THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE RIO GRANDE

The River Motor Boat Boys on the Rio Grande

In Defense of the Rambler

Harry Gordon

AUTHOR OF "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Amazon" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Columbia" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Mississippi" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Colorado" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Yukon"

A. L. Burt Company New York

Copyright, 1915, by A. L. Burt Company

PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.

CONTENTS

A Call for Help

A Nest of Pirates

Alex Takes a Long Chance

A Night on Shore

A Friend in Need

Alex Gets a Square Meal

Stolen—A Motor Boat

Alex Climbs a Tree

The Rambler Heard From

A Bit of Dynamite

Alex Goes Fishing

A Queer Passenger

On the Mexican Side

A Serious Situation

Dead in the Forest

Jule in Great Danger

On Mexican Soil Again

A Slippery Customer

Rube Tells a Story

Taken at Last

A Night of Watching

A Surprise for Clay

What Came of a Ramble on Shore

And the Last

THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE RIO GRANDE

CHAPTER I

A CALL FOR HELP

“Listen, boys!”

There was silence for a moment, and then the cry was repeated—a long, low, wailing call for help.

“It can’t be far away,” said the first speaker. “If the water wouldn’t make such a racket, we might locate it exactly. There! Sounds like the fellow was about all in.”

A large white bulldog of most disreputable appearance leaped to the railing of the motor boat and stood looking into the waters of the Rio Grande. In a moment the plea for assistance came again, sounding fainter and farther away.

It was evident that the man, whoever it was, was going down with the current. The dog glanced questioningly into the face of the nearest boy as if asking for instructions, and then leaped into the river.

“What did you do that for?” demanded Alexander Smithwick, throwing off his coat and shoes.

“What did I do?” demanded Julian Shafer, with a wink. “Captain Joe asked permission to go to the rescue, and took it for granted that it would be given. Intelligent dog, Captain Joe! What’s he up to now, I wonder?”

In a moment Alex, with one hand on the railing which enclosed the deck of the motor boat, heard the rattle of anchor chains and knew that the boat was drifting downstream.

The boys called to the dog, but without avail. Save for the rush of the river, all was still. “Mighty strange!” Alex exclaimed.

Night had settled down on the Rio Grande, but the electric lights shone far out on the stream, revealing nothing!

When the motor boat reached the point from which the cries had seemed, to come the anchor was dropped again and the boys scanned both shore lines eagerly, hoping, at least, to discover the white form of the bulldog. It was not at all like Captain Joe to remain silent under such conditions.

“What do you make of it?” asked Clayton Emmett, in a tone of alarm. “Captain Joe never acted like this before.”

“There’s something gone wrong with the dog!” exclaimed Cornelius Witters, who was rather inclined to look on the gloomy side of life. “He may have been drowned.”

“Catch Captain Joe getting drowned!” cried Alex Smithwick and Julian Shafer in a breath.

In a moment, however, Captain Joe was seen to leave a great mass of rocks which stretched at least a third of the way across the stream and strike out for the motor boat.

“Did you lose him, Captain Joe?” Alex asked, lowering a floating platform as he spoke in order to give the dog access to the deck, at the same time keeping out of reach of the torrent of river water deposited on the deck by the dog.

“Where is the man you went after?” added Julian Shafer, also taking good care to keep on the other side of the deck.

The dog was evidently doing his best to convey to the boys what knowledge he possessed regarding the stranger who was, if still alive, somewhere out in the night. For a time he met with scant success.

The boys listened intently, but there was only the rush of the river and the wind sweeping down from the mountains.

“Drop downstream to that ledge of rocks,” advised Clayton Emmett. “If the fellow is still alive, we’ll find him there.”

This proceeding apparently met with the hearty approval of the bulldog, who was the first to gain the rocky beach. Without loss of time he set off at a swift pace and soon brought up beside the prostrate figure of a lad who could not have been over sixteen. Alex bent over the body with his searchlight and made a hasty examination.

“Is he dead?” asked Cornelius Witters, known to his chums as “Case.” “He certainly looks the part.”

Alex shook his head.

“Let’s get him to the motor boat,” he said, with a shudder of horror. “Somewhere back in the dark ages, before the dawn of civilization, there may have been a kid more badly beaten up, but I doubt it.”

“Well, I should say so!” Jule cut in. “Looks like he had been run through a sausage mill! Where’s the fellow who did it?”

“Search me!” replied Alex. “The thing to do now, it strikes me, is to get the poor fellow where he can receive the attention of a surgeon. I wonder if one is to be found in this neck-o’-the-woods?”

“There are plenty of towns along the river,” Clayton Emmett suggested, “and there must be a surgeon in some of them; but his injuries may not be so serious as they appear to be at first glance. Perhaps it may be well to get the stretcher,” he added, as the boys gathered in an awed group about the silent figure.

Jule darted away to bring the stretcher, while the other boys made a rough examination of the injured boy’s wounds. His head was one mass of bruises, and his left leg seemed to be broken. He was still unconscious, and the only wonder was that a person so battered and beaten should be capable of uttering the cries which had brought the dog to his assistance.

Presently Alex and Case, leaving Clay to watch beside the stranger, climbed an almost perpendicular wall of rock and, with the aid of their searchlights, looked down the narrow neck of land which connected with the shore.

The searchlights illuminated the scene only faintly. The night was very dark, and the rays of light traveled only a short distance before becoming absorbed by the shadows which shut out the landscape.

“It’s darker than a stack of black cats!” said Alex, after a moment’s inspection of the scene. “We may as well be on our way back.”

The boys started back in the direction of the boat, but came to a halt at the sound of a low, whining cry which seemed to come from behind a ridge of rocks off to the left.

“What’s coming off now?” Alex exclaimed, turning his searchlight in the direction of the sound. “Hope it isn’t anything that will bite! Come out of that, you rascal!”

But whatever it was it did not seem inclined to obey the command, so Alex dashed off on an exploring trip.

“Come back, you mutton head!” shouted Case. “That may be a fake to lure us into a trap!”

But Alex’s searchlight was by this time out of sight around a corner of rock and Case followed on behind. After making his way, not without difficulty, along a shelf of rock Case came to a pit-like depression, and, looking down, caught a glimpse of his chum’s light.

The lad was bending over some object which was lying on the ground, and appeared to be preparing to take it into his arms. Case was at his side in short order.

“What have you got, Alex?” he asked. “Looks like a black cat! It takes you to keep the menagerie from growing shy!”

As Alex lifted the object in his arms, however, Case saw that it was a bear cub—certainly not more than a month old—a black bear cub who looked into the faces of the lads with an appeal which was not to be resisted! It softened Case’s heart in an instant.

“Now, what do you know about that!” Case exclaimed. “Wonder if his mother is anywhere around?”

“She’d be very much in evidence by this time if she was,” replied Alex, hugging the cub. “My!” he continued, as his hands came in contact with the ribs of the cub, “I reckon a square meal wouldn’t come amiss right now! Here, you little cannibal, quit eating my ear!”

“I’d like to know what Captain Joe will say about this,” laughed Case. “He’ll want to make one bite of the cub!”

“Just let me catch him at it!” exclaimed Alex.

When, after rather a long, hard tramp, the boys, still carrying the baby bear, came in view of the place where Clay had been left they saw at once that something was amiss. Clay was nowhere in sight, and Captain Joe, usually the most faithful of sentinels, was not to be seen. The stranger still lay where he had been placed, gazing up into darkness with swollen eyes!

It took only a minute for the lads to reach his side. He made an effort to arise to a sitting position as they came running up, but fell weakly back with a groan of agony.

“What’s up?” asked Case.

The lad turned his head in order to get a good view of his questioner before making any reply whatever. Under the searchlights his face seemed beaten to a pulp.

Then Alex remembered that the boy had not regained consciousness at the time of their departure, and hastened to make the proper explanation. The boy again attempted a sitting posture and again failed.

Case knelt by the side of the wounded boy.

“Do you wish to say something?” he asked.

“Ask him where Clay went,” suggested Alex, keeping the baby bear in his arms.

“I don’t know,” replied the boy, answering the question asked by Alex. “When I came to consciousness there was a white bulldog drawing me out of the river.”

“And is that the last you remember?” questioned Case.

“Yes.”

“And so Captain Joe fished you out of the drink. Where did he go after that?”

“I did not see him go anywhere. I fainted, I guess.”

Alex examined the boy’s clothing and found it wet.

“The lad is right about the river,” he declared. “The boy must have been swept past our boat. It is a wonder none of us saw him.”

“Unless he drifted into the circle of light thrown out by the cabin windows,” Case cut in, “we should not have seen him.”

“Captain Joe certainly did a good job in making the rescue,” Alex added. “How long were you in the water, stranger?”

“When I drifted by the motor boat,” replied the boy, “I tried to catch hold of a rope, but was too weak and dazed from the beating I had received. If the dog hadn’t found me just as he did, I should have floated on down the river and drowned.”

“Good old Captain Joe!” Alex exclaimed. “Somehow he is always to the front!”

“There is a gang of robbers up the river about a mile,” said the lad, evidently speaking in great pain. “If you came down the river in a boat, you ought to be looking after her. They are bad men. The marks of their treatment of me are still in sight,” he added, smiling faintly. “They beat me because I refused to deliver my boat to them. Well, they have it now, but they had to fight for it,” he added.

“Wonder we didn’t see them when we came down,” said Case, hastily getting to his feet. “For all we know, they may be already in possession of the Rambler!”

“The Rambler is too nice a boat for that gang of toughs to ride in,” declared the stranger. “You see,” he continued, “that I know all about you boys. I am from Chicago myself!”

Anxious as the boys were to learn more about the lad so strangely met, and to relieve his sufferings, they had other things of more importance, at least to themselves, to look after.

Alex, still carrying the baby bear, was off like a shot and Case was not far behind him. The Rio Grande was but a short distance away, but there was a wall of rocks which must be passed before the river came into view.

When at last the boys gained the top of the elevation and flashed their lights down upon the wind-swept stream, the Rambler was nowhere to be seen!

“Just our luck!” grumbled Case.

Alex, still holding the baby bear, wrinkled his nose.

CHAPTER II

A NEST OF PIRATES

To those who have read the books of this series already published the boys of the Rambler will need no introduction. Their adventures on the Amazon, the Columbia, the Colorado, the Mississippi, the St Lawrence, the Ohio, and the Yukon will be readily recalled to mind.

Coming originally from the south branch of the Chicago river, they had accumulated handsome fortunes during their journeys in quest of adventure, but they still saw the world through boys’ eyes, and were not satisfied to settle down to a humdrum life.

The Rambler, as will doubtless be remembered, was a very speedy boat, fitted up with electric lights and all modern conveniences. She carried an armor of chilled steel underneath as pretty a coat of paint as was ever sent out of the port of Chicago.

This trip down the Rio Grande had long been planned, and now that it was actually begun the lads were jubilant. They had been warned time and again against the uprisings for which Mexico is noted, but, boy-like, they had disregarded them.

The Rambler had been shipped to Wason on the Denver & Rio Grande, and the journey was on! This town lies some distance east from Silverton, and is surrounded on the north, west and south by the mountains which form a part of the great continental divide.

As Alex and Case stood now, on the bank of the Rio Grande, their hearts were very heavy.

“If we only knew that Clay and Jule were safe,” Alex finally said, “we could endure the loss of the Rambler. Where do you think they have gone. Mister Teddy Bear, Junior?” he added whimsically, addressing the cub. “I’ll bet you’d tell me if you could!”

But the cub nestled closer to the neck of the boy and not being in a conversational mood said nothing at all!

“We may as well return to where the injured boy was left,” Case suggested in a moment. “The boys will know where to find us, at least, if we go there, which is more than can be said of any other locality. Just our rotten luck to have Captain Joe find that boy when we haven’t got a thing to give him that might add to his comfort!”

“Kick!” laughed Alex. “You’d kick on a mouthful of pie! Say, how would a piece of apple pie go right about now? I’m hungry enough to eat one of those pirates, boots and all!”

“You are likely to be a great deal hungrier before you come upon anything to eat in this rotten hole!” grumbled Case, setting off for the designated spot at a fast walk.

Alex, however, remained behind, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the lights of the Rambler. It was very dark outside the small circle of light thrown out by the searchlight, and the wind was blowing great guns. It was as wild a night as ever blew over the Colorado hills.

As if to heighten the discomfort of the time, a cold rain began to fall in great gusts, sweeping everything movable before it. Alex was soon wet to the skin.

“How’s this for a storm, Mister Teddy Bear, Junior? said the boy, addressing the cub. “There’s one thing been overlooked, though,” he added, “and that’s a little thunder and lightning. There certainly ought to be a batch of thunder and lightning with a peach of a storm like this, don’t you think, Teddy?”

But Teddy did not have an opportunity to express his thoughts on the subject, if he had any, for just at that instant there came a blinding flash of lightning, followed immediately by a peal of thunder which seemed to shake the solid earth.

“Whew, but that was a corker!” cried the boy. “Wonder if I’m all here?”

But Alex had no time to consider this last conundrum, for just at that minute the lights of the Rambler made their appearance, coming up the stream. Alex had no means of knowing, of course, whether she was manned by friend or foe, so he switched off his electric and stood on the bank waiting in the wind and rain.

Directly the motor boat came to a halt at the side of a little rocky projection which extended into the stream for some distance, and the boy was no longer in doubt as to the character of the crew.

A frowsy head appeared above the rail of the boat and a hoarse voice demanded:

“Who’s there?”

It was clear that the Rambler was in the possession of the pirates! Alex stood mute, awaiting developments.

Presently the low murmur of voices was heard, seeming to come from the shore, and Alex listened eagerly, but could not distinguish the voices. At times he was almost certain that the speakers were Clay and Jule, but the wind carried their voices downstream, and he could not be certain. He listened intently, listening at the same time, too, for the sound of advancing footsteps.

But the rush of the wind, the downpour of the rain effectually drowned all other sounds save at rare intervals. The frowsy head, evidently gaining courage, now spoke again.

“Whoever you are, come aboard!” the voice said.

There came a lull in the storm, and Alex was positive that the voices he heard were those of Clay and Jule; still he could not afford to make a mistake. So he waited.

The man on the deck of the Rambler either left his position or got out of sight behind the railing, for he was no longer to be seen. For a time all was still, then a voice which appeared to come from the Rambler rang out, causing Alex to almost drop the baby bear in his excitement. He knew that voice!

During the long winter evenings in Chicago Jule had made a study of ventriloquism, and had become such an adept that his voice could be heard for a long distance. Although standing within ten feet of Alex, the voice apparently came from the Rambler’s deck.

“What are you doing on my boat?” the voice demanded.

There was a great bustle aboard the motor boat, as if search was being made for the speaker, followed by a fluttering of wings and a hoarse, croaking voice:

“What’s coming off here?” were the words spoken.

“That’s Tommy!” said a voice at Alex’s side, and Clay made his appearance in the faint light thrown from the cabin windows.

“Where have you been?” demanded Alex, speaking in a voice loud enough to be heard above the rush of the storm. “Thought sure you had been carried off by the robbers.”

“The pirates already had possession of the boat when I reached the shore,” Jule explained, “and when Clay came we both followed on down the river in the hope that something would happen to again put us in possession. Say! Just listen to Tommy’s conversation! He thinks he is the whole works! He has a horror of being awakened suddenly.”

“Tommy” was a great red and green parrot, who had evidently been sound asleep during the short trip down the river. He was making up for lost time now, however, making the boat ring with his screams.

Presently a man’s form shot out of the cabin as if fired out of a gun, with the parrot astride of his shoulders! The red and green feathers of the bird shone and glistened under the electric light, the long tail trailed out behind like the tail of a comet, while the topknot was very much in evidence, standing up straight and rigid.

The man thus attacked gave utterance to a string of oaths and billingsgate which would have made a fishwife green with envy.

“The bloomin’ bird is clawin’ me eyes out!” he shouted, doing his best to dislodge the bird. “Take ’im off, someone!”

By this time two other men were on deck, struggling with Tommy, who did not seem at all inclined to release the excellent hold which he secured in the hair of the robber. At last, however, he was dislodged, and secreted himself behind a chest of drawers in the cabin.

“I’ll ’ave ’is bloody life!” shouted the fellow, starting away in pursuit, but a chum blocked his entrance to the cabin.

“Have it out with the bird some other time,” he advised, with a broad smile. “Just now we have other fish to fry. We came back to get a kid what can operate this boat. There’s something wrong with the motors. We got it up the river as far as this, and that’s about all, consarn the luck!”