MAROONED
With Ned to attend to the engine, to see that it got the right amount
of oil, and, occasionally, to adjust the carburetor, and Jerry at the
wheel, guiding the craft, the _Eel_ darted up the river. Every eye was
on the alert to catch the first glimpse of the boat which they were
pursuing.
“Think he can have gotten much ahead of you?” asked Mr. Nestor, after a
pause.
“Well, he had quite a start,” observed Ned.
“And our boat can go some, if she’s handled rightly,” added Jerry.
“The fastest on the river--in her class,” added Bob, proudly. “But this
is likely to be a long chase. I wish----”
Bob paused, but Ned, with a chuckle, said:
“I know what Chunky was thinking of.”
“What?” asked the stout lad, defiantly.
“That we should have brought a lunch along! Am I right?”
“Well, if we’re going to be out half the night we’ll need it,” declared
Bob, in self-defense.
“We won’t be out all night if we once get sight of Noddy,” declared
Jerry, with conviction. “As soon as he sees us after him he’ll give
in--he’s that kind!”
The _Eel_ was making good progress, and Jerry knew he could depend on
Ned to get more speed out of her when needed. But as yet they had seen
no signs of their own boat.
On up the river they swept, the searchlight throwing out a brilliant
gleam, and bringing into bold relief the trees and bushes along the
shore. Bob had joined Jerry in the bow, while Ned was at the motor, and
the two men and Andy Rush occupied one of the rear seats. Suddenly the
stout lad uttered a cry:
“There’s something dead ahead!” Those in the boat thrilled at his
words, but a damper was soon put on their enthusiasm when Jerry said:
“False alarm. That’s only a log of wood. It’s a good thing you saw it,
though, for we might have rammed it, and, going as fast as we are, we
might have stove a hole in the hull. All right, Chunky!”
Once more there was silence, broken only by the chug of the motor, and
the slight squeak as the steering rope passed over the pulleys and
around the drum.
“There’s the Riverview club house!” remarked Ned, in a low voice, as
they made a turn in the stream and saw a lighted building ahead of
them.
“We’ll stop there and inquire,” decided Jerry, and a little later
they tied up at the dock. As members of the Cresville club our heroes
had visiting privileges at the other organization, and they were made
welcome.
“No, we haven’t seen anything of your boat,” said several lads whom
Jerry and his chums knew well. A number of the older members, who had
been sitting on the dock enjoying their cigars, said the same thing,
for the _Dartaway_ was well known as one of the finest craft on the
stream.
“Maybe he went down with the current,” suggested Lloyd Berger, the
president of the organization.
“If he did we’ve had this much of the chase for nothing,” said Jerry,
regretfully. “And yet----”
“Excuse me,” put in one of the boatmen hired by the club, “but could it
be that fellow who took your launch would be running without lights?”
“He might!” cried Ned, eagerly. “Why?”
“Because, a little while ago,” said the man; “I saw some sort of a
craft go up the river, away on the other side. She didn’t show a gleam,
and it was so dark that the only way I glimpsed her was when she came
in range with our signal lamp on the post,” and he pointed to a lantern
set to guide craft to the club float. “At first I thought it might be
some fishermen in a big rowboat,” the man went on; “for I didn’t hear
any motor, but when I got that view of her I saw it was built different
from a small craft. Yet there wasn’t any noise.”
“The _Dartaway_ runs as quietly as a sewing machine at some speeds,”
said Jerry. “If that was Noddy he must have slowed down purposely on
passing here.”
“And I’d be willing to put up a sugar cookie against a cent that it was
him!” exclaimed Bob.
“Don’t, Chunky, you might lose, and then you’d be hungry,” laughed Ned.
“But it does look suspicious.”
“Come on then!” cried the tall lad. “We’ll keep up stream for a while!”
Once again they were on their way, cutting through the black water,
illuminated by the gleams of their lamps and the searchlight.
They had gone perhaps four miles above the Riverview club house when,
as they shot around a bend in the stream, little Andy Rush, sitting
beside Jerry, sprang up, grasped the arm of the steersman, and cried
out:
“There he is! I see your boat! Go to it--catch him--ram him--run him
down! Whoop! See where the searchlight reflects on the stern of that
boat!” and he pointed ahead.
Jerry, who was steering with one hand, and manipulating the searchlight
with the other, swung the gleaming shaft of brilliancy so that it took
in the craft ahead. Then he gave a shout of delight.
“That’s our boat!” he yelled. “Now for the end of the chase! Give her
all she’ll stand, Ned!”
Immediately all was excitement aboard the _Eel_. Mr. Brill gave a
whoop, which Jim Nestor echoed, and then the man who had hidden the
sixty golden nuggets drew something from his pocket with a flourish,
and asked:
“Shall I plug a hole in her below the water line, boys, and make him
stop to bail?”
“Here! Put up that shooting iron!” cried Jim. “Where do you think you
are--on the border, or down in Arizona? These Eastern folks don’t do
things that way!”
“More’s the pity!” exclaimed the miner. “But I could plug him as easy
as not,” and he sighed regretfully, for the boat ahead offered a
splendid mark.
“Yes, and you’d sink our craft if you did any ‘plugging,’” said Jerry.
“Never mind, we’ll catch him, for he won’t know how to get the best
speed out of the _Dartaway_.”
“There’s no one in her!” cried Ned, as in response to the further
supply of gasoline he fed to the motor, at the same time advancing her
spark, the _Eel_ crept up on the other boat. “They’ve abandoned her,
Jerry!”
“No, she’s being steered,” declared the tall lad, who had observed that
their craft kept on a straight course. “They’re hiding down in the
cockpit,” he added. “They’re afraid!”
“And they’d better be!” murmured Bob.
“They’re drawing away from us,” said Ned regretfully, after a few
moments.
“Can you give us any more speed?” asked Jerry, in a low voice; for he,
too, had noticed that their craft was increasing the distance between
them.
“I’ll try,” answered Ned, and he once more adjusted the carburetor.
The result was at once apparent, for the _Eel_ shot ahead at increased
speed.
“We’re creeping up on them!” cried Andy, a minute later.
“No, they’re slowing down!” exclaimed Jerry. “I thought so. They’re
monkeying with the motor, and they’ve got it adjusted wrong. We’ll get
to ’em now! Hold her so, Ned!”
Ned nodded without speaking, and the _Eel_ kept up her fast motion. Now
some commotion could be noted aboard the _Dartaway_, and Jerry cried
out:
“Hold on there, Noddy Nixon! Come back with that boat, if you know
what’s good for you!”
“Let’s see you catch us!” fired back the bully, while Bill Berry added:
“We’ll sink your craft if you don’t keep back!”
“We’re coming on!” declared Jerry, defiantly, not at all alarmed by the
threat. It was evident that both Bill and Noddy were doing their best
to get more speed out of the _Dartaway_, but without success. Had our
heroes been aboard her, they could have done it, as they knew every
bolt and lever. But the boat seemed to realize that she was in the
hands of enemies, and refused to do her best.
Slowly the better-managed _Eel_ crept up, until, when they came to a
narrow stretch of the river, Andy Rush cried:
“They’re going to run her ashore!”
“That’s right!” added Bob, as in the gleam of the search light they saw
their craft headed for the bank.
“They’re giving up!” was Jerry’s opinion, and so it proved. A little
later the “chug-chug!” of the _Dartaway’s_ engine ceased. She swung up
alongside a little point of land that jutted out into the stream, two
figures leaped out, splashed into the water and then, running along
shore, vanished in the woods.
“There they go!” cried Jim Nestor.
“After ’em!” yelled his partner.
“Let ’em go,” advised Jerry. “We’ve got our boat back. I want to see if
they’ve damaged her.”
But aside from tools and other things being scattered carelessly about
the craft, no great harm had been done, which fact was soon ascertained
as the _Eel_ came alongside. The _Dartaway_ had been rammed into a mud
bank, however, and the _Eel_ had to pull her off. Then, with Ned and
Bob to run her, she was headed down stream and, convoyed by the _Eel_
she soon came in sight of the club house where the lads had first
stopped.
“Let’s get out here,” suggested Bob, as they neared the lighted dock.
“What for--to eat?” asked Ned.
“No--to telephone home that we’re all right,” said the stout lad
quickly. “Of course,” he added, “if they invite us to have lunch,
it--er--well, it wouldn’t be polite to refuse; would it?”
“Of course not, you old human refrigerator!” cried Ned, with a laugh.
“Hi, Jerry!” he called. “Ten minutes for refreshments!”
Jerry, who was ahead with the _Dartaway_, laughed and understood.
They were soon in the club house again, being congratulated on their
success. They were invited to have something to eat, much to Bob’s
delight, and they accepted, after telephoning home that the chase had
ended successfully.
A little later they were under way again, and had tied their boat at
their own boathouse, returning the _Eel_ to Mr. Wood.
“And what became of Noddy?” asked that gentleman.
“He disappeared in the woods,” said Jerry. “It’ll be a long walk back,
and it serves him right.”
They could see no reason why the bully should want to take their boat,
except to annoy them, though Jerry had a suspicion that Noddy intended
to hide it somewhere to get even for the fancied injury concerning the
false alarm about the gold. But they never learned definitely.
“Well, I guess we’ll adjourn for the night,” suggested Jerry, when they
were back in Cresville, and found that their parents had gone to their
several homes after the conference. At their own houses the boys were
told that the matter of preparing the necessary papers about the mine
would soon be under way, and then they could start for the border, to
search for the hidden nuggets of gold.
“Well, how about a motor boat ride to-day?” asked Jerry, of his chums
one afternoon, about a week later. “We promised Jim and his partner to
show them what the _Dartaway_ could do,” he added.
“Then let’s do it,” suggested Ned. “We can take a good run up or down
the river before dinner.”
“Oh--yes--dinner!” put in Bob. Then he stopped suddenly. “But I’m
willing. Only I say let’s go down stream. There’s a better view, and we
were up the river the other night,” he added.
So it was arranged, and soon the two Westerners were in the fine
_Dartaway_, which was speeded to her limit down the river.
“This sure is some boat!” exclaimed Mr. Brill in admiration, as he
looked at the little cabin, and at the various appointments.
“If we could only take it out West with us,” sighed Ned. “But it’s
quite a job to pack it.”
“And there isn’t much water out where we’re going,” said the
prospector. “Flathead Lake is about the biggest.”
“Flathead!” exclaimed Bob. “Is that where the Flathead Indians are?”
“Well, it might have been named after them,” admitted Mr. Brill.
“Though I guess there aren’t any Flatheads there now. But there are
some Blackfeet on their reservation, not so very far away.”
“Blackfeet Indians! Whoop!” yelled Bob. “Say, we’ll have some sport all
right.”
“Not with them,” declared Jerry, decidedly. “This is no Wild West show
we’re going on. We’re out for business--we’ve got to get those sixty
nuggets.”
“And it won’t be any easy job--with those grub-stakers after ’em,”
murmured Harvey Brill.
“Keep still!” whispered Jim. “These boys are as game as they make ’em,
but there’s no use crossing a bridge before the cows come home, or
whatever that motto is.”
“All right,” agreed the prospector. “I’m wise. But say--this is a
pretty spot all right.”
“We often camp on that island for a day or so,” spoke Ned, pointing to
a large one in the middle of the river, which, at this point was about
three miles wide, but not very deep.
“If we had any grub along we could camp now,” said Bob. “There’s a
shack there; and----”
He got no farther, for at that instant, with a sort of apologetic
cough, the motor stopped and the boat began to drift toward the island.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned. “Run out of gasoline?”
“It can’t be that,” declared Jerry, with a puzzled look. “I filled the
tank before we started.”
“Something’s wrong,” declared Bob.
“Evidently,” agreed Jerry, as he began to go over the motor, while Ned
steered the drifting boat toward the island.
Try as he might, Jerry could not get the engine started again, and they
were forced to come to a stop at a small dock which the boys had made
to accommodate their craft when they camped on the island. Then, as the
afternoon waned, Jerry and his chums did everything they could think of
to get going again, but it was of no use.
“We’re marooned!” exclaimed Bob, gloomily, as he looked across to the
mainland through the gathering shadows. “Marooned on the island, and
not a bite to eat!”