Читать книгу The Golden Boys on the River Drive - L. P. Wyman - Страница 5

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From Moosehead Lake to Waterville, by the way of the Kennebec River, is about one hundred miles. A log, starting from the lake and making the trip without a stop, would make the trip in from two to three days. The annual drive of logs, comprising upward of 100,000,000, usually starts the first of May, and on account of jams and other delays, it is usually a matter of several weeks before a given log reaches its destination.

The boys knew that their father had been very anxious to get that particular raft of logs over the dam and started down the river at the earliest possible moment, as the contract called for delivery of not less than ten thousand logs by the first of June.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t have got across with that raft,” Bob declared a few minutes later, after he had returned to the engine room accompanied by Jack and the captain. “What are we going to do now?” he asked, as he removed his dripping coat.

“I told Joe to head her back to the camp,” the captain replied. “It’ll prob’ly take several days ter git them logs off the island ready ter tow agin, an’ knowin’ as how yer dad is in a hurry, it’ll be quicker ter start with another one soon’s this storm blows out.”

It was as Jack declared, “dark enough to cut with a knife,” by the time they reached the wharf. The rain had ceased and the wind had nearly died down. A few stars were visible, dimly peeking through the rifts in the clouds, giving promise of a fair day on the morrow.

Tom Bean was on the wharf as Cap’n Seth carefully warped the steamer in.

“Did ye git the raft across?” he asked anxiously, as Bob jumped from the boat.

“Sure and I feared as mooch,” he said, after Bob had told him that the raft was beached on Sugar Island. “It’s too bad, so it is, but we got another one ready ter be towed afore the storm struck, but it’s meself as thought as how we were goin’ ter lose it entirely fer awhile when the wind was blowin’ the hardest. But we managed ter hold her and yer kin start the first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, we’ll have to let those logs rest there till we get some started down the river,” Bob said, as he glanced up at the sky. “I guess it’ll be a good day tomorrow and I don’t think the boom broke so I guess they won’t scatter any.”

It was intensely dark in the bunk house when Bob awoke. It was so unusual for him to wake up during the night that for a moment he lay wondering what had disturbed him. All was still except for a variety of snores from members of the crew, but he was used to them and knew that they were not responsible. A glance at the luminous face of his watch told him that it was but a little past two o’clock. He turned over and settled himself to go to sleep again, when suddenly he realized that he was very thirsty.

Pulling a small flashlight from beneath his pillow, he quietly slipped from the bunk and stole softly across the room toward the door which opened into the kitchen.

“Of course the pail is empty,” he muttered a moment later. “Well, that means that I’ve got to get dressed and go out to the pump. I can’t go to sleep till I get a drink, that’s sure.”

So stealing quietly back to his bunk, he quickly: drew on his clothes and a moment later the front door had closed quietly behind him.

The pump from which they obtained drinking water was close to the office building, some three hundred yards from the bunk house, and almost half that distance from the lake. It was not nearly as dark as in the early part of the night, as the moon was shining through the light clouds making it possible to see for some little distance.

Just before he reached the pump an opening in the woods gave him a view of the wharf.

“Well, what do you know about that?” he said aloud, as he came to a sudden stop. “Where in the world is the Comet?” and the next moment he was running rapidly down the path toward the lake.

His question was soon answered, for as he reached the end of the wharf he could see, in the dim light, the form of the boat some hundred yards off shore.

“Mighty funny how she got loose,” he muttered, as he looked about him. Then, seeing that the rope was still tied to the post, he stooped down and quickly pulled it in. It was a short job, as only a few feet of it remained. Eagerly he examined the end.

“Looks as though she had chafed it through,” he declared, as he saw the frayed end. “I don’t understand it though, as Cap’n Seth is too careful a man to tie up a boat so that it would chafe.”

A very light breeze was blowing and he could not, for the moment, see that the boat was moving; but, as he watched it, he realized that it was slowly drifting down the lake.

“Guess I’d better go get Cap’n Seth,” he thought, as he turned back toward the camp.

He was half way to the bunk house when he stopped as a thought struck him.

“Pshaw,” he said half aloud. “There’s no use in waking him up. I can take the canoe and bring her in myself. I know how to run her.”

He turned and ran back to the little shed behind the office where the canoe was kept, stopping only long enough at the pump to get his delayed drink. A few moments later he was sending the light craft rapidly through the water toward the drifting steamer.

“Guess I’d better be careful,” he thought, as he got to within a few yards of the boat. “It’s just possible that there might be someone aboard her.”

So for a time he let the canoe drift, as he strained his ears to listen. But no sound, save the soft lapping of the water against the side of the steamer came to him, and dipping his paddle noiselessly in the water, he soon grasped the side of the boat. Again he waited and listened.

“I guess it’s all right,” he thought, as he stepped softly into the stern of the steamer and lifting the light canoe from the water placed it bottom up across the back of the boat.

This accomplished, he crept softly forward toward the engine room, stopping every few feet to listen. The door of the engine room was closed, and as he reached it he again paused and placed his ear against it. Was it fancy or could he hear someone inside the room breathing?

“I don’t know whether I’m hearing things or not,” he thought as he stepped back a bit, “but it sounds as though there’s somebody in there asleep.”

After thinking the matter over for a few minutes, he drew the flashlight from his pocket and stepping forward, placed his hand on the door knob. Carefully, without making the slightest sound, he pushed open the door a few inches and again listened. No longer was there any doubt as to the room being occupied. The deep breathing of a man was plainly audible. He pushed the door open still farther and quickly threw the light of the flash within the room. There on the floor in front of the furnace, with his back against the coal bin, was a man fast asleep. Bob recognized him at once as an employee of Big Ben Donahue. A few months before, as recorded in a previous volume, Bob had prevented him from selling or giving liquor to the men of his father’s crew. It was the same man beyond the shadow of a doubt, and Bob grinned as he quietly closed the door, as the remembrance of his former encounter with the man flashed through his mind.

He had closed the door and crept back to the stern of the boat in order to have time to consider what was best to be done. There was not much doubt in his mind as to the way things lay. That it was a move on the part of Big Ben to delay them in getting a raft of logs started down the river he did not doubt. Knowing that the wind was blowing down the lake, he would figure that it would not be necessary to start the engine. The wind would carry the boat directly past his camp, where the man would be taken off and the steamer allowed to drift wherever the wind blew it after that. The man had frayed the end of the rope, thus making it appear that it had chafed in two. The one weak point in his scheme was that his man had fallen asleep on the job.

“So far so good,” Bob mused. “And now what’s the next move?” he asked himself.

For a moment he considered hitting him with a stick of wood just hard enough to stun him, but he immediately dismissed that plan knowing that he would never be able to bring himself to hit a sleeping man. He had been aware of a strong odor of cheap whiskey in the engine room and the knowledge that the man was undoubtedly drunk was, he considered, a point in his favor, and he determined to try to tie him up without waking him. He had, during the trip the previous day, noticed several pieces of small rope in the engine room, and had no doubt about being able to quickly find something to answer his purpose. His mind once made up, he hesitated no longer.

Quickly he stepped to the door and again pushed it open. His light showed him that the man had not moved. A bracket lamp was fastened to the wall just inside the door and making as little noise as possible he struck a match and lighted it. Still the man did not move. He found the bits of rope without difficulty and selecting two pieces suitable for his purpose he knelt in front of the sleeping man. Carefully he raised first one foot and then the other, and slipped the rope beneath them. He was congratulating himself that the man was too sound asleep to be easily awakened, when suddenly without the slightest warning, he sprang to his feet. Bob quickly followed his example and for an instant the two stood facing each other.

For only a moment however did the man hesitate, then stepping quickly forward he aimed a vicious blow at Bob’s head with his huge fist. Bob dodged the blow easily, and as the man’s impetus carried him slightly off his balance, the boy succeeded in getting in a good stiff punch just behind the ear. The blow staggered the man for an instant and he reeled against the side of the room. Had Bob followed up the blow he might have ended the fight at once, as the man was more or less dazed from the blow coming when he was only half awake. But he failed to take advantage of the opportunity and in another minute it was too late. The man quickly recovered himself, and maddened to the point of frenzy by the blow, he rushed at the boy. The room was so small that there was little space to dodge, and although Bob succeeded in getting in another blow on the nose, which started the blood, the man seized him about the waist in his powerful arms and in another instant they were rolling over and over on the floor.

Almost instantly Bob realized that so far as mere strength went he was no match for the burly Frenchman. He must pit his skill against the strength of his antagonist. Almost at once the Frenchman secured a grip on Bob’s throat, but he had managed to free himself before the man could shut off his wind. It was this hold that he feared and he exerted all his skill to prevent a recurrence of it and for a time was successful. But soon, despite his best efforts, the Frenchman again got his huge hand on his throat and this time the boy was not able to squirm free. Quickly the man’s grasp tightened and Bob realized that unless something happened the fight would soon be over. At that instant, just when the man’s grip had tightened so that he was hardly able to breathe, the thought of a trick which he had learned some years before, flashed into his mind.

The Frenchman had only one of his hands about Bob’s throat and the other was pressing against his left shoulder. Quickly working his right hand beneath the man’s arm, he seized hold of his wrist with both hands, and exerting all his strength, gave it a quick twist. The bone snapped with an audible crack and the man, with a cry of pain, leaped to his feet and Bob at once did likewise.

For a moment the Frenchman seemed too dazed to speak, then as he tried in vain to lift the injured arm, he whispered hoarsely:

“You hav’ bust dat arm.”

Bob saw at once that all the fight had been taken out of the man.

“It’s too bad it had to be done,” he said not unkindly, “but it was the only way I could keep you from choking me to death. Now,” he continued in a firm tone, as the Frenchman looked at him, his face contorted with both anger and pain, “if you want to save yourself a good deal of trouble with that arm you’ll not try to hinder me but let me get this boat back to the wharf as soon as possible.”

“Oui, I no bother you,” the man groaned, as he sank into an old chair.

Bob at once threw open the door of the furnace, and seeing that the fire was in fair shape, he put on a couple of shovelsfull of coal and opened the drafts. There was nothing more he could do until he had a head of steam.

“Arm pain you much?” he asked, as he sat down on the doorstep.

“Oui, she hurt plenty mooch,” the man growled.

“Why did you try to steal the boat?”

“Non. I no try steal boat,” the Frenchman denied. “I been up North East Carry. Geet lost comin’ back and ver’ tired. See boat, and geet in to tak’ rest. Dat rope she must bust. Boat drift off. I know nuttin ’bout it till I wake up, see you try tie me up.”

“Hum, it’s mighty strange how a boat could chafe an inch and a half rope in two with almost no wind blowing,” Bob returned shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid it won’t go down. I’m sorry about your arm, but I didn’t much fancy being choked to death. Tom Bean will set it for you and he can do as good a job as any doctor.”

“But I lose my wages,” the man whined.

“I suppose so,” Bob replied. “But that’s your fault. You tried to kill me and I had to protect myself.”

By this time a glance at the steam gage told Bob that there was enough steam to start the boat, and opening the valve he soon had the boat moving slowly through the water.

“Now I’ll have to go to the pilot-house to steer her,” he announced, “and if you try any funny business you’ll be a long time getting that arm fixed.”

Without waiting for the man to reply, Bob quickly made his way to the pilot-house. The boat was headed down the lake and he swung her in a long curve and soon had her pointed toward the camp. He had set the steam for slow speed and as the boat was within about a hundred feet of the wharf he rushed back to the engine room and shut it off. The man still sat in the chair and had apparently not moved. Quickly returning to the pilot-house, he saw that the boat had made more progress than he had judged she would, and realized that she would hit the wharf too hard for safety. So he had to throw the wheel over as far as he could. The boat responded nobly, but even so he missed the wharf by only a few inches.

“That was a bit too close for comfort,” he declared, as the boat moved slowly up the lake.

The steamer was fully a hundred feet from the wharf when she finally lost headway.

“It’s a whole lot harder to run a steamboat alone than I thought,” he said aloud. “I wonder if I can pole her in. Here goes for a try anyhow.”

Bob knew that there was a long pole out on the deck, and in another minute he was trying to use it but the water was too deep. He was unable to touch bottom.

“So near and yet so far,” he grinned, as he laid the pole down on the deck. “Guess I’ll have to wait till the wind carries her in a bit.”

Fortunately the wind, what there was of it, was in the right direction and soon he could see that the boat was slowly but surely getting nearer the wharf. He waited a few minutes and then tried again with the pole. This time he could easily touch bottom, and soon the bow of the boat gently hit the wharf. It was the work of but a moment to make her fast and then he returned to the engine room.

“All right now,” he greeted the Frenchman, who still sat in the chair looking, as he afterward told Jack, as though he had lost his last friend. “Come on and we’ll get Tom out of bed and he’ll set your arm.”

It was a little after four o’clock when they reached the office. The door was not locked, and opening it Bob stepped inside closely followed by his patient.

Tom Bean slept in a little bedroom which opened out of the office. The door of this room was closed, and as soon as he had a light going, Bob knocked loudly on it.

“Who’s there?” came a sleepy demand.

“It’s I, Tom,” Bob replied. “Can I come in?”

“Sure you kin,” and Bob pushed open the door and entered the room.

“Faith and what do yer mane by wakin’ an honest mon at this time o’ night?” Tom demanded as he sat up in bed.

Bob sat down on the edge of the bed and quickly told him what had happened.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” the foreman said, when he had finished. “Ye sure do bate the bugs when it comes ter gettin’ into scrapes, so yer does. But,” he added hastily, “Yere like a cat and allays land on yer fate.”

“But hurry up and get some clothes on, Tom. The poor fellow must be suffering and his arm needs looking after. I’ll get a fire going while you get dressed.”

It only took Tom a few minutes to get into his clothes, but by the time he was dressed Bob had a fire roaring in the stove.

“So ye’ve been tryin’ some more of yer dirty work, hey,” Tom said sternly, as he stepped close to the Frenchman who was standing near the stove.

“Non, non, I——” he began, but Tom stopped him.

“Sure and ye might as well save yer breath cause I wouldn’t belave yer on a stack o’ Bibles.” But although he spoke roughly, the kind-hearted Irishman was as gentle as a woman as he set about his work. It was not a bad break, he assured the man after a careful examination.

Setting a broken arm was nothing new to Tom, and, as Bob had declared, he could do it as well as a doctor. In the lumber camps of the Big Maine woods, broken arms and legs are common and in many cases it would be a long time before a doctor could be reached. So Tom had learned how to do the work, and in his years of lumbering had had considerable practice.

The Frenchman stood the operation with a sullen stoicism, although the pain must have been severe.

“Thar, begorra, thot’s as good a job as iny doc’d do,” Tom declared, as he finished binding the arm to a strip of board. “Ye’ll have as good a flipper as ever in three or four weeks, but if ye want to enjoy good health it’s meself as advises ye ter give us a wide berth.”

The Frenchman gave no word of thanks, but announced that he would be on the way. Bob helped him on with his coat and in another minute he was gone.

“He sure’s a hard nut,” Tom declared. “And you want ter look out fer him. He’ll do yer dirt if ever he gits a chance.”

It was nearly five o’clock and they decided that a game of checkers would be the best way to kill time until breakfast. So Bob got out the board and soon they were deep in the interest of the game.