Motor Boat Boys' River Chase Part 2

"But when George is around, you c'n expect any old thing to happen," he wound up with, "and even when things are working smoothly, he won't be satisfied till he upsets the combination again, you see if it ain't so."

Jack did not attempt to contradict his prediction, because he also knew George like a book and thought pretty much the same way.

Just about eleven, Josh declared that they seemed to be gradually getting nearer the pilot boat of the party, as George liked to have his craft called; though for that part he would have made a most unreliable guide, and had the others chosen to follow him, they would have been led into many more messes than actually fell to their lot.

"That's because Buster has rebelled," Jack observed, "there's been a mutiny aboard that craft; and George had been told that for one Buster doesn't mean to miss his lunch at noon, just because the Wireless is making a record run."

"Oh! you mean they've thrown the old mud hook over, and are waiting for us slow-pokes to come along, eh, Jack?"

"Just about that; but we're getting all the fun we want out of making slower time; and our engines won't go back on us either, in spite,"

laughed the other.

"Well, while we're gliding along in this fine way--I always like to use that word when speaking of cruising, it sounds so fine--I'll be getting up the menu for our first dinner ash.o.r.e. It makes my mouth water just to think of a campfire again, after all that time. Brought your little old Marlin along, didn't you, Jack? P'raps we might get a few late ducks while we're out, if all of 'em ain't gone north by now. And if Buster only does his duty, and grabs up a fish now and then, why, it'll be just great."

So Josh, who used to be something of a cook in times past, amused himself in a way that suited his fancy, while they drew closer and closer to the place where the speed-boat awaited them.

George was full of boasting as usual, and predicted a record run for his craft. None of the others disputed his a.s.sertions, but they exchanged looks, for they had heard all this sort of talk before, and then seen poor disappointed George only too glad to take a tow in the end, with his engine stubborn, or broken down.

Together they continued on down the river; where they could readily tie to the bank, and go ash.o.r.e to cook dinner.

There was a great deal of climbing back and forth, and everybody but George seemed bustling with business; he sat there, and pottered with his engine, as though some new idea had seized hold of him, and he meant to try one of his everlasting experiments that always ended so disastrously.

Then the voice of Buster was heard in the land, lamenting.

"It was there yesterday, because I put it in away with my own hands; and George here says he never opened that locker once; but now that I want to put it on, my new sweater has disappeared the funniest way ever. I wouldn't be surprised, fellers, if we found that some thief got aboard our boats last night, and couldn't resist taking that bully sweater with the red moon on the front; and that's what!"

CHAPTER III

BUSTER CAPTURES A FISH

"Chances are you left it behind in the shed where the boats were kept,"

George remarked, looking up from his work, "but I wish you'd just step ash.o.r.e, and let me go on with my little job here, Buster. Excuse me for saying it, but whenever you swing around it makes the boat rock just awful."

"Oh! I'm a-goin' right away, George, and only too glad for a chance to set foot again on something solid, that won't sway every time I breathe wrong. Wait till I get my fish lines, will you? P'raps if I can't have the pleasure of wearing my new sweater, I might manage to pick up a few small finny denizens of the mighty Mississippi. And when it comes to _fish_, I know you fellows are fond of most any kind that swims."

"Except dog-fish; I draw the line there," objected Josh. "But here's some meat to bait your line with, Buster; you see, Jack brought a steak along, thinking we'd miss it all of a sudden; and we're going to fry some onions with that. Makes your mouth water, don't it?"

"Makes me eyes run a-peelin' these same onions!" groaned Jimmie; "somebody please do be koind enough to take out me hanky, and woipe me tears away. 'Tis remimberin' me ould grandmither I am at this blissed minute and that's what makes me cry."

Buster kindly performed that brotherly duty, and then busied himself with his fish lines. Rod or pole he had none, nor did Buster ever bother with such a thing as a reel. A large hook, with a hunk of meat fastened to it, and dropped overboard, suited his ideas all right; after which he trusted to luck to bring him a capture.

The fire was started by Jack, and already Josh could be seen getting ready to serve as chef. He had fetched along a cute little white cap without a peak, which he donned whenever he had to serve as the "dish-slinger and pot wrestler," as he was fond of calling his occupation. It was intended to stand for his badge of authority; and when he had it on, the rest were supposed to be his willing slaves, ready to jump at his bidding.

There is no part of an outing that suits boys better than preparing meals, unless it is in disposing of the same after they are cooked.

With appet.i.tes whetted to a keen edge by the air, and freedom from anxiety, they can hardly wait until called to the feast, but wander around, begging the cook to please hurry, if he does not want to have a funeral on his hands.

There was always more or less merry talk pa.s.sing back and forth while these six comrades tried and true, got dinner ready; for they were a good-natured lot, and very fond of each other, despite frequent bickerings, usually between George on the one hand, and some chum on the other.

Buster had managed to set his two lines, as best the conditions allowed.

Since George was so touchy about his rocking the narrow boat with his clumsy movements, Buster had gone out to the beamy Comfort, and fastened one of his stout lines to a cleat he found handy. The other he had thrown out from the sh.o.r.e above, and tied to a stake driven into the earth, just as he had seen a snubbing-post used down in Florida, when sharks were being fished for around the inlets.

Every little while he would glance toward these lines, having arranged so that if a fish took hold, a little piece of white rag would be hoisted as a signal; very much on the order of that frequently used by pickerel fishermen, when watching a dozen or two holes cut through the ice, each with its separate line.

The cooking progressed slowly. Josh said he was out of practice, but that when he got his hand in, all would be smooth sailing again.

He had plenty of a.s.sistance, for every one but George and Buster hung around, ready to lend a hand; and after he had fixed his snares with the baited hooks at the end, even the fat boy was willing to do anything Josh asked.

Finally the cook announced that everything was ready, and that they could draw up to the board. Of course this latter was only a figure of speech, for there was not a sign of a board around; the things were placed right on the ground, while the diners were expected to get their supplies on a tin platter, and in a tin cup; after which they were at liberty to squat like tailors, with their legs drawn up under them; or else retreat to the boats for more comfortable seats.

"Talk to me about your banquets," remarked Herb, as he started in on his rasher of steak and fried onions, "this beats anything that was ever invented. I wouldn't change places with a king, right now."

"Them's my sintimints!" echoed Jimmie, as well as a fellow could who had his mouth crammed full at the moment, so that he had to talk from one side.

"Hurry up, George, or you'll get left!" called Josh, noticing that the skipper of the speed boat had not come ash.o.r.e.

"Oh! I suppose I'll just have to, but I'd rather be left to work here,"

replied George, nervously, whereat the rest glanced at each other, and the looks thus exchanged seemed to say as plainly as anything: "Wonder now if he's gone and done it, mixed things up with his cranky old engine, and don't seem able to get it to working right again; that would be just like Fussy George!"

It was more than pleasant to sit there, looking out upon the broad river and enjoying the feast that had been prepared as a starter to their camp life. The very wind that came sweeping across from the further sh.o.r.e, cool and delicious, seemed to be of a different brand to any that they enjoyed at home; so much do surroundings have to do with things.

No one seemed in any particular hurry but George, who bolted his dinner, and was back again on his boat long before any of the others had finished.

"Are we nearly half way there, do you think Jack?" asked Herb, who knew that the skipper of the Tramp kept track of all these things and had charts as well of the river.

"We've come forty-five miles since starting, because, you see, the current is pretty strong; and for once we haven't been held up by George's cranky boat," replied Jack, lowering his voice a little when saying this last, since there was no necessity for offending the chum whose little oddities gave them more or less fun during a cruise.

"Then that would mean we've still got a good fifty to go," suggested Buster.

"Somebody get a leather medal for Buster here, our Lightning Calculator.

Now, it would take me ever so long to figure that forty-five from ninety-five really leaves fifty; but just see how he grabs the answer right off the reel. It won't be long before he has a little 'Professor'

tacked to his name," and Josh chuckled as though he had really said something smart.

Buster did not seem to feel hurt; in fact, many of these little shafts just glanced from him as arrows might from the thick hide of a rhinoceros; which is not saying that Buster was impervious to ridicule, for that would be far from the truth, as he could be quite sensitive at times; but Josh he treated with supreme contempt whenever the latter tried to be funny at his expense.

All this while Buster had tried to keep one eye on the places where his fis.h.i.+ng lines were out. He fancied several times that he saw a white rag start to show, but before he could scramble to his feet, which was quite an effort for him, it was all over, and proved to be only a nibble, so that on each occasion he had to sink back again, and have patience.

There were good fish in the old Mississippi, and he knew it, so why should he not have his share of the spoils? In his moments of leisure, while preparing his hooks and lines, no doubt Buster had pictured himself as hauling in some monster that would be the envy of all his camp-mates; and beside which he must have his picture taken, as positive proof that he was the successful angler.

Jack knew that once they started they would be apt to make their destination in less than five hours; so that there was no need of haste.

He had seen much of George's hurrying, and what grievous results it often brought in its train, that somehow he felt more averse to making haste than ever.

So he and Herb and Andy sat there, chatting, as they finished their dinner, with Buster squatting alongside like a great toad, waiting for that bite which did not seem to materialize very fast, and in a sort of hazy way listening to what was said by his three chums; Josh being busy with the cooking utensils, which he liked to keep as clean as sand and water could scour them, after the most approved camp methods known.

All at once there was a heave on the part of Buster; who seemed to be actuated by some wild impulse, for he made frantic efforts to get up; but as he had been sitting on one of his legs, it had gone to "sleep,"

so that even after the fat boy did succeed in gaining an erect position, he came very near falling over into the fire that was still smouldering.