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CHAPTER V
SIGNS OF COMING TROUBLE

All day long the powerboat kept constantly moving down the reaches of the Danube River. Many were the interesting sights the boys looked upon from time to time. Nor did they see any particular signs of overhanging trouble. War may have been declared by Austria-Hungary upon Serbia and Russia, backing up the action of her ally, Germany, but the indications of it were not immediately apparent.

It was true that in several towns which they passed on that morning’s run they could see that groups were in the streets, and there seemed to be many men in uniform hurrying this way or that. Once they also saw a field battery of glistening guns disappearing up a steep road that led to the south.

“You can see what’s in the wind, all right,” Josh remarked, as they watched a group of uniformed horsemen galloping along the river road as though bound for some distant point of mobilization. “In a few days after the call to the colors, as they say, has gone out for many classes of reserves, the whole country will be swarming with men in uniform.”

“I only wish we could hold over and see what goes on,” grumbled George. “It’s a chance in a lifetime to be a looker-on in a foreign country, with war breaking out; and I think it’s a shame that we are going to miss it.”

Jack took him to task for saying that.

“We ought to thank our lucky stars, on the other hand, George,” was the way he put it, “that we have a chance to get out of Austria before every exit is closed. I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of tourists have the time of their lives escaping, because, you see, every train will be taken over by the Government for carrying soldiers, guns, ammunition, horses, stores and such army necessities.”

“Yes,” added Buster, “that’s what I say, Jack. For one I want to tell you I’m mighty thankful to be on board this old boat right now. I only hope they won’t want to commandeer it for carrying soldiers down to the Serbian border.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t want to bother with such a mosquito craft as this, I should think,” remarked Josh uneasily.

“Our little flag seems to attract a heap of attention,” Buster continued, with a vein of pride in his voice, for that small edition of Old Glory was his private possession, it may be remembered.

“Where we landed at noon to see if we could buy some eggs and milk at that farm house,” Josh observed, “those peasant girls were examining it. I rather think they must have somebody over in our country, for when I said the word ‘America’ and pointed to the flag and then myself they laughed and nodded their heads.”

“And don’t forget to mention, please, George, that we got the eggs all right,” suggested Buster; “likewise a bumper mug of fresh milk apiece, and some butter that didn’t have a bit of salt in it, which I think queer.”

“Oh, so far as that goes,” explained Jack, “there’s lots of that made and sold over here. They call it sweet butter, and most people like it. You’d get used to it in time.”

“Four dozen eggs, and whoppers at that,” Buster went on to say, gloatingly; “which I consider a splendid investment; and we didn’t have to pay half what they’d cost us in the States either. I’m going to have a couple fried for my supper, and anybody else that likes them that way can get what they want by giving the tip now.”

They continued to chatter in this manner as the afternoon wore away. It had been decided that while there was a full moon that night they had better not attempt navigating the river after the sun had set. None of them knew what they might run up against; and besides, since war had come, possibly there would be strict rules enforced prohibiting such a thing during the night. None of them felt like taking chances.

Buster, it seems, must have been thinking of some of his previous exploits in the times that were gone, for later on he was seen to be looking over some fishing tackle he produced from his pack.

“Hey! what’s in the wind now, Buster?” sang out Josh upon discovering what the fat chum was doing.

“Oh, nothing much,” replied the other easily, “only it struck me that there might be some kind of eatable fish in this same blue Danube, and I’m looking over my lines. To-night, if I can find any fat grubs or worms, I might set a line and see what happens. You know I’ve had more or less success about grabbing big fish out of fresh and salt water.”

That seemed to make the others laugh, as though certain humorous memories were refreshed. Buster joined them, for he was a jolly fellow and could even enjoy a joke when it was on himself.

“I mean to drop one of these lines over as we go along, so as to soak the snell of the hook, for if it’s too dry it might break,” Buster explained.

“Well, here’s wishing that you meet with good luck,” said Josh, “because I’d enjoy a supper of fresh fish pretty good.”

“Don’t make up your mouth for it, then,” warned George, “because you never can tell about such things. Fish are what some people would call notionate; they bite well one day and then given you the grand laugh the next one.”

“About how far do you think we’ve come since leaving Budapest, Jack?” Buster asked, not deigning to continue the discussion with George.

“I should think something like fifty to sixty miles,” was the reply.

“Whew! as much as that?” whiffed George.

“Well, this current must be all of four miles an hour, and the old boat when going with it ought to average ten. Counting for our stops and all that, we’ve certainly covered sixty miles if we have one.”

“I agree with you, Jack,” said Josh; “George is only saying that to be contrary.”

“Oh, I am, eh?” grinned George, who seemed to take especial delight in stirring Josh up.

“It’s been a pretty good day for August, with the sun shining overhead most of the time, and not so very hot at that,” Buster continued. “There’s no sign of such a thing as a storm that I can see – great guns! what in the mischief can that queer-looking thing be over yonder? Do they have birds shaped like a fat cigar in the Danube country?”

Of course, every one immediately twisted his head around to take a look, and all sorts of exclamations announced that they were about as much astonished as Buster.

Low down toward the horizon they saw an object outlined against the sky that was undoubtedly moving, for they could notice that it passed a small cloud with considerable speed. Just as Buster had said, it looked very much in the distance like a fat cigar, and was of a neutral tint, not very easily distinguished against the heavens.

“Why, that must be one of those German Zeppelins we’ve read so much about!” exclaimed Jack, after taking a second look.

“A war dirigible, you mean, don’t you?” demanded Josh.

“Nothing else,” he was told. “I’ve seen pictures of them often, but never thought I’d set eyes on one. Yes, it’s a Zeppelin, all right, and heading due south, too.”

“What d’ye mean by saying that last?” asked Josh.

“Well, you remember what that officer said about the Serbians and Austrians on the Danube down below, where it acts as a boundary line, being ready to fight at the drop of the hat? Perhaps they’re already having it hot and heavy. Perhaps the word has been flashed over the wires for one of the Zeppelins to come down and get busy there.”

“What would they use it for, Jack?” questioned Buster, as all of them continued to watch the steady movement of the fast dirigible in the west.

“I believe the main thing for Zeppelins to do is to carry explosives and drop bombs from a great height on forts and barracks occupied by the enemy forces. But they can be also used for scouting and bringing back information of value. That may be what they want this one down along the Danube for.”

So fast was the dirigible going that in a quarter of an hour more it had passed beyond the range of their vision.

“Looks like things are going to happen right along over in old Europe these days,” remarked Josh.

“Yes, but we’ll know next to nothing about it all,” George went on to say; “for we can’t buy a paper, and even if we did none of us could read Magyar. This thing of knocking around in a foreign country may be all very good when there’s no war on, but there are times when you’d like to be able to buy an extra and learn all that’s happening.”

“There’s a good landing by that tree yonder, Jack,” remarked Josh.

“But we’re not quite ready to pull in yet a while,” the commodore announced.

“What’s the hurry, Josh?” asked Buster, again working at his long and strong fish line.

“Oh, I thought George wanted to get out and start right away back,” answered the other with a dry chuckle. “He’ll never be happy until he can have all the comforts of home, including the afternoon extra to read.”

“Forget it!” snapped George. “I’ve always been able to take things as they came as well as the next one, and I reckon I can stand what you fellows do. Because I grumble a little once in a great while, that’s no sign I’m not having a good time. Some of my folks must have been sailors, I guess, and it runs in the blood. Don’t pay any attention when you hear me complain.”

“We’ll try not to, George,” promised Josh blithely; “we’ll have to remember the source, and then forget it.”

“There, now, I’ve got the silly old line untangled,” announced Buster; “and I’ll let the hook and sinker trail after us, just to make believe I’m fishing. It’ll do me a heap of good to feel the twirl as the hook goes around with the swivel – sort of revive old memories like.”

He lay there by the broad stern of the boat amusing himself after his fashion. Josh could not resist the temptation to warn him.

“Better look out for yourself, Buster,” he remarked seriously. “Some hungry fish might snap at your bare hook and get caught. If you were taken off your guard the next thing you knew you’d be overboard.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time, either,” mentioned George.

“Aw, no danger of that happening,” retorted Buster good-naturedly. “Even over here in Austria-Hungary the fish have their eye-teeth cut, and wouldn’t be so green as to bite at a bare hook. If I had anything to bait it with I’d watch my steps, you may be sure. But don’t worry yourself about me, either of you. I can take care of myself.”

No more was said just then with reference to the subject, something else coming up to catch their attention.

The afternoon was nearing its close, and Jack knew that before a great while they must be on the lookout for a place to haul up for the night. Whether they had better select a retired nook for their camp, as had been their habit when cruising down home rivers, or land near some farm, he had not yet decided. Of course, it would be unwise to stop over at any town, since they might have more or less trouble getting away again if the authorities chose to be exacting.

“There goes a long train over there, heading south, too,” remarked Josh, pointing as he spoke.

“Seems like nearly everything is going the same way we are, for a fact,” added George.

“It strikes me it must be a troop train,” Jack was saying, “for, while I’m not dead sure, I think I can see men in uniform leaning from the windows of the carriages, as they call the cars over here.”

“Well, what else could we expect?” Buster wanted to know. “If Austria means to give little Serbia a licking she’ll need a lot of her soldiers down there, many more than she’s got along the lower Danube now. Yes, they’re soldiers, all right, Jack. I can see them plainly in the sunlight.”

“The plot is thickening,” remarked George solemnly; “and right now I wouldn’t be surprised if the Germans were having a hot time over in Belgium, if they’ve really started to cross the little kingdom. They say those Belgians are fighters to the backbone, and will never stand by to let the Kaiser cross their neutral country to strike at France.”

George was deeply interested in all that was going on. He took pride in his knowledge of things connected with the aspirations of these countries, big and little, of Europe, and especially of the turbulent Balkan States. While George undoubtedly has his failings, as what boy has not, as a rule he seemed well informed, and could argue on almost any point.

“A lot of those fine chaps will like as not never come back,” said Buster, as he gave the fish line another idle hitch around his wrist, preparatory to winding it in; “they start out full of enthusiasm and life, and are brought home again wrecks, fit for only the scrap heap.”

“Listen to Buster, will you?” chuckled Josh; “he’s getting to be a regular old philosopher these days.”

“Well, it always did hurt me more or less when it came to parting with any one I cared for a heap,” admitted the fat chum, trying to look serious, though that was always a difficult task with him, because nature had made his round features to bear the stamp of a jovial disposition; “you may remember that it took me two whole days to recover when we left home. I’m of a clinging nature, you see, and this thing of severing the bonds goes against my grain.”

He had just said this when something happened that astounded the others. Buster seemed to be dragged from the end of the moving powerboat as though an octopus had suddenly flung one of its long tendrils up and clasped him.

The others heard Buster give one loud howl of fright, and then the sound was swallowed up in a splash as he disappeared in the river.

As Jack hastily stopped the engine and prepared to back up, he had a glimpse of the stout chum struggling desperately in the water. If his frantic actions counted for anything, it would seem as though Buster must be engaged in a life-and-death struggle with some marine monster that had pulled him from the after deck of the powerboat and into the river.

CHAPTER VI
THE CAMP ON THE RIVER BANK

“Keep a-going, Buster; we’re coming back for you!” shrilled Josh, not a little alarmed on account of seeing such a tremendous splashing back where the stout chum was struggling in the river.

Being compelled to fight against the steady current, the boat could not make such very rapid progress, especially when backing up. Still it seemed as though Buster might be swimming toward them. He was using only one hand, and churning the water like the paddle-wheel of a Mississippi steamboat.

“Whew!” they heard him say, after ejecting a stream of water from his mouth, which he persisted in keeping open; “a sockdolager, I tell you! Going to beat all the records this time. It must be a river horse, or a boss sturgeon, boys. I want to save him, you bet!”

Evidently, like a true fisherman, Buster’s first, last and only thought concerned the successful landing of the game he had struck. And presently the boat had come so close to the submerged boy that Jack stopped the engine lest the propeller do Buster some material damage.

Two of them leaned over the stern and with great difficulty managed to drag the water-soaked chum aboard.

“Sit there in the stern until you drain, Buster,” ordered Jack. “If we took all that water aboard we’d be in danger of foundering.”

“What ails your left hand?” demanded Josh.

“Why, don’t you see,” explained George, “the silly went and wound the line about his wrist. Then when the fish took hold it was a case of Buster going overboard or having his left arm pulled out of its socket. No wonder he lets it hang down like that now. I bet you it hurts like fun.”

“But say, the bally old fish has quit pulling like mad!” exclaimed Buster, as though that circumstance troubled him much more than any bodily pain he might be enduring.

Josh leaned forward and took hold of the line. He even started to pull it in after the manner of a skillful fisherman, while Buster eyed him eagerly.

“Tell me you feel him pulling yet, Josh, can’t you?” he pleaded. “Don’t break my heart by saying he’s gone! After all my fight I deserve to land that monster.”

Josh chuckled.

“I do feel something now, all right, Buster,” he remarked. “Watch me yank him alongside in a hurry. You never could handle such a monster with one of your arms next to useless.”

So Josh worked away, possibly putting on more or less, as though he were having the time of his life in trying to drag the captive alongside. Every little while he pretended to lose a foot or so of line, whereupon Buster would call out anxiously and beg him to keep a tight hold on the glorious prize.

“Talk to me about having fish for supper,” the dripping sportsman cried as he watched for the first glimpse of his catch; “why, we could feed a whole village on such a dandy as this. And caught on a bare hook, too! Ain’t I the lucky one for keeps? What d’ye know about that?”

“There he comes, Buster!” cried Josh, pantingly; “get ready now to help me pull him up over the stern, all of you. My stars! but how he does fight.”

In another moment Josh drew alongside a small but broad-nosed log, which in floating with the current of the river had suddenly been snagged by the bare hook. The impact, with the boat running as it was, had been severe enough to drag the fisherman into the water, for the stout line held, and he had foolishly wrapped one end of the same around his left wrist.

Jack and George shouted with mirth, and Josh excelled them both. Buster looked down at the now tamed “fish,” felt ruefully of his lame arm, and then grinned.

“You bit, all right, fellows!” he blandly told them; nor would he offer any further explanation, so that to the end of the chapter none of them really knew whether Buster had been playing a trick on them or not by pretending to fight the object at the end of his line and showing such tremendous solicitude while Josh was pulling in the same.

“What am I going to do about drying off?” asked Buster a little later, after he had succeeded in reeling in all his line without getting it very much tangled – the log he allowed to float off on the current, having no use for it, though Josh did ask him if he had never heard of “planked fish.”

“You’re draining right along,” George told him; “and as the weather is so nice and warm there’s no danger of your taking cold, I guess.”

“When we get ashore,” Jack explained, “we can start a fire, and that will give you a chance to get dry. But I’m sorry about that arm, Buster. It may give you some trouble, because the jerk must have been fierce.”

“Well, I should say it was,” admitted the other, with a sigh. “I thought my arm would come off sure. But then the excitement kept me up, you see. And I knew right well you’d stop the boat and come back after me. But Jack, later on I want you to rub my arm with that liniment you carry with you. Chances are it’ll be black and blue along the muscles. It hurts like fun even now.”

Jack considered that the sooner this was done the better, so he turned the wheel over to George, and bidding Buster bare his arm, proceeded to give it a good rubbing with the liniment he knew to be fine for this purpose.

Buster was glad to find that as yet there were no signs of discoloration, as he had feared.

“It may last a few days,” he cheerfully declared, “but that’s the extent of the damage. I consider that I came off better than I deserved. But then, who’d think a bare hook would catch anything?”

“Well, Buster,” warned George, “be sure you don’t fasten your fishline to your leg, or around your neck. You never can tell what’s going to happen; and after you’re drowned it’s no time to be sorry.”

“I think we’d better go ashore below, where the trees come down to the edge of the bank,” suggested Jack just then, showing that all this while he had been keeping a sharp lookout ahead.

“It makes me think of places where we’ve pulled up over along the old Mississippi,” said Josh; “I wonder now do they have tramps over here, who prowl around looking for a chance to steal what they can lay hands on.”

“I don’t believe they do,” George told him; “for they regulate such things a lot better than we do over the big water. Tramps are a luxury here, while with us they flourish like the green bay tree; the woods are full of them.”

Jack took the boat in closer to the shore. On seeing the proposed landing place at closer quarters all of them seemed to be of the same opinion. It looked like just the camping ground they were looking for. A fire might be built for cooking purposes, and the district seemed lonely enough to make it appear that they might not be disturbed during their short stay of a single night.

On the following morning they expected to be once more on the move down the long and sinuous stream that covered hundreds of miles before emptying its clear water into the Black Sea.

As soon as the landing was effected Buster waddled clumsily ashore.

“I hope somebody will have the kindness now to get that blaze started right away,” he was saying; “I’d do it myself, but I’m afraid all the matches I had in my pocket must have been soaked, and they wouldn’t light easy.”

“I’ll take care of the fire, and do the cooking tonight in the bargain if you want me to, Buster,” Josh told him.

“That’s kind of you, Josh, and I won’t forget it in a hurry, either. Fact is this arm of mine pains a little too much for me to sling the pots and skillets around in my customary way. But fry me two eggs, remember, Josh; I’d say three if nobody kicked up any sort of a row.”

“You shall have them, Buster,” Josh told him; “because the chances are we can pick up as many as we want as we go along.”

“But no fish for supper tonight, how’s that?” George demanded, trying to frown at Buster.

“Oh, well, nobody really promised you any,” the latter explained. “But if there are any fat grubs in some of those rotten stumps around here I’m meaning to have a line out with three hooks to-night, and mebbe, George, you can indulge in fresh fish for breakfast. Will that do?”

“Guess I’ll have to make it; besides, ham and eggs suits my taste well enough this time. I’ll forgive you, Buster, only be careful not to get our mouths watering for fish again when it’s only a floating log you’ve caught.”

Josh was already busy with the fire. He had long since graduated in this department of woodcraft, and knew about all there was going in connection with fires of every description.

Then, too, he could cook in a way to make the mouths of his chums fairly water. Josh had a way of browning things so cleverly that they were unusually attractive, where so many boys more careless would frequently burn whatever they had on the fire, and in a happy-go-lucky fashion dub it “pot-luck.”

“One thing sure,” said Jack, as they sat around waiting for the call to supper, “we’re a lucky set to have two such willing workers with the pots and pans as Buster and Josh here.”

“That’s right,” declared George, agreeable for once; “it would be hard to find their match, search where you will. What one lacks the other makes up for, and the opposite way around too. And we want them to know we appreciate their services, don’t we, Jack?”

“Come, now, no taffy, George,” said Josh, though his eyes sparkled under praise from such a source; “as they used to say in olden days, beware the Greeks who come bearing gifts. And when you get to praising anything there must be a deep motive back of it.”

“There is,” assented George frankly, “a very deep motive, for I’m hollow all the way down to my heels, seems like. Sure the grub must be done by now, Josh. That’s a good fellow, ring the bell for us to gather round.”

Whenever these lads were sitting about the camp fire they always had plenty of fun on tap. If “jabs” were given at times it was done with such good-natured chaff that no one could get provoked.

So they started to discuss the supper Josh had prepared. Meanwhile Buster had managed to dry himself after a fashion by turning around near the fire, presenting first one side and then another to the heat. He likened himself to a roast fowl on the spit, and jokingly asked the others how they would have him served.

“After I’m all through eating my share of the excellent mess Josh here has provided for us,” Buster remarked, when his mouth chanced to be empty, which was not often, by the way, “I know what I mean to do.”

“Oh, anybody can guess that the first shot out of the locker,” George asserted; “that is if they know what a fellow you are for remembering things. Of course you mean to smash some of these rotten stumps, and find out if they contain any grubs. Stumps are fine for holding the same, I understand; at least over where we live; and I guess grubs are grubs the world over.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m aiming to do,” Buster admitted. “Just because I had the hard luck to be dragged overboard by a measly old log, don’t think I’m the one to be scared off. If there are any fish in this Danube River, and they like bait such as I can offer them, we’re bound to have a mess for breakfast.”

“Hurrah! That’s the ticket!” cried Josh; “if at first you don’t succeed try, try again. I plainly perceive that my honors as boss fisherman are going to be put in peril if this thing keeps on. I’ll sure have to get out a line myself, and run you a race, Buster.”

“Wish you would,” snapped the other, as though this just suited him.

“You remember,” continued Josh, “we had some pretty tall rivalry in that line once or twice before. Never mind who came out first best; that’s ancient history, and pretty musty by now. You find enough worms and I’ll get a rig ready, Buster.”

George rubbed his hands as though the prospect looked pretty bright to him. With two ardent anglers engaged in a warm contest to see who could do the better in the way of making captures, those who loved fresh fish might expect to be well taken care of.

When the supper had been disposed of, and every one declared he felt “full to the brim,” Buster secured the little camp hatchet they had been wise enough to fetch along with them, and which had been a useful adjunct on many past outings.

With this in hand he started to attack some of the old stumps that could be seen scattered around. Josh felt considerable interest in his labors, as from time to time he could be heard calling out, and asking what the score was.

“Got three dandies in that stump,” Buster presently made answer, “and here’s a whole nest of bigger ones than the others. Say, we’re fixed all right, my friend, so far as plenty of attractive bait goes. I can see a lovely time among the finny tribes when some of these fat boys get in the drink. They’ll actually fight among themselves for a chance to bite; especially if you spit on your hook after impaling the grub.”

By the time he had placed a full dozen of the victims of his hunt in the little can that had contained sardines at one time, Buster pronounced himself ready to begin serious operations.

Josh had in the meantime managed to get his line ready just as Buster finished his work; George told him it looked suspiciously as though he had been “soldiering,” and meant to let his rival do all the work; but gallant Buster, hearing all this talk, immediately came to the rescue.

“And why shouldn’t Josh take it easy, after going to all the trouble to prepare that fine supper?” he demanded. “You’ve got a bad habit, George, of looking a gift horse in the mouth, and the sooner you break yourself of it the better. Now, come along Josh, and let’s find a good place for throwing our lines out into the river.”

“We’re not going to be partial or play favorites,” warned Jack, laughingly; “may the best man win; but please don’t try to give us any more planked shad, Buster, you hear!”