As we rounded a sharp bend in the river, we noticed a camp fire a
few hundred feet further up, around which five or six men were lounging,
and there, just below them, was our scow. What were four boys to do
against six grown men? We were each armed with a club, and could have made
a pretty good fight if necessary, but after a whispered consultation we
decided it would be best to wait until dark, when we could creep up
quietly and steal away unnoticed with our boat.
Vengeance.
It seemed as if darkness never would come. It was scarcely dusk when our
patience gave out and we paddled up stealthily, hugging the shore. Bill
gained the scow unnoticed, but just as he was about to push off he
discerned the body of a man within. It was one of the tramps lying there
in a drunken stupor. What was to be done? Every moment was precious. A
yell from the fireside decided him. With a mighty push he launched the
boat out into the current, while we threw him a line and towed the boat
out to midstream. With a volley of curses the men sprang up and pelted us
with stones. But they were poor shots, and we escaped without serious
injury. Our prisoner, in the meantime, was snoring heavily in the scow
undisturbed.
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