dave brandon was not averse to being left alone. nature, in its wildness and solitude, appealed to him forcibly, and he loved to contemplate it in silence and with naught to distract his attention.
when his friends disappeared in the woods, he lazily stretched himself on a grassy knoll, drew out his volume of bryant, a note-book and pencil.
"oh ho," he murmured, "what a glorious day it will be. nothing but poetry, a composition on nature, and—yes,—first of all, a little nap on this delightful ridge."
the blue sky was flecked with whitish clouds, a slight breeze rustled the grass and leaves, while the river simmered in the early morning light.
it wasn't very long before the stout poet laureate, with his hat shielding his eyes, yielded to the pleasant feeling of sleepiness, dozing away, in that soft and delicious slumber which a care-free conscience and comfortable position are potent factors in bringing about.
an hour passed, then two, no doubt. the lad, in his world of bright-hued visions, dreamed of many things, but certainly not of that which was destined to happen before he saw his friends again.
the third hour had not yet ended, when two men appeared on the river bank making toward the motor boats with a stealth and precaution which showed conclusively that some object other than curiosity guided their actions.
the lean-to and sleeper close by did not escape their attention; in fact, the lad was no sooner perceived than they hastily withdrew into the friendly shelter of a line of bushes, from which point of observation they peered, as if undecided in their course of action.
but they did not attempt to come out in the open again, for dave moved, stretched, then sat bolt upright.
"a fine nap," he murmured, half aloud; "a fine nap. it must be almost time for lunch."
he arose, gazed in the direction of the two boats, and began to saunter slowly toward them.
as he climbed on board the "rambler," two pairs of eyes watched his movements with the keenest attention, their owners screening themselves carefully behind the bushes.
dave got out the oil-stove, together with bacon, cheese, crackers, and carried them all ashore, but remained near the boats.
during his preparations for lunch, the two men, with the utmost caution, stole away.
after his repast, dave cleaned up, replaced the articles he had used, and seated himself on the locker, to begin his composition.
when six o'clock arrived, dave began to wonder about his friends.
"what can be keeping them so late?" he mused. "i thought they would be back long before this."
another hour passed, the anxious watcher listening in vain for any signs which indicated their approach. the golden tinged clouds changed to purple. then sombre gray stole on, darkening by degrees until night enveloped the scene.
"they must be lost," thought dave, disconsolately; "it will be hard finding their way back through the woods, even by moonlight."
he paced up and down uneasily. when the moon appeared in view, it was impossible for him to stand the suspense any longer.
"i'll climb a tree and shout," he concluded. "perhaps that may help them to find the camp. if not, i'll build a fire."
in spite of his stoutness and indolent ways, the poet laureate could be active and agile when the occasion demanded. selecting a suitable tree near the edge of the woods, he shinnied up its trunk until the lowermost branch was reached. then, amidst the thick foliage, he worked his way slowly aloft until a good position was secured.
had dave not been so worried, it is probable that the view alone would have repaid him for his labor. the long line of the river was broken at intervals by trees; ridges, hills and dense woods, in light and shadow, extended off in all directions, blending imperceptibly with the sky.
"not a sign of a camp-fire," muttered the lad. "goodness, gracious, what in the world is that? why how—"
this disjointed exclamation was caused by a sound, which, without warning, broke the silence.
clear and distinct, the rapid pulsation of a motor engine, working at full speed, came to his ears.
dave brandon had never been more astonished in his life. peering through the branches, he looked eagerly in the direction of the river.
almost immediately, between a break in the trees, the indistinct form of a boat could be seen gliding rapidly by.
"the 'rambler,'" gasped dave; "i'm sure it is the 'rambler.' that sound could not be anything else. what does it mean?"
the lad forgot, for an instant, his belated friends, everything, in the excitement of the moment. with a haste that almost threatened disastrous consequences, he began to descend. branches smote him in the face, leaves flapped in his eyes, but he paid no heed. his actions now would have been sufficient refutation of the charge of laziness.
in an astonishingly short time, he reached the ground, seized his gun and started on a run for the water.
"the 'rambler' is gone," he cried, in his excitement speaking aloud.
a hundred conflicting thoughts flashed through his brain. was it all a joke?
but he dismissed that idea in an instant. bob somers was not that kind of a boy.
unable to decide what to do, dave brandon paced excitedly up and down. the volume of poems, already half out of his pocket, fell unnoticed to the ground.
"it's all my fault," he cried, self-accusingly. "but then, if the fellows had only come back in time. who would have thought of this?—i know what i'll do!"
dave brandon, dismissing any thought of danger, suddenly rushed toward the "nimrod."
"she's faster than the 'rambler.' if i can catch them—" he breathed.
in his haste and excitement, the work of casting off the ropes took double time. when it was accomplished, he shouted long and earnestly in the hope his friends might hear him, but to no avail.
dave brandon, in spite of his seeming indifference, had watched bob somers manipulate the engine, and had grasped the principles involved without difficulty. the "nimrod's" engine was almost like their own, consequently he did not hesitate.
as the boat slowly swung out into the stream, not a sound of the "rambler" could be heard.
the possible perils of the trip did not daunt him, although he felt that any person with sufficient hardihood to steal a motor boat, if such was the case, must be a desperate character, ready to defend himself at all hazards.
without having any very clear idea as to what his course would be, dave, when the "nimrod" was headed up-stream, turned on full power. the night air fanned his cheeks, as the motor boat fairly tore through the water, dashing the glistening spray on all sides.
in the grip of a strange exhilaration, he guided the flying craft in midstream, peering anxiously ahead for any signs of the "rambler." the moon was high in the heavens now, occasionally obscured by flying clouds; the trees on one shore stood out black and lugubrious, on the other were bathed in that pale illumination which threw a veil of mystery over all. here and there, a dead tree, gaunt and grim, showed its network of interlacing branches against the sky, while queer-shaped shadows and patches of light sprang into view as the "nimrod" rushed on.
a flock of black objects flew swiftly by, then, screaming its way along, a night-hawk swooped diagonally across the heavens.
but dave brandon was too intent on the strange chase to experience those creepy feelings which are associated with the night. it seemed, to his intently listening ears, that a faint sound came from far ahead. the cool, refreshing breeze had helped to calm him, and, for the first time, he began to wonder if he had acted with wisdom.
"but it's too late now," he muttered. "i'll overhaul them, if it takes all night. what will the boys think? ah, then i heard the sound of the motor distinctly."
strive as he would, his eyes could not penetrate the gloom ahead, the moon, just at this time, being back of a heavy black cloud, but it soon became evident that the speedy "nimrod" was fast gaining on the fleeing boat. dave pushed the motor to its utmost, being rewarded at last by the positive certainty that the boat ahead was, indeed, the "rambler." the moonlight suddenly burst forth, revealing its graceful lines distinctly.
brandon had no idea of making any unnecessary trouble for himself. a moment more, and he hailed the occupants of the "rambler" in a firm, but not threatening manner.
he heard the sound of a rough voice, but there was no direct answer to his query.
the difficulty and possible danger of the situation now dawned upon him with full force. superior strength must be met by strategy and courage. his nerves tingled with excitement, but he kept resolutely on his course, determined to make a desperate effort to recover their property.
"hold on, there! what are you doing with that boat?" he shouted, putting into the words all the force at his command.
still, there was no reply. the "nimrod," fairly rushing along, was now within seventy-five feet of the "rambler," and he could clearly distinguish the figures of two men upon it.
fearing that they might resort to firearms, he reduced speed, at the same time shielding himself as much as possible.
"turn that boat in shore!" he cried, fearlessly. "you might as well give up."
"if you don't want to stop a whole lot of buckshot, you'll clear out," returned an angry voice.
"yes, and do it mighty quick," added the other. "we won't stand no fooling."
"unless you want to spend the next year in jail, stop!" commanded dave, surprised at his own boldness.
"how do we know this boat is yours? if you'll come on shore and prove property, we'll let you have it."
"i'll do nothing of the sort," exclaimed dave, angrily. "that trick is a little too transparent. for the last time, will you turn in shore?"
"what will you do if we say no, you sassy young whelp?"
"i'm going to get that boat if we have to fight it out with shotguns."
"that's a pretty dangerous game for a boy."
dave brandon crouched down low.
"one—two," he cried, slowly; "are you going to stop?"
"no!"
the young hunter instantly raised his gun and fired over their heads.
one of the men gave a low laugh.
"do that again, and we'll blow your old skiff out of the water," howled his companion, angrily.
"i don't think you will," retorted dave, sturdily.
"it wouldn't be safe for you to try it, boy. we mean business, and somebody is going to get hurt if you don't keep out of the way."
"i'll chase you till daylight, if i don't do anything more," said dave. "i have the faster boat, and you can't get away from me."
the pursuit continued for a few minutes in silence, until the young hunter realized that his words were not going to have any effect.
"i'll give you one more chance," he called, finally. "will you take it?"
no response came from the "rambler." dave's face wore a look of sternness and determination. again the gun rose to his shoulder. he had no intention of hitting the men, but they needed a lesson. dave took careful aim and fired. the charge struck the water not far from the side of the "rambler," causing a shower of spray to dance in the moonlight.
"hold on, hold on!" shouted one of the men. "don't fire again. we'll go ashore."
from the sound of his voice, the speaker was evidently not a little frightened.
dave brandon laid aside his gun. such a sudden backdown came as a total surprise to him, and he rightly guessed that the two men were without weapons. presently, he had the satisfaction of seeing the "rambler's" nose turned toward the bank. the "nimrod" followed.
the two men ran their boat diagonally across the river, shut off the power and allowed it to come to a stop where the limb of a great tree jutted out. by the aid of this, they quickly managed to reach the shore and disappear amidst the foliage.
the poet laureate, left alone, experienced a feeling of great triumph.
"oh ho," he murmured; "dave brandon, you're a real little hero, aren't you?"
