Chapter XXII: “drop That Bag”

They kept waiting, but George was very nervous because nothing seemed to happen. He growled to himself more than a few times; but none of the other boys paid any attention to that; because they knew George pretty well, and had run up against his little failings many a time.

George had no use for “slow-pokes.” He expected to see Rome built in a day, and strange to say, while he met with lots of trouble on account of this very desire for haste, it did not seem to effect any permanent cure in his disposition; for as soon as the unpleasant result had worn off, he was the same old George again,--Hurricane George, they used to call him at home.

“There, looks like he’s about got it fixed now,” announced Josh, presently.

“Oh! thank goodness!” said the skipper of the Wireless with a sigh of gratification that welled up from his very heart. “Now perhaps there’ll be something doing.”

“He’s getting out a match,” Josh went on.

“You mean he’s hunting all through his pockets for one,” corrected Jack.

That gave George another spell of the blues.

“Chances are he won’t have a blessed match about him,” he observed, despairingly. “And I’ve got half a notion right now to crawl out there, and do the business for Fritz.”

“No need,” remarked Josh, “he’s found one!”

Then they watched again, while the logger went through with a lot of what seemed to George utterly useless actions, fixing the kindling up a little better. And finally he started to strike the match.

The boys held their breath as they saw it flame up.

“Now, look out, Fritz, or you’ll lose your eyebrows!” George was heard to mutter; as the logger leaned over to apply the little flame, which he had been shielding with both hands, after the manner of an old smoker.

“Wow!”

Josh did not mean to call out, but the cry was almost forced from his lips as he saw a vivid flash of fire, that seemed to jump as high as the roof of the little log shack.

“That was the gasolene!” remarked George, coolly.

“Fritz got stung, I guess, because he tumbled over backwards,” Josh ventured, as his opinion; but although Jack had imagined that something along those lines might have happened, he did not see the man show any signs of suffering, as he started to crawl away from the spot, glancing over his shoulder now and then, as if to reassure himself that everything was going well.

“Naw, he’s all right; Fritz kin be quick when he wants to get out o’ the way o’ things that hurts,” the fellow logger advanced.

“Wonder if she’s going to take hold?” Josh ventured, as he watched the fire eat into the kindling merrily.

“Wouldn’t be s’prised if she did, now?” Hank remarked, as though he had experienced a change of heart since the match had been applied. “Looky thar at the way it’s eatin’ up the logs. Gosh! that makes a hot fire, boys, with them oil rags to keep her a-goin’. And sure as yuh live I c’n see it getting a grip o’ the logs right now. Guess we won’t hev airy shanty, come morning. But who keers. A little saw-buck o’ a ten dollar bill wud make that squar.”

Jack looked around.

If the cabin really caught fire, and began to burn furiously, it would not be long before those within would have to vacate. He wanted to get a good idea as to what their next move would be; and for that reason he took this observation, so as to be posted.

And the first thing he saw was that the current of the river had swung the log raft in to the western shore during the last ten minutes or so. Why, it was not more than a hundred yards away; and as the moon hung in the east, the whole shore line was brightly illuminated.

Would not that prove an irresistible attraction to the pair of hunted thieves, provided they could swim? As a last resort might they not think to make a run for the edge of the raft, and spring overboard?

That was all right, provided they left the little bag behind. If on the other hand they tried to carry it off, Jack must know what to do about it. He feared that sooner than give up their plunder the scoundrels would deliberately throw it into the river, and thus defraud the depositors and stockholders of the Lawrence bank out of their valuable property, as well as sink the evidence that might be used to incriminate them as the looters of the institution.

How to prevent this was the question that was bothering Jack.

Would he be justified in trying to cripple one of the robbers in case they attempted to carry out such a bold scheme?

He decided this quickly, when he remembered what misery would likely follow the loss of the bag, with its contents. Yes, what was one wretch’s suffering when compared with that which would follow the closing of the bank’s doors, and a sign on the outside telling that it would never be able to open again, because of the loss of the entire funds, and negotiable papers, as the paper had said.

Well, there did not seem to be any more doubt about the success of the fire, at any rate; for already were the flames beginning to creep up the wall of the cabin, licking greedily at the wood. They had gained such a good start that unless some fire-fighter got busy in a hurry, that shack was doomed, for the breeze fanned the flames wonderfully.

“They’re coming out!” snapped George.

“Get ready, Jack, to drop ’em!” shouted Josh.

“There’s the old Comfort drawing alongside the raft by our boats!” Jack sent back at them just then.

Perhaps those in the cabin had already discovered the other boat coming down with the current, for the opening was toward the up-river end of the float, it may be remembered.

If so, it must have surely added to their uneasiness. They could see a number of persons aboard, and in the deceptive moonlight how were they to know that these passengers on the big launch were hardly to be classed with fighters, at least not very ferocious ones?

Imagine the astonishment of Herb and Buster, not to speak of Algernon, when, on nearing the dark object they had discovered ahead, it was to suddenly discover a blaze shooting up; and then on looking further to see Jack, George, Josh, Andy and the man Jenks, as well as two strange raftsmen ranged, about on a raft of logs, watching the burning cabin, as though it contained something they were greatly interested in.

And then to find the stolen white launch tied up to the raft--that must have given them a clue so they could figure things out fairly well.

The men had thrust their heads out at the time George and Josh seemed so positive they were coming. They could not have fancied the situation much; but then the sight of land so near by may have put some heart into them.

As the fire got hotter their condition must be growing more and more unpleasant. Jack knew that it was only a question of minutes, or more properly, seconds, before they would be forced to expose themselves, and he was nerving himself for that crisis.

He saw Jenks and one of the loggers start to move to the other side of the raft, as though they would anticipate the possible coming of the men in that direction and be on hand to meet them.

“Keep clear, so that I can fire!” he called to them, making his voice as vociferous as possible, in order that the hiding men might catch every word, and be more or less affected by the startling intelligence.

“Oh! why didn’t I bring my gun along?” groaned George, who was suffering agonies because he just had to stand there, and watch some one else run things; whereas, did he happen to have a weapon in his hands, he might have taken a much more prominent part in the proceedings.

One good thing about George was that he always wanted to be on the firing line; for he did not have a drop of craven blood in his veins. In baseball, football, hockey, it was all the same; George could be found wherever the play was fiercest, taking and giving knocks without a murmur, if only there was action, action, and then more action.

Jack heard his lament, and was secretly just as well satisfied to have things as they were. George was so impulsive that he might do things to be regretted in calmer moments. Such a hot-headed fellow was dangerous with firearms, especially when there seemed some little excuse for making a use of the same against a law-breaking pair like the bank robbers.

For a couple of minutes nothing happened; but the fire was burning fiercely and crackling at a great rate. Josh looked rather serious as he contemplated the conflagration; perhaps he was remembering George’s absurd threat with regard to setting the river on fire; and thinking that they would surely have to get away before such a catastrophe came to pass.

Then, just what Jack had been expecting came about.

“There! there! Jack, look! knock ’em over!” shrieked George, as two figures started out of the burning shack on the raft, and began to hasten across the slippery logs as fast as they could go.

One of them, the larger, carried the hand bag; and from his determined manner it looked as though he meant to cling to that through thick and thin. Jenks and the two loggers were already trying to cut the fugitives off, and as though they began to fear lest that should really happen the robbers changed their course a little, though still heading for the side of the raft that lay nearest the western bank of the river, so close at hand.

Jack fired one barrel of his gun, but he did not try to hit the fleeing men. It was just intended to let them know he had their range, for chips and water flew close beside the one who carried the bag.

“Drop that bag, or the next shot will lame you for life, do you hear?” shouted the boy, now fully resolved that he would have to shoot to wound, in justice to all those poor depositors up in Lawrence, for whom he felt so sorry.

Perhaps it was on account of the threat contained in his words; although the nearness of Jenks, and the other two husky men, may have had more or less to do with it; but the escaping burglar realized that it was a case of either letting his plunder go, or else being badly wounded, and then sent to the penitentiary for a term of years. And so, he relaxed his firm clutch, allowing the bag with the stolen funds of the bank to fall upon the logs of the raft.