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 Manga Cookbook
Get Ready for Mastering Manga Recipes
One of the Must Have Manga Books

By
Ted Alling
Copyright 2016 Ted Alling
Kindle Edition
 License Notes
No part of this Book can be reproduced in any form or by any means
including print, electronic, scanning or photocopying unless prior
permission is granted by the author.

All ideas, suggestions and guidelines mentioned here are written for
informative purposes. While the author has taken every possible step to
ensure accuracy, all readers are advised to follow information at their own
risk. The author cannot be held responsible for personal and/or commercial
damages in case of misinterpreting and misunderstanding any part of this
Book
About the Author
Hello my name is Ted Alling,
For as long as I can remember, I have always loved cooking and spending
time in the kitchen. I honestly thought that my mother had dedicated her
life to cooking, but later on in life, I came to understand that she was just a
great stay at home mom of 4. Although I was a boy, I was always the only
one interested in helping my mom make pancakes, fried eggs, and
bratwurst. She proceeded to teach me how to make pasta, to cook chicken,
stuff cabbages, and even how to make a pretty good risotto.
Life in Germany was wonderful as a kid, but my parents decided to move to
the United States, or more specifically to the state of Illinois, in 1990.
When I moved out to go to college in Georgia, not only was I able to make
some delicious dishes, but I was a very popular roommate to have—I was
one of the very rare ones who could prepare something other than mac &
cheese from the box. The other students from the dorm really dug my
special fried rice. Until this day, I won’t give out the secret ingredient that
makes it unique…
I graduated from college with honors and an accounting degree in 1995, and
soon after started working in a firm in downtown Atlanta. All I could think
about all day was what I would make for my girlfriend for dinner. She
obviously did not mind that I had taken over the kitchen early on in our
relationship. She is a nurse, and often has to work long hours and comes
home exhausted and hungry.
However, food had become much more than a hobby or necessity for me…
it was actually closer to an obsession, but I prefer to use the term passion. I
was spending most of my weekends visiting fresh local markets and
discovering new produce and herbs. After working as an accountant for 5
years, I realized that life was far too short to continue missing out on my
true calling: cooking.
I applied as a part time cook at a local diner about 10 minutes from home,
and the rest, as they say, is history. Three years later I was opening my
own restaurant with my wife as my main partner. All my ex-fellow
accountants now come in to eat at lunch time. We have been serving our
clientele my famous fried rice, and many more dishes that I will be glad to
share with you over the future weeks.
What makes me a good chef? My passion for food, and the fresher the
ingredients, the better. I love to experiment with flavors and I dare you to
do the same. Sure, we all have our favorites, but don’t settle in your ways.
Be creative. Play with the colors, the herbs, the spices, the types of meat,
fruits, and vegetables. Grow your own garden and talk to your butcher
about trying different cuts of meat that he has to offer on a weekly basis.
Now, I have to go back to the kitchen, but next time you feel like preparing
a mouthwatering dish, please stop by, and I will make sure to share “most”
of my secrets.
Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1 – Food Wars
Shokugeki No Souma Treats
Curry Rice with Pineapple by Miyoko Houjou
Kolivartha Curry by Akira Hayama
Char Okakiage by Souma Yukihira
Roast Pork by Souma Yukihira
Chaliapin Steak by Souma Yukihira
Monkfish Dobujiru by Megumi Tadokoro
Karaage Roll by Ikumi Mito and Souma Yukihira
Rainbow Terrine by Souma Yukihira and Megumi Tadokoro
Chapter 2 – Delicious Manga Recipes from Different Anime Series
Vegetable Rice from Cooking Papa
Omu-rice
Tonkatsu
Chicken Katsu
Chicken Nabe
Rice Balls (Onigiri)
Salted Salmon
Tempura Sauce
Tempura
Gyu-don
Bento Tamago-yaki
Miso
Chapter 3 – Japanese Sweet Stuff
Salt Caramel
Black Sesame Pudding
Mugicha
Pockey
Dango
Conclusion
Author's Afterthoughts
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
 CHAPTER X.—ANNIVERSARY OF A WRECK.
There was a blank look on Clay’s face as he stepped back to the
deck of the Rambler. Jule also showed great excitement as he faced
his friend.
“Did you see them?” the latter asked of Clay.
“See what?” demanded Alex.
“The three blue lights!” Jule answered.
Alex and Case punched each other in the ribs and chuckled.
“You’re the boy that’s been reading out of the dream book,” the
latter said.
“Didn’t you see three blue lights right down on the surface of the
river?” asked Jule, again turning to Clay.
“I certainly did!” the latter answered.
“Then they’re there yet,” Alex insisted, vaulting to the top of the
gunwale. “They must be there yet, for no boat could disappear so
quickly. I’ll take a look at them myself.”
“But I tell you they wasn’t in any boat!” insisted Jule. “They were
floating right on the surface of the water—three large and very
brilliant blue lights.”
“Did you see them, Clay?” asked Alex, scornfully.
“Yes,” replied Clay, “I did, and they were actually floating directly
on the surface of the river.”
“Why can’t I see them, then?” demanded Alex from his position
on the gunwale.
“Because,” laughed Jule, “it is only the eye of the believer that
sees. Clay believed, and he saw.”
“Honest, Clay?” asked Case.
“Yes, I saw three blue lights down to the level of the river,”
answered Clay, “and I saw something more. You-all heard the
explosion?” he asked. “Well, when that explosion came, there was a
puff of smoke and the lights went out in a second.”
“Wasn’t there any one in sight?” asked Alex.
 “No one in sight!” replied Clay.
“No boat, or anything of that kind?”
“Not a thing!” shouted Jule. “I tell you those three blue lights
came right up out of the bed of the river. And then there was an
explosion, and they disappeared, just like they’d been winked out.
Strangest thing I ever saw!”
“Well, that’s enough for me!” Alex declared. “You’ll be seeing
green elephants with blue tails next. I’m going to bed.”
In a short time all the boys were abed save Jule, who sat on the
prow with Captain Joe and Teddy, the bear. The night had not
fulfilled its promise of rain, and the stars now shone dimly down
from a misty sky. It was very still on the Rambler’s deck, for no
noises came from the landing, and there was no wash of the current
against the boat.
The boy was puzzling over the strange appearance and
disappearance of the three blue lights. There was a trace of
superstition in the nature of the boy, and he was half inclined to
regard what had been seen as a manifestation of the supernatural.
“If Clay hadn’t seen the same thing I did,” he mused, “I wouldn’t
have any trouble making up my mind. Blue lights don’t rise up out of
rivers through human agency.”
The boys were all astir shortly after daybreak, and Alex went on a
scouting tour up to the little river settlement at the mouth of Wolf
Creek. The Rambler lay only a few feet from a rough pier which had
been spiled out into the stream, so the boys had no difficulty in
reaching the shore. The rowboat, it will be remembered, had been
left up the river when the two boys had set out on their hunting trip.
Early as it was, the boy found people moving about the one street
of the little town, which lay on the east bank of the creek bearing its
own name. Standing on the rude platform before a small
storehouse, the boy saw two men; one of sober aspect, wearing a
long gray beard, and the other much younger and showing a
laughing face under his dilapidated cap. As he approached the
younger man beckoned.
“What do you want, boy?” he asked.
“Gasoline,” was the answer.
 The young fellow stepped off the platform and advanced toward
the pier where the Rambler lay. The old man sat down on the
platform.
“Is that your boat?” the young man asked of Alex.
“Yes, that’s our boat,” replied the boy. “Our gasoline tanks are
empty. Can I buy a supply in town, do you think?”
“Certainly!” was the answer. “Father keeps it for sale. During the
course of the season a good many motor boats tie up here. We keep
all manner of supplies.”
“Well, then,” Alex replied, “We’d like to get about a dozen spark
plugs. I don’t think that porcelain insulation is as good as it used to
be, for we break a good many. They go smash at the least little jar.”
“All right!” the young man replied. “Step up there and tell father
what you want and he’ll open the store now. Are your friends on the
boat awake?”
“Sure!” replied Alex. “They’re all awake except the bear and the
bulldog.”
The young man laughed and turned toward the pier, while Alex
hastened toward the place where the old gentleman sat on the store
platform.
The boy explained his wants briefly and the old gentleman
unlocked the battered door of his place of business. It was an
uncouth, unpainted, sidling little store, with broken panes showing in
the windows and new shingles speckling the roof.
The interior, however, showed considerable care in the
arrangement of goods and the stock seemed to be large and of good
quality. Without making any pretense of waiting on the boy, the old
dealer, who introduced himself as Martin Groger, seated himself in a
much whittled arm chair and pointed Alex to another.
“Boy,” he said with a very serious expression of countenance, “did
you sleep in the motor boat at the mouth of Wolf Creek last night?”
“Part of the night,” answered Alex.
“What did you hear along after midnight, say an hour or two after
midnight?”
“Nothing special,” answered the boy.
 “Did you hear anything that sounded like an explosion?” the old
man went on, “—something like the explosion of a boiler?”
“Why, I heard something of that kind,” Alex replied, wondering
what the old gentleman was getting at. “Did you hear that, too?”
“Yes, I heard it,” answered the old gentleman, drawing his long
beard through his fingers and fixing his grave eyes on those of the
lad. “Yes, I heard it,” he repeated, “and I’ve heard it a good many
nights when there wasn’t any one else awake to hear it—when there
wasn’t any one else astir in the village but me, and no boat tied up
at the mouth of Wolf Creek. Did you see anything?” he added
eagerly.
“What would you expect me to see?” asked Alex, with a smile.
“I ain’t saying anything about that,” replied the old gentleman.
“I’m asking you a plain simple question. Did you see anything just
before that explosion?”
“No, I didn’t,” the boy answered, “but two of my chums did.”
The merchant leaned forward with suspicion in his eyes.
“You’re not lying about this?” he asked.
“I would have no object in doing that.”
“Then tell me what you saw.”
“Two of my chums saw three blue lights floating on the surface of
the river—at least that’s what they said.”
“And this was just before the explosion?” queried the old man.
“The lights disappeared after the explosion,” Alex explained. “Do
you know anything about them?” he asked.
“Boy,” the old man exclaimed, moving about in his chair excitedly,
“your chums have seen what only one person in this section has
ever been able to locate.”
“Why,” Alex declared, “any one, I guess, might have seen the
lights. The boys said they stuck out from the river like a sore
thumb.”
“Just so!” answered the old gentleman, eagerly. “Just so! Now let
me tell you something about those blue lights,” he went on. “I’ve
seen them time and time again, but the people hereabouts always
deny seeing them.”
“Isn’t that remarkable?” asked Alex.
 “There’s my son Charles, now,” continued the old man. “I’ve tried
to point them out to him, but he says they don’t exist. Flings out at
his old father just like that. Says they don’t exist!”
“How often do they appear?” asked the boy.
“I haven’t heard of their being about before last night for several
months,” answered the old merchant. “I was in hopes they’d never
be seen here again.”
“What’s the matter with ’em?” asked Alex.
“Matter enough,” was the reply. “They bring disaster!”
“Alex restrained a burst of laughter with difficulty, but finally
managed to face the old gentleman gravely.
“Bring disaster, do they?” he asked.
“Indeed they do!” was the reply. “Whenever the ghosts of the
river dead walk on the surface of the water, it means trouble for all
river dwellers.”
“Many years ago,” the old man continued, “the Mary Ann, as trim
a passenger packet as ever sailed between Cincinnati and the
Mississippi, blew her boilers all to flinders right opposite the mouth
of Wolf Creek. There were two hundred passengers on board and
they were dancing when the explosion took place.”
“The deck where they were amusing themselves was lighted by
three blue lights! Ever since that night, the three blue lights have
warned of impending calamity.”
“So you think they’re ghost lights, do you?” asked Alex.
“I know they are!” replied the old merchant. “And I’ll tell you why.
Those lights never fail to appear on the anniversary of the wrecking
of the boat.
“The Mary Ann went down ten years ago to-night, and on every
anniversary of the drowning of those two hundred people, the three
blue lights are seen rising over the exact place where she sank.”
“That’s remarkable!” exclaimed the boy.
“Those who were drowned,” the merchant continued, “went down
in their sins. They were dancing to the devil’s music when they sank.
Their bodies rest uneasily on the bottom of the river, for none of
them were ever found.”
 “Why, that’s singular!” Alex remarked. “It would seem that the
bodies might have been recovered.”
“They never have been found,” was the reply. “River men say they
were carried off by an undercurrent and whirled down into the
Mississippi, but I believe the bodies are in there yet.”
“And every anniversary of their death, they show three blue
lights, do they?” asked the boy wonderingly.
“Three blue lights!” said the old man, “and after the three blue
lights, the explosion. I have watched for the lights and the noise
every night for nine years and I have never failed to see and hear.”
“And trouble always comes after the exhibition?” queried the boy.
“Then there is another mystery for the crew of the Rambler to
solve.”
 CHAPTER XI.—CATCHING BIG CATFISH.
On his way back to the Rambler after his rather remarkable
conversation with the old merchant, Alex met Clay and the old man’s
son hastening toward the store.
“It’s all right!” Clay announced to the boy. “They’ve just got in a
big stock of gasoline, and we’ll fill all the tanks and buy a few red
cans on the side.”
“And for the love of Mike,” Alex interposed, “buy about a peck of
spark plugs. And say,” he called out as Clay mounted the little
platform in front of the place of business, “buy a couple of fish lines
that would bring a freight car out of the water, and the right kind of
hooks to go with them.”
“What’s the idea?” Clay called back.
“Well, you just bring the hooks and lines and I’ll show you where
the idea is,” replied the boy.
When Alex reached the deck of the Rambler he found Case and
Jule busy over a great stack of pancakes. One was spreading them
thick with honey and the other was making them more eatable by
the use of bacon gravy. Eggs were frying in the skillet over the stove
and a great pot of coffee was simmering on the electric coils.
“Whew!” shouted the boy, sticking his nose into the cabin, “you
fellows smell good in here.”
“Yes,” Case laughed, “and you took good care that you didn’t help
produce the fragrance which pervades this apartment.”
“I got supper last night,” pleaded Alex.
“That’s all right,” Jule cut in, “it was your turn to get breakfast this
morning, too. You know what we all agreed to when we left Chicago
on the first trip. The boy that talked slang had to cook the meals and
wash the dishes.”
“Aw, when did I talk slang?” demanded Alex.
“You’ve been talking slang for a week!” Case declared.
“What’d I say?” demanded Alex, scornfully.
 “You said one of those river pirates was balmy in the head,”
answered Jule. “You’re always making some break like that. If I had
a twirler like that you carry around with you, and couldn’t keep it
under any better control than you do yours, I’d throw the belt off the
wheels.”
“I know who’ll cook meals and wash dishes now,” laughed Alex.
“When it comes to talking slang, you’ve got me backed up on a blind
siding with my fires drawn.”
“Go to it, boys!” roared Case. “Go to it. Get it all off your chests,
and I won’t have to do any work for a month.”
Alex was soon busy at the breakfast table, and when Clay
returned with a great load of gasoline and provisions from the store,
everything was neatly cleared away in the little cabin.
“There!” Clay said, throwing a great package at Alex’s, head,
“there’s your fish line and your fish hooks, and for fear you’d want to
use the coal stove or one of the motors for a sinker, I brought along
a section of railroad iron. I guess that’ll hold your line.”
As the boy spoke, he threw about four inches of steel railway iron
down on the deck with a great thud.
“What did that old gentleman at the store say to you about the
three blue lights?” asked Alex, as Clay prepared to get the boat
under way. “Did he have a ghost story to spin?”
“He didn’t say a word to me about the three blue lights,” Clay
replied. “We didn’t have any time to talk about such things, and we
haven’t any time now, so you fellows just get up here and help fill
these tanks.”
All four boys were busy in a moment and young Groger from the
store assisted materially in getting the gasoline on board.
In less than an hour all was ready for departure. The young
merchant shook the boys heartily by the hand and asked them to
call if they returned home by way of the river.
“Oh, we’ll come back all right,” Alex called out. “At least, I’m
coming back. I’m bound to know something more about those three
blue lights. I’m the original mystery investigator!”
“So father told you about that, did he?” queried young Groger.
 “Of course, he did!” Alex replied. “He couldn’t talk about anything
else. He seemed to be glad that Clay and Jule saw the three blue
lights. I guess he’s got an idea that the people around here think
he’s been talking about something that never existed.”
“I’m afraid he is,” replied the young man. “He’s always talking
about the three blue lights and the wreck of the Mary Ann, and the
explosion, and all that, but he’s the only one about here who ever
saw the lights or heard the explosion.”
“Well, you’re mistaken there!” replied Alex. “Clay saw them last
night and Jule saw them, and all four of us heard the explosion.”
Watching the young man’s face closely as he stepped ashore, Clay
thought that he saw a sudden pallor come over it. The son was
evidently as fully superstitious as his father.
“Now, what did the old merchant tell you about the three blue
lights?” demanded Jule, as the boat swung off down the river.
In as few words as possible Alex explained the mystery of the
three blue lights according to the aged merchant’s theory.
“Well,” Jule said, after a moment’s thought, “the three blue lights
did bob up out of the river. There wasn’t anything there to keep
them floating down with the current, or to sustain them on the
surface. And,” he went on, “there wasn’t anything there to cause an
explosion.”
“Ho!” Alex scorned. “You’ll be saying next, that you believe in the
ghost story! Now, just to show you that there’s nothing to it,” he
continued, “I move that we come back up the river after a time and
find out where those blue lights come from, and where they go to.”
“What do you say to that, Clay?” asked Jule.
“You needn’t ask me whether I’m interested or not,” Clay replied.
“I’ve been thinking about those three blue lights a whole lot. I don’t
believe in ghosts, or superstitions of any kind, but I do believe that
there is something significant about those lights.”
“Then it’s settled that we’ll return and investigate?” Alex asked.
The boys all replied in the affirmative and then Alex opened the
package Clay had brought him and unrolled his fish lines, which
looked more like cables than anything else. Case and Jule laughed
until they found it necessary to hold their sides.
 Clay looked on with an amused expression on his face. He knew
that Alex usually had a pretty good reason for anything he did, and
was expecting something novel and original. He was not
disappointed.
Paying no attention whatever to the jeers of his chums, Alex bent
the great hooks to the cable-like line, took a turn with each around
the section of railroad iron, and moved the whole contraption to the
stern.
“Now, you fellows help me to get these lines in right,” he
commanded. “It wants one boy to a line so they won’t get tangled
when I dump this sinker in. Hurry up now, we want this fish.”
“Sinker?” repeated Jule. “I thought your idea was to build a
submarine railroad.”
“Fish!” laughed Case. “What kind of fish do you expect to catch
with that layout? That won’t catch fish!”
“Huh!” answered Alex. “If I had a book containing all you boys
don’t know about catching fish, I’d have to rent the Coliseum in
Chicago to put it in. You boys mean well, but you’re ignorant.”
“Where’re you going to put this fish after you get it?” demanded
Jule, snickering. “We haven’t got any contract for feeding any state
troops, have we? What do you want a big fish for, anyway?”
Alex merely thrust his hands inside the waist band of his trousers
and grinned.
“I’ve got plenty of storage room,” he finally declared.
“Honest, now, Alex,” Clay asked, “what kind of a fish do you
expect to catch?”
“Catfish!” was the short reply.
“Wow!” exclaimed Jule. “I wouldn’t eat a catfish any quicker than
I would eat a cat.”
“What are you putting all that weight on the lines for?” asked
Case.
“It’ll sink the hooks into the mud about a foot,” Jule put in.
“Sure it will!” continued Case. “And catfish are never found at the
bottom of the river. They call them catfish because they climb up on
things.”
 “You’re the wise little fisher boy,” laughed Alex. “A catfish couldn’t
climb to the surface of the river if they had an electric elevator. They
live in the mud and eat in the mud. After they get a square meal,
they stretch out on a bed of silt like a cat on a sitting room floor.
Now get these lines over and I’ll show you what a real catfish looks
like.”
The boys took the lines into their hands and leaned over the
stern. Alex with the iron poised in air stopped suddenly and laid it
down on deck.
“I guess I need a little instruction myself,” he said. “You can’t
catch catfish by trolling for them. You’ve got to let the line lay
wiggling from a weight in the mud of the river.”
The boy rushed back to the motors, shut off the power, and then
dropped the anchor.
“Now, boys,” he said, “if you’ll all get back into the cabin and
remain quiet, I’ll coax a catfish two feet long out of the river.”
“You have my sympathy,” Case answered, “and I’ll help you all I
can. I’ll go back into the cabin and make a noise like a dish of
cream.”
Regarding Case’s offer as light and trifling, Alex got his lines into
the water and sat down to await results.
“I don’t know,” he said after a while, “but I ought to have waited
until we came under that wooded island just ahead. Catfish have a
way of hovering in the mud around the towheads.”
“We can drop down if you think best,” Clay proposed.
“Just you wait a minute!” Alex exclaimed all excitement, “I’ve got
a bite right now. Two bites!” he yelled the next moment. “Both lines
are running out! Catch one, quick!”
The boy’s announcement that the lines were moving out brought
his three chums instantly to the front. Case and Jule both grabbed
for the same line, with the result that the tops of their heads came
together with a thud and the line continued to wiggle along the
deck. Clay stepped on the moving line and Alex seized it.
The boy now held a line in each hand and was drawn tightly
against the after gunwale.
“Hold on, Alex, hold on!” shouted Case.
 “Pull ’em in, pull ’em in!” yelled Jule.
“You bet I’ll hold on!” panted Alex. “Why don’t you boys catch on
to the line?”
The boy sprang for the lines again, but their fingers met only the
bare deck. Alex, hanging on like grim death, stood for a moment
with his feet braced against the gunwale and then went head-first
into the river.
“Great spoons!” Jule exclaimed. “Talk about catfish! I’ll bet he’s
got a team of wild colts at the end of those lines!”
Alex, hanging to the lines, went bobbing down the stream.
 CHAPTER XII.—THE GHOST OF THE MARY ANN.
“Don’t loose your fish!” jeered Jule, leaning over the gunwale, his
face red with laughter.
“What do you think you are?” called Case. “A blooming pilot?”
Alex could make no headway swimming in the direction of the
boat, for the creatures he had hooked were pulling him, iron and all,
toward the Indiana shore. Now and then the boy was drawn beneath
the surface and came up spluttering, but still grimly holding to the
lines.
“Why don’t the little idiot let go?” asked Jule as the boy’s head
disappeared under water for the third or fourth time.
“He’ll never let go!” Case exclaimed. “Why don’t we get the
Rambler under motion and pick him up?”
The motor boat was soon racing toward the boy. Alex was still
hanging to his fish lines, and the catfish, or whatever was at the
other end, were making fast for the center of the stream.
It took some moments to reach the boy, and more time to land
him on deck, for he still persisted in hanging on to the fish lines.
Not until the thick lines were securely fastened to a deck cleat
would the boy release his hold.
“Now,” Clay laughed, “if anybody can find a derrick, we’ll get
these fish on board.”
“Aw, those are not fish,” Jule exclaimed, “they’re alligators!”
“Whatever they are,” Alex grinned, “I didn’t let ’em get away with
me! They ducked me, but they didn’t get away!”
“Well,” Clay said in a moment, observing that the lines had ceased
to move about in the water, “your fish must be pretty well tired out
by this time, so we’ll take them ashore.”
“All right!” Alex replied. “While you’re towing them to a shallow
place, I’ll go and get on some dry clothes.”
When at last the motor boat drew the hooks and the sinker to a
shallow spot on the Kentucky side, the boys saw two monstrous
catfish squirming weakly. In grabbing for the raw beef with which
the hooks had been baited, they had been caught far back in the
jaws, so no amount of pulling could have released them.
“They’re alive yet!” shouted Jule.
“I’ll fix that in a minute!” Alex declared, appearing on deck in a
dry suit. “I’ll administer a couple of lead pills which will cure the ills
of life.”
“Hear him talk Shakespeare!” jeered Jule.
Alex considered this remark too immaterial to notice. He leveled
his automatic at the fish and fired a volley at their heads.
“Now, where’s that derrick?” asked Case.
As the fish were nearly two yards in length, it was evident that
only one need be brought aboard for food, so one was sent sailing
down the stream and the other was, with no little difficulty, lifted to
the deck. Alex danced about his prize joyously.
“Why, look here!” Case exclaimed. “This fish hasn’t got any
scales!”
“Do you think I’ve been going through all this to get a sturgeon?”
asked Alex. “I should think not!”
“The catfish,” Clay explained, “belongs to the bullhead tribe, and
has a hard, tough hide instead of scales.”
“Is it good to eat?” asked Jule.
“Of course it’s good to eat,” answered Alex. “Do you think I’d go
to the floor of the river with a fish that wasn’t fit to eat?”
“I’d like to know why they call these things catfish,” Case
exclaimed, turning the monster with his foot.
“Huh!” snickered Jule. “They have back fences at the bottom of
the river, and these fish climb up and give midnight concerts.”
“Jule,” said Alex gravely, “your imagination seems to be getting
the best of your conscience. If we had an Ananias club on board this
boat, you surely would be the Perpetual Grand.”
“All right,” Jule said, “when you get a club formed I’ll take the
office. But who’s going to cook this fish?” he went on.
“I’ll cook him if you’ll skin him,” Case offered. “We want only a
few pounds of catfish steak,” Clay observed.
 “I’m going to boil about half of him!” Alex declared, “so as to give
Captain Joe and Teddy the feast of their lives.”
“It’s a wonder Captain Joe didn’t jump into the river after you
when the fish invited you down into the mud,” Jule laughed.
“Captain Joe and the bear were both asleep in the cabin,” Case
explained.
The boys had a merry time preparing that fish for cooking. It is
not hard work to dress a catfish if you know how, but these boys did
not know how. At last, however, a great hunk was boiling in a pot
and slices were ready for frying. By noon the meal was ready, and
the boys all admitted that Alex’s, catfish was a very good substitute
for salmon, although nothing at all like it in appearance.
The boys drifted slowly on the river that day, taking in the wild
scenery and stopping now and then at cosy little landings on the
Kentucky side. It was a warm, clear day in September, and the world
never looked brighter to them than it did at that time.
They passed river craft of all shapes and sizes during the day.
There were monstrous steamers having the appearance of floating
hotels, there were great freight boats loaded to the guards, there
were house-boats, motor boats, and great coal tows which
dominated the stream as they passed.
“There’s a boat,” Clay said just before twilight, “which looks to me
like a river saloon and I think those on board are watching the
Rambler.”
“If it is,” Case suggested, “we’d better take to our heels. We don’t
want any more experience with river pirates.”
“I should say not!” broke in Alex. “Those fellows don’t own the
river. We’ve got just as much right here as they have. If they try to
come aboard, we’ll set Teddy on them.”
The suspicious steamer checked her speed as the boys slowed
down on the Rambler, and it was soon evident that those in charge
of the whiskey boat were desirous of speaking with the boys.
“Hello, boys!” called a voice from the cabin deck of the steamer.
“Hello, yourself!” Alex called back.
“How’s the bear?” asked the voice.
“Fine!” Alex answered.
 “What do you know about our bear?” Case demanded.
“I was on the Hawk last night,” was the reply.
“Did you see those two men head for the water?” Jule asked with
a snicker.
“Funniest thing I ever saw!” the other answered.
There was a short silence and then another voice called out from
the steamer:
“Why don’t you boys come on board?”
“Nothing doing!” answered Clay.
“Some of our people want a look at the dog and bear!” the first
speaker said. “So, if you don’t object, we’ll come on board.”
“No, you don’t!” Clay answered.
“We’ll see about that!” came from the boat.
The steamer shot ahead so as to come up to the port side of the
Rambler.
“Keep off!” ordered Clay. “We don’t want any of that whiskey
crowd on board! If you try to put foot on our deck, we’ll shoot.”
“I guess not!” laughed the other.
While Clay had been talking with those on board the steamer,
Case had been at work with the motors, and the Rambler now shot
ahead at full speed, drawing swiftly away from the steamer.
There was an instant commotion on the deck of the saloon boat
and then she, too, shot ahead at a good rate of speed.
Given a clear stretch of water, the Rambler would soon have been
out of sight of the steamer, but on turning a bend, a monster coal
tow came into view. There were rows on rows of barges heaped
high with coal, all headed for the Mississippi. In the rear was a
gamey tug swinging from side to side in order to keep the fleet
under control.
“Now we are up against it!” exclaimed Clay. “We never can get by
those barges!”
“How do the steamers get by?” asked Jule.
“They don’t get by at all when the coal tow is passing around a
narrow bend like that!” was the answer.
“Well, what are we going to do?” Alex asked. “Let those fellows
come on board here and eat us up?”
 “If there weren’t so many people on board that saloon boat,” Case
declared, “I’d dynamite it. She ought to be blown out of the water,
anyway. We can’t be bothered all the way down with these whiskey
boats!”
“We shall be if we don’t make a record in some way!” Clay said. “I
move we run into the little creek there on the Indiana shore and
shoot if they come near us.”
“Say!” Alex said in a moment. “That isn’t a creek at all. Don’t you
see that the main river is on the other side of it? That’s a big island
with a lagoon in the middle, and an opening on the upper end.”
“That’s not the main river on the other side!” Case observed. “It is
wide, but it looks shallow. If it was the main river, we could pass
through there and so get in ahead of the coal tow.”
“Well, then, suppose we run into the lagoon,” suggested Alex.
It was now quite dark, and the lights of the saloon boat showed
that those on board were holding some sort of conference with
those on board the tug in charge of the tow. The boats were some
distance apart, yet even in the gathering darkness the boys could
see the crew of the barges racing over the coal in order to do
business with the bartender on the steamer.
“Before morning,” Case observed, “those saloon pirates will have
every dollar there is in that bunch of rivermen. I wish there was
some way to separate the two crews.
“What do we care?” laughed Alex. “Either bunch would rob us if
they could.”
“Now,” Clay said in a moment, “turn the boat in toward the
entrance to the lagoon, keep all the lights off, and let her drift.
They’ll think we’ve gone downstream on the other side of the
island.”
“That lagoon looks pretty good to me,” Jule observed. “I feel like I
hadn’t had any sleep for a week. We’ll just tie right up in that little
pond and sleep all we want to.”
“That will be a nice place to tie up!” laughed Case. “Alex won’t run
any risk of being towed down the Mississippi if he goes fishing
again.”
 And so, with no lights showing, the Rambler, under the impetus
of the last push of the propeller, glided noiselessly into the mouth of
the lagoon. Both arms of the island were heavily wooded and in a
moment, the boys were out of sight of the tow and the saloon boat.
It was dark and still along both shores of the lagoon. Wild birds
settling for the night called to each other across the narrow stretch
of water, but otherwise all was silent.
“Nice and quiet,” Jule declared, “but just look ahead there, if you
will. You can all see the three blue lights, now, if you want to! The
ghost of the Mary Ann must have lost his bearings.”
 CHAPTER XIII.—EXPLORING A LAGOON.
“Are those blue lights on the water or on the shore?” asked Clay.
“You can search me!” Alex replied.
“They’re on the water!” insisted Jule. “Can’t you see the blue
gleam shining on the waves?”
“Wherever they are,” Clay said, “I’m going down and investigate.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Alex. “We’ll go down and see what the
ghost of the Mary Ann has to say for himself.”
“I was thinking of taking Captain Joe for company,” Clay laughed.
“All right,” Alex grinned, “go on with Captain Joe if you want to.”
“I’m afraid two will make too much noise making their way
through the thickets,” Clay said thoughtfully.
“How are you going to get ashore?” asked Alex, briefly.
“I’m going to pole the Rambler up close enough so I can jump,”
was the answer.
“I guess you can do that all right,” Case cut in. “This water seems
to me to be about fifty feet deep.”
“This is an odd looking island,” Jule observed. “The land seems to
be shaped like a horse shoe.”
“There are numerous odd-shaped islands in the Mississippi and
Ohio rivers. You can see easily enough how this peculiar formation
came about,” Clay observed, “some forest fire burned the timber out
of the center of the island. When the roots and stumps died out, the
river carried the soil away. If the big trees on the two arms of the
island should be cut down, the river would eat the soil away in a
very short time.”
“Well, what are you going to do when you get over to shore?”
asked Alex.
“I’m going to sneak down to where the lights show, and see what
it is that makes them.”
“All right,” Alex said with an aggrieved air, “while you’re out
having fun with the blue lights and the dog I’ll go to bed.”
 “Oh, come along if you want to,” Clay laughed.
“No,” Alex replied more cheerfully, “I think I’ll go to bed. You boys
can blunder around all night if you want to.”
The boy made his way to the cabin, and Clay warped the boat
toward the north shore. In a few moments the keel seemed to strike
bottom and then the boy examined the bank with a searchlight. All
was clear so he sprang lightly across the narrow stretch of water and
disappeared in the darkness.
The three blue lights were still observable not far from two
hundred yards from the boat. They lay in a straight line up and
down the lagoon.
The boys heard Clay making his way through the thicket for a few
moments, and then all sounds on the shore ceased.
“I don’t believe he’ll find anything in there,” Jule said.
“Then what makes those lights?” demanded Case.
“The old merchant up at Wolf Creek told us what made the three
blue lights,” chuckled Jule.
“I just believe,” Case replied, “that that is some signal.”
“What would be the use of a signal, out in the middle of the river
opposite Wolf Creek?” demanded Jule.
“I can’t explain it,” Case answered, “but it’s a signal, just the
same. It just can’t be anything else.”
“And what would be the use of a signal in this little old shut-in
lagoon?” continued Jule.
“Then if it isn’t a signal, what is it?” asked Case.
“It’s just some natural phenomenon,” was the reply. “When Clay
gets down there he won’t see anything at all. It may be that you
can’t see the lights from any direction except this! You’ve seen
wandering lights in swamps, haven’t you? Well, it’s my idea that this
is that kind of a light.”
“We may know something more about it when Clay comes back,”
Case suggested. “He may find out what it means.”
While the boys sat on the deck watching the mysterious lights
with puzzled eyes, there came a quick, sharp explosion and the
lights disappeared. The explosion sounded like the touching off of
dynamite.
 Both boys arose to their feet and leaned over the gunwale of the
boat, gazing down the lagoon with mystified faces.
“Alex went to bed too early!” Case suggested.
“Yes, he should have seen that little old Fourth of July
celebration,” Jule replied. “Let’s wake him up and tell him about it.”
“You wake him up,” Case answered.
Jule made his way into the cabin and felt around on the bunk
occupied by the boy. Teddy, the bear cub, lay there sound asleep but
Alex had disappeared! Jule returned to the deck with a grin.
“That little idiot,” he said, “has left the boat again.”
“We might have known he would!” answered Case. “He runs away
from the boat in the night every time he gets a chance, especially if
Clay is ashore. They’ll both be back here before long.”
“Clay probably will,” Jule observed, “but we don’t know when Alex
will return. We usually have to get him out of some scrape.”
In the meantime Clay was pushing steadily through the thicket
which lined the north arm of the peculiar-shaped island. For some
moments he guided his steps by the blue lights which seemed to
him to rest upon the water. Then came the explosion which the boys
had heard and the lights were no longer in view.
“Now that’s a funny proposition,” the boy mused. “Why should
those lights be hidden in this out of the way lagoon, and why should
they pop out like that?”
Captain Joe, following close at the boy’s heels, now forced his
way through the underbrush to the water’s edge and began uttering
a series of low growls. Clay whistled softly but the dog refused to
return. In a moment he ceased his verbal demonstrations and lay
still, looking across the lagoon to the other shore.
“What’s the matter with you, Captain Joe?” Clay demanded in a
whisper. “If you see some one who might have produced those
lights, why don’t you say so? And don’t make so much noise about
it, either!”
The dog advanced a few feet into the water until his shoulders
were well covered and then backed out again. All this time his
snarling muzzle was directed toward the opposite bank.
 Directly he came out of the lagoon and crouched down at Clay’s
feet.
“There’s something going on here, dog,” Clay whispered, patting
Captain Joe on the head, “and we’ll just settle down right here and
find out what it is. All you’ve got to do in order to help out is to keep
still.”
The dog nodded his head knowingly, and the two crouched down
in the darkness of the thicket to listen and to watch.
While they waited, the lights of the Rambler showed farther up,
and Clay understood that something unusual was in progress there.
“They might as well invite that saloon boat to come sailing in here
as to turn on those lights!” Clay muttered. “There must be
something serious or they never would illuminate the Rambler in
that way.”
Captain Joe now began moving restlessly about, and finally
started up the lagoon toward the motor boat. Clay followed slowly,
and soon came within the circle of light from the deck. He found
Case and Jule looking over the gunwale.
“Why don’t you put out the lights?” he asked.
“We turned them on to direct you boys home,” was the reply.
“You boys home?” repeated Clay.
“Yes, you boys!” answered Jule. “Alex jumped out about as soon
as you left. Did you see him anywhere?”
“I don’t think he came out on this side” Clay replied.
“If he didn’t,” Jule went on, “he’s in some mixup over on the
south arm. There’s doings of some kind over there.”
“How do you know?” asked Clay.
“Because, just a few moments after we discovered that the boy
had gone, a large rowboat came in at the mouth of the lagoon,
passed along our port side and ducked into the bank some distance
down. We couldn’t see her, of course, only just for a second as she
came opposite us, and then only indistinctly, but we could hear her
when she landed.”
“The question before the house now,” Case observed, “is about
getting you on board again. You can jump from the gunwale to the
shore but you can’t jump from the shore back to the gunwale.”
 “There’s a long board under the forward deck between the
storage bins,” Clay answered. “Get that out and I’ll climb it.”
The board was brought, and Clay was soon on deck. The first
thing he did was to turn off the lights.
“What did you do that for?” asked Case. “Alex never will find his
way back here in the darkness!”
“Alex can hide in some thicket until we find out what’s going on,”
Clay answered. “As for the Rambler, we want to drift down so those
in the boat won’t know exactly where she lies.”
The boat drifted down on the sluggish current of the lagoon for
perhaps two hundred yards, and then the anchor was dropped at a
point very near to where the three blue lights had shown.
“Now, we’ll keep as quiet as three bugs in a rug till we find out
what’s going on,” Clay said.
“What did you find out about the lights?” asked Jule.
“They went out before I got to them,” Clay answered.
“What do you think about them?” Jule insisted.
“I don’t think!” was the reply.
“Case insists that they are merely signals,” Jule went on.
“That’s my idea, too,” Clay answered. “The lights certainly do not
come up out of the water.”
“But who would be signaling in this lonely old lagoon?” demanded
Jule.
“That’s what we don’t know,” Clay returned. “All we’ve got to do is
to lie here and watch.”
“Say!” Case exclaimed in a moment. “What did you do with
Captain Joe?”
“Why, he was right there when I came on board,” Clay replied. “I
thought he came up the long plank right after me.”
“Well, he didn’t?” Case went on. “I took in the board after you
came up, and the dog was nowhere in sight.”
“I’m glad of that!” answered Clay. “I certainly am glad of that!”
“I don’t see any good reason for celebrating the disappearance of
the dog!” growled Case.
“I do!” Jule cut in. “Captain Joe will go and find Alex.”
“Sure he will!” admitted Case. “I never thought of that.”
 The three boys sat for a long time on the deck of the motor boat
looking out into the darkness. Now and then they heard the sound
of rustling bushes on the shores, but as a rule the scene was very
still. It must have been near midnight when Jule caught his chums
by their arms and drew them closer to the port gunwale.
“There,” he said, nodding his head to the west, “there are the
three blue lights. They are close to the south arm of the island this
time. Now what do you make of it?”
“Let’s wait and see if they blow up like the others did,” suggested
Case. “They, too, may explode with a loud noise.”
“What else can we do?” chuckled Jule.
“There’s only one thing we can do,” Clay advised, “if we want to
settle this mystery right here and now, and that is to turn on the
motors and shoot down there like a rocket.”
“I’m for it!” Jule declared. “Let’s ram the ghost out of the water!”
 CHAPTER XIV.—CAPTAIN JOE HELPS SOME.
Alex did not remain long in the cabin of the Rambler after Clay’s
departure. His two chums were seated on the prow of the boat, and
the lights were out, so he had little difficulty in dropping unobserved
into the water. Before leaving the cabin, he had drawn on an old suit
of clothes used for just such purposes, so he did not mind getting
wet.
Once in the water, he struck out for the south arm of the island. It
was his idea that the coal tow and the saloon boat would hover
about that spot for some little time. Those who had whiskey to sell
would be sure to keep in the company of the tow, and those who
had the whiskey thirst would be pretty apt to rush on board the
steamer for the purpose of satisfying it.
The boy, of course, did not understand that the tug in charge of
the barges could not have held them against the push of the current
in any event. His idea that the tow and the saloon boat would keep
company, however, was the correct one.
Almost as soon as his feet came in contact with the sloping shore
of the south arm, he heard shouts of laughter coming across the
wooded stretch of land between the lagoon and the main channel of
the river. Proceeding on as rapidly as was possible in the darkness,
he soon came to a position from which he could see the lights of the
steamer. She was standing perfectly still some distance down the
stream from the mouth of the lagoon, and the tug and barges
seemed to have halted, too.
Directly he saw lights flashing along the barges and heard
exclamations of anger and dismay from the front ranks. Then he saw
what had taken place. The crew of the tow had paid too much
attention to whiskey and too little to navigation.
The front line had grounded at a bend just below, and the others
were piling against them. Even with his limited knowledge of river
work, the boy saw that it would be hours before the barges could be
towed off the bar. A good many of the men supposed to be in
charge of the tow were still drinking on board the saloon boat.
“That’s always the way with whiskey,” Alex said. “It jumps into the
places where it can make the most trouble. “If I ever take a drink of
the stuff, I hope I’ll get five years for every drop I swallow. A person
who drinks whiskey is no good, anyway, and might as well be in
prison as anywhere else.”
There was now a great commotion on board the steamer, and the
boy saw that those in charge of the tow were forcing their unruly
employes back to their duty. Directly the steamer anchored a short
distance up the river. The barges which were grounded were
detached from the main tow, and the whole mass went swinging
down the river again, followed by shouts of laughter from the
steamer.
“Now,” mused the boy, “I wonder whether that pirate boat will
keep on after the tow in order to get what little money those poor
fools have left, or whether it will be kept here in the hope of
annexing the Rambler?”
The question was answered in a moment, for the steamer edged
in close to the shore and threw out an anchor.
“That’s fine!” Alex muttered. “Now they’ll be running over this
island to find the Rambler, caught like a rat in a trap. I’m glad they
haven’t got sense enough to run up and block the lagoon!”
The lights of the steamer made a fair illumination on the bank
where Alex lay, and directly he saw a boat put out and head for the
very thicket which concealed him. He crept softly back toward the
interior and waited for developments. When the boat touched the
shore two men stepped out and pressed through the thicket toward
the lagoon.
“This is foolishness,” the boy heard one of the men say. “I tell
you, Bostock,” he went on, “that the motor boat made the north
passage and went on down the river while we were fooling with that
tow crowd.”
“I don’t believe it, Davis,” was the reply. “They just doused their
lights and dropped into the lagoon. I was watching the river and no
lights showed below the island.”
 “Well,” Davis said, “we can soon find out. It isn’t far from here to
the lagoon, though it’s mighty unpleasant traveling in the night time.
You may be right, but I don’t believe it.”
The two men passed within six feet of where Alex lay, concealed,
and as soon as the thicket closed behind them, he crept along in
their wake. As the men made considerable noise themselves, he
figured that they would not be likely to hear any racket he might
make.
In fifteen minutes the three reached the highest point on the
island, from which, in daylight, both the main channel of the river
and the lagoon might be seen. Just at the moment they came within
sight of the inner channel the lights flared out on the Rambler.
Alex restrained an exclamation of disgust with great difficulty.
“The confounded idiots!” he said under his breath. “To go and
light those lamps at this time! Why, we crawled in there to hide!”
“There!” the boy heard the man who had been called Bostock
exclaim, “I told you the motor boat had made for the lagoon!”
“Well, you were right,” was the reply.
“Now, all we’ve got to do,” Bostock went on, “is to run the
steamer up to the mouth of the lagoon and nail these boys in good
and tight.”
“That’s right,” the other answered, “and once we get hold of that
motor boat there isn’t a thing we can’t do on this river. I’ve heard of
the exploits of those boys all the way down from Pittsburg. That
boat is built with the motors of a sea-going tug, and can outrun
anything on the river. Besides that, unless I am greatly mistaken, the
cabin and the deck under the gunwales are bullet-proof.”
“Right you are!” Bostock answered. “There isn’t a thing we can’t
do after we get hold of that boat, but what are we going to do with
the boys?”
“We’ll have to make some arrangements for keeping them out of
the way,” Davis suggested. “If they put up a fight, well, the lagoon is
a pretty good place to leave them.”
“Now, then,” mused Alex, “the thing for me to do is to shoot both
of those murderers, and so get the Rambler out of this scrape!”
 Without any intention of following his own advice, the boy thrust
his hand into his pistol pocket and found it empty.
“Anyway,” he muttered, “it wouldn’t have been any good after
swimming over here. It seems as if I never did have a gun when I
wanted one.”
The boy struck off to the east, his idea being to gain a position a
short distance above the Rambler and then swim aboard. He had
proceeded but a few yards when a rustling in the bushes just ahead
attracted his attention. The rustling was soon followed by a low
growl, and directly the damp muzzle of the bulldog was thrust into
the boy’s face.
“So you’ve gone and run away, too, have you Captain Joe?”
demanded Alex. “I’ve a great mind to send you out to eat up two
pirates.”
It was too dark to see the bulldog distinctly, but Alex knew that
he was accepting the commission joyfully.
“I don’t think it will do any good, doggie,” the boy finally
whispered. “Those pirates are about like skunks—you kill one and
half a dozen more come to the funeral. If those fellows don’t get
back to their steamer directly, there’ll be a mob of their companions
on this island before daylight. All we can do now is to get to the
Rambler and head her out of this lagoon before the steamer gets to
the entrance.”
With this object in mind, the boy and dog made their way swiftly
through the thicket, paying little attention to the noise they made.
Far in the rear they heard the river pirates calling out to them, but
paid no attention. When Alex reached the shore of the lagoon he
was at a loss which way to turn. There was now no illumination to
show the location of the Rambler.
“What’s your notion now, Captain Joe?” he asked of the dog. “If
you can tell me which way to turn to find that motor boat, I’ll give
you a chunk of catfish as big as your head when we get aboard.”
Thus urged and bribed, the dog lost no time in turning to the
west.
“I think you’re wrong, Captain Joe!” Alex urged.
 The bulldog insisted that he was right, and as the boy had no
good grounds upon which to dispute his judgment, he followed
along after him. It was by no means good walking along the bank,
for in many places trees and shrubs had been undermined during
high water, and trunks and masses of smaller growth often stretched
out into the water.
“I tell you what it is, Captain Joe,” Alex said as they went along.
“If you dare to take me back where those saloon pirates are, I’ll
advise Teddy to take a bite out of your ear when we get aboard the
Rambler again, if we ever do.”
Captain Joe’s only reply was to seize Alex by one trousers’ leg and
hustle him along over a mass of boughs which seemed to the boy to
be several miles high.
At last, after a great deal of this climbing, Joe stopped on the
bank of the lagoon and pointed with his nose out over the water.
The two of them must have made considerable racket scrambling
along the beach, for just as Joe stopped a soft whistle came out of
the darkness.
“Captain Joe,” whispered Alex, patting the dog on the head,
“you’re the candy kid! That’s Clay, without the shadow of a doubt.
Now you tell him that we want to come aboard.”
As if understanding every word spoken to him by the lad, the dog
fawned about for a moment and then uttered a short, sharp bark.
“Come aboard, you runaway!” a voice whispered from the boat.
“Don’t you think we won’t! exclaimed Alex. “Can’t you show a
light just for a minute? It’s so dark I wouldn’t know the river was
wet if I didn’t feel it.”
A flashlight was turned on for just an instant and then shut off.
Captain Joe greeted the finger of light with a joyous bark and
plunged into the lagoon. Alex was about to follow his example in the
matter of taking to the water when he felt himself seized by the
collar and drawn back. It was evident that the two had made
altogether too much noise, and had been followed by the men from
the steamer.
“Keep your mouth closed now!” whispered one of the men in
Alex’s ear.
 “Ram your gun down his throat if he doesn’t!” another voice said.
Alex knew that the purpose of the pirates was to prevent his
warning his companions of the presence of the steamer and its crew
in that vicinity. He knew, too, that unless he could notify those on
board the Rambler of the intentions of the pirates, their retreat from
the lagoon would soon be shut off.
He knew, too, that he was taking great chances in making the
situation understood. Still, he decided to risk his own life in order to
warn his friends. With the pirate holding him by the collar, he sprang
forward and cried at the top of his voice:
“Captain Joe! Captain Joe!”
Something in the tone of the boy’s voice told the dog as well as
those on board the motor boat that Alex was in deadly peril. It was
not his habit to ask for assistance unless it was very badly needed.
Answering the indefinite but well-understood appeal, the dog
turned back to the shore, unseen but plainly heard in the disturbed
waters.
One of the men struck fiercely at his head with the butt of a gun
as he swept past him. The man who had hold of the boy fired a shot
at the dim rushing figure. The bullet went wide of its mark.
The next instant the bulldog had a set of very capable teeth
clamped about the throat of the outlaw. The man struggled and
gurgled horribly as the impact of the dog’s body threw him back,
releasing Alex from his grasp. The boy sprang away and shouted:
“Turn on the lights, boys, turn on the lights!” In a second the
powerful searchlight on the prow of the Rambler was turned on the
spot from which the call had proceeded. It revealed one of the men
lying helpless on the ground, writhing under the dog’s jaws and the
other disappearing in a thicket.
Alex picked up the outlaw’s revolver, which had fallen to the
ground, and called the dog away. He was stooping over the prostrate
figure to ascertain, if possible, the extent of the injuries inflicted by
the dog when a shot came from a tangle a short distance away.
“Come on, Captain Joe!” the boy shouted. “Let him alone.”
Leaving the two outlaws on the bank, one-half unconscious, the
other raging helplessly in the jungle, the boy and the dog sprang
into the lagoon. As they did so another harmless shot came from the
interior, and then the lights on the Rambler were switched off.
Several spiteful shots were now fired toward the boat, but the two
swimmers were, of course, out of sight of the outlaws, so the bullets
were not directed at them.
In a very brief space of time, Alex and Captain Joe were hauled
on deck, where they lay dripping and panting for an instant before a
word was spoken. The lights were still out.
“You’re a beautiful pair!” Jule whispered, then. “We were just
talking about you two getting into a scrape before we got out of the
lagoon.”
“Never mind the scrape!” Alex panted, still breathing hard. “Put
on full power and steam up out of the lagoon. That whiskey boat is
going up to block the way!”
Without waiting for further information on the subject, Clay
sprang to the motors and the Rambler was soon making her way
upstream.
When they came to a low-lying portion of the south arm, they
saw the lights of the steamer across the point, trying to head them
off.
 CHAPTER XV.—THE RAMBLER STRIKES BACK.
“Just let me get up on the prow with a gun!” Alex exclaimed, pulling
himself out of a puddle of water on the deck. “I want to get a couple
of shots at those devils on board that steamer!”
“What did they do to you?” asked Case.
“They didn’t do nothing to me, only choked me nearly to death
with the collar of my own shirt,” said the boy, “but I heard them
planning to leave us lying at the bottom of the lagoon and steal the
boat.”
“That’s what they’re here for!” Clay answered. “When you see a
whiskey boat on any river, you may make up your mind that the men
on board will commit murder if they find it necessary.”
“If we don’t get more speed on,” Case exclaimed, pulling Alex
away as he made a dash for the prow, “they’ll beat us to the
entrance to the lagoon now.”
Clay rushed back to the motors to see if another ounce of power
could not be turned on while Jule seized the lines and headed the
boat off on the port side.
“They’ll come in from the river side,” he said to Case, “and we
may slip through between their prow and the little bend which tops
the lagoon on the north side.”
The Rambler was moving much faster than the steamer, but the
latter had several rods the start. As they raced desperately for the
narrow strip of water between the two arms of the island it was an
open question as to which would win.
“I just believe she’s going to get there first!” Jule said drawing still
farther away to port. “Can’t you make her go any faster, Clay?”
“Every pound of power is on!” Clay replied. “You boys would
better be getting your guns ready. If we come together they may try
to board us. If you shoot, shoot to some purpose.”
“We ain’t a-going to come together!” Jule whispered to Alex, who
now occupied a position at his side. “At least, we’re not going to
come together so they can jump over on our deck.”
“What are you going to do?” Alex asked. “Look here!” Jule
queried. “The Rambler’s sides and prow are braced with steel, aren’t
they?”
“You know it!” Alex answered with a chuckle as he began to
understand the purpose of his chum.
“Well, then,” Jule declared, “I’m going to ram her! If that steamer
gets her nose in our way, I’m going to send the Rambler plumb
through her. I wonder how they’ll like that?”
“If you do,” Alex advised, “reverse the minute you strike. If you
don’t, you are likely to get wedged into any hole you may make.”
“I tell you I’m going to send the Rambler clear through her!”
insisted Jule. “I’m going to bang her with all the force of the
motors.”
“Go to it!” Alex exclaimed. “I’m game for any racket of that kind.
Only don’t you say anything to Clay about it. He’d be afraid of
breaking the motors or something.”
The Rambler was now almost to the entrance. The steamer was
still moving upstream. As the boys looked the prow of the whiskey
boat turned almost directly into the path which the motor boat must
follow in order to leave the lagoon.
Jeers of triumph arose from the cabin deck of the steamer as
those on board took in the significance of the situation. They now
considered it certain that the Rambler would soon be at their mercy,
blocked beyond the possibility of escape in the lagoon.
Jule at the helm of the motor boat, however, had a very different
idea as to how the scene ought to terminate. In a second the great
steamer, lumbering and loosely built, lay broadside to the oncoming
Rambler. Clay gave a cry of warning as the boy swirled the boat so
as to strike the steamer amidships, but Jule held on to his course.
Before Clay could utter another cry of warning, the steel prow of
the Rambler crashed into the steamer about a third back from the
prow!
It seemed for a moment as if Jule’s prediction that he would go
clear through the lumbering old steamer was to be fulfilled, for the
steel prow cut into the thin sides of the steamer as a knife cuts into
cheese. The shock was terrific.
The boys were knocked off their feet, and Jule found himself
rolling on the deck with the tiller ropes still grasped in his hands!
Shouts of rage and alarm came from the sinking boat, and there
was an immediate rush for the railing overlooking the motor boat.
The steamer was still staggering under the impact of the blow, and
those on board were reeling like drunken men.
Clay’s first act was to reverse the motors. Much to his delight and
surprise, the Rambler backed slowly out of the cavity she had cut
into the side of the steamer. The side wall of the ponderous old boat
had been shattered into bits many feet on either side of the actual
cut!
As the Rambler backed away, the steamer began drifting
downstream, moving as chance would have it, toward the main
channel of the river instead of toward the lagoon. The boys saw at
once that she was filling with water, and would probably sink where
she lay. They saw, too, that men with pistols in their hands were
threatening them from the cabin deck of the steamer.
With fear and trembling Clay set the motors going again,
wondering whether they had been injured in the collision so as to
render the Rambler unmanageable. The motors responded nobly,
however, and in a moment the boys had the satisfaction of seeing
her glide past the dipping prow of the steamer.
It was dark as ink over the surface of the river, and Alex turned
on the lights as the Rambler rounded the sinking saloon boat and
swept on downstream. Once well under way, Clay walked up to the
prow and looked it over.
“Any harm done?” called Jule.
“No harm that paint and putty won’t repair,” answered Clay. “That
is, not here,” he added. “Some of you boys would better look into
the cabin.”
The cabin certainly was in a mess. Alex’s cherished catfish lay
rolling on the floor, with Teddy shambling back and forth after it.
Many of the lockers had been burst open, and a heap of broken
crockery lay on the floor not far from the electric coils. The glass
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