“DROP THAT BAG”
They kept waiting, but George was very nervous because nothing seemed to
happen. He growled to himself more than a few times; but none of the
other boys paid any attention to that; because they knew George pretty
well, and had run up against his little failings many a time.
George had no use for “slow-pokes.” He expected to see Rome built in a
day, and strange to say, while he met with lots of trouble on account of
this very desire for haste, it did not seem to effect any permanent cure
in his disposition; for as soon as the unpleasant result had worn off,
he was the same old George again,--Hurricane George, they used to call
him at home.
“There, looks like he’s about got it fixed now,” announced Josh,
presently.
“Oh! thank goodness!” said the skipper of the Wireless with a sigh of
gratification that welled up from his very heart. “Now perhaps there’ll
be something doing.”
“He’s getting out a match,” Josh went on.
“You mean he’s hunting all through his pockets for one,” corrected Jack.
That gave George another spell of the blues.
“Chances are he won’t have a blessed match about him,” he observed,
despairingly. “And I’ve got half a notion right now to crawl out there,
and do the business for Fritz.”
“No need,” remarked Josh, “he’s found one!”
Then they watched again, while the logger went through with a lot of
what seemed to George utterly useless actions, fixing the kindling up a
little better. And finally he started to strike the match.
The boys held their breath as they saw it flame up.
“Now, look out, Fritz, or you’ll lose your eyebrows!” George was heard
to mutter; as the logger leaned over to apply the little flame, which he
had been shielding with both hands, after the manner of an old smoker.
“Wow!”
Josh did not mean to call out, but the cry was almost forced from his
lips as he saw a vivid flash of fire, that seemed to jump as high as the
roof of the little log shack.
“That was the gasolene!” remarked George, coolly.
“Fritz got stung, I guess, because he tumbled over backwards,” Josh
ventured, as his opinion; but although Jack had imagined that something
along those lines might have happened, he did not see the man show any
signs of suffering, as he started to crawl away from the spot, glancing
over his shoulder now and then, as if to reassure himself that
everything was going well.
“Naw, he’s all right; Fritz kin be quick when he wants to get out o’ the
way o’ things that hurts,” the fellow logger advanced.
“Wonder if she’s going to take hold?” Josh ventured, as he watched the
fire eat into the kindling merrily.
“Wouldn’t be s’prised if she did, now?” Hank remarked, as though he had
experienced a change of heart since the match had been applied. “Looky
thar at the way it’s eatin’ up the logs. Gosh! that makes a hot fire,
boys, with them oil rags to keep her a-goin’. And sure as yuh live I c’n
see it getting a grip o’ the logs right now. Guess we won’t hev airy
shanty, come morning. But who keers. A little saw-buck o’ a ten dollar
bill wud make that squar.”
Jack looked around.
If the cabin really caught fire, and began to burn furiously, it would
not be long before those within would have to vacate. He wanted to get
a good idea as to what their next move would be; and for that reason he
took this observation, so as to be posted.
And the first thing he saw was that the current of the river had swung
the log raft in to the western shore during the last ten minutes or so.
Why, it was not more than a hundred yards away; and as the moon hung in
the east, the whole shore line was brightly illuminated.
Would not that prove an irresistible attraction to the pair of hunted
thieves, provided they could swim? As a last resort might they not think
to make a run for the edge of the raft, and spring overboard?
That was all right, provided they left the little bag behind. If on the
other hand they tried to carry it off, Jack must know what to do about
it. He feared that sooner than give up their plunder the scoundrels
would deliberately throw it into the river, and thus defraud the
depositors and stockholders of the Lawrence bank out of their valuable
property, as well as sink the evidence that might be used to incriminate
them as the looters of the institution.
How to prevent this was the question that was bothering Jack.
Would he be justified in trying to cripple one of the robbers in case
they attempted to carry out such a bold scheme?
He decided this quickly, when he remembered what misery would likely
follow the loss of the bag, with its contents. Yes, what was one
wretch’s suffering when compared with that which would follow the
closing of the bank’s doors, and a sign on the outside telling that it
would never be able to open again, because of the loss of the entire
funds, and negotiable papers, as the paper had said.
Well, there did not seem to be any more doubt about the success of the
fire, at any rate; for already were the flames beginning to creep up the
wall of the cabin, licking greedily at the wood. They had gained such a
good start that unless some fire-fighter got busy in a hurry, that shack
was doomed, for the breeze fanned the flames wonderfully.
“They’re coming out!” snapped George.
“Get ready, Jack, to drop ’em!” shouted Josh.
“There’s the old Comfort drawing alongside the raft by our boats!” Jack
sent back at them just then.
Perhaps those in the cabin had already discovered the other boat coming
down with the current, for the opening was toward the up-river end of
the float, it may be remembered.
If so, it must have surely added to their uneasiness. They could see a
number of persons aboard, and in the deceptive moonlight how were they
to know that these passengers on the big launch were hardly to be
classed with fighters, at least not very ferocious ones?
Imagine the astonishment of Herb and Buster, not to speak of Algernon,
when, on nearing the dark object they had discovered ahead, it was to
suddenly discover a blaze shooting up; and then on looking further to
see Jack, George, Josh, Andy and the man Jenks, as well as two strange
raftsmen ranged, about on a raft of logs, watching the burning cabin, as
though it contained something they were greatly interested in.
And then to find the stolen white launch tied up to the raft--that must
have given them a clue so they could figure things out fairly well.
The men had thrust their heads out at the time George and Josh seemed so
positive they were coming. They could not have fancied the situation
much; but then the sight of land so near by may have put some heart into
them.
As the fire got hotter their condition must be growing more and more
unpleasant. Jack knew that it was only a question of minutes, or more
properly, seconds, before they would be forced to expose themselves, and
he was nerving himself for that crisis.
He saw Jenks and one of the loggers start to move to the other side of
the raft, as though they would anticipate the possible coming of the men
in that direction and be on hand to meet them.
“Keep clear, so that I can fire!” he called to them, making his voice as
vociferous as possible, in order that the hiding men might catch every
word, and be more or less affected by the startling intelligence.
“Oh! why didn’t I bring my gun along?” groaned George, who was suffering
agonies because he just had to stand there, and watch some one else run
things; whereas, did he happen to have a weapon in his hands, he might
have taken a much more prominent part in the proceedings.
One good thing about George was that he always wanted to be on the
firing line; for he did not have a drop of craven blood in his veins. In
baseball, football, hockey, it was all the same; George could be found
wherever the play was fiercest, taking and giving knocks without a
murmur, if only there was action, action, and then more action.
Jack heard his lament, and was secretly just as well satisfied to have
things as they were. George was so impulsive that he might do things to
be regretted in calmer moments. Such a hot-headed fellow was dangerous
with firearms, especially when there seemed some little excuse for
making a use of the same against a law-breaking pair like the bank
robbers.
For a couple of minutes nothing happened; but the fire was burning
fiercely and crackling at a great rate. Josh looked rather serious as he
contemplated the conflagration; perhaps he was remembering George’s
absurd threat with regard to setting the river on fire; and thinking
that they would surely have to get away before such a catastrophe came
to pass.
Then, just what Jack had been expecting came about.
“There! there! Jack, look! knock ’em over!” shrieked George, as two
figures started out of the burning shack on the raft, and began to
hasten across the slippery logs as fast as they could go.
One of them, the larger, carried the hand bag; and from his determined
manner it looked as though he meant to cling to that through thick and
thin. Jenks and the two loggers were already trying to cut the fugitives
off, and as though they began to fear lest that should really happen
the robbers changed their course a little, though still heading for the
side of the raft that lay nearest the western bank of the river, so
close at hand.
Jack fired one barrel of his gun, but he did not try to hit the fleeing
men. It was just intended to let them know he had their range, for chips
and water flew close beside the one who carried the bag.
“Drop that bag, or the next shot will lame you for life, do you hear?”
shouted the boy, now fully resolved that he would have to shoot to
wound, in justice to all those poor depositors up in Lawrence, for whom
he felt so sorry.
Perhaps it was on account of the threat contained in his words; although
the nearness of Jenks, and the other two husky men, may have had more or
less to do with it; but the escaping burglar realized that it was a case
of either letting his plunder go, or else being badly wounded, and then
sent to the penitentiary for a term of years. And so, he relaxed his
firm clutch, allowing the bag with the stolen funds of the bank to fall
upon the logs of the raft.