Clay regarded the sheriff suspiciously.

"Has there anything happened to us on this trip that you don't know about?" he asked, then.

"Why," replied the other, "we've been hearing about you all down the river. Don't forget that we have telegraph wires in this country, as well as up north. Yes, we've heard a lot about you, and, to tell the truth, I've been waiting rather anxiously for you to make your appearance. What about the old mansion, where the negro boy and the dog got your friends out of a bad mess?"

"Say," Alex., who had been listening, cut in, "what do you know about that old mansion? What kind of a gang is it that holds forth there?"

"You ought to know!" smiled the sheriff. "You called on them."

"Yes, and they insisted on our making a longer visit!" grinned Alex.

"Now, what is it about the boy?" the sheriff said, changing the subject.

"You know all that I know about him," replied Clay. "He ran away from us following the visit to the boat of the bank cashier and two friends."

"Yes, I heard about that," said the officer. "Now, will you be good enough to tell me if you have seen him since that night?"

"We have not, except that he returned to the _Rambler_ during the dark hours and restored something he had taken away from her."

"Are you sure it was the boy who came back with the leather bag?"

asked the sheriff, with a most exasperating laugh. "Are you sure it was the boy?"

"I am not," Clay answered, wonderingly. "I spoke too hastily. Come, Mr. Sheriff, tell me how you know anything about that leather bag."

"I don't know much about it, that's the trouble," was the reply. "I wish I knew more. Now, tell me this: Have you an appointment with this boy farther down the river? Do you expect to meet him again during your trip?"

Clay replied that he hoped to, and the sheriff said little more on the subject. He expected the sheriff to ask for the key to the deposit box, but he did not.

CHAPTER XXIII

A NIGHT IN NEW ORLEANS

"I believe," Clay declared, after a long pause, during which the voices of negroes along the levee came softly through the night, "that you know something about the three persons we are just now interested in."

"Name the three," laughed the sheriff. "Who are they?"

"First, the man we have always called Red, the Robber."

"You have referred to him before, my boy."

"But you gave me no satisfaction," urged Clay, eagerly. "Do you know him?"

"I have heard of a man who sometimes answers to the name of Red. What next?"

"The boy, Chester Vinton, accused of having had a hand in the Rock Island robbery."

"Why do you think I know anything of him? If I knew where he was I'd be sure and keep him long enough to find out what he knows about that robbery!"

"And the third person is the cashier of the bank where I left the packet. What did he come on board the _Rambler_ for? Who were the men with him?"

"The cashier said he was curious to see the famous boat, didn't he?"

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Clay. "That wasn't the reason he came on board!

Honest, now, didn't he expect to find some of the plunder taken from the warehouse on the boat?"

"I don't know what he expected to find, I'm sure. I have never talked with him."

"Now," Clay went on, "you have referred to the leather bag, the one thrown on the deck of the _Rambler_. Who told you about the bag if the cashier didn't? I begin to think the cashier took the bag and threw it back, or caused it to be thrown back, when he discovered that it contained nothing of value."

"What did it contain when you first saw it?" asked the sheriff, a twinkle in his eyes. "Let us talk about that, for a time!"

"I'm going to show you," Clay replied, half angrily, "that I can be just as secretive as you can! I don't know anything about the leather bag!"

"Well," the officer went on, with a puzzling expression on his face, "if you come across this boy Chet will you let me know about it?"

"No, I won't!" replied Clay.

"That's right! Speak right up, promptly! Now I know just what to expect!"

"You might clear up the whole matter," Clay complained, "and yet you won't open your mouth! I'm not going to a.s.sist you--not if I get a chance, which is doubtful."

"Well," said the sheriff, moving toward the boats, "I must be getting along! I may see you later. If you come back this way don't forget that you are all to be my guests for a few days. I really want to get better acquainted with you boys."

"We'll think it over," laughed Clay. "We're thankful for the invitation, anyway."

"And when you get down below New Orleans," the officer suggested, "look out for the real thing in pirates! That boat of yours would make a fine craft for a freebooter. And human life is not regarded as very valuable down there."

"We'll be careful, thank you!" Clay answered, and the sheriff and his men went off in their boats, leaving the boys looking wonderingly at their retreating forms.

"Now," Alex. grumbled, "what did they come here for, anyway? They simply let us know that they were wise to our troubles and went away--without finding out anything, or giving us any information except that they were acquainted with our movements."

"They did ask for the boy Chet," suggested Case.

"Don't you suppose they know what it was I put in the deposit box at the bank?" asked Clay. "Of course they know! Now, why didn't the sheriff demand the key and claim the diamonds as stolen property?"

"It is peaches to prunes that he has opened the box long before this, or that some one has!" Alex. put in. "He's the original little pry-in!"

"I'm all out of guesses," Jule declared, "and so I'm going to bed."

The boys saw nothing of the sheriff the next morning. They were on their way at an early hour, and, going at a swift clip, were within sight of New Orleans by nightfall.

"Shall we spend the night in the city?" asked Case, then.

"And where would we leave the _Rambler_?" asked Jule. "If we left it on the river we wouldn't have any boat in the morning."