“Where are the others?”
“Down on the river shore,” was the reply.
“Then what is all that noise?” demanded the other.
“I don’t hear any noise,” was the surly reply.
“There is some one moving in the bushes.”
“Then it must be one of the boys,” Alex heard, “and I think we had better investigate. It would be luck to catch one of them.”
“It wouldn’t be any luck for me to be caught,” thought Alex, “and so I’ll just make a sneak back to the boat. I’ve learned all I wanted to know, anyway.”
He started away, but almost at his first motion a stone became detached from the ledge at his side and went thundering down toward the spot from which the voices had proceeded.
“There!” one of the men cried, “I told you there was some one here.”
Together the men immediately rushed to the spot where Alex lay hidden. They rustled through the bushes without any attempt at concealment, scrambling up the acclivity with the use of both hands and feet.
As they advanced another rustling came from the left, and Alex saw Teddy on the way back to his side. The moon, creeping farther to the south, found an opening in the dense foliage above the ledge, and threw a long shaft of light upon the exact spot where Alex lay, revolver in hand, waiting for the expected attack.
He moved out of this natural limelight hastily, but as he did so another figure entered it. Advancing swiftly, the men who had discovered the location of the boy, saw him disappear and saw the new figure which came upon the scene. They stopped instantly.
To their excited imaginations Teddy, standing somewhat above their heads, seemed to be at least nine feet high! Evidently trying to propitiate Alex for running away from him, the cub set about practicing all the stunts the boys had been teaching him for months.
Standing upon his hind legs, he extended his paws in a boxing attitude and pranced about, as he had been taught to do, in all the attitudes of the prize ring. The hair on his neck and back seemed to bristle with anger. His little round eyes, bright in the moonlight, twinkled viciously!
The men who were watching this trained exhibition, held their breaths in terror. They expected to be attacked by the animal immediately. Directly, they began backing slowly away. Then Teddy broke into his pet amusement, a whirling half-dance and they turned and ran, stumbling down the declivity, brushing through the briars and clinging vines of the thicket, and finally disappearing in the shadows farther upstream!
It did not take Alex long to find his way to the cub.
“You certainly are enough to scare the life out of a stranger,” he said, addressing the bear. “If you don’t mind, now, we’ll go back to the boat. We’ve got news for the boys, at any rate.”
But Teddy was not inclined to go back to the close cabin. He wanted a longer run in the woods. Before Alex could seize the collar which had been placed about his neck, he was away again. Alex pursued him for some distance, and then turned back toward the boat.
When he reached the shore and called softly to Case to row the boat over to him, there was no answer from the craft, as the rush of the river drowned his voice, but a most unexpected one came from the shore back of him. He turned quickly to see the barrel of a gun shining in the moonlight. He reached for his own weapon, but a hand caught his wrist and held it, as if in a grasp of iron.
“All right, kid,” a harsh voice said, “if they don’t want you on your boat, we’ll give you a home on ours. We’ve got the snuggest little craft upstream you ever saw. You’re welcome to it, only it may be dangerous for you to try to get away or make any noise!”
CHAPTER VI—CAPTAIN JOE TAKES A PRISONER
Case waited patiently a long time for the return of his chum. When it came near midnight he decided to awaken Clay and inform him of the situation. The latter was out of his bed instantly.
“He shouldn’t have gone,” the boy said, anxiously. “There is no doubt that he is in trouble of some kind. I’m sorry for this!”
“Well, he would go,” Case urged, “and he promised to go only to the shore and look around. Just after he left, Teddy splashed off the boat and ran into the thicket. I presume the two are together.”
“Of course they’re together,” said Clay, “That is, if Teddy hasn’t been discovered and shot. That is likely to happen.”
“What shall we do?” asked Case anxiously.
“It isn’t much use to go into the thicket after him,” Clay decided. “There is plenty of moonlight here, it is true, but the foliage must make it very dark in the forest. It would be like looking for a special pebble on the beach to try to find him now. We’ll have to wait.”
“Perhaps Teddy will come and bring us news,” suggested Case. “I have known him to do such things. He’s a wise little bear.”
There was no more sleep on board the Rambler that night. With the first flush of dawn Clay and Jule were abroad in the forest, leaving Case on watch. Although they searched patiently for a long time, no trace of the missing boy could be discovered.
Here and there were tracks which must have been made by Teddy, but it was not certain that the two had been together. After a time the boys returned to the bank of the river just above the location of the Rambler. There they found where a boat had been drawn up to the bank.
“I don’t see how they ever got a boat by us,” Clay argued, “but they certainly did, for they couldn’t have got here first. They must have sneaked up the east shore in the shadows and landed above the Rambler. Are you sure that no boat passed down after Alex left?” he asked of Case. “One might have drifted down without making much noise.”
“I was awake every minute of the time,” Case insisted, “and no boat passed down. When the moon swung around to the south, the whole river was illuminated. I would have seen any craft that passed.”
“Then it is certain that the intruders are still up river, perhaps above the falls, and I am afraid that Alex is where they are. That little rascal is always getting lost! He should have remained on board.”
“Yes, he gets lost,” admitted Case, loyally, “but he always comes out on top in the end. There wouldn’t be any fun if Alex and Teddy were not always getting into trouble. It sort of keeps things moving!”
“Well,” Clay concluded, “the place to look for the boy is, as I said before, upstream. Now, the question is, shall we take the Rambler up?”
“I am afraid the motors would declare our presence,” Case observed, speaking from the deck of the boat, “and, besides, we couldn’t go very far on account of the falls, so, perhaps, we would better go up as far as we can in the rowboat, making as little noise as possible.”
“And what’s the matter with putting Captain Joe on shore?” asked Jule. “He may be able to point out the spot where the men left the river. Anyhow, it won’t do any harm to try.”
“That’s a good idea,” declared Clay, “and I’ll go along with him.”
“I’m afraid you’ll find it pretty rough walking along that bank,” Case suggested, “for the country is rocky and leads up to the plateau above the falls, and small streams may run in from the peninsula. You might have to swim when you wasn’t climbing hills.”
“I’ll try it a short distance, anyway,” Clay answered, “and you, Case, remain on board and let Jule row up in the boat.”
This arrangement was carried out, and in a short time, the little boat was moving upstream, with Jule pulling cautiously at the oars. Clay found the bank a difficult one to ascend. He was obliged to wade through small creeks and climb rocky heights, but he kept steadily on his way, with Captain Joe at his heels.
At last, they came to a creek which ran into the river at the foot of the falls. On the south side of this creek, for some distance in, was a level, grassy plateau, and here Captain Joe picked up the scent they were looking for. The south bank showed that a boat had recently been drawn up there.
Disregarding, for the time being, all commands from the boy, the dog raced up the small stream, and finally disappeared in a thicket.
Clay hesitated, undecided as to whether he ought to follow the dog at once or return to notify Jule of his discovery and secure his assistance.
He had already lost sight of the dog, so he concluded that he might as well return to Jule. This he did, and in a short time, the boat was anchored at the mouth of the creek, and the boys were pressing on into the thicket. Captain Joe was nowhere in sight.
“They certainly are on this side of the creek,” Clay reasoned, “for they couldn’t very well make progress on the other side unless they traveled in an aeroplane.”
There were no tracks to follow, no indications of any one having passed that way recently, but the boys kept pluckily on, listening now and then for some sign from the dog.
“If he finds Alex,” Jule declared, “he’ll make a note of it, and we’ll hear a racket fit to wake the dead.”
“And that will warn the outlaws of our approach,” said Clay in a discouraged tone of voice. “Perhaps we did wrong to bring the dog.”
“You may be sure Captain Joe will give a good account of himself,” Jule said confidently. “He may make a racket, but it’s dollars to apples that they won’t catch him.”
In a short time the clamor the boys had been expecting came from the forest beyond. Captain Joe was barking and growling and, judging from the commotion in the copse, was evidently threshing about.
“That’s a scrap,” Jule declared. “Perhaps he has caught one of the men. If he has, I hope he’s got him by the throat.”
Pressing into the interior of the forest, the level grassy plateau having long since disappeared, the boys finally came to a small cleared glade and discovered the cause of Captain Joe’s enthusiasm.
Teddy, the cub, was standing with his back to the hole of a giant tree inviting the dog to a boxing match. Captain Joe’s clamor indicated only delight at the meeting with his friend.
Before showing themselves in the glade, the boys looked in every direction for some indication of the outlaws, but there was no sign of human life anywhere near them. No noise, save the cries of the creatures of the air and the jungle.
“You’re a fine old scout, Captain Joe,” whispered Clay as he finally advanced into the glade. “You notify everybody within a mile of us as to our location, but you don’t do a thing to help us find Alex.”
At mention of the lost boy’s name, Teddy dropped down from his antagonistic attitude, and, thrusting a soft muzzle against Clay’s hand, moved away to the west.
“The cub has more sense than the dog,” Jule exclaimed. “Captain Joe makes a noise, and Teddy does the piloting. Do you suppose he knows where Alex is?” he added.
“It seems to me that he is trying to tell us something,” Clay replied. “Anyway, we may as well follow him.”
Teddy, who was an especial favorite of Alex’s, and never lost an opportunity of following him about, appeared to know exactly where he was going, for he maintained a steady pace for half an hour or more, keeping to the south shore of the creek for a time and then crossing on a fallen tree to the opposite bank.
“Now,” said Clay, “we ought not to follow close behind the cub. He makes as much noise as a freight train going up a steep grade, and we’ll be sure to be seen if the outlaws are anywhere about.”
“Perhaps he will go on alone,” Jule suggested.
“In that case, we can skirt his track and remain hidden. That ought not to be very difficult in this broken country.”
Teddy turned about with an inquiring glance as the boys left his side, but soon proceeded on his course. Fearful that Captain Joe would indulge in another demonstration of some kind, the boys kept him with them, Jule keeping a close hold on his collar.
“This doesn’t seem much like a river trip to me,” Jule grinned as they passed over rocks, sneaked through miniature canyons and threaded thickets alive with briers and clinging vines. “Seems more like an overland expedition to the north star.”
“There is one compensation,” Clay added humorously. “Alex will get good and hungry—and serve him right at that.”
“Huh!” Jule declared, “Alex is always hungry anyway.”
Teddy now quickened his pace so that the boys had great difficulty in following him. He ran with his nose to the rough ground, his short ears tipped forward, for all the world like a hound on a scent.
“Look at the beast!” Jule laughed. “Acts like he was a hound after foxes. That’s some bear, Clay.”
“So far as I know,” Clay answered, “he’s the only cub that ever did a stunt like that. Still, he’s only exhibiting the advantages of an early education, for he has long been trained to follow us.”
After a short time the boys, advancing up a ledge and then into a little gully, came upon Teddy lying flat on the ground, his nose pointing straight ahead. When they came to him Captain Joe pulled fiercely to get away, his nose pointing straight to the north.
“I guess,” Jule panted, holding to the dog with all his strength, “that they have located Alex. If you’ll take charge of this obstreperous animal for a while, I’ll sneak ahead and have a look.”
Clay finally succeeded in quieting the dog, and Jule pushed on up the gully. At the very end, where the depression terminated in a wall of rock, he saw a faint column of smoke. A closer approach revealed a small fire of dry sticks with something cooking in a tin pail over the coals.
Jule stopped and considered the situation seriously.
“Now, I wonder,” he thought, “why Teddy didn’t make a fool of himself by rushing right up to Alex. I don’t believe he’s scared of the men, and, to tell the truth, I don’t see any men to be frightened at. Alex seems to be there alone. Wonder why he doesn’t run.”
The reason why Alex didn’t run was disclosed in a moment. The boy’s hands were tightly bound across his breast and a strong rope encircled his ankles. For a moment there was no one in sight save the boy, then a roughly dressed man came into view carrying an armful of dry wood for the fire. Jule heard both the dog and the cub protesting at being kept away from the fellow, and saw the man turn sharply about.
Then there came another revelation. With bound arms swinging out, and bound feet kicking violently, Alex was ordering the two animals away. Well trained as they were, they protested while they obeyed.
“Is that that bear of yours, again?” Jule heard the man asking. “If I wasn’t afraid of attracting attention, I’d put a bullet into him. Call him up here and keep him quiet while I gather more dry wood. The boys will be here in an hour or so and will want breakfast.”
“That settles it,” whispered Jule. “If the boys are so far away that they won’t be back in an hour or more, they won’t find any cook when they return. If I have my way, the cook will be tied up.”
“All right,” Alex said in reply to the fellow’s order, “I’ll call him up and keep him quiet after you go away. He’s been used to polite society and doesn’t like you!”
The man snarled out some surly reply and disappeared. Jule was at his chum’s side in a moment. The ropes were cut, and the two boys were speeding back to where Clay had been left.
There was a little scene of congratulation, and then Captain Joe, growling fiercely, leaped forward. The man who had gone in search of wood must have heard the noisy greetings of the boys, for he came running back to the fire. The boys saw him throw a hand back for a weapon, heard an exclamation of anger, and knew that the dog was springing at his throat.
The struggle was a short one, for the man who had been attacked had not succeeded in reaching his revolver. When the boys reached the scene the man was black in the face and the dog was shaking him viciously by the neck.
“Captain Joe seems to know who his friends are!” Alex shouted.
“If we don’t break his hold in a minute, the man will be dead,” Jule exclaimed, dancing excitedly about, “and we’re not out to commit murder.”
When the clutch of the dog was finally released, the man lay back, panting, on the ground. An examination of his injury showed that it was not serious, his throat having been compressed rather than torn.
In a moment the man sat up and glared about with murder in his protruding eyes. Seeing the dog still watching him, he gave him a vicious kick and came near inviting a repetition of the attack.
“I’ll kill that dog!” he shouted.
“No, you won’t!” laughed Alex. “We’re going to take that dog out of this blooming country. We’re going to tie you up so you won’t over-exert yourself while in your present weakened condition, and streak it for the motor boat. We’ve had enough of this blooming election precinct.”
This program was carried out so far as moving back toward the motor boat was concerned, but when, after a long, hard journey, they came to the place in the river where the Rambler had been left, it was nowhere to be seen. Satisfied that Case had not proceeded up the river—the falls would have prevented a long run up—they all entered the rowboat and passed on down toward the St. Lawrence.
“Talk about getting lost!” grinned Alex. “Case has gone and lost the boat!”
CHAPTER VII—CASE HAS HIS DOUBTS
As may well be imagined, Case was waiting impatiently on board the Rambler while the events described in the last chapter were taking place in the forest. It is one thing to face a desperate situation in the company of helpful friends. It is quite another to consider a grave peril alone, especially when chums are in danger.
Several hours passed, and Case heard nothing from the wanderers in the forest. Then an unexpected visitor arrived. The boy saw an Indian canoe paddled swiftly up the river.
He had not had a good chance to observe the visitor who had cut the cable, thus bring about the meeting with the steamer people, but it was his opinion that the canoeist was none other than the boy who had given his name as Max Michel. He anxiously awaited the arrival of the craft.
“If that is Max,” he thought, “he certainly has a well-developed nerve to come back to the Rambler after doing what he did.”
In a short time the canoe, coming steadily upstream, touched the hull of the motor boat, and its occupant clambered alertly to the deck. Case stood for a moment regarding him with disapproval, no welcome at all in his face. The boy approached with a confident smile.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Case.
“I came,” was the quick reply, “because I have news which may interest you. I know you have good reason to doubt my friendship, but I hope you will listen to me. It will be in your interest to do so.”
“News of my friends?” asked Case quickly, forgetting in the impulse of the moment that the boy’s information was more than likely to be misleading. “Have you seen any of the boys to-day?”
“No,” was the slow reply, “but I have heard from them. They crossed the peninsula early this morning, were lured into a boat passing down a parallel stream, and must now be somewhere on or near the St. Lawrence.”
“How do you know all this?” demanded Case half-angrily.
“Ever since the night I cut your cable,” Max began, “I have been more than ashamed of myself. I was ordered to do the work, and believed that there was nothing else for me to do except to obey. I was not far from St. Luce yesterday when you boys went aboard the Sybil. The steamer touched at St. Luce and I afterwards heard the captain telling a friend of meeting you. Then I decided to return to you, if you were still in this vicinity.”
“And so you come here and tell me a fairy tale about my chums?” Case exclaimed. “You don’t expect me to believe a word you say, do you?”
“And yet it is the truth,” Max insisted. “I was up this morning early, paddling across the St. Lawrence, for I knew from the Captain’s conversation that you were over here. Not long ago I came upon a boat leaving the river to the west. From the man who was rowing, I learned that your friends had been attacked and captured.”
Case still doubted. He did not like the look in the eyes of the boy. He remembered the treacherous act which had sent the disabled Rambler drifting down the St. Lawrence. He thought fast for a moment and then asked abruptly:
“Will you tell me what your interest is in this matter?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Why did you cut our cable?”
The boy hesitated a moment, glanced casually over the west bank of the stream and then lowered his eyes to the deck.
“I was ordered to do so,” he said in a moment.
“Ordered to disable our motors and cut our cable?” demanded Case indignantly. “Don’t you know that you might have been the cause of our death? Is everything you have told me to-day just as true as the fairy tales you told us that night? You may as well be frank.”
Again the boy hesitated. To Case it seemed that he was listening for some sound or signal from the shore.
“Will you tell me,” continued Case, “who it was that ordered you to cut our cable and disable our motors?”
The boy shook his head. His manner was now anxious and uneasy, and Case turned his own eyes toward the shore which was being watched so closely.
“I can’t give you the name of my employers,” the boy finally said.
“Then tell me this,” insisted Case. “Why did the men who ordered you to do the work want it done?”
“I don’t know,” was the brief reply.
“I presume,” Case went on, “that you would have destroyed the Rambler with a stick of dynamite if you had been told to do so.”
“I wouldn’t have committed murder,” was the quick reply.
“Now let us get back to your story of to-day,” Case said. “Who was it that told you of the capture of my chums?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Was it one of your employers?”
“It was not.”
“Was it a man with whom you are acquainted?” asked Case.
“I never saw him until to-day,” he replied.
“How did he come to speak to you of the boys at all?”
“He mentioned that he had seen three boys evidently under a restraint in a boat with three men farther up the stream.”
“So the boat held three men and three boys? Anyone else?”
“He did not mention any one else.”
“And the six people were the sole occupants of the boat, were they?”
“That is what the man told me.”
“Before you concocted this story,” Case declared scornfully, “you ought to have jogged your memory a trifle. You saw Captain Joe and Teddy on board the Rambler the night you cut our cable. Why didn’t you add to your story and say that the dog and the bear were with the three boys?”
“The man I saw said nothing to me about the dog and the bear,” Max insisted stubbornly. “I had only a moment’s talk with him.”
“And then you came directly to the Rambler to tell me of the incident?”
“I came directly to the spot where I believed the Rambler would be,” was the answer. “Of course, I didn’t know exactly where you were, but Captain Morgan said that when you left him it was your intention to ascend this stream. I was lucky in finding you.”
“And now,” Case asked, with a scornful smile on his lips, “what do you expect me to do under the circumstances? What would you advise?”
“I thought,” replied Max, “that you would go down the river, and make your way to the mouth of the other stream.”
“Why do your employers want me to leave my present location?” asked Case. “Do they want the boys to come out of the forest and find the Rambler gone? Is that what you were sent here for?”
“Oh, well,” Max exclaimed, “if you don’t believe what I say, and won’t take advantage of the honest information I have given you, I may as well be on my way.”
He moved toward the gunwale of the boat, as he spoke and began untying the line which held his canoe to the Rambler. Case stepped forward and laid a detaining hand on his shoulder.
“Just a moment,” the boy said. “You are not going to leave the Rambler until my chums return, and perhaps not then.”
“Do you mean that you intend to keep me prisoner?” flashed Max.
“That is just exactly what I mean to do,” Case responded. “I don’t know what your object in coming here really is, for I believe that as a prevaricator, you have Ananias backed off the board. I dislike to use the shorter and uglier word, Max, but you certainly are the greatest liar I ever came across. You’ll stay here until we know more about you.”
“You’d better do a little thinking before you keep me here,” Max threatened. “You are making a lot of trouble for yourself.”
“I’ll have to risk that,” Case replied. “Have you got any weapons about your person? If you have, give them up.”
Max shook his head angrily.
“If I had had a weapon,” he declared, “you would have known all about it the minute you laid a hand on my shoulder.”
“Will you promise to remain on the boat without attempting to escape if I leave you your liberty?” Case asked.
“I will promise nothing!” was the ugly reply.
“All right,” Case said.
There was a rush and a little struggle, but in the end, Max was overcome and stowed away bound hand and foot in the cabin.
Leaving his prisoner there, foaming with rage and searching a limited vocabulary for words to express his feelings, Case went out to the prow of the Rambler and sat down to think over the situation.
“That boy,” he mused, “was sent here to induce me to take the Rambler out of this place. Why?”
The boy considered the problem for a long time. He was hoping that some of his chums would make their appearance. He disliked very much to take the Rambler away from the place where they had left it, and still there might be a grain of truth in what Max had said.
The day was bright and still. The deep green foliage of the forest shone and shimmered in the sun. There were birds in the air, and here and there timid creatures of the jungle came out to the stream to drink and peer with questioning eyes at the stranger who had invaded their leafy retreat. There were no signs of human life anywhere except on board the Rambler. The continued absence of the boys seemed unaccountable.
“Well,” the boy decided, presently, “I’ll take a chance on a visit to the St. Lawrence. It won’t take long to run down, swing up to the other end of the peninsula and investigate the west stream. If the boys come back while I am gone, they’ll probably hear the motors clamoring and know that I am not far away. Still, I don’t think they’ll come.”
Case was slowly reaching the uncomfortable conclusion that the boys had, indeed, been overcome by the outlaws. In that case, his first act ought to be to secure help. If he returned to the St. Lawrence, he might meet a friendly captain who would be willing to assist him in the rescue.
So, with this idea in his mind, the boy drew up the anchor, started the motors to popping and headed the Rambler down stream. The boat proceeded at full speed, and soon the arm of the bay which closed in behind the peninsula came in view.
Anchored there, in a sheltered cove on the north shore of the river, was a trim little launch. Case could see four men moving about in the cockpit at the rear of the little trunk cabin. He immediately directed the Rambler toward the craft and hailed across the water. He was answered promptly.
“Is that the Rambler?” was asked.
“The Rambler it is,” answered Case. “Are you looking for her?”
“Not especially,” was the reply. “We were told that you were here by Captain Morgan, whom we saw up the river.”
“Come aboard,” invited Case, and in a few moments two bright-looking young men ascended from a small boat to the deck of the Rambler.
“I am Joseph Fontenelle,” one of the young men said, “and this is my friend, Sam Howard. We were just going up the river when we saw you coming down. Are you alone on board?”
“My friends are somewhere back in the forest,” Case explained, certain that it was safe to trust the visitors. “I seem to have lost them.”
“Then we have probably arrived just in time,” Fontenelle went on. “As you probably know from my name, we are here on the old search for the charter. Captain Morgan, I am told, related the story to you. For myself, I have little faith in the quest, but father insists that I make a try to solve the mystery every summer. This is my third visit to what we call Cartier island. I expect to make them annually as long as father lives.”
“You have no faith in the story of the lost charter and the missing family jewels?” asked Case.
“Oh, they were lost, without doubt, and possibly in this country, but there is no clew whatever to their whereabouts.”
Case was wondering if the Fontenelles had a copy of the crude map which had been so mysteriously brought to the Rambler. He was wondering, too, if it would be safe for him to tell this youthful representative of the French family all that he knew of the two communications and the attacks which had been made on the Rambler. The question was virtually settled by Fontenelle himself.
“I am told,” the young man said, “that you boys were placed in peril by being mistaken for us.”
“We had a scrap with river pirates, if that is what you mean,” Case replied, “and Captain Morgan helped us to get away from them.”
“I’m afraid,” Fontenelle went on, “that the men you term ‘river pirates’ are pirates only for the purpose of this occasion. We have always been opposed in our quest for what father calls the lost channel.”
“Opposed everywhere in your searches?” Case asked, “or opposed only when you come to this section?”
“Opposed only in this vicinity,” answered Fontenelle, gazing keenly at the boy. “I see what you mean,” he added. “At least, your inference is that those who are opposing us really know more about the location of the charter and the jewels than we know ourselves, and that they believe them to be here.”
“That is the way it seems to me,” Case answered, “still if they think they know that the property sought for is in this vicinity, their knowledge fails when they try to put their hand upon it. They can only hope for success in case of your failure, and so they oppose your every effort.”
“That is the way in which we look at it,” Fontenelle replied. “In fact, father is positive that the search for the charter goes steadily on in this vicinity throughout most of the year.
“Last year, we had quite a merry picnic with a scout sent up to obstruct our search, and one of our men was seriously wounded. Our enemies are certainly becoming desperate, and if, as you say, your chums appear to be lost in the forest, we ought to be getting up there to look after them. They may be sorely in need of help.”
“I thank you for your offer of assistance,” Case replied, “and it is my opinion that we can’t get back there too quickly. Come over here and look through the cabin window,” he continued, “pointing through the glass panel to where he had left Max lying bound on the bunk.”
Then the look of amusement vanished from the boy’s face, and he opened the door and passed quickly into the cabin. Max was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared as completely as if the hull of the Rambler had opened and dropped him into the stream. The ropes with which he had been tied lay on the floor, but the boy was gone.
The open window at the rear of the motor boat, told the story. In answer to Fontenelle’s looks of inquiry, Case briefly told the story of Max’s visit and capture. The young man pondered a moment and then said:
“I don’t believe the boys have been captured at all. The chances are that they are still in the forest, probably looking for the boy who disappeared last night.
“This boy Max, if your description tallies with my recollection, has appeared in the game before to-day. He is a wharf rat at Quebec, and is being used by these outlaws to further their treacherous ends. I wish we had found him here.”
As the boys passed out on deck, the barking of a dog came from up the river. There was no mistaking the voice. It was Captain Joe, and he was deploring the absence of his floating home. Case smiled happily at the sound, and then his face grew serious, for gunshots followed the echo of the dog’s voice.
CHAPTER VIII—THE DISCOVERY OF MAX
Case hastened to put the Rambler under motion, and, with Fontenelle and Howard still on board, headed her into the current. At a signal from Fontenelle, the launch Cartier drew up her anchor and followed.
To Captain Joe’s vicious barking was now added the surly voice of the bear cub, so the boys knew that the animals were not far away. In fact, as they paused to investigate the ugly nose of the bulldog was pushed through the curtain of shrubbery at the edge of the stream, and Teddy leaped snarling into the water.
Fontenelle greeted the approach of the animals to the boat with shouts of laughter. Even in their haste to reach the boat, the animals could not avoid snapping and striking at each other, playfully. No more shots were heard, but presently a great tramping in the undergrowth came at the point where Joe and Teddy had made their appearance, indicating human presence there. All on board the Rambler anxiously awaited the appearance of those who were struggling in the jungle.
“Would the menagerie run away and leave the boys in captivity?” asked Fontenelle, as the bulldog and the bear cub were assisted, streaming, to the deck. “They seem to have had a long run.”
“Indeed, they would not,” replied Case. “If Clay and the others were tied up in the woods, Captain Joe and Teddy would be there with them. No, it is my opinion that it is Alex making all that racket in the brush. He’s a noisy little chap, and particularly troublesome when hungry.”
The next moment proved Case’s reasoning to be correct, for the undergrowth parted again and the three boys appeared on the bank.
“Ship ahoy!” Alex shouted, wrinkling his freckled nose. “Do you want to take on passengers?”
“I hope,” Case called back, “that you fellows haven’t gone and lost the rowboat. And where is the two-foot fish you were going to bring for breakfast? I don’t see it anywhere.”
“Well,” Jule called out, as the Rambler edged toward the bank, “if we have lost a boat, you seem to have found one.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Case.
Jule pointed, and Case went to the gunwale of the Rambler and looked down upon the fragile canoe in which Max had paddled up the river.
“I didn’t know that we were towing it,” he said, “but its presence here accounts for Max getting away without being seen or heard. He never stopped to get his boat, and may be swimming under water yet, for all I know. I hope he’s clear down at the bottom.”
“No danger of one of those wharf rats getting drowned,” Fontenelle laughed. “I have seen them remain under water for what seemed to me to be five minutes, and Max is some riverside boy.”
“Shoot the canoe over,” cried Clay, “and we’ll come aboard.”
“Where’s your boat?” demanded Case.
“Well, you see,” explained Clay, “when we missed the Rambler, we started for the St. Lawrence by the water route, but when ruffians on the bank began shooting, we tied up the boat and took to the thicket.”
Case released the line and sent the light canoe spinning over the surface of the river. Clay caught the rope deftly and one by one the boys paddled over to the motor boat. Alex threw himself down on the deck and gazed imploringly up at Case.
“I expected,” he said whimsically, “that you’d welcome me on the bank of the river with a pie!”
“The next time you get us into trouble,” Case laughed, “I’ll meet you on the bank of the river with a club.”
The three boys were presented to Fontenelle and Howard and then preparations for breakfast were begun.
“Alex got taken prisoner up in the woods,” Jule grinned. “We cut him loose and tied up the cook. We were thinking of getting breakfast there, but we preferred fish and pancakes to lead and gunpowder, so we made a run for the boat.”
“Is the cook tied up yet?” asked Case.
“I reckon they cut him loose in about ten minutes,” Alex replied, “for they seemed to be about three steps behind us all the way to the river, but they didn’t catch us.”
“Do you think we would better go back after the rowboat?” Case asked, as the boys sat down to a breakfast of bacon, eggs, pancakes, beans and hot coffee. “We ought not to loose it.”
“Look here,” Jule said. “We’ve been sowing rowboats over the world for a year or two. We lost two on the Amazon, one on the Columbia, two on the Colorado and had three smashed on the Mississippi. Now, I think we’d better go back and get this boat.”
“All right,” Alex grinned. “You go on back and get it.”
“Well, don’t you ever think I can’t,” Jule replied. “I can sneak up there and swipe that boat from under their noses. But you needn’t think I’m going to set out as long as there is anything here to eat.”
While the boys took breakfast, the situation as explained to Case by Fontenelle was described to them, and after a time Case beckoned Clay away to a corner of the cabin and asked him a question over which he had been puzzling ever since the arrival of Fontenelle.
“Now you understand the situation,” Case said, “and I want you to answer this question right off the handle. I’ve decided it half a dozen ways, but I have been fortunate enough so far to keep my mouth shut.”
“What is the question?” asked Clay.
“Wait,” Case said. “I’ll make a little explanation first. These Fontenelle people have only the legend of the lost channel and the loss of the charter and the family jewels in this section. They haven’t a single clew which tells them to look in any special spot first.
“So far as I can make out, young Fontenelle and his friends come down here every summer, in answer to the demands of the elder Fontenelle, for a sort of a vacation. So far as I can make out, they have never honestly searched for the lost channel. In fact, the young man has doubts of its existence. Now, what I want to know is this.”
“Why didn’t you say so before?” asked Clay with a smile. “I know what your question is. You want to know if we ought to show Fontenelle the map which was brought to the Rambler so mysteriously.”
“Aw, of course, you could guess it after I had stated the case fully,” Case declared. “But you haven’t told me what you think about it. Ought we to give Fontenelle the map?”
“Well,” Clay answered, cautiously, “the map doesn’t belong to us. It wasn’t intended for us. It was handed to us by a man who evidently believed that he was turning it over to Fontenelle.”
“Yes,” Case said, “it does look as if the map belongs to Fontenelle, but look here! He doesn’t believe in this search. It is my idea that he doesn’t even care whether he secures the lost property or not. He won’t consider the matter seriously if we give it to him. He’ll just laugh and poke it away among a lot of old papers and that will be the end of it.”
“You are undoubtedly right,” Clay answered.
“Now,” Case went on, “we’ve had enough trouble with these outlaws to arouse my fighting blood. Besides, I’d like to have a look at that lost channel. Lost channels appeal to me, you know! I’d give a lot to find it. Why not keep the map and go on with the search?”
“But the other fellows would be searching, too, and the whole event would deteriorate into a big summer outing,” Clay insisted.
“All right, then,” Case suggested. “Suppose we go on up the river to Quebec, and Montreal, and the Thousand Islands, and then come back after these fellows have gone home, and find that channel.”
“That listens pretty good to me,” Clay answered. “I am willing to go on at once if it is a sure thing that we come back, but I don’t want to sneak away from these fellows after they have started the fight.”
“That shows courage, all right enough,” Case added, “but I’d rather hunt for this lost channel with these toughs on the wharf at Quebec, and,” he added, more seriously, “that’s where I think they’ll be by the time we get back here. They won’t stay here long after Fontenelle goes away.”
“Very well,” Clay replied, “if Jule and Alex are willing, we’ll be on our way this afternoon.”
This understanding having been reached, the two boys went back to their guests, while Jule went ashore in the canoe.
“Now, watch the little rat,” Alex laughed. “He’ll tie that boat up and blunder through the briers, when he might paddle up the stream close to the bank without taking any chances.”
But Jule did nothing of the kind. He kept on up the stream in the canoe. Presently he rounded a bend and disappeared from sight.
In a short time Fontenelle and his friend left the Rambler with the understanding that the two crews were to meet in the evening if the boys did not sail away in the afternoon. As a matter of fact, as the reader already knows, the boys had decided to leave before the parting took place, but they did not care to be urged to remain and join in the summer vacation picnic which was sure to follow.
They had started out for a trip covering the whole length of the St. Lawrence river from the Gulf to Lake Ontario, and were determined to cover the course before shipping their boat back to Chicago.
In less than an hour Jule was back with the rowboat, having seen nothing of the outlaws.
“They probably thought the whole Canadian navy was coming after them,” Alex said, pointing from the Rambler to the Cartier and back again. “Looks like we were coming out in force.”
In the middle of the afternoon the boys notified Fontenelle of their intention to proceed on their journey, and the Rambler passed on up the St. Lawrence.
It was a golden day in summer, the waters sparkled and danced in the sunlight, and the shipping passing to and fro on the river made a pleasant picture of marine life. The boys enjoyed the situation thoroughly.
“I have always had a longing to visit Quebec,” Clay said as the boat headed for a little cove to avoid the wash of a giant steamer, “and I propose that we spend two or three days there looking over things.”
“That suits me,” Alex cut in. “When we get there, I’ll go down on the docks and find that boy Max. And when I find him, there’ll be one wharf rat less on the docks.”
“You better keep away from the docks,” warned Case. “You’d get lost on South Clark street between any two blocks you could name.”
“Well, I always find myself again,” Alex declared.
“Yes, you do,” Case jeered. “The last time you got lost, it took two boys and a bear and a bulldog to find you. And I don’t think you are worth the trouble at that!”
The boys immediately had a friendly struggle on the deck, in which Teddy and Captain Joe promptly mixed.
That night the boys arranged for another campfire on the north bank of the St. Lawrence. They put up their hammocks, anchored the boat close inshore, and prepared for a long sleep.
“If there isn’t any lost channels or charters from French kings or strayed family jewels hiding about here,” Jule commented, “we’ll certainly enjoy ourselves in this camp.”
Nothing came to disturb them during the night. They watched the procession of craft of all descriptions on the river until nine o’clock, then went to sleep with a danger signal swinging from the prow of the Rambler. They were early astir in the morning and on their way upstream.
There was no need of haste, yet the boys seemed to enjoy themselves most when the boat was in motion, so they plowed slowly up the river until night, enjoying the wild scenery and stopping now and then at a little settlement. That was the first of many days of uninterrupted pleasure on the most extensive water system of the North American continent.
On the second night, they made another camp with only Captain Joe and Teddy standing guard. Alex was out after fish early in the morning, and at six o’clock he served one of his long-wished for fish a la Indian breakfasts.
Just before nightfall, they came within sight of Quebec and moored at a pier a short distance down the river.
“Now,” laughed Case, “if any treasure seekers or outlaws or river pirates appear to us during the night, we’ll call the police. We’ve had trouble enough for one trip.”
“I’m going to sleep ten hours every night until we get to the Thousand Islands,” declared Jule. “I’m hungry and sleepy most of the time.”
“And we’ll come back down the rapids, won’t we?” asked Alex.
“You bet we will,” replied Clay. “We’ll come down like a shot.”
“We’ll need to,” Jule suggested, “because we’ll lose time in the canal going up.”
There was no open campfire or swinging hammocks for the boys that night. The city of Quebec twinkled its myriad lights from plateau and cliff, and the boys were not sure of whom they might meet during the dark hours. They cooked their supper early in order to make an evening trip in the lower part of the city.
“I wonder,” Case said, as, leaving Jule and Clay on board, he started away with Alex, “what the man who delivered the map to us is thinking about concerning his mistake now. He might have been paid to deliver that document to Fontenelle, and the error may make him trouble.”
“And I was just thinking,” Alex put in, “what the fellows who delivered the warning to us are thinking concerning themselves. They wasted a lot of ammunition and lost a good many hours’ sleep on our account.”
“Perhaps we’ll find out all about it when we go back to find the lost channel,” Case suggested. “Do you know,” he added, “I’m looking forward to that lost channel stunt with a good deal of enthusiasm.”
“Do you really think there’s a lost channel there?” asked Alex.
“There is something in it,” Case asserted. “Men don’t draw maps entirely on imagination.”
“Then why don’t the men who drew the map go and tell Fontenelle all about it?”
“He tried to tell him all about it when he delivered the map to us, but as you know, the map reached the wrong hands.”
The boys walked the streets, comparing them unfavorably with those of Chicago, until nearly ten o’clock and then turned to go to the boat. When they came to the river front again, Alex stopped suddenly and caught Case by the arm.
“Look there,” he whispered, “What do you know about that?”
“About what?” asked Case, puzzled.
“Don’t you see him down there at the head of the pier?” asked Alex, nodding his head in that direction.
“I guess you’re the boy that’s got loose packing in his head to-night,” laughed Case. “What do you see?”
“What do I see?” repeated Alex. “That’s Max, the wharf rat, the cable cutter, the motor destroyer. Shall we go and get him?”
“Go and get him?” repeated Case. “He’d have a flock of wharf rats around us in about two minutes.”
“Well,” Alex insisted, “we’d better stay here and see where he goes, anyway. If we can locate the fellow now, we can go after him any time.”
“Then I guess we can go after him any time,” Case chuckled, “because he’s heading for that eating house with the tin fish sign in front of it.”
“Then here we go for the tin fish,” Alex declared, and in five minutes, they were seated at a little table in an alcove separated only by a heavy cloth curtain from the main room of a third-rate French restaurant.
When a waiter appeared they gave their orders and sat watching the main room through the folds of the curtain.
“There!” Alex finally said in a whisper. “He’s coming in.”
“Yes,” grunted Case, “and he’s got a dozen wharf rats with him. I guess they’ve got us in as neat a trap as one boy ever set for another!”
CHAPTER IX—A BUSY NIGHT IN QUEBEC
“I don’t understand,” Alex said, peering through the curtain, “why he should want to do anything to us. Perhaps he won’t notice us at all.”
“Don’t you ever think he won’t,” grinned Case. “Didn’t I truss him up like a hen in the cabin and threaten to arrest him, and didn’t he declare that he would shoot me if he ever got a chance? Don’t you believe he’ll let us get out of here without trouble!”
“Oh, well,” Alex replied, “if he starts anything we’ll get out all right in spite of him, and in spite of his wharf rats.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Case said, watching the collection of roughly-dressed boys sitting about a table in the other room, “that that kid has been waiting in Quebec for us.”
“What shall we do, then,” Alex asked still in a whisper. “Shall we make a break and get out right now?”
“We may as well wait and see what takes place,” Case answered. “This is a pretty tough joint, I guess, and some one may start something. In that case, we can get out while they are beating each other up.”
The lunches ordered were now brought by the waiter, and the boys fell to, although, as may well be imagined, without much appetite. Max sat with his face turned toward the curtain, evidently trying to discover whether his enemies were using the alcove. He had seen the boys enter the restaurant, but was not quite certain as to which room they had seated themselves in. His face was watchful and vicious.
Half an hour passed and the situation did not change, then Alex plucked Case by the sleeve, motioning toward the outer door.
“We may as well move,” he said. “It is getting late, and the streets are now growing more unsafe every minute because of such night prowlers as you see out there. It we’ve got to fight, we may as well begin.”
But it was not necessary for them to start the engagement, as Max came to the alcove directly and drew the curtain roughly aside. The boys remained in their seats, grinning up at him, but their hands under the cover of the table grasped their automatics.
“Hello!” Alex said presently. “We never expected to meet you here.”
“Oh, I had an idea you’d be along,” Max said with an ugly frown.
“Come on in and set down,” Case urged with a chuckle. “I’d like to have you tell me why you disappeared so suddenly.”
“That’s a nice question to ask!” Max snarled. “You tie me up like a pig in the cabin and then wonder why I get out of your clutches!”
“You had a little swim for it, didn’t you?” asked Case.
“Yes,” was the reply, “and I’ll make you sweat for every drop of water I swallowed during that long dive. I’ll show you a thing or two!”
“What was there in that job for you, anyway?” asked Alex. “We’ve got a new manila cable charged up to you.”
“Mark the bill down on ice,” snorted Max, “and lay the ice on the stove. You did me dirt there and I’m going to get even!”
“Go as far as you like,” said Case. “We are here to answer all questions.”
Max, who had been standing in the entrance to the alcove, with the curtain half over his shoulder, now turned and beckoned to the rough-looking boys gathered about the table he had just left.
“Friends of yours?” asked Alex as the others gathered about the alcove. “They look as if they might be.”
The boys outside now began jostling each other roughly, as if preparing to start a fake fight among themselves. That, as Alex and Case well knew, is an old, old trick in the underworld. Whenever an enemy is to be attacked, it is common practice for the assailants to start a fight among themselves, being certain that their enemies are dealt most of the blows. Many an apparently innocent bystander has been murdered in that way.
The proprietor of the place came rushing out of an inner room as the toughs hustled each other back and forth and timidly remonstrated with them. It was evident that he stood in fear of the gang. The boys saw that no help might be expected from him.
At last one of the toughs received a blow which, apparently, forced him inside the alcove, then the whole crowd rushed in, swarming over Alex and Case like the wharf rats they were. The boys drew their revolvers, but did not fire. Instead they sprang to the top of the table and used the handles of their weapons to good purpose.
In the meantime the proprietor was running back and forth from the alcove to the door and from the door to the alcove, urging the boys to act “like little gentlemen,” and at the same time shouting for the police. But no officers made their appearance.
The weight of humanity on the table upon which the boys were standing now brought it down with a crash to the floor. The situation was becoming serious, and the boys were preparing to use their guns when an unexpected event occurred.
The night being warm, the street door was wide open, but a little crowd had gathered about it. Disturbances were frequent in that place, however, and none of the onlookers seemed inclined to interfere.
As they stood looking, a heavy body catapulted against their shoulders, and the next moment the heavy body of a white bulldog leaped over their heads into the room.
The toughs in the alcove, who had just settled down to a steady pommeling of the boys with their bare fists, turned for an instant as sharp claws clattered over the floor, and some of them stepped aside. Then Captain Joe leaped atop of the struggling mass and began a vigorous exercise of his very capable teeth.
In a second the whole place was in confusion. Patrons rushed out from other rooms, the proprietor appeared from behind the desk bearing a revolver. There was an inrush from the street, and then two pistol shots sounded. As the acrid smell of powder smoke seeped into the air, there was a rattle of glass and the two ceiling lights were extinguished.
Save for the uncertain light from incandescents in the other alcoves, the place was now in darkness, except for the illumination which came in from the street.
Cries, shouts and epithets of the vilest character rang through the place. Long before the light of the gas jets could be turned on, the boys and the dog were out on the pavement, making good progress toward a policeman in uniform, who appeared under an arc light not far away. The officer held up his heavy night stick as the boys approached him.
The sound of running feet came out and in a moment the officer and the two boys were surrounded by the wharf rats who had been in the restaurant. The officer promptly drew a revolver.
“What’s doing here!” he demanded. “Who did that shooting back there?”
“These two boys did it!” Max promptly explained, pointing at Alex and Case. “They shot out the lights and robbed the till!”
The officer put up his revolver and his night stick, seized Alex and Case by the shoulders, and started off up the street, the toughs following at his heels. There was a patrol box on the next corner and the boys attempted no defence of their conduct until this was reached. As the policeman turned the key he glanced quickly from one face to the other.
“What have you boys got to say for yourselves?” he asked.
“We’ll tell that to the judge,” replied Alex.
“Come, now, don’t get gay!” the officer said. “You don’t look like boys who would be apt to get into a scrape like that.”
The boys were so pleased at having escaped from the restaurant with whole heads that they did not much mind the arrest. In fact, just at that moment the officer was about the most welcome person who could have made his appearance, with the exception of Captain Joe, of course.
The dog now stood close by the patrol box showing his teeth and asking Alex for permission to take the officer by the leg.
“We haven’t robbed any tills lately!” Alex said, wrinkling his freckled nose at the officer.
“Lookout!” one of the boys shouted from the crowd. “That bulldog will get you, officer. He chewed up two boys back in the restaurant.
“Good old Captain Joe,” exclaimed Alex, patting the dog on the head.
The dog did not for a moment lose sight of a spot on the officer’s thigh, which seemed to invite attack.
“Is that your dog?” asked the policeman.
“Sure, that’s our dog,” answered Alex.
“And what did you say his name was?”
“Captain Joe.”
The officer released his hold on the boys and leaned against the patrol box. The police wagon was now in sight, racing down the street with a great jangling of bells, and the crowd around the officer began to thin. They had evidently seen that wagon before.
“Say, Mr. Officer,” Alex said, “why don’t you grab a couple of those boys? They are going to be witnesses against us, you know.”
The officer made no reply, but reached down and patted Captain Joe on the head, an action which the dog strongly resented.
“Did you say the dog ate a couple of wharf rats back there?” asked the officer, turning to the diminishing crowd.
“You bet he did!” half a dozen voices cried in chorus. “He’s a holy terror.”
“I’ve got a hole in my leg you could push a chair through,” one of them shouted. “Arrest him!”
The police wagon now backed up to the curb and the boys stepped inside followed by Captain Joe.
“Here!” questioned the man in charge of the wagon, “are you going in with us, off your beat, and are you going to arrest the dog? He looks like a hard citizen!”
“Not a bit of it!” answered the officer. “He chewed up two wharf rats back there, according to all accounts, and I’m going in to tell the sergeant, and to ask the captain to give him a medal. If he had only killed them, I’d try to get him on the pension list.”
“Say,” Case remarked, “you seem to be an all-right policeman. I guess you know that bunch back there.”
“Every officer in the city knows that bunch,” replied the policeman. “When they’re not in the penitentiary, they’re making trouble for the force. They ought to get a hundred years apiece.”
“What will we get for shooting out the lights?” asked Alex.
“So you did shoot out the lights!”
“We didn’t do anything else,” declared Alex.
“Say, Mr. Cop, you’ve seen terriers go after a rat in a pit, haven’t you?” asked Case. “Well, that’s just the way that gang went after us. We’d be dead now if Captain Joe hadn’t run away from the Rambler and followed us.”
“There!” cried the officer clapping Alex on the back, “I’ve been trying to think of that name ever since I saw the dog. We’ve got pictures of this dog and the Rambler and a grizzly bear called Teddy pasted up in the squad room. We cut them out of newspapers six months ago when you boys were somewhere out on the Columbia river.”
“On the Colorado river,” corrected Case. “We found Teddy Bear in a a timber wreck on the Columbia, and he never had his picture taken until we got to San Francisco.”
“Is the Rambler down on the river now?” asked the officer, and Case nodded. “Because, if it is,” the policeman went on, “some one had better be getting down there! The wharf rats will eat it up before morning, plank by plank!”
“How are we going to get down there if you lock us up?” asked Case.
“You may not be locked up,” was the reply.