THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE RIO GRANDE

The sight they saw sent the boys off in peals of laughter.

The River Motor Boat Boys on the Rio Grande

In Defense of the Rambler

Harry Gordon

AUTHOR OF "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Amazon" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Columbia" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Mississippi" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Colorado" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Yukon"

A. L. Burt Company New York

Copyright, 1915, by A. L. Burt Company

PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.

CONTENTS

A Call for Help

A Nest of Pirates

Alex Takes a Long Chance

A Night on Shore

A Friend in Need

Alex Gets a Square Meal

Stolen—A Motor Boat

Alex Climbs a Tree

The Rambler Heard From

A Bit of Dynamite

Alex Goes Fishing

A Queer Passenger

On the Mexican Side

A Serious Situation

Dead in the Forest

Jule in Great Danger

On Mexican Soil Again

A Slippery Customer

Rube Tells a Story

Taken at Last

A Night of Watching

A Surprise for Clay

What Came of a Ramble on Shore

And the Last

THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE RIO GRANDE

CHAPTER I

A CALL FOR HELP

“Listen, boys!”

There was silence for a moment, and then the cry was repeated—a long, low, wailing call for help.

“It can’t be far away,” said the first speaker. “If the water wouldn’t make such a racket, we might locate it exactly. There! Sounds like the fellow was about all in.”

A large white bulldog of most disreputable appearance leaped to the railing of the motor boat and stood looking into the waters of the Rio Grande. In a moment the plea for assistance came again, sounding fainter and farther away.

It was evident that the man, whoever it was, was going down with the current. The dog glanced questioningly into the face of the nearest boy as if asking for instructions, and then leaped into the river.

“What did you do that for?” demanded Alexander Smithwick, throwing off his coat and shoes.

“What did I do?” demanded Julian Shafer, with a wink. “Captain Joe asked permission to go to the rescue, and took it for granted that it would be given. Intelligent dog, Captain Joe! What’s he up to now, I wonder?”

In a moment Alex, with one hand on the railing which enclosed the deck of the motor boat, heard the rattle of anchor chains and knew that the boat was drifting downstream.

The boys called to the dog, but without avail. Save for the rush of the river, all was still. “Mighty strange!” Alex exclaimed.

Night had settled down on the Rio Grande, but the electric lights shone far out on the stream, revealing nothing!

When the motor boat reached the point from which the cries had seemed, to come the anchor was dropped again and the boys scanned both shore lines eagerly, hoping, at least, to discover the white form of the bulldog. It was not at all like Captain Joe to remain silent under such conditions.

“What do you make of it?” asked Clayton Emmett, in a tone of alarm. “Captain Joe never acted like this before.”

“There’s something gone wrong with the dog!” exclaimed Cornelius Witters, who was rather inclined to look on the gloomy side of life. “He may have been drowned.”

“Catch Captain Joe getting drowned!” cried Alex Smithwick and Julian Shafer in a breath.

In a moment, however, Captain Joe was seen to leave a great mass of rocks which stretched at least a third of the way across the stream and strike out for the motor boat.

“Did you lose him, Captain Joe?” Alex asked, lowering a floating platform as he spoke in order to give the dog access to the deck, at the same time keeping out of reach of the torrent of river water deposited on the deck by the dog.

“Where is the man you went after?” added Julian Shafer, also taking good care to keep on the other side of the deck.

The dog was evidently doing his best to convey to the boys what knowledge he possessed regarding the stranger who was, if still alive, somewhere out in the night. For a time he met with scant success.

The boys listened intently, but there was only the rush of the river and the wind sweeping down from the mountains.

“Drop downstream to that ledge of rocks,” advised Clayton Emmett. “If the fellow is still alive, we’ll find him there.”

This proceeding apparently met with the hearty approval of the bulldog, who was the first to gain the rocky beach. Without loss of time he set off at a swift pace and soon brought up beside the prostrate figure of a lad who could not have been over sixteen. Alex bent over the body with his searchlight and made a hasty examination.

“Is he dead?” asked Cornelius Witters, known to his chums as “Case.” “He certainly looks the part.”

Alex shook his head.

“Let’s get him to the motor boat,” he said, with a shudder of horror. “Somewhere back in the dark ages, before the dawn of civilization, there may have been a kid more badly beaten up, but I doubt it.”

“Well, I should say so!” Jule cut in. “Looks like he had been run through a sausage mill! Where’s the fellow who did it?”

“Search me!” replied Alex. “The thing to do now, it strikes me, is to get the poor fellow where he can receive the attention of a surgeon. I wonder if one is to be found in this neck-o’-the-woods?”

“There are plenty of towns along the river,” Clayton Emmett suggested, “and there must be a surgeon in some of them; but his injuries may not be so serious as they appear to be at first glance. Perhaps it may be well to get the stretcher,” he added, as the boys gathered in an awed group about the silent figure.

Jule darted away to bring the stretcher, while the other boys made a rough examination of the injured boy’s wounds. His head was one mass of bruises, and his left leg seemed to be broken. He was still unconscious, and the only wonder was that a person so battered and beaten should be capable of uttering the cries which had brought the dog to his assistance.

Presently Alex and Case, leaving Clay to watch beside the stranger, climbed an almost perpendicular wall of rock and, with the aid of their searchlights, looked down the narrow neck of land which connected with the shore.

The searchlights illuminated the scene only faintly. The night was very dark, and the rays of light traveled only a short distance before becoming absorbed by the shadows which shut out the landscape.

“It’s darker than a stack of black cats!” said Alex, after a moment’s inspection of the scene. “We may as well be on our way back.”

The boys started back in the direction of the boat, but came to a halt at the sound of a low, whining cry which seemed to come from behind a ridge of rocks off to the left.

“What’s coming off now?” Alex exclaimed, turning his searchlight in the direction of the sound. “Hope it isn’t anything that will bite! Come out of that, you rascal!”

But whatever it was it did not seem inclined to obey the command, so Alex dashed off on an exploring trip.

“Come back, you mutton head!” shouted Case. “That may be a fake to lure us into a trap!”

But Alex’s searchlight was by this time out of sight around a corner of rock and Case followed on behind. After making his way, not without difficulty, along a shelf of rock Case came to a pit-like depression, and, looking down, caught a glimpse of his chum’s light.

The lad was bending over some object which was lying on the ground, and appeared to be preparing to take it into his arms. Case was at his side in short order.

“What have you got, Alex?” he asked. “Looks like a black cat! It takes you to keep the menagerie from growing shy!”

As Alex lifted the object in his arms, however, Case saw that it was a bear cub—certainly not more than a month old—a black bear cub who looked into the faces of the lads with an appeal which was not to be resisted! It softened Case’s heart in an instant.

“Now, what do you know about that!” Case exclaimed. “Wonder if his mother is anywhere around?”

“She’d be very much in evidence by this time if she was,” replied Alex, hugging the cub. “My!” he continued, as his hands came in contact with the ribs of the cub, “I reckon a square meal wouldn’t come amiss right now! Here, you little cannibal, quit eating my ear!”

“I’d like to know what Captain Joe will say about this,” laughed Case. “He’ll want to make one bite of the cub!”

“Just let me catch him at it!” exclaimed Alex.

When, after rather a long, hard tramp, the boys, still carrying the baby bear, came in view of the place where Clay had been left they saw at once that something was amiss. Clay was nowhere in sight, and Captain Joe, usually the most faithful of sentinels, was not to be seen. The stranger still lay where he had been placed, gazing up into darkness with swollen eyes!

It took only a minute for the lads to reach his side. He made an effort to arise to a sitting position as they came running up, but fell weakly back with a groan of agony.

“What’s up?” asked Case.

The lad turned his head in order to get a good view of his questioner before making any reply whatever. Under the searchlights his face seemed beaten to a pulp.

Then Alex remembered that the boy had not regained consciousness at the time of their departure, and hastened to make the proper explanation. The boy again attempted a sitting posture and again failed.

Case knelt by the side of the wounded boy.

“Do you wish to say something?” he asked.

“Ask him where Clay went,” suggested Alex, keeping the baby bear in his arms.

“I don’t know,” replied the boy, answering the question asked by Alex. “When I came to consciousness there was a white bulldog drawing me out of the river.”

“And is that the last you remember?” questioned Case.

“Yes.”

“And so Captain Joe fished you out of the drink. Where did he go after that?”

“I did not see him go anywhere. I fainted, I guess.”

Alex examined the boy’s clothing and found it wet.

“The lad is right about the river,” he declared. “The boy must have been swept past our boat. It is a wonder none of us saw him.”

“Unless he drifted into the circle of light thrown out by the cabin windows,” Case cut in, “we should not have seen him.”

“Captain Joe certainly did a good job in making the rescue,” Alex added. “How long were you in the water, stranger?”

“When I drifted by the motor boat,” replied the boy, “I tried to catch hold of a rope, but was too weak and dazed from the beating I had received. If the dog hadn’t found me just as he did, I should have floated on down the river and drowned.”

“Good old Captain Joe!” Alex exclaimed. “Somehow he is always to the front!”

“There is a gang of robbers up the river about a mile,” said the lad, evidently speaking in great pain. “If you came down the river in a boat, you ought to be looking after her. They are bad men. The marks of their treatment of me are still in sight,” he added, smiling faintly. “They beat me because I refused to deliver my boat to them. Well, they have it now, but they had to fight for it,” he added.

“Wonder we didn’t see them when we came down,” said Case, hastily getting to his feet. “For all we know, they may be already in possession of the Rambler!”

“The Rambler is too nice a boat for that gang of toughs to ride in,” declared the stranger. “You see,” he continued, “that I know all about you boys. I am from Chicago myself!”

Anxious as the boys were to learn more about the lad so strangely met, and to relieve his sufferings, they had other things of more importance, at least to themselves, to look after.

Alex, still carrying the baby bear, was off like a shot and Case was not far behind him. The Rio Grande was but a short distance away, but there was a wall of rocks which must be passed before the river came into view.

When at last the boys gained the top of the elevation and flashed their lights down upon the wind-swept stream, the Rambler was nowhere to be seen!

“Just our luck!” grumbled Case.

Alex, still holding the baby bear, wrinkled his nose.

CHAPTER II

A NEST OF PIRATES

To those who have read the books of this series already published the boys of the Rambler will need no introduction. Their adventures on the Amazon, the Columbia, the Colorado, the Mississippi, the St Lawrence, the Ohio, and the Yukon will be readily recalled to mind.

Coming originally from the south branch of the Chicago river, they had accumulated handsome fortunes during their journeys in quest of adventure, but they still saw the world through boys’ eyes, and were not satisfied to settle down to a humdrum life.

The Rambler, as will doubtless be remembered, was a very speedy boat, fitted up with electric lights and all modern conveniences. She carried an armor of chilled steel underneath as pretty a coat of paint as was ever sent out of the port of Chicago.

This trip down the Rio Grande had long been planned, and now that it was actually begun the lads were jubilant. They had been warned time and again against the uprisings for which Mexico is noted, but, boy-like, they had disregarded them.

The Rambler had been shipped to Wason on the Denver & Rio Grande, and the journey was on! This town lies some distance east from Silverton, and is surrounded on the north, west and south by the mountains which form a part of the great continental divide.

As Alex and Case stood now, on the bank of the Rio Grande, their hearts were very heavy.

“If we only knew that Clay and Jule were safe,” Alex finally said, “we could endure the loss of the Rambler. Where do you think they have gone. Mister Teddy Bear, Junior?” he added whimsically, addressing the cub. “I’ll bet you’d tell me if you could!”

But the cub nestled closer to the neck of the boy and not being in a conversational mood said nothing at all!

“We may as well return to where the injured boy was left,” Case suggested in a moment. “The boys will know where to find us, at least, if we go there, which is more than can be said of any other locality. Just our rotten luck to have Captain Joe find that boy when we haven’t got a thing to give him that might add to his comfort!”

“Kick!” laughed Alex. “You’d kick on a mouthful of pie! Say, how would a piece of apple pie go right about now? I’m hungry enough to eat one of those pirates, boots and all!”

“You are likely to be a great deal hungrier before you come upon anything to eat in this rotten hole!” grumbled Case, setting off for the designated spot at a fast walk.

Alex, however, remained behind, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the lights of the Rambler. It was very dark outside the small circle of light thrown out by the searchlight, and the wind was blowing great guns. It was as wild a night as ever blew over the Colorado hills.

As if to heighten the discomfort of the time, a cold rain began to fall in great gusts, sweeping everything movable before it. Alex was soon wet to the skin.

“How’s this for a storm, Mister Teddy Bear, Junior? said the boy, addressing the cub. “There’s one thing been overlooked, though,” he added, “and that’s a little thunder and lightning. There certainly ought to be a batch of thunder and lightning with a peach of a storm like this, don’t you think, Teddy?”

But Teddy did not have an opportunity to express his thoughts on the subject, if he had any, for just at that instant there came a blinding flash of lightning, followed immediately by a peal of thunder which seemed to shake the solid earth.

“Whew, but that was a corker!” cried the boy. “Wonder if I’m all here?”

But Alex had no time to consider this last conundrum, for just at that minute the lights of the Rambler made their appearance, coming up the stream. Alex had no means of knowing, of course, whether she was manned by friend or foe, so he switched off his electric and stood on the bank waiting in the wind and rain.

Directly the motor boat came to a halt at the side of a little rocky projection which extended into the stream for some distance, and the boy was no longer in doubt as to the character of the crew.

A frowsy head appeared above the rail of the boat and a hoarse voice demanded:

“Who’s there?”

It was clear that the Rambler was in the possession of the pirates! Alex stood mute, awaiting developments.

Presently the low murmur of voices was heard, seeming to come from the shore, and Alex listened eagerly, but could not distinguish the voices. At times he was almost certain that the speakers were Clay and Jule, but the wind carried their voices downstream, and he could not be certain. He listened intently, listening at the same time, too, for the sound of advancing footsteps.

But the rush of the wind, the downpour of the rain effectually drowned all other sounds save at rare intervals. The frowsy head, evidently gaining courage, now spoke again.

“Whoever you are, come aboard!” the voice said.

There came a lull in the storm, and Alex was positive that the voices he heard were those of Clay and Jule; still he could not afford to make a mistake. So he waited.

The man on the deck of the Rambler either left his position or got out of sight behind the railing, for he was no longer to be seen. For a time all was still, then a voice which appeared to come from the Rambler rang out, causing Alex to almost drop the baby bear in his excitement. He knew that voice!

During the long winter evenings in Chicago Jule had made a study of ventriloquism, and had become such an adept that his voice could be heard for a long distance. Although standing within ten feet of Alex, the voice apparently came from the Rambler’s deck.

“What are you doing on my boat?” the voice demanded.

There was a great bustle aboard the motor boat, as if search was being made for the speaker, followed by a fluttering of wings and a hoarse, croaking voice:

“What’s coming off here?” were the words spoken.

“That’s Tommy!” said a voice at Alex’s side, and Clay made his appearance in the faint light thrown from the cabin windows.

“Where have you been?” demanded Alex, speaking in a voice loud enough to be heard above the rush of the storm. “Thought sure you had been carried off by the robbers.”

“The pirates already had possession of the boat when I reached the shore,” Jule explained, “and when Clay came we both followed on down the river in the hope that something would happen to again put us in possession. Say! Just listen to Tommy’s conversation! He thinks he is the whole works! He has a horror of being awakened suddenly.”

“Tommy” was a great red and green parrot, who had evidently been sound asleep during the short trip down the river. He was making up for lost time now, however, making the boat ring with his screams.

Presently a man’s form shot out of the cabin as if fired out of a gun, with the parrot astride of his shoulders! The red and green feathers of the bird shone and glistened under the electric light, the long tail trailed out behind like the tail of a comet, while the topknot was very much in evidence, standing up straight and rigid.

The man thus attacked gave utterance to a string of oaths and billingsgate which would have made a fishwife green with envy.

“The bloomin’ bird is clawin’ me eyes out!” he shouted, doing his best to dislodge the bird. “Take ’im off, someone!”

By this time two other men were on deck, struggling with Tommy, who did not seem at all inclined to release the excellent hold which he secured in the hair of the robber. At last, however, he was dislodged, and secreted himself behind a chest of drawers in the cabin.

“I’ll ’ave ’is bloody life!” shouted the fellow, starting away in pursuit, but a chum blocked his entrance to the cabin.

“Have it out with the bird some other time,” he advised, with a broad smile. “Just now we have other fish to fry. We came back to get a kid what can operate this boat. There’s something wrong with the motors. We got it up the river as far as this, and that’s about all, consarn the luck!”

“Try him again with your Peter Pratt,” advised Clay, having reference to the boy’s trick of throwing his voice. Whenever this faculty was referred to by any of the lads it was invariably known as “Peter Pratt.” “Let’s see what Peter Pratt can do for us in the way of getting possession of the Rambler.”

Jule threw his voice across the rushing, water again, but no attention whatever was paid to it.

“That’s strange!” said Alex.

“They evidently believe it to be the parrot!” said Jule.

“Of course you are right,” admitted Clay. “It is a wonder we didn’t think of that before.”

The robbers now appeared to be holding a consultation as to the best means of getting one of the boys on board the Rambler. The boys could not catch a word, although the Rambler lay only a few feet from the shore.

The thunder and lightning were now almost continuous, and the robbers sought shelter in the cabin.

“Now’s our opportunity,” exclaimed Jule.

“I must be pretty dense,” said Clay. “If there’s a chance here I must have overlooked it.”

“What’s the matter with the stern deck?” ventured Jule. “I’ve known kids to get on board boats in that way before now!”

“Not in the face of a current like that!” replied Clay. “A boy couldn’t swim in that millrace any more than he could fly!”

“You just wait a second and I’ll show you!” replied Jule. “Anybody got a rope or a strong cord?”

“Alex has,” responded Clay. “I saw him put one into his pocket! Produce it, Alex!” he added, all excitement at the prospect of getting the best of the pirates.

“Who’s going to make the attempt?” Jule asked.

Alex deposited the baby bear in Clay’s arms.

“Here,” he said, “you take charge of Teddy, Jr., and I’ll do the trick myself. You fellows couldn’t make the riffle in a thousand years! This is a man’s job!”

As Alex had kept the cub in a measure protected from the storm by his coat, and as the cub had remained perfectly quiet during this conversation, Clay was greatly surprised at being presented with a baby bear. He made a quick examination of his charge and then burst into a hearty laugh. Alex proceeded to unwind his fish line as if the presentation of a cub was the most natural thing in the world.

Jule stepped to Clay’s side and gravely shook hands with the bear after locating him in the darkness.

“Where did you get the cub?” he asked.

“Oh, I presume he picked it off a bush!” Clay cut in. “Alex has an affinity for bears.”

“He’s making too much noise,” Jule asserted, as the cub set up a wail which might have been heard on the Rambler. “Better let me take that line, Alex, while you teach your baby manners.”

“Mind the nerve of him! Talking about a man’s job!” laughed Clay. “If I had his good opinion of himself, I’d walk on the water out to the Rambler.” “Yes, you would!” commented Alex, throwing off his outer garments preparatory to entering the river. “If you don’t take good care of that cub, I’ll set him on you when you come aboard.”

The boys now carried the fish line up the stream a short distance and Alex entered the water. In order to gain the stem deck it would be necessary to follow the motions of the swimmer until the stem was reached and then release the line, trusting to the dexterity of the boy in the water to make connection with the hull of the boat.

“Now, boys!” cried Alex, and the next he was feeling the draw of the current.

The moment the lad was in the water the bulldog sprang in after him. Jule tried in vain to coax him to return to the shore, but Captain Joe was obstinate and paid no attention to the entreaties and threats of the boy. The dog soon was abreast of the boy, swimming with his head well down in the water.

In the meantime Jule was having about all he could do following Alex with his eyes, for the light from the cabin windows was uncertain and the great prow light had been extinguished.

“It’s a wonder that Tommy keeps so quiet,” said Clay, holding to the bear cub with one hand and pulling at the line with the other. “He is usually very much in evidence if awakened in the night.”

“Here’s hoping he has the good sense to remain quiet until Alex is on board,” added Jule. “The parrot may have been killed, for all we know! If he has, there’ll be doings when we get aboard!”

By this time the lights of the cabin were about opposite, and the boys on shore slackened their pace in order to give Alex an opportunity to gain the stem deck, which was, of course, downstream.

They saw very dimly indeed, for the rain was now falling in great sheets, obscuring the light from the cabin windows, and making the stem deck very slippery.

“Can you see where he is?” asked Clay.

“I can see that the line has slackened, and that is about all,” replied the boy. “I wonder where Captain Joe is?” Jule added, tossing the fish line to one side. “He ought to be getting into action pretty soon. There he is now!”

The voice of the dog came faintly through the storm, and the screaming of the parrot added to the din.

“I’d give a hundred dollars to know exactly how things stand!” shouted Clay, dancing up and down in the excitement of the moment.

“That was a fool venture of Alex’s,” was Jule’s comment.

CHAPTER III

ALEX TAKES A LONG CHANCE

Case sat for a long time at the side of the injured boy, doing what he could to relieve his suffering, but there was little he could do in the absence of a surgeon. The boy was in great pain and conversed only at long intervals.

“I presume the robbers have taken possession of the Rambler,” said Case, crouching low to escape as much of the storm as possible, “and they may have carried Jule and Clay off with her, but I don’t see what is keeping Alex. He should have been here a long time ago.”

“They may have taken him, too,” said the sufferer. “In that case we may stay here until we starve to death. If I could only walk, I’d soon get out of this!”

“What’s your name, and how is it that you come to be here on the Great Divide?” Case asked abruptly. “You’re a beauty, I must say!” he added with a grin.

“My name is Paul Stegman, and I’m from Chicago, as I told you before,” the boy explained. “I came up here in quest of adventure, and reckon I’m getting enough of it. If I ever get back to civilization you just bet your bottom dollar I’ll stay there!”

“Cheer up!” said Case, “the worst is yet to come!”

“I fail to see how it could be much worse,” said Paul. “My boat is gone and, unless we can connect with the one you have, there are mountains to climb before we get out of here.”

“It does look pretty dark,” Case admitted, “but we’ll find a way out. Suppose I go down to the river and see what’s keeping Alex? The pirates haven’t captured him, I hope!”

“It’s pretty dark. And pretty wet, too,” replied Paul, loath to lose Case’s companionship for even a minute. “Perhaps he will come back after he has failed to discover the boys.”

Case had his doubts about Alex returning as long as there was any prospect of finding either the boys or the Rambler, but he kept his thoughts to himself. It was very dark when the searchlight was for a moment turned aside, and rain was falling in torrents. The wind, too, was racing over the narrow point of land as if sent for by the Evil One.

It was a wild night for early May, and Case, sitting dejectedly at the side of Paul Stegman, could feel the rain trickling down the back of his neck in streams. It was cold too, and the teeth of both boys rattled like castanets.

“No use trying to build a fire,” Case grumbled, “for what little wood there is in sight is soaking wet. I guess the Rambler made one trip too many!”

There was silence for a minute and then a footfall was heard on the rocky ridge which ran through the center of the peninsula.

“Alex at last!” shouted Case, springing to his feet. “Come forward, give an account of yourself! Did you find any trace of the boys or the boat?”

But the man who appeared a moment later was not Alex. He stood for a second looking down on the boys and started to join them, swinging a pocket dark-lantern as he advanced. But Case was shy of strangers and ordered the fellow back, at the same time switching off his searchlight.

“Oh, all right!” replied the stranger. “I thought you might be in some sort o’ trouble and might need help.”

“We are in trouble, and do need help,” Case answered, “but we mean to make sure first that you are just what you pretend to be.”

“I hain’t purtended to anything yet,” was the reply. “If you want my pedigree, I reckon you’ll have to want. I came down here lookin’ for a brindle steer what strayed away from the herd an’ saw your light, likewise the light from that boat anchored out there in the river. But, still, if you don’t want me to butt in, I’ll be joggin’ along.”

“Wait a minute,” Case exclaimed, starting to climb the ridge, “do you say there’s a boat out there in the river?”

“Come up here and see for yourself; seein’ is believin’, as the cat said to the mouse.”

Case clambered to the top of the ridge and looked out upon the river. There were the dim lights of the Rambler, but the rest of the scene could not be discerned.

“The boat’s there, all right!” the boy said jubilantly, hopping up and down in his excitement. “The boys will soon be here now.”

Case looked into the stranger’s face with a question on his lips—a question he might or might not answer.

“You didn’t come to this rocky place in quest of any brindle steer,” the boy ventured. “Will you tell me what you did come for?”

“Perhaps I’ll do it if you’ll tell me what I want to know,” was the reply, “and that is this: What were you doing with that wounded boy in that nest of rocks?”

“You know the lad is wounded, then?”

“I don’t suppose you could hear much in this storm, but I’ve walked twice around the spot where you sat,” was the reply.

“Well, you didn’t hear anything of any account,” was Case’s reply. “Up to two hours ago I didn’t know there was such a kid living. According to his story, he was set upon by robbers a short distance up the river and beaten up proper.”

“So!” said the other.

“We, my three chums and myself, were lying up the river, anchored, when Captain Joe—that’s the bulldog—leaped into the river and brought him out, more dead than alive. The dog is on the Rambler now. We boys wouldn’t part with Captain Joe for his weight in gold.”

The man looked thoughtfully into the boy’s eyes.

“I guess,” he began, but was interrupted by voices coming from the Rambler. The wind was now blowing a fierce gale and the words were indistinguishable, but words were not needed.

The prow lights flared up, lighting the deck of the boat as thoroughly as it was possible to do it in the dead of the night.

At the same instant the watchers caught sight of a man leaping over the railing of the boat.

“There goes one of the pirates!” shouted Case. “I wonder how many of them there are?”

“Perhaps he thinks it’s just as dry in the river as it is on board the boat,” the other said with a chuckle, “and I for one think he’s about right. Here comes another.”

When three had taken to the water there came a lull in the procession of jumpers and Case observed: “Now we’ll soon be tucked up in our little beds, that is as soon as we get Paul cared for.”

“Suppose the robbers return?” the stranger suggested.

“They’ll have to be pretty swift in their movements if they connect with the Rambler,” Case answered. “We’ve got a boat that can go some, and then some more!”

The two then descended the ridge and were soon standing where Paul had been left. The boy was still in great pain from his broken leg.

“This boy shouldn’t lie here in the storm,” said the stranger. “He’ll take the newmonnie.”

“He’ll not remain here long now,” replied Case, with a smile at the man’s pronunciation of “pneumonia,” “for we’ll get him to the Rambler in short order. We must get him to a surgeon.”

“I thought you’d never come,” groaned Paul.

“It’s all right now,” Case assured the boy.

“Wait until the boys come with the stretcher, and we’ll have you where you can receive the care of a doctor in three jerks of a lamb’s tail.”

Clay soon appeared with the stretcher and the injured lad was carefully placed upon it. Then Clay turned to Case with a smile.

“Why don’t you introduce me?” he asked.

Case hesitated and the stranger came forward.

“I reckon we don’t either one know what to call the other,” he said with a smile. “I’m Rube Stagg.”

“Glad to know you, Mr. Stagg,” said Clay with a laugh at the odd appearance of the man.

He was at least six feet four inches tall, lean to emaciation, with enormous hands and feet, and just about the reddest and longest head of hair that the lads had ever seen. It came far down on his shoulders and was so tossed about by the wind that it appeared to be in one great snarl.

His eyes were blue and bright, his nose blunt stub, and his head was adorned with a pair of enormous ears. His dress was of the sort usually worn by ranchmen.

“I’ve got a ranch over here a short distance,” explained Mr. Stagg, “and you are quite welcome to use it if you feel so disposed. That boy has been exposed to the storm too long already.”

“We’ll have him under shelter directly,” was Case’s reply, “but we’re a thousand times obliged to you, all the same.”

“Well,” Stagg replied, “if you won’t use my shack, perhaps you won’t object to my carrying one end of the stretcher.”

“You are all right, Mr. Stagg,” said Clay, heartily. “We are a little short-handed on account of leaving two boys at the boat.”

“What was the ruction at the boat?” Case asked.

Clay burst into a ringing laugh.

“That was the funniest thing I ever saw!” he said as they set the stretcher down for a rest. “Alex, the little monkey, sneaked on board the Rambler when an especially hard shower came on, accompanied by thunder and lightning. Captain Joe was with him, as usual, and when they came to the window which looks out on the stern deck the parrot joined the combination.”

“Great combination, that!” laughed Case. “A boy full of mischief, a bulldog full of bites, and a parrot full of the old Nick! What happened then? Did the pirates take to the river as soon as they saw what they were up against?”

“No, they attempted to put up a fight,” replied Clay, “and what followed was a jumble of legs, arms, parrot and bulldog. The parrot screamed and the dog got in his work on the shins of the outlaws, who had laid their weapons aside in order to dry their clothing and couldn’t get them without coming in contact with the dog.”

“Must have been very funny,” said Case. “I should have enjoyed seeing it.”

“I imagine the bandits thought the devil was after them for sure. How that parrot did scream! The racket might have been heard a mile away only for the wind and rain. How it did rain! And thunder and lightning! Say but it was fierce!”

“And where was the baby bear all this time?” Case asked. “Of course you knew that Alex adopted another bear?”

“Yes, I’m wise to the fact,” answered Clay. “Well, the cub was asleep under my coat until the fireworks started, then he took a hand in the game. It certainly was comical to see that little runt trying to eat a full-sized robber.”

The boys now continued their progress to the Rambler, and soon saw the cabin lights shining through the rain. As the lads neared the boat the great prow light was switched on, making everything as light as day. The rain was still falling in torrents, and the wind was blowing a hurricane.

In fact, the boys were obliged to stand pretty close together in order to make themselves heard at all.

“It’s a wonder the boys didn’t think of that prow light before,” was Case’s comment as they laid the stretcher down on the shore.

“It was out of kilter when I left the boat,” said Clay. “What is bothering me now is how to get this boy on board the boat. I don’t think we can get the boat any nearer to the land.”

“We must manage it, in some way, before long, for the lad has been exposed to the storm for a long time.”

“Why, of course we can get him over to the Rambler,” cut in Case. “You have only to lift the stretcher into the rowboat, then lift it out again when we reach the Rambler!”

“Never thought of that!” laughed Clay. “Two heads are better than one, if one is a bit thick!”

“Anything to get me out of this storm!” groaned Paul. “I don’t think I shall ever be warm again.”

While the boys were getting Paul on board the Rambler Stagg appeared to be very busy about the boy’s head. More than once he bent over the lad, as if trying to recognize him, but the boy was too badly beaten up for that.

At last he seemed to give it up, but there was still a look of inquiry in his eyes, and Clay referred to it.

“He acts to me like he was looking for a friend,” he said.

“He does act rather strangely,” was Case’s comment. “Still, he may be one of the curious kind.”

No more was said on the subject at that time, though Clay often wondered if there could be any connection between the two, and also if Mr. Stagg was exactly what he seemed.

CHAPTER IV

A NIGHT ON SHORE

The boys had a hard time getting on board the Rambler, but it was accomplished at last, and the sufferer was soon in one of the bunks. Then the boat was headed downstream.

Mr. Stagg was left standing on the river bank in the rain. The boys invited him on board, but he explained that he was determined to “get that pesky steer before he went home.”

“It’s a wild night to be hunting for cattle,” Clay suggested as the boat was got under way, “but we all hope you’ll find it.”

“Say,” said Alex, as the boat started downstream, “do you believe the story that man told?”

“Seems like an honest fellow,” was Jule’s reply, “but one can never tell. To tell the truth, he looked to me more like an outlaw than any fellow we caught on board.”

“Pretty fierce night to be hunting cattle,” commented Alex, and the discussion was dropped.

“How far is it to the Hayes Junction?” asked Case. “We can’t get a surgeon to set that broken leg until we get there, and perhaps not then. I think I’ll study surgery, just to be ready for any emergency, when I go to college,” added the boy.

“We’ve got quite a distance to travel before we reach Hayes, and I suggest that we put in the time eating,” said Alex. “I wouldn’t want to get a regular meal,” he continued, “just a large steak and French fried potatoes, and bread and butter, and a couple of pies, and a couple of dozen doughnuts. Just a light luncheon!”

“When the time comes for you to die,” Case observed, with a wink at Jule, “you’ll die of starvation because of having swept the world slick and clear of food.”

“Go ahead and get up your light luncheon,” Jule advised. “I think I could take a little nourishment myself.”

“Oh, well, if you’re going to get up a simple luncheon like you suggest, I don’t know but I’ll take a light snack myself,” said Case, his mouth watering at the mention of pie.

“How’ll you have the steak cooked?” asked Alex.

“When it comes to cooking steak,” Jule cut in, “I’ve got the crowd up a blind siding with fires banked.”

“That comes pretty near being slang,” Clay laughed, putting his head in at the cabin door. “I can see someone washing the supper dishes right now.”

While this conversation was going on Paul Stegman, worn out by pain and exposure, was sleeping soundly. At first the boys talked in whispers, but they soon saw that it was a useless precaution, as the roaring of the storm drowned all lesser sounds.

Nothing more was heard of the robbers at that time. The boys believed them to be tramps, and so put them out of their minds. How wrong they were in this the future will show.

The sky cleared shortly, just as the town of Hayes came into view. There was not much of the place—which was little better than a railroad crossing.

Paul still slept soundly, and the boys decided to wait until he awoke before looking over the town for a surgeon.

The steak and potatoes being done to a turn, the boys fell to with appetites sharpened by the keen air.

“Pie,” declared Alex, “is Nature’s best gift to man! There is green apple pie, dried apple pie, red apple pie, and pie-pie. Pie has all other food on its back with its tongue out!”

“When you get to pie,” Jule cut in, “you’re always due for a eulogy. If I had the appetite for pie that you have, I’d feed it to the bears! By the way,” he exclaimed, bounding up from the table, “where is Teddy, Junior? Why isn’t he out here getting filled up?”

The boy shot away like he had only a second more to live, but soon returned with the announcement that the baby bear was lying on his belly snoring “to beat the band!”

“Who’s got the job of washing the supper dishes?” asked Alex, rolling back in his chair with the air of a millionaire. “Who talked the most slang to-day?”

“Jule did,” declared Case.

“I should say not!” denied that lad. “If I could talk slang equal to Alex, I’d give the slang dictionary cards and spades and then win out! He’s got a tongue that whirls round and round like a puppy after his tail. The idea of putting me in his class!”

“In order to settle this dispute amicably,” interrupted Clay, “I propose that the boys both tackle the job. They have both been talking slang all day.”

“All right!” consented Jule. “Only you don’t want to forget and leave any pie on the plates.”

“If I had your mouth for pie——”

Alex began, but checked himself before completing the sentence—much to Jule’s disappointment.

The boys had a merry time over the dishes, and then Clay and Case went to bed, leaving Alex and Jule to watch the Rambler during the remainder of the night. In a short time all was still on board. The storm which had driven so fiercely against the motor boat in the early part of the night had now passed over, leaving a rim of moon in the west.

Directly Alex passed out of the cabin and stood on the deck. Jule was half asleep in the cabin.

For a time there was only the roaring of the river to break the silence. The wind had died down to a gentle breeze, and there was the scent of spring in the air.

Captain Joe came out on deck after a time and sniffed the air excitedly. In a moment he was on the railing of the boat, looking over to the west shore. Alex spoke to him, but for once his words received no attention.

“What is it, Joe?” asked the boy.

Captain Joe only wagged his stumpy tail.

“I’ll soon find out what’s doing here!” decided Alex. “How would you like a run on shore, Captain Joe?” the boy went on. “It ain’t a very swell night for a ramble, but I feel as if my legs wouldn’t be the worse for a little stretching.”

Jule was below, in the cabin, and there could be no possible harm, the boy thought, in leaving the watch to him. Therefore he took the rowboat and started for the shore, accompanied by the dog, who seemed very anxious to get to the land.

The moon was setting, but the stars were out, and the boy and the dog had little difficulty in finding their way after gaining the shore. The latter, however, after hastily sniffing the air for an instant, darted away, leaving the boy alone.

“That’s a dirty Irish trick, Captain Joe,” said the lad, doing his best to keep up with his four-footed rival. “I wonder what he sees in there, anyway?”

The dog was now lost from sight in the underbrush which lined the shore, and Alex could only whistle in an effort to secure his return. The rustle of the dead foliage was the only sound for some time, then the dog set up fierce barking.

This was very unusual for Captain Joe, who confined himself, as a rule, to a series of warning growls, and Alex quickened his steps in order that he might see what the dog was at.

All was still in the thicket penetrated by the lad, however, and it was dark as a pocket, too. There was little hope of finding the dog in that smother of shadows, so Alex reluctantly turned his steps toward the boat.

“I’d like to know what’s got into Captain Joe,” thought the boy as he made his way back to the Rambler. “He certainly is acting queerly, and I don’t like the looks of it.”

In a few minutes he was back on the shore.

“It will be a good joke on the crazy pup to go away and leave him on the shore,” thought the boy. “It will teach him better manners, anyway. Now what’s that?”

“That” was a low whistle, evidently a signal. It came again in an instant, louder and clearer.

Alex listened again for the dog, but heard nothing indicating his presence. In a moment there was a rustling in the underbrush and then a man’s voice asked:

“Are you there, Charley?”

There was no answer, and the question was repeated. Still there was no answer. There was another movement in the bushes, and then a figure showed dimly in the starlight.

Presently the man who had given the signal was joined by two other men. They talked in low tones for a time, but gradually their voices grew louder and Alex was able to hear what was being said.

“I don’t think they succeeded in getting the motor boat,” the first speaker said.

“Wonder they wouldn’t show a signal,” commented another.

“It’s a sure thing they didn’t get the boat,” a third man said. “If they had, you needn’t be guessing.”

“No, they would be holding a celebration now. Wonder why they failed? The job seemed an easy one to me—just to take a boat away from four boys.”

There was further talk that Alex could not hear, then the men passed out of hearing.

“The Rambler seems to be in good demand,” was the boy’s comment. “If Captain Joe would show up now, I’d go on board and put the boys on their guard. Somehow that dog always runs away at the wrong time! Perhaps I’d better take another look for him. It doesn’t seem as if he could be very far away. He needs a thumping!”

Alex made another trip through the underbrush, but no Captain Joe rewarded his search. At last the boy abandoned the quest and started for the Rambler.

“The boys will want to know what’s going on, and the dog can be found at some other time,” he reasoned. “It would serve the beast good and right to leave him in a place where he’d get hungry enough to devour his own shadow!”

When Alex reached the spot where the boat had been left it was nowhere to be seen. He got away from the locality in quick time.

The place was probably being watched. The men who had found the boat would know very well that it couldn’t walk there.

The boy slipped back in the bushes, where he was protected from observation by a rocky elevation, and waited. Presently there was the murmur of hushed voices, and then a man’s form appeared, outlined against the sky, which was now showing the first faint traces of daylight.

“Wonder if the fellow who went ashore in the boat intends to make his permanent home there?” said a voice. “He certainly stays long enough to give one that impression.”

“He’s got to come back here after his boat, and we’ll be right here, waiting for him,” said another voice. “The thing that puzzles me is why the boys didn’t get the motor boat upstream.”

There was silence for a time, during which the three men waited for the return of the boy, who was listening to most of their talk. Directly Alex felt a cold nose thrust into the palm of his hand, he knew that Captain Joe had returned.

“You’re a bad dog, going off like this!” exclaimed the boy. “What have you to say for yourself?”

The dog stretched himself at Alex’s feet and offered no explanation. The matter ended, as all such matters usually did, by the boy taking the dog’s head into his lap and pulling his stubby ears.

Daylight was now coming on rapidly, and Alex realized that something must be done. The least of his troubles concerned the manner of getting back to the Rambler.

So far as that went, he could easily swim that short distance. But the lad had no intention of going back to the boat to be laughed at.

Presently the cabin door opened and Jule made his appearance, looking as if he had had a pretty sound sleep.

The watching men crouched out of sight in the bushes, and Jule stepped to the railing of the Rambler and looked into the river. The sun would be in sight in half an hour and it would be a bright day.

Jule stood looking over the water for a minute and then turned and entered the cabin. Directly Clay and Case came out and the three stood at the rail talking.

“I think I know what they are saying,” said Alex with a smile. “They are holding a squaw man’s convention on me. It was a rotten thing to do to go and lose that boat. Perhaps I shall be lucky enough to get it back. I wish those men wouldn’t watch this spot so closely. I half believe they suspect something.”

Alex did not know that there were two parties watching the movements on board the Rambler, each party consisting of three men. One was up the river perhaps eighty rods, while the other lay on the bank of the stream only a short distance from the spot where Alex was hidden.

Directly Captain Joe arose and moved over toward the clump of bushes where the three men lay. The chances are that he knew of their presence, and was willing to overlook it in the interest of harmony, but one of the three launched a rock at his head as he came up.

This was an insult by no means to be overlooked. In less time than it takes to tell the story, Joe had him by the throat.

All three boys on board the Rambler, seeing the dog struggling with superior numbers, were over the rail in an instant, striking out for the spot where the combat was in progress.

At that instant the three men who had been up the river, hearing the sounds of a conflict below, emerged from the shelter of the trees and started toward the scene of action.

Clay afterward declared that he thought Jule was left in charge of the boat, while Jule declared that Case was the responsible one. At any rate, while the boys were umpiring the fight between the dog and the man the three men plunged into the stream and made off with the Rambler. The boys saw their loss too late. The boat was already headed downstream.

CHAPTER V

A FRIEND IN NEED

Released from the jaws of the dog in a slightly damaged condition, the man who had been attacked started on a run for the spot where the rowboat had been concealed. Blood was streaming down his neck and throat as a result of the attentions of Captain Joe, and the fellow shook his fist wrathfully as he ran.

The next instant he was followed by the two other men, who made many threats as to what they would do to the dog if they ever came upon him again. Captain Joe looked as if he wanted to finish the job he had begun, but was restrained by Clay.

The three men were not followed by the boys, for they were too much interested in watching the men on the Rambler.

For once the boys were unarmed. They had leaped into the river on the spur of the moment, only half dressed, and were absolutely defenseless. They now looked at each other with faces from which every vestige of color had fled.

In the meantime the three men were making their way to the spot where the rowboat had been hidden in the thicket. Almost before they could sense what was being done, they had pushed the boat into the water and were away in the wake of the Rambler.

“There goes our Rio Grande trip!” exclaimed Alex sorrowfully. “What can we do now?”

“Just our luck!” was Case’s comment.

Jule said not a word, evidently thinking that no words could do justice to the occasion.

Clay remained silent for a moment, and then a smile flickered over his face as he observed:

“Well, our next stunt will be to get the boat back. No game is played out until the cards are all on the table.”

“Oh, you’ll get it back, all right! In a pig’s wrist.”

Case was almost ready to cry with anger and vexation.

“We never should have left the boat alone,” he declared.

“Well, it can’t be helped now,” Clay suggested. “Who has any ideas to offer?”

“I would suggest that we take turns kicking each other,” said Alex, wrinkling his nose. “We all deserve the boot good and plenty! Who’ll be the one to begin the ceremony?”

“Cut that,” remarked Clay, cheerfully. “We have no one to blame but ourselves. The first thing to do is to get into a decent suit of clothes. I presume such things can be bought here.”

“Yes, but we are on the wrong side of the river,” complained Case. “I would advise suicide!”

Three of the boys greeted this remark with roars of laughter, but Case was not to be coaxed out of his pessimistic mood.

“It’s all right for you boys to think you’ll get the Rambler back again, but I just know you won’t!” he contended. “We’ll be lucky if we catch a ride back to Chicago. Anybody in the crowd got any money? I thought not,” he added as the boys all shook their heads. “Then how’re you going to get any clothes or anything?”

“Say,” cried Alex, in a moment, “do you know that we never got Paul Stegman off the boat?”

“I wonder if the new proprietors will get his leg set?” Case suggested. “You bet they won’t! Pirates don’t go around doing Red Cross stunts. Not much they don’t.”

“If I had your disposition,” ventured Jule, with a grin to take the sting out of the remark, “I’d take it down to the river and drown it. It’s a wonder it doesn’t keep you awake nights.”

“Come, boys, we’ve got to get a move on if we ever get anywhere,” suggested Clay. “I move that we begin operations with a morning bath. Bathing suits are barred.”

The Rambler was now out of sight around a bend in the river, and there was no sense in longer delaying the moment of departure, so Alex plunged into the stream and was soon making his way to the other side. He was closely followed by the dog, who seemed to regret his share in the incident which had cost the boys the Rambler.

The boys were soon assembled on the opposite shore, and it became necessary to decide upon some course of action. It was now broad daylight, and the people of the town were already astir.

“It amounts to just this,” Clay declared. “There isn’t a cent in the crowd, and we are all hungry and in need of wearing apparel. There isn’t even a watch or a piece of jewelry in sight. Now what’s the answer? Shall we spend the time loafing about Hayes until our money gets here, or shall we make a touch and get into action at once?”

“For Heaven’s sake,” insisted Alex, “let’s do something that will bring us something to eat. My internal machinery is about run down.”

“I’ve been anticipating this,” explained Clay, “and am in a measure prepared for it.”

Alex’s face brightened instantly at the thought of something to eat. Clay turned to Case with a smile.

“Give me a slice of that cold shoulder you’ve been turning on every suggestion made this morning,” he said.

Alex shouted and Jule joined in the demonstration until early risers who were passing paused to inspect the party.

“Never again!” said Case, joining in the laughter. “From now on I’ll be the first one to roar at a desperate situation. What an ass a fellow is to be always growling!”

“That’s what we all think,” said Alex.

No more was said on the subject, and for a time Case really did better.

“We are attracting considerable attention here,” Jule remarked, glancing about at the little crowd which had already assembled. “Perhaps we would better select some less conspicuous place for our deliberations.”

“Is there anything to eat there?” Alex asked, with a wrinkle in his nose which made his face look very comical. “My stomach feels like the Mammoth Cave.”

Before the boys could put their plan into execution and seek a more secluded place in which to find a way out of their trouble Alex caught Clay by the arm and pointed up the street.

“Do you see anyone you know up there?” he demanded. “That man looks like something to eat. But how did he make the distance in the storm?”

The boys looked in the direction indicated by the pointing finger and saw Rube Stagg making for them with a broad grin on his homely face.

“Say,” said Alex, advancing to meet him, “if you’re down here looking for brindle steers, it falls to me to tell you that there’s hot a thing stirring.”

Rube walked up to the boys and immediately doubled up with laughter at the figure they cut. All were sopping wet, and Clay, Case and Jule were only half dressed.

“They got your boat, did they?” he asked, after he had his laugh out. “And where are the injured lad and the baby bear?”

“Gone down the river with the boat,” was the reply.

“Too bad, too bad!” mused Rube. “I see,” he added, whimsically, “that you saved the bulldog.”

As if in recognition of the mention, Captain Joe advanced to Rube’s side and laid a wet nose in his hand.

The dog seemed to know that something was amiss, but could not tell what it was. The Rambler was not in sight, and he could not understand that.

“Look here, man,” Alex remarked, with a prodigious grin, “have you got any mazuma? I refer to coin of the realm, skads, you know.”

“The men who robbed you of your boat also got your money, did they?” and Rube went into another paroxysm of laughter.

“I don’t see anything funny about the situation,” frowned Case. “Here we are, half naked in the street, with Paul Stegman, who may be dying for want of medical attention, away on the river, no one knows where. I call it rotten!”

“I ask your pardon, young feller,” came the quick answer, “but there’s no harm in a laugh where no harm is intended. Now, what was it this freckle-faced kid said about money?”

“Oh, yes, money! I didn’t know as there was any left in the world. Have you really got some?”

And the boy regarded Rube with a stare of disbelief.

“I had good luck selling my oxen, and therefore am moderately well hooked up. How much do you want, son?”

By way of showing that he was both willing and able to supply all their present needs, Rube extracted a wad of bank notes from his pocket that would have, in the language of Alex, “choked a cow.”

“Whoop-ee!” shouted that young man. “Lead me to the fodder! Lead me to it!”

“First,” began Clay, “tell us whether we can send a message from this place. We’ve got to catch the Rambler, you know.”

The man took a ponderous silver watch from his pocket and consulted it before replying.

“The telegraph office will open in exactly forty minutes,” he said, snapping it shut. “Do we eat first? You see,” he continued, “I was broken of my rest last night, and it always makes me hungry to lie awake.”

“There’s a place down the street that looks like something to eat,” and Alex shot ahead to investigate.

Several men who had been following the little party now came forward.

“Say, stranger,” a man who appeared to be the leader said, “if you’ll step aside and answer a few questions, I’ll take it as a favor on your part. A bank was robbed of $100,000 by a man answering your description—red head and all. The robbery was pulled off Monday night.”

CHAPTER VI

ALEX GETS A SQUARE MEAL

“And you think I turned the trick?” asked Rube.

“I don’t think anything about it,” was the answer, in an unpleasant tone of voice. “I just asked you to step aside for a minute so I could find out. If you get gay, I’ll have to put the irons on you—just for luck.”

“See here, stranger, if you ever get irons on me, you’ll have to put up a fight for it,” Rube remarked with a scowl. “And,” he continued, “I may as well tell you right now that I’m not here to answer any fool questions.”

Both men drew revolvers at the same instant, and would have used them had Clay not stepped in between them.

“There goes my beefsteak,” Alex whispered to Jule. “Our good thing will be in the village lockup in about half a second.”

“Just our luck!” declared Case.

“Gentlemen,” began Clay, but he was stopped by a man who came pushing his way through the crowd impetuously.

“None of that, gentlemen,” he drawled. “If I want any shooting done, I’ll do it myself. What seems to be the trouble?”

“I don’t see where you get cards in this game,” sneered a bystander.

“I can tell you where this man was last night,” put in Alex, who was resolved not to lose his steak. “He was up the river about thirty miles helping four boys load a wounded boy on a motor boat.”

“What of that?” demanded the spokesman of the party. “Last night wasn’t Monday night.”

“That’s so,” said Alex, looking very much ashamed, “it was Tuesday night. Pardon me.”

“Where’s the wounded boy and the motor boat?” inquired a man who stood in the crowd.

“Yes, where be they?” asked another. “I fail to see any motor boat, or boat of any kind, with them. In fact, I know that they came swimming up to the landing like a lot of dock rats. I’m in favor of locking the whole bunch up.”

“Do it, Mr. Officer,” urged several men in the crowd.

The constable stepped forward as if to make the arrest, but the man who had spoken against any shooting, offering to do it himself, if any was done, stepped in front of him.

He was an alert looking fellow, with a businesslike air which seemed to proclaim that he would be as good as his word.

“You heard what I said about doing the shooting myself if any was started,” he said, with a drawl. “I’m from Missouri and you’ve got to show me.”

“What kind of a bluff is this, anyway?” demanded the constable, but he put up his weapon, as if he had decided not to call the bluff at that time.

“I’m looking for that steak,” suggested Alex, wrinkling his nose. “When does it come?”

“I’m Buck Eldred,” announced the man with a businesslike air, “and I know this man,” pointing to the giant of a man, with a smile on a clean-cut face, “just as well as if I had helped wheel the dirt to make him. Anybody in the crowd that knows Buck Eldred?”

No one seemed to know Buck Eldred, and the chances for a battle seemed very good. At that moment, however, an interruption took place which put an entirely different face on the incident.

A posse of officers came in from the East with the man who had robbed the bank in custody.

Instantly there was a friendly sentiment, and the men who had denounced the boys in savage terms could not do enough for them.

To all such offers, however, the boys turned deaf ears.

“We might have had a load of beefsteak by now,” said Alex, “that a dog couldn’t bite through. Just wait until I get to the table and watch my motions.”

“You’ll be there directly,” said Rube, with a chuckle. “I feel as if I could enjoy a snack myself.”

The tavern sought by the men seemed to be the best in the town, but that was not saying much. However, it was neat and clean, and the steaks were soon sizzling over the coals.

“Will you tell me how you got down the river so soon?” Clay asked as soon as the first edge was off the appetites. “We leave the Point, get here in time to have our boat stolen, and then we run across you. How did you make it? We haven’t been here over two hours, and you show up like a Christmas present—all the more welcome because unexpected.”

“Now, son, just remember this: It ain’t all the questions that are asked that are answered. What you don’t find out you can’t repeat. And there you are.”

“I didn’t mean to be inquisitive,” answered Clay, with a flush of vexation. “It is none of my business how you got here, so long as you are here.”

“Now don’t misunderstand me,” continued Rube, in an apologetic tone, which seemed to be something new for him. “There’s reasons for keeping my mouth closed tighter’n a drum. Enough that I got here in time to help you out with a little cash, which you may return at any time most convenient.”

“Thank you for the loan,” replied Clay. “I hope to return it almost immediately—just as soon, in fact, as we hear from Chicago.”

No more was said on the subject at that time. The boys were busy plying their knives and forks, and, the meal over, there was the visit to the telegraph office and then the search for the Rambler was begun.

To tell the truth, the fate of Paul Stegman troubled the lads not a little. They had no idea what disposition the robbers would make of him. They might toss him overboard, and they might leave him to die of his wounds. It would be just as the mood seized them.

There was no news of the Rambler at first. The boys were becoming discouraged when a telegram from a point thirty miles down the river gave them courage.

A boat answering the description of the Rambler was anchored off the mouth of a small creek which ran into the Rio Grande just below the Mexican line.

“Of course it’s the Rambler!” shouted Case. “No other boat looks like the Rambler. Wonder what’s been going on since we left the boat? Seems like a week.”

“How are we going to get to her?” inquired Jule. “Thirty miles is a long distance—when you have to swim.”

“And the robbers may be up and away long before we are anywhere near them,” Alex cut in. “Is there a boat of any kind that we might borrow, beg or steal in the town?”

“There ought to be,” Clay contributed hopefully. “This is a river town, and there ought to be plenty of boats in sight.”

“Can we get one that will speed up?” asked Case.

“That’s to be found out,” said Clay.

“I hope we find Paul Stegman all right,” Case said, rather dubiously. “It would be just like the robbers to pitch him overboard. Their time of reckoning will come.”

A search of the town revealed nothing available in the boat line. There were rowboats and skiffs in plenty, but not a thing in the line of a motor boat.

“We’ve just got to get down to the Mexican line, and get there in jig time,” declared Alex. “The baby bear needs my care.”

“That’s poetry,” Jule announced. “Baby bear needs my care. It scans, too. First thing you know, Alex, you’ll be selling your verses at the rate of a dollar a yard.”

Alex grinned, but made no reply.

“I wonder where Rube and Buck Eldred took themselves off to?” asked Case in a moment. “They seem to have mysteriously disappeared.”

“Here they come now!” cried Jule.

The two men came from the direction of the river, only higher up than the boys had penetrated. They now approached the lads with their faces wreathed in smiles.

“Got a boat, boys?” Buck asked.

“Not so you could notice it,” Alex answered.

“See here, kids,” Buck went on, “Rube here has been telling me something of your story, and we’ve decided to make common cause against the pirates. How will that suit you?”

“Fine!” cried Alex.

The other boys were equally frank in their pleasure at the announcement, and Buck went on.

“Now, we’ve got a little motor boat down the river which——”

The man got no farther than that.

The boys set up such a hubbub that it was impossible to hear a thing. They ended by giving three cheers and a tiger for Rube and Buck.

“This is great!” exclaimed Clay.

“Great is no name for it!” Alex declared. “Say, fellows, in order to celebrate this event properly, we ought to have another beefsteak. This good news makes me hungry.”

“I’d like to see something that wouldn’t make you want to eat. You certainly have a whale of an appetite,” was Clay’s comment.

“I know what I’d like right now,” Alex went on, regardless of the laughter of Buck and Rube, “and that is a ’possum pie. I can see myself on board the Rambler, feasting on one right now.”

“That’s all right, but you’re not on board the Rambler yet,” Case complained. “We’re a long ways from it, worse luck!”

“That reminds me that I haven’t had anything to eat in about two hours,” said Rube, with a grin, “and that it is about time we met at the festive board.”

“But how are you going to get a meal cooked in the middle of the forenoon?” asked Buck. “It strikes me that the cooks will be busy at this time. Better wait until noon.”

“Not much,” laughed Alex, with a prodigious wrinkling of his nose. “Not when I’ve got a man back of me that stands six feet and a half in his stocking feet!”

“Go to it,” said Clay, with a grin. “If this thing keeps on you’ll swell up and burst.”

“I guess I’ll take a chance on bursting myself,” announced Jule. “Two bust-ups won’t make any more noise than one, and no more mess, either.” The three started away toward the tavern, while the others set out to walk to the motor boat, which was some distance away.

“Tell you what I think,” Buck observed, as they passed a clothing store where about everything was sold from handkerchiefs to threshing machines, “you boys have been walking the street undressed about long enough. I’ll buy you good suits if you’ll come inside. You won’t make any hit with the natives by going around in that rig.”

Clay looked down at his scanty apparel and laughed. The suit did look inappropriate for use on the street.

“All right,” said the boy. “If you want to take chances on losing your investment, go ahead.”

“How do you know that you’ll ever get the money back?” asked Case. “Perhaps we only borrowed the Rambler and turned it over to the owners here.”

“You didn’t borrow the faces you have, did you?” answered Buck, with a smile. “If you ever set out to be robbers, you’ve got to get new faces.”

“You may be mistaken in regard to the faces,” replied Clay. “You can never tell by the looks of a porcupine how far he can throw his quills. What is that man looking at?”

He certainly was as evil-faced a fellow as one could come upon in a day’s walk.

CHAPTER VII

STOLEN—A MOTOR BOAT

“I’ve seen that face before, unless I am much mistaken,” was the reply. “It must be Mad Rowell, a person who just thinks he’s the toughest man that ever came down the pike.”

The boys were in the store by this time with a meager supply of clothing in front of them. Mad Rowell was evidently looking for trouble. He kept his evil eyes fixed upon the party in an effort to stare them out of countenance.

“This looks like a mix-up with the fellow,” whispered Case. “I wish I had my gun with me.”

“No need of a gun, son,” was the reply. “You wouldn’t get a chance to use it if you had it,” with a quick motion toward a breast pocket.

“Hands up!”

The command was given in the usual tone, but Mad Rowell obeyed instantly. His hand, already bringing a weapon from his pocket, dropped to his side, the weapon clattering to the floor.

By this time the store was in confusion. Customers were getting out of range in any way they could.

They were hiding under counters, and rushing to the door in a panic which threatened to depopulate the place of business.

“Leave the gun where it is,” came the voice of Buck.

His tone was low and musical, but there was a glitter in his smiling eyes which commanded obedience.

The fellow stood sullenly awaiting the next move.

“I ought to fill you full of lead,” went on the voice, “but I can’t find it in my heart to shoot such a low-down coyote as you. Got another gun on you?”

The man shook his head.

“I’ll find that out for myself, I reckon. Cattle like you ain’t to be trusted.”

When the search had progressed as far as the pistol pocket a wicked looking knife was discovered.

“You cur!” said Buck. “I make you a present of your life, and this is the way I’m paid.”

The blow which followed the remark had nothing to break its force. Mad Rowell was lifted clear of the floor by the force of it, whirled around a couple of times, and fell unconscious to the top of a heap of green wood.

Then Buck turned to the counter and proceeded with his bargaining as if nothing had occurred. Gradually the customers returned to the store, but not until Buck and the boys had made their purchases and left the store was there any comment whatever.

Then opinions, both for and against the unknown man who had dealt with the man known as Mad Rowell so summarily were heard.

“Served him good and right,” said the storekeeper, lifting the fallen tough in his arms and throwing him out of doors. “The fellow has run this town too long already.”

And that was the general sentiment, though Rowell had his friends too.

Clay and Case, clothed in new suits, proceeded on their way to where the motor boat had been secreted.

“Tell you what,” Buck suggested, “I think some of us had better remain on the spot, in case prowlers should take a fancy to the Esmeralda. Nice name, eh? Named for an old sweetheart.”

“Who’ll be the one to stay?” asked Clay, looking keenly at his chum. “You know the money was ordered in my name from Chicago, and no one else can receipt.”

“That puts it up to me, I take it,” Case replied. “Have you any idea when the other boys will be along?”

“When Alex gets full to the neck,” replied Clay. “If you want to see an eating contest that is a corker, just get Alex and Jule pitted against each other.”

Alex seemed to be a long time getting “full to the neck,” and Buck and Clay finally left for the town, leaving Case to watch the boat.

When they reached the tavern there seemed to be nothing unusual going on. There were no people standing about, and everything appeared normal and in place.

“Now, I wonder where the boys and Rube are?” Clay said. “They ought to be here, making a noise!”

The two found no one in the front of the house, so they made bold to invade the kitchen. Before they reached that apartment, however, they heard Alex’s voice. They stopped and listened.

“And you take a fat ’possum and fix it up for the pan,” he was saying, “and when you’ve done that, take strips of fat pork and lay them lengthwise through the dressing. Oh, yes, about the dressing! I didn’t tell you how to fix that, did I?”

Clay was so full of laugh that he exploded right there.

“Tell the cook about the sweet potatoes!” he reared, half choking with laughter. “Perhaps you’ll make a pretty good cook of him before we have to leave the town.”

Alex opened the kitchen door and looked out.

“Oh, you!” he said with a broad grin.

Then he caught sight of the new suit worn by Clay and looked toward Jule with a wrinkling of the nose.

“Don’t you wish you’d been present when they were passing ’em around?” he said. “Now go away and let me continue my lesson to the cook. He got up a peach of a steak for us, and I’m giving him a few instructions to guide him in future years. Go away, now, and leave us alone. Skedaddle!”

The cook was black as the ace of spades, and was evidently a native of the South. He stood by the cook stove with a broad grin on his face. If he knew a lot about roasting ’possums that Alex had never heard of, he said not a word about it!

Rube sat in the corner of the room holding his sides.

“You sure take the whole bakery!” was his comment.

“Perhaps you don’t think I can cook a ’possum?” Alex announced. “Well, just you bring on your ’possum, and I’ll show you that I can! The idea!”

This was greeted with a burst of laughter.

“All right!” declared Alex, “just you bring on your ’possum! I’ll show you a thing about cooking the bird!”

“There isn’t a ’possum within a thousand miles!” roared Buck.

“Now, don’t yo’ make too sho’ o’ dat!” grinned the cook. “Yo’ sho’ got to show me!”

The cook went to a woodshed just outside the door and produced about the fattest ’possum ever seen.

Immediately there was commotion in that little kitchen.

Alex bounced up and down like a rubber ball, while Jule showed his excitement by rolling over and over on the floor.

“The cook called your bluff!” shouted Buck.

“Think that was a bluff?” asked Alex.

The lad took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

“I’m going to make good right now!” he explained.

The cook looked nervous about turning the ’possum over to Alex. He finally made up his mind that the boy couldn’t make much of a failure of the cookery with him there looking on, so he permitted him to go ahead. Buck looked dubious and Rube only laughed.

“Now you fellows get out of the kitchen!” ordered Alex. “How do you think I can cook this ’possum with you standing around? When the meal is ready to serve, I’ll tell you.”

“You don’t think of eating again, do you?” asked Clay.

“Do you think I’m going to miss that ’possum? Not much, I ain’t! No, sir, that ’possum’s going to be cooked, and cooked right! Then it’ll be eaten right!”

The two boys left the kitchen, accompanied by Buck and Rube, leaving Alex and the cook to do business with the ’possum.

After leaving the tavern Clay and Jule went to the railroad station, hoping to find a money order there. They were doubly disappointed. Not only was there no money for them, but that was not a money-order office.

“Now what?” asked Jule as they turned away from the little station house. “This seems to be one of our lucky trips. Anything else likely to happen?”

“Tell you what I’d do if I was in your place,” advised Rube. “I’d let the consarned money go and borrow enough to see me through to El Paso. That’s the way I look at it.”

“That’s what you’d better do,” said Buck.

“Guess we’ll be obliged to,” Clay said in a disgusted tone.

“Why didn’t the clerk tell us that it wasn’t a money-order office at first?” demanded Jule.

“Perhaps he didn’t know,” laughed Buck. “There’s sometimes a heap o’ ignorance connected with these way stations.”

“I should say so!” agreed Jule.

“Now who shall we borrow of?” asked Clay.

By way of an answer Rube took the roll of bank notes from his pocket and began stripping them off.

“How much did you say you wanted?” he asked. “Better take enough for emergencies while you have the chance. I may be broke flat as a flounder by to-morrow.”

“This will give us a chance to get away at once,” said Clay, placing the money in his pocket. “If Alex was here, we could be on our way immediately.”

Jule broke into a laugh at the idea of prying Alex away from that ’possum.

“You’ll not do it,” he announced, “as long as there is a bone left. Alex is some feeder.”

“There’s no hurry,” Buck said, looking at his watch. “The men who stole the boat will lie in hiding all day and go on at night. They will be on the lookout for officers, and will do a lot of skulking. They may even abandon the boat for a time, but they will come back to it.”

“And they may put up a fight,” Jule argued. “For one, I’d like nothing better than taking a shot at them.”

“They won’t do much in the fighting line,” Buck contended. “It all depends on how many of us there are. There seems to be four of them and they won’t stand for more than that in the attacking party. You see,” he added, “there’s the Colorado penitentiary in sight, and they’ll make a desperate run to keep out of it.”

“But they may fight,” suggested Clay.

“Oh, of course,” answered Buck, “but we’ll be on the spot, ready and waiting for them.”

It seemed to the waiting boys that there never was such a long day. Alex, of course, had his ’possum to attend to.

When served at dinner the ’possum was declared to be the best ever. Rich and juicy, and done to a turn, it left nothing to be desired.

The cook declared on his word of honor he had not even made a suggestion regarding the cooking of the dainty.

“Ah sure don’t need to,” he insisted, “for dat lad he know all there is to know ’bout cookin’ ’possum! ’Deed he do!”

This endorsement was music to Alex’s ears, and he tried hard to accept it modestly. His three chums knew, of course, his skill in the culinary line, but there were Rube and Buck who had to be shown.

Case had been relieved of his watch at the boat in order that he might join the boys at dinner, and immediately after the meal was served started away to resume his guardianship, accompanied by Jule.

Alex and Clay remained with Rube and Buck, who had provisions to buy. They did not know how long the chase might be, and were determined to be prepared for it.

After making their purchases they set out for the motor boat, but were met halfway by Case and Jule with the statement that the boat had been stolen while the ’possum was being discussed.

CHAPTER VIII

ALEX CLIMBS A TREE

The boys looked into faces which had lost the ruddy tinge of health. For a second not a word was spoken.

Then Clay laughed. This seemed to set the pace for the men, for they all laughed in unison.

Then Case grew sober.

“I had a grumble at the end of my tongue,” he said, “but Clay’s laugh made me forget it. What’s the next move?”

“Find the boat,” contributed Buck. “As we don’t know which way they went, we’ll split the party, and go in both directions. They can’t be very far away.”

“They went upstream,” said Alex. “I had a seat at the table from which the river was in sight, and I’m positive that no motor boat passed in the other direction.”

“Still, one might have gone downstream when you were otherwise engaged,” replied Buck. “I’ve noticed that boys have a habit of overlooking many things when the ’possum is cooked just right.”

Alex grinned but made no comment.

“This is some of Mad Rowell’s work,” said Rube, as the party passed on upstream.

“You bet it is,” Case added. “Twice I thought I saw him in the underbrush, but finally decided that it was my imagination working overtime. I wish now that I had investigated.”

“If Mad Rowell knows how to operate a motor boat,” said Buck, “the chances are against us. That boat can go some!”

The party advanced up the stream half a mile or more without seeing anything in the shape of a motor boat.

“Hopeless case, I reckon,” suggested Rube. “It strikes me that we are only wasting time. We should have gone directly to the village and used the wire.

The man had hardly ceased speaking when an exclamation from Jule attracted the attention of all in the party.

“There she is!”

It was indeed true. The Esmeralda lay rocking in the river some distance farther upstream. Mad Rowell was nowhere in view from where the party stood. The boat was, however, on the opposite bank of the river.

Buck appeared lost in a brown study for a moment, and then he said, speaking in his usual drawl:

“This may be an ambush.”

“If they ever got one of us into the river, they could fill him so full of lead that he’d sink of his own weight,” Clay went on. “The thing to do now is for all to take to the water at once. They can’t kill all of us!”

“They might do even that,” put in Rube, “but it seems that we have to risk it. I wish I had my two hands on the man who is responsible for this!”

“Well, what’s the decision?” asked Case.

“Yes,” answered Alex, “who’s ready for a cold bath?”

“If there’s anything I just love to do,” laughed Jule, “it is to go swimming. This water is fine!”

“Suppose we all strip?” suggested Case, who did not care to get his new suit wet.

“Then we’ll have to leave someone on this side to watch the clothes,” said Jule. “That will be a good job for me.”

“In a pig’s wrist,” Case said. “We’ll draw lots to see who stays behind.”

Fate decided in favor of Alex, much to the disgust of that young man, who was really anxious to try conclusions with the men who had stolen the boat. He tried his best to get a substitute, but did not succeed, and so was obliged to sit idly on the bank of the stream while the others took to the water.

“Come on in. The water’s fine!” taunted Jule.

Notwithstanding the optimism of Jule, the water was wretchedly cold. At that time, however, the people in the stream were too much occupied with other matters to pay any attention to the temperature of the water.

They spread out in the shape of a fan and made for the opposite shore with no thought of the chill of the water. When at last their feet struck the shelving shore, they kept the old formation.

To their great surprise there was no one in or about the boat. They advanced cautiously, not knowing when they might be attacked.

They did not see the evil face of Mad Rowell peering out upon them from a clump of underbrush. As a matter of fact, the man had been caught off his guard.

He had gone back down the river looking for an old crony to keep him company in the journey he proposed to take. He had returned to the Esmeralda just a minute too late.

This accounted for the boat being in such good condition. If Rowell had abandoned it, it is a sure thing that he would have broken the motor and done other damage which would have made its use impossible, for a time at least.

If Rowell had been possessed of a revolver, the chances are that he would have taken a shot at Buck, but, it will be remembered, his weapon had been taken from him at the store.

So, weaponless as he was, the tough was obliged to see the Esmeralda taken away by its owner. He resolved, however, to “get even” at the first opportunity.

“Now, what do you know about this?” demanded Clay, looking over the boat critically. “The motor is in fine form, and I can’t see a thing the matter anywhere.”

Rube pointed to the place where the rowboat had been kept.

“The skiff is not here,” he remarked, “and it looks like they had gone away in it.”

By this time all the boys were shivering, so they made a hasty departure for the other shore. When only a few yards away they observed Captain Joe acting in a suspicious manner, and turned on more electricity.

“What’s that fool dog up to?” asked Case.

There was quite a commotion on shore, and the boys did not wait to see that the Esmeralda was anchored, but sprang into the river and swam ashore. When they reached solid ground neither Alex nor the dog was in sight. And neither were the clothes!

“Well, of all the——”

Clay stopped right there. All he could say did not half express the situation.

A few articles of clothing were scattered about, but they did not represent the five suits which had been left there only a short time before. In fact, a good share of the clothes had disappeared.

The shivering lads gathered on the river bank and pondered over the new turn of affairs until joined by Rube and Buck.

“Where’s your boy who was watching the clothes?” asked Buck. “I don’t seem to see him anywhere about!”

“And where’s your dog?” demanded Rube.

“Blessed if I know what’s been going on here!” exclaimed Case, his teeth rattling as with the ague.

“Oh, this is a bad dream,” declared Jule. “Turn over and get off your back! You’ll be dreaming of pie in a minute!”

“I wish I had any old thing to put on,” grumbled Case.

“You know what Eve did when she found herself naked?” remarked Jule. “She made an apron of fig leaves.”

“Bring on your fig leaves!” ordered Clay. “Here, waiter, one order of fig leaves.”

“Something must be done at once,” declared Rube. “I’m that cold that life in an ice house would be a pleasant recreation!”

A movement was now heard in the underbrush which lined the shore of the stream, and Captain Joe made his appearance.

The dog was greeted with exclamations of disgust.