CHAPTER XI—A THREATENED COLLISION
It was a good deal to expect a boy to cook two suppers on the same evening; but Jerry in the warmth of his heart seemed only too glad to be of assistance to a poor man in trouble.
Luther Snow seemed to be a rather quiet sort of man. He seldom spoke unless he was addressed; and it was only through persistent questioning that they finally learned something of his story.
He declared that he had no relatives in the world save the married daughter, now in New Orleans; and that as she expected to make her home at the other side of the world, he had determined to sell all he had, and spend some little time with her before she sailed.
“And now it looks as if I’d never be able to reach there in time,” he mournfully remarked, in conclusion; “because I haven’t a single dollar in the world; and even if I wrote to her, she’s not able to send me the money. So I’ll just have to go back to my trade, and earn enough day by day; if I can find work.”
“What might be your trade?” asked Frank, as though just barely interested.
“Why, I’m a carpenter, you see,” the old man replied, quickly enough; but while of course Frank did not say a word as though he doubted the truth of this assertion, he secretly made up his mind that at least the other could not have been doing much work of recent years; for he noticed that his hands were entirely free from signs of manual labor, since they appeared to be as soft as those of a lady, though the nails were ill enough kept.
Frank kept much of this to himself. He studied the old man, however, and wondered if after all he could be as hungry as he said; for he certainly did have a very poor appetite for a half-starved person, since he made way with only a small portion of the food Jerry got together.
They had several extra blankets aboard, the property of Uncle Felix. Two of these Frank fetched ashore, and laid with his own hands, making as comfortable a bed as anybody might want.
“Nothing will come around, as long as the fire burns; and here’s plenty of wood to keep it going, if you happen to wake up any time in the night. Besides, we keep watch aboard the boat, and any uninvited guest is apt to be met with a shot. I hope you don’t walk in your sleep, Mr. Snow?”
Frank said this for a purpose. The old man started, and looked at him queerly; after which he hastened to say:
“I never knew of myself doing such a thing in my life. But please don’t bother about me more than you can help. You see, I’m used to being alone; and I’ve done a fair amount of camping in my day, too.”
Frank had already guessed that from certain little signs. For instance, the other had arranged his blankets so that the night wind would strike his feet rather than his head; and also that the fire would be some little distance from his lower extremities; for an experienced camper-out, especially when it is cold, will make sure to keep his feet warm, first of all.
And so, finally, they left him there, rolled up snugly in his blankets.
The night passed quietly enough. With the cabin door fast secured, of course the boys knew that no one could find entrance; and though they may have aroused once or twice all around through the night, no one heard a suspicious sound.
At dawn the boys were early in the river. Frank, however, did not think he cared to take his customary dip; and Jerry winked an eye at him, as much as to say he understood why. Truth to tell, Frank was determined not to leave any opening for the stranger to slip aboard, if he wanted to do so. Then again, he felt ashamed of suspecting Luther Snow, who seemed loath to part with his new-found friends.
They gave him a good breakfast, and Frank took up a collection of several dollars from the boys, which sum he pressed into the hand of the old man as they prepared to leave him.
Perhaps there was a tear in Luther Snow’s eye; certainly there was a wistful look on his face as the houseboat started away from the shore, leaving him waving his hand after them from the bank.
“That money ought to take him part of the way on his journey,” remarked Jerry, as the intervening trees quite hid their late guest from them.
“And then he can work in some big city,” said Will. “A carpenter gets good wages every place; and it won’t take him long to save enough to go on further. Why, in a month he ought to be down to New Orleans, long before we expect to show up.”
“He certainly did want to go along with us all right, Frank,” Bluff observed. “Why, every time he looked at our old junk he’d shake his head, and heave a sigh. Reckon he just thought what a fine snap it’d be if he could get aboard, and be carried all the way down to the place he wants to reach, without spending a red cent for grub, or traveling expenses.”
“And only for what Uncle Felix said in his letter,” spoke up Jerry, “I’d voted to let the old fellow go along with us. But we did him some good, anyway. That cash ought to carry him a hundred or two miles along the river on a boat, deck passage.”
“If he doesn’t have the hard luck to lose that, too,” remarked Frank, drily. “Some people have a weakness that way, you know, boys.”
There was some touch of mystery in his way of saying this, and the others looked at him, as though hoping Frank would “open up and explain,” as Bluff put it; but he changed the subject, and left them wondering.
“Don’t suppose there’s a chance in a hundred that we’ll ever hear anything from Luther Snow again?” Will observed, later on. “He said he would write to us at New Orleans, and you gave him your uncle’s address, which he jotted down in his little notebook,” Frank remarked; but he somehow failed to mention the fact that he had observed with surprise how strange it was to see a man who followed the trade of carpenter happen to possess such a delicate little volume in his pocket, when one would rather expect to see a well-thumbed five-cent book under the circumstances.
The day became rather sultry, and Frank remarked, after they had eaten a little cold lunch, that he would not be much surprised if they ran into a storm before a great while.
“Just what I was thinking,” Will added. “Do you know, I’m getting to be quite an old salt by now, and can just feel the weather in my bones. And for some time I’ve had an aching toe; that means rain, mark that, fellows.”
“I saw you taking a snapshot of our friend, Luther, on the sly this morning,” remarked Frank. “When you develop that, print me a copy, Will. You know I always like to study faces, and somehow his seemed to me to be a particularly strong one.”
“All the same he hasn’t made a success of his life, if what he told us is true,” Jerry put in, “for it was a hard luck story all through.” “Frank’s seen something he wants to examine closer,” Bluff suggested later on; “for he dived into the cabin, in a hurry; and here he comes out again with the field glasses.”
They all watched Frank adjust the binoculars to his range of vision, and sweep a half circuit around the river, finally focussing upon some object up-stream that must have caught his attention.
“I thought so,” he remarked presently; “here, take a look, Bluff, and say what you see.”
The other eagerly seized upon the glasses and had hardly leveled them than he uttered an exclamation.
“You’re right, Frank, it’s that Lounger, as sure as shooting!” he cried.
“Let me see!” exclaimed Jerry, eagerly.
“She’s coming down the river like a bird, with her engine working again,” Bluff went on to say; “so they must have got the broken part mended, or a new piece sent on from St. Paul.”
“I’m afraid our troubles are going to begin again,” sighed Will; “and I was just saying this very morning what a jolly good and restful time we were having.”
“Say, they’re whooping it up at a great rate, all right!” ejaculated Jerry, when he had a chance to look; “either he’s in a big hurry, or else he wants to carry out some scheme to hurt us, if he can—perhaps run us down!”
“Let him try that, if he dares!” growled Bluff, staring hard at the now rapidly approaching power houseboat, bearing down upon them under the combined influence of a gasolene engine and the current.
“Would he try that sort of risky business, Frank, do you think?” asked Will. “It seems to me he’d take big chances of getting his own boat injured.”
“Oh! perhaps some glass would be shivered,” Bluff took it upon himself to say, “but you see the Lounger is so much heavier than our boat, and, coming down so fast, she’d be apt to knock a hole in us, if that Ossie managed right. And as sure as anything, Frank, they keep on straight for us, notice.”
“I’m watching,” said Frank, who gripped the big sweep, a determined look on his face; while Bluff dodged into the cabin again, bringing out his “machine-gun,” which he seemed to think must be a cure-all for every ill that threatened.
“Don’t shoot, Bluff!” said Frank, “no matter what happens.”
“Oh! I don’t mean to,” replied the other; though he made very extravagant gestures, so as to show those on the other boat that he was “ready for business at the old stand,” as he expressed it.
The boys stood there, watching with increasing uneasiness; for just as Bluff had asserted, the big power-boat was swooping straight down for them. On board several youths seemed to be running this way and that, calling out all sorts of excited things, just as though they had lost control; though Oswald himself could be seen in the pilothouse, swinging the wheel back and forth in an uncertain way, as though hardly knowing whether to take the chances of a collision or not.
Another sixty seconds, and nothing could save the two heavy craft from coming together with crashing force, perhaps with serious consequences. Frank watched, and made ready to swing the big sweep at the slightest indication of a change of direction on the part of the other houseboat, that would afford a loophole of escape from the dire consequences of Oswald Fredericks’ folly.