles away."
They wandered around, through a heavily timbered tract, then into a
pleasant little valley, enclosed by gently rounded, wooded hills.
"Oh, I see a place over there," began Dave.
"We know what you mean," broke in Sam; "it's a fine place for a nap,
lazybones, but we came out to hunt. Wish something would be kind enough
to trot forth and be shot at."
"Too much noise," said Bob, laconically. "Let's go back and cook what
we have. Then the Ramblers can ramble afterward."
The day was pleasant. A slight haze tempered the heat, so they
sauntered slowly along, having decided to return by a different route.
In about an hour's time, the party reached Wolf River at a point some
distance below their camp.
A group of scrubby willows fringed the bank, the cool shade of which
proved so inviting that Dave Brandon threw himself down in the midst of
some tall grass beneath them.
"Won't budge for five minutes," he announced, firmly.
Plenty of small stones were scattered around. Stooping over, Sam picked
up a number.
"I'll bet I can throw further than any fellow in the crowd," he
challenged. "See that point over there, Chubby? here goes!"
"Great Cæsar!"
"My eye!"
"Thunderation!"
Sam quickly turned on his heel, as a series of wild exclamations came
without warning from the others.
"What's up--what--?" But the rest of the sentence died away on his lips.
A most astonishing sight met his gaze, and one which sent a thrill
through every fibre of his being.
A motor boat, enveloped in sheets of flame, drifting slowly on the
current, had appeared beyond a jutting point of land.
For a moment all stood speechless with dismay. Then they found their
voices.
"Is it the 'Rambler'?" cried Bob, in accents of the wildest dismay.
"It can't be."
"I don't believe it."