IS THIS OUR RAFT OR NOT?
So anxious was Winn Caspar for the recovery of the raft lost through
his carelessness and over-confidence in his own ability that, having
found it again, he could not bear to lose sight of it, even though he
had no idea of how he might regain its possession. Therefore, as he
stepped ashore after his rebuff by Grimshaw, he only went so far up the
trail through the timber as to be concealed from the man's view. Then
he darted into the undergrowth and crept back to the river-bank. He
reached it just in time to see Grimshaw lock the door of the "shanty,"
leave the raft, and start up the trail that he himself had taken but a
minute before.
How long would the man be gone? Was there any one left on the raft?
These were the questions that came into the boy's mind. There was no
sign of life on the _Venture_, and by running a short distance up the
trail Winn became convinced that the man had gone at least as far as
the edge of the timber. Would he ever again have so good a chance of
recovering his father's property? Besides, what a fine thing it would
be for him to recapture the raft alone, without the aid of Billy
Bracket! or any one else. This latter thought decided the boy, and
caused him to hastily retrace his steps.
Never had Winn been so excited! As he sprang aboard the raft and tried
to cast off its fastenings he momentarily expected to hear a shout from
the bank or a gruff demand from the interior of the "shanty" as to what
he was about. Perhaps the summons would take the form of a
pistol-shot, for men who would steal a raft and destroy a thousand
dollars' worth of wheat would not be likely to hesitate at anything.
At this last thought Winn seemed to feel the deadly sting of a bullet,
and in his nervousness only made more intricate the knot he was trying
to untie. At length he whipped out his jack-knife and cut the rope.
Now to head the raft out into the stream. He picked up a long
set-pole, thrust one end into the bank, braced himself, and began to
push. Oh, how he strained and panted! How the veins stood out on his
forehead! Still the great mass of timber seemed immovable. Again and
again he tried, and at length felt a slight yield. A more desperate
effort than before, and he could take a step; then another, and
another, until he had walked half the length of the pole. The head of
the raft was swinging off, at first so slowly that the motion was
almost imperceptible, then faster, until finally it felt the full force
of the current. Now for one more effort! If he could only work her
out from the bank and into the friendly shelter of the fog without
discovery, he would feel safe even from pistol-shots. For two minutes
Winn labored as never before in all his life. But the minutes seemed
hours, and he felt that he might as well attempt to push away the bank
itself as the mass of timber on which he stood. Suddenly he heard that
which he expected and dreaded, a shout, so loud that it seemed to be
uttered on the raft. The set-pole fell from his nerveless grasp as he
looked up, fully expecting to gaze into the black muzzle of a pistol.
At first he saw--nothing. He must be turned around. No; the view of
the opposite direction was equally blank. Then, for an instant, he
caught a glimpse of shadowy tree-tops just dissolving into formless
mist. The blessed fog had folded its protecting arms about him, and he
was safe.
Hurrah! he was once more in undisputed possession of the raft, and once
more floating on it down the great river.
Wildly happy, the exhausted boy flung himself down on the wet planks,
and yielded to pleasant reflections. It was only twenty miles to St.
Louis. The current was carrying him at the rate of five miles an hour,
so that he ought to reach the city soon after noon. There he would
hail some steamboat or tug, and get it to tow his raft to a safe
mooring-place. Then he would telegraph to both his father and his
Uncle Billy. After that he would engage some stout man to help guard
the raft until his friends arrived. Or perhaps he would buy a revolver
and guard it himself, and when his father and Uncle Billy came along,
he would challenge them before allowing them to step on board. Yes,
that would be the scheme, and the boy became very proud of himself as
he thought of the praises in store for him.
At length Winn rose from his moist resting-place, and began to examine
his surroundings. How strange the raft did look, to be sure. He
wouldn't have believed its appearance could have been so altered, and
now wondered that he had ever recognized it. In fact, the only feature
that seemed at all familiar, as he studied it, was the forward gable
end of the "shanty." But somehow the building itself appeared much
longer than when he last saw it. Still, there was that interior. He
had seen the partition, with its door leading into his own little room,
and he never heard of a raft "shanty" with a partition in it until this
one was built. He must have another look at that interior.
The locked door baffled him. It was of such solid construction, and
its lock was so well made, that it resisted all his efforts to force
it. The windows were provided with heavy wooden shutters that were
fastened on the inside. For an hour Winn busied himself with vain
efforts to effect an entrance. At the end of that time he was
discouraged. He was also uneasy. He had heard steamboats pass him,
but could see nothing of them on account of the fog. The last one
passed very close. The next might run him down. How he wished the
raft were safely tied to some bank or levee. It was awful to be thus
blindly drifting, right in the track of steamboats. The fog hung so
low over the water that their pilots were lifted well above it, and
could see the landmarks by which they were guided. They could also see
other steamboats; but such things as scows and rafts had no business to
be moving at such a time. They were supposed to be snugly tied up, and
consequently no pilot would be on the lookout for them. Winn knew this
as well as any one, and the knowledge did not tend to reassure him.
If he only had some one with him to help work the heavy sweeps by which
the raft's course might be directed, or even to advise him what to do.
It was dreadful to be alone. What a foolish thing he had done, after
all, in attempting to manage this affair by himself. If he had only
gone back for Billy Brackett. But his boyish pride in his own ability
had again overcome his judgment, and now he must abide by the
consequences.
"I only hope, if I do get run down and killed, they will find out who I
am," thought the poor boy. "It would be horrid to disappear and have
folks say I was a coward, who had run away for fear father would be
angry with me for losing his raft. As if _my_ father would ever do
anything to make me afraid of him! And mother! How badly she would
feel if I should disappear without ever giving her the comfort of
knowing I was dead. There is Elta, too, and the very last time I saw
her I was ugly to her. Oh dear! I wish--well, I wish, for one thing,
that I could get inside that 'shanty,' and out of this miserable
drizzle. I wonder if I can't pick the lock?"
Full of this new idea, Winn obtained a bit of stiff wire from the
handle of a lantern that stood outside the "shanty." This he bent as
well as he could into the rude form of a key, and thus equipped, he
worked patiently at the lock for another hour. At length he threw away
the useless implement in disgust.
"I was never cut out for a burglar, that's certain!" he exclaimed.
"There's one thing I can do, though, and I will, too. I can smash down
the door, and get inside that way."
An axe lay beside a pile of wood near the forward end of the raft; and
armed with this, the boy began to rain vigorous blows upon the stout
door. Before these it quickly yielded, and he thus gained the interior.
Once inside, he gazed about him blankly. Nothing looked familiar;
nothing was as he had expected to find it. There was the partition,
with a door in it, to be sure, and there was the small room beyond the
main one; but there was also another partition, and another door beyond
this. There had been but two rooms in the _Venture's_ "shanty," while
here were three. Then again the "shanty" that he had helped to build
was only boarded up on the outside, while the interior had been left
unceiled, with the frame exposed. The interior on which he now gazed
was wholly ceiled, so as to make the walls of double thickness, and
conceal every bit of the framing.
The perplexed boy noticed these details at a glance; and as he stood
staring blankly about him, the uncomfortable suspicion began to force
itself into his mind that perhaps this was not the _Venture_ after all.
"If I have run off with some one else's raft, I declare I shall just
want to disappear!" he exclaimed to himself. "I do believe I shall be
too ashamed ever to go home again. Oh dear! There is another
steamboat."
The notes of a deep-voiced whistle, evidently near at hand, caused the
boy to hasten outside. He could see a huge confused mass dimly looming
out of the fog ahead, and a little to one side of him. At the same
moment he heard the wild jangling of bells, the terrified shoutings,
and then the awful crash that denoted a collision. A big up-bound
steamboat had run down and sunk a smaller boat of some kind. That much
he could see, and he was filled with horror at the nearness and
magnitude of the disaster.
He had heard agonized screams, and knew that lives had been sacrificed.
One shrill cry that came to his ears with startling distinctness
sounded as though uttered by a woman or a girl, and Winn shuddered at
the thought of her fate.
The raft was drifting rapidly away from the scene of the catastrophe,
and the dimly discerned steamboat was just disappearing from his view,
when the boy thought he heard a gurgling cry from the water. Could
some bold swimmer have escaped? He bent his head to the water's edge
and listened. Again he heard the cry. And this time it seemed nearer.
Some human being was struggling in the river. Now, if ever, was the
time for his promptest action, and with Winn thought and action went
hand in hand.
In another moment he was in the skiff belonging to the raft, and
pulling with all the strength of his stout young arms in the direction
of the cries.