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Contents
Preface 15
2 Dynamic Models 46
A Perspective on Dynamic Models 46
Chapter Overview 47
2.1 Dynamics of Mechanical Systems 47
2.1.1 Translational Motion 47
2.1.2 Rotational Motion 54
2.1.3 Combined Rotation and Translation 65
2.1.4 Complex Mechanical Systems (W)** 68
2.1.5 Distributed Parameter Systems 68
2.1.6 Summary: Developing Equations of Motion
for Rigid Bodies 70
2.2 Models of Electric Circuits 71
2.3 Models of Electromechanical Systems 76
2.3.1 Loudspeakers 76
2.3.2 Motors 78
2.3.3 Gears 82
2.4 Heat and Fluid-Flow Models 83
2.4.1 Heat Flow 84
2.4.2 Incompressible Fluid Flow 88
2.5 Historical Perspective 95
Summary 98
Review Questions 98
Problems 99
**Sections with (W) indicates that additional material is located on the web at
www.pearsonglobaleditions.com.
7
8 Contents
6 The Frequency-Response
Design Method 353
A Perspective on the Frequency-Response Design Method 353
Chapter Overview 354
6.1 Frequency Response 354
6.1.1 Bode Plot Techniques 362
6.1.2 Steady-State Errors 374
6.2 Neutral Stability 376
6.3 The Nyquist Stability Criterion 379
6.3.1 The Argument Principle 379
6.3.2 Application of The Argument Principle
to Control Design 380
6.4 Stability Margins 393
6.5 Bode’s Gain–Phase Relationship 402
6.6 Closed-Loop Frequency Response 407
6.7 Compensation 408
6.7.1 PD Compensation 409
6.7.2 Lead Compensation (W) 410
6.7.3 PI Compensation 420
6.7.4 Lag Compensation 420
6.7.5 PID Compensation 426
6.7.6 Design Considerations 433
6.7.7 Specifications in Terms of the Sensitivity
Function 435
6.7.8 Limitations on Design in Terms of the Sensitivity
Function 440
6.8 Time Delay 443
6.8.1 Time Delay via the Nyquist Diagram (W) 445
6.9 Alternative Presentation of Data 445
6.9.1 Nichols Chart 445
6.9.2 The Inverse Nyquist Diagram (W) 450
6.10 Historical Perspective 450
Summary 451
Review Questions 453
Problems 454
Bibliography 903
Index 912
FEATURE
1. Chapter openers offer perspective and overview. They place the spe-
cific chapter topic in the context of the discipline as a whole, and
they briefly overview the chapter sections.
2. Margin notes help students scan for chapter highlights. They point
to important definitions, equations, and concepts.
3. Shaded highlights identify key concepts within the running text.
They also function to summarize important design procedures.
4. Bulleted chapter summaries help with student review and priori-
tization. These summaries briefly reiterate the key concepts and
conclusions of the chapter.
5. Synopsis of design aids. Relationships used in design and through-
out the book are collected inside the back cover for easy reference.
6. The color blue is used (1) to highlight useful pedagogical features,
(2) to highlight components under particular scrutiny within block
diagrams, (3) to distinguish curves on graphs, and (4) to lend a more
realistic look to figures of physical systems.
7. Review questions at the end of each chapter with solutions in the
back to guide the student in self-study
8. Historical perspectives at the end of each chapter provide some
background and color on how or why the material in that particular
chapter evolved.
Course Configurations
The material in this text can be covered flexibly. Most first-course stu-
dents in controls will have some dynamics and Laplace transforms.
Therefore, Chapter 2 and most of Chapter 3 would be a review for
those students. In a ten-week quarter, it is possible to review Chap-
ter 3, and cover all of Chapters 1, 4, 5, and 6. Most optional sections
should be omitted. In the second quarter, Chapters 7 and 9 can be cov-
ered comfortably including the optional sections. Alternatively, some
optional sections could be omitted and selected portions of Chapter 8
included. A semester course should comfortably accommodate Chap-
ters 1–7, including the review materials of Chapters 2 and 3, if needed.
If time remains after this core coverage, some introduction of digital
control from Chapter 8, selected nonlinear issues from Chapter 9, and
some of the case studies from Chapter 10 may be added.
The entire book can also be used for a three-quarter sequence
of courses consisting of modeling and dynamic response (Chapters 2
Preface 21
and 3), classical control (Chapters 4–6), and modern control (Chapters
7–10).
Two basic 10-week courses are offered at Stanford and are taken
by seniors and first-year graduate students who have not had a course
in control, mostly in the departments of Aeronautics and Astronautics,
Mechanical Engineering, and Electrical Engineering. The first course
reviews Chapters 2 and 3 and covers Chapters 4–6. The more advanced
course is intended for graduate students and reviews Chapters 4–6 and
covers Chapters 7–10. This sequence complements a graduate course
in linear systems and is the prerequisite to courses in digital control,
nonlinear control, optimal control, flight control, and smart product
design. Some of the subsequent courses include extensive laboratory
experiments. Prerequisites for the course sequence include dynamics or
circuit analysis and Laplace transforms.
Supplements
The website www.pearsonglobaleditions.com includes the dot-m and dot-
slx files used to generate all the Matlab figures in the book, and these
may be copied and distributed to the students as desired. The websites
also contain some more advanced material and appendices which are
outlined in the Table of Contents. A Solutions Manual with complete
solutions to all homework problems is available to instructors only.
Acknowledgments
Finally, we wish to acknowledge our great debt to all those who have
contributed to the development of feedback control into the exciting
field it is today and specifically to the considerable help and education
we have received from our students and our colleagues. In particular,
we have benefited in this effort by many discussions with the following
22 Preface
who taught introductory control at Stanford: A. E. Bryson, Jr., R. H.
Cannon, Jr., D. B. DeBra, S. Rock, S. Boyd, C. Tomlin, P. Enge, A. Oka-
mura, and C. Gerdes. Other colleagues who have helped us include D.
Fraser, N. C. Emami, B. Silver, M. Dorfman, K. Rudie, L. Pao, F. Khor-
rami, K. Lorell, M. Tischler, D. de Roover, R. Patrick, M. Berrios, J. K.
Lee, J. L. Ebert, I. Kroo, K. Leung, and M. Schwager. Special thanks
go to the many students who have provided almost all the solutions to
the problems in the book.
We especially want to express our great appreciation for the con-
tributions to the book by Gene Franklin. Gene was a mentor, teacher,
advisor, and good friend to us both. We had many meetings as we col-
laborated on earlier editions of the book over the last 28 years of his
life, and every single one of those meetings has been friendly and enjoy-
able as we meshed our views on how to present the material. We learned
control along with humor from Gene in grad school classes, and we
benefitted from his mentoring: in one case as a new assistant profes-
sor, and in the other as a Ph.D. advisee. Collectively, we collaborated
on research, created new courses and laboratories, and written two text-
books over a period of 40 years. Gene always had a smile with a twinkle
in his eye, and was a pleasure to work with; he was a true gentleman.
J.D.P.
A.E.-N.
Stanford, California
23
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panel in the cabin door was shattered, and the coal stove, which had
been used in lower latitudes to keep the boys warm, lay on its side.
“Everything’s all right in here!” Alex cried sticking his freckled nose
through the sash formerly occupied by the glass panel. “Nothing
wrong in here at all, except that the stove is tipped over, and the
dishes are all broken, and our expensive wardrobes are rolling in the
dirt, and Teddy’s eating up my catfish. Oh, we’re all right in here!”
Clay left the prow and looked through into the cabin.
“We ought to charge this to Jule!” he said with a laugh.
“All right!” said Jule. “I wouldn’t have missed that for a thousand
dollars. Do you think I sunk that boat?”
“You certainly did!” answered Clay. “The last I saw of her as we
came around the bend her cabin lights were shining mighty low.”
“And now,” Case complained, “they’ll be sending word on down
the river to have us arrested for piracy on the high seas.”
“Don’t you ever think they will!” Alex put in. “I don’t believe
there’s a man on board that boat that dare step foot either into
Indiana or Kentucky. They sell drugged moonshine whiskey, and
they rob every man that comes on board, so it’s a sure thing that
there’s a warrant for them in every town along the river.”
“I didn’t think you had it in you, Jule!” Clay laughed.
“What’s the answer?” Jule questioned.
“I didn’t think you had the nerve to ram a boat the size of that
one. It was a desperate thing to do.”
“Huh!” grinned Jule. “I guess if I hadn’t rammed her, we’d be
packed like sardines in some dirty old steamer hold now.”
“And that’s no dream!” Alex shouted.
With her prow light burning brightly, the Rambler proceeded
slowly down the river. In a few moments they came to four great
coal barges stranded on a sand bar. As they glided by a man in a
rowboat shot out into the circle of light and called out:
“What’s the trouble up the river, boys?”
“Oh,” Alex answered, “a saloon boat ran into something and broke
in two. I guess she’s sinking.”
“I thought I heard a crash of some kind,” answered the stranger.
“Anybody likely to get drowned?”
“I hope so!” Clay answered. “That’s one of the meanest outlaw
boats on the river. I was glad to see her going down.”
“Indeed it is,” agreed the other. “I saw the men on board of her
getting the bargemen drunk. You see the result here. Hundreds of
tons of perfectly good coal wasted.”
“Suppose we run into a cove here, or up against one of those
barges,” Jule whispered, “and see if this man knows anything about
the three blue lights.”
The Rambler was steered under the lee of the lower barge
downstream from the sand bar and the stranger rowed alongside.
Clay was about to question him regarding the phenomenon, now
twice witnessed, when the hum of low voices came from the shore.
The boy listened intently and the next moment the heavy tramping
of horses’ feet came to his ears. Directly the sharp whinny of a
restive horse cut the still air!
CHAPTER XVI.—THE COAL BARGES INTERVENE.
The stranger looked at the boys sharply as they stood listening to
the noises on shore. There was an expression of displeasure on his
face as he noted how watchful they were.
“What’s that?” asked Alex.
“Sounds like horses and men, replied the stranger, speaking
sharply and turning away as he did so.
“What are they doing out on the river bank at this time of night?”
queried Jule. “What’s coming next, I wonder?”
The stranger, who had turned away abruptly, now moved back so
that his face was plainly seen under the prow light of the Rambler.
When he spoke it was with an attempt at heartiness, but the boys
saw that he was worried.
“I may as well tell you all about it,” he began with an insincere air.
“You’ve heard the horses trampling, and heard the men talking, so
you may as well understand what they’re here for. These river
pirates have been making a lot of trouble lately. They coax our
plantation hands on board their pesky boats and that’s the last we
ever see of them. There’s many a good crop gone to waste along
the Ohio river because those outlaws carry whiskey to sell.”
“We’ve seen quite a lot of that,” Clay suggested.
“Everybody who is on the river sees a lot of it,” the stranger
continued. “Well, now we’ve decided not to stand it any longer. We
came here to destroy that boat, and I’m half sorry that an accident
prevented our accomplishing the work. One boat nicely blown up
would warn a score away. They need the lesson.”
“Well,” Clay laughed, “it wasn’t an accident that destroyed the
steamer. She tried to block us in the lagoon and we rammed her
with our steel prow. That boat will never make you any more
trouble.”
“You are to be congratulated!” the stranger observed. “You have
my permission to ram every whiskey boat on the river.”
The man’s face was smiling enough, and his manner was
sufficiently friendly, still the boys all found themselves wondering if
he was telling the exact truth. They knew very well that many
people scattered along the river on both banks were in touch with
the whiskey boats, even supplying them with moonshine and
tobacco.
“Why don’t some of those men with the horses show up?” asked
Jule presently. “Why are they hiding in there now?”
“Because they don’t care about being identified as being mixed up
in a raid on a whisky boat!” was the reply. “Only for the fact that you
got the start of us we could have destroyed that boat without one of
us being recognized. We don’t care for lawsuits.”
“If they remain here a few hours,” Case suggested, “they will
probably have a chance at another boat. The Hawk was not far from
this place not very long ago.”
“And you had a bit of a tussle with her?” laughed the stranger.
“Oh, they got a little gay, but we managed to keep away from
them,” was the reply. “They tried to steal our boat.”
“Yes, I presume they would like a trim little motor boat like
yours,” suggested the stranger. “And now,” he continued, “I may as
well get back to my friends. It will be daylight in an hour or two, and
we’ve got to work at this dirty business in the dark if we work at all.”
Jule opened his lips to ask the man a question regarding the three
blue lights but Clay, as if understanding his purpose, drew him back
and whispered in his ear:
“No more questions just now, boy.”
“Why not?” Jule asked impatiently. “That’s just what we came up
here for—to find out something about the three blue lights.”
“I have an idea,” Clay explained, “that this man didn’t tell the
truth about the other things, and that he won’t tell the truth about
the three blue lights—that is, if he knows anything about them at
all.”
“I’ve been a little bit leary of him all along,” Jule replied.
While the boys were talking together, the stranger left the
stranded coal barge upon which he had been standing and, pushing
his boat along, joined his friends on the bank. The boys could hear a
murmur of conversation following his arrival there, and now and
then the light of a match flared up.
“There’s one thing I can’t understand,” Clay said as the boys put
out into the current again, “and that is, why we have seen no
wreckage from the steamer coming down.”
“That’s easy,” Alex grinned, “the boat must have dropped into the
mouth of the lagoon.”
“No she didn’t!” Case cut in. “She sunk south of the arm of the
island. She’s lying there now in twenty feet of water unless I am
very much mistaken. Still, we should have seen wreckage by this
time.”
“Suppose we take a run up and see what the situation is there,”
suggested Alex. “It would give me great joy to see a lot of those
fellows marooned on that island, with nothing to eat or drink for a
week.”
“We’ll only get tangled up in some kind of a mess if we go there,”
Clay advised, “so I think we’d better go on down the river and see if
we can’t shake off all this trouble and have a pleasant, leisurely river
trip. We’ve had trouble in plenty on all our other trips, but I thought
the Ohio journey would mostly consist of floating in the sunshine
through cities and back yards.”
“All right!” Alex said. “I’m just as willing to get out of this mess as
any one. Anyway, it will soon be daylight, and we’ll then be needing
breakfast. Who does the cooking this morning?”
“We all cook,” answered Case, “for we all talk slang except
Captain Joe and Teddy, and they probably have done something in
that line themselves only we didn’t understand them.”
“Look here!” suggested Jule when a faint line of daylight began to
show upstream. “Suppose we pull over to that wooded cove and
build a roaring fire on the bank. Then we’ll send Alex out to get
another catfish and bake it Indian fashion.”
“He didn’t make a success of Indian cookery on the St. Lawrence,”
suggested Case. “I don’t want any foolishness about this breakfast.”
“Well,” Alex laughed, “there was something the matter with the
soil over there. I guess it leaked gas or something of that kind.
Anyway, the clay along the Ohio is all right.”
“Very well,” Clay said, “we’ll run into the cove and give the boy a
chance to serve catfish a la Indian. The combination of gritless clay
and green leaves ought to produce fine results.”
“You just watch me!” Alex insisted.
The Rambler was accordingly anchored in a pretty little cove
whose banks were covered with trees of large growth. At first, Alex
tried to capture a fish from the stern, but, not succeeding in this, he
ran out into the river and anchored there, leaving the other boys on
shore. It was broad daylight when he felt a strong pull at his line
and knew that he had hooked some denizen of the stream.
So busily was he engaged in playing the fish that he heard
nothing of the shouts from upstream, or the warning from his chums
on the bank. Directly, however, he glanced up to see that a coal tow
which appeared to fill the entire width of the river was drifting down
upon him.
“Get into the cove! Get into the cove!” cried Clay.
“You’ll be struck in a minute!” shouted Case.
“Release your anchor line and shoot downstream!” Jule
suggested.
This last advice appeared to be not only the most desirable but
the easiest to follow, so the boy severed the manilla line with one
blow of a sharp hatchet and sprang to the motors. When at last the
boat was under way headed downstream, the foremost barges were
almost upon her.
The men on board the tow seemed to be taking great delight in
the thought that the Rambler would soon be completely at their
mercy. Several of them stood at the top of their barges making
crude and humorous suggestions to the boy.
With the boat under way and headed downstream at a speed with
which the tow could by no means compete, Alex amused himself by
making scornful faces at the men on the tow.
“Come back here, you river rat!” one of the men shouted. “You’ll
get a bullet in your back if you don’t!”
“Fire away!” shouted Alex and promptly ducked down under the
protected gunwale of the boat.
The boys on shore saw the Rambler speeding away with many
expressions of disgust. Jule even started on a run down the bank,
but soon gave over the attempt to catch the swiftly disappearing
boat.
The men on the tow, observing the boys on the bank, greeted
them with insulting epithets and amused themselves by heaving
chunks of coal toward them. Case replied with a pistol shot but did
not succeed in wounding any of the men. The coal came thicker
after that for a time, but the barges were soon too far down the
river to make such an attack effective.
“Now, we’re in a nice box!” Jule cried, as the steamer in charge of
the tow disappeared around a bend in the river. “How do you
suppose that little monkey will ever get that boat back to us?”
“Aw, that’s easy enough!” Case answered. “River boats pass those
coal tows every day in the week, and I guess Alex can get the
Rambler upstream again. In fact,” he added, “I don’t think he
needed to run down so far. He might have ducked over to the other
shore and let the barges go by. Anyway,” the boy added with a
smile, “he’ll lose his fish. And serve him good and right at that!”
“And we lose our fish breakfast!” Clay returned. “And that won’t
serve us good and right!”
“That’s a fact!” shouted Jule. “We haven’t got a thing to eat on
this bank!”
“We probably won’t have to wait long for the boy to come back,”
Clay assured the others. “He may be afraid the bargemen will make
trouble for him, and may run down until he comes to the mouth of a
creek or deep cove in which he can hold the Rambler until the tow
passes by. In that case, he may be away an hour or so, but I reckon
we won’t starve to death in that time.”
“I’ve a good notion to go and hunt out some farm house and buy
something to eat!” Jule declared. “We’re most out of eggs, anyway.”
“It seems to me,” Clay laughed, turning to Case, “that Alex and
Jule have been having most of the adventures lately. Now what I
propose is that you two boys stay here and wait for the Rambler to
return while I cut back into the country and see what I can buy in
the way of provisions.”
“That will be all right,” Case replied. “And while you are gone, Jule
and I will flop into a thicket and go to sleep. I’ve had to prop my
eyelids open with my fingers for the last hour. The bulldog can keep
watch while we get our forty winks.”
“Why,” Clay said, “I didn’t see Captain Joe come on shore. I guess
you’ll find that he’s on board the boat with Alex and the bear.”
“Oh, he was here all right,” Case insisted. “I saw him running
about on the other shore of the cove acting as if he had got scent of
a rabbit or a squirrel.”
“Then he’ll be back all right!” Clay replied. “Be sure that he is
before both of you go to sleep. He’ll stand guard, all right, if you tell
him to watch for Alex. You wouldn’t like to have the Rambler come
back here and not find you!” Clay added.
And so, leaving the boys preparing a bed of leaves in the thicket,
Clay turned away to the south and disappeared in the forest.
CHAPTER XVII.—THE TWO CLAIMANTS.
Sailing swiftly down the stream in the early morning, Alex was not at
all in bad humor as he regarded the general situation. He figured
that he could very readily elude the coal tow and return upstream to
his chums. In fact, the portion of the incident which he regretted
most was the loss of his fish.
“Now,” he pondered as he whirled the boat over towards the
Indiana shore in order to find open water for his passage upstream,
“I’ll have to go and hook another catfish before we can have
breakfast.”
He chuckled softly to himself as he thought of the chums
marooned on the shore of the little cove without a thing to eat. At
the time of his sudden departure with the Rambler, no supplies of
any kind had been carried ashore. He laughed as he thought of the
rage of the boys.
“I’ll throw out a troll-line as I go up,” he mused, “and perhaps I’ll
have a pickerel or something of that kind all ready for the hot stones
when I get up to the cove.”
When within a short distance of the Indiana shore, the boy saw a
long line of floats extending out from the bank, indicating the
location of a fishing net. The boy sprang to the motors in the hope
of saving the net by shutting off the power, but he was too late. In
fact, his effort only made the meeting with the net more disastrous.
Running at full speed, the boat might have cut the net and passed
on, but drifting with the current as she was when she came to it,
something like two hundred feet of stout fibre were wound about
the propeller, about the skag, and about the rudder and rudder-post,
as the motors were reversed in an effort to back away.
As the boy leaned over the stern to ascertain the extent of the
damage, the clatter of the motors died out and he knew that the
clogging of the propellers had been responsible.
In a moment the Rambler was drifting aimlessly downstream,
swinging this way and that with the current, spinning along
broadside to the wash of the river oftener than in any other position.
“Now, I’m in a beautiful mess!” the boy declared. “I shall never be
able to get that stuff out of the propeller without beaching the boat.”
As the boy was lifting a heavy oar in the hope of sending the
motor boat over to the Indiana side of the river, he heard a slow,
drawling hail from the mouth of a little creek some distance down.
“’Tend to your rudder!” shouted a hoarse voice. “You’ll go over
the rapids in a heap if you keep on that way!”
“Propeller and rudder clogged!” shouted Alex. “Come on out and
tow me in! You’ll be well paid for your work.”
The boy thought, in a moment, that the last sentence had been
entirely superfluous, for their experience on the river had been that
waterside characters were always too willing to assist any crippled
boat. At all times their charges were exorbitant.
“All right!” the man called from the shore, and then the boy saw a
small skiff shoot away from the side of a dilapidated-looking shanty
boat which lay half hidden by a thicket at the mouth of the creek.
When the man in the skiff reached the Rambler, he rowed
completely around her as if examining her good points. He was a
long, lanky, sour-visaged individual with long black hair and beard.
He was dressed in the homespun cotton so common with rivermen.
“Right pert boat you’ve got there,” he said, at last.
“Never mind the boat now,” Alex answered. “She’s drifting
downstream every minute. Tow her to shore and help me to get this
net out of the propeller.”
“So it’s a net in the propeller, is it?” snarled the man from the
houseboat. “I hope you hain’t gone and took up my net.”
“Did you have a net out in the river?” asked the boy.
“I certainly did!” was the reply. “And if you’ve gone and cut it up,
you’ll pay for it.”
Alex knew very well that the man from the houseboat had never
owned a net of the value of the one he had destroyed, but he
decided to have no words with the fellow until the Rambler was
ready to proceed on her journey. He saw that the man was evidently
seeking a quarrel.
“Yessir!” the riverman went on. “If you’ve gone and cut up my net
you’ll pay me a good price for it. There’s too many of you sports
romping up and down the river with your gasoline boats.”
“Time enough to talk about that when we get the boat over to the
shore,” Alex declared. “I don’t want to drift downstream any farther.”
Scowling and complaining over the exertion required, the fellow
finally managed to work the Rambler into the mouth of the creek
where the houseboat lay. As Alex took in the situation at one quick
glance, he saw two evil-faced fellows lounging on the deck of the
houseboat.
“What you got, Mose?” one of them called out to the riverman.
“I’ve salvaged a motor boat!” was Mose’s reply.
“What’s the trouble with her?” was the next question.
“She’s got my net wound around her propeller!” answered Mose.
“Sho’,” returned the other. “That new net of yours that cost a
hundred not a week ago?”
“Yessir, that same new net!” returned the riverman.
Alex saw that the men were preparing to make trouble for him.
He knew that they could not collect a cent of salvage for towing his
boat out of the stream. He was positive that the net did not belong
to them. Houseboat people of their class consider themselves
fortunate in the possession of ordinary fishing lines and spears.
However, he only smiled as they talked of their hundred-dollar
net, and dropped over into the shallow water of the creek to inspect
the damage done to the propeller and rudder.
So far as he could see, there was nothing broken. The net which
was wound about everything at the stern of the boat seemed to him
to make a bundle as large as a whiskey barrel. He took out his knife
preparatory to cutting it away.
“Look here, you boy you!” shouted Mose. “Don’t you go to cuttin’
up that net. You just take your consarned old propeller and rudder
off the stern so that we can unwind it.”
Alex knew that this would be impossible. His idea was to cut the
net away, spring to the motors, and pass out of the reach of the
houseboat men before they suspected what he was up to.
Therefore, he at once set to work with his knife and began
slashing the strong threads of the net. The three men looked on
angrily for an instant and then Mose said:
“I told you not to cut that net, boy!”
“I’m afraid there is no other way,” Alex answered very civilly.
“I hope you’ve got the money in your jeans to pay for it,” Mose
shouted. “If you haven’t, I’ll just naturally have to take charge of
that boat. I can’t afford to lose that net.”
“All right,” Alex replied, cutting industriously away at the
obstruction, “my chums are up the river a short distance and they
will be down here directly. Then we can talk about paying. We’ll fix
you out all right as soon as they get here.”
“You better see that you do!” Mose responded angrily.
It took some time to cut away the great net, but the propeller and
rudder and skag were free at last and then Alex climbed back on the
deck.
“Here, you,” shouted Mose, presenting the muzzle of an old-
fashioned double-barreled shotgun. “Don’t you go near those
motors. I’ve been expecting you’d try to run away without paying
your just debts.”
“No fear of my going away just yet,” Alex answered. “I’ve got to
wait somewhere along here until my chums come.”
While Mose held the rusty old gun in a threatening manner, his
two companions attached a heavy cable to the forward bitts of the
Rambler and carried it ashore. After winding it around the trunk of a
great tree, they returned to the houseboat and lay down on the
forward deck to gaze impudently at the boy.
“Now, we’ll see if you make a sneak down the river!” Mose cried
triumphantly. “The best way for you to get away from this creek is to
lay down about a hundred and fifty dollars.”
“I didn’t know there was so much money in the world!” laughed
Alex.
“If your chums don’t come in one hour,” Mose went on, “we’ll take
possession of your boat. This man here,” pointing over his shoulder
with his thumb, “is a constable! Ain’t you, Clint? And he can sell your
boat right here on the river bank. Can’t you, Clint? We’ll see if these
sports are coming down here and destroy our property without
paying for it!”
In all his experience in river journeys, Alex had never been
confronted by so puzzling a proposition. He knew that the rivermen
had no claim upon him whatever, although he considered Mose
entitled to some compensation for his friendly act. Still he realized
that for the time being the fellows held the whip hand.
It happened that he had considerable money—two or three
hundred dollars in his possession, having taken charge of the
expense fund only a few days before. His inclination now was to pay
the men the money demanded and get away. Then he reasoned that
the exhibition of such a sum of money would only arouse the greed
of the outlaws. That they would never let him depart with any
money at all in his possession, he knew very well. It was a trying
situation.
While he stood deliberating over the problem, a a loud hail came
from upstream and turning he saw the coal tow sweeping down the
river.
“Hold that boat!” shouted a harsh voice from one of the foremost
barges. “Hold that boat ’till we get there.”
Scenting an additional profit in the arrival of the tow, Mose sprang
into his skiff and rowed out. As the first barge came down, Alex saw
two men spring into the skiff which was at once headed for the
shore. The two men lounging on the houseboat at once sprang over
to the deck of the Rambler, the man with the rusty shotgun keeping
it in full view.
When the skiff reached the Rambler, the two men clambered on
deck while Mose ran the skiff up into the creek. The two men were
extremely well-dressed although their clothing showed connection
with the water of the river and the smut of the coal barges. They
were both very much excited, and the first thing one of them did
was to shake his fist under Alex’s, nose.
“Now, you young thief!” he shouted. “We’ve got you at last!”
“No rough house, pardner!” exclaimed the houseboat man who
held the gun. “No rough house here, because, you see, we’ve got a
claim on this boy ourselves. He just destroyed a net worth a hundred
dollars!”
“A hundred dollars!” snarled the whiskey boat man. “Do you know
what he did to us?” he went on. “He stole this motor boat and sunk
our steamer with it. He’s cost us more than twenty thousand
dollars!”
Alex stood silent in the face of all these accusations. He had
recognized the two men from the barge as men he had seen on the
whiskey boat, and he knew that they would do their best to make
him trouble. For a moment it seemed to him that the fate of the
Rambler was sealed.
“What do you say to all this, boy?” asked the man with the gun.
Alex sat down dejectedly on the gunwale.
“I guess I’ll let you fellows fight it out between you,” he said.
“I can’t see as there’s anything to fight out!” one of the men from
the whiskey boat shouted.
“This is our boat and we’re going to take it away! As for this boy,
we’ll place him in the custody of the first United States marshal we
come to!”
Once more the rusty barrel of the old shotgun in the hands of the
houseboat man was hoisted to a threatening position.
“Don’t you forget,” the man said viciously, “that this boat busted
our net. We don’t care whose boat it is, we’re going to hold it until
we get paid for our property!”
“You talk like a fool!” shouted the man from the steamer.
“And you act like a fool!” insisted the other.
“I don’t believe you fellows ever owned any net!” the enraged
outlaw shouted. “I’ve seen your old houseboat sneaking along the
river here for months. You’re the kind of men who never have the
price of a drink unless you can steal it. If you try to hold this boat,
I’ll fill you both full of bullet holes!”
The eyes at the stock of the shotgun flashed wickedly, but the
man’s voice was remarkably smooth as he said:
“If you move, either one of you, or try to get out a gun I’ll blow
the tops of your heads off! You observe,” he went on, “that there are
two barrels to this gun, and I’ll tell you right now that they’re both
loaded with slugs.”
“This is nonsense!” roared the man from the steamer.
“That’s what I’ve been calculatin’,” replied the other.
Alex was thinking fast. It seemed to him at that time that it would
be better to leave the Rambler in the hands of the houseboat men
than in those of the men from the steamer.
The houseboat men would be satisfied with a small amount of
money as soon as they discovered that they could get no more,
while the other outlaws would insist on taking the Rambler for their
alleged debt.
Taking this view of the situation, he turned to the man who was
holding the shotgun.
“These two men,” he said, “are whiskey boat men. They have no
more claim on this boat than you have.”
CHAPTER XVIII.—A FORBIDDEN SUBJECT.
While Alex was having his troubles with the two gangs of outlaws,
and while Jule and Case were asleep in a thicket at the cove, Clay
was pushing his way through a heavy undergrowth in the direction
of a shabby-looking farm house which stood in the center of a weed-
grown tobacco field not far away.
As he approached the uncared for fence which surrounded the
field, he heard horses stamping and champing at their bits in the
woods not far away to his left.
At first he thought seriously of visiting the undergrowth on a tour
of investigation, but finally decided that his actions might be
misconstrued, so he passed on toward the house in the tobacco
field.
It seemed to him that half a hundred dogs of all sizes and breeds
leaped out as he advanced through the weeds toward the front door.
He was having his hands full with the dogs, fending them off,
when the door opened and a woman made her appearance on the
threshold.
“Down, you ornery purps!” she shouted in a voice that sounded
more like that of a man than that of a woman. “Come right along in,
stranger,” she added. “I reckon they won’t bite you up none.”
Under the protection of the woman’s voice and presence, Clay
finally succeeded in making his way to the house.
“I’m sure ashamed of them ornery purps,” the woman declared,
striking at a large brindle dog with a mop stick. “Somehow I can’t
beat no manners into ’em!”
“They appear to be a fine lot of dogs!” Clay said, resolved to
conciliate the woman if possible. “I’m used to Kentucky dogs, so I
was not at all afraid of them.”
“What mought be your business, stranger?” the woman asked
then.
“Well,” Clay answered, “I’m looking for something to eat.”
“Sho’!” answered the woman. “A nice, likely lookin’ lad like you
goin’ around hungry! I’d be glad to give you a set-down of flapjacks
and coffee. Come right in.”
“That would help some!” laughed Clay. “But what I want is
provisions to carry away to my chums—eggs, chickens or anything of
that sort you may have to sell.”
“And where mought your chums be?” asked the woman, a little
suspiciously as Clay thought.
“We came down the river in a motor boat,” the boy replied, “and I
left the boys in a cove some distance from here.”
“I wonder, now,” the woman queried, “whether you might have
been on the river last night.”
Clay replied in the affirmative.
“Well,” the woman went on, “I’ve been waiting all morning for
news from the river. My men went out last night at dusk and haven’t
returned.”
“There were horsemen along the river last night,” Clay suggested.
“That would be them.”
“And I heard horses champing their bits just as I came up to the
fence,” Clay went on.
“Sho’!” answered the woman. “My men always have fresh hosses
near the house. What did you hear on the river last night?” she
added.
“It seemed rather quiet,” Clay replied, “except that a whiskey
steamer got wrecked some distance up.”
“That’s too bad, now!” declared the woman.
“There’s one thing peculiar I noticed about the river last night,”
Clay went on, “and that was something which looked to me like a
signal. We saw three blue lights resting on the surface of the water.
Then there came an explosion and they disappeared.”
The woman almost staggered back in the doorway. Her ruddy
face became slightly pale, and Clay saw that the work-worn hands
were trembling.
Clay sprang to a pail of water which stood near, dipped up a
liberal supply in a gourd which hung on a wall, and approached the
woman with it in his hand.
“Sho’, now!” the woman almost gasped, placing her hands at her
sides, “here I be havin’ another spell with my heart. Seems like I
was always havin’ trouble with that pesky organ.”
Clay did not believe the explanation given by the woman for her
sudden fright. He had no doubt that the mention of the mysterious
three blue lights had led to this alleged heart failure.
“I’ll shore be better in a minute,” the woman said, dropping into a
home-made chair which stood just inside the house. “What was it
you said about the three blue lights? I was took sudden just as you
began speaking of them.”
Clay repeated what he had said regarding the mysterious lights,
watching the woman closely every second. She did not again show
sign of emotion of any kind.
“Why,” the woman said directly, “them’s the ghost lights that are
often seen on the Ohio. The steamboat Mary Ann went down with a
dancing party on board ten years ago, and ever since then the lights
have been seen on the river.”
“But the Mary Ann went down just off Wolf Creek,” Clay
suggested.
“There is a story,” the woman began in a hushed voice, “that the
lights show every year about the time the boat went down, at the
exact place where she sunk. And then, again,” she continued, “they
do say that wherever a body from the Mary Ann remains unburied at
the bottom of the river the three blue lights show at least once a
year.”
“So they really are ghost lights?” asked Clay.
“Why, stranger,” the woman continued, “boats have been pushed
directly into them lights as they floated on the surface of the river,
and they have burned right on after being submerged! Them
explosions have been heard time and time again, and nothing has
been found which could have produced them. We people along the
river are mighty skeery of them ghost lights.”
“I have heard that they bring disaster,” Clay suggested.
“They sure do!” replied the woman. “But come in,” she went on,
“here I’ve been talkin’ like a foolish old gossip, and you standing
hungry in the doorway. Come in and sit down.”
Clay took the proffered chair but he was not thinking of the
breakfast being prepared for him.
He was thinking, instead, of the sudden panic into which the old
woman had fallen at the mention of the three blue lights. He saw
now that there was some significance to the signal.
He came to understand, sitting there watching the still troubled
face of the woman, that the three blue lights indicated some
desperate action on the part of the river people—some desperate
action which took the men away from their homes and left the
women anxious and afraid. He saw that the woman in trying to
deceive him by her words was still telling the story of some terrible
situation by her voice and manner. He wondered but could reach no
conclusion.
The boy was supplied with a bountiful breakfast of corn pancakes,
fried eggs and coffee, and then he opened negotiations with his
hostess for a supply of provisions for the Rambler. The woman
looked distressed and answered his inquiries with downcast eyes.
“I’m sure sorry,” she said, “but we had a lot of friends here to
dinner yesterday, and they eat about everything in the house. Them
eggs you’ve just et were laid this morning.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Clay replied, “but if you haven’t got provisions,
you can’t sell them. Perhaps I can find a supply at some near-by
farm house. How far is it to the nearest one?”
“It is a long way through the thicket,” the woman answered, “and
I wouldn’t advise no boy like you to be wandering in the woods in
this vicinity right now. It ain’t safe!”
“Why, there ought not to be anything to be afraid of!” Clay
suggested.
“You don’t know this region as well as I do, boy!” the woman
replied. “These folks that come up from the river are mighty bad
sometimes, and I’ve known people that didn’t live on the river to do
desperate, bad things occasionally.”
Clay sorely puzzled, looked the woman frankly in the face and
asked:
“Do you imagine trouble because the three blue lights showed on
the river last night?”
“Well,” was the reply, “they surly do bring trouble.”
“In what way?” insisted Clay.
“Oh, there’s wrecks, and burnings, and shooting, and all manner
of things going on, somehow, after them three blue lights show.”
“Then perhaps I’d better be getting back to the river!” Clay
suggested.
“I wouldn’t leave no boat that was worth ready money long alone
along the Ohio river at this time of year,” the woman answered. “And
let me tell you another thing,” she went on. “If you see three blue
lights, keep away from them! Don’t go near where they are, and get
out of the vicinity of them as fast as you can.”
“We’re not afraid of ghosts!” laughed Clay.
“I can’t say more!” the woman continued. “I don’t know but I’ve
said too much now. I hope you’ll take an old woman’s advice and
keep out of trouble. Where might you boys be from, now?”
“Chicago,” replied Clay.
“Sho’, now!” exclaimed the old woman. “I’ve never seen any one
from Chicago before. “I’ve heard of it often, though. Must be a right
pert place. Some one told me it was almost as big as Paducah.”
“Yes,” Clay replied, “Chicago is some city. Will you accept pay for
my breakfast?” he continued.
“You’re only a boy,” the woman replied, “and so don’t know any
better than to offer a Kintucky woman pay for a feed. But I wouldn’t
do that any more if I were you.”
Thanking the woman from the bottom of his heart for her
hospitality and her kindly advice, the boy started away in the
direction of the river.
On his return he took care to pass through that portion of the
thicket where he had heard the horses on his way in. He found three
remarkably fine-looking animals, all saddled and bridled, standing in
the thicket. As he stepped toward one of them, a boy, certainly not
more than twelve years of age, leaped at him.
“What you doing here?” the youth demanded.
“I have just come from the house,” Clay replied. “Your mother
gave me a fine breakfast.”
“Did she, now?” asked the boy suspiciously.
“She certainly did,” answered Clay resolved to continue the
conversation with the lad until he learned something more
concerning the three blue lights. The boy dropped his hostile
attitude at once.
“I was going on to other houses in search of provisions,” Clay
went on, “but your mother advised me that it wouldn’t be safe.”
“It shore ain’t safe!” the boy replied.
“She told me,” Clay resumed, “that it was never safe in this
section when three blue lights burned on the river.”
“Did she, now?” asked the boy. “And did you-all see the three blue
lights?”
“Twice,” answered Clay. “Last night and the night before—once
opposite Wolf Creek and once in the lagoon at that odd-shaped
island just up the stream.”
Clay thought that the boy shivered a little in his ragged clothes.
“What is all this about the three blue lights?” he asked in a
moment.
The boy shook his head gravely.
“We-uns ain’t allowed to talk about the three blue lights,” he
answered.
“You think they are ghost lights, eh?” asked Clay.
“We-uns ain’t allowed to talk about the three blue lights,”
repeated the boy. “We never mention them.”
Seeing that further conversation with the boy was likely to prove
without result, Clay again turned to face in the direction of the river.
“I wish I knew,” he mused, as he pushed his way through tangled
thickets and descended and ascended rocky slopes, “I wish I knew
exactly why that woman came near fainting when I mentioned the
three blue lights.
“I have an impression,” he went on, “that there’s some feud
coming to life. In the first place, I don’t believe the story told at the
stranded coal barges last night.
“Those men never sought the river with the intentions of
destroying that steamer. They wouldn’t have brought their horses
along if that had been their object.
“The horses, of course, might have been used in the way of
transportation to the river, but, at the same time, men out on such a
mission would not care to be seen riding so openly through the
country.”
It is needless to say that the boy did not believe one word of the
story told him by the woman who had given him his breakfast. He
was too hard-headed to believe in ghosts or supernatural
demonstrations of any sort.
He knew however, that there must be some reason for the display
of the lights, and knew that no little ingenuity had been shown in
the placing and extinguishing of them. So studying over the
problem, the boy finally came to the little cove where he had left
Case and Jule.
Captain Joe fawned about him as he advanced, but when he
approached the thicket where the boys had been preparing their
rough beds, he saw that they were not there. He lost no time in
making a close examination of the ground, both at the landing and
at the entrance to the thicket.
What he saw set his heart to bounding excitedly: At both points
there many indications of a desperate struggle.
Had he known the plight in which Alex found himself at that
moment, Clay would have been doubly alarmed.
CHAPTER XIX.—TEDDY MAKES A SENSATION.
“What’s that you say?” thundered one of the men from the steamer,
as Alex explained to the houseboat men that neither party had any
interest whatever in the Rambler.
“You’d better keep truth on your side, young man!” the other
whiskey boat man put in.
“That’s right,” Alex declared, dodging away from one of the men
who made an attempt to seize him. “That’s right! These whiskey
boat men never saw this craft until last night. We rammed their
steamer because they tried to block us in a lagoon, and I hope we
sunk her.”
“You did all of that!” one of the others replied.
“According to the boy’s statement,” Mose cut in, “you fellows have
no right on this boat at all, so I’d advise you to make yourself
skurce.”
The recent arrivals saw that they were not making good in their
bluff to the houseboat men and so resorted to sterner measures.
Quick as a flash one of them seized the muzzle of the rusty old
shotgun, drew it away from the clumsy hands holding it, and
dropped the weapon into the river. Almost at the same instant, two
automatic revolvers flashed out of the hip pockets of the outlaws.
“Now,” the man who had been doing most of the talking
thundered, “you river thieves get off this boat!”
“We will when we get pay for our net!”
“You never owned a net!” shouted the other. “You never had the
price of a dozen fish hooks at one time, say nothing about a net!”
“Anyway,” Mose insisted, “I brought you over to this boat and kept
the boy from running away before you got here.”
“Now, you’re talking sense,” the outlaw sneered. “Throw him a
couple of dollars, Chet,” he added.
The fellow’s companion tossed two silver dollars scornfully down
on the deck and turned to Alex.
“You get into the cabin,” he said, “and stay there. We’ll settle with
you later on.”
Alex had no idea of remaining on board the Rambler after it had
passed into the possession of the outlaws. He knew that the desire
for revenge on their part might lead to murder. He had no fear of
being turned, over to the officers of the law, for the outlaws were in
no position to make charges against others. He stepped into the
cabin as requested and closed the door after him.
“Now, Teddy Bear,” he said, “you and I have got to jump away
from this darling old boat, and we’ve got to do it right soon.”
Teddy, awakened from a sound sleep, scratched his nose with a
soft paw and replied in the most polite of bear talk that he would do
whatever Alex thought best.
The men who belonged on the houseboat were by this time off
the deck of the Rambler. The outlaws, however, were watching the
boy very closely. They laughed when they saw him talking with the
bear.
“That’s a cute pet you have there!” one of the men exclaimed,
speaking through the broken panel of the door.
“It is indeed,” Alex answered cheerfully. “Teddy Bear is a pretty
good friend. We’ve had him a long time.”
“What’re you going to do with him?” asked the outlaw.
“Take him back to Chicago with us.”
The outlaws laughed and regarded the boy and the bear with
humorous faces. Alex sat down and watched them curiously.
“I don’t see you getting back to Chicago right away,” one of them
finally said. “That is, not to-day nor to-morrow.”
“Oh, we’re going down to Cairo first!” Alex grinned.
The two outlaws turned away with a laugh, and as soon as their
backs were in view Alex opened the swinging sash of the rear
window and motioned for Teddy to leap out.
The bear cub followed instructions, and landed lightly on the after
deck. In an instant Alex was through the window and the two sprang
into the water and made for the shore.
The outlaws would doubtless have remained unconscious of the
escape until the boy and his companion had reached the thicket only
that the men on the houseboat shouted and pointed at the bear.
“Look at the menagerie!” one of them cried.
This brought the outlaws to the shore-side of the boat, and
directly several harmless bullets whizzed close to the two swimmers.
“Go it, boy! Go it, bear!” was shouted from the houseboat.
The three men already disgruntled by the manner in which they
had been treated by the outlaws, were now inclined to support Alex
and the bear in their efforts to escape.
While the men on the Rambler sent badly aimed bullets after the
two in the water, the men on the houseboat hurled billets of wood
and whatever else they could lay their hands on at the outlaws.
This action on their part, while doing no physical harm whatever,
had the effect of directing the attention of the outlaws from the boy
and the bear to the three men. When Alex and Teddy disappeared in
the thicket on the east side of the little creek, immediately in the
rear of the houseboat, the outlaws were still firing, and the others
were still pitching wood and pieces of coal over the deck of the
motor boat.
After a very long run upstream, out, perhaps fifty yards from the
water’s edge, the boy and the bear threw themselves down on the
moss beneath a forest tree and panted out congratulations to each
other on their escape.
“Teddy,” almost whimpered Alex. “We’ve gone and lost the
Rambler!”
The bear looked very grave indeed.
“We’ve gone and lost the Rambler!” Alex went on, “and have
nothing to show for it at all! I set out to catch a fish, and lost the
boat!”
Teddy rubbed his soft muzzle against Alex’s, cheek and looked
sympathetic. He seemed to understand every word said.
“And now, bear,” the boy went on, “we’ve got to walk five or ten
miles up this bank of the river and swim across. I guess the boys
must be pretty near a dozen miles away.”
Teddy, while looking sympathetic, thrust his muzzle into Alex’s,
pocket looking for crackers.
“Je—rusalem!” exclaimed Alex. “I wish I had some, Teddy. I never
was so empty in my life!”
After a short rest, the boy arose and the two proceeded on their
difficult journey. Now and then they came to weedy fields where
corn had been grown and where great shocks of stalks still stood,
but for the most part their way lay through a narrow slice of forest
which fringed the river. Alex took occasion, after a time, to
investigate some of the corn shocks but found no ears.
“Pretty soon,” the boy mused, “I’ll be hungry enough to eat the
stalks. And the boys must be hungry, too,” he went on, “but all the
provisions we had are on board the Rambler. I don’t know what
they’ll say to me when I go back and explain what happened.”
After a long, long walk, during which it seemed to the boy that he
had covered at least a score of miles, he discerned on the opposite
bank of the river the little cove in which the Rambler had been
moored that morning. Although he strained his eyes hoping to see
the familiar figures of his chums, he could see no motion whatever.
“I guess they’ve got starved out and gone away,” the boy
complained. “I suppose when I get over there, there’ll be only a
burned-out camp-fire and nothing to eat. The next time I go out
fishing for catfish, I won’t go. It always brings bad luck.”
Realizing that he might have to swim across the whole width of
the river, the boy kept on upstream knowing that it would be better
to have the current in his favor when he entered the water.
While he sat looking across the stream, several river craft passed,
some going up and some going down. Once he thought of calling to
a small motor boat and asking the occupants to ferry him across the
river. But he soon changed his mind not knowing what sort of people
he would be likely to find in any of the river boats.
While the boy stood near the bank of the river looking out, Teddy,
as usual, was nosing about looking for something to eat. The boy
had hardly noticed the absence of the bear when a succession of
long shrill squealings came from a thicket not far distant.
“There!” the boy mused, starting away on a run. “Teddy has gone
and scared the life out of some one.”
“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake! Fo’ de Lawd’s sake!”
The voice died away, and was succeeded by a commotion in the
bushes just ahead of the running boy.
The next moment a little short, fat, dumpy negro with a fringe of
gray hair running around an otherwise bald head, came into view,
trying to run very fast, but succeeding only in stumbling over every
obstruction which came in his way, and landing flat on his back with
his heels high up in the air. The sight was indeed a comical one.
“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake! Fo’ de Lawd’s sake!” repeated the negro, his
eyes rolling in his head like great white marbles.
Teddy, evidently unconscious of the sensation he was creating,
came dashing after the fallen darkey, and at once assumed a boxing
attitude.
“Take him away! Take him away!” roared the negro. “Ah’s done
bein’ eat up! Take de b’ar away, take him away!”
Instead of taking the bear away, Alex, hungry and tired as he
was, threw himself down on the grass and roared with laughter.
“Ah’s done bein’ eat up!” shouted the negro although Teddy was
at least two yards away.
“He won’t hurt you,” Alex said as soon as he could control his
voice. “Teddy is a tame bear.”
“Ah never did take to bears!” the negro shouted rolling his fat
body farther away. “Ah don’ see no good in b’ars.”
After some persuasion the boy induced the negro to come nearer.
This he did with fear and trembling, and ever with a watchful eye on
the playful cub.
“What’s your name?” asked Alex.
“Uncle Zeke,” was the reply.
“Do you live here?” was the next question.
“Ah libs way up de ribber,” was the guarded reply.
“Then you must have come down in a boat?” asked the boy.
“Ah sure did!” answered the negro.
“Well,” Alex said then, “we want to get over to the other side of
the river. Will you take us across?”
The negro backed away from the bear again and seemed to be
about to take to his heels. He turned back in a moment, however, as
if anxious to be friendly with the boy and declared:
“Ah nebber did cotton to no b’ar!”
“Oh, he won’t hurt you,” the boy explained, “he’s just a tame cub.
We’ve had him ever since he was as big as a kitten. Row us across
to that little cove over there and I’ll give you a dollar.”
Uncle Zeke fingered his bald pate and entered into negotiations
for the job, still with his eyes fixed suspiciously on Teddy.
“Ah’ll done row you over for a dollar,” he said.
“But the bear’s got to go,” Alex insisted.
“Dat’ll be anudder dollar,” insisted Uncle Zeke.
“All right,” Alex laughed, “where’s your boat?”
Delighted with having made so good a bargain, Uncle Zeke led
the way to the river bank not far away and pointed out a fair-sized
rowboat rocking in the water.
“Why!” Alex exclaimed excitedly. “Where did you get that boat?”
“Ah bought it,” replied the negro.
The boat was the one belonging to the Rambler!
It had been left, it will be remembered, on the Kentucky shore of
the river some distance above Wolf Creek. The boys who had landed
in search of gasoline and spark plugs had left it hidden in a thicket.
During their absence, the Rambler had made her way downstream
for some distance, and so the rowboat had not been recovered. It
looked familiar to Alex now.
“Where did you buy it?” asked the boy.
“Niggerman sold me dat boat,” answered the other.
“All right,” Alex said. “Take us across and I’ll give you the two
dollars.”
He had no intention of leaving the Rambler’s boat in the
possession of the negro, but he thought it advisable not to make any
claim to the boat until he had reached the other side of the river.
With Teddy sitting at the very stern of the boat as far as possible
from the rower, the two were ferried across, striking the bank a few
paces above the east shore of the cove.
“Now,” Alex said as he stepped ashore, “come on over to the
camp and I’ll give you your money.” Uncle Zeke eyed the bear
critically.
“Ah nebber did cotton to no b’ar!” he said.
“Well,” Alex went on, “you’ll have to come over to the camp or I
can’t give you your money.” Very reluctantly the fat, old negro
waddled over to the heap of embers which was all that remained of
the fire the boys had built early that morning. Alex’s wandering
attention was brought back to the negro directly by a short, sharp
cry of alarm.
“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake!” he cried. “Fo’ de Lawd’s sake!”
CHAPTER XX.—THE PIRATES’ NEST.
Alex sprang to his feet just as Captain Joe came dashing up to the
negro, looking fierce enough to consume him at one bite.
If there had been any extra hair at the top of the old negro’s pate
it must have stood horizontal at that moment, for Teddy shambled
up to the bulldog and began a series of boxing antics such as the old
fellow had never witnessed before.
“Gimme mah two dollahs!” he finally managed to shout. “Gimme
mah two dollahs, and Ah’ll done go ’way!”
Before Alex could reply, Clay came into the little opening and
stood gazing about with wondering eyes.
“Did you see Case and Jule?” was the first question he asked of
Alex.
The boy shook his head silently.
“I left them here!” he said.
Clay stepped toward the bank and looked out over the cove.
“Where is the Rambler?” he asked, not without anxiety in his
voice.
“The pirates got her!” was Alex’s reply, and there were actually
tears in his eyes as he spoke.
During this short conversation between the two boys, Uncle Zeke
had stood, trembling, by the heap of embers, gazing from boy to
boy and from bear to dog.
“Ah nebber did cotton to no bulldog!” he said.
“Where did you get that?” asked Clay, forgetting for a moment
what Alex’s reply meant to the party.
“That’s Uncle Zeke,” answered Alex with a grin. “He rowed Teddy
and I across the river.”
“Ah’m goin’ to hab two dollahs!” put in the negro.
Clay again turned toward Alex, his manner showing great
excitement.
“Tell me about it!” he said kindly.
Alex told the story, already well known to the reader, in as few
words as possible. Clay did not interrupt him, and at the close stood
looking out on the river with a very grave face.
“We’ve got to get her back!” Alex shouted in a moment. “We’ve
just got to get the Rambler back!”
“Of course,” Clay said stubbornly, “of course! I was only thinking
how. There surely must be some way.”
“Where are Case and Jule?” Alex now asked.
“I don’t know!” was the reply. “I went away to look up something
to eat, and when I came back, they were not here.”
“They probably went after something to eat, too!” Alex suggested.
“No,” Clay went on, “I was to bring back provisions, if I succeeded
in finding any. When I returned, Captain Joe was here, but they
were gone.”
“That’s strange!” Alex muttered. “I don’t see why they should
leave camp when they were expecting you to bring them something
to eat.”
“I don’t think they left the camp voluntarily,” Clay continued. “If
you’ll look at the head of the cove, and at the side of the thicket
where they were preparing their beds, you’ll see evidences of a
struggle.”
“I’ll tell you what it is,” Alex began, “those pirates from the
steamer we sunk got down here on that coal tow and swam ashore.”
“That is very likely!” Clay replied. “We know, at least, that two of
them were on the coal tow.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy went on, “they saw the fire here, and
recognized the Rambler lying just below the barges, and swam
ashore to punish us for ramming their old whiskey boat.”
“There may be something in that,” Clay returned.
“And, then, after the Rambler was crowded downstream, and
after you went away to get something to eat, they attacked the two
boys and lugged them away. I wish we’d killed them all.”
“You’re the bloodthirsty little fellow this morning!” Clay smiled.
“I don’t care!” Alex responded. “Just think of our motor boat, with
all the provisions and ammunition on board, falling into the hands of
those outlaws! I’ll just tell you right now, Clay,” he went on, flushing
with anger, “if I’d had a stick of dynamite handy, I’d have set the
fuse on fire before I crawled out of the cabin window.”
“Then I’m glad you didn’t have any dynamite handy!” smiled Clay.
Uncle Zeke, who had been standing motionless in mortal terror of
the dog and the bear, now stepped forward.
“Ah done hear what you-all said,” he remarked.
“Of course,” Clay answered, “have you any idea in your head at all
which points to the recovery of our motor boat?”
“Ah nebber done cotton to dem pirates,” said the negro.
“Well, then, show us how to get our boat back!” Alex laughed.
“Ah suah will,” replied the negro. “Dem pirates,” he continued,
“has a nes’ nex’ de big bend Ah been dere many a time. You go
more ’n forty miles aroun’ de ben’ an’ you go ten miles across.”
“Aw!” laughed Alex. “There isn’t any such bend on the Ohio river
in this vicinity. There’s a bend below here that makes a circuit of
about ten or twelve miles to get one mile downstream.”
“Ah don’ know ’bout no miles,” Uncle Zeke answered. “Ah know
’bout dat pirate’s nes’ at de horseshoe ben’.”
“Can you get across the neck in a rowboat?” asked Clay.
“Ah suah can,” was the reply.
“You didn’t know, did you, that the boat you have is one that
belonged to our motor boat? We lost it a ways up the river.”
“Ah done gib two yaller-legged hens for dat boat,” insisted Uncle
Zeke. “Ah buy it of a black nigger.”
“Well, I suppose it was abandoned property, anyway,” Clay said,
“so we’ll pay you for it if we find that we need it again.”
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