SET ADRIFT
‘No,’ said Pud, ‘we’d be glad to have you, of course.’
‘Spoke like a gentleman,’ approved Cocker. ‘Here, you Rastus, carry
this painter back and make it fast to the stern cleat.’
Harmon obeyed none too amiably and Pud and Tim lifted the anchor. A
hoarse laugh from Cocker called the boys’ attention to the fact that
he had pulled the flag-pole from the socket and was spreading the wet
folds of the flag for Lank’s benefit. ‘Well, sir, looky here! If it
ain’t the old Jolly Roger! Lank, this here’s a pirate craft we’re on!’
Lank only nodded, and beckoned to Pud. ‘All right, son,’ he said. ‘Head
her yonder till we pick up our landmark.’
Pud took the wheel and the launch set off into the mist, bearing
diagonally toward the cypress swamp. Lank stood at his back, whistling
a queer little tune through his teeth. Cocker, having tossed the flag
to the deck, lifted a fold of the tent and inspected it. Then he opened
a locker here and there and peered inside. Tim and Harmon watched him
disapprovingly.
‘Pretty well fixed for a cruise, ain’t you?’ he asked. ‘Tent an’
everything, eh? Plenty of victuals, too, likely. Well, well, solid
comfort I call it.’ He grinned leeringly. ‘Nice little boat you got,
fellers. Belong to you, does it?’
‘It belongs to his father.’ Tim indicated Pud, at the wheel.
‘That so? You come from Livermore?’
‘No, Millville, about thirty miles up-river.’
Pud heard this much, and then Lank was speaking. ‘There we are,’
said the latter. ‘See that cypress with the broken limb? Head up
about twenty feet beyond it and keep away from shore till you see the
opening.’ The dark wall of trees loomed closely through the twilight
now, the water showing far backward between the swollen trunks, black
and mysterious. On this side, the lake shallowed slowly to meet the
cypress swamp, and it was necessary to follow the shore well out from
the fringe of trees before turning toward the stream. At last Lank gave
the word and Pud doubtfully turned the boat’s nose shoreward. But a
moment later he saw that there was an opening between the cypress trees
about twelve feet wide, and into this the launch slowly chugged.
‘How much does she draw?’ asked Lank.
‘I don’t know exactly,’ replied Pud. ‘Not more than eighteen inches, I
guess.’
‘She’ll make it then. Better let me take her through this stretch.
There’s a lot of turns, and if you don’t know where they are you’re
likely to get snagged.’ Pud resigned the wheel and stood by, watching
curiously as the stranger steered the boat dexterously through the
narrow stream. The latter turned a dozen times before it emerged from
the gloom of the cypress woods, but fortunately none of the turns
were abrupt. It was a weird and desolate place, that swamp. Looking
upward, Pud could see dimly the feathery tops of the trees merging into
the gray mist. On every side the funereal trunks were crowded close
together and but little light filtered down to the black water about
them. Dead branches protruded in strange and uncanny shapes, and some
aquatic growth powdered the surface with infinitesimal green leaves. It
was a trifle lighter on the stream and its course lay like a lead-gray
ribbon ahead and behind. Save for an infrequent voice from the boat the
silence was absolute, oppressive. They were all glad when the launch
floated at last between banks of marsh grass and the gray twilight took
the place of the deeper gloom of the forest.
Lank yielded the wheel to Pud. ‘Straight sailin’ now,’ he said, ‘and
plenty of water under your keel.’
‘Is this Two-Pond Run?’ Pud inquired.
‘’Tain’t called that yet, but the Run’s only a mile or so ahead.’
‘Do you live around here?’
‘Well, no, not ’round here exactly. We’re sort of visitin’. Fishin’ a
bit, you know. Didn’t have any luck to-day, though.’
Pud started to say that he hadn’t noticed either lines or poles in
the skiff that was floating along behind, but thought better of it.
Instead, ‘I’ve heard the fish were pretty big in Cypress Lake,’ he
observed.
‘Big? Yes, they’re big, but they’re mighty shy. Swamp Pond’s more to my
taste, but that’s fished a lot. The Swampers keep that pretty clean.’
‘Which way is Swamp Hole from here?’ asked Pud.
Lank waved a big hand over the port bow. ‘Yonder,’ he answered, ‘about
two-three miles. If I was you I’d keep clear of it, son. Some of them
Swampers are kind o’ tough individuals.’
‘Well, if we go down Two-Pond Run do we keep away from the Hole?’
‘Pretty well. There’s a few cabins this side the Run, but I guess no
one won’t bother you if you just keep on rowin’.’
‘Rowing?’ echoed Pud.
‘I meant goin’. My mistake, son. Well, yonder’s where we leave you.
Just ease up against the bank to your left when we get to the branch.’
Not far ahead the stream forked, and Pud called to Tim to slow her down
and, finally, to stop. The launch nestled up against a bank and Cocker
led the skiff around to the side.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘the best of friends must part, as the old song has
it. We’re sorry to have you leave us, but I guess you’ll be wantin’
to get along toward home before it gets much darker. Come on, Mistah
Johnson, step aboard.’ He took Harmon by the shoulder and shoved him
ungently toward the skiff.
‘Take your han’s off me, Mister!’ protested the darky. ‘What you-all
aimin’ to do?’
‘Shut your black mouth and pile into that boat,’ said Lank grimly.
‘Come on, now, the rest o’ you!’
‘But we’re not going in that skiff!’ declared Pud stoutly. ‘We’re going
on down in this launch.’
‘No, you ain’t neither,’ answered Cocker. ‘We’ve swapped boats with
you. Mind you, we wasn’t keen for doin’ it, but you insisted, an’――’
‘Better give ’em a couple o’ dollars to boot,’ said Lank. ‘They might
claim we cheated ’em.’
‘That’s so!’ Cocker fished a bunch of dirty money from a pocket and
selected two bills. ‘Here you are, sonny. A fine rowboat and two
dollars for your launch. There’s some that wouldn’t trade so easy, but
me and Lank was always sort o’ soft-hearted.’
Pud pushed the greasy bills away, trying to smile, although his heart
was somewhere down in his shoes. ‘I guess you’ve made a mistake,’ he
said. ‘We haven’t traded the launch to you. We couldn’t, because it
isn’t ours to trade!’
‘Now don’t you try to go back on a bargain,’ remonstrated Cocker
reprovingly. ‘’Tain’t honorable, sonny.’ He laid a broad hand on Pud’s
arm and stuffed the money into a pocket. Then he propelled him to the
side. ‘Climb over now, ’cause we got to be shovin’ ahead. No nonsense,
neither, or’――he placed a huge fist an inch from Pud’s nose――‘you’ll
get this side o’ the jaw, see!’
‘Cut out that stuff,’ growled Lank. ‘The kid’s all right. Let him
alone.’
Pud turned hopefully to the speaker. ‘He’s fooling, isn’t he?’ he
gulped. ‘He can’t take this launch away from us! We’ve got all our
things here, and――’
‘You do like we’re tellin’ you,’ advised Lank coldly.
‘But――but you’ll give her back to me, won’t you?’
‘Oh, sure,’ agreed Cocker heartily. ‘We’re just borrowin’ it. Thought
you knew that.’
‘Well――when?’
‘Oh, most any day, I guess. Want we should send it parcel post or
express?’ Cocker laughed hoarsely at his humor and then broke off to
lift Harmon swiftly from his feet and drop him into the bottom of the
skiff. ‘Get in there!’ he ordered angrily. ‘Be quick about it or I’ll
throw you all in! Come on, snap into it!’
Pud looked miserably at Tim and found no encouragement to further
resistance. Tim was plainly frightened and was already climbing
onto the seat. Pud choked down a lump in his throat and spoke with
commendable calm. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But you needn’t think you can
get away with this. You’re stealing my――’
‘Shut your face and get into that skiff,’ threatened Cocker savagely,
‘or I’ll kick you in!’
Pud followed Tim, and Lank tossed the painter down after him. ‘Sorry,
son,’ said the latter with gruff kindness, ‘but we have to do it. Keep
down that stream yonder and you’ll come out in The Flat. Good luck!
Clear out now, and――’
‘Mind this,’ growled Cocker, scowling down at them, ‘don’t you come
sneakin’ back, ’cause if you do we’ll put a bullet into you, and don’t
make no mistake!’
Tim had already found the oars and now he began to row hurriedly across
to the farther stream. Pud, tears of mortification in his eyes, watched
the launch fade away in the darkness a blurred white blotch until the
bank hid it from sight. Tim pulled hard at the oars and, although no
skillful waterman, soon had the skiff well on its way. No one spoke for
several minutes. Then, as it often happened, it was Harmon who broke
the silence.
‘Reckon ’em folkses knows a heap more about piratin’ ’an what we does,’
he said sorrowfully.
Neither Pud nor Tim seemed to be able to think of a suitable reply to
this statement and they went on until Tim, becoming exhausted, caught a
crab that almost landed him on his back.
‘Let me row,’ said Pud, and they changed places. Again silence fell
like a pall. The stream was wide and easy to follow even in the dusk
that was fast swallowing up the world. Small trees were interspersed
with bushes atop the low banks and these had already lost detail, were
black silhouettes against the grayer darkness of the sky. The rain had
stopped, but a foglike mist still hung over River Swamp. The boys were
damp and chill, hungry and discouraged. Finally Tim spoke from his
place in the stern.
‘Those men aren’t Swamp-Holers, Pud.’
‘I know,’ answered the other wearily. ‘He told me, the tall one.
They’re just visiting, he said.’
‘I think they’re town folks,’ Tim went on. ‘They didn’t talk like folks
around here, though sometimes it seemed as if they were trying to. And
one of them wore a leather coat, Pud. You wouldn’t see a leather coat
around the Swamp in a thousand years, I guess.’
‘No, I guess not,’ said Pud. His tone, though, suggested that he was
not greatly interested in his chum’s remarks. He rowed on, his strokes
growing weaker, and then suddenly he swung the skiff’s nose toward the
bank.
‘What you doing?’ asked Tim. ‘Look out, or――’
‘I’m going back,’ said Pud firmly. ‘I’m just not going to let them have
her, Tim!’ He backed water and headed the skiff upstream as he spoke.
‘No, sir, they can’t do that to me! I――I won’t let ’em!’
‘Well――well――’ sputtered Tim in alarm. ‘Well, what can you do, Pud? My
gracious goodness, we can’t go back there and have them shoot us like
they said they would, Pud! Why, my goodness――’
‘How you know they got a gun?’ asked Harmon from the bow. ‘I ain’ seen
no gun.’
‘They’ve got one, all right,’ insisted Tim. ‘And they wouldn’t hesitate
to use it, I guess!’
‘That’s all right,’ said Pud, rowing hard again. ‘I’m not asking you to
get shot, Tim. I don’t intend to let them see me, but I’m going to find
out where my boat is, and if they leave it alone a minute I bet I’ll
get it back!’
‘Yes, but――but now you look here, Pud Pringle! The best way to do is go
right on down to――to somewhere and tell the police about it! Gosh, I
guess it won’t take the police long to get your launch back!’
‘Maybe it won’t take me long, neither,’ answered Pud grimly. ‘All
I’m asking those fellows to do is just leave it alone for about two
minutes. That’s all I’m asking them!’
‘Well, yes, but――but how do you know where they’ve gone? My goodness,
Pud, we can’t row all over this old swamp looking for them! And suppose
they take it into Swamp Hole! I guess it wouldn’t be very healthy to
follow them in there!’
‘I’m going back where they put us out,’ said Pud resolutely, ‘and see
if it’s still there. If it isn’t I’m going to row until――’ But he
paused there. ‘Well, anyway, I’m going to find my boat,’ he concluded a
trifle lamely.
Tim was silent, torn between his loyalty to Pud and a strong and
growing disinclination to present himself as a target to the
blood-thirsty Cocker. Harmon said wistfully, more to himself than the
others: ‘Wish I had my good ol’ knife!’
Rowing against the current, sluggish though it was, soon began to tell
on Pud’s arms and shoulders. The skiff, awash with water in the bottom,
was old and decrepit, and the oars were mismated besides, one being
wider of blade than the other and at least two inches longer. But Pud
pulled on, breathing hard, feeling that a request for assistance would
go ill with the heroic rôle he had assumed. Finally the junction of
the Run with the second stream appeared in the darkness ahead and Tim
announced the fact to Pud in a voice that held no joy of discovery. Pud
stopped rowing and looked over his shoulder. Then he paddled silently
forward to where he could see the place where the launch had lain. It
was empty. He wasn’t greatly disappointed, though, for he had felt
pretty certain that the men had gone on in it down that side stream,
perhaps to some cabin near by, perhaps all the way to Swamp Hole. He
swung the boat around the point and let it drift against the bank there.
‘I guess you fellows had better get out here,’ he announced. ‘I’ll go
on a ways and see if I can’t find the launch. I guess you can find a
good dry place, and you can light a fire if you like. I’ll be back as
soon as I can, and if――’
‘I ain’ goin’ stay here,’ declared Harmon mutinously. ‘I goin’ with
you-all, Mister Pud, and find that there boat.’
‘So am I,’ said Tim, not quite so heartily. ‘Anyway, we can keep on
rowing until we see something like a house or a light or――or something.’
Harmon took one of the oars from the not unwilling Pud, and, with Tim
keeping an alert and anxious watch from the stern, they set forth
down the branch stream. The mist was thinning now, and already there
was a rift in the clouds from which a few white stars peeked down
upon the adventurers. Pud’s watch showed the time to be but a little
after eight. He had judged the hour far later. With the lifting of the
mist they were able to see for some distance, while the darker banks
outlined their course for them plainly. The stream twisted often, as
seemed the way of all streams in River Swamp, but no other waterways
entered or left it, to their knowledge. At every turn Tim whispered
hoarsely for caution, and when they were past his sigh of relief
sounded louder than his whisper. They had gone, to Pud’s thinking,
more than a mile when, over a hummock and between the bushes that clad
it, a faint twinkle of light caught Tim’s eyes. Obediently the rowers
stopped and let the slow current carry the skiff silently onward toward
a curve a few rods distant. Once around it Pud stealthily dug his blade
in the water and the skiff nosed silently into the bank. The stream ran
straight for a distance and, some three hundred feet away, the square
bulk of a cabin loomed against the night sky. A pale gleam of lamplight
fell through a window. Before the cabin, under the shadow of the bank,
lay a grayish blur. Straining his eyes, Pud made out the uncertain
shape of the launch.