Airship Andy: or, The Luck of a Brave Boy. Webster Frank V.
nor stirred. Our hero wondered why he kept so closely covered up and in what line of transportation he used the barge.
They had proceeded about two miles with smooth sailing when there was a sudden bump. The boat had struck a snag.
“Gracious!” ejaculated Andy, sent sprawling flat on the deck.
The contact had lifted the stranger from his seat. He was knocked to one side. Andy, scrambling to his feet, was tremendously startled as his glance swept his passenger.
The man struggled to his feet with clumsiness. He was hasty, almost suspicious in his movements. The cloak had flown wide open, and now he was swaying his arms around in a strange way, trying to cover them up.
“Why!” said the youth to himself, with a sharp gasp, “the man is handcuffed!”
CHAPTER V – TRAMPING IT
“Gracious!” said Andy, and made a jump clear into the water.
The pole had swung out of his hands when the barge struck the snag. He got wet through recovering it, but that did not matter much, for he had little clothing on.
By the time he had got back on deck his mysterious passenger had resumed his old position. The cloak again completely enveloped the upper portion of his body and his hands were out of sight. Andy acted as though his momentary glance had not taken in the sight of the handcuffs.
“Sorry, mister, we struck that snag, but the moon’s going down and a fog coming up, and I couldn’t help it.”
“Don’t mind that,” was all that the man at the stern vouchsafed in reply.
The moon had gone down as Andy had said, but enough of its radiance had fallen on the squirming figure of the stranger a few minutes previous to show the cold, bright glint of the pair of manacles. Andy was sure that the man’s wrists were tightly handcuffed. A sort of a chill shudder ran over him as he thought of it.
“An escaped convict?” Andy asked himself. “Maybe. That’s bad. I don’t want to be caught in such company, the fix I’m in.”
The thought made the passenger suddenly repellant to Andy. He had an idea of running close to the shore and making off.
“No, I won’t do it,” he decided, after a moment’s reflection, “I’m only guessing about all this. He’s not got a bad face. It’s rather a wild and worried one. I’m a runaway myself, and I’ve got a good reason for being so. Maybe this man has, too.”
Andy applied himself to his work with renewed vigor. It must have been about five o’clock in the morning when the stranger directed him to navigate up a feeder to the stream, which, a few rods beyond, ran into a swamp pond, which Andy knew to be Swan Cove.
A few pushes of the pole drove the craft up on a muddy slant. It was getting light in the east now. Andy came up to the man with the question:
“Is this where you land, mister?”
“Yes,” nodded his passenger. “Come here.”
Andy drew closer to the speaker.
“I told you I’d make it worth your while to pole me down the river,” he said.
“Oh, that’s all right.”
“I haven’t got any money, but I want to pay you as I promised you. Take that.”
“What, mister?” and then Andy learned what the man meant. The latter hunched one shoulder towards the timber on which he sat, and there lay a small open-faced silver watch.
Andy wondered how he had managed to get it out of his pocket, but he had, and there it lay.
“It’s worth about eight dollars,” explained the man. “You can probably get four for it. Anyhow, you can trade it off for some shoes and clothes, which you seem to need pretty badly.”
“Yes, I do, for a fact,” admitted Andy, with a slight laugh. “But see here, mister, I don’t want your watch. I couldn’t ask any pay, for I wanted to come down the creek myself, and I was just waiting to find the chance to work my way when you came along.”
“You’ll take the watch,” insisted the stranger in a decided tone, “so say no more about it, and put it in your pocket. There’s only one thing, youngster – I want to ask a favor of you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Forget you ever saw me.”
“That will be hard to do, but I will try.”
“What’s your name?”
“Andy Nelson.”
“I’ll remember that,” said the man, repeating it over twice to himself. “You’ll see me again some time, Andy Nelson, even if I have to hunt you up. You’ve done me a big favor. You said you were headed for the city?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, if you’ll follow back to the river, and cut south a mile, you’ll come to a road running in that direction.”
“Aren’t you going to use the barge any farther, mister?” inquired Andy.
“No, and perhaps you had better not, either,” answered the man, with a short nervous laugh.
“Well, this is a queer go!” ruminated Andy, as the man started inland and was soon lost to view. “I wonder who he is? Probably on his way to some friends where he can get rid of those handcuffs. Now, what for myself?”
Andy thought things out in a rational way, and was soon started on the tramp. His prospective destination was the city. It was a large place, with many opportunities for work, he concluded. He would be lost from his pursuers in a big city like that, he theorized.
Andy soon located the road his late passenger had indicated. He looked at the watch a good many times. It was a plain but substantial timepiece. It was the first watch Andy had ever owned, and he took great pleasure in its possession.
“I don’t think I’ll part with it,” he said, as he tramped along. “I feel certain I can pick up enough odd jobs on my way to the city to earn what clothing I need and enough to eat.”
It was about seven o’clock when Andy, after a steep hill climb, neared a fence and lay down to rest in the shade and shelter of a big straw stack. He was asleep before he knew it.
“What in the world is that!” he shouted, springing up, wide awake, as a hissing, flapping, cackling hubbub filled the air, mingled with shouts of impatience, excitement and despair.
“Head ’em off – drive ’em in! Shoo – shoo!” bellowed out somebody in the direction of the road.
“Geese!” ejaculated Andy – “geese, till you can’t rest or count them! Where did they ever come from? Hi, get away!”
As Andy stepped out of range of the straw stack, he faced a remarkable situation. The field he was in covered about two acres. It was enclosed with a woven-wire fence, and had a gate. Through this, from the road, a perspiring man was driving geese, aided by a boy armed with a long switch.
Andy had never seen such a flock of geese before. He estimated them by the hundreds. Nor had he ever viewed such a battered up, dust-covered, crippled flock. Many, after getting beyond the gate, squatted down as if exhausted. Others fell over on their sides, as if they were dying. Many of them had torn and bleeding feet, and limped and hobbled in evident distress.
The man and the boy had to head off stupid and wayward groups of the fowls to get them within the enclosure. Then when they had closed the gate, they went back down the road. Andy gazed wonderingly after them. For half a mile down the hill there were specks of fluttering and lifeless white. He made them out to be fowls fallen by the wayside.
The man and boy began to collect these, two at a time, bringing them to the enclosure, and dropping them over the fence. It was a tiresome, and seemed an endless task. Andy climbed the fence and joined them.
“Hello!” hailed the man, looking a little flustered; “do you belong around here?”
“No;