The Outdoor Chums On A Houseboat Part 18

"Between us," remarked Jerry, on one occasion, as they were talking it over together, while Luther was inside the cabin, asleep on the cot they had made up for his occupancy; "I really don't think the old chap wants to leave us at all, but would rather stay aboard till we get to Orleans."

"Sure he would," remarked Will, with a nod and a grin; "he'd be a silly not to, when he's certain of three square meals a day, and such meals,"

and he smacked his lips in a way that must have made the cook feel proud that his talent was appreciated so much.

"Yes, I happen to know he wants to stick by us," remarked Bluff.

"Tell us how, then," said Frank, quickly, his eye on the door of the cabin.

"Well, more'n a few times, when we got to talkin', Luther, he'd turn to the subject of the great expense he'd been to us; and then he'd always say he hoped we'd change our minds, and not put him ash.o.r.e at Vicksburg, because he was _so_ contented aboard here, and wished he could just finish the voyage with us. Besides, he said we might need his help later on, as a doctor; and you know he did fix me up the finest way ever when I fell on that axe, and cut my leg so bad a week ago. Reckon no regular sawbones could have done the job better."

"He says he studied for a doctor's sheepskin away back, and was always sorry he didn't keep right along," Will put in.

"How about that, Frank; do we keep him or a.s.sist him on his way by rail?" Bluff asked; but Frank would not commit himself, because he believed that in some way the old man might hear of it, and play "sick"

when they drew near Memphis, so that they could not have the heart to put him ash.o.r.e.

He was himself coming to some sort of conclusion in the matter, and it first of all seemed to be founded on a certain fact, which by now Frank had made certain of. Luther Snow was _not_ the real name of their pa.s.senger. Frank had made a startling discovery one day recently, and it put an end to his bewilderment at least. It happened that, chancing to notice some handkerchiefs the old man had stowed in his various pockets, and which he was was.h.i.+ng out, after a crude fas.h.i.+on that would have made a woman laugh, Frank saw that in every case a name had been carefully erased with indelible ink.

Then again there began to be other little things about the old man that told the observing lad he surely had never been a carpenter. Frank purposely asked him to build some boxes out of several smooth boards purchased for the purpose; and the result was a botched job that any second-cla.s.s carpenter would have blushed to own. Even Bluff screwed up his eyebrows when he saw them, and privately declared that he did not wonder old Luther was out of a job so often, if that was a sample of the best he could do along the line of his trade.

To Frank there was a deeper significance in this failure to make good on the part of their pa.s.senger. No wonder his hands were so free from calloused places, for Frank now felt positive that Luther had never been a carpenter in all his life.

If that part was made up, then probably the entire tale was only a "fairy story," told for a purpose. That purpose was to get aboard the houseboat, for some reason or other. Well, he had been aboard for some weeks now, and nothing had happened, only he seemed to like it so well he wanted to remain with the boys until they reached New Orleans.

There was something about this desire on his part that impressed Frank.

If, as he now actually began to believe, Luther Snow was really the Marcus Stackpole of whom Uncle Felix had particularly warned them, why had he not picked up the hidden treasure Jerry was always talking about, and disappeared long ago?

Frank somehow began to believe that, after all, there was no secret _cache_ aboard the boat which might contain valuables in the shape of papers or jewels. Jerry liked to think there was, but really they had not a peg on which to hang such an idea; except that queer Uncle Felix seemed to want to keep strangers off the boat, and particularly a man he seemed to dislike very much, one Marcus Stackpole.

Frank was even now busying himself with trying to lay some little trap by means of which he might learn the truth.

"I'll take him unawares some time," he was saying to himself, as he stood on deck that afternoon, after they had tied up, with the sunlight around him, and looked out from under the shady branches of the tree to which the boat was fast; "and spring that name on him-call him Mr.

Stackpole. If he can look me in the eye, and never show a sign, I'll have to think I'm mistaken; but all the same, off this boat he goes at Memphis, if I have to get an ambulance, and send him to the hospital."

Bluff was seated, as he often might be seen, on the rail of the boat; while Will pottered over the tangled fish lines, for Jerry had taken a notion to put a new roll of film in the little camera, and was even then rubbing it up. Luther Snow, a blanket about his shoulders, sat near by, watching it all in a pleased sort of way.

"Time was when I could stand anything, boys," remarked the old man as he gathered this covering closer to his body; "and I reckon I've been through considerable all over the wide world, for a man who never had a cent that he didn't earn himself. But I'm getting a little old now, you see. I begin to feel rheumatism in my bones, and sometimes I begin to believe that my days as a rover are nearly over."

Frank always listened when he started to speak of experiences in his checkered past. It often aroused the curiosity of the boy to understand how a man who, as he confessed himself, was only a common carpenter (and a mighty poor one at that, Frank would say to himself), had been able to get around in all the queer corners of the world that Luther Snow had.

He seemed to know many foreign cities by heart, and spoke of certain things in a way that only one familiar with them could do. Well, there could be no doubt of one thing, and this was that Luther occupied the role of a mystery to Frank, a puzzle he could not wholly solve.

If, then, he proved to be Marcus Stackpole, the very man against whom they had been especially warned, what did he want?

Frank kept repeating that to himself time and again as he lounged there and in the light of the declining sun watched his chums; then turned his eyes in the direction of the man who had the blanket about his shoulders, and who seemed so satisfied to be with them on board Uncle Felix's houseboat.

It was Jerry who startled them all suddenly by calling out:

"Hey! there's a gray squirrel right over your head, Bluff! Watch me give the little beggar a scare, will you?"

He reached over, and picked up one of a number of sticks of wood which had been brought on board at their last stop, being intended to serve as fuel for the little cook stove, after they had been chipped in half, perhaps.

This was a short and heavy one Jerry had selected. Rising to his feet, he gave it one whirl around his head, and then let fly. Jerry had always been reckoned something of a thrower. He often played in the pitcher's box before he went away from home, and was even now a promising fielder on the sub nine at college.

So Frank would not have been very much surprised had he succeeded in knocking the squirrel in question off his perch. But he was very much astonished at the most remarkable consequences of Jerry's shot.

There was an angry scream, such as only an enraged cat could make; and something large and hairy, with extended legs, came floundering down upon the deck of the houseboat directly in front of Bluff. Indeed, in its pa.s.sage, the wildcat, for it turned out to be nothing else, made a vicious stab for Bluff; and that excited as well as alarmed individual was so taken aback, that quite naturally he lost his grip on the railing of the boat, and fell over into the river.

This was getting to be a settled habit with Bluff, for he seemed capable of going overboard on the slightest excuse, just as though he rather liked taking a plunge into the cool waters of the Mississippi.

And the angry cat sprawled there on the deck, yowling and snarling, as if daring anyone to dispute his right to be monarch of all he surveyed.

CHAPTER XIX-A BOBCAT ON BOARD

"Help!" gasped Jerry, who seemed to be in some sort of a pickle, having managed to get his legs crossed in such a way, as he sat there pottering with Will's camera, that in the excitement of the moment he was unable to either rise, or roll out of the danger zone.

As sometimes happens in a case like this, it turned out to be the one least expected to play the part of hero. n.o.body dreamed that Will-quiet, sensitive Will, the artist of the expedition, and a boy given more to dreaming than doing strenuous things-would jump into the breach as he did.

In fact, he was never able to explain it himself, save that somehow he seemed to imagine those clubs on the deck were just made for belaboring a tiger-cat over the head with; and from the fact that Bluff had gone over into the river, with Jerry calling wildly for help, it must be up to him to _do_ something.

Why, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up one of the heavy sticks as though he had been antic.i.p.ating just such a sudden call, and had his plan of campaign already laid out.

"Take care, Will; don't let him get in at you with those sharp claws!"

cried the startled Frank, as he too tried to possess himself of a suitable cudgel, if there chanced to be another worth having in the bunch.

He could not find what he wanted on the spur of the moment-one was too slender to promise any results; while another seemed much too short with which to attack a vicious wildcat.

Will did not appear to expect any help in his fight. The way he kept at it was a revelation to those who watched him, for all the while Frank sought his stick, he kept one eye on the battle, determined to jump in, if necessary, club or no club.

Whack! came the cudgel Will yielded against the side of the bobcat, knocking the savage beast sprawling on the deck; though like his kind the cat could not be kept down, but was on its feet instantly, more angry than ever.

"Whoop! hit him again for his mother!"

It was surely Bluff who gave utterance to that shout. Evidently he had not cared to stay there in the river, while so much that was exciting seemed to be occurring aboard the houseboat; and taking advantage of some objects upon which he was able to seize, Bluff had clambered up far enough to thrust his head over the side, in time to witness that splendid "home run hit" made by timid Will.

Well, they would hardly be likely to ever call him that again, after seeing how vigorously he went after the now demoralized wildcat, getting in blows whenever an opening occurred, and meanwhile poking at the beast threateningly.

It crouched there, snarling as only such a beast can, with its ears drawn back, and its green eyes seeming to emit sparks. Once it sprang full at the boy, and Mr. Snow uttered a cry of alarm; he made his way into the cabin, and now held Bluff's repeating gun in his hands, with the air of a hunter accustomed to such tools; but there seemed small chance to get a fair shot, the boy and the cat were so close to each other.

But Will proved as quick as a flash in his movements. He met this leap of his feline foe just as cleverly as a champion ball player might a swift one, straight over the plate. There was a loud concussion; and then they had a view of a squirming, hairy figure just pa.s.sing over the rail above Bluff, four legs working overtime in the effort to get a grip with those keen-pointed and poisonous claws.

Luther Snow thrust the gun into the hands of Frank, who had been in the act of trying to meet the figure of the cat at the instant the animal made his spring.

"It's your right to wind him up, Frank!" the man said; and seemed as cool as any one accustomed to scenes of peril all his life could be.

So Frank stepped to the rail, and seeing the baffled bobcat just about climbing the bank, he wound up his existence with one shot.