Читать книгу The Outdoor Chums on the Lake: or, Lively Adventures on Wildcat Island - Allen Quincy - Страница 3

Once again all was excitement aboard the steamboat.

Jerry and Bluff dropped into their frail craft with the practiced balance of experienced canoeists. Frank did not mean to be left behind in the wild race, managed to occupy a place in the craft of Jerry. He seized upon the single paddle, intending to work his passage, and make up for the additional burden.

As they started off they could hear the captain giving orders to the crew.

“He means to turn the boat around, and start after the thieves himself!” cried Jerry, as he dipped his double-blade swiftly on one side and then the other.

Both little mosquito craft were by this time fairly flying through the water. As those who wielded the paddles faced forward they were able to see what progress they made all the time toward overhauling the escaping hoboes.

“Not much hope,” declared Frank, finally.

“They’re two-thirds of the way in to shore. We are gaining, but not enough by half to overhaul them,” announced Bluff, making valiant progress.

“Tell me about this, but I hope Will sees his opportunity to snap off a good view. This has your race beat to a frazzle, Bluff!” shouted Jerry.

“There comes the steamboat! The captain is heading to cut them off,” said Frank.

“But he’s too far away. Besides, it’s too shallow in there, and if he knows his business he’ll never try to go much closer. A fire is bad enough, not to speak of a stranded boat,” observed Bluff.

The two men in the double canoe were working like steam-engines to make progress. They handled the paddles fairly well in unison, and as Frank had said, showed a familiarity with the blades that spoke of former experiences.

As the three boys paddled on they saw the leading canoe shoot up on the shelving beach. Then the tramps scrambled ashore.

“Hold on there, you!” bellowed Bluff, in his excitement; “we want to talk with you!”

For answer the two men only made derisive motions. Then they vanished in the thick timber.

“They’re gone, all right, boys. I reckon it will take some hunting to find such slippery rascals again,” remarked Frank, with a laugh; for it was not his packet that had been stolen, and he had no reason to be deeply concerned.

“What will we do now?” demanded Bluff, looking as disappointed as though he had just lost a race.

“Recover our canoe, and put across the lake to where Will stands on that dock.”

“But see here, Frank, do you mean to let those fellows get away?” asked Jerry.

Jerry was always the impulsive one of the four chums. His characteristic temperament often got him into hot water. Only the preceding Fall when the boys had taken a trip into the woods, owing to a storm unroofing the Academy at Centerville, as narrated in the preceding volume of this series, entitled “The Outdoor Chums; or, First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club,” he had found himself precipitated into numerous difficulties because of this failing. Frank was frequently compelled to restrain this impulsiveness on the part of his chum. On this camping trip they had met with many strange adventures, including an invasion of the camp by a wildcat, a bear and also some enemies who wished to do them harm by setting fire to their tents; Jerry had lost himself in the forest and encountered numerous exciting adventures, and there had followed a series of mishaps that had all winter long given the chums a subject for entertainment and discussion.

Frank was pleased to find that the tramps had not been vindictive enough to try and do any harm to the frail craft in which they had made their escape from the steamboat.

For this he was disposed to feel a little kindly toward them. It also made him more convinced than ever that they must have a tender spot in their evil hearts for a canoe, and could not bear to smash up such a delicate little craft.

The steamboat was lying off-shore, and our boys headed in such a direction that they could talk back in answer to any questions asked by the captain.

“Did they get clean away?” called the commander of the boat, using his hands in lieu of a megaphone.

“I reckon they did, Captain. They skipped into the timber, and that was the last thing we saw of them,” replied Frank, pausing for a minute in his labor.

“That’s bad. We were in hopes you could capture them,” said the other, looking plainly worried over what future troubles were in store for his company.

“Boys, I thank you for the trouble you took, and hope to see you again,” shouted Mr. Pemberton. “I’m going to get off at Centerville, and engage the sheriff to hunt high and low for those rascals. If you hear of anything, please look me up. It is mighty important that I recover possession of that missing packet.”

“All right, we’ll be glad to do so, sir. We expect to spend the Easter holidays in the woods somewhere along the lake, and it’s just possible we may run across those two hoboes again,” answered Frank, dipping his paddle in deeply again, and sending his boat after those of his companions that were flying on ahead.

They allowed him to catch up, for Jerry wanted to ask a question or two.

“Say, do you really suppose we could meet with those scamps again?” he said, eagerness showing in his eyes; for Jerry loved excitement, though fond of calling himself a square sportsman, always giving the game every possible chance.

“About one chance in ten; still, it’s there. If they hang around here for any reason, and we’re in the woods, you can see we might run across the couple,” replied the other, quietly.

“Talk to me about your volunteer fire companies, I reckon we’ve got a cinch on the prize for rapid work,” cried Jerry. “Only for you, Frank, that blessed old Eastern Star was sure bound to go up in smoke. The company ought to vote you a medal.”

“And there’s poor Will standing on the deck waiting for us to come in and tell him what all this fuss is about,” remarked Bluff, as they drew near the shore.

“Hello! you runaways, what in the wide world was all that row out there?” demanded the stranded canoeist, as the others glided in close to the little wharf upon which he was sitting with his legs dangling over, and the precious camera gripped tight in his hands.

“All sorts of things happening. The boat was on fire, and Frank here settled that by grabbing up an extinguisher and turning the hose on the flames, while the crew was handling the buckets. The whole thing would have gone up if we hadn’t arrived just in time. Then there was a robbery aboard,” said Bluff, eagerly.

“What! a robbery? Do you really mean it?” gasped Will.

“Certainly. A jewelry salesman had a valuable packet stolen from his stateroom. It is believed that the fire was started just to cover the robbery. While we were talking over matters, trying to get the facts straight, and decided on arresting a couple of hoboes aboard who were suspected of doing the job, they ran away with the double canoe, and escaped into the woods across yonder,” went on Frank.

“Two hoboes! Why, I saw them standing at the side of the steamboat looking down at the canoes. They’ll appear in the picture I took just then, for the smoke was rolling up, and the view was magnificent,” declared Will.

Frank started and looked hastily out upon the lake.

“I’m afraid it would be too far to recognize the features of any one, even if you caught a first-class view,” he remarked.

“Still there’s a little chance. A magnifier or reading-glass might bring it out strong enough. Anyhow, I’m going right home and make the try, fellows. My roll is finished, and I might as well develop it now as later.”

“Bring it around to-night when we meet at my house to talk over our camping trip for the Easter holidays,” said Frank.

“Where do you think we’ll go, boys?” asked Bluff, anxiously.

“For myself I’m in favor of Wildcat Island at the southern end of the lake. Somehow, nobody ever goes there, and we could have a great time, I imagine,” remarked Frank.

“Yes, especially with the wild man that they say has his den somewhere on that same old island,” remarked Bluff, shrugging his shoulders, as if the idea did not strike him favorably.

“Talk about your circus, a wild man appeals to me every time!” said Jerry. “I’m in favor of going there, particularly because it offers a chance for excitement. Suppose we captured this thing and found that it was a big monkey or orang-outang that had escaped from some menagerie long ago, wouldn’t that be something to shout over? Me for Wildcat Island. How about you, Will?”

“To tell the truth I’ve always wanted to get some good views of that lonely place, and I’ll vote in favor of going there,” returned the young photographer.

Bluff turned anxiously toward Frank.

“Are you backing these desperate schemers up in this madness, Frank?” he asked.

“Well, I’d like to explore that place very much. No one has ever done it, so far as I can learn. Some say the island is haunted; others that there are rattlers in plenty there, besides furious wildcats; and then there’s this story told about a wild man who has been seen several times on the shore of the island. Why, yes, I’m in favor of going there to-morrow, when we start out.”

Bluff threw up both hands.

“I give in. Three against one settles the matter for keeps. Wildcat Island it is then for the Easter camp. But I refuse to accept any of the responsibility for whatever may happen,” declared Bluff, firmly.

“Speak to me about a quitter, will you? Listen to him knuckling down before we even make a start. He claims to have bigger lungs than me, does he? I’ll have to admit that he can make a lot more noise when it comes to squealing.”

Bluff Masters turned upon the other indignantly, as he exclaimed:

“Wait and see who turns white first when that wild man bobs up. My lungs are in better shape than yours, and I can prove it any old day. There goes Will off, and I’m for following him. Bring a print of each picture around to-night, old chap.”

“Sure. And let’s hope they turn out decent,” answered the other, waving a hand as he moved away in the direction of town, leaving it to Frank to paddle the big canoe to the landing where they kept the cedar craft when not in the boathouse of the club.

Frank was a busy fellow during the remainder of the day. He had the job of laying in the stores that were to see them through a whole week in camp; and when four boys get out in the open for that length of time it is simply astonishing what an amount of food they can dispose of.

But Frank had spent many a night under canvas and bark covers in Maine, and, in fact, there was little about camping he did not know. At the same time he always made it a point to ask questions whenever he ran across any one who had also been through the mill; for in this way even veterans may learn new wrinkles by exchanging ideas.

About eight o’clock, Jerry and Will came in together, as they lived close to one another. Bluff was not a minute behind them, anxious for a view of the pictures that had been taken that day.

“Say, how did they turn out?” he demanded, as soon as he entered the room where Will was opening an envelope, and Frank handling a large reading-glass.

“Just bully, that’s what. Never got better results. The water was in a beautiful ripple, you see, and that always adds to a picture. Here, take a look, fellows,” with which remark Will scattered a lot of prints on the table.

He had certainly become quite a clever hand at both developing his films and printing his pictures, for the results were as clear as a bell.

“They do look fine,” commented Frank, as he commenced to shuffle them over; “and the smoke is pouring out of that old steamboat at a great rate. I’m looking for the one you spoke about, where those hoboes are standing in the sunlight on the edge of the burning boat. Here it is. Jerry, you would be apt to know better than I could if either of these fellows has a familiar face. Take a look.”

“If he don’t, perhaps I may. I’ve lived around here three days longer than he ever did,” grumbled Bluff.

Jerry bent down closer and continued to stare through the reading-glass.

“Talk to me about your luck, boys, this beats the band!” he exclaimed.

“Do you recognize one of them, then?” asked Frank, eagerly.

“Sure I do, and I’m surprised Captain Amos didn’t. The dumpy one is Waddy Walsh, the bad egg, who was sent to the reform school three years ago. He must have escaped somehow, and joined the army of tramps on the road,” declared Jerry, positively.