CHAPTER VIII.

A MISLEADING LIGHT.

“Can you make out anything of that craft yet, Harry?”

The chase had been on for half an hour, and still the elusive light bobbed along ahead of them.

Percy Simmons, down in the engine room, had been fully informed by young Ware of what was going on, and he was coaxing his fine machines to their top notch of effort.

“I can’t see anything of her outlines yet, Ralph,” was Harry’s response to Ralph’s interrogation. “She must be a flyer.”

“She’ll have to be to get away from us.”

“Anyhow, it looks like a stern chase.”

“But not necessarily a long one. I haven’t heard of a craft yet that could get away from the _River Swallow_, at least, in these parts.”

“You mean an earthly craft,” rejoined young Ware, in rather quavery tones.

“Good gracious! What’s got into you? You surely don’t think that the boat we are after is anything but a motor boat like this one, run by men who have a good reason for not wanting us to catch up with them?”

“Um-er, I just had a shiver. A ‘goose walked over my grave.’ My grandmother says that that means that some sort of spirits are about.”

“Rubbish! I thought you were a different sort of a fellow from that, Harry. We’ll have to quit calling you ‘Hardware’ if you are going to be so soft as to think there is anything supernatural about that elusive boat.”

“Just the same, there’s something queer about her.”

“Nothing but what will admit of an explanation,” was the reply. “As for the way they are dodging us, it’s just what I expected. Honest men would not run away from us any more than they would go sneaking about in such a mysterious way at night.”

“Maybe they are only fish dynamiters,” suggested Harry Ware. “You know how strictly the law is dealt out to those rascals, and there have been several Canadian fish destroyers caught on the American side lately, and stiff terms dealt out to them.”

“Pshaw! Fish dynamiters are poor, poverty-stricken fellows who are too lazy to get fish in a proper, lawful manner, and crawl out at night to ply their trade in wretched, patched-up boats! No mere fish dynamiters could afford a swift, powerful craft such as the one ahead surely is.”

“That’s so,” agreed Harry, “but that craft ahead is surely a riddle just the same. I think——”

He broke off with what might be fairly termed a yell.

“Ow!—oo! Look there! _Now_ do you say that there isn’t something more than natural about that boat?”

In spite of himself, Ralph felt his scalp stiffen as he beheld the extraordinary sight to which Harry’s alarmed exclamation had attracted his attention.

Outlined against the night in a vivid green glare was what appeared to be a boat of living flame!

The water around her burned lambently as the apparently flaming boat plunged along through it.

“Gracious!” gasped Ralph, as he looked at the strange spectacle. There was a touch on his arm. He started in spite of himself and turned quickly.

Malvin was at his elbow. He was pointing at the green, blazing craft ahead of them.

“It’s—it’s the _Lost Voyageur_!” he exclaimed, in trembling tones. “Don’t chase it any more, sir! The legend is, that it means death to those who see that boat and pursue it.”

By this time Ralph had recovered his equanimity. His sturdy common sense asserted itself. He listened impatiently while Harry exclaimed triumphantly:

“There; what did I tell you! That’s the boat I heard about! The boat in which a party of the old voyageurs committed all sorts of outrages on the St. Lawrence Indians. In revenge for their cruelties the Indians attacked the boat one night and massacred the whole party. Ever since, at times, the ghost craft has been seen on the river, and death has followed every one who has tried to chase it or inquire into its mystery.”

“Oh, dry up!” snapped Ralph. “Malvin, get forward where you belong instantly.”

“But, sir——”

The man appeared genuinely frightened, but somehow Ralph had an idea that he was not so scared as he seemed.

“See here, Malvin, obey my orders. I am in command of the _River Swallow_. Get forward at once and keep a bright lookout. As for you, Harry, I’m more than astonished at your being foolish enough to believe such a pack of children’s stories.”

As Malvin left the bridge, seemingly with reluctance, Harry spoke up:

“But, Ralph, look at that green fire! Ugh! it makes me shudder.”

“Heard of phosphorus, haven’t you?”

“Y-y-y-yes, but——”

“No ‘buts’ about it. Those fellows think that we are just a pack of kids that they can scare by a foolish ghost trick. See, the light is dying out. Well, they’ll find out in a few minutes that their trick didn’t scare us. I’m more convinced than ever now that we have tumbled headlong into a big game of some kind. What it is I can’t imagine, but that fellow Malvin knows more about that boat than we do.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Why did he come butting in up here on the bridge and try to get us to stop chasing that craft?”

“Scared, I guess. I know _I_ was.”

“Scared! Nonsense. If I read Malvin rightly, he’s not the sort of fellow to shy at a child’s trick like the one those fellows played. No, Harry, there’s something back of all this, and I for one mean to find out what it is before I’m many hours older.”

“Go ahead,” was all young Ware had to say, but to himself he muttered:

“We’ll never overtake that craft, and—I hope we don’t!”

The night shut down blacker than ever as the green glare that had outlined the fleeing craft in such startling fashion died out.

But right ahead the light still shone, the light that Ralph knew was the stern lamp of the craft they were pursuing. It had apparently been hoisted in defiance, and this made the young captain all the more determined to find out more about the gray stranger.

“What are you going to do if you do overtake her?” asked Harry.

This question was a poser. Ralph, in the excitement of the chase, had not considered this. He had no right to board the stranger or even to question those on board, for legally he had nothing upon which to proceed.

“It may prove to be a foolish chase, after all,” he admitted. “It may all come to nothing, but I couldn’t sleep unless I did what I could toward unraveling the mystery that I am sure envelops that craft. No men would go to the pains to rig up a ghost scare and all that unless they had a mighty good reason for doing so. I’m going to keep after her till I get close enough to hail her.”

“What then?” demanded Harry.

“Why, I don’t just know,” admitted Captain Ralph, “but if I don’t get satisfactory answers to my questions I mean to follow her till she makes port and report the matter to the authorities, and then it will be up to them. I feel justified in doing this from the fact that she has been seen off our island, presumably on mischief bent.”

There came a sudden sharp outcry from the bow.

Ralph gazed ahead and his heart fairly jumped into his throat.

Dead ahead, right under the bows of the onrushing _River Swallow_, was the light they had been pursuing, the stern light of the other motor boat.

“Great Scott! We’ll be crushed like an eggshell when the collision comes!” was the thought that flashed through his brain as he rang, half automatically, for “full speed astern!”

“Back her!” roared the voice from the bows, the voice of Malvin.

Harry Ware stood speechless, gripping the rail. He was helpless for the moment in the face of the impending disaster. The _River Swallow_ was making almost thirty miles an hour. To collide with a solid body such as the craft ahead at that speed meant disaster, swift and certain.

Then a yell of terror burst from his lips. A sharp cry was torn from Ralph’s throat simultaneously.

The next instant, at almost top speed, the _River Swallow_ struck. Fairly head on, she had collided with the obstacle before her.