<h3> CHAPTER XXXII </h3>
<h3> VENGEANCE </h3>
<p>On Sunday night they turned in for their last sleep on the island.
That the island had proved a quitter on two momentous occasions had not
prejudiced them against it. With all its faults they loved it still.
The only thing they had against it was that it would not remain still.</p>
<p>Though it was small and of an unromantic squareness, it seemed the
center of a vast empire during the week which was now ending and they
were sorry at the thought of leaving it. But at least the Alligator
Patrol was started and, like the island itself, nothing could stop it.</p>
<p>The night was chilly so they slept in the tent. So profound was their
sleep that they did not hear the dipping oars of an approaching boat
which came down the river after midnight. This boat was dilapidated
and leaky but it was a vision of beauty compared to its occupants.
These were none other than Slats Corbett, imperial head of Barrel
Alley, and his official staff, consisting of Skinny Mattenburg and
Spider McCurren. Such nocturnal excursions were not uncommon with them.</p>
<p>Nor were they surprised to see the new habitat of their official
sentinel bobbing against the wooded shore. Indeed, some tidings of
Joe's adventurous career (since he had run away to sea) had penetrated
to Barrel Alley and the only thing which had prevented the alleyites
from making an assault upon the island was the presence there of
Townsend Ripley. Him they had come to regard with a kind of
superstitious awe because he was so precipitate and decisive.</p>
<p>The fact that he had allowed no time for preliminary threats and
profanity, rather baffled these hoodlums. He had a quaint way of
cutting out all the customary boasts and menaces preceding an
encounter, and going straight to the heart of the matter.</p>
<p>Therefore, Slats Corbett did not undertake anything in the way of a
belligerent and retaliatory enterprise now. But he could not pass the
sleeping campers without in some way registering his mortal enmity, so
he did something which was altogether characteristic of him. He rowed
very quietly along shore and untied the rope with which the little
island was moored. Even this unheroic thing he did in fear and
trembling, for the spirit of Townsend Ripley seemed to pervade the
quiet spot. Then the trio proceeded quietly down the river in the
darkness.</p>
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