CHAPTER XX—THE FLOATING TREE
“How did they turn out, Will?”
It was Jerry who asked this question. They had all left the cabin, and given it over to the photographer for an hour, so that he could make use of it for a dark room, in which to develop his films. And the opening of the door, with his appearance on deck, was a sign that his operations had been brought to a conclusion.
“Simply immense!” exclaimed the other, in a triumphant tone. “Jerry, when it comes to snapping things that are in perpetual motion, you certainly take the cake.”
“You mean I got a little more than the stub tail of the cat?” inquired Jerry.
“You got the whole business down to a dot!” cried Will. “It’s going to be the greatest picture ever; and will give our collection some class, let me tell you. The only thing that makes me feel bad is that I didn’t have the honor of taking it. Everybody’ll say Jerry ought to have been elected official photographer of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club, instead of me.”
“Oh! rats!” scoffed Jerry; “when we’ve got fifty splendid pictures that you snapped under the funniest conditions ever, some of them worth being entered for a prize. But I’m coming in, and take a squint at those negatives, if you’ll let me, Will.”
“Sure; they’ve been in the hypo bath, and are fixed, all right. I’ve got ’em dripping in the wash right now. Come along, everybody, and see a panorama. The whole thing, from the start, up to where our unwelcome visitor took a notion to go overboard. It’s like a story, continued from one number to the next. When you’ve looked at all the pictures you’ve got it just as if you’d read it between covers.”
“All but me going over backward?” laughed Bluff.
“Wait and see,” Will replied, as he led the way into the cabin; “I think Jerry was just going to snap you at the time the cat dropped; for you’re in the beginning just as big as life, with your hands thrown up, as you keel over backwards; and the cat sprawling on the deck, its back arched. Oh! you can’t squirm out of this game, Bluff! I tell you it’s the finest thing that ever came down the pike.”
“We must open all the windows, and air the cabin before we think of turning in,” remarked practical Frank, snuffing the rank kerosene odor in the atmosphere, caused by Will’s close confinement with his smoky dark-lantern.
All of them were delighted with the negatives that Will held up against a light, so that they could see. Being familiar with photographic work, they understood the lights and shadows; and could see that, considering the peculiar conditions under which Jerry had pressed the button time and again, the remarkable series of thrilling pictures were strongly featured. And through them all, saving possibly the first, Will took the leading part; after the wildcat, of course, which occupied the centre of the stage.
Once more they sat outside talking, while the cabin aired.
“Seems to me we’ve been having a lot of rain lately, for the good old summer time,” Bluff remarked.
“I should say so,” Jerry went on. “Why, we can see logs passing us every five minutes that we look out, after we tie up. And I reckon some of the tributaries of the Mississippi must be at the flood stage. Wouldn’t surprise me any to discover chicken coops floating past.”
“Don’t I wish we could, with the chickens perched on the ridge-pole!” chuckled Bluff. “Chicken is one of my weak points. I feel lost when I don’t get a feed of fowl once a week, anyway.”
“Frank, what was that you seemed to be staring at just when it got dusk?” Will asked. “I saw you looking, and then go to the end of the boat with your hand over your eyes to see better.”
“Oh! that was a passing boat,” Bluff spoke up; “I noticed the light in the cabin myself, but was too busy to bother.”
“I’ve more than half an idea we’ve seen that boat before,” remarked Frank, quietly.
“You don’t say!” exclaimed Bluff. “Now, I reckon you mean our friend, Ossie Fredericks; don’t you, Frank?”
“Just what I do,” returned the other. “Of course it was too gloomy for me to make sure, and the boat was some distance out; but I could partly see the shape of the cabin, and it seemed to correspond with that on the Lounger. Then it was running with power, for we all must have heard the sound of the engine exhaust.”
“Looks like that crowd meant to take as long a voyage as we’ve got ahead of us; and we’re apt to run across ’em in New Orleans, when we get there,” Will remarked.
“Well, we don’t own the river, and can’t tell ’em to go back home, because their company isn’t wanted,” said Jerry.
“I hope we see nothing more of them, because Oswald is bound to get even with Frank for something or other,” was what Will observed; for he was by nature the most peaceable of all the Outdoor Chums, and disliked a row.
“Yes, get even with him for saving his life,” grunted Bluff. “If ever you catch me taking chances with a howling mob of roustabouts, or any other thing, just to save a fellow like Ossie Fredericks the beating he ought to have, why you’ll know it—that’s what!”
But Frank, although he made no remark, knew this was not so. He understood Bluff better than the other did himself. In fact, he often said that the bark of Bluff was worse than his bite; and he felt positive that if the occasion arose again, whereby his chum could save even Ossie Fredericks from being injured, Bluff would put himself out to do it.
In the morning they saw that what had been said about the driftwood was certainly true; for out on the swelling river even uprooted trees were floating, having been undermined up one of the many tributaries of the Mississippi.
“Look sharp, fellows,” said Bluff, “and if you see a lone chicken coop coming along, let me know. It’s me into the little dinghy then, and away to the rescue. I’d sure hate to see any fowls drown.”
“And to save them from it, you’d cut their heads off; eh, Bluff?” laughed Frank, as he passed in to help Jerry with the breakfast.
All through that day they kept passing trees that were afloat, and which, somehow, did not seem able to make as good progress on the current of the river as did the houseboat.
Bluff was frequently using the field glasses to spy out that expected hencoop which he stoutly declared would be along shortly; but as they had corned-beef hash for supper that night, with some baking powder biscuits, which Jerry baked, it can be set down as positive that no fowls arrived by flood-express, or otherwise.
Even the fishing seemed to be useless while the river was at such a “booming” stage, and Jerry hardly knew what to do with himself evenings, for that had become his favorite pursuit of late.
Again they had had a heavy downpour during the afternoon. Of course the roof of the cabin kept them from being bothered while the rain continued, and they could laugh at such happenings. But Frank kept pretty close to the shore, lest they lose sight of it when the mist hung over the river, and find themselves too far out.
Even the boats bound up-river seemed to be having troubles of their own in dodging the floating trees and logs; for they did much whistling as long as they remained within ear-shot of the boy-voyagers.
About five in the afternoon, Frank concluded that they had better be on the lookout for a place to tie up.
“I know it’s earlier than usual,” he said, noticing that the others seemed somewhat surprised at his declaration; “but you notice how the banks are crumbling all along here. We’ll be lucky enough to find a tree to-night that will answer for our hawser. You notice that we don’t call it a cable any more, since we bought that big heavy rope to take the place of the one that played us such a mean trick by breaking, in that storm, and letting the boat go adrift. Hawser sounds so much more like business, too.”
“How about that place down below, Frank?” asked Jerry, pointing. “Looks like a good tree close to the edge of the bank, all right. Shall we work her in?”
“I suppose so,” replied Frank; and yet as they approached the spot he was seen to shake his head seriously.
“Won’t do, I’m afraid, boys,” he observed.
“But, Frank, that tree would hold a church; it’s a big chap, and not rotten either, so far as I can see,” Bluff remarked.
“And look at its roots sticking out, would you?” Jerry added; “why, Frank, even some of them would hold the boat, if we didn’t want to climb the bank.”
“There’s danger of a cave-in, boys,” Frank went on to say. “One must have gone right above here, this very afternoon; and if ever it does come, why, you can see that giant tree must topple over into the river. They always fall that way.”
“Wow! excuse me!” cried Bluff, as he craned his neck to look up at the towering top of the big tree. “Why, if that ever came down on our Pot Luck, there wouldn’t be a grease spot left of her.”
“How about the crew?” demanded Will. “I move we go on, fellows. Better find a tree that’s further away; or else just throw our old mud-hook overboard, and come to an anchor for one night.”
Just below they discovered a safe bay, where the water was deep, and a convenient tree back from the shore offered a chance to secure the hawser. Here they hastened to enter, and tie up.
“No danger in this place; is there, Frank?” asked Will, a little apprehensively.
“Not at all,” came the reply, in a tone that quieted all Will’s fears; for he had the most unbounded faith in his chum.
They were just getting up from supper when they heard a tremendous racket close by. There was a crash, and a splash, as though a whole section of the river bank had caved in.
“The big tree!” exclaimed Will, turning white.
“I wonder, now,” remarked Jerry, rather in doubt; while Bluff declared he meant to go ashore, and find out if it could really be so.
He came back later, lantern in hand, and reported that the tree, to which they had thought to tie up, had entirely disappeared, having been undermined by the rising flood, so that it toppled over into the river, and was carried off. Where it had once proudly stood, there now remained only a gap in the river bank. And once again did three of the chums have reason to be thankful for Frank Langdon’s thoughtfulness. What their fate might have been had they carried out their first intention, was not pleasant to contemplate.
During the night another heavy shower fell, and for an hour the rain pattered upon the roof of the houseboat. Frank declared, in the morning, that this sort of weather in the summer was a rare thing; for, as a rule, the rivers are at flood in the early spring, and decline through the hot months.
“See any chickens roosting on a floating coop, Bluff?” asked Jerry, at one time during the morning, as he noticed the other handling the glasses nervously.
“Frank, oh! Frank, look here!” called Bluff, without paying any attention to the joking words of the other; and as Frank came hurrying out of the cabin Bluff went on to say: “take a look, and see what you make of that tree down there, that we’re catching up with. Seems to me there’s people in the branches!”
Instantly there was excitement aboard the houseboat. Frank peered through the glasses, and immediately confirmed the words of the discoverer; and as the others, in turn, took a look, they added their opinions.
“A man, a woman, and, seems to me, two children, are perched among the branches of the tree,” Frank continued, soon afterwards, as he looked again; “and as the thing seems to be moving very slowly we’re catching up, all right.”
“But how in the wide world d’ye suppose they ever got there?” demanded Will.
“Their house may have been carried off; and, finding that it was sinking, they climbed into that treetop when they had the chance. Now, I recollect I did hear a call just before morning. I listened, and made up my mind it was only a wild bird, perhaps a night-heron hunting its food along the flooded bank. But it must have been one of those children crying in fear!”
“Well, we’ve sure got to get that family aboard, and take them to the next town. Why, perhaps those children are half starved for something to eat right now!” Jerry remarked, warmly, for he knew what that must feel like.
“They see us,” Frank said, a little later, when they had approached much closer to the floating tree, in the branches of which the fugitives of the flood clung. “The man is shouting something, and sure enough, he seems to be pointing at the other end of the log, as if—great Cæsar!”
“What is it, Frank?” asked Will, anxiously; “is the tree sinking?”
“Something seems to be crouched there on the butt end of the floating tree,” was what Frank went on to say; “there, it moved then, and crawled up a yard or so nearer the people in the top. Boys, get a gun out; for I believe it’s a panther!”