CHAPTER III

For three or four seconds Tad was too terrified to move. Then he recovered his presence of mind and scrambled up, drawing a deep breath to shout for help. But before he could utter a sound the intruder had dropped, cat-like, to the floor of the stateroom and was on him in a bound.

A powerful hand closed on his windpipe, and a gag of some sort was stuffed into his mouth.

Tad, strong and wiry for his fifteen years, fought back at his tall antagonist savagely, but it was an unequal struggle. With a swift skill that argued previous experience, the prowler pulled a cord from under his coat, and twisting the lad over on his stomach, he caught his wrists in a tight hitch behind him. Half a dozen quick passes of the cord, and Tad lay trussed up on the bunk, helpless as a baby.

Then the man rose leisurely, produced a tinder-box from somewhere, and lit a candle, which he stuck on the lid of the box and set down on the floor. Tad, getting a good look at him for the first time, saw that he was masked. A black handkerchief with holes cut in it covered the whole upper part of his face.

With quick fingers the fellow went through Tad’s clothes, taking his father’s letter, his watch, and a few other trifles, and putting them in his own pocket.

The boy, struggling desperately to get his hands free, had to lie there in anguish and see his treasures taken. At last, as the robber paused, baffled for a moment, Tad felt the knots that held him slip a little. He bent his knees up to loosen the tension between ankles and wrists, and worked his arms cautiously back and forth. One hand slid through, then the other, but he lay still and gave no sign.

The man had opened the portmanteau and was rummaging through it swiftly, but still he did not find what he was after. As he rose, the candle’s beam shone full on his right hand and Tad had a momentary glimpse of a ring--silver, with a dull green stone. It was the gambler from Wheeling, who had seen him open his purse to pay for his lodging. Would he give up the search and leave as he had come? It was a foolish hope. At that very instant the fellow turned and stepped over to the bunk, his slim, sure fingers feeling under the pillow where the purse was hidden.

Tad could restrain himself no longer. With a cry, muffled by the gag, he pulled his arms from behind him and leaped upon the thief. Together they went sprawling across the tiny cabin. The candle was kicked over and extinguished and the struggle went on in the dark. Suddenly the gambler shifted his position, and Tad felt an arm tighten about his head with a grip like a vise. His ears began to sing, and all his senses were numbed by the pain of the head-lock. He was powerless to move. Then he became dimly aware that his antagonist was using his other hand to open the door. A draft of cold air struck him and he was pulled out upon the deck. With a suddenness that gave him no time for terror, he felt himself swung up and outward over the rail. And then, as in a bad dream, he was falling--falling.

The shock of the icy water brought him out of his stupor. For a second or two his whole energy was concentrated on getting back to the air again, for the fifteen-foot drop had plunged him deep. As he came up, choking, he pulled the gag out of his mouth and tried once more to call for help. But the stern of the _Ohio Belle_ had already gone past, and there was nothing around him but watery blackness.

What should he do now? He was a good swimmer, but the water was almost as cold as in winter, and he knew he could not last long in it. The steamer had been running close to the Indiana shore most of the day, and he had been thrown from the starboard side of the vessel. Something told him to try for the north bank. With the river sweeping down upon him at five or six miles an hour, it was easy to keep his sense of direction. He struck out almost at right angles to the current and swam steadily, saving his strength.

The task seemed endless. As far as he could tell, he might still be miles from land, and he was numb with cold. Twice he had such an attack of shivering that he could not take a stroke for several seconds. His short cotton night-shirt was not much of an impediment to swimming, but the trailing cord was still tied fast to one of his feet, and he used up some of his strength in a vain effort to get rid of it.

Some last reserve of pluck kept his arms and legs going despite the achy weariness that was in them. He thought he saw a blacker mass rising in the blackness ahead, but it seemed to draw no nearer, and he lost hope. Then his toe struck something soft that frightened him. He lashed out desperately to get away from it and struck it again. It was mud. He could stand up, half out of water, and wade. The looming bulk ahead of him must be trees. In another minute or two he was crawling up the bank, so nearly exhausted that he seemed hardly able to move, yet filled with an indescribable sense of happiness at being alive.

Another attack of shivers made him realize that he must try to get warm. Rising, he half stumbled, half ran along a sort of path that followed the top of the bank. And a moment later, to his joy, he saw a small cabin set in a clearing ahead of him. Hurrying forward, he approached the front of the shack and was about to rouse its inmates by knocking on the door, when two huge dogs came running around the corner and rushed at him. They growled and snapped so viciously at his bare legs that Tad made a hasty retreat, beating them off with the cord which he had removed from his ankle and was still carrying.

“Hello, the house!” he cried.

But the people inside either could not or would not hear him, and after a moment of hesitation a renewed attack by the dogs caused him to keep on his way westward along the bank. The damp twigs and briars slapped and scratched his naked legs, but he was past paying any attention to such trifles. If only he could find a sheltered corner of some sort where he could curl up and rest without perishing of cold!

The path opened after a while on another clearing, bigger than the first, and he made out the shapes of half a dozen scattered houses off to the right, away from the river. There was something depressing in their silent blackness, and after his experience at the last place, he had little heart to approach them. Instead he followed a deeply rutted road that led forward to the bank of what seemed to be a good-sized creek flowing into the Ohio.

Tad groped his way to the door of a log shanty which stood by the water--a store-house of some kind, he thought. But here again he was disappointed, for a heavy padlock secured the latch.

As he stood there, shivering and desperate, his eye fell on a long, dark bulk beside the landing-stage. It was a boat--a clumsy broadhorn of the kind he had seen drifting down the river.

He drew closer and saw a roofed shelter covering the after part. It looked warm and dry. Surely there could be no harm in resting there until daylight. He would come ashore before the owners appeared, he told himself. And a moment later he was scrambling aboard. There were rough, warm burlap bags and a heavy tarpaulin in the shelter. Shivering, he made a place for himself in a deep, snug corner and pulled the canvas cover about him. After a moment or two his body began to warm the nest, and a heavenly peace seemed to soothe his weariness like a drug. Before another minute passed, he had fallen into a slumber far too deep for dreams.