SNAGGED AND SUNK.
HAVING plenty of time at their disposal, Joe Wayring and his friends
were in no particular hurry to reach Indian Lake. After they entered the
river they kept the skiff moving rapidly, but at the same time they did
not neglect to keep their eyes open for “rovers”—that is, any objects,
animate or inanimate, that would give them an opportunity to try their
skill with their long bows. If a thieving crow, a murderous blue jay, or
a piratical kingfisher showed himself within range, the sharp hiss of an
arrow admonished him that there were enemies close at hand. Kingfishers
were objects of especial dislike. The boys were fish culturists in a
small way, and had stocked a pond on Mr. Sheldon’s grounds. On the very
day that the “fry” were put into it, the kingfishers and minks made
their appearance, and then began a contest which had been kept up ever
since. By the aid of traps and breech-loaders the boys waged an
incessant warfare upon the interlopers, and finally succeeded in
thinning them out so that the trout were allowed to rest in comparative
peace.
The boys did not stop at noon, but ate their lunch as they floated along
with the current. The monotony of the afternoon’s run was broken by an
hour’s chase after an eagle, which they did not succeed in shooting,
although one of Roy’s arrows ruffled the feathers on his back, and by a
long search for an otter which swam across the river in advance of them.
About four o’clock in the afternoon they reached a favorite camping, or
rather, anchoring ground, a deep pool noted for its fine yellow perch,
and there they decided to stop for the night. The anchor was dropped
overboard just above the pool, and when the skiff swung to the current,
the bait-rods they had purchased to replace those that Matt Coyle had
stolen from them, were taken out of the lockers, floats were rigged, a
box of worms which they had been thoughtful enough to bring with them
was opened, and the sport commenced.
The fish in that pool were always hungry, and the floats disappeared as
fast as they were dropped into the water. A few “fingerlings” were put
back to be caught again after they had had time to grow larger, but the
most of those they captured were fine fellows, and heavy enough to make
a stubborn resistance. In less than half an hour they had taken all they
wanted for supper, and then the anchor was pulled up and the skiff drawn
alongside the bank. Roy and Joe went ashore to clean the fish, and
Arthur staid in the boat to put up the tent. This done, he brought out a
pocket cooking stove which he placed on the forward locker, and by the
time the fish were ready, he had an omelet browning in the frying pan.
That, together with an ample supply of fried perch, bread and butter and
a cup of weak tea, made up a supper to which they did full justice.
There were still a few hours of daylight left, and as soon as the dishes
had been washed and packed away in the locker, the boys took their bows
and went ashore to stretch their legs and shoot at “rovers”. Arthur
succeeded in bringing down a kingfisher after half an hour’s hard
stalking, and his companions shot a squirrel apiece for breakfast. Just
at dusk they met at the boat, which was hauled out into the stream and
anchored. The jack-lamp was lighted and hung upon one of the poles that
supported the tent, the rubber mattress was inflated, and the three
friends lounged around and talked until they began to grow sleepy. Then
the blankets and pillows were brought to light, one side of the tent was
buttoned down to the gunwale, the other being left up to admit the air,
and the boys laid down to sleep, trusting to Jim to give them notice of
the approach of danger. He gave them notice before three hours had
passed away.
About midnight the spaniel, which for half an hour or more had been very
restless, suddenly jumped to his feet and set up a frightful yelping. If
some one had been pounding him he could not have been in greater
distress. The boys started up in alarm to find the sky overcast with
black clouds, the wind coming down the river in strong and fitful gusts
and the anchor dragging. There was a storm coming up, it promised to be
a severe one, too, but it did not find the young voyagers unprepared to
meet it. The forward end of the tent was promptly rolled up, a spare
anchor dropped into the water, and the skiff was again brought to a
stand-still. By that time the rain was falling in sheets, but the boys
paid no sort of attention to it. They buttoned the tent down all around
and went to sleep again, fully satisfied with the precautions they had
taken. Jim was satisfied too, although he thought it necessary to
slumber lightly. Whenever a strong gust of wind came roaring down the
river, he would turn his head on one side and look critically at the
anchor ropes, which led through ring-bolts in the bow, and were made
fast to cleats on the forward locker; and having made sure that the
ground tackle was doing its full duty, he would go to sleep again.
The night passed without further incident, the morning dawned clear and
bright, and after a breakfast of fried perch and broiled squirrel, the
boys resumed their journey toward Indian Lake. On the evening of the
fifth day after leaving Mount Airy, they found themselves within a short
distance of their destination; but instead of going on to the lake they
turned into a creek which connected the river with a lonely pond that
lay deep in the forest. They did not intend to go to Indian Lake until
they stood in need of supplies. There were big hotels and a crowd of
guests there, and they saw enough of them at home. To quote from Joe
Wayring, their object was to get away from every body and be lazy.
The sun went down long before they turned into the creek, and night was
coming on; but they pushed ahead in order to reach a favorite anchorage
in the mouth of a little brook, whose waters could be relied on to
furnish them with a breakfast of trout. They laid out all their strength
on the oars and the skiff flew swiftly and noiselessly up the stream,
its movements being governed by Arthur Hastings, who looked over his
shoulder now and then to take his bearings. After they had been speeding
along for half an hour, he began keeping a sharp lookout for the brook;
and once when he turned around he thought he saw a moving object in the
creek a short distance away. He looked again, and a thrill of exultation
and excitement ran all through him.
“Joe,” said he, in a scarcely audible whisper, “there’s your canvas
canoe, as sure as I’m a foot high.”
“Where?” exclaimed Joe and Roy, turning quickly about on their seats.
In reply Arthur pointed silently up the creek. His companions looked,
and then they too became excited. There was a canoe in advance of them
sure enough, and dark as it was, they instantly recognized it as the one
Matt Coyle had stolen from Joe Wayring.
There was somebody in it, and he was plying his double paddle as if he
were in a great hurry. He did not appear to know that there was any one
besides himself in the creek, for he never once looked behind him.
“It isn’t big enough for Matt, and so it must be one of his boys,”
whispered Roy.
“Boy or man, he shall not go much further with that canoe.” said Joe in
a resolute tone. “That’s my boat and I’m going to have it, if you
fellows will stand by me.”
“Now Joe!” exclaimed Roy, reproachfully.
“I didn’t mean that. Of course I know that you can be depended on,” said
Joe, hastily. “Let’s take after him. If we find that we can’t take the
canoe away from him, we’ll sink her. Matt Coyle shan’t have her any
longer.”
The three oars fell into the water simultaneously, and the skiff shot
silently up the creek in pursuit of the canoe, whose occupant was making
his double paddle whirl through the air like the shafts of a windmill.
An oar rattled behind him and aroused him from his reverie. He faced
about to see the skiff close upon him. The night had grown so dark that
he could not tell who the crew were, but he knew that they would not
come at him in that fashion unless they had some object in view. Matt
and his boys always had the fear of the law before their eyes, and Jake,
believing that a constable or deputy sheriff was in pursuit of him,
turned about and churned the water into foam in his desperate attempt to
outrun the skiff. He succeeded in getting a good deal of speed out of
his clumsy craft, but fast as he went the pursuers gained at every
stroke.
“Hold on with that boat!” shouted Arthur. “We’ve got you and you might
as well give in.”
But Jake wasn’t that sort. He redoubled his exertions with the paddle,
but all of a sudden his progress was stopped so quickly that Jake left
his seat and pitched headlong into the bow of the canoe. Speaking in
western parlance he had “picked up a snag” whose sharp, gnarled end
penetrated the canvas covering of the canoe, tearing a hole in it that
was as big as Jake’s head. It did not hang there but floated off with
the current, and began filling rapidly. In a few seconds she was out of
sight, and Jake was making all haste to reach the shore. A moment later
the skiff dashed up, and Roy Sheldon struck a vicious blow at the
swimmer with his oar; but he was just out of reach. A few long strokes
brought him to shallow water, two jumps took him to dry land, and in an
instant more he was out of sight in the bushes.
“What tumbled him out so suddenly?” exclaimed Joe.
“Look out, boys! There’s a snag right under us,” said Roy.
“Where in the world is the boat?” inquired Arthur.
“There she is,” answered Joe, pointing to a swirl in the water which
marked the spot where the canvas canoe was quietly settling down on the
bottom of the creek.
“Sunk!” cried Roy. “So she is. She must have a cargo of some sort
aboard, or she would not have gone down like that. Now, what’s to be
done?”
“We can’t do any thing to-night,” replied Joe. “I propose that we anchor
here and wait until morning comes to show us how she lies. If the water
isn’t over thirty feet deep we can raise her.”
The others agreeing to this proposition, the ground tackle was got
overboard, and Roy, who handled the rope, encouraged Joe by assuring him
that the water was not an inch over twelve feet deep.
“If that is the case,” said the latter, hopefully, “I shall soon have my
boat back again. It will be no trouble at all to take a line down twelve
feet. I’d give something to know what she is loaded with.”
“Contraband goods, I’ll be bound,” said Arthur. “The fruits of a raid on
somebody’s smoke-house or hen-roost. I am sorry to know that Matt Coyle
is in the neighborhood, for we don’t know at what moment he may jump
down on us and steal something.”
“We mustn’t let him catch us off our guard,” said Roy. “It won’t be safe
to leave the skiff alone for a minute.”
The boys’ hands were as busy as their tongues, and in a short time the
tent was up, a light from the jack-lamp was streaming out over the
water, and the appetizing odor of fried bacon filled the air. The
knowledge that the thieving squatter was no great distance away, and
that he might make his appearance at any moment, did not cause them to
eat lighter suppers than usual, nor did it interfere with their
customary sound and refreshing sleep. They felt safe from attack. They
did not believe that Matt Coyle had a boat (they knew very well that he
could not have brought the punt with him), and consequently there was no
way for him to reach them unless he resorted to swimming; and they did
not think he would be foolish enough to try that.
The boys slept soundly that night, but the next morning’s sun found them
astir. Arthur made a cup of coffee over the pocket cooking stove, after
which the tent was taken down, and Joe Wayring made ready for business
by divesting himself of his clothing.
The first thing was to find out just where the canoe lay, and that did
not take them as long as they thought it would. The water was as clear
as crystal, and every thing on the bottom could be plainly seen by Joe
and Roy, who leaned as far as they could over opposite sides of the
skiff, while Arthur rowed them back and forth in the vicinity of the
snag.
“There she is!” cried Roy, suddenly; and as he spoke he caught up the
anchor and dropped it overboard. “We’re right over her, and there isn’t
a snag or any other obstruction in the way.”
Joe Wayring stepped upon the forward locker, holding in his hand one end
of a rope which he had coiled down on the bottom of the skiff so that it
would run out easily, and as soon as the boat stopped swinging he dived
out of sight. When the commotion in the water occasioned by his descent
had ceased, his companions could observe every move he made as he
scrambled about over the sunken canoe, and presently they saw him coming
up.
“Haul away,” said Joe, as he shook the water from his face and climbed
back into the skiff.
“What’s it fast to?” asked Roy.
“A bag of potatoes.”
“What did I tell you?” exclaimed Arthur Hastings. “I knew that fellow
had been on a plundering expedition.”
“But you thought he had been robbing somebody’s hen-roost or
smoke-house,” Roy reminded him.
“And so he has,” said Joe. “There’s a whole side of bacon down there.”
The boys pulled gently on the line, and presently the bag of potatoes
came to the surface. It was seized and hauled into the skiff, the line
was unfastened and passed over to Joe, who was about to go down again,
when his movements were arrested by the snapping of twigs and the sound
of voices which came from the depths of the woods. They were angry
voices, too, and rendered somewhat indistinct by distance and
intervening bushes, but the boys recognized them at once.
“There comes Matt Coyle, his wife and both their boys,” said Joe. “Now
we shall hear something.”
“I wonder what they think they are going to do,” said Roy. “Just listen
to the noise they make in crashing through the brush. One would think
there were a lot of wild cattle in there.”
Joe Wayring did not await their appearance, but went down to reeve the
line through a ring-bolt in the stern-post of the sunken canoe, and to
bring up her painter and the side of bacon. When he arose to the surface
Matt Coyle and his family were striding up and down the bank, shaking
their fists and swearing lustily.
“That there is my hog-meat, too,” roared the squatter, as Joe tossed the
bacon into the skiff. “I want it an’ I’m goin’ to have it, I tell you.”
“We don’t know that these provisions rightfully belong to you,” said
Roy. “We have an idea that you stole them last night or, rather,—”
“No, I didn’t steel ’em nuther,” shouted Matt.
“Or, rather, that one of your boys did,” continued Roy, while Joe hung
on to the side of the skiff and looked over it at the angry party on the
shore. “I am sure we don’t want them.”
“Then bring ’em ashore like we told you,” screamed the old woman.
“You’re thieves yourselves if you keep ’em.”
“Do you see any thing green about us?” demanded Arthur. “I’ll tell you
what we will do: If you will stay there on the bank in plain sight until
we get our boat raised, we will go up the creek and leave the potatoes
and bacon opposite the mouth of the trout brook, so that you can get
them after we have gone away. What are you going to do with those
sticks?” he added, addressing himself to the two boys who just then came
out of the bushes with a heavy club in each hand.
“We’re goin’ to knock you out o’ that boat if you don’t fetch that there
grub of our’n ashore without no more foolin’,” answered Jake, in
threatening tones. “It’s our’n an’ we’re goin’ to have it back.”
“That’s the idee, Jakey,” exclaimed the old woman, approvingly. “Knock
the young ’ristocrats out o’ their boat. I reckon that’ll bring ’em to
time.”
“If you try that, I’ll lay some of you out flatter than so many
pancakes,” returned Roy, defiantly; and as he spoke he tore open the bag
containing the potatoes. Catching up one in each hand, his example being
promptly followed by Arthur Hastings, he arose to his feet just in time
to dodge one of Jake’s clubs, which came whirling through the air
straight for his head. Before the missile had struck the water on the
other side of the skiff, Roy launched one of his potatoes at the
aggressor. Like most left-handed fellows Roy could throw like lightning;
and the potato, flying true to its aim and with terrific force, struck
Jake fairly in the pit of the stomach, and doubled him up like a
jack-knife.
“That’s the idee, Jakey,” yelled Joe Wayring, who was delighted with the
accuracy of his chum’s shot. “Knock them young ’ristocrats out o’ their
boat. I reckon that’ll bring ’em to time. Throw another, Jakey.”
But Jake was in no condition to throw another. It was a long time before
he could get his breath; and when he did get it, the howls with which he
awoke the echoes of the surrounding woods were wonderful to hear. The
squatter’s family, believing that Jake had been mortally wounded,
gathered about him with expressions of sympathy, and Joe Wayring took
advantage of the confusion to climb into the skiff and put on his
clothes. If there was going to be a fight he wanted to take a hand in
it.
“Whoop!” shrieked the old woman, rolling up her sleeves and shaking a
pair of huge, tan-colored fists at the object of her wrath. “If I was a
man I’d swim off to that there boat an’ maul the last one of you. Matt,
why don’t you do it? Seems like you was afeard of them fellers.”
“Yes, Matt, why don’t you do it?” said Arthur, encouragingly.
“Yes, Matt, show a little pluck,” chimed in Roy. “Come on. Swim off to
us; and if I don’t sink you before you have got ten feet from the shore,
I’m a Dutchman.”
“I don’t think we have any thing more to fear from them,” said Joe, in a
low tone. “It’s a lucky thing for us that Roy thought of using those
potatoes. If we had nothing to defend ourselves with they could drive us
away from here very easily. Now let’s raise the canoe, and go up to the
brook and catch our breakfast. I’m getting hungry.”
It was scarcely two minutes’ work to bring the wreck to the surface. It
readily yielded to the strain that Joe and Arthur brought to bear upon
the lines, and as soon as they could get hold of it, they drew it into
the skiff stern foremost, thus compelling the water with which it was
filled to run out at the hole in the bow. After that it was turned
bottom upward over the stern locker and lashed fast. Of course Matt
Coyle and his family had not been silent all this while. They had kept
up a constant storm of threats and abuse, and the squatter fairly danced
with rage when he saw the boat, with which he had expected to accomplish
so much in the way of “independent guidin’” was lost to him forever. But
they did not attempt any more violence, for Roy stood guard over his
companions with a potato in each hand, and ready to open fire on them at
any moment.
“Now, then!” exclaimed Joe, as he pulled up the anchor while the other
boys shipped their oars, “do you want these provisions, or don’t you?”
“Course I want ’em,” growled Matt, in reply. “They’re mine, an’ we ain’t
got no grub to eat.”
“All right. I don’t suppose that you have the shadow of a right to them,
but we will give them up to you if you will do as we say.”
“Wal, I won’t do as you say, nuther,” declared Matt. “I ain’t goin’ to
let myself be bossed around by no ’ristocrats, I bet you.”
“Then you shan’t have the potatoes,” said Joe, decidedly. “Give way,
boys.”
“Say! Hold on, there,” exclaimed Matt, whose larder was empty and had
been for some time. “What do you want me to do?”
“We want you to stay right there on the bank until we can go up and land
your provisions on the point opposite the mouth of the brook,” replied
Joe. “You must keep out in plain sight, mind you, for if you go back
into the woods we shall think you are up to something, and then you can
whistle for your grub.”
As Joe said this he shipped an oar, and the skiff moved up the creek
toward the point. The boys kept a close watch over Matt Coyle, but he
never left the bank. He was biding his time, so he told his wife and
boys. Joe and his friends had the advantage of him now, but there might
come a day when he could catch them off their guard, and then they had
better look out. If he couldn’t take vengeance on them this summer, he
would do it next summer. He would follow them wherever they went; and if
he couldn’t get a chance to steal every thing they had, he would make
the country about Indian Lake so warm for them that they would be glad
to go somewhere else to spend their vacations.
As Matt remained on the bank in plain sight and did not attempt to
approach them under cover of the bushes, the boys landed the provisions,
according to promise—that is, they put some of them on the point; but
Roy was sharp enough to keep out about half a peck of the potatoes to be
used in case of emergency. This being done, they pulled across the creek
into the mouth of the brook to catch a mess of trout, which they decided
to cook over a fire on the bank. The breeze was so strong that the lamp
in their little stove would not burn in the open air, and they knew that
if they put up their tent, Matt and his boys would have the advantage if
they opened a fire of clubs upon them when they came after their
potatoes and bacon.
It was well that they took these precautions, for when the squatter
appeared on the opposite bank he was fierce for a fight. He and his
backers were all armed with clubs, one of which was sent sailing through
the air toward the skiff. Jim was sitting on one of the lockers,
impatiently waiting to be called to breakfast, and the club, after
glancing from the side of the boat, struck him in the ribs and tumbled
him off into the creek.