_ CHAPTER IV. MORE THRILLS
It was only a bare few seconds before the floating object had passed within the shadow of the bridge, but there could be no doubt about it; it was a boat, riding so low that only her outline showed. Jerry rubbed his eyes in disbelief, but for only an instant. Then he sprang to the other side of the bridge, shedding hat, coat, trousers, shirt and shoes, on the way. So, at least, it seemed to Dave, who caught his chum's arm, as Jerry poised himself, his body white and gleaming in the moonlight, on the high rail that ran along the edge.
"What you going to do, Jerry? It's a good thirty feet to the water-- and you don't know how deep it is down there."
"I'm diving shallow, Dave; two feet is all I ask below. We can't take any chances of losing her. Carry my clothes along the bank, will you? I'll try to make the east side--it looks a little closer."
In the few seconds they had talked, the boat had drifted under the bridge and now cut through the silver-edged shadow of the last timbers.
There was a quiver of the flimsy railing, a slender body cut through the moonlight, parted the water with a clean
sush! and bobbed up almost immediately, within three feet of the boat. Jerry Ring did not have the reputation of being the best diver in Watertown for nothing.
Now ensued a great kicking and churning as Jerry's legs transformed themselves into propellers for the salvaged "
Big Four." Progress was slow; the waterlogged craft lay in the river like so much cordwood. More than once Jerry had to stop for a few minutes' rest. But little by little he neared shore, encouraged by Dave, who impatiently awaited the landing, wading out finally waist-deep to help.
Neither one said a word as the boat was at last beached. No more than the barest glance was needed to tell that there was nothing in the boat but water. Theirs had been a fruitless chase.
"Well," said Dave, slowly, after a long silence, "I guess that ends our last hope."
"I'm afraid you're right," agreed Jerry dejectedly. "But there's one thing that puzzles me--do you notice how much water there is in the boat? It's a good ten inches from the top--how full would it have been when she popped up from under the falls at the dam?"
"She'd have been right up to the top, I suppose. Why?"
"Well, what I want to know is: How did it get out? And, what's more, I'd like to know how it would have taken the boat all these hours to float those few miles. Plum Run's got a six mile an hour current up above, and it's at least four here. There's something mighty funny about it all to me."
"But mightn't it just have been snagged or shoaled up above, and finally worked loose?"
"Sure, I know that. But I know the boat was drifting about as fast as we were walking, and that being the case, she must have cleared Lost Island just about three minutes after we talked with that man!"
"You're getting excited, Jerry--over nothing."
"Nothing! You call the water that was
baled out of the boat nothing. It
was baled out, I tell you. And look at that rope--it was
cut loose. Somebody was in too big a hurry to untie knots, that's my guess."
"But, Jerry, what in the world are you driving at, anyway!"
"I don't know. Something about the way that man back there on Lost Island acted set me thinking away in the back of my head. I didn't realize what it was that was going on in my cranium until I noticed this cut rope and say!" Jerry's voice rose in high excitement. "
Dave! Dave--do you remember? The
bucket!"
Dave only stared at his friend in bewilderment. "Wha--what bucket?" he at last managed to gasp.
"You remember last week when we were out, and the storm caught us and pretty nearly swamped the boat? Tod said he'd bet we'd never be caught without a bailing can again--and he put a lard pail on a snap hook under the back seat. It's gone!"
"But what if--why, pshaw, it could easy have worked loose and floated away. I don't see what there is to be so worked up about."
"But, Dave, don't you see----" Jerry was trembling with excitement. "Suppose Tod
had stayed in the boat, and he came to, and he didn't have any oars. First off he'd try to bale her out, wouldn't he? He'd bale out just enough so she'd ride easy, and then he'd try to get to shore. Maybe he landed on Lost Island. Suppose he did, and suppose that ruffian we saw didn't want him to get off again. What else would the man do but cut loose the boat when we came along!"
"Jerry, don't you think we'd better be getting on home?"
"What's the matter with you, Dave?"
"Why, nothing, Jerry----"
"Then what you talking about going on home when I'm running down a clew like that?"
"It's almost morning, Jerry, and you've had a hard day and been up all night--and the lonesome chase through the dark----"
"Now look here, Davie! If you think I'm getting soft in the head, just forget it. I never was more in earnest in my life. Don't you understand? I think Tod's alive--
back there on Lost Island!"
"But we don't know he was in the boat----"
"Look here, Dave, if you were falling, what'd be the first thing you'd do? You'd grab at the nearest thing to you, wouldn't you! And if you got hold of that boat-seat, for instance, you'd pretty near hang on, wouldn't you? I saw
something in the bottom of the boat when she came up."
"Yes, but we don't know the boat touched Lost Island----"
"No, of course not. But most always when I see a sign that says 'No fishing allowed,' I know there's fish there."
"You certainly talk as if you were out of your head. What's fishing got to do with it?"
"The man was not overly anxious to have us come out and make a search of
his island. I'm going back up there and I'm going to swim across or
get across and I'm going to find out what he has there he doesn't want us to see. Are you game to go along?"
"But supposing there's nothing there, and the man----"
"That island doesn't belong to anybody. We've got as much right there as he has. The worst he can do is to kick us off, and there's only one of him against
two of us. Come on."
Before they left, however, they tipped their boat over and emptied out nearly all the water. Then, as they had no oars to row her back, they tied her by the short length of rope left, to a stout willow. Jerry resumed his clothing, and shivering a bit in the cool morning air, was eager to warm up with a good brisk walk.
They were on the east side of the river, and the trail would have been hard enough even in broad daylight, but Jerry would waste no time in crossing over when a few minutes later they halted at the bridge. Home lay on the other side of the river, and Dave, still unconvinced, stubbornly insisted on following the west bank, but Jerry soon cut short the argument by striding off in disgust. After a minute of uncertainty Dave tagged along behind. Neither spoke; to tell the truth, they were both decidedly cold, hungry and cross. The damp, fishy smell of the river somehow set their nerves on edge, and the long drill through swamps and across creeks and sloughs appeared none too enticing.
"I say, Jerry," called Davie finally, "let's stop for a breath of air; I'm about petered out."
"Can't," replied Jerry shortly. "Sky's getting gray now. We've got to get
there before daylight. If we can catch our friend on the island asleep it'll make things a lot easier. Pull your belt up a notch and see if you can't put the notch into your legs."
Dave grumbled but obediently hastened his gait. In single file they cut across the last stretch of knee-deep mud and halted opposite Lost Island. There it lay, beyond the narrow stretch of steaming, misty black water, dark and forbidding. There was something shivery about its low-lying-heavy outline, with nothing visible beyond the border of thick willow growth.
"Looks like some big crouching animal, doesn't it?" remarked Dave as they stood an instant peering across.
"Well, we know it can't spring--and it won't bite, I guess."
"I'm not so sure. How are we going to get over?"
"Swim it, unless--no, I guess we won't swim--not, at least, if there's a pair of oars in that flat-boat I see yonder. Funny we didn't stumble over it when we came down."
"Maybe it wasn't here then. Maybe the man came over in it. We better not stand here in the open. We don't know what minute he might be back."
"Well, if it is his boat, at least we don't need to worry about running onto him over there on the island."
"You're going to swim over, aren't you, Jerry? If the man came along and found his boat gone, he'd know
we were over there and----"
"And he'd be stranded on this side until we were so kind as to bring back his boat. You can bet
he isn't going to swim over, and I bet you I don't either."
The boat proved to be a cumbersome flat-boat of the type used by clam-fishers. In fact the smell that simply swirled up from its oozy bottom left no doubt that the boat had been used for that purpose. A pair of unbelievably heavy oars, cut from a sapling with a hand-axe, trailed in the water from "loose oarlocks." Dave gave a gasp of dismay as he "hefted" the rough implements.
"Let's swim it, Jerry," he said disgustedly. "The boat'll never hold up the oars and us too. They weigh a ton."
"Pile in," answered Jerry, with the first laugh since that tragic moment when he had seen a different boat swept over the dam many weary miles up the river. "We'll each take an oar and try some two- handed rowing. This craft was built for ocean-going service. Hold tight; we're off."
But they weren't. Jerry's mighty push ended in a grunt. "Come on; get out here and shove."
"Maybe if we took the oars out we could start her," Dave jibed. "I hope you've got a freight-hauling license."
"Get out and push. Your witty remarks are about as light as those young tree-trunks we have for paddles. All together now!" as Dave bent over beside him. A lurch, a grinding, thumping slide, and the flat-boat slid free of shore.
"It's a mighty good thing if that man isn't on the island," remarked Dave as he took up his half of the propelling mechanism. "Because when our craft took the water she certainly did 'wake the echoes of yon wooded glen,' as the poet says."
"Poetry's got nothing to do with this boat. It doesn't rhyme with anything but blisters. Let's see if we can move her."
Thanks to some tremendous tugging, the flat-boat moved slowly out from shore. Inch by inch, it seemed, they gained on the current.
"The old tub's got speed in her," grunted Jerry, between sweeps of his oar.
"Ought to have it
in her," returned Dave. "I'll bet you nobody ever got it
out of her. Ugh!"
"Always grunt out toward the back of the boat--keep your head turned. It helps us along."
"I've only got one grunt left; I'm saving it. How far have we gone?"
"All of ten feet. I'll tell you when we hit the island. Lift your oar out of water when you bring it back. The idea is to move the boat, not merely to stir up the water."
So they joked each other, but their hearts were heavy enough, for always in the back of their minds was the thought of their friend, who, in spite of the wild hope that Jerry had built up, might--
must, Dave was sure--be lying at the bottom of treacherous Plum Run somewhere, drowned.
At last they seemed to be nearly halfway across, and they rested a brief spell, for every inch of their progress had to be fought for.
"All right," said Jerry, taking up his oar, "let's give her another tussle."
But Dave did not move, although he still hunched over his oar.
"Come on, Dave," urged his friend. "We don't want to lose any time. The sun ought to be up almost any minute now."
"Look behind you, old man. Right where we're headed, and tell me what you see."
Jerry turned in his seat. He took one quick glance toward Lost Island, now less than a hundred feet away, and then gave a low cry of dismay. _