“All right. No could help. Me pay,” he said, trying to placate the angry Indian.
The man nodded, but still sullenly.
“Where my friend? You drown him, you pay lot more!” he said.
“So that’s the way they rate friendship, is it?” reflected Ralph. “I guess ‘Lo, the poor Indian,’ has been a lot overestimated, or else this is an exceptional specimen.”
“I hope your friend is all right,” he said aloud, “but anyhow, we’ll soon see. Look!”
From up the river came a sudden glare of blue light. It was a Coston signal from the River Swallow.
“There they are now,” cried Ralph. “They are lying to for us. Lucky thing I have along my water-proof box of matches.”
He fumbled for the metal cylinder which had been of so much use to him in many tight places. Then, followed by the Indian, he set off across the little island to the side on which, judging by the light, the River Swallow was lying to. It did not take long to collect dry sticks and leaves and make a bright glare.
Through the night came a hail from the River Swallow’s megaphone.
“Are you all right, Ralph?”
Ralph cupped his hands. “Fine; but mighty wet! You’d better send ashore. I’ve got the Indian.”
“Good! We got the other,” came back another hail.
“Your friend all right,” said Ralph turning to the Indian. “Pretty soon they send small boat ashore for us.”
“Huh,” muttered the Indian, leaving a doubt to be inferred as to whether he would not just as soon have had the extra money as learn that his friend was safe. Not long afterward the small boat carried by the River Swallow came ashore, and they were rowed off by Hardware.
Full speed was made to the island, where the Indians were accommodated for the night. The next day they were sent on their way rejoicing with a skiff which had been lying idle in the boat house and a substantial recompense for their misfortune.
It was two nights later, after the boys had made a flying trip to the Thousand Islands with some guests of Ralph’s father, leaving them there, that, on the return voyage, they once more encountered “the mystery of the river,” as they had come to call it.
Malvin and Hansen were both on board, but neither was on deck, when suddenly out of the darkness the form of the gray, ghost-like motor craft emerged once more, like a figure in a fog, lightless and suddenly vanishing, as if swept from sight by an invisible hand.
Ralph had the wheel. He gave a sudden gasp as the apparition appeared before his eyes, then faded, vapor-like.
“The search-light, quick!” he ordered Hardware in low breathless tones. A bright spear of light cut the night. Here and there it swung, like a radiant, pointing finger. But it settled on no gray, swiftly sneaking craft.
The momentary reverie into which Ralph had been plunged by the mysterious appearance of the “ghost craft,” already encountered upon other night trips in the River Swallow, lasted but a brief time.
“You can’t find her with the search-light, eh, Harry?” he asked.
“Not a hide nor hair of her, as Mountain Jim would have said,” was the reply; “she’s certainly a big mystery, Ralph.”
“And one which it is going to be up to us to solve,” was the rejoinder. “You remember the last time we saw her, she was sneaking away from Dexter Island. This is the first time we have noticed her since, and she is coming from the same direction. From the fact that she carries no lights and altogether acts in a highly suspicious way, it is fair to assume that she is after no good. In some way that I can’t just explain I’m pretty sure that whatever tricks she is up to are in some manner connected with Dexter Island.”
“Just the way I feel about it, old fellow,” was his chum’s rejoinder. “I’d give a lot to unravel the mystery and – hello! Look there!”
Right ahead of them seemingly a light had suddenly flashed up out of the darkness. It was out of the path of the search-light and shone quite brilliantly. The light was in about the location where they had last sighted the gray night rover.
“Out with that search-light instantly,” ordered Captain Ralph snappily.
Instantly the bright rays of the big electric night-piercer were cut off.
“Now switch off the other lights, the running lamps and the stern one.”
Harry Ware hesitated an instant.
“You are going to run without lights?”
“For a time, yes.”
Snap!
Out went every light on board the River Swallow that might betray her whereabouts to any other craft.
“We’re taking a big chance, Ralph,” said Harry Ware curiously. “What’s the game?”
“Why, that light ahead belongs to the ‘ghost craft’; I’m sure of it. At any rate, it’s a clew worth following.”
“You’re going to chase her?”
A thrill of excitement vibrated in Harry’s voice.
Ralph’s jaws came together with a click. It was characteristic of his father, the “railroad king,” to do this when he had reached an important determination.
“Yes, Harry, I’m going to follow that light up for a while. See, it’s moving pretty quickly. Ring for more speed.”
“Well, that old spook of the St. Lawrence will have to go some to dodge the River Swallow,” ejaculated Harry, as he obeyed Ralph’s order; and almost simultaneously the swift craft leaped forward in pursuit of the Will o’ the Wisp ahead of her.
The chase was on. It was destined to be the beginning of a strange series of adventures.
CHAPTER VIII
A MISLEADING LIGHT
“Can you make out anything of that craft yet, Harry?”
The chase had been on for half an hour, and still the elusive light bobbed along ahead of them.
Percy Simmons, down in the engine room, had been fully informed by young Ware of what was going on, and he was coaxing his fine machines to their top notch of effort.
“I can’t see anything of her outlines yet, Ralph,” was Harry’s response to Ralph’s interrogation. “She must be a flyer.”
“She’ll have to be to get away from us.”
“Anyhow, it looks like a stern chase.”
“But not necessarily a long one. I haven’t heard of a craft yet that could get away from the River Swallow, at least, in these parts.”
“You mean an earthly craft,” rejoined young Ware, in rather quavery tones.
“Good gracious! What’s got into you? You surely don’t think that the boat we are after is anything but a motor boat like this one, run by men who have a good reason for not wanting us to catch up with them?”
“Um-er, I just had a shiver. A ‘goose walked over my grave.’ My grandmother says that that means that some sort of spirits are about.”
“Rubbish! I thought you were a different sort of a fellow from that, Harry. We’ll have to quit calling you ‘Hardware’ if you are going to be so soft as to think there is anything supernatural about that elusive boat.”
“Just the same, there’s something queer about her.”
“Nothing but what will admit of an explanation,” was the reply. “As for the way they are dodging us, it’s just what I expected. Honest