Free Riverboat Blaze by J. R. Roberts

help.”
    “What’s Anchor Line?” Jerry asked.
    “They run a riverboat out of here called the City of Vicksburg ,” Radcliffe said. “They also have some flat-boats we’re gonna need.”
    Clint took the time to explain fully the situation he and Jerry had left behind them: the boat sitting in shallow water, still burning when they left; survivors on both shores, the Mississippi side and the Louisiana side.
    “I’ll send some telegrams, see if we can’t get some help from Louisiana,” the chief said.
    The door opened then, and a tall, barrel-chested fellow in his fifties entered, black hair shot with gray.
    “Mr. Adams, this is Fred Ward,” Radcliffe said. “He manages Anchor Line and is in charge of all their boats. Fred, Clint Adams and Jerry . . .”
    “Sumner,” Jerry said. It was the first time Clint had heard his last name.
    “Mr. Sumner.”
    “Gents,” Ward said. “Every boat we have is at your disposal.”
    “I’m sure Dean Dillon will appreciate your help, Mr. Ward,” Clint said.
    “I hope so,” Ward said.
    “Why wouldn’t he?”
    “Dillon came to us with his plans for the Dolly Madison ,” the man explained. “We turned him down.”
    “Why?” Jerry asked.
    “Well, aside from the fact that we didn’t want to run another riverboat on the Mississippi,” Ward said, “I told him his boat would be too big, and too heavy. A recipe for disaster. I guess I was right.”
    “That may not be what the problem was, Mr. Ward,” Clint said. “You see, there was an explosion on board.”
    “Well, I guess we won’t know for sure until my men get out there.”
    Clint turned to the chief.
    “I want to go along,” he said.
    “Me, too,” Jerry said.
    “Are you sure you’re up to it?” Radcliffe asked. “You men need some rest.”
    “There are a bunch of people out there who I gave my promise to, Chief,” Clint said. “I told them I was coming back with help, and that’s what I intend to do.”
    “And my wife is one of them,” Jerry said.
    “Well, it’s all right with me if it’s okay with Fred,” the chief said.
    They all looked at Ward. He and the chief were about the same age, and Clint sensed a friendship there.
    “It’s okay with me,” Ward said. “You better get down to the dock. My men are ready to go.”
    “Some of my men will go along, as well,” the chief said. “Good luck.”
    Clint and Jerry left the police station and, with six police officers, headed to the docks.
     
    There were two flat-bottom boats loaded and ready to go. They had to use them because even though Clint explained how deep the Dolly Madison was sitting, there was still no way for them to know what kind of shallows they’d be dealing with. They could be as little as three feet.
    Running with the current, they made good time to the bend in the river where the Dolly Madison had stalled. Still, it took hours to get there and it was past midday when they arrived.
    The rescue operation was being run by a man named Stan McKay. Clint was on the same boat with him and three policemen, while Jerry was on the other boat with three policemen. Jerry’s boat made its way toward the Mississippi shore, where he and Clint had left Jerry’s wife and the others. Jerry and the policemen disembarked, waded ashore, and headed inland to find them.
    Clint’s boat pulled up alongside the Dolly Madison .
    “We better check and see if there are any survivors on board,” McKay reasoned.
    They boarded the boat, and even though her first deck was underwater, it was only up to their shins and they were able to walk.
    “Let’s check the bridge,” McKay said.
    He, Clint, and the policemen used the stairs to get to the third deck and approach the wheelhouse. As McKay opened the door, Captain Hatton looked up from his seated position and said, “Well what the hell took ya so long?”

TWENTY-FIVE
    Captain Hatton had recognized the fact that the Dolly Madison was not going to sink. In fact, he had done everything he