A MYSTERY LOOMS UP
That was not the first time Buster Longfellow had taken an involuntary
bath in the Father of Waters, as his comrades knew only too well. At the
same time, this fact did not lessen the excitement that followed his
disappearance one little atom.
Such a splashing and grunting and wallowing as there was when the fat
boy took that sudden plunge; why, one could easily imagine a whole troop
of hogs had been coaxed in to being scrubbed, preparatory to an
exhibition at the county fair.
And the way the water flew was a caution. A young whale working its way
up the river from the gulf, or rather a porpoise, since whales are not
to be found often in the Sunny South, could not have created a greater
racket.
Of course every fellow, after that first shock, sprang to his feet, and
made for the shore as fast as his legs could carry him. It might be a
ludicrous sight, all very well, but there was a little element of danger
connected with it; and they were comrades true, who could not stand by,
and see poor Buster dragged out into the middle of the river by a fish.
When the splashing had in a measure subsided, they discovered the stout
figure of Buster. He was standing in the yellow water up to his waist
and tugging with all his might at the fish line, which he seemed to have
wrapped around both hands, as though just determined that his prize
should not get away.
Now the boy would gain a foot, and seem to be dragging his capture
toward land; when there would be a sudden tremendous effort on the part
of the fish to escape, and the first thing Buster knew, he was being
pulled back again, though he fought tooth and nail to hold his own.
Once his feet flew from under him, owing to the slippery condition of
the mud on which he stood. At that a great “Oh!” broke out from the
other five boys; and Jack, who had been hastily removing some of his
outer garments, with the intention of being ready in case his help was
needed, was just on the point of jumping in, when Buster again emerged
from the turmoil, rising up like a Neptune, the water pouring from his
head like a young Niagara.
“Let him go, Buster; he’s too much for you!” shrilled George, who
was leaning over the edge of his boat with a pole in his hand, and
regardless for once that the cranky Wireless careened far down until her
beam end almost took in water.
“I won’t!” snapped back the stubborn Buster, shaking the drops from his
face, as a New Foundland dog might after a bath. “He’s mine, and I’m
going to grab him if it takes all summer, see?”
He had managed to get a good footing once more, and started to tug
manfully with the result that he immediately gained several yards. This
was the best he had done as yet, and in consequence he seemed to receive
inspiration to make a still greater exertion.
After that the victory was as good as won.
Buster marched out on the bank the line over his shoulder; and as soon
as they could do so without wetting themselves Josh and Herb seized hold
of the stout cord.
“Wow! it sure is a whale!” exclaimed George, from his position of
vantage on board his boat, as something that flapped, and made a
tremendous splutter, was dragged out of the river, and up on the shore.
It was a tremendous yellow catfish, one of that species that help to
make the Mississippi famous among market fishermen.
“Whee! must weigh about as much as Buster does, and that’s a fact!”
remarked Josh, as he surveyed the monster.
It was not a lovely spectacle, with its slippery skin, and great gaping
mouth resembling that of a big bulldog.
“What whiskers it’s got, the omadhaun!” Jimmie called out, “and say the
horn on his back, wud yees? Whoo! but ’tis a brave lad ye arre, Buster,
to holdt sich a monster stiddy, and walk ashore wid the same. I take off
me hat till yees, so I do, me laddybuck!”
Buster was panting like anything, and could hardly get his breath; but
Jack believed he had never seen him look quite so happy, as when he
stood over that giant Mississippi cat, and had his picture snapped off
by George, who got his new kodak out especially to preserve the incident
among the annals of the club.
“Get some dry clothes on you in a hurry, Buster,” suggested Jack, after
they had all congratulated the hero of the occasion on his dogged pluck,
“it’s all very well holding on like that, but you ought to know when
it’s time to let go, too. I thought that time had come when it pulled
you under. You had the cord wrapped around both hands, Buster, a very
foolish thing to do, I think. If you hadn’t been able to get your
footing again, and had no friends near by to lend a hand, it was apt to
go hard with you. And let me tell you there have been more fishermen
than a few drowned by just such a foolish trick as that. Hold on as long
as you want, but never put yourself in a position where you can’t let
go.”
Buster smilingly agreed that this was good advice, and promised to
remember. He was feeling so remarkably happy over his great luck that he
could not have taken offense at anything, and would have made the
rashest sort of promises.
And while he rooted out his clothes bag, so as to get some dry togs,
Jack and Andy proceeded to cut up the big fish; because they knew that,
horrible looking though the creature might be to a sportsman, its flesh
is highly esteemed as an article of food along the length of the whole
river.
It was no easy task they had set themselves; and more than once they
wished the slippery catfish had broken loose, and gone off with Buster’s
hook dangling from its jaw like cheap jewelry, with which to dazzle its
fellows. But in the end they managed to secure all the meat they wanted,
and tossed the balance into the river to feed its kind.
“Now, let’s be getting off!” called out Jack, after he had washed up,
and in some measure removed the fishy smell from his hands.
Since the other boys had taken everything aboard, there was really
nothing to detain them; and presently the merry reports from the various
engines told that the three motorboats had again resumed their journey
down the Mississippi in the direction of Bedloe’s Island.
That was an afternoon not soon to be forgotten by any of them, for the
air was just warm enough to make them delight in lying around, and
taking a sun bath. No doubt George was having the time of his life with
Buster, who must be so chock full of his recent triumph that every
little while he would burst out with a new string of questions
concerning his battle, and wishing to know what it looked like from
every angle ashore.
But the time passed, and as George’s engine gave him no new trouble, the
little flotilla made splendid progress while the hours crept on.
At just three-forty-seven Jack gave a blast from his old conch shell
horn which he had brought up from Florida with him--in fact, every boat
was provided with a similar means for exchanging signals, and the boys
had arranged a regular code, so that when separated by a mile or so
they could talk with each other after some sort of fashion.
This single blast just now announced that Jack believed he had sighted
the island that was to be their destination, away down the river.
Judging from their speed, aided by the swift current, they ought to make
it inside of another half hour. This would give them plenty of time to
hunt a good landing place, where they could put up their tent, and make
things at least half way comfortable before night set in.
Although the boys could sleep aboard, and very comfortable too, they
preferred being ashore whenever it was possible, all save George, who
could seldom be coaxed to desert his beloved Wireless craft, even for a
brief time. He acted as though he dreaded lest that engine think up some
new trick if he left it alone; eternal watchfulness was the price of
victory with George; and his chums often declared that when he was on a
cruise George hardly knew what sort of country he passed through, for
keeping his nose down so persistently over that motor of his.
Jack’s prediction came true, and when a quarter after four came around,
they were running along the shore of a wooded island which he announced
was the object of their search.
“Where are we going to land, Jack?” called out Buster, for the three
boats were now very close together, and the crews had been exchanging
comments on the sombre appearance of the lonely island for some time
past.
“I don’t know,” came the answer, “because I’ve never been here before.
We’d better just float along down close to the shore, and keep an eye
out for a suitable landing place. If we don’t find one on this side, by
the time we get to the foot of the island, why, what’s to hinder our
working along up the other shore, and looking for it there?”
“That’s so, Jack!” admitted Buster, who was in one of his finest humors;
though for that matter they seldom knew the fat boy to be anything but
amiable and good-natured, as most of his kind are.
They must have passed almost to the very tail end of the long island
when Josh let out a whoop, and called the attention of his comrades to
what seemed to be a little bay that formed a tiny cove, with a sandy
beach beyond.
“Just the ticket!” agreed Jack, “looks like it had been scooped out for
a landing place.”
“Bet you them fishermen come right in; and we’ll be apt to find some of
their huts around back there,” suggested George, who had possibly heard
more stories about mysterious Bedloe’s Island than any of the others,
for he had been making poor Buster’s flesh run cold during the afternoon
with accounts of strange things people said had occurred to make the
place shunned.
“Then there must be good fishing around here,” remarked Buster, with the
air of one who ought to be consulted whenever such sport were mentioned,
because he had surely won his spurs that day, if any one ever did.
“Listen to him talk,” broke out Josh. “Now he’s got the fishing bee on
his brain and he’ll just as like as not be at it morning, noon and
night, till we get sick of the smell of fish. One good thing about it
that I can see is, after he’s been living on fish food for a whole week
Buster will have brains enough to last him all summer, because they say
it makes ’em, you know. Sometimes I think he’s a little short in his
supply, especially when he wraps a fish line around both hands, when
he’s got a young whale at the other end.”
They had no difficulty in passing into the little “bight,” as Jack
called the miniature cove, for the water was deep enough for even the
Wireless; although Jack said they would have to be sure and constantly
keep tabs on whether the river was rising or falling each day and
night, since it would be mighty unpleasant to awaken some fine morning
to discover that their motor boats were high and dry; as the water had
gone down a foot while they slept.
They secured the craft ashore to trees that chanced to be growing close
by; for floods did not often come to this upper part of the great river
as they did below the confluence with the Ohio and the Missouri.
Then some of the things were taken to land; and the six boys were soon
working like so many beaver, fixing camp.
The tent had to be erected; and after it had been partly placed in
position a better spot was discovered, so that the job had to be all
done over. As the day was growing near its close and darkness might be
expected to fall upon them before another hour, there was no time for
loitering. Why, even George had been made to see the error of his ways,
and forgot all about that everlasting motor of his for a short time,
lending a hand to get things in shape around the camp.
Josh had plenty to do starting the fire, after fashioning a rude but
effective cooking range out of the many stones that could be had along
the shore for the picking up. They carried a little contrivance that
was very effective, being a sort of spider or gridiron patterned after
the shelf in most kitchen ranges. Jack had had it made by the local
blacksmith, and when it was laid across two ridges of rock, between
which the red coals lay, they could place the coffee-pot, a skillet and
even a kettle on the bars at the same time, without the constant danger
of upsetting that always exists where a camper tries to cook with only a
resting place of stones for his various utensils.
The others were busy at various duties when Josh was heard calling out,
with a touch of authority in his voice, as became the chef, now placed
in supreme command by reason of his exalted and important office.
“Whoever took that grub I left over here by the tree, better bring it
back again right away, and quit meddlin’ if he wants me to exert myself
getting supper ready.”
“What’s that, Josh?” asked Jack, looking up from his work of fastening
the lower rim of the tent to the pegs that had been driven securely into
the earth.
“Why, you see, Jack,” explained the other, lowering his aggressive voice
a little when addressing the commodore, “I thought I’d make the fire
over here till I saw you’d changed the position of the tent; and then I
crossed over to where she’s burning cheerfully now. So I laid some
things down that I meant to cook for supper--two slices of that ham I
cut off while afloat; a can of Boston baked beans, and part of the fish
Buster hooked and that nearly got away with him. Now, mind you, I ain’t
mentionin’ any names, but some busybody’s gone and took the entire
outfit, and hid it away. How d’ye think the cook c’n perform his
calling, when they’re playin’ tricks on him like that, tell me?”
There was a dead silence for about half a minute, while the boys looked
at each other questioningly.
Then Buster raised his hand, and said, earnestly:
“Not guilty, Jack, sure I never even saw the old ham; and ketch me
a-playin’ any tricks on the cook, and me that hungry I c’d eat any old
thing.”
One by one of the others, even to George, copied Buster’s example,
and solemnly denied having tried to annoy the hard-working Josh by
purloining the stuff he had laid out for the evening meal.
“Must a mislaid it, that’s what, Josh,” declared Herb, consolingly.
“Sometimes my mind plays hob with me that way. Everybody get a move on
and look for the grub. We just can’t afford to have our goods floating
around every-which-way right in the start. We’ve got to find it, that’s
what.”
“Hold on, before you get to running around wild,” interrupted Jack, and
somehow when he spoke in that way it seemed as if all the other fellows
felt as though Jack had conceived an idea, for he was always quick along
those lines.
“What’s doing, Jack?” inquired Buster.
“I want to ask Josh particularly where it was he laid that stuff out,”
continued the other, impressively.
“Why, just like I said, over ther by that clump of brush,” the cook
explained, as he pointed in the quarter indicated.
“On that flat stone, perhaps?” continued Jack.
“Now, that was just what I did, Jack,” Josh went on to say, “and when
I stepped over just now to get the stuff, why, it wasn’t there. I
scratched my head, and tried to remember moving it, but I’d take my
affidavy that I never came back to get it till just now, after I got my
fire good and ready. That’s the way it was, Jack.”
“Wait a bit,” remarked the other, as he started for the spot in
question.
They all watched him curiously. First he bent down, and sniffed of the
stone.
“He’s smelling to see if the ham ever rested there, that’s what,”
declared Josh.
“And now look at him on his hands and knees, alongside that flat stone,
would you?” remarked Buster, wonderingly. “Whatever do you reckon Jack’s
got in his head, fellers?”
“He’s getting up now, and we’ll know right soon, which is one comfort,”
George observed.
Jack beckoned them over, and as soon as they came running pell-mell, he
wagged his head in a mysterious fashion, and pointed down to a spot near
his feet.
“That stuff didn’t walk off on its own account, boys; if you look sharp
you’ll see what did the little trick!” and as their eyes instantly
turned down toward the ground they saw the plain imprint of a great big
shoe there!