21507	----	[Frontispiece: "There he comes right now, Larry; and he's holding up some game you like right well."] Chums In Dixie OR _THE STRANGE CRUISE OF A MOTORBOAT_ _By_ ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE Author of "THE HOUSE BOAT BOYS," "THE YOUNG FUR-TAKERS," "CANOE MATES IN CANADA," Etc. M. A. DONOHUE & CO., Chicago COPYRIGHT 1912. M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. THE VOYAGE BEGUN II. A BOY OF THE SWAMPS III. THE SQUATTERS OF THE CYPRESS TRACT IV. DOWN THE SWIFT CURRENT V. WHAT HAPPENED ON THE FIRST NIGHT VI. "SAVING THE BACON" VII. LARRY CATCHES THE FEVER VIII. HELD FAST IX. THE SECOND NIGHT OUT X. WHEN THE SLEEPER AWOKE XI. AN UNINVITED GUEST XII. THE SHERIFF AND HIS "DAWGS" XIII. IN THE CYPRESS COUNTRY XIV. LARRY PICKS UP SOME MORE POINTERS XV. A RIDE ON AN ALLIGATOR XVI. UNDER THE TWISTED LIVE OAK XVII. TALKING IT OVER XVIII. THE COMING OF THE TERRIBLE McGEE XIX. TAKEN PRISONER XX. AMONG THE SHINGLE-MAKERS XXI. A GLOOMY OUTLOOK XXII. PHIL SHOOTS HIS BOLT--AND LOSES! XXIII. THE WINGED MESSENGER CHUMS IN DIXIE OR _The Strange Cruise of a Motor Boat_ By ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE CHAPTER I THE VOYAGE BEGUN "Phil, oh! Phil, won't you please hurry up? I'll go to sleep pretty soon, if we don't get a move on us." "Just give me five minutes more, Larry, and I promise you we're going to leave this place, and start on our cruise down to the big Gulf. I've got a couple of nuts to put on again, and then you'll hear the little motor begin to hum." The last speaker was bending over the engine of a fair-sized motor boat, which had a stationary roof, and adjustable curtains that in time of need could be made to enclose the entire vessel. This modern craft was tied up against the bank of one of those narrow but swift streams that, having their source in southern Georgia or Alabama, find their way to the Gulf of Mexico, after passing through many miles of Florida cypress swamps that are next to unknown territory to the outside world. Phil Lancing was the son of a well-to-do Northern physician, who had some time previously come into possession of a very large tract of territory in Northern Florida. Considerable of this property was in vast swamps; and here squatters had settled many years back, cutting the trees at their pleasure, and making vast quantities of cypress shingles, which were floated down the river to markets along the gulf. The second occupant of the brave launch Aurora was a rather chubby specimen of a half grown lad, with a rosy face, and laughing blue eyes. Larry Densmore expected to become a lawyer some fine day, and in evidence of his fitness for the business he was constantly asking questions, and finding debatable points in such matters as naturally came up. Phil being an amateur naturalist, knew considerable about the woods and their numerous denizens. Larry was an utter greenhorn, and apt many times to display his gross ignorance concerning the habits of game; as well as the thousand and one things a woodsman is supposed to be acquainted with. But his good-nature was really without limit; and one could hardly ever get provoked with Larry, even when he committed the most stupendous of blunders. Upon hearing these consoling words from his chum, Larry, who was sitting well up in the bow of the boat, yawned and stretched himself. The southern sun was inclined to be warm, and Larry had not slept very well the two nights he had been aboard the motor boat. But then it was nothing very singular to see the chubby lad yawning at any time of the day. "I'm real glad we've got all our supplies aboard," he said, aloud, just to pass the time away, and to keep awake while Phil was fussing with the engine preparatory to starting on their trip down-stream. "I'm tired of this dead little village that they call a town. And tired of hearing what an awful lot of trouble we're bound to buck up against when we get two-thirds of the way down to the gulf. Wonder what they'd say if they knew your dad owned most all of that property along this crazy old creek they call a river. And that you even expect to stop off to interview that terrible McGee they talk about! Oh, my! what was that, now?" Larry ceased to stretch himself. He even sat up, his eyes wide open now, as if he had noticed something away out of the usual; and they were fastened on the stern of the boat, where he had certainly seen something slip over the gunwale, and vanish under a pile of blankets that had been airing. Phil raised his head. He did not even glance at his chum, but seemed to be listening intently. "Now what d'ye suppose all that shouting means?" he exclaimed. "Seems to be coming this way too, and mighty fast at that. There, look, Larry, don't you see them running through the woods? As sure as you live they're coming this way! I wonder if it's a fox hunt, or what?" "Mebbe--" began Larry; and then his comrade interrupted him before he could say what was on his mind. "They're heading right for us; and there's that big Colonel Brashears at their head, the fellow who told us all those awful stories about the shingle-makers of the swamps. Here they come, seven of 'em; and look, Larry, as many as four have got ugly whips in their hands! Something's up, I tell you." Again did Larry open his mouth as though to say something; and for the second time, after a swift glance toward the blankets, he closed it again resolutely. The seven men who were running speedily drew near. Most of them were out of breath, and all looked very much excited. The leader, who was quite a character in the Southern town, and a fierce appearing individual, with a military swagger, which Phil believed to be wholly assumed, immediately addressed himself to the two young Northerners on the new-fangled motor boat, which had been the wonder of the townspeople ever since it was dropped off the cars to be launched in the so-called "river" at their doors. "Seen anything of him acomin' this aways, sah?" he asked, in a high pitched, raspy voice. "We done chased him through the woods, and he's give us the slip. Thinkin' he mout have come in this direction, we changed our course to put the question to yuh." "What was it--a fox?" asked Phil, innocently enough. "No, sah, it was not a fox, but a miserable whelp of a boy!" exclaimed the indignant colonel, drawing his military figure up, and cracking his whip with a vindictive report that sounded like the discharge of a pistol. "A boy?" ejaculated Phil, astonished at all this display of force under such peculiar conditions. "A boy!" echoed Larry, some of the color leaving his face, and a look of genuine concern taking its place. "A mighty sassy and desp'rit critter at that," the colonel went on. "One of that McGee tribe from down-river way. He's been loafin' 'round town some days, I'm told, an' we're lucky not to have our homes robbed o' everything wuth while. My Bob met him on the street a while back; an' jest like boys, they had words that led to blows. The miserable beggar actually had the nerve to lick my Bob; foh yuh see I reckon he's just like a wildcat in a fight. When I seen the black eye and bloody nose he give my Bob I jest natchally ached to lay it on him; and organizin' a posse o' my neighbors, who has reason to hate them McGees like cold pizen, we started out to lay hands on the cub an' tan his hide black an' blue." "But he managed to escape after all, you say?" asked Phil, who had some difficulty in keeping a grin of satisfaction from showing on his face; for the idea of these seven stalwart men chasing one puny little chap was pretty close to ridiculous in his eyes. "He was too slick foh us, I reckons, sah," the colonel went on, snapping off the heads of a few wild flowers with the lash of his constantly moving whip. "We done lost sight of him in the woods, and thought as how possibly you mout aseen him thisaways. And so we turned aside to ask you that question, sah." Phil shook his head in the negative. "I give you my word, Colonel Brashears, I haven't seen the least sign of any boy for the last five hours," he said, positively, and with truth. "I've been busy making a few changes in my engine here; and we expect to start down the river inside of five minutes or so." "Thet's all right, sah," returned the other, with a slight bow. "And such bein' the case me and my posse had better be turnin' our attention in another quarter. We're gwine tuh find that little scamp yet, and tickle his hide foh him. When he goes back tuh his kind below, they'll understand that weuns up-river don't tolerate thieves and brawlers in ouh town. Good day, sah, and we sure hope you-all may have a pleasant voyage; but we done warn yuh tuh look sharp when yuh gets nigh the stampin' place o' the terrible McGee!" The posse turned away, and went trooping back into the open woods. Larry had listened to all that was being said with his mouth half open, and a look of real concern on his face. He saw with a thrill that once the leader of the crowd seemed to pause, as if to dispute with his men as to what their next best course might be. "Oh, do hurry, Phil!" cried the watching lad, as he jumped up from his seat, and going ashore, started to unfasten the cable that held the motor boat to a tree. "In a minute or two, Chum Larry!" sang out; the other. "What's your haste? Upon my word, I never knew you to act like that before. Generally you're the last one to want to rush things. See here, was it the visit of those fellows that upset you, Larry?" "Yes, yes," answered the other, with a voice that actually trembled with anxiety; "that Colonel Brashears is such a fierce fire-eater, and he cracked that awful whip just like he itched to lay it on the bare back of that poor little chap. Let's get out of this before they can come back. Why, they might even want to search our boat, you know!" "Oh! I guess there's no danger of that," laughed Phil. "Anyway, you can see that they've gone into the woods again." "And headed down-stream; notice that, Phil," went on the stout boy, nervously. "Say, I'm going to unfasten the rope now, and let her swing off on the current. It will give us a start, you know, and make me feel easier." "All right, let her slip," answered the engineer; "I'm just about ready to turn the engine, and get power on her. Come aboard, Larry. We're off!" Phil waved his hat, and gave a little cheer as the Aurora began to move through the dark water of the stream, with her nose pointing due south. The merry popping of her unmuffled exhaust told that the engine was busily at work, even if turned on at part speed. When he saw the shore slipping rapidly by Larry seemed to breathe easier. Still, he kept his gaze fastened upon the woods, as though not quite sure that the posse might not unexpectedly heave in sight again, with a new demand. For a short time there was silence aboard the rapidly speeding boat. Phil busied himself with his engine, watching its performance with more or less satisfaction; for his heart was set on mechanics, and he anticipated great things of the motor he had put into his boat before sending her south for this especial trip. Larry on the other hand never once turned to look at the shore along the larboard quarter; that which he knew sheltered the seven burly boy hunters claimed all his attention. "I wonder will they find the poor little chap?" Phil finally remarked; showing that after all his thoughts were not wholly taken up with the working of the engine at which he was gazing so proudly. "Say, did you hear what he said about the swamp boy licking his Bob?" demanded Larry, with sudden glee. "Don't you remember what we thought of that big loafer; and how he seemed to lord it over all the other boys of the town, when they came out in a bunch to see what our boat looked like? I'm awful glad he got his, ain't you, Phil?" "Sure I am," grinned the other. "Thought at one time I'd have to tackle Bob on my own account, when he got so sassy; but I knew his dad would make it rough for us, and I managed to hold in. Yes, he got only what he deserved, I guess. And if I ever meet up with that swamp boy, I declare I'd like to shake hands with him, and tell him he is all right for doing what he did. It took some nerve to tackle Bob--just like a little rooster going next door and licking the cock of the barnyard." "Would you really like to tell him that?" exclaimed Larry, as he clutched the shoulder of his chum; and Phil, looking up was astonished to see how his eyes danced. "Give you my word I would," he declared, vehemently. "Good!" ejaculated the other, with a nervous laugh; and springing over to a spot nearer the stern of the boat he called out: "You might as well come out now. The colonel and his crowd are far away, and we want to see what you look like!" Thereupon, to the immense amazement of Phil Lancing, the blankets began to heave; and being speedily tossed aside, behold there came forth the figure of a tattered, half-grown boy--a boy with a face as brown as that of an Indian, and with a pair of defiant black eyes that flashed fire as he looked straight at the owner of the motor boat. And Phil realized that he was gazing upon the boy belonging to the terrible McGee tribe from down-river, who had just licked the big Brashears cub in his own home town! CHAPTER II A BOY OF THE SWAMPS "Well, if this don't beat all creation!" exclaimed Phil, as he continued to stare at the uninvited passenger on board the Aurora. "See here, Larry, own up now that you saw him crawl aboard our boat?" "That's just what I did," chuckled the other, as though he enjoyed the joke. "If you hark back a bit, perhaps you'll remember my calling out, just at the time you discovered moving figures through the trees? That was because I had caught just a glimpse of something, I didn't know what, slipping under the blankets. "Now I can understand why you were so nervous, and wanted to hurry off," said Phil. "You were afraid the fierce colonel would come back, and search our craft for stowaways." "Sure I was; I admit it," echoed Larry. "But Phil, you really meant what you said just now, didn't you--about wanting to shake hands with the boy who knocked Bob Brashears galley west, you know?" Phil turned to the sallow-faced, defiant figure that was observing their every action. The boy looked as though ready to brave them to their face, if so be they turned out to be new enemies; or even take a header over the side, should they show signs of wanting to detain him against his will. But as soon as he looked into the smiling countenance of Phil he must have realized that in taking this liberty of boarding the motor boat, when so hard pressed by his enemies, he had made a lucky move indeed. For in those friendly eyes he saw genuine warmth. "Shake hands, won't you, my friend?" said Phil, thrusting out his own digits in the free and easy fashion customary with boys. "I'm glad you punched that Bob Brashears. I hope his black eye will hang to him for a month. And I'd have given a heap to have seen the mill when you licked him. I'm only surprised he dared tackle you alone, big cub that he is." "Huh!" the boy broke out with, as a glimmer of a smile appeared flickering athwart his thin, serious looking face; "they was two of 'em, mister. But t'other, he run like a scart rabbit the first crack he got under his ear." Then Larry insisted on also squeezing his hand warmly. "When I heard that man say they were chasing a boy," he remarked, "I knew what it was I'd seen scramble under the blankets; and I made up my mind that they wasn't going to get you, if we had to fight for it. Just to think of seven hulking men after one small boy. But we're too far away now for any of them to get you; and perhaps you'd like to stay aboard till we reach your home below; because we expect to pass all the way to the gulf, you see. He'd be welcome, wouldn't he, Phil?" "Sure he would," affirmed the other, heartily, as he eyed the boy; and perhaps a dim suspicion that he might find the fugitive valuable as a guide began to flit through his mind then and there. "We've got oceans of grub aboard; and perhaps you wouldn't mind helping out in the cooking line; because, you see, I'm the one in charge of that part of the game; while Phil, he takes care of the running gear. Anyhow, no matter, you're welcome to stay with us on the trip. We're glad to know the fellow who dared lick that big bully of a Bob Brashears, see?" The boy let his head drop. Perhaps it was because he did not want to let these generous fellows see the tear in his eye, and of which he was possibly ashamed, though without reason. "Say, that's right kind of you both," he exclaimed presently, when he could look them in the eyes without winking. "And I'm gwine to say yes right away. I wanted to stay up here yet a while; but I saw the town was gettin' too hot foh me; and I made a fix with a friend I got thar, so's I could know how it all came out. Yep, I'll stick with you, and be glad in the bargain." "What might your name be?" asked Larry, frankly. "Tony," came the immediate answer; but although it might be supposed that the swamp boy had another name besides, he somehow did not seem to think it worth while to mention the same--or else had some reason for keeping it unspoken. "Well," remarked Phil, who had listened to the way the other spoke with more or less surprise; "I must say that if you do live in the swamp, and your folks are a wild lot, according to what these people around here say, you talk better than any of the boys we've yet run across since we struck this place. Ten to one you've been to school a time, Tony?" The swamp boy smiled, and shook his head in the negative. "Never seen the inside of a school in my born days till we come up here a while back, me an' little Madge. But my mother didn't always live in the swamps. Once she taught school down in Pensacola. Dad met her when he was ferryin' shingles, an' that's how it came around. She says as how her children ain't a-goin' to grow up like heathen, if they does have little but rags to wear. And so she showed me how to read, and I'm wantin' to get more books. Looky here, this is one I bought since we kim up the river," and as he spoke he drew out from the inside of his faded and torn flannel shirt a rather soiled volume. "Robinson Crusoe!" exclaimed Phil, as he vividly remembered the time away back when he too had treasured the volume so dear to the heart of the average boy at a certain age. "Well, Tony, I'm going to make you a promise, that when I get home again there's going to come down this way a box of books that will make you happy. Just to think of it, a boy who longs to know what is going on in this big world, and kept back to spend his life in a swamp. Why, we've got a few aboard here right now, that you shall have when we say good-by to you." Tony hardly knew whether he might be dreaming or hearing a blessed truth. The look he bent on the kind-hearted Northern lad told how his soul had been stirred by these totally unexpected acts of friendly regard. "That's awful good of you, sah!" he murmured, as his eyes dropped again--perhaps because he felt them moist once more; and according to a swamp boy's notions it was a silly thing to give way to weakness like this. "But whatever made you come up here, Tony, so far away from your home?" Larry asked. "You must have known how the people in this town hated your folks; and that if they found out you came from the McGee settlement of squatters they'd make it hard for you." "Yes, I knowed all that," replied the other, slowly; "but you see, somebody jest had to come along with Madge; an' dad he dassent, 'case they had it in foh him." "Madge--that means your little sister, doesn't it, Tony?" queried Larry. "Yep. She's jest so high, an' she's been blind a long time. Last year a gent from the No'th that called hisself a professor, happened to git lost in the swamps, and some of our folks they fetched him in. He was took good care of, an' after a bit was guided out of the swamps. He seen Madge, an' he told dad an' mam that if only she could be treated by a friend o' his'n, who was a very great eye doctor up No'th, he believed Madge, she'd git her sight back ag'in." Phil started, and looked more closely at the boy as he heard this; but he did not say anything, leaving it to his chum to learn all there was to know about the mission of Tony from the swamps, to the town of those who hated his clan so bitterly. "And you brought your little blind sister all the way up here, did you?" asked Larry, with a ring of real sympathy in his cheery voice. "Sho! that want nawthin' much," declared the other, scornfully. "I had a little dugout, which I paddled easy. I spected to stay 'roun' till the doctor he kim, which was to be at a sartin day; but yuh see they run me out. But I gotter a chanct to fix it all up. Madge, she's stoppin' at the cabin o' a man dad used to know. His name is Badger, an' he's got a boy Tom, jest my age." "That's nice now," remarked Phil, taking a hand in the talk. "And is she going to stay there till this Northern eye doctor arrives, to perform the operation?" "Yep; but mam guv me the money to let her into the horspittal, so she c'n stay thar, and be looked arter till she's well. Mam sets a heap of store by Madge; an' dad too, I reckon. They ain't gwine to sleep much till they knows whether the operation pans out right or not." "But how will you know, now that you have been chased out of town?" asked Larry. "Perhaps this Tom Badger will go down the river to carry the news?" "Shucks, no," said the other, with a flash of pride coming over his thin face; "I fixed that up all right. He's gwine to send a message to weuns just as soon as he knows what's what; and we'll git the news sure inside o' a few hours." "But say, you don't mean to tell me there's a telegraph station in the swamps?" ejaculated the astonished Larry. "Nope," replied Tony, instantly. "Jest a pigeon. Tom, he knows how to write, and he's gwine to tuck a little letter under the wing o' the bird I fetched up." "A carrier pigeon, you mean!" cried Larry. "Why, how fine you planned it, Tony. Just to think of it, having the news flashed straight home, over miles and miles of swamps. But what if a hawk got your bird, what then?" "I tuck up three of 'em, so's to make sure," Tony made answer. "He promised to set 'em all free one after t'other, and each carryin' the news. So you see, sah, one of 'em's jest bound to sure git home." "But see here, where under the sun did you ever get carrier pigeons? That's the last thing I'd expect to find away down in the Florida swamps," Phil asked. "A man in Pensacola, as knowed my mam afore she married dad, sent a pair home to her last time they took shingles down thar, which was a year back. I made a coop foh the birds an' they hatched out a heap o' young uns. These hyah three is the pick o' the flock; an' I sure has hopes o' seein' one of 'em right soon after Tom he starts 'em loose." "Well, you've interested me a heap," declared Larry. "Why, it's just like a story, you see. The good doctor comes, restores the sight to your sweet little sister's eyes; and then the glorious news is flashed home by a dove of peace and good tidings. Of course it'll be good news, Tony. Didn't the dove bring that kind back to old Noah in the ark? I'm awful glad you just happened to hit our boat when you wanted some place to hide. Why, I wouldn't have missed meeting you for a whole lot. Have you had anything to eat this morning, Tony?" When he learned that their guest was really hungry, Larry immediately started to get something going. He drew out a little square black tin box; this, on being opened disclosed a brass contrivance which turned out to be a German Jewel kerosene gas stove. This was quickly started, and began a cheery song, as though inviting a kettle to accept of its genial warmth. Evidently the swamp boy had never in all his life seen anything like this, to judge from the way he gazed. Nor had he ever scented coffee that had the aroma such as was soon filling the air about them; for he could not help sniffing eagerly every little while, to the secret amusement of Larry. All this while the boat had been speeding down the narrow but deep stream. Phil could look after the wheel and the engine at the same time; though as a rule he depended on his chum to stand in the bow, and warn him of any floating log or snag, such as might play the mischief with the cedar sheathing of the modern motor boat. When Larry announced that lunch was ready Phil slowed down, and presently came alongside the bank, at a place where a cable could be warped around a convenient tree. For, since they were in no particular hurry, they did not feel that it was necessary to keep on the move while eating. Larry had heated up a mess of Boston baked beans. Besides this they had some soda biscuits which had been purchased from a woman in the town; some cheese; and a can of sardines; the whole to be topped off with a dish of prunes, cooked on the preceding evening, and only partly eaten. When Tony received his share he ate ravenously. Perhaps the boy had seldom tasted such a fine variety of food, for the canned stuffs likely to reach these squatters of the big cypress swamps were apt to be of the cheapest variety. They were sitting thus as the lunch drew near its conclusion when, in addressing his chum in some laughing way, Larry happened to mention his name in full. The effect upon Tony was singular. He started as though he had been shot, and immediately stared at Phil; while a troubled look came over his sallow face; just as though he had recognized a name that was being held up to derision and execration down in the settlement of the McGee squatters! CHAPTER III THE SQUATTERS A short time later, and once more Larry loosened the rope that held the motor boat to the bank; so that the swift current taking hold, commenced to carry the craft down stream. Then Phil started operations; and the merry popping of the noisy exhaust told that they were being urged on at a faster gait than the movement of the stream could boast. Tony had curled up in the sun, just like a dog might have done. He seemed to be asleep; and the two other boys talked in low tones as they continued to glide on down the winding river; now under heavy trees, and again passing through an open stretch, where the turpentine industry had killed the pines years back; so that only a new growth was coming on. Perhaps Phil might have thought it a bit singular had he known that Tony did not sleep for a single minute as he lay there; but was from time to time observing his new friends from the shelter of his arms, on which his head lay. Phil had reached under the deck of the boat and brought forth a splendid gun of the latest model. It was a Marlin repeater, known among hunters as a pump gun; and could be fired six times without reloading, the empty shells being thrown out from the side instead of in the marksman's face. This fine weapon had been a present to the boy from his father on the preceding summer, when he had a birthday; and as yet he had found no opportunity to test its shooting qualities. Still, his father had once been something of a true sportsman, and knew more or less about the value of firearms; so that Phil never feared but that it would prove to be an excellent tool. "I've got some buckshot shells along with me, you remember, Larry," he was saying as he guided the boat, and tried to keep her in the middle of the widening stream. "And I fetched them in the hope of meeting up with a Florida deer, or perhaps a panther; which animal is found down here. If a fellow can't carry a rifle these buckshot shells answer pretty well. I got my deer up in the Adirondacks last year with one, fired from my old double-barrel." "How about grizzly bears and wildcats and coons?" asked Larry, not in the least ashamed to show his utter ignorance about all such matters, in his quest of knowledge. At that Phil laughed out loud. "The bobcat and coon part is all O. K., Larry," he said; "but you're away off when you think we're going to rub up against a grizzly bear down in Florida. They have got a specimen of the breed here, but it's only a small black fellow, and not particularly ferocious, they tell me. But we'll ask Tony about all these things later on; he ought to know." "Yes, and perhaps he can help us go ashore, and get a fine deer once in a while!" exclaimed Larry, who loved to enjoy the good things of life almost as much as he did to exploit his ability as a cook. "Yum! yum, a real venison steak, cooked on the spot where the animal was shot--what a treat for hungry fellows, eh?" "Wait," said the other, nodding. "You may change your mind before a great while. For instance, venison ought to hang quite a time before being eaten. I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed, Larry, and that if we're lucky enough to get a deer you'll find it as tough and dry as all get-out." "Then things ain't all they're cracked up to be," declared the other. "I always read that things tasted just dandy in camp; and here you spoil all my illusions right off the reel." "They taste good because the appetite is there," remarked Phil. "A fellow gets as hungry as a bear in the spring after he comes out from his hibernating. But already you ought to know that, because you're eating half again as much as you do up home. And of your own cooking too." "That stamps it gilt-edged, A Number One," laughed Larry. "But here's Tony beginning to wake up. Come and join us, Tony. We want to ask you heaps of things about the animals of the timber and the swamps; also something about your people. You see, we ain't down here just for our health or the fun of ft. Phil here has got a mission to perform, that concerns the terrible McGee they told us about up in the river town." Again did Tony send that questioning look at Phil Lancing; and there was something besides inquiry in his manner. Doubtless the words so carelessly uttered by good-natured Larry had stirred up mingled emotions in the breast of the swamp boy, and he was wondering what sort of a message the son of the man who now owned all that wild country below, could be carrying to the giant shingle-maker, leader of the whole McGee clan. "If I c'n tell you anything jest ask me, sah!" he remarked, in his singularly smooth and even voice. "I sure ought tuh be ready tuh 'blige after all yuh done foh me. But I wisht you'd done never come down thisaways, case they's hard men, the McGees, an' I reckons as how they ain't got any reason tuh think kindly o' your governor." As he said this bluntly, Tony looked squarely into the face of Phil; who however only smiled as he made reply. "I see you have heard my name before, Tony? Well, you never heard anything bad in connection with it, I'll be bound. It's true that my father did come into possession of ten thousand acres or more of land and swamp, lying along this same little river a year or two ago. And he's taken a notion that something ought to be done to make it more profitable than it seems to be now. That's one of the reasons I'm down here. My father don't like the idea of having squatters on his lands. He wants to make a change." Tony squirmed uneasily, and the look on his face was really painful to see. At one instant it seemed as though defiance ruled; only to give way to distress; as in imagination he saw these new-found friends, who had been so very kind to him, in the hands of his infuriated clansmen, and being roughly treated. "Better not keep on down-river, sah!" he muttered. "They all knows that name o' Lancing. Sure I've heard many a shingle-maker curse it, an' say what he'd do tuh the new owner, if ever he dared show his face on the river. An' what they'd do tuh your dad they'd like enough do tuh you. That's why I asks yuh to turn aroun' an' go back, while yuh has the chanct." "Why, you don't mean to say your people would try to harm us?" asked Larry, his round face showing signs of uneasiness. "They sure would, if they knowed his name was Lancing," replied the other, doggedly. "They's a tough lot, seein' as how they lead a hard life, an' they think they got a right to the land they built ther shanties on. More'n once the sheriff he tried tuh git his man down yonder. Sho! they jest rode him on a rail, an' warned him if ever he showed his face thar again they'd sure tar and feather him. An' let me tell yuh, he ain't come back from that day to this'n." "Well," Phil went on, coolly, "I've heard all those things from the people of the town. They haven't one good word to say for McGee and his tribe. But somehow I've got a notion that your folks ain't as black as they're painted. And I'm banking on that idea just enough to take the risk of going on down there, even if it is bearding the lion in his den." Tony shook his head dismally, and looked disappointed. "Wisht yuh wouldn't," he muttered. "Yuh been good to me, an' I'd hate tuh know anything happened." "Oh! that's all right, Tony," said Phil, cheerfully. "Nothing's going to happen--nothing bad, I mean. I'm not afraid to meet the terrible McGee face to face. I just want to tell him something that will make him change his mind pretty quick, I guess." "And when they see that we've been good friends to you, Tony," remarked Larry, "they couldn't think to injure us. We come not in war but in peace. Phil, my chum, has got an idea he can fix up this whole matter without a fight; and that when he comes away again, there won't be a single squatter on the ten thousand acres his dad owns." "Perhaps yuh mean well, but they wouldn't understand," said the swamp boy, laying a hand on the sleeve of Phil. "If yuh kept your name secret nothin' might happen; but oh! just as soon as they learn that Dr. Lancing is your dad they're sure tuh go crazy. Then it'll be too late. Even the McGee himself couldn't hold 'em back then, big as he is, and the strongest man in all Florida." His pleading did not seem to have any effect however. Evidently Phil had the utmost confidence in himself, and his mission as well. He knew what he was carrying in his pocket, and had faith to believe that it would win for him a welcome entirely the opposite of the rough greeting Tony predicted. But then Phil had never met the lawless McGees, who snapped their impudent fingers at the sheriff of the county, and did just about as they liked; owning allegiance only to their terrible leader, whose name was the most hated one known along the upper reaches of the river. "There seems to be something of war between your people and these folks up in this section of the country," Phil remarked, wishing to change the conversation. "Has that always been so, and do they come to actual blows occasionally?" "Huh! none o' the McGees ever comes up thisaways; they knows better. And they ain't a single critter belongin' tuh the upper river as dast show so much as the tip o' his nose down thar. They'd string him up; or give him a coat o' feathers. That's why my dad, he let me bring the little sister up; when he said as how he'd come hisself, mam and all the rest wouldn't hear o' it nohow; case they just knowed they'd never see him any more. If the sheriff didn't git him, some o' these cowards would, with a bullet." "Your father, then, must be hated almost as much as the McGee himself?" observed Larry. The swamp boy looked confused, and then hastily muttered: "I reckons as how he is, more p'raps." "And you've never been up in this region before, Tony?" asked Larry. "Never has, sah. I wuks with the men, cuttin' shingles. It's the on'y way we has of getting money. Twict a yeah a boat creeps up the river from the gulf and we loads the stacks o' shingles on her. More'n a few times it been a tug that kim arter the cypress bunches. Onct I went down on a boat; and dad he took me tuh Pensacola. That's sure been the on'y time I ever was in a city. I got two books thar." He said this last as though it might have been the most important part of his visit to civilization; and Phil smiled as he watched the varying emotions on the eager face of the swamp boy whom he only knew as Tony. Then, as though he might have some reason for so doing, Phil once more returned to the subject that seemed to be of prime importance in his sight. "Now about this big McGee," he remarked; "is he such a terrible fellow, of whom even his own family keeps in terror?" "That's what every one says, sah," returned the boy, quickly; "but 'taint right tuh jedge a man by what his enemies tells. McGee is a big man, a giant; he's strong as an ox; and his people they looks up tuh him right smart. He's knocked a man down more'n once, with a blow from his fist; but 'twas when he needed a lesson. The McGee has a heart, sah, I give yuh my word on that. He keers a heap foh his wife and his chillen." "Oh! then he has a wife and children?" remarked Phil, "and he thinks considerable of them, does he? Perhaps, after all, he may be more sinned against than sinning. You know of your own account that he cares for these children, do you?" "Sure I do," replied the other, eagerly, and for the moment forgetting his caution. "I tell yuh, sah, that if it hadn't been foh all o' the lot that wrastled with him, he would a-come up hisself with the little gal, 'stead o' lettin' me do that same." "Oh! you mean with Madge, your sister Madge?" cried Phil. The boy nodded his head, a little sullenly, as though realizing what a mess he had made of the secret he had thought to keep a while longer, at least. "But why should the terrible McGee bother his head about you and Madge?" Phil demanded, smiling in Tony's face. Thereupon the swamp boy drew himself up proudly, as though he were about to announce himself the descendant of a race of kings, while he replied: "Because, sah, the McGee is Madge's dad, an' mine! I'm Tony McGee!" CHAPTER IV DOWN THE SWIFT CURRENT Evidently Phil was not so very much surprised after all, at this formidable announcement on the part of the boy with the sallow face. Perhaps he had even suspected something of the kind for quite a little time back. At least such a thing would account for the way in which he had been leading Tony along, until he unwittingly, in defending his father, gave his secret away. From the look on his face it seemed as though the boy half feared that these new friends would turn against him when they learned how McGee was his father. He was therefore considerably surprised to have Phil reach out, and grasp his hand in a warm clutch. "You knew my name as soon as you heard it, Tony," he said, with a smile that went straight to the heart of the ragged lad. "And ever since you've been trying to get me to give up this mission of mine. It tells me that you've already begun to think something of Phil Lancing. And it encourages me to think your father will do the same, after he gets to know me." But Tony shook his head, as if in great doubt. "Oh! if you knowed just how he's come to hate that name, you wouldn't dast let him see yuh," he said. "All sorts o' things has been told 'bout how your dad meant tuh chase weuns off'n his land. Some even says as how the soldiers was agwine tuh be used tuh hunt the squatters through the swamps whar they has lived always, an' which is the on'y home they got." "All of which is a lie made out of whole cloth," declared Phil, indignantly, "my father isn't that sort of man. Why, he wanted to come down here himself and meet the McGee face to face; but he had an important lot of business on hand. Perhaps he may show up yet! And when your father once comes to know him, he'll never have cause to feel sore toward Dr. Gideon Lancing, because he happens to be a rich man." "I've heard 'em talkin' about it heaps," said Tony, "an' they 'spect to have tuh fight sooner or later. They's a hard lot, and live a wild life. Yuh couldn't blame 'em much for hatin' the name of the man they look on as their enemy." "Wait a little while, Tony. I'm bound to meet your father, and see if I can't change that stubborn mind of his. Perhaps I've got some magic about me. Perhaps I could show him something that would change a foe into a friend. Anyhow, all you say doesn't alter my mind a mite," and Phil smiled into the troubled face of the swamp boy as he spoke. Larry had listened to all this with the greatest interest. While he might to some extent share the confidence of his chum, still he did not feel quite so positive about the warmth of their welcome by the lawless band of shingle-makers peopling the lower reaches of the river that emptied into the gulf. So they occasionally chatted as they moved along down the stream. Phil asked a great variety of questions concerning the possibilities of the country they were now passing through, as a game preserve. "They's deer tuh be had aplenty," Tony had answered, readily enough; "an' now an' then a b'ar. Cats and coons c'n be run across any old time. Once in a long spell yuh see a painter. Turkeys lie on the sunny sides o' the swales an' ridges. Then in heaps o' places yuh c'n scare up flocks o' pa'tridges as fat as butter." "They call quail by that name down here," remarked Phil, turning to Larry; "just as they call our black bass of the big mouth species a 'trout' in Florida. You have to understand these things, or else you'll get badly mixed up. And Tony, my chum here wants to know how about squirrels; for he thinks he could bag a few of that species of small game, given a chance, with my Marlin pump-gun." "Sho! no end o' 'em along the hamaks, both grays an' fox squirrels," replied the swamp boy; "they's a tough lot though; and weuns always boils a squirrel fust before we fries him." "I've done that many a time myself," laughed Phil; "so I guess the frisky little nut-crackers are about the same, North and South. But they make a good stew all right, when a fellow's sharp set with hunger. I can remember eating a mess, and thinking it the finest supper ever." A good many miles had been covered by the time the afternoon waned; although not a great deal of southing may have been made. That river was the greatest thing to curve, and twist back on its course, Phil had ever met with. He declared that in some places he could throw a stone across a neck of land into the water which the boat had passed over half an hour back. "Makes me think of a great big snake moving along over the ground," Larry had declared as he discussed this feature of the stream with the others. But Tony assured them that as they progressed further this peculiarity would for the most part gradually vanish, and the river, growing wider and deeper, act in a more sensible manner. The country was certainly as wild as heart could wish. "Just to think," Larry had remarked, "outside of a few shanties below the town we haven't set eyes on the first sign of a man all afternoon. Why, a feller might imagine himself in the heart of Africa, or some other tropical country. Look at that big blue heron wading in the water ahead, would you? There he flaps his wings, and is off, with his long legs sticking out from under him like a fishing pole." "Which is just about what they are," returned Phil; "since he has to use them to get his regular fish dinner right along. There's a white crane; and what d'ye call that other handsome white bird that just got up, Tony?" "Ibis. Ain't so many 'round hyah nowadays as they used tuh be. Some fellers gits on tuh their roosts and nestin' places, an' kills the birds when they got young uns. My dad just hates them critters like pizen. He caught a cracker onct as done it, an' they give him a coat, all right. He never dast shoot another bird ag'in, I'm tellin' yuh." "Meaning that they tarred and feathered him?" said Phil, who was better able to grasp the meaning of the swamp boy than innocent Larry, to whom all such language was like Hebrew or Greek. "Well, I'm glad to hear that your father has such notions. And it tells me he isn't the savage some of these up-river people tried to make us believe. For any man who would shoot the mother birds, and leave the young to starve in the nests, just for the sake of a dollar or two, ought to get tarred and feathered! Them's my sentiments, Tony!" "Hear! hear! ditto! Count me in!" chirped Larry, nodding his head positively; for he had a tender heart; and the plaintive cry of starving nestlings would appeal to him strongly--even though he had never as yet heard such a thing. "I believe that a true sportsman ought to never destroy more game than he can make use of," Phil continued, for the subject was one very close to his heart. "My father taught me that long ago; and I've grown to think more of it right along. I've known men to throw trout by dozens up on the bank, when their creel was as full as it could hold. They seemed to think that unless a fish was killed there could be no fun in capturing it." "Say, don't they call those kind of chaps game butchers?" asked Larry. "Right you are, Larry; and I'm glad to see that you've got the breed sized up to a dot. I'd let a deer trot past me without pulling trigger if I knew we had all the meat we could use in camp." "But just now that doesn't happen to apply," remarked the other, pointedly. "Hold the wheel for a minute, Larry, quick!" said Phil, in a low, thrilling tone. He instantly snatched up the repeating gun as soon as his chum's fingers had closed upon the steering wheel. Larry turned his eyes to look ahead, for he realized that his companion must have seen something. A crashing sound was heard. Then he had a glimpse of a dun colored object flitting through the scrub palmettoes under the pines. "Oh! that was a deer, wasn't it?" Larry exclaimed. Phil had lowered his gun, with an expression akin to disappointment on his face. "Just what it was," he said; "and he got away scot free, all right, thanks to that scrub interfering with my aim. Well, better luck next time, Larry. I think I'm safe in saying you will have venison before long." "But," interrupted the other, as he worked valiantly at the wheel, for they had come to an abrupt turn of the river, "I saw him skip past. Why didn't you shoot anyhow and take chances?" "I might if I'd had a rifle," answered Phil; "but the distance was so far that I knew there was a mighty poor show of my bringing him down with scattering buckshot. I'd hate to just wound the poor beast, and have him suffer. If we could have come closer before he scampered off, it would have been different." Possibly few boys would have allowed themselves to hesitate under such conditions; but as Phil said, he had been taught what he knew of woodcraft by a father who was very careful about taking the life he could never give back again. After that Larry kept constantly on the alert watching ahead, in the hope of discovering another deer, which might be brought down by his quick acting chum. "Of course we won't try to run along after night sets in," remarked Larry, as he noted how low in the west the glowing sun had fallen. "Well, not if we know it," laughed Phil. "It's all a fellow can do now, with the broad daylight to help him guide this boat around the corners, and avoiding snags. Look at that half submerged log ahead there, will you? Suppose we ran full tilt on that now, what a fine hole there would be punched in the bow of the Aurora, to let the river in. No, we're going to stop pretty soon." "That means to tie up for the night, don't it?" queried Larry, always wanting to know. "If we can find a tree handy, which will always be the case along the river, I take it," Phil replied. "We carry an anchor of course; but I don't expect to use that till we get to the big gulf. Tony, suppose you keep an eye out for the right tying-up place, will you?" The two chums had talked the matter over when they had a chance, while Tony happened to be at the other end of the boat; and thus decided to coax the swamp boy to don some extra clothes they had along with them. He was not so much smaller than Phil, and if he was to make one of their party they felt that it would look better for him to discard the rags he was then wearing. Tony took it in the right spirit, and after a bath in the river that evening he said he would be only too glad to deck himself out in the trousers, flannel shirt and moccasins which Phil offered. The big red M on the breast of Larry's shirt, which was to become his property, seemed to take the eye of the swamp lad more than anything else. Of course it stood for Madison, the name of the baseball club the Northern boy belonged to; but it was easy to feel that it also represented the magic name of McGee. Tony presently called out that their stopping place was just ahead. So Phil shut off power, after he had gently swung the boat in near the left bank. The setting pole, which every boat cruising in Florida waters invariably carries, was brought into use, and in this way the nose of the Aurora touched the shore. Larry immediately tumbled over the side, rope in hand, whipping the same around a sentinel tree that stood close to the water's edge, as if for the special use of voyagers. Once the boat was "snubbed" the current swung her around until her bow pointed up stream; and in this position she would rest easy during the night. But Phil made doubly sure against accidents by going ashore, and seeing that Larry had fashioned the proper sort of hitch knot with the stout cable. "There's still half an hour of daylight, fellows," sang out Phil, as he picked up his gun, together with the belt of shells; "and while you amuse yourselves here, I think I'll take a little walk around. Possibly another deer might heave in sight, or even a wild turkey." "Yum! yum! you make my mouth water, Phil," mumbled Larry, who was already getting out some fishing tackle, with the idea of trying for a bass in the brownish waters below the tied-up launch. "Keep an eye out for rattlers!" warned Tony. "You just believe I will," called Phil, over his shoulder. "I've got my leather leggins on though, which would be some protection. But I don't care to interview the fangs of a big diamondback. So-long, boys; see you later!" CHAPTER V WHAT HAPPENED ON THE FIRST NIGHT When Phil walked away from the spot where the power boat was secured, with his two companions aboard, he did not mean to go far. Night would soon swoop down on the wilderness; and from former unpleasant experiences the young hunter knew what it was to be lost. This was his first experience in Florida sport, and he knew that he had lots to learn; but he was a boy who always kept his eyes and ears open; and besides, had a general knowledge of the many things peculiar to the country. He had mapped out a little turn in his mind. By moving directly east for perhaps ten minutes, then turning sharply north, and proceeding for the same length of time, after which he would swing into the southwest, Phil believed he might cover quite a stretch of territory, and stand few chances of missing the river. He pushed on through patches of the ever-present saw palmetto, with its queer roots thrust out of the ground, and as large as a man's leg. Phil never ceased to be interested in this strange product of the southern zone, even if he did manage to stumble over the up-lifted roots more than once. The pine woods proved rather open, since they had halted for the first night in a region where there was something of a swamp on one side of the river, and high land on the other. Tony had of course selected the latter for their stopping place. Phil noticed that he had the breeze on the left as he advanced; and it was toward this quarter in particular that he kept his eyes turned; for if he was to get near a feeding deer it would have to be with the animal toward the wind. When he made his first turn, and headed north, the conditions were still more favorable, since he was now walking directly into the breeze. Once he heard the whirr of little wings. He had flushed a covey of quail; but as his mind was at the time set on nobler game, and the chance for a shot not particularly good, he did not attempt to fire; though naturally his gun flew up to his shoulder through the hunter instinct. "Looks good to me ahead there?" he muttered, as he noticed some patches of green in open spots or little glades. "If there's a deer around, I ought to find him feeding at this hour of the afternoon." With this idea pressing upon his mind he began to advance cautiously in the direction of the glades; keeping his body sheltered by the scrub, and his eyes on the alert for a moving red form. Five, ten minutes he employed in making his "creep," but he found that it was time well spent; for as he finally reached the spot he had been aiming for, he discovered a deer within easy gunshot, calmly feeding. Phil repressed any emotion that would have overcome a greenhorn at the fine prospect for a shot. He saw that the animal was a bit suspicious, since it frequently raised its head to sniff the air, and look timidly around. That meant a quick shot, while the chance remained. Once the animal took the alarm it would bound away on wings of fear; and Phil knew that it was not so easy to hit a leaping deer, especially when trees and scrub intervened. So he raised his Marlin at a time when the deer's head was lowered. Perhaps even this cautious movement may have stirred some leaf, for he saw that graceful head quickly raised. The deer was looking straight at him. "Bang!" No sooner had Phil fired than he sent the empty shell flying with one swift movement of the forearm; and by another action brought a fresh shell into place. Thus he was instantly ready to shoot again, so marvelously did the clever mechanism of the up-to-date firearm work. No second shot, however, was needed. One look convinced the young Nimrod of that pleasant fact. The deer had fallen, and seemed to be kicking its last on the grass. Phil hastily advanced, still holding his gun in readiness for instant action in case of necessity; for he had heard of wounded deer jumping up, and in a rage attacking the hunter. When he reached the side of his quarry, however, the last movement had ceased; and Phil knew he had secured the game for which Larry had been pining so long. "My! what a little chap!" he exclaimed. "Now I wonder if it can be a youngster; and yet look at the full-fledged antlers, would you? But then it seems to me I was told the deer down South were all much smaller than up in the Adirondacks. I believe I can carry this fellow to the boat without any help." He soon lifted the game, and swung it to his back. Then, managing to grip his gun in one hand, he took his bearings again, and started off. Phil was too experienced a woodsman to easily get lost. And he had fixed the points of the compass so well in his mind that, just as he expected, he actually struck the river a short distance above the tied-up motor boat. Larry was still fishing away, and so engrossed in playing a bass that had taken his bait that he did not at first notice the returning hunter. Having finally succeeded in dragging his prize aboard, with the help of Tony, he was made aware of the coming of his chum through low words spoken by the swamp boy. One look Larry gave; then seeing what it really was Phil carried on his shoulders he let out a whoop that might have been heard a mile. "Venison for supper, with fish! Wow! ain't we going to live high, though? Delmonico isn't in it with we, us and company tonight. See, I've caught three fine bass, Phil; and didn't they pull like sixty, though? My arms are real sore after the job of getting them in. And I didn't break your nice pole, either." "Which was very kind of you, old fellow," said Phil. "Somebody please take my gun, so I can dump this deer on the ground. I bled him, Tony; but when we cut the venison up, we don't want to make a mess aboard. And that limb up yonder will be just the ticket to hang him from over-night, to keep our meat away from any prowling cats." Larry drew in his line and put away his fishing rod, which of course was to him only a "pole." He immediately busied himself in getting ready to cook supper. And presently everybody seemed hard at work. Tony was cleaning the fish, Phil getting some slices from the haunch of the deer; and Larry peeling potatoes which they had secured in the river town that morning. A couple of lanterns gave all the light needed when night gathered around them. And after all it was not so dark; for the moon happened to be more than half full, and being nearly overhead, shone down nicely. Phil pounded the steaks he had cut off, hoping in this way to make them somewhat more tender. A fire was built ashore, since they had need to save their kerosene when it could be just as well done as not. Over this Larry got busy. He had all the assistance he required; for as soon as the coffee got to boiling, the fish to frying, after being placed in a pan where some salt pork had been tried out; and the venison to browning, the mingled odors caused every fellow to realize that he was mighty hungry. As long as he lived Larry would probably never forget that first supper in the wilderness. It seemed to him as though he might be living in an enchanted land; with that silvery moon shining overhead, the fire sparkling near by, and all those delightful dishes awaiting attention. Food never tasted one half so delicious as it did right then; for already was Larry beginning to get the hunter's zest, what with the ozone in the air, and the prospect for happy days ahead. And when they could eat no more there was still quite a quantity of the cooked food left over, which Larry stowed away in a couple of pans against breakfast. With Tony's help Phil managed to draw the carcass of the deer up some ten feet from the ground. It looked quite weird swinging there in the moonlight; but Larry chuckled with pleasure every time his eyes roved that way. He had declared the venison was all that he had expected it to be; and vowed it equaled any ordinary beefsteak he had ever eaten. "Next time we try it, though," Larry said, "I'm going to fry a mess of those nice big onions we've got along. Always did have a weakness for steak with onions." "Let's talk about something else besides eating," remarked Phil. "Well, how d'ye like your coffee then, with this evaporated cream in it?" asked the cook, as he lifted his tin cup, and proceeded to drain it. "It's all to the good, and touches the right spot," Phil laughed; and then added, to get his chum's mind off the subject: "How many more days journey lie ahead of us, Tony, before we strike the region where the shingle-makers live?" The swamp boy seemed to consider. "If we make good time tomorrow, it ought to be only one more day after that," he remarked, with convincing positiveness. "Well, we don't expect to rush things," said Phil; "but since there's an ugly piece of business ahead, I mean to get it over with as soon as I can, with reason. One more night, and then we'll come in touch with your people, eh?" "If yuh don't change your mind some, an' turn back," replied the other; with a vein of pleading in his smooth Southern voice that quite touched Phil. He knew what influenced the swamp boy; who was fearful lest some harm befall the new-found friend who had become so dear to him, even though a span of a day would cover their acquaintance. "How about our being disturbed tonight by some hungry wildcat that might scent fresh blood, and think to dine on our fine deer up yonder?" and Phil nodded his head up toward the swaying bundle--for the game had been partly skinned, and was now wrapped up in the hide. "That might be," returned the other, carelessly. "All depends if thar be a hungry cat aroun'. Hear 'em, and get a shot." "Oh! my! do you really think such a thing could happen?" exclaimed Larry, a bit uneasily as though he wondered whether an agile wildcat might not take a notion to jump into the launch while up in the overhanging tree. "Don't worry about it, Chum Larry," said Phil soothingly. "This stationary top would keep him from getting aboard, you see. But in case you hear a shot during the night, just remember what we've been talking about." "All right, I will," Larry observed; and later on when making preparations for sleeping he was unusually careful to tuck himself well in, and draw down the curtains close to him, fastening them securely with the grummets that were meant to clutch the round-headed screws along the side. Phil himself was secretly wishing a hungry cat might come sneaking along, to climb up in the tree, and tackle their meat; for he wanted to have the satisfaction of saying he had shot a Florida bobcat; and in protecting their stores he could find plenty of excuses for making war on such a beast. So he arranged things when laying down, in order to allow of a peep at any time he woke up. As long as the moon remained above the horizon, which would be until after midnight, he could plainly see that dark object swinging from the limb of the tree above. None of them dreamed of the various things that were fated to come to pass ere the journey's end was reached. Could stout hearted Phil have had a fleeting vision of what lay before them, even he might have hesitated about going on. But he fully believed that he was carrying an olive branch of peace that could not fail to subdue the truculent nature of the dreaded McGee. And it was in that confident spirit he fell asleep. Possibly a couple of hours may have passed when he awakened, feeling rather cramped from lying on one side so long. Before turning over, he remembered his intention to take occasional peeps up at the meat that had been swung aloft; and raising the flap of the loose curtain he cast his eyes in that quarter. The moon was lower now, but still shone brightly. And he could without any particular trouble make out the dark object which he knew must be the suspended package of venison. Nothing seemed to be near it, save the usual branches of the tree; and Phil was about to give a satisfied grunt, after which he would roll over the other way, when somehow he became convinced that the bundle appeared much larger than previously. Watching closely he made a startling discovery. There was some object flattened out on top of the deer, for he plainly saw it move, as though a head were being raised. And what was evidently the truth burst upon him. A wildcat had climbed the tree while they slept, and was now trying to get at the venison! CHAPTER VI "SAVING THE BACON!" Phil reached for his gun. Luckily he had it close by, even though hardly expecting to make use of it during the night. He fancied he heard a low snarking sound; possibly it may have been pure imagination; though so wary an animal as a wildcat might have detected a movement down below, where its human enemies held forth, and signified by this means its displeasure at being disturbed in a feast. Now the gun was being carefully pushed forth, advantage being taken of the opening under the canvas cover, where Phil had released a couple of the grummets. He wondered just how he was to get the butt against his shoulder, under such peculiar conditions; but where there's a will there nearly always can be found a way; and in the end this difficulty was bridged over. Then he thought of Larry. What a fright the sudden roar of the gun in the confined space under the canopy would give his chum. But Phil had warned him against being alarmed in case of a shot during the night. Was the cat still there? Looking closely he could see a movement as though the animal might have finally reached the meat through the covering, and was busily engaged chewing at it. "Think of the nerve of the thing!" Phil was saying under his breath, as he got ready to fire. The report quickly followed. Phil, once he was ready, began to have a fear lest the animal take sudden alarm, and make a leap that would carry it beyond his range of vision. And the more he thought over the thing the greater became his desire to punish the beast for its audacity. "Thunder!" shouted Larry, as he came floundering off his made-up bed, landing in a struggling heap in the bottom of the motor boat. "Oh! no, not quite so bad as that," laughed Phil, himself gaining an upright position; and trying the best he could to throw out the old shell, so that he might have the pump-gun in serviceable shape again. Tony seemed to be the least disturbed of the lot. Familiarity with alarms had considerable to do with it, no doubt. He had started to open the flap of the canvas cover nearest him, so that he could thrust his head out. "What happened, Phil?" asked Larry, as he sat up on the floor of the boat. "Why, I just saved our bacon; or to be plainer, our venison," laughed the other. "Oh! was something running away with it, then?" demanded Larry, beginning to get upon his knees as the first step toward rising. "Something was making way with it, which is about the same thing," replied Phil. "W-was it a bobcat?" continued Larry. "Listen!" As Phil said this one word they could hear a fierce growling, accompanied by a strange scurrying sound. It came from the shore close to the boat. "Will it come in here after us, Phil?" asked the more timid member of the firm, as he tried to find the hatchet which he remembered seeing somewhere close by at the time he lay down on his cot. "How about that, Tony; do you think there's any danger of such a thing happening?" queried Phil, turning to the swamp boy. "Getting weaker all the time," came the ready reply. "I think yuh give him all in the gun. Kick the bucket purty soon now." Tony thrust the curtains more fully aside. Then he crept out and reached the shore; nor was Phil far behind him. The latter, however, not being quite so confident as Tony, insisted on carrying his Marlin repeater along. If the dying cat gave evidence of a desire to attack them, he wanted to be in shape to finish matters on the spot. There was really no need. Even as he arrived on the scene the stricken animal gave one last convulsive shudder, and stiffened out. "Good shot that!" remarked Tony, admiringly, as he bent over to see where Phil had struck the midnight marauder. "Wow! what a savage looking pussy!" exclaimed Larry, joining the others. "I'd everlastingly hate to run up against such a customer in the pine woods. Say, if a fellow like that pounced down on my back some time, what ought I to do?" "Lie down, and roll," laughed Phil; who knew that down here in this warm country, where food is plenty, no wildcat would be bold enough to openly attack a human being without provocation. Tony immediately started to shin up the tree, desirous of ascertaining the extent of damage done. When he came down he announced that the beast had just succeeded in tearing a way in to the venison; but had eaten very little of it, thanks to Phil chancing to awaken when he did. So, as the night air felt rather chilly, they soon bundled back into the boat again, and sought to secure more sleep. There was no further alarm that night, and Larry was glad when his chum aroused him by saying that morning had arrived. The sun was beginning to gild the eastern heavens when they started to get breakfast. Larry took a look all around, after what he fancied would be the manner of an old sea dog; and then gravely announced his opinion as to the weather. "Guess we're going to have another fine day of it. No sign of red in that sunrise; and the few fleecy white clouds don't whisper rain. You know, Phil, I'm taking considerable interest in weather predictions these days. Got an old almanac along, to compare notes. I hazard a guess first, and then look up what old Jerold says we're going to have." "Well, how do his predictions pan out?" asked Phil. "Oh! nine times out of ten it happens just the opposite to what he says. That's the fun of the thing. He knows how to tell what the weather ain't going to be; and to my mind that's going some. Now, what shall we eat this morning?" "Any of those fresh eggs left we bought from that old cracker just outside the town limits?" asked the head of the expedition. "Half a dozen, you say? Good! Suppose you give us an omelet for a change. They might get broken, anyway; and we'd better have the use of 'em." "What will you do with that awful beast out there, Phil?" "Tony is going to look after him for me," replied the one who had shot the bobcat thief. "He says it is a very fine skin, and that sometime I'll be glad to have it made into a little door mat. He knows how to take it off, and stretch it on a contrivance he expects to make. You see, he's handy at all such things. Necessity is a great teacher. If you just had to go hungry for two whole days, Larry, I really believe you could do it." "Perhaps I could," sighed the other; "but thank goodness, just at present there's no need of fasting, while we've got all these bully stores aboard, and that haunch of prime venison hanging up there. Suppose you drop it down, Tony, if you don't mind climbing the tree again. Two eggs apiece ain't going to fill the bill; and the taste I had of that venison last night haunts me still." At that Phil chuckled. "Seems to me, just before we went to bed I saw you getting away with the surplus we put in that pan," he remarked. "Oh! that was only a little snack," replied the unabashed Larry. "This air seems to tone up a fellow's appetite some. Given a week or two of the open life, and I have hopes that my usual appetite will come back to me again." Of course the breakfast was a success. Larry could cook, even if he did lack many of the qualities that should be found in a woodsman; and was woefully ignorant as to the thousand and one things connected with the great outdoors. Still, Phil had hopes of him. From time to time he kept dinning certain facts into the ears of his chum. These concerned the secrets of the open, and which at times are so important to any one who dares venture into the woods. He explained for instance, to his boat mate, just how to learn the direction of the compass from the sun, the marks on the trees, and even his watch, if put to it. He showed him how to make a fire without a match, by the use of friction, after the manner of savage tribes who never knew flint and steel, or a brimstone stick. He explained to Larry how easy it was to cook game, by making a fire in a hole until it had become very hot, and then placing the meat therein; sealing the oven until hours had elapsed; which backwoods method of cooking was really the first fireless cooker known. In these and dozens of other ways Phil daily taught his chum. Larry evinced considerable interest in the matter so long as his comrade was speaking; but that was about as far as it went. He did not have the spirit in him; and the seed fell on barren ground. Larry would never in all his life make a genuine woodsman. But if he kept on, he might in time get a job in a restaurant over the grill, so Phil assured him, as he complimented Larry on the fine omelet. An hour later they left the place which Larry called "Wildcat Camp" in his log of the motor boat cruise. Larry was full of high spirits. Indeed, it was hard for him to keep from showing his bubbling good nature at any and all times. Phil too seemed quite contented with the way things were moving along. Only the swamp boy gave evidence of increasing uneasiness. Tony would sit there as if lost in thought, his eyes fastened on the frank face of the young fellow for whom he had come to entertain such a lively sense of friendship in the short time he had known him. Then he would sigh, and shake his head dolefully, as though he foresaw troubles arising which he would fain ward off, if only Phil would accept his earnest advice, and turn around before it was too late. But Phil believed he had that on his person which would change the terrible McGee from a bitter enemy into a good friend; and confident in his own honorable intentions he never dreamed of turning back. CHAPTER VII LARRY CATCHES THE FEVER "Looks like there ought to be some game around here!" Strange to say it was Larry who made this remark. They had tied up at noon, and made a fire ashore, at which the midday meal was prepared. Phil seemed in no particular hurry to proceed afterward; and Larry, who had been "mousing" around, as he called it, surprised his chum by declaring that the appearance of the country indicated the presence of game. Perhaps the many talks of Phil were beginning to bear fruit. Then again it might be Larry rather envied his chum the glory of killing that marauding bobcat; the skin of which at some future day Phil would have made a fine mat, at which he could point, and carelessly speak of the "time when he knocked that beast out of a tree, while the moon was shining, and his companions sound asleep." More likely than either of these, however, Phil believed his chum was yearning for a variety in the bill of fare. Quail on toast would strike Larry about right; or even rabbit or squirrel stew; provided the meat for the pot were the product of his skill as a Nimrod. "Suppose you take the gun, and prowl around a bit!" he suggested, more as a joke than because he dreamed lazy Larry would accept the proposition. "All right!" exclaimed the other, with surprising alacrity. "Me to do the sneaking act, and see if I can hit a flock of barns. You know I did manage to break one of those bottles you threw up that day, Phil, even if you said I shut my eyes every time I pulled the trigger. All the more credit to me. It takes a smart marksman to hit a flying object with his eyes shut. Just think what a miracle I'd be if I kept 'em open! Gimme the gun, and let me hie forth. Quail for supper wouldn't go bad; but if it should be wild turkey, why, I suppose we'll just have to stand it." Phil hardly knew whether he was doing right to let Larry saunter forth. Even after he had handed the Marlin over, he shook his head dubiously. "Don't go far, now," he said, warningly; "and try and be back here inside of an hour. If you ain't, we'll look you up. And remember, Larry, if you should get lost don't go to wandering everlastingly about. Just stop short, make a fire, and get all the black smoke rising you can. This fat pine makes a great smudge, you know, and might guide us to you." "Huh! Lost, me?" cried Larry, pretending to be very indignant. "Why, after all you've been and told me it would be simply impossible! I'll know where I am every time." "Oh! yes," laughed Phil; "just like the Indian did, we read about, eh?" "How was that?" demanded Larry, as he buckled the belt of shells around his generous waist. "Why, once upon a time an old Indian actually wandered around several days without being able to locate his home. That's pretty hard to believe, but the story runs that way. Then some white men came across him, hungry and tired. They asked him if he was lost, and the old fellow got mad right away. Smacking himself on his chest proudly, he said: 'Injun lost? No, Injun not lost; wigwam lost--Injun here!' And that's the way it would be with you. Now get along, and be sure you bring in the game. I changed the buckshot shells for birdshot; but put these heavy loads in your pocket in case you need them." So Larry trotted gaily forth. He fancied he looked every inch a Nimrod in his new corduroy suit, and with the gun under his arm, carried in the same way he had seen his chum do it many a time. But then Larry did not know that the hunter who wears an old jacket, with a patch on the right shoulder where a hole has been worn by constant friction from carrying a gun, is most apt to inspire respect in the minds of those who can size the true sportsman up. Phil was rather sleepy, for he had not secured all the rest he wanted on the preceding night. So he stretched out on the ground, and dozed. Every little while he would arouse himself, and consult his little nickel timepiece. Tony was busy scraping the hide of the wildcat, and fixing it on a stretcher which he had ingeniously fashioned out of a heavy strip of bark, straightened out flat, and held so by a couple of sticks secured to the back. "Time that greenhorn was back, Tony," Phil finally remarked, as he sat up. "By the way, did you hear a shot a little while ago, perhaps half an hour?" Tony said he had, and he could also tell the exact direction from whence it had sprung. "How far away was it, do you think?" continued Phil, seriously. "'Bout half mile, I reckons," came the reply, without hesitation. "The air is from that quarter too, I notice; and of course you take that into consideration when you figure on the distance?" "Oh! yes, I know," nodded Tony. "But half a mile--he ought to have been back before now. We'll wait a little while longer, and then if he don't show up I guess we'll just have to go after him." Tony did not reply; but judging from the little smile that crossed his face, it was evident that the swamp boy felt pretty confident they would have to take up the hunt. He had sized Larry up pretty readily as a failure in woodcraft, and a sure enough tenderfoot of the worst type. "No signs of him yet," announced Phil after a bit, rising to his feet; while a look of growing concern began to come upon his face. "I was silly to let him take the risk. Ought to have known Larry would bungle it, if there was half a chance. And now, Tony, what had we better do, follow his tracks, or head straight in the direction that shot came from." "Follow trail," the other answered promptly. "You are sure we will be able to keep on it, all right?" continued Phil. "I think so," replied the swamp boy, with a smile of assurance; as though he looked upon such a test as of little moment; for what had he been learning all of his life if not to accomplish just such tasks? "All right then; let's get busy." First of all Phil dashed off a few lines on a scrap of paper, telling Larry, if he hit camp while they were absent, to settle down by the boat, and wait for them. This he stuck in the cleft of a dead palmetto leaf stem, which in turn he thrust in the ground in front of the tied-up motor boat. Then he followed Tony into the scrub. The swamp boy walked along with his head bent slightly over. His keen eyes were doubtless picking up the plain marks made by clumsy Larry as he wandered forth in search of the coveted quail, which he hoped to adorn sundry pieces of toast that evening. Phil too was keeping tabs on the trail, though he realized that if there arose any knotty problem that Tony could not solve, his own knowledge would hardly avail. It was a very erratic line of tracks. Larry evidently had no particular plan of campaign marked out when he sallied forth. If he gradually bore to the left it was because of that well known failing that all greenhorns tracking through the forest, or over the open prairie, fall heir too; in which the right side of their bodies being the stronger, they gradually veer to the left, until, given time enough, they may even make a complete circle. Tony pointed out just where the hunter, fancying he had sighted game, began to sneak up on it. Why, he could read every movement Larry had made from the marks left behind, just as readily as though he were actually watching him. "But he didn't shoot here, after all?" said Phil. "No, p'raps game fly away; or mebbe all a mistake," Tony replied. "See no empty shell near where he kneel in sand. He go on further, this aways," and he once more led off through the woods. After a while Phil believed they must be close to the place where his chum had discharged his gun just once. Nor was he much surprised when Tony suddenly darted sideways, and picked up an empty shell. "Here shoot all right; camp over thar!" said the swamp boy, pointing without hesitation through the timber; doubtless the direction of the wind aided him in thus fixing the location of the boat in his mind. "But what could he have shot at?" exclaimed Phil. "I don't see any sign of game around here, do you?" "Start on run fast," remarked Tony, pointing down to the ground, as though he had read that fact there in the change of the footprints. "Then perhaps he did hit something!" exclaimed Phil. "Let's follow and see if there's any sign. It may have been only a hamak fox squirrel he saw, and thought to bag, so he wouldn't have to come in with empty hands." "No, wild turkey!" declared Tony, holding up a feather his quick eye had detected on the ground. "Well, however in the wide world d'ye suppose that clumsy chum of mine ever managed to get close enough to such wary game to knock a feather from it?" laughed Phil; "but he must have wounded the bird, for he's gone headlong through the woods here in full chase." They followed on for some time. Phil began to wonder how Larry ever kept up the pace. Truly the hunter instinct must have been aroused at last in the fat boy to have caused him to thus wildly exert himself. And in the excitement he doubtless forgot all about the directions given him by his chum. "Why, he's going further and further away from camp all the time!" announced Phil presently. "Heap game Larry," grinned the swamp boy, who doubtless understood the new spirit that was urging the other on, with his wounded game constantly tantalizing him. "Hark!" cried Phil, as he held up his hand warningly. "Did you hear that?" "Help! oh! help!" came faintly from some point away ahead. CHAPTER VIII HELD FAST When Larry started out upon this, his very first hunt alone, he was filled with a newborn ambition. But before he had wandered for ten minutes he began to feel the heat, and wished he had not been so silly as to imagine he were cut out for a mighty Nimrod. Several times he stumbled over unseen roots of the ever-present saw palmetto. Fortunately he did not have the hammer of his gun raised at the time, or there might have been a premature explosion. When twenty minutes had gone he was beginning to feel angry at himself because he had voluntarily undertaken this task, for which nature had never fitted him. Still, he was possessed of some grit, and disliked very much the idea of showing the white feather. At any rate, he would keep away the full hour, and then try to locate the camp. Phil could not then have the laugh on him; for even the best of hunters have their hard luck days. Several times he saw frisky squirrels looking curiously at him around some tree. He was even tempted to try and bag a few of these little fellows, for after all they were game; and perhaps more in his line than swift flying quail, or the bounding deer. But every time he thus decided, the squirrel seemed to guess his hostile intentions; for it vanished from sight, running up the other side of the live oak, and losing itself amid the abundant foliage. Now half an hour had gone. It was really time he turned back, and headed for the motor boat. That caused Larry to wonder if he could actually figure out which the proper direction might be; so he sat him down on a log for a brief rest, while he carried on his mental calculations. When he started on again Larry actually believed he was pushing straight for camp; when truth to tell he was heading at an angle of thirty degrees away from the same. Then, as he was stumbling along through the scrub, lo! and behold he saw a moving object ahead. What it was he did not even know as he threw the gun to his shoulder, completely shut his eyes when pulling the trigger, and blazed away. When he looked again it was to see a big turkey gobbler fluttering along over the ground, with a broken leg and wing. Filled with great joy Larry gave a whoop, and started in pursuit. That was his undoing. Little he thought of what a chase that stricken gobbler was giving him. In and out of the swampy places, and through the more open woods, he kept in pursuit. There were times when he actually was so close upon the prize that he began to thrust out his eager hand, bent on capturing the wounded bird. Then, as if given a new lease of life, the turkey would again flutter away, with the panting Larry hot on the track. More than once he was tempted to give the thing up, he felt so out of breath and exhausted from the heat and his exertions combined. And at such times the miserable bird would squat down on the ground, just as if tempting him to further labor; so once more he would start in pursuit. The queerest part of the whole affair, as Larry himself realized later on, was that in all this time he utterly forgot that he carried a gun in which there were five more unused shells; and that a dozen times he could have made use of the weapon to finish the flutterings of the sorely stricken turkey. Finally the desperate bird managed to flap across a swampy stretch, and drop on the opposite patch of firm ground. Larry gave the nearest approach to a cry of victory his depleted lungs would allow; for he saw that the turkey had finally given up the ghost, and died! But how was he to reach it? As far as he could see the same stretch of quaking bog extended. In patches water even lay upon it; and the balance was black mud. He tried it here and there, finally striking a spot where it seemed to hold up fairly well under his weight. And so, laying down the precious gun, he started out, intending to pick his way carefully over the muck, under the belief that if he looked he could see where the seeming ridge lay just under the surface. About the time he got half way across Larry began to have serious doubts as to the wisdom of his course. He seemed to be sinking in deeper all the while, so that he even grew alarmed. Standing still for a minute to look around him, in order to ascertain whether there might not yet be found a safe causeway over to the solid ground where his wild turkey lay so temptingly, he was forced to the humiliating conclusion that it was useless in his keeping on. Tony, having been born and brought up in the swamps, might know just how to go about the thing; but what could be expected of a new beginner? He must go back, and give up all hopes of ever laying hands on the first game that had ever fallen to his gun as a hunter. And such noble game, too! Why, Phil would never believe his story. He would have nothing to show for it, not even so much as a feather. To his horror, when he tried to turn around, he found that he could not lift so much as a foot; and looking down he was startled to see that he had, even while thinking the thing over, sunk in to his knees. For the first time Larry began to tremble with fright. He had heard of quicksands, and while this black ooze could hardly be called by such a name, it was certainly a quagmire. Perhaps it did not have any bottom--perhaps he would keep on sinking inch by inch until his head went under! And when Phil and Tony came along later, they might only learn his fate from seeing the gun on one bank, and the dead turkey on the other. He strained with all his might. Now he managed to get one foot comparatively free; but as all his weight came on the other, that sank down two inches, instead of just one. Wild with fear Larry started to shouting. At first his voice was strong, for he was thoroughly worked up; but after a little while he found that he was getting husky. So he stopped calling, and devoted himself to finding out whether there might not be some way by means of which he could save himself. Possibly poor Larry exercised his mind more during the time he was held a prisoner in the clutch of that sticky mud than at any previous span of his whole existence. And he had good reason for alarm. Many an unfortunate fellow has been sucked down by the muck to be found in marsh or swamp, his fate unknown. As Larry happened to turn his despairing eyes upward, to see whether the sun might be going down, for it seemed to be getting gloomy to him, he made a discovery that gave rise to a newborn hope. Just over his head, and within reach of his extended hands, the limbs of a tree swung down. It was a live oak that grew on the solid ground near by; and the idea that had flashed into his mind was that perhaps he might tear enough of these same branches down to make a sort of mattress on the surface of the mud, which would even bear his weight temporarily. Feverishly then did Larry start to breaking off such branches as came within his reach. These he carefully allowed to fall upon the mud in a heap. And he made sure to draw each down just as far as he could before breaking it loose. But he was sinking all the while, so that he was now down almost to his waist. Why, his hands actually touched the sticky mire when he, by accident, let them fall at his sides. If this sort of thing kept on, in less than twenty minutes it would be all over with him. And by now he realized another discouraging fact. Even though he could succeed in making a mat sufficient to bear his weight, how was he to draw his legs, one at a time, out of that adhesive stuff? He tried it, tried with every atom of strength left in his body; but the effort was a dismal failure. This seemed to be the finishing stroke. Larry had managed to keep his spirits up fairly well, believing that he might somehow drag himself out of his difficulty. "I can't hardly move," he said to himself, hoarsely. "I'm stuck for fair, and all the while going down, down, slowly but surely. Oh! my goodness! what can I do?" Looking up he saw that the largest branch was still within reach. A last wild hope flashed upon him--would it be possible for him to seize hold of this, and draw himself out of the hole? He no sooner conceived this idea than he set about carrying it into execution. Securing a good grip, he started pulling. Strain as he would, he could not gain a particle. The only thing at all encouraging was that while he thus clung to that branch, he did not sink any lower! Minutes passed. They seemed hours to that imperiled lad. His muscles certainly grew sore with the continuous strain of holding on so desperately, and fighting against the awful suction of the greedy mud. How long could he hold out? Not many minutes more, he feared, for he was pretty close to the point of exhaustion now. And when nature refused to longer battle for his life he must yield to his fate. Larry groaned at the outlook before him. Would his chums ever come? Were they still lying around the camp, filled with confidence that the hunter could redeem his boastful words, and return with the greatest of ease? Oh! what a fool he had been to start out alone. Never again would he fancy himself a woodsman, if he were lucky enough to get out of this horrible scrape. Facing such a serious outlook it was little wonder then that Larry again burst out into shouts, that were hardly more than a mockery, it seemed to him, so hoarse had his voice become, and so incapable of serving him. But nevertheless those shouts had served their purpose, and reached the listening ears of his comrades. CHAPTER IX THE SECOND NIGHT OUT "Hold fast! we'll soon have you out of that muck!" called Phil, after he and Tony McGee arrived at the edge of the quagmire, where poor Larry was up to his waist in the oozy mud. Their coming had given the imperiled lad new vim; it seemed to him as though his muscles were renewed, and that he could keep on gripping that branch everlastingly now, such was the fresh faith that took the place of grim despair. Tony knew just how to go about it. Phil, seeing his lead, started to also throw all sorts of loose leaves and wood upon the surface of the mud. So fast did they work that in a short time they had a fine covering close up to Larry himself. Thus each of them could get on one side of him, and then heave all together. "Pull for all you're worth when we give the word," said Phil, as he took a good hold under Larry's left arm, while Tony attended to his right. "Now, all together, yo heave-o! Bully! you moved then, old fellow! Now, once again, yo heave-o! That time you came up two inches, I bet. Don't let him sink back, Tony. A third time now, all in a bunch!" And so by degrees Larry began to ascend. The further he drew out, the easier the job seemed; until finally they dragged him ashore. "Oh, my goodness, wasn't that a tight squeeze though!" gasped Larry, sinking on the ground in almost a state of complete collapse. Phil saw that he was nearly all in, and so instead of scolding him on account of his carelessness, he started in to make humorous remarks, just to get his chum's mind off the terrible nature of his recent adventure. With sticks they scraped him off, for he was a sorry sight, the black mud clinging to his fine corduroy hunting trousers as far up as his waist. But after all, that was a mighty small matter. His life had been spared, and Larry would not mind having his garments carry the signs of his narrow escape ever afterwards. "Now to get back to the boat," said Phil, when he found that his comrade had so far recovered that he could walk; though his hands still trembled. "But wait," said Larry, eagerly. "You surely won't think of going back without that fine turkey over there, will you? It gave me heaps of trouble, and came near costing me dear. The best revenge I can have is to make a meal or two from the plagued old gobbler that tricked me on all this way." "Oh! Tony's got the royal bird, all right," laughed Phil. "While I finished scraping you off, so you wouldn't have such a load to carry with you, he completed the little bridge of leaves and trash, crossed on it as you should have done in the beginning, and came back. Here's your gobbler; and quite a hefty bird, too. Just lift him once, will you, Larry? And to think that he's your game! But Larry, own up now, did you see him when you fired?" "I refuse to commit myself," replied the other, with assumed dignity that hardly went with his forlorn appearance. "It's enough that I nailed him, and he's going to fill us up for a meal or two. Lead on, Macduff! I'm able to toddle, I guess." Tony took his bearings, and then they started. So accurately had the swamp boy judged their location, that he led them almost directly to the boat. And there was great joy in the breast of Larry Densmore when he sank down on the ground to remove his muddy trousers, so that he might not soil the interior of the motor boat. Fortunately he had another pair along with him, so that by the time Tony had unfastened the cable ashore, and Phil turned his engine over, Larry was decently dressed again. But it might be noticed that he was not as frisky as usual the balance of that afternoon, being content to cuddle down, and rest. Phil saw a serious look on the usually merry countenance of his chum. He knew from this that Larry had really suffered very much while facing such a doleful end. Nor did he blame him one whit. Owing to the amount of time that had been consumed in following Larry, and getting him back to camp after his rescue, they could only expect to keep moving for a couple of hours more; when the coming of evening would necessitate their stopping for the next night. Phil felt a strange little thrill as he reflected that possibly when yet another day had closed in they would have advanced far enough on their journey to admit of a possibility that they might run across some of the shingle-makers of the big swamps. "Keep on the lookout for a tying-up place, Tony," he said, as he saw that the sun was sinking low. "Not much good place along here," remarked the swamp boy, shrugging his shoulders in disgust. "Thought we get below this to-day; but stayed too long above." "Which of course was my fault," spoke up Larry, immediately; "but even if it does look spooky around here, with all that Spanish moss hanging from the trees, we can stand it for one night." "Sure," said Phil; "especially since we don't have to go ashore, to cook supper. We'll give our little gas stove a try-out this time, and show Tony how well it can fill the bill." So finally Tony picked out as decent a place as he could find; Phil worked the Aurora close in; the swamp boy sprang ashore in Larry's place holding the rope; and presently the motor boat was snugly moored against the bank. Larry thought there might be fish around, but lacked the ambition to even make a trial. All his muscles seemed sore by now; and Phil knew that it would be some days ere his chum felt as chipper as was his wont. "Besides, what's the use?" Larry remarked, even as he mentioned the fact as to the fishy appearance of the water. "We've still got a lot of that bully venison aboard; and that fine turkey Tony is going to bake in his home-made oven ashore. Why, we'll be just filled up with grub, hang the fish! I don't care enough about them just now to bother." Tony was already ashore, at work on his oven. Just as Phil had described to his tenderfoot chum, he first of all dug out a big hole, and started a hot fire going in it, using the dead leaf stalks of the palmetto as a beginning. Then he fed other wood, which he seemed to select carefully, until he finally had a furious red hot mass of embers there. Meanwhile he had plucked the turkey, and made it ready for cooking. "Time we're done eatin' oven be ready," he announced, as Larry called him aboard to supper; he having prepared the meal over the little Jewel stove, finding a way to keep things warm as fast as he cooked them. Later on Tony drew out all the red ashes. The oven was very hot at that time. He wrapped the turkey in some green leaves, and thrust it into the hole; after which he took pains to cover the opening up, and heap earth over it all. Of course Phil knew the principle of the thing, though up to now he had never been a witness to the actual demonstration. It acted on the same principle used with the new-fangled bottles that keep fluid hot for several days, or cold, just as it happens to be put into the receptacle. And the fireless cookers are also arranged on the same old time natural laws of retaining heat. "Listen to the racket coming out over yonder!" remarked Larry, as they lay around at their ease later on, each having a blanket under him. "Tony says that there's a big swamp lying over there," observed Phil. "And I warrant you he can tell what makes every sound you hear. One comes from some kind of bird squawking; another I happen to know is a night heron looking for a supper along the water's edge; then I suppose coons squabble when they meet, trailing over half sunken logs; a bobcat calls to its mate; the owls tune up; chuckwillswidows, the same birds that we call whippoorwills up North, you know, keep a whooping all the time; and there are all sorts of other noises that might stand for anything. But Tony, tell me, what is that far-away booming we hear?" "Bull!" remarked the other, with a chuckle. "You don't mean it?" exclaimed Larry, sitting up to listen. "Well, now, it does sound like it, too. But see here, Tony, didn't you say only a little while ago, that there wasn't a single man within twenty miles of us; unless it might be some runaway darky hiding out in the swamp to escape the chain gang?" "That is so, Larry," replied the swamp boy, who was by now growing familiar enough with his comrades to call them by their first names. "This no reg'lar bull. It never saw farmyard. It live in water, come up on shore sometime, and holler to make 'nother bull come fight." "Oh! you mean an alligator bull, don't you?" cried Larry, "how silly of me not to understand at first. And is that one bellowing now? He must be a giant to make such a row." "Not so big, like ten feet p'raps," replied Tony, carelessly. "How big do they run--about fifty feet?" asked the ignorant one; at which Tony actually laughed, the first time they had ever really heard him give way. "Never hear of such big one, Larry. Twelve feet, some say fifteen most. And that professor he tell me 'gator that big more'n two hundred years old, much more!" "Whew; what a whopper!" exclaimed Larry, though whether he meant the age of the saurian, or the story told to the swamp boy, he did not explain. "One thing sure," remarked Phil, as the time drew near for them to retire, "with that blessed old swamp, and its many nasty inhabitants so close by, I'm going to keep an eye out again tonight. Perhaps we won't be disturbed by another bobcat; but I wouldn't feel quite easy unless I kept my good Marlin handy. So, boys, if you hear me making a noise again during the night, don't get alarmed. I won't be talking in my sleep, be sure of that. But listen, Tony, what animal do you suppose makes that far-away sound? If I didn't know we were cut off from civilization I'd say it was the baying of a dog at the moon." CHAPTER X WHEN THE SLEEPER AWOKE "That's what it is, sah; a dawg!" said Tony, after listening for a minute. "Then we must be closer to your people than you thought," remarked Phil. "That cain't be so. My folks never comes up this far. Yuh see, it sorter lies atween the town up yander, an' our diggin's," the swamp boy explained. "But how about the dog, then?" Phil went on, becoming curious. "Perhaps it might be a party from the up-river settlements, hunting down here?" Tony nodded, and something like the ghost of a smile crept athwart his sallow face. "Huntin'? Yes, sah, that's what it mought be," he said, quickly. "But it's game yuh wouldn't want tuh bag, Phil. Sure enough, they's coon huntin'; but not the kind that has the bushy striped tail." Phil was quick to grasp his meaning. "Do you think they're after some fugitive negro? Is that what you mean, Tony?" he demanded; while Larry's innocent blue eyes began to distend, as they always did when their owner felt surprise or alarm. "Sure," Tony asserted, confidently. "I orter know the bay o' a hound. That dawg is on the trail o' a runaway convict; an' yuh see nigh all the chain gang is black." They all listened again. Somehow, since learning Tony's opinion, the sound, as it came welling out of the swamp far away, seemed more gruesome than ever. Phil could easily in imagination picture the scene, with a posse of determined keepers from the convict camp following the lead of dogs held in leash, and chasing after a wretched fugitive, who had somehow managed to get away from bondage in the turpentine pine woods. "Poor critter!" muttered sympathetic Larry. "He's only a coon, and perhaps he deserves all he got; but it makes me shiver to think of his being hunted like a wild beast, all the same." "Will they get him, do you think, Tony?" asked Phil. "Don't know. Most always do, some time. Yuh see a feller as runs away like that ain't got no gun nor nothin'. How c'n he git anythin' tuh eat in the swamps? Now, if 'twas one o' us, as has always lived thar, we'd be able to set snares an' ketch game; but a pore ignorant coon don't know nothin'. Sometimes they jest starves tuh death, rather'n give up." "Then they must be treated worse than dogs," declared Larry; "because no man, white or black, would prefer to lay down and die, to being caught, if he didn't expect to be terribly punished." Tony shrugged his shoulders at that. "Don't jest know," he said; "but I heard folks say as how 'twas a bad place, that turpentine camp, whar the convicts they works out their time. Reckon I done heard the dawgs afore, too." "Something familiar about their baying, is there?" queried Phil. "They sure belongs tuh the sheriff," Tony declared; "an' he must a be'n called in by them keepers tuh help hunt this runaway convict." "The sheriff, Tony--do you mean the same fellow you were telling us about, who dared come to the shingle-makers' settlement downriver, and was tarred and feathered, or rather ridden on a rail, with a warning that he'd get the other if he ever showed his face there again?" "Them's him," said the swamp boy, with a nod. "His name it's Barker, an' he's a moughty fierce man. But let me tell yuh, he ain't been nigh our place sence. Cause why, he knowed the McGee allers keeps his word." "Do you suppose he'd know you, Tony?" asked Phil. "Reckons now, as how he would, seein' as how I had tuh bring him his grub that time he was held in our place. He knowed as I was McGee's boy." "I just asked," Phil went on, "because it struck me that if we should happen to have a call from Sheriff Barker, it might be best for you to keep out of sight. If he's the kind of man you say, he might just trump up some kind of a charge in order to carry you back with him. And once they got you in town, there's Colonel Brashears ready to make a charge against you for licking his cub of a son. How about that, Tony?" "Reckons as how yuh has struck it 'bout right, sah," replied the other, uneasily. "This Barker, he's the sort tuh hold a grudge a long time. It sorter rankled him tuh be rid out o' the squatter settlement on a rail, an' he an' officer o' the law, with all hands a larfin' an' makin' fun of him. Never seen anybody so tearin' mad. He swore he'd come back with a company o' sojers, an' clean us out. But it's be'n a heap o' moons now, sah; an' I take notice Barker he ain't never showed up yit." "If the runaway negro only knew that, I suppose he'd make straight for your settlement; because he'd be safe there from the sheriff?" suggested Phil. "That don't foller, sah," the swamp boy immediately replied. "We-uns ain't gwine tuh let all sorts o' trash settle among us. The McGee ain't settin' hisself up ag'in law an' order. He don't want no fight with the hull State. More'n a few times they be a 'scaped convict hit our place; but McGee, he wouldn't allow o' his stayin' longer'n tuh git a meal, an' p'raps an ole gun, so's he could shoot game. Then he had tuh beat it foh the coast; an' was told that if he war ever caught inside ten mile o' our place he'd be give over tuh the sheriff." "The baying seems to have stopped, now," remarked Larry. "Reckon as how the dawgs has lost the trail," Tony explained. "Yuh see, they's so much water around hyah that heaps o' times even the sharpest nose cain't keep track o' a runaway coon. But if so be it's Barker along with them keepers, he'll keep agwine to the last minit. He's a stayer, he is, I tell yuh." A little later they prepared to go to sleep. There was ample room for Phil and Larry to make up their primitive beds on the seats of the launch. Arrangements looking to this had been made in the beginning. True, it was always a chance as to whether one of them in turning over while he slept, might not roll off the elevated couch, and bring up at the bottom of the boat; but they provided against this by raising the outer edge of their mattress--really a doubled blanket over the seat cushions. When Tony joined them it was a question just where he might find room to sleep. Not that the swamp boy was at all particular; for he could have snuggled down on deck, or found rest in a sitting posture; for he was used to roughing it. On the preceding night they had tried having him occupy the bottom of the craft; and it had seemed to work well; but Tony evidently could not breathe freely when stowed away like so much cargo. So he had asked the privilege of taking his blanket, and making himself comfortable on the forward deck. Thus it happened that his head was not far removed from that of Phil, when the latter stretched himself out on his shelf, with his feet toward the stern. Larry was already breathing heavily, for he had the happy faculty, which Phil often envied, of going to sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. Nor in making use of this word is reference made to some time in the past, when the two young cruisers were at home in their comfortable beds. Each of them owned a rubber pillow, which on being inflated, afforded an easy headrest; and during the day took up very little room, the air being allowed to escape in the morning. On the first night out Larry had disdained to follow the example of his more experienced chum, who had covered his rubber pillow with a towel. Consequently Larry found that his face burned and itched all day, from the drawing effect of the bare rubber; and on this occasion Phil noted with secret satisfaction that the other was very particular to emulate his example. Experience is the best guide; and Larry would never forget the unpleasant sensation he had endured because of declining to take pattern from the actions of the "one who knew." The last thing Phil remembered hearing ere he went to sleep was that concert from the neighboring swamp. The alligator bull had started in to bellow again, as though pleading with some rival to come around and try conclusions; and the sound was very strange, surrounded as they were by such a wilderness. Accustomed as he was to a delightful hair mattress, of course Phil would have found it rather hard to have only a doubled blanket between the boards and himself, as Tony was doing; while he and Larry enjoyed the benefit of the cushions with which the side seats of the launch were furnished; and which, being covered with panasote, were supposed to act as life preservers should they be cast into the water. But Tony never minded it in the least. He assured them he had many times slept comfortably, perched on the limb of a tree. Still, Phil was a light sleeper. While his chum might never awaken once during a night, Phil generally turned over every hour or so. And he had fallen into the habit, so general among old campers, of raising his head and taking an observation at such times. Finding all well, he would lie back again, and fall into a new sleep. He remembered doing this at least twice on this night in question. Each time it seemed to him that all was well. He could hear the various noises coming out of the swamp, and forming such a weird chorus; but they signified nothing in the way of peril. And by degrees Phil was growing accustomed to listening to the strange conglomeration. A third time he awoke, and it struck him instantly that on this occasion he had not come out of his sleep wholly of his own accord. Something seemed to be pulling at him--it would stop for a few seconds only to go on again, and Phil noted that this tugging was wholly confined to the shoulder of his coat, which he had not discarded when he lay down, as the night air was cool. At first a thrill passed through him. Possibly he remembered that bull 'gator with the hoarse bellow; or bethought him of certain yellow moccasin snakes Larry had noticed in the water of the stream, coming from the swamp, no doubt. Then something touched his face, tapping him gently. Instinctively he put up his hand, and immediately felt fingers. Why, it must be Tony! Had the other thrown his arm up while sleeping, and in this way managed to arouse him; or was his action intentional? Phil was just trying to decide which it could be, when a sound came to his ear that caused his heart to almost stop beating for a brief period; some one or some animal was certainly creeping under the curtains of the motor boat, seeking to enter! CHAPTER XI AN UNINVITED GUEST Phil knew that Tony must have discovered this significant movement, and believed it his duty to arouse the one who might be depended on to meet the situation. Could it be some wild animal that was trying to get in at their provisions? Listening, Phil believed he could catch the sound of half suppressed breathing. Then the fumbling began again, as though a body were being drawn under the canvas curtain. It was time he were acting. So he allowed his fingers to give those of Tony a reassuring squeeze; after which he reached out his arm. His faithful Marlin must be there on the floor of the cockpit, just where he had placed it before lying down. And when he felt the familiar sensation of the cold steel barrel, he knew he had the situation well in hand. Suddenly a wild cry arose. It had come from the lips of Tony, as Phil instantly understood; and was immediately followed by a threshing sound, as of two bodies rolling and scrambling about on the forward deck of the little cruiser. Evidently the fearless little swamp lad had thrown himself on the intruder, whom his keen eyes had made out to be a human being, and not a panther, as Phil had at one time suspected might prove to be the case. Phil immediately scrambled off his seat and to his feet. It was not actually dark under the cover, for the moon still shone. He could just manage to see the tumbling figures on the deck, as Tony clung to the unknown intruder with the tenacity of a cat. Larry had rolled into the cockpit, and was trying his best to disengage himself from his blanket, which he had somehow managed to get twisted around his bulky figure. So far as any help from that quarter might go, there was no use expecting it; for Larry was certainly in a dreadful panic, not knowing what it all meant; and perhaps thinking that he was about to be kidnapped. "Don't hit me, massa; I gives in, 'deed an' 'deed I does!" wailed a voice that could only belong to a terrified negro. "Lie still, you!" cried Phil, thinking it best to take part in the row. "I've got you covered with a gun, and can blow the top of your head off. Not another move, now, d'ye hear!" Of course the intruder had no means of knowing that those in the tied-up motor boat were mere boys. He heard the one word "gun," and that settled the matter. Phil thought fast. He had no doubt but that this fellow must indeed be the man the sheriff and his posse were hunting with hounds. He was an escaped convict, from the turpentine camp, where the chain gang worked out their various sentences under the rifles of the guards. Perhaps after temporarily eluding his pursuers the fellow had happened on the boat as it lay there alongside the bank. He was possibly nearly starved; and rendered desperate by his condition had determined to attempt to steal some food, taking his very life in his hands in order to do so. Phil knew just where a lantern lay. And he always carried plenty of matches on his person, so as to be provided in case he became lost in the wilderness at any time. So he now decided to have some light on the subject. At the crackling of his match the negro uttered a low whine, and began to struggle slightly again, possibly fearing that he was about to be shot. "Keep still, now!" cried Tony, knocking the fellow's head smartly on the planks of the deck; for he was sprawled out on the intruder's chest. Phil, having succeeded in lighting the lantern, held it up. The first thing he saw was the frightened face of the escaped convict. Somehow it sent a pang through the heart of the boy, for he had never in all his life looked on a human countenance that was stamped with suffering as that black one seemed to be. "Let him up, Tony; I've got the gun, and will keep him covered!" he said. The swamp boy obeyed. Perhaps he hardly thought it wise of Phil to act as he did, for it might be noticed that the first act of Tony was to pick up the hatchet, and keep it handy. Larry had finally succeeded in unwinding that blanket from around his person. He was staring at them as though he could hardly believe the whole thing were not a nightmare. "Sit up, you!" Phil repeated; and the negro obeyed. It was plain that astonishment was beginning to share the element of fear in his face, when he saw that his captors were three half-grown boys instead of gruff men. And perhaps for the first time a glimmer of wild hope began to struggle for existence in the oppressed heart of the runaway. "What's your name?" asked Phil, sternly. "Pete Smith, sah," replied the other, in a quavering tone. "You escaped from the convict camp, and it was you they were hunting with the dogs, wasn't it?" the boy went on. "Reckons as how 'twar, sah." "How long ago did you run away?" Phil continued, bent on finding out all the circumstances connected with the case before deciding what to do. "I dunno, 'zactly, sah. Mout a ben six days. 'Pears tuh me like it ben de longes' time eber. Ain't hed hardly a t'ing tuh eat in all dat time, massa. Jest gnawin' in heah, an' makin' me desprit. Clar tuh goodness I knowed I must git somethin', or it was sure all ober wid me. 'Scuse me, sah, foh breakin' in disaway. I'se dat hungry I c'd eat bran! But if so be yuh on'y lets me go I'll neber kim back ag'in neber." "But you would get something to eat if you gave yourself up to the sheriff?" The negro shuddered. "I sooner die in de swamp dan do dat, honey," he said, between his white teeth. "Dey got a grudge ag'in me ober dar in de turpentine camp, 'case I took de part ob a pore sick niggah what was bein' whipped, 'case he couldn't wuk. Dey says it's laziness, but I knowed better. He died arter dat. But de head keeper, he got it in foh me, an' he make it hard. I runned away at de fust chanct; an' I jest shorely knows dat he next door tuh kill me if he gits me back." "What were you there for?" asked Phil, feeling more kindly toward the wretched fugitive after hearing what he said, even though it may not have been wholly true. "'Case I war a fool, massa; I 'mits dat," returned the other, humbly. "Cudn't nohow leab de juice alone. I libed in Tallahassee, an' uster be a 'spectable pusson till I gits drinkin'. Den I got inter a row, when a man was hurted bad. Dey sent me to de camp foh a yeah; an' it ain't half up yit. But I'se gwine tuh gib dem de slip, er drap down in de swamp, dat's what." "Larry," called out Phil, "wasn't there a lot of stuff left over from supper?" "Right you are, Phil. Shall I get it out?" asked the other, whose heart had been touched by what he heard; for Larry was a sympathetic sort of a chap, who could not bear to witness suffering, and might be easily deceived by any schemer. "Yes," Phil went on, quietly. "This poor fellow is pretty hungry. We'll feed him first; and while he eats decide what we had ought to do about his case." "Oh! bress yuh foh dat, young massa!" exclaimed the man who had been chased by the dogs and the sheriff's posse. "I done nebber forgits yuh, nebber. An' if so be I is lucky enuff tuh git out ob dis scrape I 'clar tuh goodness I nebber agin touch a single drap o' de bug juice. It done gets me in dis trouble foh keeps, an' it ain't nebber ag'in gwine tuh knock me down!" "That sounds all right, Pete," remarked Phil, "if only you can keep your word. If you got clear you could never go back to Tallahassee again?" "No sah, not 'less I sarve my time out. It's disaway, sah. I done got a brudder ober near Mobile, an' I war athinkin' dat if on'y I cud get away I'd go tuh him. Den in time he'd send foh my wife and de chillen tuh come ober." "Oh! then you have a family, have you? How many children, Pete?" asked Phil. "Seben, sah, countin' de twins as is on'y piccaninnies yet." "Good gracious!" exclaimed Larry, who had been eagerly listening while getting the leftover food out of the place where he had placed it. "What a crowd! And how could they get a living all the six months you've been in the turpentine camp, Pete?" "Dunno, sah," replied the negro; "specks as how Nancy she dun hab tak in de washin' ag'in. Ain't dun nothin' ob de sort dis ten yeahs; but she kin do hit right smart, sah." That was the last word Pete could be expected to speak for some time; for he was busily engaged stuffing himself with the food Larry thrust before him. It was a singular sight, and one that Phil would doubtless often recall with a lively sense of humor. The lantern lighted up the tent of the motor boat, showing the emaciated black devouring the food about like a starving wolf might be expected to act; and the three watching boys, Phil still gripping his Marlin, Tony the hatchet, and Larry another tin dish with more "grub." Meanwhile Phil was wondering what they ought to do. He did not like to break the law; but it seemed to him that in this case he would be amply justified in assisting the runaway convict. He had surely worked long enough to have served as atonement for his crime; and the call of those seven little children was very loud in Phil's ears. So he made up his mind that he would place a small amount in Pete's hand before sending him away, besides some more food. And he might at the same time be given a hint that if he only headed directly south along the river, the sheriff would not be apt to follow him far, since he dared not tempt the terrible McGee by infringing on the territory of the squatter chieftain. So they waited for the hungry man to eat his fill. And Pete, now that he no longer felt the pangs of approaching starvation, looked at Phil out of the corners of his eyes, as though trying to guess what the "young massa" was planning to do about disposing of his case. CHAPTER XII THE SHERIFF AND HIS "DAWGS" "Do you see that package, Pete?" asked Phil, after he had talked with Larry for a few minutes, and pointing at a bundle the latter had made up. "Yas, sah, I does." "Well, I'm not going to tell you to take it; but after you're gone, I expect to find it missing. Do you think you understand?" asked the boy, grinning. Pete looked puzzled, and scratched his woolly head. "Yuh 'pears tuh not want me tuh take hit; and den ag'in yuh 'spects me to kerry hit off when I'se gwine away! Yas, sah, I sees what yuh means," he answered; though the blank look on his dusky face belied his assurance. "You see," Phil continued, soberly; "if the sheriff should happen to come along we would tell him somebody had taken a package of food from the boat during the night. Understand? His dogs would be apt to pick up your trail here, anyhow; and that might be a give-away." "Oh! yas, sah, I gits on now," said the late prisoner eagerly. "An' it sure is a good thing foh me as how I runs acrost yuh gemmons dis same night. On'y foh dat I done drap in de swamps. I takes de grub, but I don't let you-uns knows hit." "And when you start off, circle around and make for the south," Phil went on. "Perhaps, now, you may have heard of the McGees, who make shingles down below? Well, this boy is Tony McGee. If you're lucky enough to get to their settlement, which is on the river, he'll help you further. Here's a little money for you, Pete. I'm giving it to you just because you say you're going to turn over a new leaf if you get safe to Mobile. And perhaps some time I'll look you up, or write to your brother; because we're interested in that family of yours. What's his name, Pete?" "Oscar Smith, in keer ob Mistah Underhill, sah. An' I suah is mighty much 'bliged tuh yuh foh dis. I's gwine tuh do what yuh tells me; dough I war a tryin' tuh git away by keepin' tuh de west." "Well, you'll have a better chance by going down river, and I'll tell you why, Pete;" after which Phil explained how the sheriff of this county in Northern Florida had reason to shun the neighborhood where the fierce McGees held forth. "If I knowed dat afore, massa," said the negro, earnestly, "I done be down dar by now, an' alarfin' fit to die at dat sheriff. But I make a circle 'round right now, an' git a start. I done feels dat much better sense I gets a squar' meal dat I kin keep a movin' 'long all right smart de rest ob de night." "Then perhaps you had better be getting along now, Pete," said Phil. "You see, we can't tell but what the posse might happen on us any time; and the further you're away when that comes to pass, the better. Shake hands with me, Pete. And don't forget that we believe you when you say you're meaning to walk a straight line after this." The astonished fugitive had tears running down his thin cheeks when he felt the warm hearty clasp of Phil Lancing's hand. Nor was Larry going to be left out. "Shake with me too, Pete," he said, thrusting his chubby hand out. "I haven't said much, but to everything my chum remarked I'm on. And I cooked that grub, Pete. Good luck to you! I hope you've had your lesson, and it's never again for yours." "Now we'll turn our backs, while you disappear, Pete; so none of us can see you go," said Phil, suiting the action to his words. "God bress youse, honey, bofe ob youse!" the man muttered, brokenly. They heard a movement, a shuffling sound; then presently all became silent once more, and laughingly the boys turned around. "It's gone!" declared Larry, pretending to be greatly surprised. "Some miserable thief has come, and swiped a lot of our grub! Just think of the colossal nerve of the thing, would you, Phil?" "Let's go to sleep again," was the only remark of the other, as he started to fasten down the bottom of the curtains. "But suppose the sheriff drops in on us?" remarked Larry, who looked forward to such a possibility with a little of dread. "Let him come," chuckled Phil. "You can tell him how we had a package of food taken. He'll understand then what his dogs have found, when they strike the scent of Pete. But I expect that the fellow will find plenty of ways for killing his trail between now and morning. He's got a new lease of life, Pete has; and mark my words, no sheriff's posse is ever going to overhaul him from this on." So saying Phil began to make himself comfortable again. Larry proceeded to fix his own bed afresh; and when he pronounced himself ready his chum put out the lantern. In all, not more than half an hour had elapsed since Phil felt that first touch from the swamp boy; and yet how much had happened in that short time. The Northern voyagers had passed through a new and novel experience; and there was Black Pete hastening through the woods, and through the swamps bound south, with hope once more filling his troubled breast. There was no further alarm during the remainder of that night, and the boys were getting breakfast when Tony uttered an exclamation. "Look! they are comin' down below! That is Barker at the head!" he muttered. "Drop down in the bottom of the boat, Tony," Phil hastened to say; for it had all been arranged beforehand what their programme might be. Larry jumped ashore to unfasten the cable, while his chum hastened to pay attention to his motor, so as to get the power on without delay. Some distance away they could see a party of men advancing. In front trailed a pair of tawny hounds, straining at their leashes, and evidently following some sort of trail. A distant shout announced that these parties had discovered the boat; but the boys at first paid no attention to the hail. It was only after they had started from their late landing place that they pretended to have discovered the coming file of men; and Phil answered their shouts with a wave of his hat. The sheriff was a typical Southerner. He wore a broad-brimmed hat; and had on a long coat; which, being open in front disclosed the heavy revolver which he carried next his hip. Each one of his three companions had a gun of some sort. Possibly they were the guards from the turpentine camp, searching for the fugitive convict. Taken all in all the quartette of men presented a very fierce appearance; and Phil felt relieved to know that poor Pete was not fated to fall into their clutches. The fugitive had given them a heap of trouble, and in case of capture could expect little mercy. The sheriff stepped to the edge of the bank, and made motions as though he wished the voyagers to come in; but Phil had no intention of doing so. He really feared that the law officer might be tempted to carry Tony off, just to get even with his father, the terrible McGee, whom he did not dare face again. Phil did reverse the engine, however, so that the Aurora might drift slowly past the spot where the sheriff was standing. Plainly the other desired to have a few words with those aboard. "Hello! gents!" called the officer, with his hands forming a megaphone, so that his voice might carry the more readily. "I'm the sheriff of this heah county; and this is my posse. We's huntin' a desprit convict that got loose from the camp a week back, by name Pete Smith. He's been headin' up thisaway, as the dogs allow; and p'raps now yuh might a-seen somethin' of him." Phil pretended to look at Larry as though surprised. "I bet you it must have been him, Larry!" he said, in a voice loud enough to be heard on shore; and then turning to the sheriff he went on: "Some sort of critter sneaked into our boat last night, sir, and made way with a lot of our grub. Guess it must have been the runaway you mention." "And my goodness! did you hear him say it was a desperate convict, Phil?" cried the innocent Larry, showing all the signs of alarm. "Why, he might have murdered us while we slept! Oh! what a narrow escape!" They were now opposite the sheriff, and still drifting with the current, though held back by the turning of the screw. "Say, what's that about a thief gettin' away with some of your grub?" called out the officer, excitedly. "Whar was you campin' at the time? Didn't we see you tied up tuh the bank yonder, whar that palmetto bends down like? Tell me that, younkers! It's a heap important, yuh see, that my dawgs pick up the scent fresh, though I spect they's on to it right now." "Yes, we spent last night there, Mr. Sheriff, right where you see that palmetto. Hope you have all the luck you deserve!" Phil sent back over the widening water. "You'd better look sharp below aways. They's a hard crowd down in that region, the McGee clan o' law breakers and squatters. They'll clean yuh out, if yuh stop off nigh 'em. That's a warnin', younkers. If so be yuh meet old McGee, tell him Bud Barker ain't forgot, an' in time he's acomin' back!" Tony could hardly keep from rising up, and shaking his fist after the enemy of his father, when these threatening words floated to his ears. But Phil pulled him down before his presence was discovered by the sheriff. The last they saw of Barker he was pushing after his dogs, pellmell, doubtless in the belief that he would get on the track of Pete again when they arrived at the palmetto tree. "Do you really suppose that what he says is true, and Pete's a regular pirate?" asked Larry, in a troubled voice. "Well, not any so you could notice," laughed Phil. "In fact, after seeing the make-up of the fierce fire-eating sheriff, I'm more than ever glad I gave poor old Pete the glad hand, and helped him on his way. Perhaps he may not have such a raft of piccaninnies as he said, but anyhow I'm pretty sure he deserved to be given one more chance to make good." "Oh! I'm so glad to hear you say that, Phil," cried Larry. "I was afraid that we had made a bad break. But, my! wasn't Mr. Barker a fierce looking gent, though?" CHAPTER XIII IN THE CYPRESS COUNTRY During the morning they talked often of the occurrence of the previous night. Phil no longer felt any qualms of conscience, on account of what he had done. And he really hoped Pete would get clear of the posse. There had been something in the face of the negro that impressed both boys with a sense of his honesty. He had been sent to the convict camp simply because he was unlucky enough to be in a fight. Had he been a common thief it might have looked different to Phil. And while Tony McGee might not be able to grasp all the fine points in the matter, he could understand that these two new friends of his had warm, boyish hearts; and he often looked at them with growing affection when neither Phil nor Larry believed he was at all concerned about their affairs. Then that old troubled expression would flit back again, to hold dominion over Tony's face. That was when he tried to imagine what his father's actions might be, after he learned that one of these lads was really the son of Dr. Lancing, the rich land owner, against whom he had so strong a grudge that he would have been sorely tempted to kill him, did the millionaire but venture into the land of the squatter shingle-makers. They tied up again at noon, taking Tony's advice. Phil could plainly see that the swamp boy, acting as pilot of the little expedition, was trying to time their progress so as to hit a certain place toward nightfall. "What d'ye think of it?" asked Larry, when Tony having wandered off with the gun to see if he could find some "partridges," the two could exchange words without being overheard. "About Tony, do you mean?" queried his companion, easily guessing what was worrying Larry. "Yes. He asked us not to leave here until about the middle of the afternoon; and then he sprung that idea on us, of stepping out to see if he could scare up any game. You don't imagine for a minute, do you, Phil, that he means to betray us to his friends, and get us into trouble?" "Rats! You don't dream of believing that yourself, now. But I saw just as you did, that he wanted to hold us here a certain time. And it wouldn't surprise me one little bit if Tony failed to come back until a couple of hours had gone," and while saying this Phil looked wise, which fact struck his chum as particularly exasperating, seeing that he was so consumed with curiosity. "Then do take pity on me, and tell me right away what you think," said Larry; "because I can see in your face that you've guessed something." "Well, of course you've heard Tony try to convince me lots of times that it would be foolish in our stopping off to see his father?" Phil said to begin with. "Yes, I have," replied Larry, promptly. "First of all he wanted us to turn back. Then, when he saw that you just wouldn't, he asked why not keep right on past his place." "Just so," remarked Phil. "And I've got a notion right now that Tony is holding us back so that we will just have to do some traveling after dark tonight. Perhaps he'll find some excuse for it, by saying there is no decent stopping place. And in that way the boy may hope to coax us past the dangerous point where the squatters have their settlement." "But you won't consent, Phil; I just know you too well to believe it," cried Larry. "Well, not so you can see it," came the positive reply. "When I embarked on this cruise I knew just what I was up against. I understood that McGee was feeling bitter against my dad; but I believe the message I'm carrying him will knock all his animosity to flinders. And not even Tony must upset my plans." The time crept on. An hour had passed since Tony went away. They had heard several distant shots in quick succession, and Larry was filled with hope that his craving for "quail on toast" might be finally made an accomplished fact; though just where the latter article was to come from might have puzzled any one, since their last scrap of bread had long since vanished from mortal view. Another hour seemed almost exhausted, and Larry began to grow uneasy. "He's got your new gun along, Phil," he remarked. "That's so," smiled the other, who did not seem one whit disturbed by the non-appearance of the swamp boy; "but don't you believe that cuts any figure in his keeping away. I've been studying Tony right along, ever since we met him first; and I'd stake a heap on his fidelity. He has come to care for us, too. I could see that by the way he watches us, and the light in his eyes at times. But there he comes right now, Larry; and he's holding up some game you like right well." "It's quail all right, and a fine bunch of the little darlings, too!" exclaimed the cook of the expedition, his face relaxing into a happy grin; and all doubts immediately vanished from his mind. Tony came slowly into camp. Phil noticed that there was a serious look on his face, as though more than ever the swamp boy might be troubled in his mind. Which fact gave Phil a rather startling idea. Could it be possible that Tony had met with any of the squatters during his little side hunt? And suppose this to have been the case, what had happened between them? Of course they must know that Tony had gone up-river with his little blind sister, so that his presence near the home settlement would arouse both their curiosity and suspicions. They must also notice the wonderful pump-gun he was carrying; and that again would be likely to cause them to demand an explanation. Would Tony tell all that had happened to him? And might the news be thus carried ahead of their coming to the terrible McGee, that the son of the rich man he hated so bitterly was even now in his power? But Tony said nothing. He was far from being talkative at any time, and just now he seemed to shut up as "tight as a clam," as Larry expressed it aside to his chum. They started down the now wide stream. Since the boys first commencing this eventful voyage two days back, the river had received many additions in the way of smaller creeks, so that it was now pouring quite a volume of water along toward the gulf. And it was easy to see from the nature of the frequent swamps bordering the banks that they were drawing near the great cypress belt where the shingle-makers held forth in all their glory, defying eviction on the part of any owner of the territory. It was about the latter part of the afternoon when Larry called attention to a man on the shore. He was standing on a hamak, and held an old gun in his hands, as though he might have been hunting up this way, and his dugout not far off. The fellow was far from prepossessing looking, to say the least. His garments were of dingy homespun, and his beard gave him the appearance of a tramp. But of course Phil realized that he must belong to the settlement toward which they were gradually drawing closer with every mile passed over. And if so surely Tony would know him. He noticed that the man was staring at them as they glided past, with the motor slowed down to its lowest ebb; as Tony had requested that they only keep with the current. And turning toward the swamp boy he saw him make some sort of sign to the man--it might be merely a wave of recognition; and again there may have been a deeper significance connected with it. "You knew him, then, Tony?" asked Phil, trying to seem indifferent. "Oh! yes, sure," replied the other, quickly. "That was Gabe Barker." "Barker!" exclaimed Phil, "any relation to our friend the sheriff, now?" "Yep, that's the funny part o' it," replied Tony, with a slight smile. "Gabe an' the sheriff be full cousins. But all the same, Gabe he helped to carry the pole when they ride t'other Barker out o' the settlement. They has a feud you see, his fambly an' that o' the sheriff." "But Gabe is one of the McGee clan now, isn't he?" pursued Phil. "He's be'n, nigh on seven year," Tony admitted. "Think he licked the father o' the sheriff, and hed tuh cut stick an' run afore they got 'im." "Why d'ye suppose he didn't call out to you?" asked Phil; who really considered this the most sinister part of the entire proceeding; for according to his way of thinking it would have been the natural thing for a man to have done under such circumstances. Tony allowed that queer little smirk to creep over his face again. "Gabe he would like to much, on'y he couldn't," he said. "Why, I didn't see anybody stopping him!" ejaculated Larry. Tony made a movement toward his mouth, and then observed: "Gabe he not say much now for five years. Used tuh curse more'n three men. Then a tree he was cutting down fell wrong way. Gabe he caught underneath. Bite tongue off and near die when McGee find him. So he makes talk with hands since that time." "Oh! what d'ye think of that, now?" cried the wondering Larry. "Pretty tough on that long-legged Gabe, for a fact. No wonder then, he didn't call out to you, and ask all those questions I could see on his face." "Tony, do you suppose now that Gabe came up the swift river in his dugout, which I noticed floating on the water near where he stood on that rise?" asked Phil, with a reason for the query. The swamp boy looked uneasily at him, but answered at once. "No, current too strong. We come this far through swamp. I paddle so when I take little sister up-river. That place whar Gabe stand hide entrance to swamp." "And how long do you suppose it would take Gabe, if he started right away, to get back to the settlement?" Phil continued. "After sundown, an' afore dark," the other answered. "River turn many times, but through swamp it is easy to go straight away." "Then unless we started up, and ran for it, Gabe could get there sooner than our motor boat; is that a fact, Tony?" "Yes," replied the swamp boy, with a sigh, "Gabe get there first, anyhow!" CHAPTER XIV LARRY PICKS UP SOME MORE POINTERS Although the boys had left their stopping place that morning in something of a hurry upon sighting the advancing posse of the sheriff, it must not be supposed for one minute that they had forgotten all about the treat they had been anticipating in the way of breakfast. Larry had it firmly fixed in his mind; and as soon as he could coax Tony to go ashore, the swamp boy and himself had opened the primitive oven in which they had placed the noble turkey. It was found done to a turn, cooked beautifully by the heat that had been retained all through the night. Possibly the boys missed the customary brown, outside appearance, such as they had always seen in a fowl roasted in an ordinary oven; but for all that it was delicious. Larry had gone into ecstasies when enjoying the meal; which was eaten while on the way down the river; the coming of Barker and his following having started the expedition suddenly. And many times during that day had Larry referred to the great luck that had befallen him during his grand hunt. He would never cease to plume himself on having actually bagged that king bird of the American forest, and which is usually so timid that only the most experienced hunter can secure such a trophy. "And," he would say, as he picked a drumstick at noon with the keenest of relish, "our good luck didn't stop with my having bagged the gobbler, either." "That's a fact," Phil had remarked; "our coming on the spot had considerable to do with this lunch we're making right now. Because, only for that, it might be a funeral feast instead of a joy spread, eh, Larry?" "Well, that's just about right, Phil," the fat youth had replied, turning just a shade paler than usual, although on account of his rosy hue this fact could hardly be noticed, to tell the truth; "but I wasn't thinking of that; and please don't mention it too often, for it's apt to take my appetite away." "Then tell us what you did mean?" demanded his chum. "I was thinking first of all how fortunate for us that the delicious odor of our cooking turk didn't ooze out from the oven," Larry went on. "Oh! now I catch on to what's on your mind," laughed Phil. "You're thinking of our colored friend, Pete Smith, the chap with the seven piccaninnies?" "That's what I am, Phil. What if he had caught the odor of that noble bird in his half starved condition?" "Whose--the bird's?" queried Phil, wickedly. "Oh! no, you know I mean Pete," replied Larry, quite unruffled. "Don't you suppose he'd have followed his nose, and discovered how we'd placed the turkey away so neatly? And he'd have uncovered him, and run away with the whole show. That would have not only cheated us out of our breakfast and lunch; but have also lost us a chance for doing a noble deed." "Hear! hear! I see you're bringing your Boy Scout training down to Florida with you, Larry. And I wager you never let a sun go down without having done something to make a fellow critter happier. But stop and think, it was only midnight when Pete gave us that call, wasn't it?" "Somewhere about that time, I guess; but why?" Larry asked. "Don't you see," Phil went on positively; "the oven couldn't have more than half done its work by then; so even if Pete had gobbled the gobbler he'd have had to eat him partly cooked. Not that Pete would have objected very much to that, for he was too near the starving point to kick. Now, my opinion is, we had greater luck because we dug up our breakfast as early as we did." "How's that, Phil? What has the early bird got to do with the worm; or the worm with the early bird, as it is in this case?" "Why, you must remember that we had to quit in something of a hurry," laughed Phil. "If our turkey was still in the oven don't you suppose those dogs would have nosed it out in a jiffy after they arrived? And we couldn't turn back to claim our game. That posse would have feasted on the fruits of your great hunt." In spite of Larry's love for argument, based upon the fact that he expected to some day become a lawyer like his father, he was compelled to admit that in this case Phil had the best of it. And so the bones of the turkey were polished off in the middle of the day; with every one declaring that it had been a great treat. Larry kept the two drumsticks as well as the wings of the gobbler. Possibly he might many a time feel a queer little sensation creeping up and down his spinal column as memory carried him back again to that slough, where the treacherous black mud was slowly but surely sucking him down. And now the sun was creeping closer and closer to the western horizon; and they must soon come to a stop for the night; unless, as Phil rather suspected, Tony had conceived some sort of wild idea as to influencing them to keep right on, so that he could run them past the settlement of the shingle-makers in the darkness. Of course there was bound to be a moon, for it even now hung low in the eastern heavens, being well on toward the full; and, as boys accustomed to the woods well know, a full moon always rises above a level horizon just at sunset. But clouds floated in patches across the sky, and it might be they would obscure this heavenly luminary long enough for Tony's purposes. But Phil was equally determined not to let the swamp boy try to run them past. He had come far to carry out his purpose; and could not bring himself to believe that it might fail utterly. Much as he had heard about the fierce nature of the giant, McGee, chief of the clan, he had faith to believe that even such a rugged and almost savage character might be subdued, if one went about it in the right way. "We must be looking for a place to haul up, Tony," Phil finally said, in his most determined tone. The swamp boy looked almost heart-broken upon hearing him say this. He gritted his teeth together, and frowned. Phil knew what must be passing in his mind; and how poor Tony felt, that in obeying the wishes of this new friend, he was acting as a decoy, to betray the son of the hated Dr. Lancing into the hands of those who would treat him roughly. Tony shook his head and sighed. Then, as if making up his mind that there was no other course for him to pursue, he tried to smile cheerfully. Perhaps he still hoped that if the worst came, he might find another arrow in his quiver to use. Perhaps he relied somewhat on the influence of his mother, she who had once been a school teacher in a city, before she came to marry this chieftain of the McGee clan. "Just as yuh say, Phil," he remarked, meekly. "If we have tuh tie up, reckons as how it could be did 'round hyah as well as anywhar else. Yuh see thar's swamp nigh everywhar 'bout, now--nothin' but cypress in this part o' the kentry. So, when yuh say so, we'll get a hitch 'round a tree, an' stop." "Looks to be a likely place ahead there," remarked Larry, who had been amusing himself with a pair of marine glasses Phil had brought along with him; and which promised to be particularly useful, once the motor boat reached the big waters of the gulf. "Yep!" sang out Tony, who had such keen vision that he found no need of glasses to assist him, "they's some land thar too, which makes it right decent. If so be yuh feel that yuh must stop, Phil, that's a shore good place." And so they headed in for the landing selected, after navigating the stream for a short time longer. The sun had not yet gone down, though under the tall cypress trees, with their great clumps of gray hanging Spanish moss that looked like trailing banners, it was even then beginning to grow a little dusky. Gently running alongside the bank, the Aurora came to a stop. Larry with his rope was quickly ashore, and securing the cable to a convenient tree. Then they let the motor boat swing around, so that her prow headed up-stream; after which she was apt to lie easy all night, with the current gurgling past, and singing the everlasting song of the running water. Larry was for going ashore and making a fire, but Tony begged him not to. "They find us soon enough, without hurryin' it 'long that way," he said. "Oh! well," Larry replied, "I suppose we can use the bully little kerosene gas cooker tonight. It's a howling success, according to my mind; and I'm only wondering why you didn't get a second edition while about it, Phil." "Because it was new to me," replied his chum; "and while I'd heard a heap about it, I thought I'd like to try the thing out first. But I give you my word I'm going to have another as soon as I can send for it. And never again shall I go into camp without one along. Think of the rainy days when I've had to go hungry because all the wood was soaked; when with such a treasure in the tent you could cook to your heart's content." "Then you give in to Tony, and say no fire ashore tonight?" asked Larry. "Well, yes," was Phil's reply. "It's pretty warm anyhow to cook over a blaze. And perhaps after all it might be better for me to drop into the village of the McGee, of my own free will, rather than be taken there, apparently against it." Again Tony sighed. Perhaps he felt that there was small chance of their passing that night so near the settlement of his people without having unwelcome visitors. Perhaps he knew only too well how the mute Barker must ere now have arrived among the shanties of the shingle-makers with his astonishing news; and that many dugouts would soon be scouring the river in search for the remarkable motor boat on which he, Tony, seemed an honored guest. "I wonder if I could catch any fish here?" remarked Larry, who could not forget the success that had attended his previous efforts in the "hook and pole" line. "Plenty everywhere along here, I should guess," remarked Phil. "So suppose you get busy, and see if you can't pull up a supper for the crowd. Fact is, old chum, you're rapidly developing into a second class scout. When you get back North you will know so much that they'll just have to get you a medal to wear. And the marks on the sleeve of your khaki jacket will about reach from your shoulder to your elbow, you'll qualify for so much." "Aw! quit jollying me, Phil," chuckled Larry, who nevertheless seemed to enjoy the novel sensation of being complimented on his newly acquired knowledge in the line of woodcraft. He was soon busily engaged untangling his fishing line, while Tony went ashore to hunt for grubs in old logs; and Phil employed himself otherwise. From time to time the chums exchanged a few words, with Phil taking Larry to task for persisting in calling his jointed bamboo fishing rod a "pole!" "That goes well enough with the country boy, who has only a long bamboo pole, with the string tied at the end," he said, with the air of a schoolmaster; "but after you reach the point where you use a split bamboo jointed rod, and a fine rubber reel, it's about time you stepped up a peg, and gave things their right name." Larry promised to be more careful in the future. "There, I've got the tangle all out," he said, with a sigh of relief; "and here comes Tony with some bait. What is it you've got? Bully for you, Tony! My! what a nice assortment of fat grubs. I just bet you the bass will grab at 'em like hot cakes. And strange to say, I'm actually feeling a little hungry myself at the thought of supper. Well, here goes for business." He went to the stern of the boat to cast out. Not just fancying the way the boat happened to lie, Larry picked up the setting pole, and started to push a little. In doing so he happened to thrust the pole into the water. Perhaps he was only trying to see how deep the river was at that point; at least he afterwards declared he had no other idea than that. Phil, occupied in the little task which he had laid out for himself, paid no particular attention to Larry for several minutes. He was suddenly startled by a shrill screech from his chum. This caused him to leap quickly to his feet; and what he saw was enough to send a thrill through his whole body. In prodding about with the push pole Larry must have struck some object lying at the bottom of the river, and the sudden appearance of this unsuspected neighbor had given him a terrible shock. It was a tremendous alligator that thrust his snout above the surface, just as Larry, losing his balance, fell into the river with a great splash! CHAPTER XV A RIDE ON AN ALLIGATOR It was certainly a time for prompt action. Phil Lancing had leaped to his feet at the first cry from his chum. When he saw that tremendous snout thrust up out of the water he felt a thrill. This changed from alarm to horror when unfortunate and clumsy Larry, tripping in his excitement over the side, struck the water with a tremendous splash, not far from the aroused alligator. During the day just passed Tony had been giving them more or less interesting facts connected with the ugly saurians that had their usual abode in the cypress swamps. Of course, as the lad had been born and raised amid such surroundings, he was familiar with most of the humors of the scaly reptiles; and had himself been engaged in numerous adventures with them in times past. He had even told with infinite gusto of an occasion where on a dare he had jumped astride the back of a big bull that was caught in a lagoon, and ridden him to and fro for the space of five moments, despite his bellowing and the angry lashing of his active tail. Naturally, then, these things all seemed to flash before the mind of Phil in that one dreadful second as he stood there, and saw his chum floundering in the river, not ten feet from the ugly teeth of the 'gator. Larry had somehow managed to seize upon a dangling rope end. It must have been by the merest chance in the world that this came about; but having once clutched this life preserver he held on with a desperate grip. Meanwhile, he seemed to understand that he was in dangerous closeness to that aroused and angry reptile which his setting pole had prodded. While holding on for dear life Larry was exercising all the agility of a gymnast in a mad effort to do a little rope climbing. That was where his lack of form told heavily against him. Strive as he would, and spurred on to redoubled labor by a knowledge of his peril, Larry was utterly unable to accomplish what he had set out to perform. Several times he succeeded in drawing himself up a foot or so, and then would come a fatal slip that knocked his plans "galley-west," as Phil would have said. And at such times Larry was bound to go souse into the stream again, grunting; calling out in half muffled tones; and spouting forth quite a cascade of water that had been taken into his open mouth. Undoubtedly, had Larry's rescue depended upon himself alone he might have fared badly. He did not seem able to make any headway against the bad run of luck that kept tumbling him back after every effort to rise. And that mossback 'gator, as Tony always called an old fellow, was certainly worked up into a rage which might result in his attacking the struggling boy, despite all his wild floundering and splashing. Phil of course suddenly remembered that he had it in his power to assist Larry. His gun! If only he could manage to hasten to where it had last been seen, he might yet fire a charge, or several for that matter, full into the eyes of the reptile; and at such a short distance it must surely bring the attack to an end. While it takes quite some time to narrate these things, in reality it all happened within a few seconds, to tell the truth. Usually Phil was exceedingly active in mind, but somehow the affair seemed to have dazzled him just a trifle, so that he found himself unable to decide just where he had last set eyes on the faithful repeating shotgun. Larry had even made his second furious attempt to climb up the rope, and fallen back again, when Phil discovered the barrel of the gun sticking out from under a bunch of blankets which his chum had tossed aside in trying to get at his fishing tackle. Just as Phil was in the act of making a dash for the weapon something flashed by him. It was Tony, the swamp boy; and over his shoulder as he leaped he sent back the words: "I get him, you watch!" Nevertheless Phil, being accustomed to depending on himself, did not halt in his dash for the gun. No matter how good the intentions of Tony might be there was always more or less danger that a slip could occur; and in case such a calamity did come about, he, Phil, wanted to be in a position to lend a helping hand. The dangling rope was in reality the loose end of the painter which Larry had fastened to the trunk of the twisted live oak tree growing near the edge of the bank. As the water was quite deep right up alongside the shore Larry found no footing, and was in his haste making a bad job out of what might otherwise have been easy work. Afterwards, when he figured matters over, Phil realized that he could not have been more than three seconds in making that frantic dive for the gun, snatching it up in his eager hands, and swinging around once more so that he could have a clear view of the water where this excitement was transpiring. And yet at the time it seemed to him as though an hour must have elapsed, so great was the mental strain. What he saw caused him to stare as though he could hardly believe his eyes; it was all like a strange dream, this actual realization of the story which Tony had been telling them that afternoon. The alligator bull was still in sight. He had managed to turn about, so that his ugly snout was pointing directly toward the spot where Larry was still kicking and splashing at a terrific rate in his attempt to be a sailor, and climb a rope, something he had possibly never practiced, the more the pity. How Tony had ever managed to accomplish it in that very short space of time Phil could never guess; but even as he looked he saw the swamp lad astride the back of the angry 'gator, close up to his head. The saurian was lashing the water into foam. Perhaps he had just managed to get sight of the struggling Larry, and intended to swim straight for him, had not a new and unexpected enemy suddenly taken a hand in the game. Gripping his gun Phil crouched there on the deck of the motor boat, staring at the little swamp boy. Tony was grinning widely as though he delighted in proving in this practical way how true his remarkable story of the afternoon had been. And looking, Phil saw him lean quickly forward. He seemed to thrust both hands out, with the thumbs turned down, as though seeking the only vulnerable point about that mail-clad head. "The eyes--he's trying to stick his thumbs in the 'gator's little eyes!" gasped the astounded and thrilled watcher. He no longer thought of attempting to make use of the weapon he held in his own hands. What was the need when Tony had things all his own way? And holding his very breath with awe Phil Lancing watched the bold play of the swamp boy, who had been accustomed to the ways of alligators from infancy. "He's done it!" burst from the lips of the one spectator, as a terrific bellow burst from the twelve foot saurian, undoubtedly of pain and rage combined at having his eyes gouged in this fierce manner. Faster and more violently than ever did that powerful tail thresh the water, until the foam seemed like soap bubbles. Bellow after bellow made the air tremble, or at least pulsate. And amid all this racket the shrill screams of delight on the part of the excited and pleased swamp lad could be heard pealing forth like the notes of a bugle amid the roar of battle. "Get him up, Phil--get him up!" It was Tony shouting these words, which brought the watcher to his senses. Why, how silly of him to be crouching there, a mere looker-on, when he ought to be having a hand in the matter. Thinking thus, Phil immediately sprang away. A couple of bounds took him over the side of the launch and ashore. Here, dropping his now useless gun, he bent down alongside the roots of the live oak, which on this side were exposed to the air by the gradually washing away of the soil. The first thing Phil saw was the agonized face of his chum. It no longer looked rosy, and beaming with good-nature. Larry was genuinely frightened, and as pale as a ghost. The sight of that terrible monster, which he had unwittingly offended with those prods from his push pole, together with his sudden immersion in the water, had given him a shock. "Reach up your hand, Larry! I'll give you a pull, and out you come!" Phil cried, as he bent down, and stretched his own willing arm as far down toward the surface of the water as he could. Larry was only too willing. Indeed, he even let go with both hands, and of course plunged back again into the river, to frantically cry out, and seize once more on the friendly rope-end. "Careful now! Not so fast, old fellow! Just one hand at a time; and hold on to the rope with the other!" Phil said, encouragingly. This time, taking warning from his former mishap, and realizing that the more haste the less speed, Larry succeeded in thrusting his left hand into the grasp of the waiting chum above. Phil instantly exerted all his strength; and what with the frantic efforts of the fat boy, the result was all that could have been wished. Larry rolled over as soon as he found himself safe on dry land. He gave a grunt of what might be satisfaction; allowed another pint of water to escape; and then, filled with eagerness to witness what strange sights might be transpiring close by, crawled to the edge of the bank again, to stare with dilated eyes at the antics of the swamp boy. Nor was Phil far behind him in seeking a place where he too might be a witness to Tony's wonderful skill in riding the wild alligator bull. The baffled saurian, roaring with the pain entailed upon him when the boy thus thrust both thumbs down into his eyes, still lashed the water with his sweeping tail, and had started to swim aimlessly about, unable to see whither he might be heading. Tony's usually sallow face was aflame with delight. He seemed "dreadfully tickled," as Larry would say over the splendid opportunity to show off before his new Northern friends. They knew all about reading, and the world at large; but neither of them would have dared thus ride a savage bull 'gator. It was surely Tony's hour! But presently the huge reptile, driven frantic by pain, made a sudden lurch, and dived down into the depths of the river, as though hoping in this way to relieve himself of the terrible enemy that was blinding him. Amid the foam-crested wavelets Phil saw the swamp boy reappear; and his heart, which had seemingly risen into his throat, resumed its normal beating once more. "Oh! look, there he is again! Bully for Tony; but didn't he do it fine! Come ashore, Tony, before he gets after you again!" called out the excited Larry. Tony was leisurely swimming toward them, his face still wearing that broad grin. "Not much danger he do that, I tell yuh," he answered, coolly. "Old mossback, he get in hole, an' hide a week. Skeer him heap that time. Know him come out o' swamp. Get him hide yet, yuh see if I don't." Reaching the dangling rope-end Tony climbed up unassisted, scorning the helping hand Phil thrust downward. It was as if he desired to show how differently he might have acted had he been in Larry's place. And that individual immediately made up his mind that after such a humiliating experience he would daily practice such useful stunts as climbing a rope, since there could be no telling when it might come in handy as a life saving exercise. Tony, upon reaching the top of the bank, shook himself like a big New Foundland dog might have done. He had no coat on at the time, nor had Larry, which proved doubly fortunate, considering their immersion. And Larry, full of gratitude, insisted on squeezing Tony's hand, while he poured out boyish congratulations on the wonderful feat he had seen the other perform. Tony looked greatly pleased. These two chums had done so much for him that he only too gladly welcomed the opportunity to wipe out a little of the debt. CHAPTER XVI UNDER THE TWISTED LIVE OAK "Where did you ever learn that trick, Tony?" asked Phil, as they once more went aboard the motor boat, Larry to change his clothes before thinking of fishing, and Tony to continue the task at which he had been employed, just as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened to disturb him. "I tell yuh," replied the swamp boy. "McGee, he one time think he have to get out this part of country and locate 'way down south. Hear lots 'bout Everglades, an' go down coast with sponger on sailboat, tuh see if worth while. I was 'long that trip down tuh gulf; an' McGee, he send me back with other men. But I wanter go 'long an' see them Everglades; hear heap 'bout same from one o' our men. Waited till I get chance, an' crawl 'board sailboat, hide in locker forward. They never find me till I get so hungry second day, have tuh come out." Phil noticed that Tony seldom referred to the head of the clan as his "father"; it was nearly always "McGee"; just as if he felt more respect for him as the leader of the settlement, than regard for him as his parent. "I suppose your father was considerably surprised?" he remarked, smiling. Tony shrugged his shoulders, as though the memory were not altogether pleasant. "He was mad clean through," he replied. "He knock me down once, and say he ought to throw me overboard. Then he change his mind, and larf, tellin' me I was a chip o' the same old stick, er somethin' that way. Arter that he act right good, an' I do the cookin' foh the lot. So then we get tuh Everglades. But he never take tuh things down thar like here, an' change mind 'bout leavin'." "But about the alligator trick, Tony?" asked Larry, who was listening eagerly all me while. "Come tuh that now, Larry, you see," answered the other, nodding pleasantly. "Meet Injuns down thar. Seminoles they call 'em. Wear shirt, vest, an' a heap o' red stuff wind 'round head; that all. I talk much with Injuns; they tell me how they many times ride on back of big bull. I never hear such thing, an' want'er see, so they take me out in swamp, and one boy he do same." "Yes," broke in Phil, "I guess you wasn't satisfied to have an Indian beat you in such a trick; and you couldn't rest until you had copied him; isn't that just about right, Tony?" The swamp boy chuckled as he nodded. "Reckon I did, Phil," he said, modestly. "Climb on 'gator back while Injun boy thar, push him off, an' keep up game. Never let Injun beat me. But McGee, he shake his head when I tell him, an' look hard at me. Then he larf, an' jest turn 'way." "I guess he knew there was just no use trying to hold you back, Tony. Say, Larry, are you going to try for fish this evening?" Phil called out. "I'm ready right now, with some of those nice fat grubs Tony caught me," replied the other, coming out of the boat with dry clothes on. "Well," continued Phil, "I wanted to say that after all that row here, the chances are you'd never get a bite in a coon's age. If I were you I'd just go up the shore a bit." "Why up instead of down?" asked Larry, always curious to know the why and wherefore of everything, as a budding lawyer should. "For one thing, you muddied the water below," Phil went on. "Then again, perhaps you noticed that the old mossback headed downstream; and so the chances are the fish might be scared away for some distance." "Oh! now I catch on to what you mean, Phil," Larry spoke up. "But you see, there are so many things I don't know about woodcraft, that I've just got to keep asking questions. Then I'll go upstream, and try my luck." "Be careful not to get out of sight of the boat," warned the other. Larry looked a bit dubious at these words. He stood there for a minute as if hesitating whether to go or not. But like most boys he disliked to have a chum imagine he were capable of showing the white feather; so presently he sauntered off. Phil had been observing him out of the corner of his eye, and chuckled a little at noting how loth Larry seemed to be to depart. But Phil did not mean to let the other get out of his sight at this interesting stage of the game. Larry had a weakness for doing just the things he ought to avoid. He could get lost, or fall overboard, or even tumble into a bed of soft ooze, quicker than any one Phil knew. So, in a few minutes he picked up the gun, and said in a low tone to Tony, who was doing something aboard the boat: "Guess I'll take a little circuit around for a few minutes. I won't go far; but I want to keep an eye on Larry. He seems to have a weakness for tumbling in; or having something out of the way happen to him. And just now, you know, Tony, when we're so close to your home, I'd hate to have an accident happen to break up all my plans." Tony did not reply, though he nodded his head to announce that he heard. Perhaps he was a little afraid lest Phil might try to swing around over too large a circuit, and come in contact with some detachment of the shingle-makers from the nearby settlement. So Phil sauntered off. He realized that there was no excuse for his wandering far, even had the mood been upon him, which was not the case. The going was bad; and with night close at hand it would have been the utmost folly to have started on a reconnoitering trip. He simply swung around, and then from the rear approached the spot where Larry was engaged in fishing. The other was evidently having some luck, for Phil saw him take one good-sized bass from his hook; and his eager actions would indicate that the finny tribe gave evidence of being hungry. It was far from Phil's intention to alarm his chum. He simply walked toward him, meaning to speak when he arrived at a closer point; and then so as not to disturb the fishing; for as an ardent sportsman Phil believed that sounds would carry in the water, and frighten even hungry bass. He was therefore considerably surprised to see Larry suddenly start up, and dropping his split bamboo rod in a panic, commence running down the bank of the river, showing all the evidences of fright. Phil glanced hurriedly around. It did not occur at once to him that his own coming must have alarmed the timid Larry; and he half expected to see some gruff swamp squatter heave in sight, as he sent that inquiring look around. There was nothing near to cause the alarm; not even a bear or a wandering raccoon, so far as he could determine. Then it dawned upon him that Larry must have discovered the apparently stealthy approach he was making, and had naturally suspected that it was some would-be abducter stealing up on him. And Larry seriously objected to being thus carried off. "Hey! where you going, you Larry?" Phil called out, as soon as he could command his voice for laughing at the ridiculous figure his fat chum presented, sprinting madly along the bank of the stream. At that Larry slackened his speed, and even condescended to twist his fat neck, so that he could send a look of inquiry back over his shoulder. When he discovered that the supposed kidnapper was only his chum, who seemed to be doubled up with merriment, Larry came to a full stop. Then he started to slowly retrace his trail, shaking his head and grumbling to himself. "'Twa'n't hardly fair of you, Phil, giving me all that trouble for nothing," he was saying as he drew near, looking a little sheepish because of his recent wild sprint. "Excuse me, Larry," his chum replied, with becoming regret, though his dancing eyes rather belied his humble tone; "I sure never meant to alarm you one whit. I didn't call out because you seemed to be having a great time with the bass; and sometimes noise stops a biting rally. But I never thought you'd be so keen to get on to me coming along." "Well, perhaps I wouldn't a while back, Phil, but I'm learning things every day, you see. And besides, didn't you as much as tell me to keep an eye out for any sort of moving thing? That's what I was adoing right now. I saw something creeping along. The shadows are gathering back there under the trees, and I couldn't make out in that one peek what it was. I just cut and run as the safest way." "And I guess you were right," said Phil. "It might have been a hungry panther wanting to make a meal on you. You know, I always said that if any wild beast was prowling around in search of a supper, he'd pick you out, first pop. That's because you're such a nice, plump morsel." "Oh, rats! don't make me blush, Phil. Then, if I had to stay down in these diggings long, I'd sure make it a point to lost some weight. It ain't exactly pleasant you see, knowing that even the wild critters are having their mouths water at sight of you. But look at that big bass I yanked in, would you? Must weigh all of six pounds, and enough for our supper alone." "Did he pull hard?" asked the other, stooping to notice the gasping fish, and to also strike the prize a sharp blow back of the head that immediately killed it; for Phil was a humane disciple of Izaak Walton, and believed in putting even his captures out of suffering immediately, which is a point for all Boy Scouts to heed. "Well, for just the first few seconds, yes; and then he seemed to come in like a log, with his big mouth open. Not so much game about him after all. Say, I hope now, Phil, he ain't sick! I'd just hate to have all our supper go to waste that way!" The other laughed aloud. "Bless you, Larry!" he exclaimed, "this fish is all right, and as fit to eat as anything. It's just a way they have down here, where the water is always warm. If that same fish had lived in the cold streams up North you'd have had the time of your life getting him ashore with that fine tackle. The climate affects even the native crackers the same way. Where it's warm, and people don't have to hustle just to keep living, they grow lazy. Some people call it the hookworm, you know. My dad often writes articles about it. But to me it seems just pure laziness, and nothing more." "Now," said Larry, ready for argument at once, as he gathered up his catch, and started down the bank toward the boat, "I just don't agree with you about that business. It ain't just warm weather that makes these crackers shiftless. Take the mountaineers up in West Virginia and Tennessee. They sure get plenty of cold weather most of the year round; and yet they're just like these crackers of the far South. There is a hookworm, as sure as you live. I only hope we don't get it fastened on us while we're down here." "I see you've been reading up on that subject," remarked Phil. "And some other time we'll get busy again over it. My dad is up on all those subjects and I'm taking some interest myself. But if that's so, then these green trout, as they call the big-mouth bass down here, must have the hookworm bad; for they're just the laziest things I ever saw pulled in." Tony insisted on taking the catch, and preparing it for cooking; while Larry started up the useful little Jewel stove. Phil would have really kindled a fire under the twisted live oak ashore, only that Tony seemed averse to such a proceeding; and he had promised the swamp boy to avoid doing what was bound to bring the squatters down upon them during the night. The supper was cooked in detachments. First they had the fried fish, for which the largest frying-pan had to be used. Crackers went well with this; and later on the coffee being boiled, they enjoyed a fragrant cup of Java, together with some cakes that had been put up in air-proof packages, and were as fresh as the day they left the New York bakery. The night settled down. Clouds had covered the heavens at sundown, and so they had next to no benefit from the moon, though it was evidently mounting some distance above the horizon in the east. Sitting there later on Phil wondered what the near future held in store for himself and his chum. Would their presence be discovered by the men from the settlement, so that before the coming of dawn they might expect callers; or on the other hand, was it possible for him to carry out his own plan, entering the squatter settlement of his own free will, and demanding to see the terrible McGee, before whom most men had up to this time quailed? But it was all as mysterious and dark as the night shades gathering there around the motor boat, tied up under the weird twisted live oak. CHAPTER XVII TALKING IT OVER "Listen!" It was Larry who gave utterance to this exclamation. Phil knew just what his chum must have heard, for several times during the last ten minutes the same sound had been faintly borne to his own ears, though he had not seen fit to mention the fact. Coming on the night breeze what seemed to be the barking of dogs might be heard. Larry, apparently, did not know whether he could trust to his own judgment. "Say, ain't that dogs barking, Phil?" he asked. "Well," replied the other, coolly, "I don't believe they've got any wolves or coyotes down here in Northern Florida; and if they had, we wouldn't be apt to hear them carrying on that way. On the whole, Larry, I guess you'd be safe in calling it dogs, and letting it go at that." "Poor old Pete!" muttered Larry. "What's that?" queried his boat-mate, in surprise. "Do you really think our colored friend Pete is up against it again?" "Why, he was going to come down this way, you know; and that sheriff seemed so dead set on getting him, that he's chased his dogs all the way," Larry explained. Phil did not laugh, although he wanted to, for he knew Larry had a lot to learn about the big outdoors, and its myriad tongues. "Stop and think a bit, Larry," he said, soberly. "In the first place that Sheriff Barker would hardly dare trust himself down here in the McGee country. You remember what Tony told us about how they treated him the last time he was here? And then again, if you notice carefully, you'll find a vast difference between the bay of a hound when on a trail, and the barking of dogs in a settlement." "Oh! now I catch on to what you mean, Phil!" exclaimed Larry, chuckling. "Then all that racket really comes from the village where Tony's people live; and so we must be pretty close to his home right now." "That's sound logic, I take it, Larry. How about it, Tony?" asked Phil, turning to the swamp boy, who sat there listening to what was being said, but without saying a word. "'Bout mile straight across; p'raps two mile round by river," he replied. "Just about what I thought," Phil went on. "You don't suppose, do you, Tony, they could have heard us when you and Larry were having your jig-time with the old mossback 'gator?" "Might hear me shout, but b'lieve it other boys," was the reply which Tony made. "I'm glad of that," Phil remarked, though he did not explain just why. "And the more I think about it," Larry spoke up, "the greater I feel that I had a mighty narrow escape. Just you catch me dropping overboard again while we're around this region! Why, Phil, would you believe it, while I was fishing above, didn't I see as many as five of the nasty wigglers go swimming past. Ugh! they give me a cold creep." "Now what do you mean by wigglers?" demanded his companion. "Snakes, ugly brown and yellow fellers, with a nasty head, and a wicked look about 'em that I don't like a bit," Larry answered, readily, and shuddering as he spoke. "Oh! you mean those everlasting water moccasins, do you?" Phil laughed. "Well, they are ugly customers, I admit. And I've heard that their bite is mighty nearly as bad as the rattlesnake's, down here. How about that, Tony?" "Not so bad, oh, no!" the swamp boy quickly replied. "Sometimes leave sore, not soon heal up. But weuns have medicine tuh take when cotton-mouth or moccasin hit in leg with fangs. We splash when we go through water in swamp, and skeer away. No bother much 'bout moccasin. But rattler more trouble. Two year I get bit, and McGee have much hard time keepin' his Tony." "I suppose he soaked you with whisky in the good old backwoods way; but Tony, they've got beyond that these days. Doctors have a remedy that will in most cases save the patient, unless he goes too long before being treated." Phil had himself read up on the subject; but he made no effort to explain to his two friends. Larry would never remember a single thing about it; and the swamp boy of course could not have understood the meaning of much that such an explanation would entail. All the same Phil was secretly pleased to hear his chum say so decidedly that he did not mean to again allow himself to drop overboard. It would be just like Larry to get bitten in the leg by one of those malignant little snakes, that continually threw themselves into attitudes of defiance on the surface of the dark water, as though ready to give battle to the invaders of their preserves. And in such a case all sorts of trouble might ensue; though Phil's physician father had provided him with the proper remedy to be used under such conditions. Tony had been so very quiet the whole evening that Phil knew his mind must be taken up with some serious thought. "What ails you, Tony?" he finally asked, as they still sat there, no one seeming in any hurry to retire on this night. "I wouldn't worry over things, if I were you. Leave matters to me. I'm dead sure I've got that along with me to win over your awful dad, once he learns the truth." Tony sighed heavily. "That sound well, Phil," he muttered disconsolately; "yuh mean all right, sure; but yuh don't know McGee! He's gut a terrible temper! Sometimes my mother, even she is 'fraid uh him. Then 'gain, he the kindest man alive. Never know what come. Just like storm, he jump up in summer--one minit sunshine, next howl, and pour down." "And then it clears up, with the sun shining brighter than ever, ain't that so, Tony? Of course it is. Well," went on Phil, sagely, "I guess I can size the McGee up, all right. He's just got a fiendish temper. He does things on the spur of the moment, that he's sorry for afterwards. All right. I can understand such a man; and Tony, take it for me, I'd rather deal with such a fiery disposition than the cold, calculating one of the man who never gets mad. I'm going to win over the McGee, see if I don't." "Huh! just hope yuh do, Phil," said the other, eagerly. "If anybody kin do that, yuh kin, I declar. But I'm 'fraid 'bout what he does w'en he larns that yuh happens tuh be the boy uh Doc Lancing!" "But Tony, you were thinking about something else too, besides this," the other went on, smilingly. "Yep, that so, Phil," replied Tony, promptly, as though relieved in a measure to change the conversation to some other subject. "Was it not about the little sister you left up-river?" Phil continued; for he could read the other like an open book. "Madge!" murmured the swamp boy, and his soft way of pronouncing that sweet name was the nearest approach to a caress in the human voice Phil had ever heard. "You're wondering now if the good doctor from the North has arrived on time; and how the operation is going to pan out? Of course you're worried; because you must be anxious to know the best, or the worst. It was a shame that they chased you out of town before he arrived." "I think so many times," said Tony; "but now I see it not so bad. If I stay thar I never know you an' Larry. It heap worth while that I be 'long with yuh when yuh kim down hyah tuh the land uh the McGee. P'raps Tony might help keep yuh from bein' whipped, er tarred an' feathered." "Good gracious!" ejaculated poor Larry, as he heard these fearful words drop from the lips of the other; "you don't mean to say he'd think of treating a couple of innocent, harmless kids like that, Tony? But then Phil has a winning way about him; and I'm ready to bank on him to bring your awful dad around." "How about those pigeons, Tony; do you still believe one of them can get back home, and bring the news your friend expects to send, after the operation has been finished, one way or the other?" Phil said this for two reasons. He really wanted to know what Tony thought; and at the same time wished to change the conversation; for Larry was apt to dwell upon that ugly black possibility of their feeling the weight of the McGee's violent temper, even though they did not merit the punishment in the least. "I think they come home," Tony declared steadily. "They fly strong lots times. Of course I never try far 'way, more'n ten mile. Let go then, and always back in coop when I get home. Yep, sure one come with message. Hope it soon, 'case then McGee he mebbe feel not so mad, an' p'raps leave Phil go on down river." Always was he thinking of his new companions. It gave Phil a strange sensation in the region of his heart to realize how dear he and Larry must have become to this wild son of the swamp, in the brief time he had known them. And on their part, they too felt the keenest interest in Tony McGee and his fortunes. The hour grew late. Once in a while some sound would be borne to their ears from the quarter where as they knew by this time the settlement of the shingle-makers lay. The night wind was soft and low, but it carried whispers on its wings. Clouds still covered the heavens, and Phil fancied that they might yet have rain, though there was really no sign of one of those cold storms that periodically come chasing down from the north in winter time, and are termed "Northers" by the shivering crackers. Larry was beginning to yawn. He did not really want to go to bed as long as the others were up; but tired nature was getting the best of his good intentions. And besides, he had gone through quite a little stress while trying so furiously to climb that rope, so that his muscles were actually sore, though he refrained from telling his chum so, not wishing to be considered in the tenderfoot class any longer. "Hello! none of that, now!" exclaimed Phil, as upon bending down, after hearing a suspiciously heavy sound of breathing he discovered that Larry had actually fallen asleep while sitting there. "Wake up, and make your bed! The sooner you tumble in, the better for you, old top! Why, you're snoring to beat the band." "Don't want to go till the rest do," mumbled Larry. "That's all right," laughed Phil, who could understand the real motive that actuated the now ambitious Boy Scout; "we're all going to follow suit. Hi! get a move on, Tony, and lug out your blanket. No matter what happens, we oughtn't to let it keep us from getting a snooze. That's good horse sense, believe me." "Sure," said Larry, stirring with an effort, for he felt very stiff. "Me to hit the downy pillow, which ain't so soft after all, if it is made up of only air. But I'm dead tired, and want to rest the worst kind. Thank you, Tony, for helping me. Ain't used to be chased by a moss-back 'gator every day. Kind of gave me a bad five minutes, and I must have taken a little cold too. Now I'm fixed all hunky dory. Good night, fellows! Wake me early, mother dear, for tomorrow--tomorrow--" Larry did not even finish the sentence. Sleep grappled with his faculties as he was mumbling in this fashion. "Say, he's off, Tony, as sure as you live," chuckled Phil. "My! don't I sometimes wish I could forget all my troubles like Larry can, as soon as he lays his head down. But no two are alike. And now Tony, that he can't hear us, what's to be the programme in case they come tonight; for I know you more'n half expect to see some of your people turn up here, for Barker will have carried the news home?" "Yuh jest mustn't do nawthin', Phil," said the swamp boy earnestly. "If so be they comes, weuns has got tuh throw up our hands, and call quits. Take hit jest as cool as yuh kin, an' leave hit tuh me. They ain't agwine tuh hu't yuh, so long's Tony McGee's 'long. An' I sure means tuh let 'em know what all yuh done foh me. Jest hold up yuh han's, and say yuh was acomin' down hyah tuh talk with McGee. An' I reckons as how yuh won't be in too big a hurry tuh tell how yuh happens tuh be Doc. Lancing's boy." With these last words of Tony's ringing in his ears Phil lay down to try and coax sleep to visit his eyes. But he knew he would have a difficult task, because of the fact that his affairs were now approaching the climax which, viewed from afar had not seemed so serious, but which now took on a more somber hue. Tony had crawled forward, where he cuddled under his warm blanket. Phil knew that he had taken particular pains to settle himself down, so that he could easily stretch out his hand, and touch the new comrade of whom he had become so fond. It was a mute expression of his devotion; just after the same manner as shown by the favorite hound that curls himself up at his master's feet, where he can be ready to defend him against any ill that springs up unexpectedly. "Oh! I never wished so much before in all my life," Phil was saying to himself over and over, as he lay there thinking, "that things would turn out all right; and somehow I just seem to feel, deep down in my heart, that they must, they must!" By degrees his eyes became heavy. He had not enjoyed any too much sleep since the cruise had started. One thing and another had conspired to keep him awake each night; and although Phil was a lad of unusual will power, he had found it beyond him to altogether shut out the possibilities that lay in wait for them in the near future. Finally he slept. The night wore on, so that several hours passed. From down-stream there came a low sound that was not unlike the dip of paddles. Tony raised his head the better to listen; and from this fact it became evident that the devoted swamp lad had not allowed himself to secure a minute's sleep up to that time. He listened. Sometimes the sound seemed clear, and then again it would die away, according to the whim of the night air. But Tony was accustomed to judging such things. He presently made up his mind that the dip of paddles was getting continually closer; and that one boat at least was ascending the river, crossing from side to side, as it might be. Having ascertained this fact to his own satisfaction, Tony reached out his hand, and touched the face of Phil, which was only partly covered by the blanket. "Yes, what is it, Tony?" whispered the other, arousing instantly, though he had been in a sound slumber at the time. "They come!" replied the swamp boy, in a tone inaudible five feet away. Phil was conscious of a sudden thrill of anticipation. No one could say what the immediate future held for himself and his chum. And the discovery of the tied-up motor boat would now be a matter of short duration, once those keen-eyed men from the squatter settlement arrived on the scene. So Phil only sat there and awaited developments. CHAPTER XVIII THE COMING OF THE TERRIBLE MCGEE The sound of the dripping paddles grew more persistent. Undoubtedly the dugout was drawing closer and closer. Phil could presently distinguish a black moving object ascending the stream; and it was this effort to move against the swift current that caused unusual exertion, and consequent splashing from time to time. He watched it begin to cross over from the denser shadows along the other bank. Using his eyes to their limit he fancied he could just make out two moving figures in the coming boat. Phil wondered what form their discovery of the object of their search would take; and whether these two fellows might alone attempt to make prisoners of those aboard the motor boat. All at once he noted that the dark, log-like looking water craft had come to a halt, so far as approaching the bank was concerned. The two men plied their paddles softly now, but only to keep from being carried down-stream by the ever restless current. They had spied the tied-up craft, and were whispering together. Phil waited to see what they meant to do. If his hand unconsciously crept out toward the faithful Marlin gun, it was hardly with any idea that he meant to make use of the weapon; but instinct alone guided his move. Ah! now they were once more moving. They had ceased to paddle, and the dugout began to glide down the river. They were apparently going away! Did that mean they expected to pass over the whole two miles between that point and the village of the lawless shingle-makers? Now he could no longer see them. Tony was stirring again; and Phil believed it safe to send a whisper toward the swamp lad, desirous of seeking information from the one who ought to know. "They have gone away, Tony!" he said, carefully; but it could not be that he feared arousing Larry, who slept on peacefully through it all, lost to the world. "Yep, I reckoned they would," came the immediate answer. "But why did they drop back when they might have climbed aboard, and captured us while we slept?" Phil continued. "Huh! not gone far. Phil wait, an' see how!" "Oh! is that it?" echoed the other, as a light began to dawn upon him; and he continued to sit there, watching for a sign. Perhaps five minutes passed. Phil had no means for marking the flight of time, and doubtless it seemed much more than that to him. Then he suddenly saw something a little distance down the stream, that told him a fire had been started. Rapidly it grew in volume, until the entire vicinity was brilliantly illuminated; and he could easily see the two squatters moving back and forth, piling brush on the flames. Of course Phil understood that this was a signal fire. These men, searching all along the river for the mysterious craft that was coming down toward the settlement from the hostile country above, had doubtless arranged to call their fellows to the spot in case they made a discovery. "It means the coming of the whole bunch, don't it, Tony?" he asked, as he saw the flames shooting upward, so that the light might easily have been seen a mile or more away. "That so, Phil," replied the other, moodily. "I 'spect this same, yuh know. On'y hope McGee, he be with alluns." Tony was certainly nervous, which was a queer thing; for ordinarily the swamp boy seemed to be as cool and self-possessed as an Indian brave, who thought it a blur on his manhood to display emotion in the face of his enemies. Some time passed. The fire was kept burning, though not quite so riotously as in the beginning. Evidently the two men believed that long ere this its reflected light on the clouds overhead must have been seen at the village; and doubtless the entire male population was even now on the way thither, following some strip of dry land that was well known to them. "There, look, I can count four!" said Phil, with thrilling emphasis. "Now six!" was the quick response of Tony. Sure enough, the recruits were arriving very fast. Phil could see them come out of the gloom of the forest, and into the circle of light cast by the fire. All were men, and even at that distance he could mark the fact that they appeared to be of unusual height. But then the people up-river, who hated and feared the shingle-makers of the swamps, had told him they were giants, strapping fellows all. "Oh! that must be McGee!" This broke involuntarily from the lips of Phil as he saw a man of even greater stature than any of the others, stride out of the woods, and immediately beckon for the rest to gather around him. "Yep, it is him!" breathed Tony, who also had his eyes glued on that tall, commanding figure, as though fascinated by its presence, even though he had been familiar with the same from infancy. Phil was conscious of a queer sensation as he for the first time looked upon the man of whom he had heard so many strange conflicting stories. But long ago he had come to the conclusion that possibly half of the bad things said about the McGee by his enemies could hardly be true. They hated and feared him so much that his faults were undoubtedly magnified many fold; while his virtues remained unsung. He would see for himself. And judging from the way things were coming on, the crisis could not be long withheld now. That caused Phil to remember that he had a chum aboard the Aurora. It seemed hardly fair that Larry should be kept in utter ignorance up to the very moment when the mine were sprung. The shock must be all the more severe under such conditions; and Larry would not be saved any agony of mind by the delay. So Phil leaned over and shook the sleeper. "Let up on that, Lanky!" grumbled Larry, who had doubtless been dreaming he was once more with some of his comrades at home; "I ain't agoin' to move, I tell yuh. Get breakfast first, and then call me. Go 'way!" But Phil only renewed his shaking. "Wake up, Larry!" he called softly; "the shingle-makers have come to board us! Get a move on, can't you?" A startled exclamation, followed by a great upheaval, told that Larry had now grappled with the truth. "W--where, which, how, why? Tell me, Phil, what's that fire doing down there? Oh! I hope now they ain't getting it hot for us, the tar, I mean!" he gasped, as he stared in the quarter where all those moving figures could be seen between the blaze and themselves. "Oh, rats! get that out of your mind, Larry!" observed Phil, though truth to tell, it had cropped up in his own brain more than a few times to give him a bit of worry. "They begin tuh come this way!" said Tony, with a catch in his voice, as though he were keyed up to a nervous tension because of the situation. Phil could see this for himself, because there was a general movement among the various figures around the signal fire. Larry was heard moving restlessly. Perhaps he could not get it out of his mind that the fire had really been started so as to heat up the dreadful tar, with which he and his chum were to be smeared before the squatters made them into uncouth birds by the addition of a shower of feathers, taken from some old broken pillow; and then turned them loose to continue their voyage down-stream. Yes, the gathered clan of the McGee was certainly marching in the direction of the tied-up motor boat. And at their head came the bulky figure of the giant leader. Somehow, even in that minute of dreadful uncertainty, Phil was reminded of what he had read about some Highland chief leading his tartan clan to battle, a Rob Roy McGregor, it might be. But he had to think quickly. Inside of a few minutes the squatters would have arrived alongside the motor boat; and the boys must expect to find themselves virtually prisoners of war; though they had come to this region in Dixie without the slightest hostile intent. What then? Phil steadied himself for the great task that he knew awaited him. No doubt he and Larry would be taken across the land to the squatter settlement, so that the women and children might gaze upon them; for something seemed to tell Phil that even now his identity might be known to at least McGee. "Come, let's light up our lanterns," he said, getting to his feet; "if we're going to have company we oughtn't to receive them in the dark. Larry, you know where to find one; strike a match and give us some light." He purposely set his chum to doing something, knowing that it was the best way of reassuring Larry. And although the hands of the other trembled more or less as he went about getting the lighted match in touch with the turned-up wick of a lantern, he managed to accomplish the job in a fairly satisfactory manner. They could hear the muttering of many voices, as the crowd drew near. Evidently the men had noted the springing up of the light, and were wondering whether they would be greeted with a discharge of firearms or not. If, as most of them doubtless suspected, these people on the boat with whom the son of the McGee seemed to be associating in a queer fashion, were really and truly spies, sent down by their hated enemies above, to find out their weak points so that the sheriff might make the raid he had long threatened, then they might yet be forced to capture the craft by violence; and they were primed for a battle royal. CHAPTER XIX TAKEN PRISONER Both lanterns had now been lighted, and were hung so that the interior of the twenty-four foot motor boat was fairly illuminated. Phil had a fine little searchlight in the bow, which he expected to make use of, if the time ever arrived when they would want to keep moving after nightfall; but there was no necessity for bringing this into play now. "I only hope none of the vandals think to smash things here, if they carry us away to the village!" Larry gave vent to his thoughts, as they stood and waited for the coming of the squatters. "McGee, he not let that be, I think," Tony hastened to say, so as to reassure the more timid Larry; who was quivering like a bowl of jelly over the unknown calamities that hung over their heads. Now the leaders of the marchers were close up. A dozen strong they were pushing forward; and at their head strode the tallest of them all, the man who was head and shoulders above the rest. "Hello!" It was Phil who called out, and Larry started as though he had been shot, so strung were his nerves. The crowd still came on. Perhaps they thought those on the boat meant to put up a desperate resistance; and it was policy in that event for them to be as near as possible, before the word was given to carry the craft by storm. "McGee, are you there?" continued Phil; and he was really surprised himself at the calm manner in which he could handle his voice; now that the critical moment had really come, all his fears seemed to have vanished. "That's me!" came back, in the heaviest voice Phil had ever heard; and which in fact seemed to accord perfectly with the giant figure of the head of the clan. "Come aboard, please," continued the boy, steadily, to the secret admiration of both his chum and Tony. "I've been expecting to drop in at your place tomorrow to see you; but you've beat me out." "Oh! we has, hey?" growled the giant, as with one effort he jumped upon the boat the curtains of which the boys had drawn up, so that they were fastened to the inside of the standing roof. Strange to say the first thing McGee did was to reach out and clutch his own boy. But if Phil expected to see him embrace Tony, he was very much mistaken. On the contrary he shook him much as a dog might a rat, until the boy's teeth seemed to rattle together. But Tony was used to this sort of thing, no doubt; and he would not have protested, even though suffering ten times the amount of pain that may now have racked his slender frame. "What yuh doin' hyah, boy, tell me that?" roared the big man. "Whar's yuh leetle sister; and why so did yuh desart her up yander? If so be any harm's kim tuh Madge, I'll skin yuh alive, d'ye hyah me?" Phil was on the point of interfering, but on second thoughts he realized that this was a matter between father and son. Tony could take care of himself; and he knew best how to handle the terrible McGee, whom men so feared. "She's thar in the horspittal, jest like yuh told me tuh leave her," the boy said, steadily enough. "She's awaitin' till ther eye doctor he kims erlong down from the Nawth. They 'spected him yist'day. Reckons as how he musta arriv." "But why did yuh kim away, an' leave the pore leetle gal alone thar?" continued McGee, in a low but fearful voice. Already Phil realized that this man was no common creature, but one to be reckoned with. He could now easily believe the stories he had heard about the tremendous strength of the giant. And it was easy to see how he kept control over the members of the squatter clan by sheer force of character. "She war bein' looked arter fine. Ther nusses was kind, an' they sez as how nawthin' cud be did till the doctor he kim. But I got chased outen town by a gang o' men, an' they'd sure given me thuh cowhidin' they sez, on'y I hid aboard the boat uh these boys. They be'n mighty good tuh me too. They ain't nawthin' they wouldn't do foh me, I tells yuh. An' ther critter as was leadin' them cowards as chased me acrost kentry, he was Kunnel Brashears!" Then the shingle-maker broke out into a string of profanity that shocked Larry, and set him to shivering again. He could do little save stare at this remarkable man, and draw in great breaths. No doubt he regretted the evil day he had promised to accompany his chum down into this region of swamps, alligators, wildcats, and lawless squatters. But it was much too late now to think of retreating; they had thrown their hat into the ring, and must accept the consequences of their rashness. McGee, turning, snatched a lantern from its resting place. This he held alternately in front of, first Phil, and then Larry. Evidently he judged the latter to be of small consequence anyway; for after that moment he paid attention only to the one whom he believed to be the leading spirit in the expedition. "Yuh don't 'pear tuh be a Southerner?" he said, frowning at Phil. "Oh! no, I've only come down here with my friend for a trip. We had the boat sent by rail, and launched her in the river above here. We expect later to run on down to the gulf, and do some cruising there. But first of all I wanted to stop over with the shingle-makers of the swamps, and meet you, McGee!" Phil said this without putting on airs. He knew that any one who found himself virtually in the power of these independent people, who recognized no law save that of might, would be exceedingly foolish to show signs of boasting. It was man to man now, and money did not count in the comparison. "Yuh wanted tuh meet up with me, yuh say?" the other observed, with sarcasm in his tones. "Wall now yuh see me, p'raps yuh don't jest like my looks. If so be I thort them coward hounds up-river sent yuh down hyah tuh spy on us, an' inform thet rail-rid sheriff how he cud git tuh cotch us on the sly, I'd jest lay a cowhide acrost yer backs till the welts they stood up like ropes." "I have nothing to do with the people of that town," declared Phil, resolutely. "So far as I saw of their actions, they are a lot of cowards, who could chase after a half-grown boy, but draw the line at coming down here to meet men." "Then tell me why did yuh pick out this yer stream tuh bring yer boat down; I reckons they be heaps o' others thet'd suited better?" demanded McGee. "Why, I told you that I wanted to see you and that it was with that plan in my mind I selected this river of them all," replied the boy. Tony was hovering near. He had not even attempted to escape when that iron hand of his father loosened its clutch on his shirt. Of course he understood to what end all these things must lead; and that it was now a mere matter of seconds when the fact must be disclosed that the boy with whom he had been associating was in reality the only son and child of the man these squatters hated above every human being on earth. And he could imagine the effect of that explosion on the hot temper of McGee. No wonder then that Tony felt alternate flushes of heat, and spasms of cold pass over his body, as he hung upon every word Phil gave utterance to. He dreaded what his father might be tempted to do in the first flash of his anger; and Tony was holding himself ready to jump into the breach. He was accustomed to feeling the weight of the McGee's displeasure, but it pained him to think that it must fall on his best of benefactors, and his new found chum. The man again flirted the lantern forward, as he took another look into the calm face of the boy. Phil met the piercing gaze of McGee with a steadiness that doubtless impressed him; for of a certainty McGee must be a reader of character, since he had never had a school education. He knew that this was no ordinary young fellow who had come down the river on board the new-fangled boat that needed nothing in the way of oars, yet made no steam like the tugs which came up to take their cypress shingles to market. A number of the men had climbed aboard by this time. They stood around, staring at the elegance to which they were unaccustomed; yet not venturing to so much as lift a finger toward taking possession of things. Until their leader gave the word they would refrain from looting the captured boat. His simple word was law among the swamp shingle-makers. "Yuh keep asayin' as how yuh wanted tuh meet up wid me, younker," McGee presently remarked in his deep, booming voice. "Wall, now, surpose yuh jest up an' tells why yuh shud feel thetaway. If harf they sez 'bout the McGee be true, they ain't nobody but a crazy men as'd want tuh run acrost 'im." "But I don't believe one-half of what I hear about you," said Phil. "They warned me that it was foolish to make the try; but I kept on saying that McGee was a fighter who never made war on boys, and he'd listen to what I had to say, even if he didn't want to shake hands, and call it a go." "What's thet?" demanded the giant, suspiciously. "Yuh act like yuh kerried sumthin' 'long wid yuh, younker?" "So I do--a message, a letter to you, McGee!" came the quick reply. "Then yuh'll jest hev tuh deliver it in tork, 'case I cain't read a word. My wife, she allers wanted me tuh larn; but I sez as how 'twar no use tuh me in my line o' work; so she gets the chillen tuh take hit up. Tony thar kin read; an' the lettle gal she knows heaps foh a blind chile. But speak up, younker, an' tell me who sent yuh wid the letter?" "My father did, McGee," Phil went on, striving to keep the tremor from his voice. "He believed that you had been deceived about him, and he was determined that you should know him as he is, not as he has been described to you by those who want to make trouble." "Yuh father? Tell me, who's boy be yuh?" demanded the giant, scowling ominously as he bent down over the young owner of the power boat. "His name is well known to you," said Phil, boldly; "it is Doctor Gideon Lancing, of Philadelphia." CHAPTER XX AMONG THE SHINGLE-MAKERS At first Phil thought the giant was about to strike him a frightful blow; for the hand that was free from holding the lantern doubled up fiercely. Tony, indeed, uttered a pitiful little cry that was almost a sob; and throwing himself forward clung to the arm of his terrible father. But he was immediately flung roughly aside as though he were but vermin. "So, yuh be his boy, ther man as is a-gwine tuh cla'r weuns off his land if hit takes all ther sojers in Floridy tuh do hit?" gritted McGee between his strong white teeth. Then his mood seemed to change like magic, for he laughed hoarsely, and looked around at the rough spirits by whom they were hemmed in. "Wot yuh think o' thet, men, this hyah leetle critter is the son o' ole Doc. Lancing, ther man we's gwine tuh tar an' feather jest as soon as he dars show his hide down thisaways. He jest kim hyah as trustin' as a dove, thinkin' weuns'd never dar lift a hand ag'in 'im, case the sojers they'd foller arter him. Wot we'll jest do tuh this kid ain't wuth mentionin', air hit, men?" Then arose loud and tumultuous shouts, that made poor Larry crumple up as if he wanted to hide in a thimble. He looked around at the dark and angry faces to the right and to the left; and again wished he had thought twice before embarking on this wild scheme of Phil's. "Shut up!" roared McGee; and the tumult was hushed as if by magic. The leader looked about him, his strong face working with mingled passion and pleasure. Phil was somehow reminded of a story, heard in the long ago, a parable about the lord of the vineyard, who sent his son to treat with those in possession; and what those unruly spirits did to the young man was so vividly impressed on his mind right now, that it gave him a very uncomfortable feeling. History might repeat itself. And he was the son of the rich man who owned the property! "Listen tuh me, men," called out McGee, when every eye was glued on his face. "We'll take these critters back tuh hum with us. Ben, let Marty hev yuh gun. I 'p'int him tuh stay by the boat, and guard thuh same. An' remember, all o' yuh, if so much as a single thing is stolen, yuh'll give an account tuh McGee! understan'?" Evidently they did, for a number of faces assumed a look of disappointment, as though hopes had been entertained that they were to loot the motor boat, just as though they were pirates of the Spanish Main. "Git ashore, you!" said the giant, as he motioned with his hand after the manner of one who was accustomed to being obeyed. Phil did not even attempt to pick up his gun. He knew that weapon would be of no use to him in his present trouble. Something far stronger than a repeating shotgun was needed to extricate him from the difficulty into which his venturesome spirit had carried him. Still, he was far from being discouraged. He had not yet shot his bolt. When this leader of the shingle-makers learned about the magnificent offer which his father had made, surely he could never hold the same feelings of bitter resentment and hatred toward the new owner of all those miles of cypress swamps, with their millions upon millions of feet of valuable timber waiting to be marketed. "Come on, Larry, we're going to see the village of the McGees sooner than we expected," and as he stepped from the boat to the shore, Phil took care to link his arm with that of his chum, being desirous of cheering the other up as well as possible. "And do we have to walk two miles over all that ricketty kind of land?" groaned poor fat Larry, perspiring at the very thought of the labor. So they left the motor boat, and Phil could not help wondering whether they were fated to ever set eyes on it again. Perhaps the men might disregard the orders of their chief, and loot the craft of everything movable, even disabling the steady going motor, so that it would be as so much waste junk afterwards. Tony must have divined his thoughts, for he took occasion to run alongside, and mutter in Phil's ear: "Don't yuh bother 'bout the boat; she won't be teched arter what he sed. Ther man don't live thet dar's go ag'in McGee's order. Hit's all right, Phil, all right!" They quickly reached the spot where the big signal fire had burned long enough to bring the crowd all the way from the distant village. It was still blazing up now and then, so that the near vicinity was far from gloomy; but the work of the fire had been finished. McGee led the way straight to where the long hollowed-out log boat rested, the prow drawn up on the shelving shore. "Git in!" he said, in his deep voice that was like the rumble of distant thunder. "Bully! we're going to paddle down by water! Ain't I glad though!" exclaimed the relieved Larry, as he only too gladly clambered over the edge, and found a seat amidships of the dugout canoe. "Yuh git in too, Tony," said McGee, gloomily, as he motioned to his boy. Evidently he was still in a towering rage but at the same time there were so many things he could not understand in connection with the coming of this Lancing boy, and Tony's being in his company, that he was holding himself back with a great effort. McGee himself sat in the stern of the boat, paddle in hand. As they expected to drift with the current, always swift in these deep Florida streams, there was no need of additional motive power; though Tony had also picked up another paddle, as if he meant to assist. So they started away. Looking back Larry could for some time see the lanterns gleaming aboard the snug motor boat, and how his heart went out to the cozy little craft. If only he and Phil were again aboard, and many miles below this settlement of the lawless shingle-makers, how delighted he would be. He even gave a deep sigh that was akin to a groan when a turn of the river blotted out the glow of those twin lights, and darkness profound surrounded them. There was only the mysterious gurgling of the black water, or the measured dip of the paddle, with its consequent dripping of unseen drops, to tell that they were speeding swiftly along; though if he looked shoreward Larry could see the bordering trees passing in solemn review, and in this fashion might realize just how fast they were progressing. No one said a word during the little voyage. Phil was busy with his own thoughts, and arranging his programme for the expected interview with McGee, when he meant to spring his surprise on the gruff giant. Larry on his part had apparently lost all inclination to speak; which was something quite out of the common with him, since he liked to hear himself talk, and believed that a budding lawyer should always find something to say. Tony was dumb with a nameless fear. He knew the violent rage into which this father of his could fly, and he dreaded lest while in such a state McGee do that which he might always regret. And the giant in turn was puzzling his brain with the intricacies of the problem by which he was faced. Larry felt a hand twitch his arm. "Look ahead," said the voice of his chum in his ear; and upon raising his head, and casting his eyes beyond the prow of the long dugout, he discovered lights. "The village!" he exclaimed; but it would be hard to discover anything like pleasure in the quavering voice with which he said this. "Thet's it!" observed Tony, listlessly. McGee made no remark, but continued to ply the paddle. Presently the boat was headed in toward the shore. Phil saw that it would have been next to impossible for the Aurora to have passed by here without being discovered; unless they had picked out an hour between midnight and dawn, when all the settlement might be asleep. As the boat ran up on a shelving beach, Tony was the first one to jump out. In rapid succession Phil, Larry, and finally McGee himself, stood on the shore. Their coming had been already noted. Several yellow mongrel dogs came bounding toward them, barking loudly; but at one word in the heavy voice of McGee it was astonishing to see how quickly they cowed down, and with tails between their legs, skulked away. "Why, even the dogs fear him like the devil does holy water!" whispered Larry, in the ear of his chum. "He's a wonder, that's what!" muttered Phil; for despite the apparent violent nature of the big man, there was something attractive about McGee; and Phil really believed that once he gained the good will of the other, the squatter head of the clan would prove to be a different sort of a man from what rumor pictured him. After the dogs came a swarm of dirty children of all ages. Many were in rags, all of them barefooted, and the girls had unkempt hair that made them look all the wilder. Evidently when the light had been seen, and the men went forth in obedience to the signal, the balance of the inhabitants of the village had been aroused, and remained up ever since, waiting to see what would be the result. Somehow Phil felt deeply stirred at seeing how poverty stricken the women and children were. Money must be a scarce thing among them these days. Perhaps it was the fault of the men, who would work only when the humor seized them; or again it might be that they got such a small price for their shingles by the time they reached market that it was only with difficulty they kept the wolf from the door. And yet these wretched people cared for their homes here in the midst of the great swamps; yes, so much so that they were ready to fight for them, wretched hovels that they seemed to be in Phil Lancing's eyes. Wondering looks were cast upon the two boys as they followed McGee up the bank, and into the midst of the village. Perhaps they might even have been a target for more or less abuse only that McGee was along. When some of the boys began to call out, and thrust their hands toward Larry, as if threatening to pinch him, because he was so very plump, the giant only needed to turn and glare at the offenders to make them slink away, thoroughly cowed. Several old men seemed to be the only ones about the place, all of the others having hastened to obey the signal when McGee led off. "And all this can be changed, if only he will accept the generous offer I am bearing him," said Phil to himself, as he looked around at the evidences of squalor and poverty. "Inside of six months this place could have a thrifty look; the women would own decent dresses, the children shoes for their feet if they wanted them; yes, and even a schoolhouse would stand right in the middle of the village, with a teacher ready to show these poor things how to read and write, if nothing more. Oh! don't I hope he acts sensible, and accepts! But I'm more afraid than I'd like Larry to know. I can see a lurking look in McGee's eyes that frightens me, even while I'm smiling so bravely." He had just finished saying this to himself when he saw Tony leading a woman toward them. There was something akin to pride in the action of the swamp boy. "It's his mother, Larry," said Phil, instantly; "don't you remember that he told us long ago she used to teach school down in Pensacola, or somewhere else?" "Well, you'd hardly believe it now," muttered Larry; for the woman was very much like the others of the squatter village, in that her dress was homely. But Phil noticed that her hair was neatly arranged; and despite her coarse attire there was a certain air of refinement about her. Tony had evidently managed to give her an inkling, not only as to the identity of his new friends, but how they had been so good to him. She was smiling as she advanced, even though Phil could also see a shadow of anxiety on her face. "She ought to know the McGee, if anybody does," he thought. "And she is afraid he'll be mean toward us, and think only of striking a blow at the man he has come to hate without any real cause." It was not a pleasant thought, and Phil tried hard to get it out of his mind by advancing to meet Tony and his mother. McGee, as if convinced that escape was utterly impossible, did not seem to pay much attention to his prisoners, once he had brought them safely to the village. He was talking to the two old men, and probably telling them just who Phil was, for they could be seen scowling as they glanced toward the boy. "This is him, mother," said Tony, pointing to Phil, whose hand he hastened to grip. Phil saw the eyes of the wife of McGee survey him closely. Perhaps she had half expected to see some sort of wild animal; for surely such a stern, cold-blooded tyrant as Doctor Lancing had been pictured to these ignorant people of the swamp lands he owned, could only have a son of like character. But if so her disappointment was complete. "I am glad to meet you, Philip," she said, in a soft, Southern voice, and with all the refining influences about it that years among these strange people could not banish. "My son Tony tells me you have been very kind to him. I only wish I could say I was glad you have come; but my husband has conceived a most dreadful feeling toward your father; and I am afraid it will fall heavily upon you. All that I may do to soften his anger you can count on; but I fear it will not be of much avail, when once his temper is aroused." Phil pressed her hand with great pleasure. He saw that despite her constant association with such demoralizing influences, Mrs. McGee was still a true Southern gentlewoman. And as a morsel of yeast may leaven the entire lump of dough, so her presence here in the midst of such unruly elements might yet prove their salvation. "Oh! I'm not afraid, ma'am, I promise you," he replied, laughing as he spoke; although he really did not feel one-half so merry as he made out; for he could see the baleful eyes of the watching McGee fastened upon them at that minute, as he stood not far away. "I came here on purpose to meet McGee. I carry a letter from my father, in which he asks the assistance of every man in this place to build up a lumber business here on the river, and market the stuff at top-notch prices. It would mean money right along for every worker; it would mean that each family might have a patch of land all their own, as big as they could work for a garden; and it would mean that from this time on the women of this place would be able to have the things they should. I am telling you this, ma'am, so you can carry it to the other women; because, perhaps in the end, we may have to depend on their influence to swing the men around. And that is the message my father sends. He wants to be the friend of you all; and he's coming down here himself to prove that his letter stands for the truth!" And as the poor woman saw the brightness of the picture he painted tears came unbidden into her eyes, and she turned hastily away to hide her emotion. CHAPTER XXI A GLOOMY OUTLOOK "What can we do, Phil?" As Larry put this question he looked mournfully at his chum, and tried to keep from shivering, though it was indeed hard work. The night had passed. Both boys had been allowed a chance to secure some sleep, having been placed in an empty shanty; but as neither of them dared lie down on the straw that formed a rude couch on the board floor, they were compelled to "snatch a few winks," as Larry termed it, sitting up. In the morning they had been fed, after a fashion. Larry bemoaned the fact that while he had to partake of the unsavory mess or go hungry, all that fine "grub" was going to waste on the Aurora, not more than a mile away. Phil did not show the anxiety he felt. Since coming into personal contact with the terrible McGee he had lost some of the enthusiasm and confidence that had up to then marked his actions. The leader of the squatter clan was so much more formidable than he had anticipated, that Phil himself began to fear his mission was doomed to be a failure. It was a serious outlook they faced, particularly Phil. They might allow Larry to get off scot free, since he was not a Lancing, and looked so innocent of any wrong intent; but with Phil the matter was different. What if the stubborn giant utterly refused to believe the good intentions of the new owner of the cypress swamp lands? What if he felt convinced that it was all a sly trick; and that the millionaire had sent his son down simply to take notes, in order that presently the sheriff, backed by the State troops, could enforce the edict of eviction? Phil always put that idea away from his mind when it tried to force itself upon him. And yet from every hand he had heard that McGee was a most determined man, who, having conceived a thing, could not be changed. Even his own wife and son had said that about him. And so, still hoping for the best, Phil now turned toward his troubled chum, with a forced smile on his face. "Nothing much, I guess, Larry; only wait for a chance to talk again with McGee," he replied, cheerily. "But the morning is passing, and he doesn't seem to want to see you at all," complained the other. "But sooner or later he will, you mark me," answered the positive one, wishing to ease the strain he knew was on Larry's poor mind. "But you told his wife what sort of message you carried," Larry went on, his voice dejected enough to imagine him at a funeral; "and sure she must have managed to let him know, because she promised to do all she could." "That's what I'm banking on," Phil continued. "She must have more or less influence with McGee. He is proud of her education; and wants his children to follow after her, and not be raised as ignorant as himself. So perhaps the leaven in the lump will work. Only when he gets one of his pig-headed streaks on, nobody in the world can influence him, Tony admits." "Poor Tony looked so mournful when he brought in our breakfast; I felt bluer than ever just to see him," remarked Larry. "Yes, the boy is really fond of us," Phil declared, with conviction in his tone. "He can see further than his obstinate dad, and knows the golden opportunity for a future is now in the grasp of McGee. He dreads the result of passion blinding his father to everything else." "So do I," asserted Larry, briskly. "I can't help thinking of what Tony said about making that sheriff into a bird! What if they take a notion to do us that way. Just imagine me with a nasty, sticky coat of black tar; and then covered with downy feathers! Oh, my goodness! Phil, however would I get it off again? Every inch of skin would come with it." "Well, don't get cold feet, Larry, whatever you do," remarked his chum; though the gruesome picture Larry drew made him shut his teeth hard together, and turn a trifle pale. "I'm in hopes that, no matter what they do to me, they'll let you off, because you're not concerned in this matter at all." "Ain't I?" cried Larry, indignantly. "I'm your chum, I guess; and what's good enough for you is ditto for me. If they hand you a new coat, think I'm going to let 'em skip me in the bargain sale? Not for Joseph! Not for a minute! Sink or swim, survive or perish, we're pards, you and me, Phil. If you can stand it, sure I ought to; and that's flat!" Phil stretched out his hand, and squeezed that of his comrade. At any rate it was worth something just to learn how loyal a chum he had; though perhaps he might have fancied some other way of ascertaining the fact. "Seems to me there's a whole lot of excitement going on outside there!" remarked Larry, suspiciously, some time later. "And I'm going to try and see if I c'n get a squint at the same. Perhaps this is a holiday for the McGees. Perhaps they're bent on having high jinks because they expect to feast on that nice supply of civilized grub in our motor boat. Oh! won't I just be glad if ever we get back to decent living again. Hoe cake baked in ashes may be filling; but it don't strike me just in the right spot; and especially after I've seen the old woman who cooked it, too. Ugh!" Grumbling in this fashion Larry proceeded to climb up to the little window that seemed to be at some distance from the floor; and which made Phil believe this particular shanty must have originally been intended for a prison of some sort. A minute later a loud exclamation and lament from Larry drew his attention. "What's all the row?" he demanded, his own curiosity aroused. "Oh! if you could only see what they're doing, Phil?" groaned the clinging one, as he still stared out of the small opening through which the outside air reached the captives of the squatter tribe. "Suppose you tell me, then?" suggested Phil, promptly enough. "Don't you believe these shingle-makers down here may have just a little touch of Injun blood in their veins?" demanded Larry. "Because, as sure as anything, they're driving two big stakes right into the ground out here--two of 'em, do you understand, Phil? And the kids are a-dancin' around like the very old Harry; just like Injuns might do when they expected to burn a prisoner at the stake!" "What!" cried Phil, staggered at first; and then incredulous at the strange assertion of his chum, he too started to climb up the rough log wall so as to reach the window opening. "There, look for yourself, Chum Phil!" gasped Larry, as the other joined him. "I just felt it in my bones I would come to some bad end. But, oh! what would my poor mother think if she knew her boy was going to be a candle, a torch!" "Oh, shucks! Larry, don't you believe that sort of stuff!" Phil declared, even though it did look very significant to see those twin stakes being driven into the ground, with a crowd of ragged and barefooted youngsters showing savage delight, as keen as though a circus had come to town. "Then what are they meaning to do with those stakes?" demanded Larry. "Oh! well, that's hard to say," stammered Phil. "Perhaps they do expect to fix us up there, just for a frolic, and have some fun with us. But even McGee, ugly as he is, wouldn't dream of burning anybody at the stake!" "All right then, it's the other thing," said Larry. "Just look at what they're luggin' over now, and tell me if you can, what it is." When the industrious bunch of half-grown boys opened up enough for Phil to get a glimpse of the heavy object that engaged their attention, he could not keep from uttering an exclamation of chagrin. "See, you know just as well as I do that it's a sure melting pot for tar!" exclaimed Larry, hoarsely. "Anybody with one eye could see that, because there's tar all over it. Guess they use it with some of their boats. And Phil, look at that old hag toting that awful bag on her head. What d'ye suppose is in that but geese feathers as old as the hills! Oh, murder! we're up against it good and hard. I can almost feel my wings beginning to sprout right now!" "Hold on, Larry," Phil remarked. "It looks like they meant to scare us, and have a little fun at our expense; but that doesn't mean they'll go through the whole performance. Give me a chance to spring my father's letter on McGee, and see what it does to him. Why, he would have to be next door to crazy to refuse such a magnificent offer to go into partnership with the man who owns these lands; for that's about what it means in the end." "But they say he is nigh crazy when he gets one of his stubborn fits on!" declared the other, dejectedly. "He just can't see anything else but the one thing that's on his mind. And right now, Phil, that's the fact of his having in his power the only son of the man he hates like poison. Besides, you told me he said he couldn't read a word; so how's he goin' to know that the letter says what you declare it does?" Phil had himself thought of that. "His wife could read it for him, or perhaps even Tony," he said. "Aw! d'ye think a suspicious man like McGee would trust either of 'em in a matter like this? Not for a minute, Phil. He'd think they might be fooling him, just to save us from getting our downy coats. Try something else, please." "Tony said there was one old fellow in the settlement who could read," observed Phil, thoughtfully. "Don't you remember he told us a queer story about old Daddy Mixer, who seems to be some sort of natural doctor among these people, and comes by his name from mixing all sorts of herbs as medicine. He can read; and besides, McGee would believe him where he mightn't his own family." "Say, that's so!" exclaimed Larry, looking decidedly interested. "And you could ask to have him read it out loud, so everybody might hear the generous offer your good dad makes to every man, woman and child now living on his lands down here. Oh! perhaps it might sweep the crowd off their feet. Don't I hope now it does that same thing. I ain't yearning for a new suit of down one little bit." "It may please the ragtag and bobtail crowd from the ground up," said Phil soberly; "but you take it from me, Larry, unless McGee himself is convinced, there's nothing doing. He's the Great Mogul of this place, the PooBah of the swamp settlement. When he takes snuff they all sneeze. He holds all the offices; and not a man-jack of them dares to say a word, when McGee holds up his finger. He rules with a rod of iron. So it is McGee alone I'm hoping to convince. That done, the others will fall in line, just like knocking down a row of bricks." "There he is now, with a lot of the men around him. They keep looking over this way, Phil, like they were talking about us." "And I guess that's what they're doing," remarked the other, as he watched the gesticulating group a minute. "I wonder, now, has Tony's mother spread the news far and wide among the other women of the village? What if they've already scented the glorious chance to get the things they've just wanted all their lives? And each woman may have been laying down the law to her man! Yes, they seem to be arguing about something or other, for most of 'em look sour or disgruntled." "But just notice McGee, would you?" sighed Larry. "He looks as black as thunder when he speaks first to one and then to another. They're dead afraid of him, that's what! They've had their say, and he's put a damper on it all. See him shake his fist at that fellow; and how he cringes like a whipped cur! Oh! Phil, whatever did you come down here to try and do anything for that terrible tyrant?" But Phil shook his head, as though not yet wholly convinced that he had made a serious blunder in undertaking the trip. "There is a heap of good in that man," he declared between his set teeth; "if only one could get under his tough hide. I'm still hoping the letter will strike home with him, Larry. Don't lose all hope yet!" "But if it doesn't, we're in a bad box, Phil," said Larry, despairingly. "Looks like it," Phil admitted, grimly. "But anyhow, we're not going to be kept in suspense long, for he's sending a couple of fellows this way; and it must be they mean to take us out." Larry drew a long breath, and slipped down from his perch, looking very pale. CHAPTER XXII PHIL SHOOTS HIS BOLT--AND LOSES! The door of the shanty opened presently, and the two squatters stood there. "Yer tuh kim out, kids; McGee wants yuh!" said one of the pair of brawny shingle-makers beckoning with his finger. Phil was eagerly scanning their faces. He wanted to know whether his theory of the actual conditions existing in the squatter village might be founded on facts. And from what he saw he believed that it was even so. Both men looked anything but hostile, as they faced the prisoners. Indeed, unless Phil was very much mistaken, he could detect even a gleam of friendliness in the countenance of the fellow who had spoken. "McGee's wife has spread the story among the women," he thought; "and it has taken with them like wildfire. In turn they have talked with their men about the wonderful things that would happen, if they chose to change their ways of living, and accepted my father's offer to get steady jobs, and land of their very own. But unless he falls in with the scheme, it's all wasted. They just don't dare call their souls their own down here. And a mutiny is the last thing they'd ever think of starting. Still, when a woman makes up her mind, sometimes she'll find a way to do things." In this fashion then he tried to bolster up his slipping courage, as he fell in behind the two men, and marched out of the shanty prison. Larry trotted along in the rear; for Phil purposely refrained from slipping his arm in that of his chum; wishing to make it appear that Larry at least was innocent of wrongdoing, and should not be made to suffer. Had the other boy dreamed that this was his reason for preceding him he would never have allowed it; but so many things were knocking at Larry's brain door he just could not grasp the situation fully, and believed that Phil might have for the minute forgotten all about him. There was a hush as the two boys came into view. Every eye seemed to be turned toward them; and Phil felt positive that the entire population of Swamptown must be congregated there in the center of the place--men, women and children, down to the babes in arms. A motley crowd they seemed; and yet not a hostile one, he believed, as he swept a hungry glance around--an anxious look, born of extremity. The men in the main looked rather hangdog, as though ashamed of the part they must play in the affair, because of their domination by the savage McGee giant. As for the slatternly women, Phil really believed he could see lines of worry on many faces; as if they feared that the best chance that had ever come their way were fated to be cast aside, just through the obstinacy of one man, and he the McGee. The younger element alone appeared to look upon the occasion as a picnic especially arranged for their benefit. They grinned, and nudged each other, and seemed ready to back the leader up in any desperate plan he might see fit to carry out. McGee stood there, with his arms folded across his massive chest. As he drew closer to the giant Phil wondered after all whether he might not have injured his cause by thus setting the balance of the camp against the man who had been leader all these years, by virtue of his brute strength, and his commanding ways. McGee looked at him with a black scowl on his heavy face. His wife and Tony were near by, both of them white-faced and anxious; as though fearful lest after all the man's natural obstinacy was about to bring ruin upon their newborn hopes. Phil stood directly in front of the big man. He tried to meet his piercing gaze frankly and steadily, yet not arouse his passion further by a display of bravado. As for Larry, he kept as near his chum as possible, listening, and hoping for good news, yet fearing the worst. Every time his eyes were drawn toward the twin stakes, against his will as it seemed, he would shudder, and shut his teeth hard together, as though suffering dreadfully. Yet Larry was inwardly determined not to show the white feather if he could help it. "Younker," said McGee, in his deep voice that seemed so in keeping with his tremendous physique; "yuh admits as how yer the boy uh Doc. Lancing, don't yuh?" "Why, yes," Phil replied, as pleasantly as he could, yet with firmness. "I told you right in the start that was a fact; and also why I had chosen to voyage down this river instead of choosing the Suwanee. It was to meet you, McGee; to shake hands with you; and let you see a letter my father had given to me. I told you I came in peace, and with a white flag of truce; I said my father wanted to be the friend of every man, woman and child on these lands; and was ready to enter into a contract with you all, binding himself to almost your own terms. That's why I'm here, McGee. That's why I made no attempt to run when you and your men came. I expected that you would treat me just as messengers are always treated in war times, when they come under the white flag of truce." "An' yuh sped me tuh believe all thet?" demanded the giant. "I hoped you would, McGee," replied Phil. "We helped your boy Tony before we even knew that he was a McGee; and after we found it out, it made us like him all the more. My father wants you to be his friend, to enter into a new arrangement that will mean plenty of money for you all, and homes that the law can never take away from you. It means the highest wages paid in the lumber business to every man willing to work with him. He wants to develop this country, and knows he can only do it with your help. McGee, here is my father's letter! Won't you have it read out loud, so everybody can hear what a fine man Doctor Lancing really is?" McGee gingerly accepted the missive Phil took from an inner pocket. His face was still as black as a thundercloud. He had heard the low murmurs of approval that sprang from the lips of some of those near by, possibly the women, who were not quite as much in fear of the lord of the squatter camp as the men. And it angered McGee to think that his authority was questioned in the least. "Yuh knows right well, younker, as how I cain't read!" he declared. "Then let some one else read it out--perhaps your wife?" suggested Phil, eagerly. The giant looked toward his wife, and she even started toward him, only too anxious to accept the opportunity; but with a sneer on his face he waved her back. "Not on yer life, Molly," he snapped. "I knows wot yuh ben talkin' 'bout lately. Yuh wudn't stop at deceivin' yuh husband one minit. Nor yuh either, Tony. Yuh gotter eatin' the bread uh Doc. Lancing on board thet gimcrack boat, an' ain't tuh be depended on." He looked around, and then beckoned to an old, decrepit fellow, whom Phil realized must be the "medicine man" of the colony, Daddy Mixer. "Kim hyar, Daddy," said McGee, with a curt nod; and the old fellow hastened to obey, only too eager to find favor in the sight of the ruler. "Take this hyar paper, an' look her over. Tell me wot hit sez, d'ye mind, an' on'y that, if yuh know wots good foh yuh, Daddy." The wizened-up specimen of an ague-shaken squatter took the letter in a hand that trembled; and his eyes eagerly passed over the same. It was fortunately done on a typewriter, so that the sentences were as clear as print; and at the end was signed the name of Doctor Gideon Lancing. "Kin yuh read it?" demanded McGee, grimly. "I a'ready done it," replied the old man; who had possibly long years ago been given the chance for a schooling. "An' does hit state jest wot the younker sed?" went on the giant; while Phil and Larry and all within hearing hung on his words. "It does jest that, McGee. It tells as how the writer he wants ter hold out the olive branch o' peace to the settlers on his lands. He goes on to say as how he offers every fambly an acre, or as much more as they wants, for ther really own, the deed to the same to be delivered over to 'em without a cent o' charge!" A murmuring sound of approval went up from the listeners. But all eyes were glued on the figure of McGee, whom they knew full well held their destinies in the hollow of his hand. "Thet all?" demanded the giant, grimly. "No, not quite, McGee," replied Daddy Mixer, hastily and pathetically. "He sez as how he wants to develop this country into a lumber region, and must have the help of the McGees. So he promises to pay wages as high as any in the State, and give full work every day in the year to every man or boy willing to enter his employ. And he winds up by saying he's gwine to come down here right soon hisself, to meet you-all, and fix up things just to suit everybody!" Some one started to shout. It was an unfortunate move, for instantly the black look on the heavy face of McGee grew more gloomy. He raised his hand. "Stop thet!" he roared, furiously. "Yuh pore fools, d'ye believe all this lyin' stuff thet Doc. Lancing has writ, jest tuh pull the wool over our eyes? It cain't be did! He's sure got sum slick trick up his sleeve. These younkers hes been sent down tuh find out all 'bout us; an' the sojers'll be along on ther heels tuh clar us out! I ain't gwine tuh take up wid no sech trash as thet. We gotter show Doc. Lancing we don't keer a mite foh his white flag. This hyah's his boy. Now we gat him weuns is bound tuh send him away wid the nicest coat o' tar an' feathers yuh ever heard tell on. That's my answer tuh Doc. Lancing, an' it goes, yuh hyah, men!" Larry uttered a loud groan; and it seemed as though others among the listeners felt as down-spirited as did the Northern lad, to judge from the sighs around. But right then and there, in the midst of all the tense excitement, there suddenly rang out a shot; followed by a scream from the lips of Tony McGee, who was seen darting forward to where a fluttering object lay struggling on the ground. CHAPTER XXIII THE "WINGED MESSENGER "Oh! what was that? Who shot?" cried Larry, clutching his chum by the arm. Phil pointed to a small boy who was trying to sneak away, carrying an old musket about half again as long as himself. He had possibly taken advantage of the excitement to steal his elder brother's gun; and casting about for some object upon which to exercise his ambitious marksmanship, had sighted a hovering bird, which had instantly fallen to his fire. "But what makes Tony act like that?" demanded Larry. Phil had divined the wonderful truth, even as his chum made his inquiry. "It must have been one of his homing pigeons!" he exclaimed; "perhaps the one that he expected to bring him news from up-river way, about the girl in the hospital!" "Oh! I wonder could that be so?" ejaculated Larry; and the two of them stood there, watching and waiting for they hardly knew what, only that into Phil's heart there seemed to have suddenly leaped a new and wild hope. They saw Tony lift the little feathered messenger, and stroke its feathers, as he looked angrily around for the guilty youngster, who was already hiding behind one of the shanties. "Look and see if it has a message from Tom Badger!" called Phil, himself quivering with eagerness and suspense. Tony evidently had not thought of this at first, in his anger at having one of his precious pets slaughtered so ruthlessly. He sent a quick comprehending look toward his new chums, and instantly turned his attention again to the pigeon. Immediately Phil saw him draw some small object from the bundle of crumpled feathers, which he began to unroll with great haste. "It's a note from above," declared Phil, talking to himself, though Larry was listening with both ears to what he said. "The message has come, and just in the nick of time to save us from a mighty unpleasant experience. I hope it holds good news for Tony and his mother." "It does--it must, Phil!" cried Larry. "Just look at Tony dancing around, would you? Oh! he's read something that's taken his voice away, you know! He can't even say anything; but see how his face talks! Phil, what d'ye think it can be?" "Good news must mean the operation has taken place, and that it has been a success!" replied his chum, trying to master the tremor in his own voice, and hardly succeeding very well. "And can't you see just what that must mean for us, Larry, old fellow? Bring it here, Tony! Let us see what you have found!" and he beckoned to the boy while saying this. But Tony made first of all for his mother, who was standing there with clasped hands, in an agony betwixt doubt and hope. No sooner though, had her eager eyes devoured the contents of the tiny paper, than she fell to sobbing hysterically; but every one could see that it was joy and not grief that had caused this flow of tears from an overcharged heart. She started toward McGee, holding out the bit of thin paper appealingly. McGee had been observing these several happenings with the same dark scowl on his brow; but he seemed to understand that news had come from the child who was so dear to him on account of her infirmity. "Give hit tuh Daddy, an' let hin read hit!" he spoke up, as though even in that supreme moment something of the old doubt concerning his family remained. Gladly did the woman turn to the shambling old man who came forward again. And as he bent over the tiny scrap of paper, as though endeavoring to make out what the writing on it meant, every sound ceased until the silence of death seemed to hover over that scene. "Read hit out loud, Daddy!" commanded McGee, himself hardly able to restrain his own impatience. "Operation a complete success! Child will soon see as well as any one! Shall bring her home myself tomorrow, and restore her to a mother's arms. "DOCTOR GIDEON LANCING!" Hardly had the last word been uttered than it seemed as though a tempest had suddenly descended upon that quiet little settlement in the midst of the cypress swamps. Every throat joined in the terrific shout that burst forth. Women threw their arms around one another; while rough men went about shaking hands, and wiping suspicious moisture from their sun-burned cheeks. Phil and Larry whooped with the rest. "It's all right, Larry!" cried the former, as he wrung his chum's hand with the vehemence of enthusiastic youth. "That's the last straw that breaks the camel's back! Even a McGee can't hold out against that evidence of friendship! Hurrah for my dad; and hurrah for us! But I say, Larry, it's lucky that poor little pigeon found its way home when it did, or we might have been turned into birds ourselves." Even Larry could afford to laugh now at the heretofore gruesome outlook. As for Tony, he acted like one possessed; for he ran from his mother to his new chums, and back again; still gripping the lifeless form of the little winged messenger, as though he hardly knew what he was doing. McGee had gone over to his wife, and taken her in his arms. The glorious news from above had done more to break down his iron nature than all other things combined; nor was Phil very much amazed to see how tenderly he soothed the mother of his children. Then the big man strode over toward the spot where they stood; while every one watched curiously to see what he would do, for never yet had a man of them ever seen the mighty McGee bend the knee to any one. "Gimme yuh hand, younker," he said, humbly enough. "I war all wrong, an' I admits hit right now an' hyah. Yuh dad he's jest a trump; an' w'en he kims tuh weuns' camp, thar ain't gwine tuh be a king welcomed more heartily'n he'll be. An' Tony boy, don't yuh do nawthin' tuh thet chile as shooted yuh bird, d'ye hyah? Ef 'twa'nt foh thet, jest see wot I'd a-done tuh the son o' the man as hes brought light tuh the blessed eyes o' our leetle Madge." Again the shouts broke out. The entire settlement was mad with joy. Women got together and talked of the wonderful things that were going to come to pass when this benefactor fulfilled his promises, and their homes became a positive fact, with their men working every day at big wages, and a new life possessing the entire community. Relieved from a terrible strain Phil and Larry began to take an interest in the many things connected with the squatter settlement. McGee, having thrown off his gloomy condition in the light of the happy news, showed that he was a keensighted man. He talked business with Phil in a way that quite pleased the boy; who felt positive that his father would find in this leading spirit of the swamp country just the able lieutenant he wanted, in order to make a big success of the new undertaking. Of course the motor boat was soon brought down from its station above. Tony and his father accompanied the two voyagers up to get it; and McGee manifested considerable interest in the working of the smart little craft. And then when on the third day there arrived a boat containing half a dozen persons, imagine the great joy when that good mother folded to her heart the form of the little child she had sent from her side with such great misgivings. Of course Phil pounced on his father, the genial physician whose name as an oculist had long since become famous throughout the East. And as rapidly as he could, ably assisted by Larry, he poured out the wonderful story of their cruise, which had been brought to such a dramatic conclusion. McGee was not long in welcoming Doctor Lancing, and in a day the two men seemed to understand each other thoroughly. Plans for the future were soon under way; and after several days spent among his neighbors, as the doctor termed those who were no longer squatters, since each family owned a tract of land besides that upon which their cabin was built, he again turned his face toward the north. It might be well to say right here that things began to boom from that day; and at present the community where McGee still holds sway is a prosperous town, with happy homes, in which the comforts of life may be found, as well as a few of the luxuries. Little Madge did positively recover her sight, the bandages being removed before the departure of the great oculist. Tony went down with Phil and Larry to the gulf, and spent a couple of months in their company that he would never forget. Later on he was given a chance to attend school, and one dream of his mother's heart was realized. And Larry, too, learned many a useful lesson during that time, which would be apt to help him climb the ladder as an ambitious Boy Scout, once he found himself back in his home city. Pete had turned up before they left for the gulf; and being supplied with more funds by Doctor Lancing kept on his way. Later on they heard from him in Mobile, where his family had joined him; and neither of the two Dixie Chums ever found reason to regret that they had helped him evade the "dawgs" of the vindictive Southern sheriff. THE END. 
28449	----	[Illustration: Dawson Sent the Chair Spinning Across the Room. _Frontispiece_.] THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AND THE WIRELESS OR The Dot, Dash and Dare Cruise By H. IRVING HANCOCK Author of The Motor Boat Club of the Kennebec The Motor Boat Club at Nantucket The Motor Boat Club off Long Island, Etc. Illustrated PHILADELPHIA HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY Copyright 1909, by Howard E. Altemus CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A Spark Puts Three Boys and a Boat on the Jump 7 II. Some of the Mystery Unraveled 26 III. Invisible Hands at the Wireless 39 IV. Taking a Great Chance 50 V. Tom Matches One Trick With Another 61 VI. Carrying Dangerous Live "Freight" 70 VII. Powell Seaton's Bad Case of "Forget" 78 VIII. The Red Message 85 IX. Mr. Seaton Unburdens Himself 92 X. The Traitor at the Aerials 105 XI. The Drab Boat Shows Her Nose 114 XII. The Searchlight Finds a "Double" 127 XIII. Tom Halstead--Ready! 139 XIV. Grit Goes up the Signal Mast 151 XV. Playing Salt Water Blind Man's Buff 160 XVI. A Gleam of Hope Through the Shroud of Fog 171 XVII. When the Motor Boat Club Boys "Went Daffy" 179 XVIII. The First Kink of the Problem Solved 187 XIX. Helpless in the Northeaster! 196 XX. "C.Q.D! C.Q.D.!--Help!" 207 XXI. The Spark Finds a Friend Through the Gale 219 XXII. Tom Halstead Springs the Climax 230 XXIII. Hank Becomes Really Terrible 244 XXIV. Conclusion 249 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AND THE WIRELESS CHAPTER I A SPARK PUTS THREE BOYS AND A BOAT ON THE JUMP "Ho, ho, ho--hum!" grumbled Hank Butts, vainly trying to stifle a prodigious yawn. "This may be what Mr. Seaton calls a vacation on full pay, but I'd rather work." "It _is_ fearfully dull, loafing around, in this fashion, on a lonely island, yet in plain sight of the sea that we long to rove over," nodded Captain Tom Halstead of the motor yacht "Restless." "Yet Hank just put us in mind of the fact that we're getting paid for our time," laughed Joe Dawson, the least restless of the trio of young Motor Boat Club boys. "Oh it's all right on the pay end," agreed Hank, readily. "But just think of a young fellow, full of life and hope, with a dozen ambitions and a hustling nature, taking up with a job of this kind!" "What kind of job?" inquired Captain Tom. "The job of being bored," answered Butts, solemnly. "I could have had that kind of job back on Long Island." "Without the pay," amended Joe Dawson, with another quiet smile. "But ten days of being bored _does_ grow rather wearisome, even with the pay for a solace," agreed Tom Halstead. Ting-ling-ling! The soft jangling of a bell from one of the rooms of the seashore bungalow, on the porch of which the boys sat, broke in on them. "Hurrah, Joe! Hustle and get that message," begged Hank, almost sitting up straight in the porch chair, with a comical pretense of excitement. "It's sure to be from Mr. Seaton this time." "Likely," grinned Joe, as he rose and crossed the porch in leisurely fashion. The jangling of the bell continued. The bell was a rather clumsy, yet sufficing device that young Dawson had attached to the wireless telegraph apparatus. For, though this bungalow on a little island southwest of Beaufort, North Carolina, had an appearance of being wholly out of the world, yet the absent owner, Mr. Powell Seaton, had contrived to put his place very much "in the world" by installing wireless telegraphy at the bungalow. On the premises was operated a complete electrical plant that furnished energy enough to send messages for hundreds of miles along the coast. For Joe, the mechanical genius of the Motor Boat Club, had always had a passion for telegraphy. Of late he had gone in in earnest for the wireless kind, and had rapidly mastered its most essential details. The bell told when electrical waves were rushing through the air at marvelous speed, though it did not distinguish between any general wave and the special call for this bungalow station, which was by the letters "CBA." When Joe Dawson went into the room under the tall aerials that hung from the mast, he expected to listen only to some message not in the least intended for this station. Seating himself by the relay, with its Morse register close at hand, Joe Dawson picked up and adjusted the head-band with its pair of watch-case receivers. He then hastily picked up a pencil, shoved a pad of paper close under his hand and listened. All this he did with a dull, listless air. He had not the slightest forewarning of the great jolt that was soon to come to himself and his comrades out of the atmosphere. The call, whatever it was, had ended. Yet, after a pause of a few seconds, it began to sound again. Joe's listless air vanished as the new set of dots and dashes came in, clamoring in clicking haste against his ear drums. "To Every Wireless Station--Urgent!" ran the first few words. Joe's nimble fingers pushed his pencil, recording letter after letter until these words were down. Then, dropping his pencil for the sending key, young Dawson transmitted a crashing electric impulse into the air, flashing through space over hundreds of miles the station signal, "CBA." "Have you a fast, seaworthy boat within immediate call?" came back out of the invisible distance over the ocean. "A twenty-six-mile sea-going motor boat right at the pier here," Joe flashed back, again adding his signature, "CBA." "Good!" came back the answer. "Then listen hard--act quick--life at stake!" Joe Dawson not only listened. His thoughts flew with the dots and dashes of the wireless message; his right hand rushed the pencil in recording all of that wonderful message as it came to him. It was tragedy that Dawson wrote down at the dictation of this impatient operator far out on the Atlantic highways. Almost in the midst of it came a feverish break-in from land, and another hand was playing in the great game of life and death, fame and dishonor, riches and intrigue. All was being unfolded by means of the unseen, far-reaching wireless telegraph. As Joe listened, wrote, and occasionally broke in to send a few words, the dew of cold perspiration stood out on his brow. His fingers trembled. With a great effort of the will this motor boat boy steadied his nerves and muscles in order to see through to the end this mysterious thing coming out of space. While this was going on, Joe Dawson did not call out to either of his comrades. With an instinct that worked as fast as the wireless messages themselves, young Dawson chose to put off calling the other motor boat boys until he had the whole startling tale to tell them--until he had in complete form the coming orders that would send all three of them and the "Restless" on a tireless sea-chase. While this flood of dots and dashes is coming in from seaward, and from landward, it is well that the reader be put in possession of some information that will make clearer to him the nature of the dramatic events that followed this sudden in-pouring of wireless messages to the little "CBA" bungalow station on this island off the North Carolina coast. Readers of the preceding volume of this series, "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OFF LONG ISLAND," will at once recall that story, throbbing with the interest of human life--will remember how faithfully and wisely Tom Halstead, Joe Dawson and Hank Butts, all members of the Motor Boat Club, served that leader in Wall Street finance, Francis Delavan, and the latter's nervous, wavering friend, Eben Moddridge. To such former readers the tale is familiar of how the Motor Boat Club boys aided materially in frustrating a great conspiracy in finance, aimed against their employer. Saved from ruin by the grit, keenness and loyalty of these three members of the Motor Boat Club, Messrs. Delavan and Moddridge had handsomely rewarded the boys for their signal services. As Hank Butts preferred, for family reasons, to spend his summers, and much of his other time, on Long Island, he had been presented with a thirty-foot launch, a shore lot at East Hampton, and a "shack" and pier. Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson, fast friends and both from the same little Kennebec River village, preferring always the broad ocean, had been made the owners of the "Soudan," a fine, sea-going, fifty-five foot motor cruising yacht built for deep sea work. Though the "Soudan" had a very comfortable beam of fifteen feet, she was nevertheless equipped with twin gasoline motors that could send her over the waters at some twenty-five or twenty-six miles an hour. With the gift of the boat to Tom and Joe came also a present of money enough to make the two new young owners able to put her in commission and keep her going for awhile. It was not intended by Messrs. Delavan and Moddridge that Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson should be able to keep their new prize and property running for their own pleasure. On the contrary the givers of this splendid present believed that the two boys would ply under charter for wealthy pleasure seekers, thus making a splendid living. In summer there were the northern waters; in winter the southern waters. Thus it was believed that Captain Tom Halstead and Engineer Joe Dawson would be in a position to earn a handsome income from their boat the year around. At any time, should they so choose, they could sell the boat. Sell her? It would almost have broken honest, impulsive, loyal Tom Halstead's heart to sell this precious boat! Joe Dawson, quiet though he was, would have flown into a rage at any suggestion of his parting with his interest in the handsome, capable little craft! The owners had re-christened the boat the "Restless." Within ten days after the boys had left the employ of Mr. Delavan, Captain Tom had encountered Mr. Powell Seaton in New York. A few hours after that meeting the boys had had their boat chartered for at least the month of September. Then, after receiving their orders, they proceeded south to their present location on Lonely Island, five miles off the mainland. They were accompanied by Hank Butts, who had left his small boat in other hands and accepted temporary employment on the "Restless." The island possessed an area of about half a square mile. The bungalow itself, a shed that was used as an electric power station, and a third building that contained a telescope and some other astronomical apparatus were the sole interesting features of this island. After the chartering, and the payment of half the hire-money in advance for the month, not one of these Motor Boat Club boys had laid eyes on Mr. Powell Seaton. After cruising down from New York, and taking possession of the bungalow, as ordered, they had remained there ten whole days, idle and wondering. Idle, that is, except for running the electric power plant as much as was needed, making their own beds and doing their own cooking. For what purpose had Powell Seaton wanted them and the "Restless"? Now, as Dawson's active fingers pushed the pencil through the mazes of recorded messages, that active-minded young man began to get a glimpse. "Sounds like something big, Joe," smiled Captain Tom, his eyes twinkling under the visor of his uniform cap as he thrust his head in through the doorway. "It is," muttered Joe, in a low but tense voice. "Just wait. I've got one to send." His fingers moved busily at the key for a little while. Then, snatching up the sheets of paper on which he had written, Joe Dawson leaped to his feet in such haste that he sent the chair spinning across the room. Such impulsiveness in Dawson was so utterly unusual that Captain Tom Halstead gasped. "Come on!" called Joe, darting to the door. "Down to the boat!" "Where----?" began Tom Halstead, but he got only as far as that word, for Joe shot back: "To sea!" "How----" again essayed Halstead. "At full speed--the fastest we can travel!" called back Joe, who was leaping down the porch steps. "Any time to lock up?" demanded Tom, half-laughingly. "Yes--but hustle! I'll get the motor started and be waiting." Hank Butts was leaning indolently against one of the porch posts. "Look at old Joe sailing before a fair wind," he laughed, admiringly. "Turn to, Hank! Help lock the windows and the doors--full speed ahead!" directed Captain Tom, with vigor. "Joe Dawson never goes off at racing speed like that unless he has his orders and knows what he's doing." "I thought you were the captain," grinned Hank, as he sprang to obey. "So I am," Halstead shot at the other boy. "But, just as it happens, Joe has the sailing orders--and he can be trusted with 'em. Now--everything is tight and the keys in my pocket. For the dock, on the run!" Chug-chug! Joe had surely been moving, for, by the time the other boys reached the dock, Dawson had the hatchway of the motor room open and the twin motors had begun to move. The young engineer, an oil-can in hand, was watching the revolutions of the two handsome machines. "Stand by the stern-line to throw off, Hank," called Captain Tom, as he raced out onto the dock and made a plunge for the bow hawser. With this in hand he sprang aboard. "How soon, Joe?" called the young skipper, throwing the canvas cover from the wheel down onto the bridge deck. "As soon as you like," was Joe's answer, as he threw more speed into the twin motors. Hank had the stern hawser in his hands by this time. Halstead threw the wheel over slightly, warping the boat's graceful bow away from the dock under just a touch of speed ahead. "Come aboard, Hank!" called the young skipper. As soon as Butts had obeyed with a flying leap, Tom rang for half speed ahead, moving smoothly out of the little sand-bound harbor. "Coil the hawsers, Hank," directed the young skipper. "Put the wheel cover away. Then relieve Joe. I want to hear from him." These three separate orders Hank had executed within less than two minutes, and jumped down into the motor room. Joe came on deck, holding the sheets of paper in his hand. "Now, let's understand what the business is, anyway," suggested Tom Halstead. "Who signaled us? Mr. Seaton?" "Yes, but he wasn't the first one," Dawson answered. "The first hail came from out of the sea, from the Black B liner, 'Constant,' addressed to any wireless station and tagged 'urgent.' Here it is." One hand on the wheel, the young skipper received the sheet held out to him. It read: Can you send fast boat instantly to take off badly injured passenger for medical treatment? Passenger A. B. Clodis, believed to be wealthy man from New York, discovered unconscious, perhaps dying, from fall. Fractured skull. Believe passenger or family to be able to pay handsomely for services. (Signed) Hampton, _captain_. "Here's another sheet giving the ship's position at that moment," Joe continued; "also her course and speed." "And you answered?" demanded Halstead. "Just as I started to, the wireless at Beaufort broke in. It seems that Mr. Seaton is at Beaufort, and that he heard, at once, of the trouble. Here is Mr. Seaton's order." Joe Dawson held out another sheet, on which he had transcribed this wireless message: Halstead, Lonely Island: Clodis is my man on important matter. Get him off ship, and with all speed. Take him to Lonely Island, where I will arrive with surgeons and nurses. Get all his baggage and papers off with him, and take greatest care of same. Whole thing plotted by enemies. If they succeed it spells ruin for me and more than one tragedy. I depend on you boys; don't fail me! Act at full speed. (Signed) Powell Seaton. P. XXX S. "That comes from Mr. Seaton, all right," nodded Captain Tom. "That's his private signal, below his name, that he told us to look for on all orders of his. Now, let me have a look again at the position and course of the 'Constant.'" After studying the dispatch intently, Captain Halstead nodded to his chum to take the wheel. Facing about, Tom swung open the small chart-case secured to the top of the deck-house. With a small, accurate pocket rule he made some measurements. "At twenty-five miles an hour, Joe, if you can keep it up, a straight sou'east by east course should bring us right in the path of the 'Constant' on the course and speed she reports." "Oh, we can keep the speed up," predicted Joe, confidently. "But I can't fool with the engine, unless you insist. I ought to be back in the cabin, at the wireless instrument." "Hank can keep at the motors, then," nodded Captain Tom. "Go along, old fellow." Joe paused but an instant to give Hank the needed orders, then raced aft. At the after end of the cabin were two snug little staterooms; at the other end, forward, a table had been fitted up with wireless apparatus, for the twin motors of the boat generated, by means of a dynamo, electricity enough for a very respectable wireless spark. Hardly had Joe vanished when Hank, satisfied with the performance of the motors, appeared on deck. The signal mast stood just behind the bridge deck. It was of light, hollow steel, with two inner tubes that, when extended, made an unusually high mast for such a boat. "We can run the extension mast up to full height in this light breeze, can't we, Tom?" asked the Long Island boy. Halstead nodded. So simple was the arrangement that, within a few moments, Hank had the aerials well aloft. Nor was he too soon, for this query came promptly through space from Powell Seaton, up at Beaufort: "Are you starting at once?" With a quiet grin, all alone there by the wireless apparatus, young Dawson sparked back through the air: "Three miles east, and running to intercept the 'Constant.'" "Good!" came clicking into Joe Dawson's watch-case receivers against his ears, a moment later. "Then I won't bother you further. I trust you. But, oh, if you should fail! You don't know what failure means--to me!" All this, of course, was clicked out in the dot and dash code of the Morse alphabet, but to Joe Dawson it was as plain as words spoken by the human voice. "You're right, Mr. Seaton." Joe's busy right hand fingers clicked out the message on the sending key, while the electric waves sped from the aerials aloft outside. "We don't know what 'failure' means. We won't fail you. Good-bye." Then Joe turned his attention to the "Constant." The big Black B liner answered promptly. She was on the same course, and glad to know that the "Restless" was speeding over the sea to seek her. Having finished in raising the extended signal mast, and glancing into the motor room to see that the motors were running smoothly, Hank leaned against the raised deck top. The Long Island boy was hardly to be expected as a member of the crew of the "Restless" on this cruise, but he had wound up the summer season at East Hampton, and now, with idle September coming upon him, he had found the longing for the broad sea too powerful for him. Family conditions at home being satisfactory, he had promised himself this one month away from home, and was aboard as steward and general helper. "I wonder if our work for Mr. Seaton has started in earnest?" ventured Hank. "It has, for a few hours to-day, anyway," smiled Captain Tom. "We're cruising at full speed, and under orders from the man who chartered the 'Restless' for this month." "But who can this Clodis be?" "I don't know," Tom Halstead admitted. "I wonder why Mr. Seaton is so mightily interested in him? What does Seaton mean by hinting at ruin and tragedies?" "Do you know what I think, Hank?" queried the young skipper, quietly. "What?" "I think it would be downright impudence on our part to get too inquisitive about the affairs of the man who employs us. We looked Mr. Seaton up, and found he had the reputation of being an honest man. That's as much of his business as we have any right to want to know." Hank colored, though he went on, in an argumentative way: "I s'pose that's all true enough, Tom. Still, it's human nature, when you smell a big mystery, to want to know the meaning of at least some of it. And I'm mighty curious, because I scent something unusually big in the air." "So do I," admitted the young skipper, giving the wheel another turn in order to hold the fast-moving boat to her course. "Then what----" "Hold on, Hank! Don't be downright nosey. And, as for guessing----" "Why, Seaton as good as hints that there's been a downright attempt to kill this man Clodis," broke in Hank, who could not be repressed easily. "And Seaton is surely mightily worked up about it. And sending us out to take a passenger off a steamer bound for South America! Tom, do you s'pose that criminals are----" "Hank," broke in the young skipper, half-severely, "there's something squeaking on one of the motors. For goodness' sake don't let us break down on what we've been told is a life-and-death trip! Get below and see what's wrong. Stand by to watch the performance of the motors." Hank vanished, inwardly grumbling, for his curiosity was doing two hours' work every minute. Captain Tom, after measuring on the chart, had figured on meeting the "Constant" in two hours and twenty minutes. Now, at every turn of the twin shafts the young skipper's blood bounded with the desire to do his full duty in arriving on time. Yet there was not wanting pleasure, mixed with the anxiety. How good the fresh, salty air tasted, out here on the broad sea, with the low coast-line already nearly out of sight! Tom Halstead sniffed in breath after breath. His eyes danced as they beheld the spraying of white water cut and turned up by the boat's fast prow. Oh, it was great to be out here on the deep, one hand guiding the course of one of the nimblest yachts afloat! Joe, as he came forward, felt this same wild exhilaration. Quiet, dutiful and law-abiding as both these Motor Boat Club boys were, there must have been much of the old Norseman Viking blood in their veins, for this swift dash over the rolling swell of the ocean was like a tonic to them both. "Say, isn't it all grand?" demanded Joe, his cheeks glowing, as he paused on the bridge deck, taking in great whiffs of the purest air supplied to man. "Great!" admitted Skipper Tom, in a tone that was almost a cheer. Then he asked, gravely: "Any news?" "Mr. Seaton knows we have started, and expresses his pleasure. I've signaled the 'Constant,' and she's still keeping to the same course, and will so continue." "And the patient, Clodis?" "Still alive, Tom; but the ship's surgeon offers no hope, and will be glad to have us take him onto the 'Restless.'" "It must be something terrible to make Mr. Seaton so anxious about the man," observed Tom, thoughtfully. "Yes," nodded Joe. Then: "Say, Tom, I've just struck an easy scheme for connecting one of the armatures of the Morse register, aft, to a buzzer in the engine room. Then if I happen to be in the engine room when wireless messages are traveling through the air I shall know it." In the next hour all three of the boys, though they did not talk much about it, were wondering about this tragedy of the deep sea that had called them into action. Though they could not as yet guess it, this present affair of theirs was but the start of a series of adventures more amazing than any they had ever dreamed of. Now, at the most, they were curious. Soon they were to know what it meant to be astounded; they were soon to know what it felt like to feel haunted, to find themselves assailed by dread after dread. Undoubtedly it was merciful for them that they could not, at this moment, peer behind the curtain of the immediate future. So, ignorant of what fate and destiny held in store for them, they were mainly intent, now, upon intercepting at the right point the big liner cruising swiftly southward. In another hour they made out smoke on the horizon where Skipper Tom judged the "Constant" to be. Later the spars of the steamship were visible through the marine glasses. Then the hull appeared. A few minutes later Captain Tom ran the "Restless" dashingly in alongside the great black hull of the liner, along whose starboard rail a hundred or more passengers had gathered. Turning the wheel over to Hank, Captain Tom Halstead snatched up the megaphone as the larger vessel slowed down. "'Constant,' ahoy!" bellowed the young skipper. "This is the yacht 'Restless,' sent to receive your injured passenger, Clodis." "'Restless' ahoy!" came the response from the liner's bridge. "We'll lower our starboard side gangway, if you can come alongside safely." The Motor Boat Club boys were at the threshold of their strangest, wildest succession of adventures! CHAPTER II SOME OF THE MYSTERY UNRAVELED "IF we can come alongside safely," echoed Hank, disgustedly. "I'll show 'em--and in a smooth swell of sea like this, too!" As the big steamship lay to, Hank steered in until Captain Tom, boathook in hand, made fast temporarily. Then Hank hurried up with a line with which he took a fast hitch. "Hey, there, you'll pull away our side gangway," roared down a mate, whose head and uniform cap showed over the rail above. "You don't know us," grinned Joe Dawson, quietly. By this time Tom Halstead was running lightly up the steps of the gangway. He reached the small platform above, then passed to the deck. He was met by Captain Hampton, who inquired: "Where's your sailing master, young man?" "Right before you, Captain." "You?" "Yes, sir." "Who are your owners?" demanded Captain Hampton, much astonished by Tom's quiet assurance. "I'm captain and half-owner of the 'Restless,' sir," Halstead continued, still smiling at the other captain's very evident astonishment. "The other owner is the engineer, Joe Dawson, my chum." Captain Hampton swallowed something very hard. Several of the passengers were smiling. A man who has followed the sea for years knows the capacity and efficiency that boys often display on shipboard, but it is unusual to find a boy acting as master of a yacht. However, there was the "Restless," and there was Tom Halstead in the captain's uniform. These were facts that could not be disputed. "You have a passenger, a Mr. Clodis, that you want to have me take off?" resumed Tom. "Yes; you have come for him, then?" "Not only that, but Mr. Seaton, the gentleman who has our boat in charter, has very urgently ordered us to bring Mr. Clodis ashore; also his baggage complete, and any and all papers that he may have brought aboard." "You have a comfortable berth on your boat?" "Several of them," Tom answered. "Then I'll have some of my men make the transfer at once. Our ship's surgeon, Dr. Burke, will also go over the side and see that Mr. Clodis is made as comfortable as possible for his trip ashore." "Steward Butts will show your men to the port stateroom, aft, sir." A mate hurried away to give the order to Dr. Burke. A boatswain was directed to attend to having all of Mr. Clodis's baggage go over the side. "Come to my stateroom, sir, if you please," requested Captain Hampton, and Tom followed. "When you take a man with a fractured skull ashore, the authorities may want some explanation," declared the 'Constant's' sailing master, opening his desk. "Here is a statement, therefore, that I have prepared and signed. Take it with you, Captain----" "Halstead," supplied Tom. The motor boat boy glanced hurriedly through the document. "I see you state it was an accident, Captain Hampton," went on Halstead, lowering his voice. "Our charter-man, Mr. Seaton, intimated that he believed it might have been a deliberate assault. Have you anything that you wish to say on this point, sir?" "I don't believe it was an assault," replied the ship's master, musingly. Halstead's quick eye noted that Hampton appeared to be a sturdy, honest sea-dog. "Still, Captain Halstead, if you would like to question the steward who found Mr. Clodis at the foot of the main saloon companionway----" "Have you made the investigation thoroughly, sir?" "I think so--yes." "Then nothing is likely to be gained, Captain, by my asking any questions of a steward you have already questioned." The mate came back to report that Mr. Clodis had been carried over the side, and that his baggage had been taken aboard the "Restless." "I know you don't want a liner held up," Tom went on, slipping Captain Hampton's report of the accident into his pocket. "I'll go over the side, sir, as soon as you can ascertain whether Mr. Clodis had any papers that ought to be sent ashore with him." "There are none in the injured man's pockets," replied the steamship's sailing master, "and none were deposited with the purser. So, if there are any papers, they must be in Mr. Clodis's trunk or bag." "Thank you, sir. Then I'll bid you good-bye and hurry over the side," said Halstead, energetically. As they stepped out of the stateroom a passenger who had been lingering near stepped up. "Oh, one moment," said Captain Hampton, suddenly. "Captain Halstead, this gentleman is Mr. Arthur Hilton. Since leaving New York he has received some wireless news that makes him anxious to return. He wants to go ashore with you." Arthur Hilton had stepped forward, holding out his hand, which Tom took in his own. Mr. Hilton was a man of about thirty, smooth-faced, with firm set jaws. Though evidently not a Spaniard, he had the complexion usual to that race. His dark eyes were keen and sharp, though they had a rather pleasant look in them. He was slender, perhaps five feet eight inches tall, and, although his waist and legs were thin, he had broad, rather powerful looking shoulders. "You can set me ashore, can't you, young man, for a ten-dollar bill?" inquired Hilton. "Certainly, if Captain Hampton knows no reason why you shouldn't leave the vessel," Tom answered. "Mr. Hilton has surrendered his passage ticket, and there is nothing to detain him aboard," replied the steamship's master. "Your baggage ready, sir?" asked Tom. "Nothing but this bag," laughed Hilton, stepping back and picking up his hand luggage. "Come along, then, sir." As Tom Halstead pressed his way through the throng of passengers gathered on deck, he heard several wondering, and some admiring, remarks relative to the youthfulness of the skipper of so handsome and trim a yacht. Hilton followed the young skipper down over the side. Tom turned to help him to the deck of the "Restless," but Hilton lightly leaped across, holding his bag before him. Tom Halstead, as he turned, got a good look at that bag. It was one that he was likely to remember for many a day. The article was of dark red leather, and on one side the surface for a space as large as a man's hand had been torn away, probably in some accident. "Here's the passage money, Captain," said Hilton, passing over a ten-dollar bill. Murmuring his thanks, the young skipper crumpled up the bill, shoving it into a trousers pocket, then hurried aft. Clodis was a short, almost undersized man of perhaps forty-five, stout and well dressed. His head was so bandaged, as he lay in the lower berth of the port stateroom, that not much of his face was visible. "He's unconscious, and probably will be for hours," stated Dr. Burke, as Captain Tom appeared in the doorway. "If he comes to, I've left some medicine with your steward, to be given the patient. Of course you'll get him ashore and under medical care as promptly as possible, Captain." "Surgeons are on the way from Beaufort to meet us," the young skipper nodded. "Then I'll return to my ship," declared Dr. Burke, rising. "But I'm glad to know that Mr. Clodis is going to be met by a friend." As the doctor hurried over the side, Hilton turned to walk aft. "Stay forward, if you please, sir," interposed Captain Tom. "No one is to go into the cabin until the patient has been removed under a doctor's orders." There was a frown on Hilton's face, which, however, almost instantly vanished. Joe brought a deck arm chair and placed it for Mr. Hilton on the bridge deck. "Good luck for you and your patient, sir," called down Captain Hampton over the rail, as he prepared to get under headway. "Thank you, sir," Tom acknowledged. "We'll take the best care of Mr. Clodis that we know how." With Hank on duty in the cabin, Tom Halstead had to cast off and make his own start as best he could. He managed the double task neatly, however, and, as he fell away the "Constant's" engine-room bell could be heard for half-speed-ahead. The little auto-whistle of the "Restless" sounded shrilly, to be answered with a long, deep-throated blast from the liner's steam whistle. With this brief interchange of sea courtesies the two craft fell apart, going on their respective ways. "Full speed on the return?" called Joe, from the doorway of the motor room. "Yes," nodded Captain Tom. "But look out for vibration. Our sick man has had his skull cracked." By the time the yacht had gone scooting for more than a mile over the waves, Captain Halstead, left hand on the wheel, turned to Hilton. "Did you hear how our sick man came to be hurt, sir?" "I didn't hear of it until a couple of hours after it happened," replied Hilton. "I understand that Mr. Clodis fell down the stairs leading to the main saloon, and was picked up unconscious. That was about all the word that was given out on board." Captain Tom nodded, then gave his whole attention to making Lonely Island as speedily as possible. There was no land in sight, and the trip back was a long one. Yet the young skipper had his bearings perfectly. They were still some eight miles off Lonely Island when Hilton roused himself at sight of a low-hulled, black schooner scudding north under a big spread of canvas. "You're going to pass close to that boat, aren't you, Captain?" asked the bridge deck passenger. "Yes, sir; pretty close." "As I understand it, you're going to land at an island some miles off the coast, whereas I wish to reach the mainland at the earliest possible moment, and catch a railway train. So, Captain, if you'll signal that schooner and put me aboard, I shall feel under sufficient obligation to hand you another ten-dollar bill." That looked so much like earning money rapidly that Halstead called Joe up from the motor room to set the signal. The schooner lay to until overtaken. Hilton discovered that the schooner was bound for Beaufort, and the bargain was quickly completed. A small boat put off from the sailing vessel and the bridge deck passenger, his noticeable bag included, was transferred. The "Restless" was nearer Lonely Island, and the schooner was hull down, when Captain Tom suddenly started as Joe Dawson stepped upon deck. "Blazes, Joe!" exclaimed the young skipper. "I'm afraid we've done it!" "I'm afraid so, too," came quietly from the young engineer. "That fellow Hilton, so anxious to get ashore, may be the very chap who struck down Mr. Clodis!" "The thought had just come to me," admitted Joe. "Yes! You know, Mr. Seaton hinted that the 'accident' might have been an attempt to kill." Captain and engineer of the "Restless" stared disconcertedly at each other. "Now, why did I have to go and make such a fearful stumble as that?" groaned Tom. "You didn't, any more than I did," Joe tried to console him. "We should, at least, have kept Hilton aboard until Mr. Seaton had had a chance to look him over." "I could send a wireless to the Beaufort police to grab Hilton on landing," suggested Joe, doubtfully, but Tom Halstead shook his head energetically. "No; the Beaufort police wouldn't do that on our say-so, Joe. And, even if they did, we might get ourselves into a lot of trouble." The "Restless" kept smoothly, swiftly on her way, bounding over the low, gentle swell of the calm ocean. Tom shivered whenever he thought of the possibility of the motors becoming cranky. With such important human freight aboard any mishap to the machinery would be extremely serious. "Joe," called Tom, at last, as the yacht came in sight of Lonely Island, "there's a tug at our dock." Dawson came on deck, taking the marine glass from his chum's hand. "I guess Mr. Seaton has been hustling, then. He couldn't have come from Beaufort on the tug, after all the trouble of rounding up doctors. He must have come down the shore in an automobile, and then engaged the tug near the island." As the "Restless" went closer, the tug, with two short toots of its whistle, moved out from the dock. Powell Seaton, in broad-brimmed hat and blue serge, waved his hand vigorously at the boys. With him stood three men, presumably surgeons. Captain Tom Halstead sounded three short blasts of the auto-whistle to signal the success of his errand, while Joe swung his uniform cap over his head. "Get down to your engines, Joe," called Captain Tom. "I'm going to make a swift landing that will be in keeping with Mr. Seaton's impatience." Up to within nearly two hundred yards of the dock the "Restless" dashed in at full speed. Then signaling for half speed, next for the stop, and finally for the reverse, Captain Tom swung the yacht in almost a semi-circle, running up with bare headway so that the boat lay in gently against the string-piece. In that instant Tom, leaving the wheel, bounded up onto the dock, bow hawser in hand, and made the loop fast over the snubbing post. In the same instant Joe Dawson, cat-footed, raced aft, next leaping ashore with the stern hawser. "Jove, but that was a beautiful bit of boat-handling--a superb piece of seamanship!" muttered one of the surgeons, admiringly. Powell Seaton, however, stopped to hear none of this. He gripped Tom by the arm, demanding hoarsely: "You brought Clodis ashore? How is he? Where?" "Still unconscious, sir, and the ship's doctor offered no hope. You will find your friend in the port stateroom, sir." Signing to the surgeons to accompany him, Mr. Seaton vanished aft, the medical men with him. Ten minutes passed before Hank came up, alone. "What do the doctors say, Hank?" demanded Tom, instantly. "One chance in about a million," replied Hank, in a very subdued voice--for him. Five minutes later Mr. Seaton, hat in hand, also came up on deck. "Mr. Seaton," murmured Tom, eagerly, "I've been waiting for you. I--we've something to tell you." Then the young skipper detailed the affair of taking Arthur Hilton from the "Constant" and transferring him to the Beaufort-bound schooner. "Describe the fellow!" commanded Powell Seaton, suddenly, hoarsely. Captain Tom did so. "Arthur Hilton he called himself, did he?" cried Mr. Seaton, in a rage. "Anson Dalton is the scoundrel's real name!" "Who is he, sir?" Tom asked, anxiously. "Who is Anson Dalton?" cried Mr. Seaton, his voice sounding as though he were choking. "Who, but the scoundrel who has engineered this whole desperate plot against me! The dastard who struck down Allan Clodis! The knave who has striven for the badge of Cain!" CHAPTER III INVISIBLE HANDS AT THE WIRELESS In a rear bedroom, the furthest apartment from the wireless room of the bungalow, Allan Clodis, barely alive, was placed when they bore him up from the boat. Then the three surgeons, retaining only Hank Butts, drove the others from the room. "Back to the wireless!" breathed Seaton, tensely. "Dawson, get Beaufort on the jump." "I have the Beaufort operator," reported Joe, after a few moments. "Then rush this message, and ask the operator to get it in the hands of the chief of police without an instant's loss of time," directed Mr. Seaton, speaking in jerky haste. The message described Anson Dalton, also the black schooner on which he had last been seen. The police chief was asked to arrest Dalton on sight, on the authority of Powell Seaton, and hold him for the United States authorities, for an attempt at homicide on an American ship on the high seas. Within ten minutes back came the reply from Beaufort to this effect: "I have men out watching for the schooner. Man Dalton will be arrested as you request. Will notify you." "Good!" cried Mr. Seaton, rubbing his hands vengefully. "Oh, Dalton, you scoundrel, you can't escape us now, for long! You knew that, if you continued down the coast, there was danger that a United States revenue cutter would intercept the ship and take you off. At best, you knew you would be arrested at Rio Janeiro, if I suspected you, as I was bound to do. So you tried to steal ashore here, to be swallowed up in the mazes of this broad country at least an hour or two ahead of pursuit. And, but for the wireless spark that leaps through space, you could have done so. But we shall have you now." "Unless----" began Tom Halstead, hintingly, then paused. "Unless--what?" insisted Mr. Seaton. "Suppose Dalton is shrewd enough to pay the captain of the schooner to land him at some other point, where there is neither a policeman nor a telegraph station?" Seaton made a noise that sounded as though he were grinding his teeth. Then he picked up a pencil, writing furiously. "Send this to the police chief at Beaufort," he ordered. Joe Dawson's fingers made the sending-key sing. The message was one warning the police chief that Dalton might attempt to land at some point outside of Beaufort, and asking him to cover all near points along the coast. Mr. Seaton offered to make good any expense that this would entail. Once more, in a few minutes, the answer was at hand. "Chief of police at Beaufort says," Joe translated the dots and dashes, "that his authority does not extend beyond the city limits." Again Mr. Seaton began to show signs of fury. Then, as though to force self-control, he trod softly out of the room, going toward the door of the sick-room, where Hank Butts stood guard. "No news, sir; no change," Hank reported, in an undertone. "I'm afraid Mr. Seaton is pretty angry with us," said Tom Halstead, gravely, "for allowing Hilton--Dalton, I mean--to get away from us." "Then he may as well get over it," commented Joe Dawson, quietly. "We're hired to furnish a boat, to sail it, and, incidentally, to run a wireless telegraph apparatus. We didn't engage ourselves as policemen." "True," nodded young Captain Halstead. "Still, I might have done some quicker thinking. My! What would Dalton have felt like if I had run straight for this dock, refusing to put him aboard any other craft?" "If you had tried to do that," retorted Joe, with another quiet smile, "do you know, Tom, what I think your friends would have been doing and saying of you?" "No; of course not." "Your friends would have been sending flowers, and bringing tears. They would be looking at you, to-morrow, and saying, in undertones: 'Goodness, how natural he looks!'" Halstead was puzzled for a moment or two. Then, comprehending, he grinned, though he demanded: "You think Dalton would have dared anything like that?" "Well, you notice what kind of a rascal Mr. Seaton thinks Dalton is. And you know we don't go armed aboard the 'Restless.' Now, I'm pretty certain that Dalton could have displayed and used weapons if we had given him any cause to do so." Ten minutes later, when Powell Seaton entered the room, he beheld Captain Tom Halstead seated at the operator's table, sealing an envelope that he had just directed. "What are you doing, Captain?" asked the charter-man. "You know that miserable twenty dollars that I took from Anson Dalton for passage money?" inquired Halstead, looking up. "Yes." "I've just enclosed the money in this envelope, with a note." "Going to return the money to Dalton when you find his address?" smiled Mr. Seaton, wearily. "No, sir," retorted Tom, in a voice sharp with disgust. "Dalton seems to have more money, already, than is good for him. I've addressed this envelope to a county institution down in the state that I come from." "A public institution?" "Yes, sir; the home for feeble-minded youth." "Don't take it so hard as that, Halstead," urged Mr. Seaton. "Had you had a suspicion you would have done whatever lay in your power. I might have warned you against Dalton, but the truth is, _I_ did not imagine he would be right on the scene." Saying which, Powell Seaton walked away by himself. He was gravely, even sadly preoccupied. Though Captain Halstead could not even guess what the underlying mystery was, he knew that it seriously affected Mr. Seaton's plans and fortune. Their charter-man was worried almost past endurance, though bravely trying to hide the fact. After the consultation of the surgeons, two of them departed aboard the tug, the third remaining to care for the patient. Hank, despite all his bluntness of manner, was proving himself valuable in the sick-room, while Joe spent most of his time in the wireless room of the bungalow, waiting to receive or send any word. So, as evening came, Tom Halstead bestirred himself with the preparation of the evening meal. By dark there was a considerable wind blowing. Halstead left his cooking long enough to run down and make sure that all was snug and tight aboard the "Restless." The young skipper had fairly to fight his way against the wind on his return to the bungalow. "There's going to be a tough old gale to-night," Tom muttered to himself, as he halted, a moment, on the porch, to study the weather conditions. As yet, it was blowing only fairly hard. As the little group at the bungalow seated themselves at supper, however, the storm broke, with a deluge of rain and a sharp roar of thunder. "This will bother wireless conditions to-night, won't it?" queried Mr. Seaton, as they ate. "Some, perhaps, if the gale and the storm keep up," replied Joe Dawson. "But I imagine the worst of the gale is passing now." And so it proved. An hour later the rain was falling steadily, though only in a drizzle. The wind had moderated a good deal. As all hands, save Hank, sat in the sitting room of the bungalow, after the meal, the warning bell from the apparatus room suddenly tinkled. "You see, sir," said Joe, rising quickly, "the wireless is still able to work." He passed into the next room, seating himself by the instruments and slipping on the head-band that held the receivers. "From Beaufort, sir," Joe said, presently, looking up. "The police report that no such schooner has landed at that city." "Acknowledge the message of the police," directed Mr. Seaton, "and ask them not to give up the lookout through the night. Tell the chief of police that I'll gladly meet any expense that may be incurred." Joe's right hand reached out for the sending-key. Then a blank look flashed across his face. "Something wrong with the sending-key connections," he explained, in a low voice, leaping up. He examined the connections closely, yet, the more he looked, the more puzzled he became. "The storage batteries can't have given out," he muttered, snatching up a lighted lantern. "But I'll go and look at them." Out into the little dynamo shed he darted, followed by Powell Seaton and by Tom. The doctor was dozing in an arm-chair. Joe gave two or three swift looks at the dynamo, the storage battery connections and other parts of the apparatus. Then his face went white with rage. "Look here, Mr. Seaton," he panted, hoarsely. "There's been some infernal work here--someone else has been on the island, for none of our crowd would do such a trick! Not even in fun! Look, sir, at where the parts have been tampered with. Look where pliers have been used to cut the wire connections. See where these two bolts have been neatly removed with the help of wrenches. Look at----" Joe paused, then glanced wildly around. "Great Scott!" he groaned. "Just the parts removed that can't be replaced. The whole generating plant crippled! Mr. Seaton, until we get in touch with the mainland, and get some needed supplies there, we can't use this wireless plant again. We can receive messages--yes, up to any limit, but not a word can we send away from here." "But who can have done this trick?" gasped Powell Seaton, looking as though amazement had numbed him, as, indeed, it almost had. "Someone has landed here, since dark," broke in Tom Halstead, all a-quiver with dismay. "While we were at supper some sneak or sneaks have landed on this island. They have pried their way in here, and they've crippled our connection with the outside world." "They could do it all easily enough, without making any noise," confirmed Joe. "Yes--they've done a splendid job, from a scoundrel's point of view!" "Then you can't make this apparatus work for the sending of even a single message?" demanded Mr. Seaton. "Not until we've landed some necessary repair and replacement materials from the mainland," replied Joe, with a disgusted shake of his head. "But you can still send messages from the 'Restless,'" hinted Powell Seaton. Tom Halstead bounded for the door of the dynamo shed with a sudden exclamation of dread. "We can use the boat's wireless," nodded Joe, following, and speaking over his shoulder, "unless the same crowd of rascals have broken into the boat's motor room or cabin and played us the same trick there." In the big sitting room, beside the large open fire-place, was a pile of long sticks of firewood. Tom Halstead stopped to snatch up one of these, and Joe quickly followed suit. "I'll go down to the boat with you, boys," said Mr. Seaton, who had followed them. "If there's anyone around to put up a fight you'll want some help." But Captain Tom, acting, for the moment, as though he were aboard the yacht, suddenly took command. "Mr. Seaton," he said, "you'd better remain here to guard your unconscious friend. Doctor, wake up! Better go in and send Hank Butts out on the trot. We'll take him with us." Dr. Cosgrove, awaking and realizing that something important was happening, swiftly moved off to the sick-room. Hank was speedily out with his comrades. "If there are rascals on this island, who have designs against you, Mr. Seaton, then mount guard over your friend," Tom added. "Better be in the sick-room at any moment when Dr. Cosgrove leaves there. Hank, get a club from that pile. Now, come along, fellows, and we'll see what infernal mischief may have been done to the 'Restless.'" With that, the young skipper bounded out onto the porch, thence running down the board walk toward the dock. Tom Halstead had some vague but highly uneasy notions as to the safety of his beloved boat. Yet, alarmed as he was, he was hardly prepared for the shock that met him when he arrived at the edge of the little wharf. "Say, can you beat that?" panted young Halstead, halting, thunderstruck, and gazing back at his stupefied comrades. "The rascals--whoever they are--have stolen the 'Restless.' Joe, our splendid boat is gone!" CHAPTER IV TAKING A GREAT CHANCE Joe, with a voiceless gulp, sprang forward once more, pausing at the string-piece only, and peering hard out into the black, wet night. Hank Butts brought his club down over a snubbing post with such force as to shatter the weapon. For a few moments Tom Halstead stood looking about him in an uncertain way, as though trying to arouse himself from a hideous nightmare. "They've stolen our boat!" he gasped. Whoever had done this deed might almost as well have taken the young captain's life. The "Restless" was a big part of that life. "Oh, well," muttered Hank, thickly, "whoever took the yacht must leave it somewhere. You can't hide a craft of that size. We'll hear from the 'Restless' all right, in a day or two--or in a week, anyway." "Whoever took the yacht away from here may know next to nothing about handling a boat," choked Tom, hoarsely. "We may find the dear old craft again--yes--but perhaps wedged on the rocks somewhere,--a hopeless wreck. O-o-oh! It makes me feel ugly and heartsick, all in one!" "The 'Restless' can't have broken loose during the storm, can it?" asked Hank Butts. "No," retorted Tom and Joe in the same breath, and with the utmost positiveness. "Well, what are we going to do?" asked Hank. The answer to the question was hard to find. Lonely Island lay five miles off the shore. Wireless communication was out of the question. They were out of the track of passing vessels, nor was any stray, friendly craft at all likely to show up on this dark, forbidding night. "Come on back, fellows," said Tom, chokingly. "There's nothing we can do here, and Mr. Seaton must know the whole situation." The owner of the bungalow listened to them with a blank face when the Motor Boat Club boys again stood before him. "I can't even guess what to make out of this," he confessed. "It would help Dalton greatly if Mr. Clodis died to-night, wouldn't it, sir?" inquired the young skipper. "It would help Dalton much, and be of still greater value to the wretches behind Dalton," replied Mr. Seaton, grinding his teeth. "Then, sir, as the tug went back to mainland with two of the doctors, isn't it possible that some spy may have concluded that _all_ the doctors had returned until summoned again?" "That seems very likely," nodded the owner of the bungalow. "Then perhaps Dalton--and those behind him--hope that Mr. Clodis will become much worse, and die before you can again summon help from the mainland." "That looks more likely than any other explanation of these strange happenings," agreed Mr. Seaton, studying the floor, while the frown on his face deepened. "And the scoundrels," quavered Tom, "may even come back during the night and try to make _sure_ that Mr. Clodis dies without ever becoming conscious." "I don't quite see why they need care so much," replied Mr. Seaton, slowly. "Dalton got all of Clodis's papers--the ones that I wanted preserved from the wretches back of Dalton." "Are you sure they have _all_?" propounded Captain Halstead. "Why, Clodis carried the papers in a money-belt, and, in undressing him, we found that belt gone." "Have you looked through the baggage that we brought ashore with Mr. Clodis?" "I haven't thought of it. Haven't had time," replied Mr. Seaton. "But I will now. Mr. Clodis's steamer trunk is in the room with him. We'll bring it out, and search." Tom and Hank brought the trunk out. "The lock hasn't been tampered with, you see, sir," suggested Halstead. "Here are Clodis's keys," replied Powell Seaton, producing a ring. One of the keys he fitted to the trunk lock, next throwing up the lid. After rummaging for a few moments, Mr. Seaton brought up a sealed envelope from the bottom of the trunk. "Dalton _would_ have been glad to get this," he cried, with a near approach to delight. "Lock it up tight in your innermost pockets then, sir," counseled Tom Halstead. "The contents of that envelope must be what Dalton has come back here for, or sent someone else for. And, until he gets it, he must plan to keep Lonely Island out of touch with the whole world. We'll hear from him again to-night, I'm thinking." "Will we?" flared Mr. Seaton, stepping briskly across the room. Unlocking a cupboard door, he brought out a repeating shot-gun. From an ammunition box he helped himself to several shells, fitting six of them into the magazine of the gun. "Buckshot talks, sometimes," said the owner of the bungalow, more quietly. "I shall be awake to-night, and have this gun always with me." "Have you any other weapons, sir?" asked Tom. "Yes; a revolver--here it is." Powell Seaton held out the weapon, but Halstead shook his head. "Dr. Cosgrove is the one who'll want that, since he must stay by Mr. Clodis to-night. And, see here, Mr. Seaton, impress upon the doctor that he mustn't take a nap, even for a moment. As for you, you'll want to be watching the house in general." "Why, where will you young men be?" inquired Mr. Seaton. "We couldn't stay indoors, with our boat gone, sir," Tom answered. "The first thing we must do is to explore all around the island. Even if we don't get a sign of the 'Restless,' we may find out something else. We may be able to catch someone trying to land on this island later to-night." "Yes; it will be best to have guards outside roaming about the island," admitted Powell Seaton, readily. Then, lowering his voice as he signed to the Motor Boat Club boys to draw closer to him, Mr. Seaton added: "Something, of some nature, _will_ be attempted to-night. There is no other sound explanation of the crippling of the wireless and the stealing of the boat. So be vigilant, boys--as I shall also be while you're gone." Hank helped himself to a fresh club--a stouter one than that which he had broken over the snubbing post at the dock. Then out into the black night fared the three Motor Boat Club boys. "Shall we keep together, or spread?" asked Joe Dawson. "Together," nodded Tom Halstead. "If there are prowlers about, we can't tell how soon three of us may be even too few. Remember, we have only firewood to fight with, and we don't know what kind of men we may run up against." So Tom led his friends down to a point but little south of the dock. From here, following the shore, they started to prowl slowly around Lonely Island, all the while keeping a sharp watch to seaward. "If the boat is in any waters near at hand we ought to get some sign of her whereabouts by keeping a sharp enough watch," Tom advised his comrades. "They can't sail or handle the boat without the occasional use of a light in the motor room. The gleam of a lantern across the water may be enough to give us an idea where she is." Peering off into the blackness of the night, this seemed like rather a forlorn hope. "If whoever has stolen the boat intends to land later to-night," hinted Joe, "it's much more likely that the thieves are, at this moment, a good, biggish distance away, so as not to give us any clew to their intentions." In the course of twenty minutes the Motor Boat Club boys had made their way around to the southern end of the island. Somewhat more than a mile to the southward lay a small, unnamed island. It was uninhabited, and too sandy to be of value to planters. Yet it had one good cove of rather deep water. Tom halted, staring long and hard in the direction where he knew this little spot on the ocean to stand. It was too black a night for any glimpse of the island to be had against the sky. "That would be a good enough place for our pirates to have taken the 'Restless,'" he muttered, to his comrades. "If we only had a boat, we could know, bye-and-bye," muttered Hank, discontentedly. "We have been known to swim further than that," said Joe, quietly. "But never in such a sea as is running to-night," sighed Tom Halstead. "Even as the water is, I'd like to chance it, but I'm afraid it would be useless. And it would leave Mr. Seaton and the doctor alone against any surprise." "I'd swim that far, or drown, even in this sea," muttered Dawson, vengefully, "if I had any idea that our boat lay over that way." For two or three minutes the boys stood there, talking. Not once did Tom Halstead turn his eyes away from the direction of the island to the southward. "Look there!" the young skipper finally uttered, clutching at Joe's elbow. "Did you see that?" "Yes," voiced Joe, in instant excitement. "That" was a tiny glow of light, made small by the distance. "It's a lantern, being carried by someone," continued Captain Tom, after a breathless pause. "There--it vanishes! Oh, I say--gracious!" Joe, too, gave a gasp. As for Hank Butts, that youth commenced to breathe so hard that there was almost a rattle to his respiration. Immediately following the disappearance of the distant light, four smaller, dimmer lights appeared, in a row. "That's the same light, showing through the four starboard ports of the motor room," trembled Joe Dawson. "Starboard, because the lantern was carried forward, before it disappeared briefly in the hatchway of the motor room." "That's our boat--there isn't a single doubt of it," cried Tom Halstead, enthusiastically. "And now--oh, fellows! We've simply got to swim over there, rough sea or smooth sea. We've got to get our own boat back unless the heavens fall on us on the way over!" "Humph! What are we going to do," demanded Hank Butts, "if we find a gang aboard that we can't whip or bluff?" "That," spoke Captain Tom, softly, "will have to be decided after we get there. But swim over there we must, since there isn't anything on this island that even looks like a boat. See here, Joe, you and Hank trot up to the bungalow and tell Mr. Seaton what we've seen. The 'Restless' is at anchor in the cove yonder. There are plenty of logs up at the bungalow. Come back with one big enough to buoy us up in the water, yet not so big but what we can steer it while swimming. And bring with it a few lengths of that quarter-inch cord from the dynamo room. Don't be too long, will you, fellows?" After Joe and Hank had departed, Tom Halstead watched the light shining behind the four distant ports until it disappeared. Then he looked at the waves long and wonderingly. "It's a big chance to take. I don't know whether we can ever get out there in a sea like this," he muttered. "Yet, what wouldn't I do to get control of our own boat again? Our own boat--the good old 'Restless'! Joe isn't saying much of anything; he never does, but I know how he feels over the stealing of the boat and the chance that bunglers may leave her on the rocks somewhere along this coast!" A few minutes passed. Then the young skipper heard hurrying footsteps. Joe and Hank hove into sight out of the deep gloom, bearing an eight-foot log on their shoulders. "Good enough," nodded Halstead, eyeing the log approvingly. "Now, wade into the water with it, and let's see whether it will buoy us all up at need." All three waded out with the log, until they were in nearly up to their shoulders. "Now, hang to it, and see if it will hold us up," commanded Captain Tom Halstead. The log bore them up, but the crest of a big wave, rolling in, hurled them back upon the beach. Tom dragged the log up onto dry ground. "Now, first of all, let's lash our clubs to the log," suggested the young skipper. This was soon accomplished. Then each of the Motor Boat Club boys made a medium length of the cord fast around his chest, under the arm-pits. "The next trick," proposed Halstead, "is to make the other end fast to the log, allowing just length enough so that you can swim well clear of the log itself, and yet be able to haul yourselves back to the log in case you find your strength giving out." This took some calculation, but at last the three motor boat boys decided that eight feet of line was the proper length. This decided, and accomplished, they carried the log down into the water, and pushed resolutely off into the blackness. Even Tom Halstead, who allowed himself few doubts, little believed that they could accomplish this long, dangerous swimming cruise over a rough sea. CHAPTER V TOM MATCHES ONE TRICK WITH ANOTHER At the outset Joe swam at the rear, frequently giving a light push to send the log riding ahead. Tom and Hank swam on either side, half-towing the timber that was to be their buoy when needed. All three, reared at the edge of salt water, as they had been, were strong, splendid swimmers. This night, however, with the rough waves, the feat was especially dangerous. "Swim the way a fellow does when he knows he's really _got_ to," was the young skipper's terse advice as they started. It became a contest of endurance. Tom and Joe, the two Maine boys, were doggedly determined to reach their boat or perish in the attempt. Hank Butts, the Long Island boy, though perhaps possessing less fine courage than either of his comrades, had a rough way of treating danger as a joke. This may have been a pretense, yet in times of peril it passed well enough for grit. Any one of the three could have swum a mile readily on a lightly rolling sea, but to-night the feat was a vastly sterner one. Hank was the first to give out, after going a little more than an eighth of the distance. He swam to the log, throwing his right arm over it and holding on while the two Maine boys pushed and towed it. Finally, when young Butts had broken away to swim, Joe closed in, holding to the log for a while. At last it came even doughty Tom Halstead's turn to seek this aid to buoyancy. Nor had they covered half the distance, in all, when all three found themselves obliged to hold to the log, as it rolled and plunged, riding the waves. Worst of all, despite their exertions, all three now found their teeth chattering. "Say, it begins to look like a crazy undertaking," declared Hank, with blunt candor. "Can we possibly make it?" "We've got to," retorted Tom Halstead, his will power unshaken. "I don't see the light over there any more," observed Hank, speaking the words in jerks of one syllable, so intense was the shaking of his jaws. "Maybe the boat isn't over yonder any longer," admitted Captain Tom, "but we've got to chance it. And say, we'd better shove off and try to swim again, to warm ourselves up. We're in danger of shaking ourselves plum to pieces." There was another great peril, on which none of them had calculated well enough before starting. When they were clear of the log, swimming, it pitched so on the tops of the waves that it was likely, at any instant, to drive against the head of one of the swimmers and crack his skull. "If we had known all this before we started----" began Hank, the next time the three swimmers were driven to cling, briefly, to their movable buoy. "We'd have started just the same," retorted Tom, as stiffly as his chattering teeth would let him speak. "Humph!" muttered Hank, unbelievingly. "It's a fool's dream, this kind of a swim." "It's less work to go ahead than to turn back, now," broke in Joe, his teeth accompanying his words with the clatter of castanets. "No; the wind and tide would be with us going back," objected Butts. "We could almost drift back." "And die of chills on the way," contended Tom, doggedly. "No, sir! We've got to go ahead. I'm swimming to the tune of thoughts of the galley fire aboard the 'Restless'!" "Br-r-r!" shook Hank, as the three cast loose from the log once more and struck out, panting, yet too cold to stay idle any longer. It was tantalizing enough. The longer they swam, the more the boys began to believe that the island they sought was retreating from before them. Hank was almost certain they were moving in a circle, but Halstead, with a keen sense of location, insisted that they were going straight, even if very slowly, to the nameless island. "I see it," breathed the young skipper, exultantly, at last. "What--the island?" bellowed Hank Butts. "No; but I'd swear I saw the 'Restless' the last time we rode a high wave," Halstead shouted back. Ten minutes afterwards all three of the Motor Boat Club boys caught occasional glimpses of something dark and vague that they believed to be the hull of their yacht. The belief gave them renewed courage. Even Hank no longer had any desire to turn back. His whole thought centered on the lively times that were likely to begin when they tried to regain control of their boat from whomever had stolen it. Then, bit by bit the trio worked their log buoy into the cove. Once they were inside, the water was very much smoother. Resting a few moments for breath, they then made a last dash forward, to get alongside. In this smoother, more shallow water, the "Restless" rode securely at anchor. As they swam closer, the boys found that they could discover no human presence on the decks. Had the boat-stealers gone ashore on the nameless island? If so, it would be a comparatively easy matter to get aboard and cut out of the cove with their own craft. Close up alongside they went. Tom Halstead was the first to be able to reach up at the hull and draw himself up over the side. Then, with his pocket-knife, as he lay at the rail of the "Restless," the young skipper slashed the cord that still held him bound to the log. Reaching over, he passed the knife to Hank. In utter silence the Long Island boy cut the clubs free, and passed them up. Next Hank drew himself aboard, after passing the jackknife to Joe Dawson. Just a little later all three of the Motor Boat Club boys found themselves standing on the deck, each grasping his own firewood weapon. They made no noise, for they knew not who, or how many others might be on board below. If they had a desperate gang of thieves to contend with, then their troubles had not yet even begun! Joe and Hank stood where they were, shaking as though in the last ditch of ague, while Halstead went forward, with the soft tread of a cat, to peer down into the motor room, the hatchway of which stood open. "Wonder if there's anyone down there, asleep, or playing possum?" thought the young skipper as he peered into the blackness and listened. No sound of any kind came up to him. At last, a short step at a time, Halstead descended into the motor room, groping cautiously about. Finally, he became confident enough to feel in the galley match-box, extract a match and light it. The tiny flame showed him that the motor room was empty of human presence other than his own. "No one down forward," he reported, in a shaking whisper, when he rejoined his chilled companions on deck. "I believe there are plenty of folks in the cabin, though," reported Joe. "They've drawn the port-hole and transom curtains, but they've got a hidden light down there, and I can hear voices." "Wait a moment, then," said Captain Tom, apprehensively. "I've an idea." He crept back into the motor room, again striking a match. By the aid of this feeble light he found his way to the passageway that connected the motor room and the cabin under the bridge deck. After a brief inspection he hurried back to his comrades. "The passage door is padlocked on the motor room side," he whispered. "Our pirates had no key to unlock that with. Now, can you walk the deck as though your shoes were soled with loose cotton?" "Yes," grumbled Hank, disjointedly, "but the snare-drum solo my teeth are doing may make noise enough to give me away." "Cram your handkerchief between your teeth," retorted Captain Tom, practically. "Come along, fellows. But hold your clubs ready in case your feet betray you." Stealing along, each holding to the edge of the deck house with one hand, the motor boat boys approached the after hatchway. This, evidently for purposes of ventilation, had been left partly open. Nudging his comrades to pause, Joe, bending so low as to be almost flat on the deck, prowled further aft. There, in the darkness, he used his eyes to find out what might be down in the cabin. Then he came back. "Eight tough-looking men in the cabin," he whispered, in Tom Halstead's ear. "Is Anson Dalton one of them?" "Yep." "Hurrah! Then we've bagged him, at last!" "Have we, though?" muttered Joe Dawson, dubiously. "Well, we're going to," declared Tom, radiantly. "My boy, we're going to cut out of this cove with, the whole crew held in down there." "Hope so," assented Joe, not very enthusiastically. "Why, we've got to," argued Halstead. "If we don't, then that crew would have the upper hand, instead, and make penny jumping-jacks of us until they saw fit to let us go. But wait a moment. I must get back and have a look at them." This time it was the young skipper who crawled aft. Joe and Hank followed part of the way, holding their sticks in readiness in case Dalton and his men discovered their presence. "I reckon, Cap, you'll find you've got the right crowd for to-night's work," a rough voice was declaring, as Halstead came within ear range. "Now, don't you men misunderstand me," replied Anson Dalton in a smooth yet firm voice. "I'm not paying you for any piratical acts. I have to give a little heed to the laws of the land, even if you fellows don't. What I want is this: At about two in the morning, when, most likely, everyone will be asleep except the one who is nursing the fellow Clodis, it is my plan to run in at Lonely Island's dock. We'll get quietly up to the house, suddenly force the door, and rush in. But, mind you all, there's to be no riot. Your numbers, and your rough appearance, will be enough to scare the folks of the bungalow. The two of you that I've already picked out will rush in with a stateroom door and one of the stateroom mattresses. With this for a stretcher, you two will get Clodis carefully and gently down to this boat. Then we'll sail away, and I'll tell you what to do next. But remember, no violent assault on anyone--no lawlessness, no hurting anyone badly. Trust to your numbers and suddenness. There's some baggage, too, in the bungalow, that I mean to bring away with me. I'll make off with it in the confusion." "Oh, will you?" wondered Captain Tom Halstead, his jaw settling squarely. Then, tiptoeing softly over to where Hank waited, the young skipper whispered something in that youth's ear. Hank fled quietly forward, but returned with a snap-padlock, the ring of which was open. With this in his hands Tom stole back aft, this time going close, indeed, to the hatchway. "Hey! Someone on deck," roared an excited voice below. There was an instant babel of voices, a rushing of feet and a general rumpus below. Two men in the van raced for the hatchway. Slam! snap! click! Tom Halstead swung the hatchway door shut, forced the stout hasp over the staple and fastened the padlock in place! CHAPTER VI CARRYING DANGEROUS LIVE "FREIGHT" "Cooped!" chuckled Joe Dawson, jubilantly. Yet his voice could not much more than be heard above the racket that sounded below. Anson Dalton and his seven rough men were raising a hubbub, indeed. "Smash the door down!" roared Dalton. "Maybe we kin do it, boss, but the hatch is a stout one, and we ain't jest 'zactly fixed for tools," replied another voice. After a few moments the fruitless hammering with mere fists subsided. In that time Hank Butts had raced forward, and now was back again with a prize that he had caught up from a locker near the motors. This was nothing more nor less than the hitching weight that Hank had once made very nearly famous, as described in the preceding volume, "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OFF LONG ISLAND." "Let 'em get out if they can," advised Hank, grimly. "This for the feet, or the head, of the first roustabout that shows himself!" Joe now raced forward to set the motors in motion. Though the young trio had temporary command of the deck, there was no telling how soon they would be overwhelmed. Every moment must be made to count. Captain Tom, grasping his stick, stood by to help Hank in case the furious ones below succeeded in breaking out. Hardly any time passed before the rhythmic chugging of the motors came to the young skipper's delighted ears. Then Joe waved his arms as a signal from the raised deck forward. Halstead swiftly joined his chum. Together they got the anchor up, stowing it well enough for the present. "Now, you'd better get back to Hank, hadn't you?" quivered Joe. "I can handle speed and the wheel, too." "Bless you, old Joe!" murmured Captain Tom, fervently, and raced aft. Dawson leaped to the wheel, at the same time setting one of the bridge controls so that the "Restless" began to move forward under slow speed. This move came just in time, for, even in the cove, the water had motion enough to threaten the yacht with grounding. But now alert Joe Dawson swung the boat's head around, pointing her nose out of the cove. "Get that hatch down in a hurry!" sounded Anson Dalton's hoarse voice, imperiously. "If you don't, we'll all be tight in a worse trap than this." Blows with fists and feet resounded once more. Then, after an instant's pause, came the slower, harder thump-thump which told that one of the strongest of those caught below was using his shoulder, instead. Soon two cracks seamed the surface of the hatch door. "Good! Go at it hard!" encouraged the voice of Dalton. "Batter it down. It will be worth money--and freedom--to you and to us all!" "Yes, just clear a passage, and see what happens!" roared back Tom Halstead, as soon as he could make his own voice heard distinctly. "Don't mind the talk of those boys!" warned Dalton, angrily, as there came a pause in the shoulder assaults against the hatch. With a grin Hank raised his iron hitching weight above his head, hurling it down to the deck with crashing force. Then, still grinning, he stooped to pick it up again. That noisy thump on the deck timbers caused a brief ensuing silence down in the cabin. It was plain that Dalton and his fellows were wondering just how dangerous their reception would be in case they succeeded in breaking out. The cabin was lighted, in day time, by side ports and a barred transom overhead. The ports were too small to permit of a man forcing his way through. Even though they broke the glass overhead, the prisoners in the cabin would still have iron bars to overcome. Tom Halstead, with his club, could hinder any work at that point. In the meantime, the "Restless," once out of the cove, was bounding over the waves like a thing of life. Though the water had been hard to swim through, it did not present a rough sea for a fifty-five foot power boat. In less than three minutes Engineer Joe Dawson was sounding his auto whistle like mad as he neared the dock at Lonely Island. Just as the boat glided in, under decreased headway, to the dock the bungalow door was seen to open. Powell Seaton, shot-gun in hand, appeared on the porch. He watched, not knowing whether friend or foe commanded the "Restless." Mr. Seaton, himself, was made to stand out brightly in the middle of the searchlight ray that Joe turned upon him, yet he could not see who was behind that light. Running the boat in, bow-on, Joe leaped ashore with the hawser. Making fast only at the bow, he next raced up the board walk, shouting the news to Mr. Seaton. The latter, with a hail of delight, darted toward the dock, arriving barely behind Dawson. Down in the cabin the din of the men trying to escape had redoubled. Powell Seaton tramped hurriedly aft, while Tom and Joe fell in behind him with heavy tread, to give the rascals below an idea that numerous reinforcements had arrived. Bang! Pausing before the hatch Mr. Seaton raised the shot-gun to his shoulder, discharging a single shell. Hastily slipping one into the magazine of the weapon to replace the fired one, Seaton shouted sternly: "Stop your nonsense down there! If you get out it will be only to run into the muzzles of fire-arms. You fellows are fairly caught!" There was a startled silence, followed by indistinct mutterings. Not even Anson Dalton, it appeared, cared to brave what looked like too certain death. Tom held a whispered consultation with his employer, then stepped over to young Butts. "Hank, we're going to leave you on shore. Mr. Seaton will come along with the gun. Keep your eyes open--until you see us again! Don't be caught napping. Remember, you and Dr. Cosgrove have the whole protection of that helpless man, Clodis, _in_ your hands." Hank Butts made a wry face for a moment. He would have much preferred to see the present adventure through. Yet, a second later, the Long Island boy bounded to the dock, then stood to cast off the bow-line. After the line had come aboard, Joe Dawson again took his place at the wheel, turning on the speed gradually as the boat rounded out past the island, then turned in toward the mainland. It was about five miles, in a direct westerly course, to the shore, but by an oblique, northwesterly course a fishing village some nine miles away could be reached. "Steer for the fishing village," nodded Powell Seaton. Captain Tom hurried forward to give the order, adding: "Make it at full speed, Joe. If you have to go to the engine, call me forward to take the wheel." Soon afterwards Tom slipped into the motor room, rubbed down and got on dry clothing. Joe, in turn, did likewise, afterward returning to the wheel. Down in the cabin all had been quiet for some minutes after the discharge of the gun on deck. Yet Captain Tom, by peeping through the transom, discovered the heads of Dalton and some of his rough men close together in consultation. "I'll annoy them a bit," chuckled the young skipper, moving swiftly forward. Dropping down into the motor room he switched off all the cabin lights. An instant roar of anger came from below. "Funny we didn't think of that before," grinned Dawson, as Halstead came up out of the motor room. "It'll bother the rascals a bit," chuckled Captain Tom back over his shoulder. With such a boat as the "Restless" ordinary distances are swiftly covered. It was barely twenty-five minutes after leaving the dock that Joe reached the entrance to the little harbor around which the houses of the fishing village clustered, nor had much speed been used. Now the whistle sounded steadily, in short, sharp blasts. Moreover, Dawson managed to send the distress signal with the searchlight. By the time he slowed down speed, then reversed, to make the little wharf, a dozen men had hurried down to the shore. "What's wrong?" hailed one of them. "Get the sheriff, or a sheriff's officer!" shouted back Powell Seaton. "Be quick about it, one of you, please, and the rest of you stay here to help us." Joe sent the bow hawser flying ashore, Tom doing the same with the stern line. Willing hands caught both ropes, making them fast around snubbing posts. As two men started away on the run, the rest of the bystanders came crowding aboard, filled with curiosity. "What happens to be wrong on board?" demanded one bronzed fisherman. "We've a cabin full of pirates, or rascals about as bad," returned Mr. Seaton, grimly. "Men of this coast?" asked another speaker. "Yes, evidently," nodded Mr. Seaton, whom the new-comers had recognized as the owner of Lonely Island. "Then they must be the crew of the 'Black Betty,'" commented the first speaker. "Is that a black, fifty-foot schooner, low in the water, narrow and carrying tall masts with a heavy spread of canvas?" interposed Tom Halstead. "Yes," nodded the fisherman. "That's the 'Black Betty.' She claims to be a fishing boat, but we're ready to bet she's a smuggler. She carries nine men, including Captain Dave Lemly." "I reckon we've got most of the 'Black Betty' outfit below, then," declared Captain Halstead. "Or else--gracious!" For, at that moment, the cracked hatch gave in with a smash. Powell Seaton had neglected to remain on guard closely. There was a surge of the prisoners below. "Halstead, you'll hear from me again--and so will your crew!" shouted Anson Dalton out of the press of struggling men that formed on the after deck. "I won't let you forget me, Halstead!" There was a splash past the rail. Dalton had gone overboard, followed by two of his companions. CHAPTER VII POWELL SEATON'S BAD CASE OF "FORGET" "Don't let any more get away!" called Powell Seaton, excitedly. Tom Halstead promptly leaped at one of the rough fugitives just as the latter was trying to reach the wharf. Another one Joe Dawson grabbed. Several of the fishermen sprang to help. For a minute or two there was a good deal of confusion. When matters quieted down, it was found that Halstead and Dawson, with the fishermen helping, had secured five of the rough lot. Powell Seaton, by threatening with his shot-gun, had induced a sixth to swim ashore. But Anson Dalton and another man, believed to be Captain Dave Lemly of the "Black Betty," had escaped, swimming under water in the darkness. They must have come to the surface at some point not far away, yet, in the black darkness of the night, they managed to escape safely for the time being, at any rate. The six men thus arrested were forced inside a ring of the fishermen, whose numbers had been greatly increased by new arrivals. Powell Seaton, his shot-gun on his shoulder, now patrolled close to the human ring. Three or four men hurried with Tom and Joe on a quest for Anson Dalton and the latter's companion in flight. In less than a quarter of an hour one of the messengers who had first hurried away returned with a deputy sheriff, who brought several pairs of handcuffs. A justice of the peace was aroused at his home, and held the prisoners over for trial, after Powell Seaton had preferred against them a charge of stealing the yacht that was under his charter. The search for Dalton and his companion was given up, for it became plain that both had succeeded in their effort to get away. "It's altogether too bad," sighed Mr. Seaton, on coming out of the justice's house. "However, we can be thankful for what success we have had. We have the boat back and have balked Dalton's rascals in what they were planning for to-night." "Are you going back to Lonely Island now, sir?" asked Captain Tom. "We must, very soon," replied Mr. Seaton. "Yet, Halstead, I've been thinking that I cannot afford to take any further chances, with Anson Dalton still at large. These fishermen are a rough but honest lot of splendid fellows in their way. I'm going to see if I can't hire a special guard of eight men for Lonely Island for the present. I'll engage the deputy sheriff to vouch for the men I engage. So go down to the boat and be ready for me as soon as I arrive." Joe was aboard, waiting, when the young skipper returned. Several of the men of the village were still about the dock. "We're to be ready to cast off as soon as Mr. Seaton gets here, Joe," Captain Tom Halstead announced. "Better look to your motors. If you want any help, call on me." It did not take Mr. Seaton very long to recruit the guard of eight men that he wanted. Carrying rifles or shot-guns, borrowed in some instances, the men tramped along after their new employer. They came aboard, two or three of them going below, the others preferring to remain on deck. "Cast off, Captain, as soon as you can," directed Powell Seaton. Two or three of the new guards sprang forward to help in this work. Halstead rang for half speed, then threw the wheel over, making a quick start. Once under way, he called for full speed, and the "Restless" went bounding over the waves, which were running much lower than a couple of hours earlier. During the first half of the run Captain Halstead remained at the wheel. Then Joe came up from below, relieving him. Tom strolled back to take a seat on the deck-house beside Mr. Seaton. "I'm on tenterhooks to get back," confessed the charter-man. "Anxious about your friend, Clodis, of course," nodded Tom, understandingly. "Partly that, yes. But there's another matter that's bothering me fearfully, too. You remember the packet of papers I took from Clodis's trunk?" asked Mr. Seaton, lowering his voice. "Yes," murmured Tom. "But you have those in an inner pocket." "I wish I had!" uttered Powell Seaton. "Halstead, the truth is, after you young men went out, this evening, to patrol about the island, I became a little uneasy about that packet, and took it out and hid it--under some boxes of ammunition in the cupboard where I keep my gun. Then I locked the closet door. When Dawson called me from the porch, in such haste, and I was needed on board with my gun, I clean forgot the packet for the instant." "Oh, it will be safe, anyway," Tom assured his employer. "Even if Dalton had been able to get a boat at once, in this neighborhood, there's no other craft in these waters capable of reaching Lonely Island earlier than we shall do it." "I _do_ hope that packet is safe," muttered Mr. Seaton, in a voice tense with anxiety. "Halstead, you've no notion of the fearful blow it would be to friends and to myself to have it disappear." Hearing a slight noise on the opposite side of the deck-house top, Seaton and Tom Halstead turned together. They were just in time to see one of the new guards leaning toward them, one hand out as though to steady himself. "It's rough footing on deck to-night," said the guard, with a pleasant laugh, then passed on aft. Tom took the helm again as the "Restless," after picking up the landing place with the searchlight, moved into the harbor and went to her berth. Powell Seaton led all of his guards but one up to the bungalow. The eighth man, armed with a rifle, was left aboard the "Restless," with the searchlight turned on, ready for use at any moment. Tom and Joe went up to the bungalow with their employer. "Wait out on the porch for just a little while," called Mr. Seaton, in a low voice. "And be careful to make no noise that will disturb the sick man." Five minutes later Mr. Seaton returned to the porch. "I've been looking for that packet," he whispered to the young skipper. "It's safe, so I've left it in the same place." Then, after a moment, the owner of the bungalow added: "Captain, you can have your friend, Butts, now, as we can do without him in the house. I think you three had better turn in on the boat and get some sleep. Then, soon after daylight, I can have the guard at the wharf rouse you, for I want you to go over to Beaufort and get supplies for repairing the wireless outfit at the earliest hour. Things are likely to happen soon that will make it dangerous for me to be without wireless communication with land and sea." Twenty minutes later the three Motor Boat Club boys were stretched out in their berths in the motor room. It was considerably later, though, ere sleep came to them. When slumber did reach their eyes they slept soundly until called by the guard. Hank prepared a breakfast in record time. After eating this, and after Hank had been sent up to the house to learn whether there were any further orders, the Motor Boat Club boys were ready to cast off. Once they were under way, Hank, not being needed, went aft to stretch himself on one of the cabin cushions. Joe, having his motors running smoothly, followed Hank into the cabin. Dawson, however, did not seek further sleep. He wanted to make a more thorough test than he had done a few hours before, in order to make sure that the vandals locked in there the night before had not thought to destroy his beloved wireless instruments or connections. "The whole wireless plant is in shape for instant use," he reported, coming back at last to the bridge deck. "That's mighty good news," declared Tom Halstead. "With the man we are working for now we're likely to need the wireless at any minute in the twenty-four hours." "Say," ejaculated Joe, after a few moments of silent thought, "there's something hugely mysterious and uncanny back of all these doings of less than twenty-four hours. I wonder what that big mystery really is?" CHAPTER VIII THE RED MESSAGE When the boys reached Beaufort and had tied up at a wharf, it was still too early to expect to find any shops open. They left Hank on watch, however, and went up into the town, Joe to look, presently, for a dealer in electrical supplies, while Captain Tom sought a ship's joiner to fit and hang a new hatch to replace that smashed in the affair of the night before. Both boys were presently successful, though it was noon before the joiner had his task finished. While the last of the work on the new hatch was being done, Tom and Joe went once more uptown to get a message from Mr. Seaton's attorney regarding the date when the formal hearing of the men arrested the night before would take place in court. Hank Butts was left to watch over the boat and keep an eye over the joiner. "Any strangers around here?" queried the young skipper, after the joiner, his work completed, had gone aboard. "Only a young black boy," Hank replied. "He seemed curious to look over the boat, but he didn't offer to go below, or touch anything, so I didn't chase him off." "Cast off, Hank. Give us some power, Joe, and we'll get back to Lonely Island," declared the young captain, going to the wheel. Hardly more than a minute later the "Restless" was gliding out of the harbor. "Guess Hank's young negro visitor left a note," called up Joe, showing in the doorway of the motor room and holding forth a note. Hank took it, passing it to Halstead. "Mind the wheel a minute, Hank, please," requested Tom, looking closely at the envelope. It was addressed only to "Halstead," the writing being in red, and thick, as though laid on with the point of a stick. The message on the sheet inside was crisp and to the point. It ran: If you think your doings have been forgotten, you'll soon know differently! "Humph!" muttered Joe, following up, and taking the sheet as his chum held it out. "That must be from Anson Dalton." "Or Captain Dave Lemly, of the 'Black Betty,'" returned Tom, without a trace of concern in his tone. "It's a threat, all right," muttered Hank Butts, his hair bristling when the sheet came into his hands. "Confound 'em, I hope whoever sent this tries to make good--when we're looking!" Just then Captain Tom changed the course abruptly, the bows of the "Restless" sending up a shower of spray that sprinkled Hank from head to foot. As he turned to get out of the way the wind caught the sheet written in red from his hand, blowing it out across the water. "Let it go," laughed Tom. "We know all the red message had to say." "The negro that I allowed on deck came on purpose to drop the note where it would be found," muttered Hank. "No matter," smiled Tom. "We're always glad to know that we're remembered by nice people." "I'd like to have that black boy here for a minute or two," grunted Hank, clenching his fists. "What for?" Tom Halstead queried. "He probably didn't have any guilty knowledge about the sender." "That reminds me," broke in Joe. "Stand close by the motors a few minutes, will you, Hank?" With that Dawson vanished aft. When he came back he announced: "I've just flashed the wireless word back to Mr. Seaton's lawyer about the message we got, advising the lawyer that it probably shows Dalton, or Lemly, or both, to be in Beaufort. And the lawyer was able to send me news, received just after we left." "What?" "The schooner, 'Black Betty,' has just been seized, thirty miles down the coast, by United States officers. She'll be held until the customs men have had a chance to look into the charges that the schooner has been used in the smuggling trade." "Was Lemly caught with her?" asked Tom, eagerly. "No such luck," retorted Joe. "I'd feel better over hearing that Dave Lemly was the prisoner of the United States Government," remarked young Halstead. "If he keeps at liberty _he_ is the one who is going to be able to make Anson Dalton dangerous to us." "Then you're beginning to be afraid of that pair, are you?" asked Joe Dawson, looking up. "No, I'm not," rejoined Tom Halstead, his jaws firmly set. "A man--or a boy, either for that matter--who can be made afraid of other people isn't fit to be trusted with the command of a boat on the high seas. But I'll say this much about my belief concerning Dalton: For some reason we've been in his way, and are likely to be much more in his way before we're through with him. If Dalton got a chance, he wouldn't hesitate to wreck the 'Restless,' or to blow her up. For any work of that sort Dave Lemly is undoubtedly his man." "What can make them so desperate against Mr. Seaton?" queried Joe. "We can't even guess, for we don't yet know the story that's behind all this mystery and the list of desperate deeds." "I wonder if Mr. Seaton will ever tell us?" pondered Joe. "Not unless he thinks we really need to know." "But he has already hinted that it's all in a big fight for a fortune," urged Hank. "Yes, and we can guess that the fight centers in South America, since that is where Clodis was bound for when this business started," replied Skipper Tom. "I wonder if there's any chance that our cruise will reach to South America?" broke in Hank Butts, eagerly. "Hardly likely," replied Tom, with a shake of the head. "If there had been even a chance of that, Mr. Seaton would have arranged for an option extending beyond the end of this month." "Just my luck," grumbled Hank, seating himself on the edge of the deck-house. "Nothing big ever happens to me." "Say, you're hard to please," laughed Joe, turning and going down into the motor room. They were not long in making Lonely Island, where the "Restless" was tied up and the hatchways locked securely. The boys were not required to remain at the boat, one of the guards being stationed, night or day, at the wharf. Powell Seaton was much interested in the account Tom gave him of the red message, though he did not say much. There was no change or improvement in the condition of Mr. Clodis, who still lay in a darkened room, like one dead. That afternoon Joe, with some help from his comrades, repaired the bungalow's wireless plant and got in touch with the shore once more. Through the night four men were kept on guard, one on the porch, another at the wharf, and two others patrolling the island. No attempt of any sort on the part of Dalton or the latter's confederates was discovered. The next morning brought still no change in the condition of Clodis. He was alive, breathing feebly, and Dr. Cosgrove was attempting to ward off an attack of brain fever. Through the forenoon Joe was kept rather busy sending messages ashore to the authorities, for Powell Seaton, though not leaving the island, was waging a determined campaign to get hold of Dalton. "I don't need Dalton, particularly," confessed Mr. Seaton, as he sat with the three motor boat boys at the noon meal. "But it would be worth a very great deal of money to get back the papers that Dalton must have stolen after assaulting my sick friend, yonder, on board the 'Constant.'" "Do you--do you know--what was in the stolen papers?" asked Captain Tom Halstead, hesitatingly. "Very well, indeed," rejoined their employer, with emphasis. "But the real trouble is that I don't want to have that knowledge pass to the gang that are behind Anson Dalton." "Yet Dalton must have had time to join his principals, or confederates, by this time, and turn the papers over to them," hazarded Halstead. "That's hardly likely," murmured Powell Seaton, "since the gang of rascals behind Anson Dalton must be, at this moment, somewhere in the interior of Brazil." "Oh!" said Tom, reflectively. "You're curious, I see, to know what all this great mystery means," smiled Mr. Seaton. "I--I don't want to let myself be curious about what is none of my business," declared Tom Halstead, bluntly. "I'm going to tell you the story now, just the same," replied Powell Seaton, in a still lower voice. CHAPTER IX MR. SEATON UNBURDENS HIMSELF "Really, I see no reason why I shouldn't tell you," went on the charter-man of the "Restless." "When I first engaged you youngsters and your boat for this month I had little more in mind than using your boat for pleasure cruising about here. Yet the fact that you had a wireless equipment aboard the 'Restless' _did_ influence me not a little, for I had at least a suspicion that big affairs might come to pass, and that telegraphing from ship to ship might be wonderfully convenient. "At the same time, I was careful to look up the references that you gave me, Captain Halstead. Those references were so wholly satisfactory that I know I can trust you to serve me as bravely and loyally as you have, in the past, been called upon to serve others. And now, just for the reason that you may be called upon to take some big fighting chances for me, I'm going to tell you what lies back of the curtain of mystery that you've been staring at." As his voice died out Powell Seaton arose, locked the door and glanced out through the windows. Then he returned to the table, motioning to the boys to incline their heads close to his. "Probably," began their host, "you've regarded me as a wealthy man, and, until the last two or three days, as one of leisure. I am reasonably well-to-do in this world's goods, but most of my life, since I was twenty, has been passed in storm and stress. "It is not necessary to tell you all about the life that I have led. It will be enough to tell you that, three years ago, not satisfied that my fortune was large enough, I went to Brazil in order to learn what chance there might be of picking up money fast in that country. "In Brazil there are many ways of making a fortune, though perhaps not as many as right here at home. However, there are fewer fortune-seekers there. In coffee, rubber and in many other staples fortunes may be made in Brazil, but the biggest, wildest, most desperate and scrambling gamble of all is found in the diamond-digging fields. "Most of the diamond fields have, perhaps, been discovered, and their working has become systematized to a regular, dividend-paying basis. There are still, however, some fields not yet located. It was a small field, but one which I believe may be worth millions, that I located somewhat more than a year ago. See here!" From an inner pocket Powell Seaton drew forth an ordinary wallet. Opening it, he dropped out on the table six diamonds. Though none was of great size, all of the stones were of such purity and such flashing brilliancy that the motor boat boys gazed at them in fascination. "They must be worth a fortune," declared Hank Butts, in an awed, subdued tone. "Not exactly," smiled Mr. Seaton. "These stones have been appraised, I believe, at about twelve thousand dollars." After passing the gems from hand to hand, the owner of the bungalow replaced them in the wallet, returning the latter to the same pocket before he resumed: "This new diamond field, a patent to which has not yet been filed with the Brazilian Government, is in the state of Vahia. There is no harm in telling anyone that, as Vahia is a state of great area. It is in a section little likely to be suspected as a diamond field, and the chance that someone else will accidentally discover and locate it is not large." "Yet you know the exact location--can go right to it?" breathed Tom Halstead, his eyes turned squarely on Mr. Seaton's. "Yes, but I don't dare go to it," came the smiling answer. "Oh! May I ask why not, sir?" "The Government of Brazil is, in the main, an honest one," replied Powell Seaton. "The President of that country is an exactly just and honorable man. Yet not quite as much can be said for the governments of _some_ of the states of that country. The governor of Vahia, Terrero, by name, is probably one of the worst little despots in South America. "Now, as it happened, before I came to know anything about this new diamond field I had the bad fortune to make an enemy of Governor Terrero. Some American friends were being shamefully treated by this rascally governor, and I felt called upon to become mixed up in the affair. I even went so far that I incurred the deadly hatred of Terrero. It was right after this that I came upon my diamond field. But Terrero's enmity was pressing upon me, and I had to flee from Brazil." "Why?" asked Tom, wonderingly. "Do you know how things are done in South America?" demanded Powell Seaton, impressively. "If a man like Terrero hates you, he has only to inspire someone to prefer a serious charge against you. The charge may be wholly false, of course, but officers and soldiers are sent, in the dead of the night, to arrest you. These wretches, when they serve wicked enough officials, shoot you down in cold blood. Then they lay beside your body a revolver in which are two or three discharged cartridges. They report, officially, that you resisted arrest and did your best to kill the members of the arresting party. This infamous lie all becomes a matter of official record. Then what can the United States Government do about it? And the governor, or other rascally official, has triumphed over you, and the matter is closed. Though an honest man, Halstead, you are officially a desperate character who _had_ to be killed by the law's servants. It was such a fate that Terrero was preparing for me, but I escaped his wicked designs." "That must be a nice country!" murmured Hank Butts. "Yet you say the President of Brazil is an honorable man?" asked Halstead. "Can't he remove such a governor?" "The President would, in a moment, if he could be supplied with proofs," rejoined Powell Seaton, with emphasis. "Governor Terrero is a wily, smooth scoundrel who is well served by men of his own choice stamp. Terrero is wealthy, and backed by many other wealthy men who have been growing rich in the diamond fields. In fact, though they are wonderfully smooth about it, the Terrero gang are terrors to all honest diamond men in that one part of Brazil." "So, then," hinted Captain Tom, "you know where to find one of the rich diamond mines of the world, but you don't dare go to it?" "I'd dare," retorted Mr. Seaton, his eyes flashing. "But what would be the use of daring? I am almost certain to be killed if I ever show my face in Vahia while Terrero is alive. So, then, this is what I have done: Since my return to this country I have been arranging, ever so quietly, with moneyed men who have faith in me and in my honesty. After much dickering we have arranged a syndicate that is backed by millions of dollars, if need be. And we may need to spend a good deal of money before we get through. We may even have to try to turn Terrero's most trusted lieutenants against him. We won't, if we can help it, but we may have to. The stake is a big one! "Through turning this business over to the syndicate I am bound to lose the greater portion of the fortune that might have been mine from this great enterprise. Yet, even as it is, I stand to reap rich returns if ever the syndicate can locate and secure the patent to the diamond fields that I discovered. "At this moment three members of our syndicate are in Rio Janeiro. They are big, solid American men of moneyed affairs. As far as they permit to be known, they are in Brazil only as a matter of vacation and pleasure. In truth, they are awaiting the arrival of Albert Clodis on the 'Constant.' When he had arrived, with the papers from me showing where and how to locate the diamond field, they were to have moved quickly, spending plenty of money, and filing a patent to the fields. Under the law the Brazilian Government would be entitled to a large share of the find in precious stones, but even at that our share would have been enormous. Once the patent to the diamond field was filed, the President and the whole National Government of that country could be depended upon to protect the owner's rights, even against the greed and treachery of Terrero. So all that appeared to be left to do was to get to my friends of the syndicate the two sets of papers that would enable them to locate the unknown diamond field. Neither set of papers is worth anything by itself, but with the two sets the field can be promptly located. "My first thought was to send the two sets of papers by two different men. Yet, strange as it may appear to you boys, I could not decide upon two men whom I felt I could fully trust under all circumstances. You have no idea how I have been watched, the last year, by agents of Terrero. Dalton, though an American, is one of the worst of these secret agents of the governor of Vahia. _I_ knew how thoroughly I was being watched, and I, in turn, have had others watching Anson Dalton as effectively as it could be done in a free country like the United States. "Well, to make this long story short, when I had all else in readiness I decided upon Bert Clodis as the one man I could fully trust to deliver the two sets of papers to the members of the syndicate at Rio Janeiro. I believed, too, at the time, though I could not be sure, that my relations with Bert Clodis were unknown to Anson Dalton. "Yet, not for a moment did I trust too thoroughly to that belief. I had Dalton watched. If he engaged passage aboard the 'Constant,' my suspicions would be at once aroused. We now know that he secured passage, by mail, under the name of Arthur Hilton. Beyond the slightest doubt Dalton, that infernal spy, had succeeded in discovering that I was sending Clodis with the papers. Yet Dalton, or Hilton, as he chose to call himself, did not go aboard the 'Constant' openly at New York. I can only guess that he boarded from the tug that took off the pilot when the liner had reached open sea. "I had impressed upon Bert Clodis the importance of keeping the two sets of papers apart, and had advised him that it might not be safe to deposit either in the purser's safe, from which they might be taken through the means of a deep-sea burglary. "So the probability is that Bert Clodis had one set of papers concealed on his person. The other set of papers--the one I now have safe--he seems to have put away in his trunk, believing that no one seeking to rob him would think him simple enough to leave valuable papers in a trunk that could be rather easily entered in the hold of a liner. "As I have already told you, I had the ship watched at New York, and received a message, after her sailing, which told me that no one answering Dalton's description had boarded the 'Constant' at her pier. "As the liner entered this latitude Bert Clodis was to send off a wireless message which, though apparently rather blind, would be enough to advise me that no one answering to Dalton's description had appeared among the passengers or crew of the 'Constant.' This news I awaited at the wireless station at Beaufort, and you can imagine my anxiety." "That was why, then," broke in Joe, suddenly, "when I received that message about the injury to Mr. Clodis, you were able to break in so quickly?" "Yes," nodded Mr. Seaton. "I was waiting, and was on tenterhooks. I would have joined you, and would have gone out in haste to receive Bert Clodis myself, but I realized that, if I delayed you, the big liner would get past us, and Bert Clodis must most likely die on the way to Brazil." "Why weren't you out here, sir, at this bungalow, where you could have received the message as well, and then have gone out with us on the 'Restless'?" inquired Tom Halstead, with deepest interest in this strange narration. "I was at Beaufort," responded Mr. Seaton, "because I felt it very necessary to be where I could use a private wire to New York that I had reserved. I was, at that time, waiting for word from New York of any possible discovery that could be made concerning the movements of the infamous Dalton, whom I did not then know, or believe, to be on board the 'Constant.'" There was silence for a few moments, but Powell Seaton at last went on, thoughtfully: "We now know that Bert Clodis did _not_ deposit any papers with the purser of the ship. One set of the papers, therefore, must have been tucked away in his clothing. Dalton, after assaulting Bert Clodis, or having it done, must have rifled his pockets and found one set. He even had time to look through them and discover that that set was incomplete. Then, on seeing Clodis's trunk go aboard the 'Restless' with the injured man, Dalton guessed that the remaining papers might be in the trunk. That was why Dalton decided to leave the 'Constant.' But your flat refusal to let him go down into the cabin, where the baggage had been taken, foiled the fellow at that point. Then, fearing that he would run into me, and that I might even resort to violence, Dalton hailed that schooner, the 'Black Betty,' and made his momentary escape." "No doubt," interposed Halstead, "Dalton has had plenty of chance to put _his_ set of the stolen papers in safe hiding. But isn't it barely likely that he had already engaged Captain Dave Lemly to be hanging about in these waters with that little black schooner?" "Wholly likely," nodded Mr. Seaton, thoughtfully. "However, boys, I have trusted you with as much as my very life is worth in telling you all this. I would rather lose my life than see my friends, as well as myself, beaten in this great diamond game. As the matter now stands, Dalton has won the first step, but he hasn't enough knowledge to enable his employer, Terrero, to locate my precious find. I can duplicate the missing papers, and the other set, which I have here secure, I must also send to Rio Janeiro by some other most trusted messenger, should Clodis, poor fellow, die, or prove unfit to make another attempt." "And do you think, sir, that there's only one honest man on earth?" asked Tom Halstead, in considerable surprise. "There are several men that I _believe_ to be honest," returned the owner of the bungalow, "yet only one that I know to be _honest_, and who possesses at the same time the judgment to undertake a mission like the one I have been telling you about." "Then it won't really do Dalton any good to start for Brazil unless he can get hold of the contents of the other set of papers?" Halstead asked, after a pause of a few moments. "Not until the fellow can get his clutches on the papers that I have secretly locked in that closet over there," confirmed Mr. Seaton. "And I have told none but you trustworthy youngsters that the other set _is_ hidden in such an easy place to get at." Then, as though struck by a thought, Powell Seaton crossed the room, drawing his key-ring from a pocket. He fitted the right key to the door, and swung the latter open. An instant more, and there came from Mr. Seaton's lips a cry much like the frightened howl of a wild beast. "The second set of papers is gone--stolen from here!" There was an almost simultaneous gasp of consternation from the three Motor Boat Club boys as they rushed forward. But they had no need to search. Seaton had done that thoroughly, and now he turned to eye them. As he stared--or glared--a new thought came into Seaton's mind, reflecting itself in his eyes. The boys could see him fighting against his own new suspicion. "Halstead," cried Powell Seaton, clutching at the side of the doorway, "I told you all about this hiding place. I trusted you!" It was Tom Halstead's turn to go deathly white and stagger. "Do you mean, sir, that YOU SUSPECT ME?" demanded the young skipper, in a voice choked with horror. CHAPTER X THE TRAITOR AT THE AERIALS "Wait! Don't take anything too seriously. I've--got to--think!" Powell Seaton had stood, for two or three moments, staring from Halstead to the other motor boat boys. "Humph! Well, this is good, but I don't like it," grimaced Hank Butts, taking two steps backward. Powell Seaton began to pace the room, his hands at his head. He looked like one who suddenly found it impossible to think. Hank opened his mouth to say something angry, but Captain Tom checked him with a look and a gesture. "May we search in that closet for you, sir?" called Halstead, when a thud told that the owner of the bungalow had dropped heavily back into his chair. "You may look there, if you want to. Anyone may look there--now!" uttered the amazed one. Without saying more Tom, in deep agitation, began the task he had invited upon himself. Joe Dawson came and stood looking quietly over his chum's shoulder, ready to help if necessary. As for Hank, he stood, a picture of injured pride, staring at the distracted man. "No; there's nothing here," admitted Halstead, at last. "At least, the only thing we're interested in isn't here." "Of course it isn't," moaned Seaton. "Yet you boys were the only ones I told. And, the only time I left the house, it was safe upon my return. I also told you boys that." "If he keeps on talking in that strain," muttered Hank, half-aloud, "I'll make his head ache!" "No, you won't," uttered Captain Tom, gripping his comrade's arm almost fiercely. "There's trouble enough on the premises as it is. Hold your tongue, Hank, until we're all in a good mood to say pleasant things." Thereupon, with a snort, Hank dragged a chair into a far corner, and seated himself in it. Halstead walked slowly to the table, on which Mr. Seaton was resting his elbows, his face buried in his hands. "There must be some explanation for this, Mr. Seaton," began the young motor boat skipper, more calmly. "I don't mind your first suspicion of me, because----" "Not you, more than the others," broke in the bungalow's owner, excitedly. "All of you young men knew about the hiding-place. You were the only ones besides myself who did know." Again Hank gripped his fists tightly, but a stern look from Joe Dawson prevented Butts from giving any further expression of his feelings. "Don't sit there like that, Mr. Seaton," broke in Tom Halstead, once more. "Whatever has happened, something must be done--and it must be the right thing, and at once." "You can search us, if you want----" began Hank's growling voice, but Joe Dawson stood before him, towering in grim purpose. "Don't you open your mouth again, Hank, until you've collected some sense," warned Joe. "Let Tom do the talking. He's the captain, anyway." "You're right," responded Powell Seaton, looking up in a good deal of a daze. "I must do something--quickly--yet what?" "If anyone has stolen the final set of papers," advanced the young skipper, "it must have been either Dalton or someone working for him. In either case, Dalton must now have the papers, or he soon will have." "But what does this lead to?" inquired Mr. Seaton, regarding his young captain dubiously. "Why, sir, it must be plain that the best course is to drop all other steps and concentrate every bit of your energy and ingenuity on getting hold of Anson Dalton." "Yet what can I do to him, if I do?" "In the first place, you might charge him with being the man who struck Albert Clodis over the head. That would be enough to have your man arrested on, even if you couldn't prove the charge. A charge that you _can_ fight on is that of having helped to steal the 'Restless' the other night. If you can only get the fellow locked up, then you'll have more time to find out whether there's any way of getting the missing papers away from him, or from any hiding place in which he has put them." "Lock the fellow up?" jeered Powell Seaton. "Bah, boy, you don't seem to realize the money that's behind him. Ten thousand dollars, or a hundred thousand, it would all be the same, and Dalton, out on bail, could flee in whatever direction he wanted to." "Then what _are_ you going to do?" demanded Captain Tom, incisively. In this instant of utter uncertainty a tinkling of a bell broke in upon them. It was the call bell that Dawson had attached to the wireless apparatus. "Remember, _you_ keep quiet," almost whispered Joe to Hank, then quitted the room hastily. Butts suddenly began to grin sheepishly. Rising, he sauntered over to a window. Joe had hurried to the wireless room on the mere chance that it might be a message for Lonely Island. It was much more likely to be the regular business of ships passing on the sea. But as he entered the room Dawson heard the clicking call from a receiving instrument: "CBA! CBA!" That was Lonely Island's call surely enough. Breaking in at the key, Joe sent the sparks chasing each other up the aerials. Having answered, he slipped on the head-band, fitting the watch-case receivers over his ears. Picking up a pencil, he wrote. It was a rush telegram from Mr. Seaton's lawyer, up at Beaufort, and it read: Man much resembles description of Dalton has just been reported embarking on seventy-foot cruising motor boat ten miles above this city. Man in command of boat positively said to be Captain Dave Lemly. "Remain at wire for further talk," Joe's trembling fingers signaled back. Then, leaping up, he bounded into the next room. "Read it to me," Powell Seaton begged. Tom Halstead took the sheet, reading rapidly yet clearly. The young skipper was excited, though he forced himself to remain cool. "There's your call to action, Mr. Seaton," he wound up with. "Yes, but what action?" demanded the owner of the bungalow. Ever since the discovery of the loss of the papers this man had seemed all but unable to speak. "We've got to overhaul that other motor boat, though her length will have to be description enough if we can't get a better one," declared the young skipper. "Hank, go down and open up the motor room. Start the motors going, though be gentle. Don't break anything, or put the motors out of business. Joe, go back to the wireless, and see whether you can get a more exact description of that boat--especially the course she is believed to have sailed on. Hustle! Mr. Seaton, hadn't you better inform Dr. Cosgrove that you'll be absent for a while?" The owner of the bungalow moved as though glad of directions that saved him the trouble of thinking. Joe promptly sent a wireless back to Beaufort asking for a better description of the seventy-footer and the last course upon which she had been seen. The only further word the lawyer's informant could furnish, as Joe ascertained ten minutes later, was that the boat was painted a drab tint and had a "smoke-stack" ventilator. When last seen the boat was heading out nearly due east from her starting-point. "Going out to meet a liner, for some port," clicked Tom, as he heard the news. "Well, it's our business to find that drab motor boat." As Joe caught up his cap, Mr. Seaton looked rather uncertainly from one boy to the other. "You say we're to go out on this jaunt over the water," remarked the owner of the bungalow. "But I don't know. Perhaps you want me to go too badly. There may be something behind----" "Stop right where you are, if you please, sir," broke in Tom Halstead, a decided trace of bitterness in his tone. "You're still more than half-inclined to suspect us boys of causing the loss of the papers you had hidden in the closet. I am not blaming you altogether, Mr. Seaton, though you are doing us a great injustice. But you _must_ believe in us just at the present time, for going with us offers you your only chance of catching up with Dalton and saving your own friends of the syndicate. Come along, sir! Try to trust us, whether it seems wise or not, since it's your only chance." The young skipper seized his charter-man by one arm, almost dragging him along. Yet Powell Seaton, who was in a state of horrible uncertainty, permitted this forcing. Outside, on the porch, Captain Tom hesitated for a moment, then, after glancing at the guards, went on briskly: "Mr. Seaton, I know you don't want to carry an armed force for purposes of attack on anyone, and you wouldn't have a right to do it, anyway. But, as we may be attacked, if we run afoul of Dalton and his friends, won't it be much better if you take at least a couple of your armed guards from this place?" Nodding curtly, Mr. Seaton called to Hepton and Jasper, two of the guards, explaining that they were needed for a cruise on the "Restless." The pair followed along after the others. "You can keep your rifles, just as well, in the motor room," suggested Captain Tom, and the fire-arms were placed below. Hank had everything in readiness for casting off. Within forty-five seconds after boarding, the "Restless" was under way, poking her nose in a north-easterly direction. "We'd better loaf later on, rather than now, Joe," proposed the young skipper. "See how much speed you can crowd out of the motors." Powell Seaton chose to go aft, all alone, dropping into one of the deck arm-chairs. For a long time he remained there, moody and silent. "What liner do you figure on Dalton trying to overtake and board?" queried Joe, coming up at last out of the motor room. "Why, I don't just know," confessed Tom, pondering. "But I'll tell you what you can do, Joe. Leave Hank to watch the motors. You go to the wireless apparatus and send out the longest spark you can get. Direct your call to any vessel bound for Rio Janerio, or Brazil in general. If you get an answer from such a craft, ask her latitude and longitude, course and speed, so we can make for her directly." As Joe nodded, then dropped down into the motor room, intending to go by the passageway under the bridge deck, Tom noted a lurking figure a few feet behind him. "Hullo! What are you doing there, Jasper?" queried the young captain. "Jest mindin' my own business," replied the man, with a half-surly grin. "I'm minding mine, in asking you," retorted Halstead, quietly. "I don't like passengers so close to me when I'm handling the boat." "I s'pose mebbe you don't," rejoined Jasper, yet making no move. "Won't you take a hint?" asked Tom, rather bluntly. "Where d'ye want me to stand?" asked the fellow, sulkily. "You could go further aft, for instance," replied Tom. One hand on the wheel, he stood half-turned, eying this stubborn guard. "Oh, all right," came gruffly from Jasper, as he started slowly aft. "Maybe I'm wrong for thinking much about it," muttered Tom, under his breath, "yet it was this same man who was so close to us the other night when Mr. Seaton and I were talking about the papers hidden in the closet at the bungalow." Two or three minutes later a slight sound caused the young skipper to turn with a start. He saw Jasper in the very act of fitting a wire-nipper to one of the parallel wires of the aerial of the wireless. In an instant Captain Tom Halstead jammed his wheel and locked it. Then he dashed at the fellow. CHAPTER XI THE DRAB BOAT SHOWS HER NOSE "You keep off!" snarled Jasper, drawing back on the defensive, holding the wire-nippers so as to use them in defending himself. But, if the young captain of the "Restless" knew any fear, at such moments, he didn't permit others to see it. He neither stopped nor swerved. Ducking in under Jasper's extended right arm, Tom closed with the fellow, grappling. "Confound ye! I'll have to throw ye over into the water!" growled Jasper, fighting for a hold around the boy's waist and behind his back. But Halstead fought to break the grip, at the same time yelling: "Hank! Here, mighty quick!" Jasper fought, trying to force the young commander to the rail. He had half succeeded when Hank Butts raced on deck. Hepton, the other guard, who had been lounging in the engine room, was right behind Butts. Both of them raced to reach the struggling pair. Hank caught Jasper at the waist-line, while Hepton took a hold at Jasper's neck, forcing the fellow back. Then Tom sailed into the melee with renewed energy. Jasper was a powerfully-built fellow, but the three were too many for him. They tripped Jasper, throwing him to the deck, and Hepton sat upon his comrade's chest. "Halstead! You others! What does this violence mean?" Powell Seaton shouted the question sternly. He had been disturbed by the racket and now stood amidships. "Get him over, face down," panted Tom. "We'll make sure of the fellow before we begin to explain. Hank, run for a pair of handcuffs!" Butts was up and off like a shot, wholly liking the nature of his errand. "Halstead!" raged Mr. Seaton. "I insist upon an answer." "It's a case of sea-bullying--that's what it is," growled Jasper. "It's an outrage." "Hepton," warned the charter-man, "get up off of Jasper's chest. Let him go." "Don't you do it," countermanded Tom Halstead. "It won't be safe. This fellow is a snake in the grass. I caught him at his tricks." Hepton had acted undecidedly for a moment. Now, he concluded to stand by the young captain. In a trice Hank was back. Now the three assailed Jasper, rolling him over on his face. Tom Halstead, himself, fitted the handcuffs. "Take the wheel, Hank, until I'm through with this," panted Tom, leaping up from the treacherous guard. The locked wheel was now steering the "Restless" over an erratic course, but Hank swiftly had the boat on her true course once more. "I insist on knowing what this shameful business means," cried Mr. Seaton, glaring at his young skipper. [Illustration: Tom Halstead Fitted the Handcuffs.] "I should think you might. It's an outrage!" shouted Jasper. "This fellow," charged young Captain Halstead, "was in the very act of cutting the aerial wires with a wire-nipper when I caught him. Why, I can show you the nippers he had." Tom wheeled, to make a quick search along the deck. Jasper grinned covertly for he had thrown the nippers overboard in the struggle. "You see!" flared the prisoner. "He talks about nippers--but where are they?" "Halstead," demanded Mr. Seaton, "do you intend to obey me by setting this man free until I've had an opportunity to investigate all sides of this remarkable charge?" "No, sir, I do not," rejoined Halstead, quietly though firmly. "Do you forget that I command here?" raged the charter-man. "Pardon me, but you don't command," retorted Skipper Tom, respectfully. "It is true that you have this boat under charter, but I am the captain and one of the owners, and I must handle trouble aboard in the manner that seems best. I caught this man in a treacherous attempt to make our errand this afternoon quite useless. Jasper stays in irons until we reach port. I'm sorry to be so stubborn with you, Mr. Seaton, but, just now, you've a queer idea that I'm working against you. I must save you, sir, even from your own blindness. Hepton, will you help me take this fellow aft?" "Surely," nodded the guard, who, while he had not seen the start of the trouble, much preferred believing Halstead to Jasper. Seeing that resistance might bring him nothing but a beating, Jasper sulkily allowed himself to be led along the deck. Down into the cabin he was taken, there to be thrust into the starboard stateroom. Joe, from his wireless table at the forward end of the cabin, looked up with much curiosity. "He was trying to snip the wires in your aerial," Halstead explained, after turning the key in the stateroom door. "Glad you got him, then," nodded Dawson. Mr. Seaton had followed as far as the doorway. There he halted, well convinced that he could not, at present, persuade the young skipper to change his mind. "Now, if you'll be good enough to come up to the bridge deck, Mr. Seaton, I want to explain matters to you, sir," proposed the captain of the "Restless." Rather stiffly the charter-man followed. Hepton, as though to show further good faith, took pains to remain aft. "Do you remember the other night, when we were coming back with the guard for Lonely Island," began Tom, in a low voice, "that we found one of the new guards leaning well over the deck-house behind our backs?" "I do," nodded Powell Seaton, coldly. "That man, sir, was Jasper. To-day, when we are out trying to trace Anson Dalton over the open sea, I find that same fellow, Jasper, trying to cut the parallel wires of the aerial. Why should he do that unless he means to try to prevent our catching up with Dalton? Now, sir, putting two and two together, doesn't it seem mighty reasonable to suspect that Jasper overheard what we were saying the other night, and then watched his chance to steal the papers that you and I thought were so safely hidden in the cupboard at the bungalow? I know, Mr. Seaton, you feel that you have some reason for suspecting us boys. In view of what happened the other night, and again this afternoon, isn't it a whole lot more sensible to trace your misfortunes to Jasper?" Powell Seaton, whose daze had continued ever since starting on this cruise, now pondered deeply, with knitted brows. At last, however, he looked up quickly, holding out his right hand, as he exclaimed: "Halstead, I begin to believe that I have been too hasty and suspicious. I have hated myself for distrusting any of you boys, and yet----" "And yet," smiled Tom, "you are beginning to feel that there is not as much reason for suspecting us as there is for believing that the guilt of a mean theft lies at someone else's door." "I beg you to forgive me, Halstead, you and your mates. But I hardly know what I am thinking or saying. My mind is in too deep a turmoil." "We'll forget it, Mr. Seaton," continued Halstead, as he pressed the other's hand. "_I_ can, easily, and I hope you'll do your best to believe that you can trust us as fully as others have done." "You may just as well come forward, Hepton," hailed Captain Tom, a few moments later. "And I want to thank you for the way you stood by me when I needed help so badly." "Ever since we've been at the island I've felt that I didn't believe any too much in that man Jasper," muttered Hepton. "He has been acting queer some of the time." "How?" asked Mr. Seaton. "Well, for one thing, he always wanted the night guard duty. And he growled at taking the porch or the dock. What he wanted to do was to roam off about the island by himself. Whenever he came back he wanted to sit in your sitting-room, at the bungalow, and the fellow scowled if some of the rest of us showed any liking for staying in that sitting-room." "What do you make of that, sir?" asked Captain Halstead, looking significantly at Powell Seaton. "It sets me to thinking hard," replied that gentleman, gravely. Hepton glanced with natural curiosity from one to the other. Then, finding that he was not to be enlightened as to what had happened ashore, he soon stepped aft again. "Here's what you want to know, I reckon," announced Joe, in a low voice, as his head bobbed up out of the motor room. In one hand he held a slip of paper on which he had just taken down a message. "Twenty miles north of us is the Langley Line freighter, 'Fulton.' She's headed this way, and coming at fourteen knots." Skipper Tom received the paper, studying the position and course as Joe had jotted them down. "The Langley boats run to Rio Janeiro, don't they?" asked Halstead. "Yes, and every boat of that line carries a wireless installation now, too," Joe continued. "She's the only boat that answered my hail." "Take the new course, Hank," called the young skipper to the boy at the wheel, and rattled it off. The "Restless" swung around to a nearly northerly course. "At her speed, and ours, it needn't be many minutes before we sight the 'Fulton,'" judged Halstead. "Hank, you keep the wheel. I want a chance to handle my glasses." With the marine binoculars in his hand Skipper Tom soon began to sweep the horizon. "There's what the wireless did for us," he chuckled to Mr. Seaton. "Without our electrical wave we wouldn't have known, for sure, that there was a Rio boat in these waters this afternoon. And, but for getting the 'Fulton's' position and course by wireless, we'd have swept by to the eastward, away out of sight of the freighter." Within a few minutes more the young skipper, by the aid of his glasses, got a glimpse of a steamship's masts. A few minutes later the upper works of her high hull were visible. "That's the 'Fulton.' I know the Langley type of freighter build," Halstead explained, eagerly. "We'll soon be close enough to see her name-plate through the glass. And--oh!--by Jove!" Tom waved the glasses with a flourish, pointing, then handed them to Powell Seaton. "Look right over there to the north-westward, sir, and you'll make out that drab-hulled seventy-footer. She's just coming into sight." "I see her," nodded Mr. Seaton. Captain Halstead took the glasses again, studying both the seventy-footer and the freighter intently, judging their relative speeds and positions. "Dalton, or his friend, Lemly, has nicely calculated the drab boat's run," declared the young skipper of the "Restless," "Dalton's craft is in fine position to stop the freighter. But we'll reach the 'Fulton' first, and by some minutes, too, sir. The drab boat looks like a good one, but I believe we're a shade faster in the stretch." "What are we going to do when we overhaul both craft?" wondered Powell Seaton, aloud. "Why, sir, it will be easy enough to make the 'Fulton's' captain refuse to take any such passenger as Dalton." "How?" demanded Mr. Seaton. "Just inform the 'Fulton's' captain that Anson Dalton is a fugitive from justice. If you do that, the freighter's captain isn't going to take any chances on getting into subsequent trouble with Uncle Sam. The captain will simply decline to receive him as a passenger on the high seas." Powell Seaton looked very cheerful for a moment. Then a look of dark doubt crossed his face. "That will be all right, Halstead, unless it happens that the captain of the 'Fulton' is a man on the inside of some official affairs down in Brazil. If that be so, then your freighter's captain may recognize Dalton as a man of consequence--one to be served at all hazards. For, if a steamship captain of the Langley line must be careful to stand well with the United States authorities, he must also be no less careful to keep in the good graces of some of the cliques of Brazilian officers. So what if Dalton goes aboard the freighter, and her captain sends us a derisive toot of his whistle?" Tom Halstead's face showed his instant uneasiness. "If that turns out to be the case, sir," he whispered, "you've lost your last chance to stop Anson Dalton. He goes to Brazil with all the papers for locating the diamond mine, and you and your syndicate friends lose the whole big game!" CHAPTER XII THE SEARCHLIGHT FINDS A "DOUBLE" Yet, though his confidence in success had received a severe jolt, Captain Tom reached out for the megaphone. "Run in straight and close, Hank," he ordered. "I want every possible second of conversation before that drab boat gets within talking distance of the 'Fulton.'" The "Restless" and the freighter were now within a mile of each other, and almost head-on. The drab boat, about two miles away, had altered its course so as to pick up the freighter at a more southerly point. "Run to your table, Joe," commanded the young skipper, "and notify the 'Fulton' that we are going to hail her for a brief pow-wow." The speed with which young Dawson worked was shown by the fact that, when still half a mile away, the big freighter, hailed by wireless, began to slow down speed. It was plain that she was going to lie to in order to hear the whole of the hail from the "Restless." "Great Scott, though! Look at that!" suddenly ejaculated Tom Halstead. The drab seventy-footer had suddenly gone about, making fast westerly time for the shore. "Go about after the seventy-footer, Hank," almost exploded Halstead, in the intensity of his excitement over this new move. "Dalton doesn't seem to want to try the freighter now. Follow Dalton back to shore." "But the 'Fulton's' slowing down. You're going to show him the politeness of telling the freighter's captain what it was all about, ain't you?" "Let Joe do it," replied Tom, tersely. "What's the wireless for?" Just at this moment Joe Dawson appeared from below. "Our apologies to the freighter, Joe," called Skipper Tom. "Tell him we're after the drab boat. Tell him that our game is to stop a fugitive from getting out of the United States." Joe again appeared just as the freighter began to make full headway once more. "Captain Carson sends you his compliments from the 'Fulton,' Tom, for chasing the fugitive off." "And now, we're going to chase that fugitive in," uttered Halstead, grimly. "By George! Look at the way that drab boat is beginning to travel. Joe, we can't let her lose us in this fashion." As the "Fulton" passed out hull down, and then finally vanished on the southern horizon, the chase after the drab seventy-footer became lively and exciting. "Can you make out Dalton aboard of her?" asked Powell Seaton, as Tom stood forward, leaning against the edge of the forward deck-house, the marine glass as fast to his eyes as though glued there. "No, sir. If Dalton is aboard, he's keeping out of sight in the cabin." "Did you see, when the drab boat was more head-on, whether Lemly was at the wheel?" "The man at the wheel wasn't Lemly, sir, though I believe that fellow is on board as the actual captain," Halstead answered. "Humph! Is the Drab going to get away from us?" questioned Hank, wonderingly. "My, look at her bow cut water!" "She's a faster boat than I thought," Tom responded. "But we don't mean to let her get away. Joe, how are we going on speed?" "I couldn't get another revolution out of the twin shafts without overheating everything," Dawson replied, seriously. "Honestly, Tom, if this speed doesn't suit, I'm afraid we'll have to make the best of it." "Then don't lose a single inch by bad steering, Hank," Halstead directed, looking around at his helmsman. "Whenever you want relief, let me know." For five miles the drab seventy-footer kept her lead, though she did not seem able to increase it. That craft was still heading shoreward, and now the low, long, hazy line of the coast was in sight, becoming every minute more plain. "They're going to head straight for the shore, unless they've some slicker trick hidden up their sleeves," declared Tom Halstead. "I wonder that they're running so hard from us," mused Powell Seaton. "Most likely, sir," responded the young skipper, "because Dalton and Lemly believe we have officers aboard. Of course they know--or suspect--that warrants are out charging them with stealing the 'Restless' the other night." "Suppose Dalton and Lemly are not aboard that boat?" challenged Mr. Seaton, suddenly. Tom Halstead's lower jaw sagged for just an instant. "Of course, there's that chance. We may have been fooled, and we may be chasing a straw man in a paper boat right at this minute, sir. Yet, if Dalton were out on the water, with his stolen papers, he'd want to get nowhere else but to Brazil. If he isn't on the water, then he's not trying this route to your Brazilian enemies, and we might as well be out here as on Lonely Island." As the boat in the lead neared the coast Halstead again kept the marine glass to his eyes. "There's a little river over yonder," he observed. "Yes; I know the stream. Hardly more than a creek," replied Mr. Seaton. "Any deep water there, sir?" "For only a very little way in. Then the stream moves over a pebbly bottom like a running brook." "Then it looks, sir, as though Lemly--if he's aboard--plans to run in there and hustle ashore." "Or else stay and fight," hinted Powell Seaton. "The place is lonely enough for a fight, if the rascals dare try it." "Hepton!" summoned Halstead, a few moments later. "Don't you think you'd better get up your rifle? You don't need to show it, but someone may send us a shot or two from the drab boat." Hepton sprang below, bringing up both rifles. Crouching behind the forward deck-house, he examined the magazines of both weapons. "We're carrying load enough for a squad o' infantry," laughed Hepton, showing his strong, white teeth. "Let those fellers on the Drab try it, if they want to see what we've got." The seventy-footer was shutting off speed now, going slowly into the mouth of the little river. Almost immediately afterwards her reverse was applied, after which she swung at anchor. Tom, too, without a word to Hank, who stood by the wheel, reached over, slowing the "Restless" down to a gait of something like eight miles an hour. "What's the order, sir?" he asked, turning to Mr. Seaton. "Are we to go in and anchor alongside?" "I--I don't want to run you young men into any too dangerous places," began Powell Seaton, hesitatingly. "I--I----" "Danger's one of the things we're paid for," clicked Tom Halstead, softly. "It'll all in the charter. Do you want to go in alongside?" "I--I----" Bang! The shot came so unexpectedly that the motor boat boys jumped despite themselves. Hepton cocked one of the rifles, and was about to rise with it, when the young skipper of the "Restless" prodded the man gently with one foot. "Don't show your guns, Hepton," murmured Tom. "Wait until we find out what that shot was meant for." No one now appeared on board the drab seventy-footer. There had been no smoke, no whistle of a bullet by the heads of those on the bridge deck of the "Restless." "That was intended only to make us nervous," grinned Captain Tom. "Or else to show us that they have fire-arms," suggested Seaton. "Well, sir, I'm headed to go in alongside, unless you give me other orders," hinted the young skipper. "Cover about half the rest of the distance, then reverse and lie to," decided Powell Seaton. He now had the extra pair of marine glasses, and was attentively studying both the boat and the shore nearby. Tom took the wheel himself, stopping where he had been directed. So neatly was headway corrected that the "Restless" barely drifted on the smooth water inshore. There was now remaining less than an hour of daylight. "I think I understand their plan, if Dalton is on board," whispered Mr. Seaton to his young captain. "Dalton is waiting until it is dark enough to slip ashore." "Hm! There's one way you _could_ stop that, if you want to take all the risk," ventured Halstead, grinning thoughtfully. "How?" "Well, if it's the plan of anyone aboard the drab boat to slip on shore under cover of darkness, then I could put our tender overboard and row Hepton to one bank of the river with his rifle. Returning, I could row you to the other shore, you to carry the other rifle." "That would be a bold and open move," agreed Mr. Seaton, gasping at first, then looking thoughtful. "But look at that shore, Halstead. See the thick trees on either bank of the river. Hepton and I couldn't watch a lot of stretch on both banks." "With our help from the boat you could, sir." "Again, how?" "Why, it's shallow enough to drop anchor right here, Mr. Seaton. Then, as soon as it grows the least bit dark, we boys could keep our searchlight turned on the drab boat so that you and Hepton could see every movement on her decks. From a quarter of a mile off you could see anyone swimming ashore and run to stop him. There's no difficulty about it, sir, except the risk." "Hepton, I must talk that over with you," cried Powell Seaton. "I don't feel that I have any right to run you into too certain danger." But Hepton smiled again in a way to show his white teeth. "Don't worry 'bout me, Mr. Seaton. I feel big 'nough to take care of myself, and I enlisted for the whole game, anyway." "You could keep watch right from this deck," Halstead added. "But then, if anyone slipped ashore from the Drab, you couldn't get on shore fast enough to follow through the woods. You'd lose the trail right after the start." "Even if I were on shore, and Dalton walked right by me, what could I do?" pondered Powell Seaton. "Of course, I know the sheriff of the county would take him, for going aboard this boat and breaking it loose from the dock the other night. A United States marshal might arrest Dalton, on my request, for piracy in sailing away with the boat. But would I have a right to seize Dalton and hold him--even if able?" "You can follow him until you _do_ run Dalton into one of the law's officers," proposed Halstead. "I believe I'm going ashore, anyway, to see what happens," announced Mr. Seaton, after giving the matter a little more thought. "But let me go ashore, first, on the other bank," begged Hepton. "Then you can take second chance, sir." "Very good, then," agreed the charter-man. With the aid of his mates, Captain Tom had the anchor overboard, and the small tender alongside in a jiffy. Hepton stepped down into the smaller craft, carrying his rifle so that it could be seen. Tom himself took the oars to row. "I'd better put you in on the bank to the left," whispered Halstead, and Hepton nodded. They passed within forty yards of the stern of the drab boat, yet not a single human being appeared on that mysterious craft. Having put Hepton on shore, Halstead rowed back for Mr. Seaton. Embarking this second passenger, Tom, this time, rowed a little closer to the seventy-footer lying at anchor in the river's mouth. Now, the head of a man unknown to either of them showed aft. "Where you-all goin' with so many guns?" this man asked, in a half-jeering tone. "Night hunting," retorted Tom, dryly, not feeling guilty of a lie since he was certain the other would not believe him. Landing Mr. Seaton on the other river bank, the young captain of the "Restless" returned to his craft. By now it was nearly dark. "We may as well see how the searchlight is working," Joe Dawson suggested. "Turn it on them, and sweep it around," responded Halstead. The strong glare of light was found to be working satisfactorily. Dark came on quickly, still without any more signs of life aboard the Drab than had already been observed. "Supper time, surely," announced Hank, in a glum voice. "Don't bother about that to-night," objected the young skipper. "Slip down into the galley and make sandwiches enough for all hands. We can eat and watch--_must_, in fact, if we eat at all." After the sandwiches had been made and disposed of the Motor Boat Club boys began to find the swinging of the light on the drab boat, on the water and on either river bank, to be growing rather monotonous. "I wish something would happen," grumbled Hank. "Now, don't start a fuss about that," yawned Joe. "Something is likely enough to start up at any second." "It has started," whispered Tom Halstead, swinging the searchlight, just then, across the Drab's hull. "Look there!" Two much-muffled figures, looking nearly identical, and each of the pair carrying a bag, appeared on deck amidships, one standing on each side of the deck-house. Then, as quickly, by their sides stood two other men who sprang to lower the two small boats that hung at davits. One muffled man and one helper embarked in each boat, the helper in each case rowing swiftly to either bank of the river. "That's a queer game, but a clever one," muttered Captain Tom, swinging the glaring searchlight and watching. "It'll mix up Mr. Seaton and Hepton all right," grimaced Joe Dawson. "Each will wonder whether _he_ has Dalton on his side of the river, to follow." Now, as quickly, the two boat-tenders rowed back to the Drab, and the boats were triced up in a twinkling. "Say, they've got their anchor up!" cried Hank Butts, in a breathless undertone. "They're going to scoot out on us." "Then I'm ready to bet," muttered Tom Halstead, "that neither of the muffled men that went ashore was Anson Dalton. They must be trying to throw our crowd off the trail, and now that seventy-footer is trying to get off with Dalton still aboard!" Whatever the plan was, the Drab was now backing out of the river mouth and swinging around. So far none of her sailing lights were in evidence. She looked more like a pirate craft slinking out into the night on an errand of dire mischief. Once out of the mouth of the river, the Drab swung around, then began to move ahead. By this time her prow was head-on for the "Restless," as though aimed to strike the latter craft amidships. Then, as the Drab's speed increased, Tom Halstead vented excitedly: "Jupiter! They're out to cut us in two while we ride here at anchor!" CHAPTER XIII TOM HALSTEAD--READY! There was no time to raise the anchor. Even had this been possible, it would have been out of the question to get the motors started and running in time to get out of the Drab's way. Captain Tom Halstead was taken wholly by surprise, yet he was not caught with his wits asleep. "Make a dive for those sticks, fellows!" he shouted, bounding for the motor room hatchway. "If we get a chance we'll give 'em at least a pat for a blow!" The sticks of firewood that they had used on the night of their long swim were in the motor room. Tom caught up his, wheeling to bound outside again. Joe Dawson was barely a step behind him. But Hank--he went as though by instinct for the hitching weight that had already made him famous in the annals of the Motor Boat Club. Swift as they were, the trio were back on deck just in time to witness the final manoeuvre of the seventy-footer. That craft, not moving very fast, suddenly veered in its course. Instead of cutting through the "Restless," the larger motor boat swung suddenly so as to come up alongside, rail to rail. And now the whole intention was manifest at a glance, for the figures of six men, with their caps pulled well down over their eyes, appeared at the Drab's rail. "All hands to repel boarders!" sang out Captain Tom Halstead, his voice ringing defiantly. "Show 'em the best you can!" Joe swung, with a single-stick trick he had learned and practiced. It was a feint, aimed at the first of the Drab's crew to try to leap aboard. The intended victim threw up his hands to ward off the blow from the top of his head, but he received, instead, a stinging, crushing slap across the face. Tom thrust one end of his stick for the face of another of the boarding strangers. The fellow strove to protect his face, and would have guarded easily enough, but, instead, the other end of Tom's bludgeon struck him in the pit of his stomach, depriving him of all his wind. "Woof!" grunted Hank, at the first sign of onslaught. In both hands he clutched that business-like, though not formidable looking, hitching weight. One man set his foot on deck. Hank, almost with deliberation, dropped the weight on the toes of that foot. There was a yell of pain. Snatching up the weight instantly, Hank let it fly forward and fall across the toes of another of the boarders. Two of the strangers were limping now. Another was nursing an injured face, from Joe's heavy blow. Captain Tom's victim had fallen back aboard his home craft, gasping for breath. The other two of the invaders got aboard the "Restless"--then wished they hadn't, for Hank pursued one of them with his terrifying hitching weight, while Tom and Joe divided the sole remaining enemy between them. Hardly had the affair begun when it ended; it was all over in an instant. The two who had escaped injury leaped back aboard the Drab. Those who needed assistance were helped back. The Drab drifted away, her vagrant course unheeded at first, for it looked as though all aboard had taken part in that disastrous boarding enterprise. Tom and Hank sprang for their own anchor, while Joe, as soon as he saw the big motor boats drift apart, dropped into the small boat of the "Restless" and rowed swiftly for shore. Hardly had he touched the beach when Powell Seaton, rifle in hand, bounded forth from cover. "Put across, and see if we can get Hepton, too," directed the charter-man, in a low voice. "I stepped right up out of the bushes, almost into the face of the fellow who landed on my side of the river. It was neither Dalton nor Lemly. As soon as the fellow saw me he laughed, put a chew of tobacco in his mouth, and went on." Hardly had Seaton finished speaking when Joe Dawson shot the bow of the little boat against the further bank. During this time Mr. Seaton had kept his eyes on the drab boat, holding his rifle in readiness in case another effort should be made to ram or board the "Restless." "Oh, you-u-u-u!" called Joe, hailing. There was a sound in the woods, and then Hepton came into sight. "Did you see the man who landed on your side?" whispered Powell Seaton, as Hepton reached the beach. "Yes; he was just an ordinary roustabout chap," grunted Hepton, disgustedly. "I had no orders to follow _him_, so I didn't take the trouble." "That's right. Jump in and we'll get aboard the 'Restless.'" Hank had the motors working long before Joe returned with his two passengers, and was standing by. Captain Tom was at the wheel, but keeping the searchlight inquisitively on the Drab. Now, the seventy-footer began to move off slowly down the coast, going at a speed of perhaps six miles an hour. Halstead, without waiting for orders, went in chase, keeping his place two hundred yards behind the other craft. All the while he kept the searchlight swinging over the Drab, from her port to starboard sides. "That must annoy those fellows," observed Powell Seaton, with a chuckle, as he stood by the young skipper. "I reckon it does," returned Tom, dryly. "But it also prevents their letting anyone off the boat without our seeing it. You see, sir, they're only about a quarter of a mile off the coast here. Their small boat could make a quick dash for the shore. Even a good swimmer could go overboard. I don't intend to let anyone get off that seventy-footer without our knowing all about it." Halstead had not been silent long when he saw a bright flash from the Drab, aft. It was followed, almost immediately, by the sound of a gun. Then a bullet went by about two feet over their heads. "That was meant for our searchlight," laughed Tom Halstead, coolly. "Those fellows want to put it out of business." With an ugly cry Hepton leaned over the edge of the forward deck-house, sighting. "Don't do that," called Captain Tom, sharply. Then he added: "I beg your pardon, Mr. Seaton, but I don't believe you want any shooting to come from us unless it's necessary." "No, I don't," replied the charter-man, thoughtfully. "Dalton and Lemly seem willing to take desperate chances, acting like pirates, in fact. But we don't want to kill anyone, and, above all, we want to be very sure we have the law on our side." "They fired our way," urged Hepton, rather stubbornly. "We have a right to defend ourselves." "But they sent only one shot," replied Seaton. "They might afterwards claim that it was an accidental discharge. Unless they make it very plain that they're playing the part of pirates, we'd better take the best of care not to put ourselves wrong before the law." "That's all right, sir," admitted Hepton. "But, while I'm willing to take any chances that go with my job, it doesn't seem just fair to ask me to be exposed to bullets from that other boat without the right to answer their fire." "You can get down before the forward deck-house, Hepton," nodded Halstead, pleasantly. "You can't be hit through the deck-house." "But you can be hit, fine," objected Hepton. "Like Mr. Seaton," answered the young skipper, "I'd rather take the chance than do anything to put us in the wrong." Grumbling a bit, though under his breath, Hepton seated himself where the forward deck-house would protect him. Joe remained leaning nonchalantly over the edge of the house. "I wonder if they _will_ dare to keep up a fusillade?" he presently said, watching the deck of the drab boat in the glare of light that Halstead now held steadily on it. "If they fire another shot at us," replied Powell Seaton, "then Hepton and I will crouch over the forward deck-house, rifles ready, and fire at the flash of the third shot. We'll keep within the law, but we won't stand for any determined piracy that we have the power to resist." "Take the wheel, Hank," called Tom, presently. Then the young skipper signed to his employer that he wanted to speak with him aft. "Mr. Seaton," began Tom, "I want to ask you a few questions, with a view to making a suggestion that may be worth while." "Go ahead, Halstead." "You trust me now, fully? Have you gotten wholly over your suspicions of early this afternoon?" "Halstead," replied the charter-man, in a tone uneasy with emotion, "I'm wholly ashamed of anything that I may have said or thought. You've shown me, since, how perfectly brave you are. I don't believe a young man with your cool, resolute grit, and your clear head, _could_ be anything but absolutely honest." "Thank you," acknowledged the young motor boat captain. "Now, Mr. Seaton, though the two sets of papers describing and locating your diamond field are out of your hands, don't you remember the contents of the papers well enough to sit down at a desk and duplicate them?" "Yes; surely," nodded Mr. Seaton, slowly. "You feel certain that you can seat yourself and write out a set of papers that would tell a man down in Brazil just how to locate the diamond field?" "I can, Halstead. It would be a matter of some hours of writing, that's all. But why are you asking this? What plan have you in your mind?" "Well, I've got a hunch, sir," replied Tom Halstead, quietly, "that you're never going to see the lost papers again. If Anson Dalton found you getting close to him, and knew you could seize the papers, he'd destroy them. It seems to me that our sole game must be to prevent his ever getting those papers to Brazil ahead of a second set that you can just as well write to-night." "If we trail him all the time," replied Powell Seaton, thoughtfully, "we can know whether the fellow succeeds in getting away on a ship to Brazil. He can't go on that drab boat ahead, can he?" "The seventy-footer would be quite good enough a boat to make the voyage to Brazil," Halstead answered. "So would the 'Restless,' for that matter. The only trouble would be that neither boat could carry anywhere near enough gasoline for such a voyage." "Then Anson Dalton, if he gets away to Brazil, will have to board some regular liner or freighter? Well, as long as we keep him in sight, we'll know whether he's doing that." "But Dalton will get desperate," Tom warned his employer. "While holding onto the papers he has succeeded in obtaining, he can make a copy, and he may very likely determine to send the copies to your old enemy, Terrero, by mail. Now, Mr. Seaton, it seems to me that your best hope is to duplicate the missing papers at once, and, if you can't find in haste a messenger you'll trust, then you had better send the papers by registered mail to your friends in Rio Janeiro." Powell Seaton stared at the young skipper, going deathly pale. "Captain Halstead, don't you understand that the possession of such a set of papers, at Rio Janeiro, would mean that the possessor could locate and file a patent to the diamond field, of which no one, save myself, at present knows the exact location? Why, even if the postal authorities do their very best to put the papers in the proper hands, anyone like a dishonest clerk might get the papers in his hands. The temptation would be powerful for anyone who had the papers to locate the mine at once for himself." "I understand, fully," agreed Captain Tom. "But the whole thing has become a desperate case, now, and some desperate chances must be taken if you're to have a good chance to win out against Terrero and his crooked friends." "Then you--you--honestly believe I'd better make out another set of papers and mail them to my friends of the syndicate, at Rio Janeiro?" faltered Mr. Seaton. "Yes; unless you prefer to be almost certain of losing your fight for the great fortune. For Dalton, of course, knows that you can send a set of the papers by mail. He'll feel like taking the same desperate chance in order to have a better chance of getting in ahead of you." "By mail--even registered mail?" groaned Mr. Seaton. "It seems an awful--desperate chance to take. Yet----" "Prepare a duplicate set of the papers," proposed Tom Halstead, "and, if you'll trust me, I'll board the first Rio-bound steamer that we meet, and go through for you. I'll give you every guarantee that's possible to find your people in Rio and turn the papers over to them." "Will you?" demanded Seaton, peering eagerly into his young skipper's eyes. "Then you'll trust me to go as your messenger to Rio?" "Yes, in a minute, Halstead! Yet I'm thinking of the great danger you'd be running. At this moment Terrero's spies must be plentiful in Rio Janeiro. Why, even every steamer that leaves New York for Brazil may carry his men aboard, alert, watchful and deadly. You don't know what a man like Terrero is like. The constant danger to you----" "Constant danger," laughed Tom Halstead, softly, "is something that most men learn readily to face. Otherwise, wars would be impossible." "But that is very different," retorted Powell Seaton, quickly. "In war men have the constant elbow-touch, the presence and support of comrades. But you would be alone--one against hundreds, perhaps, at the very instant when you set foot ashore in Brazil." "I'll take the chance, if you let me," declared Captain Tom. "But, now, sir, you're losing time. Why don't you go below, get writing materials, and start in earnest to get out the duplicate papers?" "I will," nodded the charter-man. "Should I change my mind, it will be easy enough to burn the sheets after I have written them." As Powell Seaton turned to go down into the cabin Joe Dawson called sharply: "Tom, something's up ahead! Come here, quickly!" CHAPTER XIV GRIT GOES UP THE SIGNAL MAST Even before Captain Tom turned he heard the sudden throb of the twin screws of the propellers, and felt the speed being reversed. That told him, instantly, that Joe had found some reason for stopping the "Restless" in a hurry. As the young commander bounded forward the steady ray of his own searchlight showed him that the seventy-footer had also stopped her headway. Hank was still at the wheel, but young Dawson was beside him on the bridge deck. "There they go--dropping their anchor overboard," cried Joe, pointing. "The water's shallow along this coast, of course." "We'll move right in, between that boat and the shore, and drop anchor, too," decided Captain Halstead, taking the wheel and reaching for the engine control. He sent the "Restless" slowly forward into place, then shut off headway, ordering: "Joe, you and Hank get our anchor over. Dalton can't get anything or anybody ashore, now, without our knowing it." "But what can his plan be, anchoring on an open coast?" demanded young Dawson, as he came back from heaving the anchor. "Our job is just to wait and see," laughed Captain Halstead. Mr. Seaton came on deck again, to learn what this sudden stopping of the boat meant. "It's some trick, and all we can do is to watch it, sir," reported the young skipper of the "Restless," pointing to the anchored Drab. "Yet I think the whole situation, sir, points to the necessity for your taking my recent advice and acting on it without the loss of an hour." "Either the registered mail, or yourself as a special messenger," whispered Seaton, hoarsely, in the boy's ear. "Yes, yes! I'll fly at the work." "Don't hurry back below, though," advised Halstead. "Stroll along, as though you were going below for a nap. A night glass on the seventy-footer is undoubtedly watching all our movements." As the two boats swung idly at anchor, on that smooth sea, their bows lay some three hundred yards apart. The night air was so still, and voices carried so far, that those on the deck of the "Restless" were obliged to speak very quietly. Over on the seventy-footer but one human being showed himself to the watchers on the smaller boat. This solitary individual paced the drab boat's bridge deck, puffing at a short-stemmed pipe. "I'd give a lot to be smart enough to guess what their game is," whispered Joe, curiously. "It's a puzzle," sighed Captain Tom Halstead. "It looks, now, as though Dalton and Lemly are trying to hold us here while someone else does something on shore." "Then you think the two who landed on either bank of the river----" "We know that neither of them was Dalton or Lemly, but I'm beginning to suspect that one, or both, of those fellows carried messages, somewhere and of some nature. In that case, we're letting our curiosity hold us up here while the enemy are accomplishing something at some other point." "Confound 'em!" growled Joe, prodding the bulwarks with his toe. "They're clever rascals!" "Meanwhile," whispered Tom, "I've just been thinking of something else that we ought to be doing." "What?" "There may be another steamship for Rio Janeiro passing somewhere in these waters at any time. We ought to send out a call on the wireless at least once an hour. There's something else in the wind, old fellow, and we _do_ want to know when the first steam vessel for Rio passes through these waters." "Then I'll go below and get at work at the sending key," proposed Dawson. "Send out the wireless call once an hour, you say?" "Yes; yet we don't want to forget that we're being watched all the time from that old drab pirate yonder. Don't let the enemy see you going to the cabin." "I'll drop down into the motor room and use the passageway through." Dawson was gone ten minutes. When he returned he shook his head, then stood looking out over the sea. Excepting the "Restless" and the drab seventy-footer there was no craft in sight. Not so much as a lighthouse shed its beams over the ocean at this point of the coast. "Say, it's weird, isn't it?" muttered Joe Dawson. "We can't see a thing but ourselves, yet down in the cabin I've just been chatting with the Savannah boat, the New Orleans boat, two Boston fruit steamers, the southbound Havana liner and a British warship. Look out there. Where are they? Yet all are within reach of my electric wave!" "There are no longer any pathless roads of the sea--not since the wireless came in," declared Tom Halstead. "If there were enough vessels to relay us we could talk direct with London now. The next thing will be a telephone in every stateroom, with a wireless central on the saloon deck or the spar deck. But gracious! We've been forgetting all about our poor prisoner in the starboard stateroom. He must have a royal case of hunger by now. Tell Hank to take him in some food and to feed the poor fellow, since he can't use his own hands." Later time began to drag by. There were few signs of life aboard the seventy-footer. Sending Joe and Hepton down to the motor room berths as watch below, Tom kept Hank on deck with him. Bye-and-bye Joe and Hepton took their trick on deck, while Halstead and Hank Butts went below for some sleep. Through most of the night Powell Seaton remained hard at work over his writing, often pausing to read and make some corrections. Morning found the two boats still at anchor. With sunrise came a stiffer wind that rocked the "Restless" a good deal. "Now, look out for one of the sudden September gales," warned Captain Tom Halstead, as, after the second short sleep of the night, he came up on deck, yawning and stretching. He stepped over to read the barometer, then turned quickly to Joe. "Looks like something's going to happen, doesn't it?" queried Dawson. "Yes; there's a disturbance heading this way," admitted Tom, looking around at the sky. "Yet it may be hours, or a day, off yet. If we were going under canvas, though, I'd shorten it." "The captain of the Drab evidently believes in being prepared," hinted Joe, nodding in the direction of the other craft. Two men were now visible on the deck of the seventy-footer. They were taking up anchor, though not doing it with either speed or stealth. "I reckon we have to take our sailing orders from them," nodded the young skipper. "You'd better get the motors on the mote, Joe. I'll have Hank and Hepton help me up with our anchor." Soon afterwards the Drab was heading north at a ten-mile gait; half a minute later the "Restless" started in leisurely pursuit. After half an hour or so the Drab headed into another open roadstead, anchoring a quarter of a mile from shore. Tom dropped anchor some three hundred yards to the southward. "Keep your eye seaward, Hank," directed the young skipper. "Joe, if you'll see whether Mr. Seaton wants anything, Hepton and I will keep a keen eye on the shore." "Mr. Seaton is asleep in the port stateroom," Dawson reported back a moment later. "I've made eight calls through the night, but I'll get at the sending key again, and see whether there's anything in our line within hail." Hardly had Joe Dawson vanished below when Skipper Tom uttered a sudden exclamation. A sharp, bright glint of light from under the trees on shore caught his watchful eye. "Look there!" the young captain called, pointing to the flash. "There's another," muttered Hank Butts, pointing further up the coast. "By Jimminy, there's a third," cried Hepton, pointing. "Signals for the Dalton-Lemly crew," uttered Tom, disgustedly. "_They_ are getting news, now, and of a kind we can't read. Hank! Call Mr. Seaton. _He_ ought to be on deck, watching this." The charter-man was speedily up into the open. In the meantime Joe, at the powerful sending apparatus below, sent the spark leaping across the spark-gap, and, dashing up the aerials, there shot into space the electric waves intended to be gathered in by any other wireless operator within fifty or sixty miles. Crash-sh! Ass-ss-ssh! hissed the spark, bounding, leaping to its work like a thing of almost animal life. Bang! This last note that came on the air was sharp, clear, though not loud. Whew-ew! A bullet uttered a swift sigh as it sped past the signaling mast twenty feet over the heads of the watchers of the "Restless." "Confound it! Rascals on shore are shooting at us," exclaimed Powell Seaton, turning swiftly to peer at the forest-clad shore line. "No; they're shooting at our aerials!" retorted Captain Tom Halstead. Bang! Whe-ew-ew! Clash! Then there was a metallic clash, for the second rifle shot from the land had scored a fair bull's-eye among the clustered aerial wires. There was a rattle, and some of the severed wire ends hung down. With an ugly grunt, Hepton bounded down into the motor room, passing up the two rifles. "We must be careful, though," warned Mr. Seaton. "This time they're not shooting at us." "Load and be ready, though!" uttered Captain Tom, dryly. "They soon will be shooting at us." Several more shots clattered out, and two more of the bullets did further damage among the aerial wires. Then Joe came dancing up on deck, his eyes full of ire. "The infernal scoundrels have put our spark out of business," he cried, disgustedly. "We haven't wire enough left to send five miles. Where do the shots come from?" "From the shore," Halstead replied, "but see for yourself if you can locate the marksmen. We can't. They're using smokeless powder, and are hidden so far in under the trees that we can't even make out the flashes." "It's out of my line to locate them," announced Joe Dawson, with vigor. "It's mine to see that the aerials are put on a working basis again." He vanished, briefly, into the motor room, soon reappearing with a coil of wire and miscellaneous tools. "Good!" commended Halstead, joyously. "Mr. Seaton, we have wire enough to repair a dozen smashes, if need be. On up with you, Joe. I'm at your heels." Joe started to climb the mast, using the slightly projecting footholds placed there for that purpose. Tom let him get a clear lead, then started up after his chum. From the shore broke out a rapid, intermittent volley. Steel-clad bullets sang a song full of menace about that signal mast. "Come down, boys! You'll be killed!" roared Mr. Seaton, looking up apprehensively. While Joe kept on climbing, in silence, Skipper Tom looked down with a cool grin. "Killed?" he repeated. "Well, if we're not, we'll fix the aerials. We can't allow strangers to put us out of business!" Joe found his place to go to work. Tom halted, with his head on a level with his chum's knees. From the shore there came another burst of rifle-fire, and the air about them was sternly melodious with the pest-laden hum of bullets. Two of the missiles glancingly struck wires just above Dawson's head. In the lull that followed Joe's voice was heard: "Hold the wire, Tom. Pass me the pliers." CHAPTER XV PLAYING SALT WATER BLIND MAN'S BUFF "I've got to do something!" growled Hepton, his teeth tightly shut. Raising his rifle to his shoulder, making his guess by sound, the man let two shots drive at the shore, not far back from the beach's edge. Then, after a pause and a long look, he let three more shots drive, slightly changing his sighting each time. "Come on, Mr. Seaton," he urged. "They're firing on your skipper and engineer this time. It's up to us to answer 'em--clear case of self-preservation. The first _law_ that was ever invented!" Bang! bang! rang Seaton's rifle, twice. He, too, fired for the forest, near the beach. It was like the man to hope he had hit no one, but he was determined to stop if possible this direct attack on Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson. Evidently the first sign of resistance was not to stop the bothering tactics of those on shore, for one wire that Joe was handling was zipped out of his hands. "They mean business, the enemy," called down Skipper Tom, softly, to the tune of a low laugh. "But we'll get rigged, in spite of them. All we ask for is that they let us get the wire fixed often enough for a few minutes of sending and receiving once an hour." Hepton and his employer continued to fire, using a good deal of ammunition. The guard was much more vengeful in his firing and in his attempts to locate the hidden marksmen than was Seaton. "That's what those two men went ashore for last night," called down Halstead, quietly. "First of all, to fool us and get us guessing, and, next, to hunt up some of their own rascals for this work. The seventy-footer led us into this trap on purpose. Finely done, wasn't it?" "It shows," retorted Mr. Seaton, wrathily, "that along this sparsely settled shore there is a numerous gang organized for some law-breaking purpose." "Smuggling, most likely," guessed Tom. "And it must pay unusually well, too, for them to have such a big and so well-armed a crew." Three more shots sounded from the shore. All of the trio of bullets went uncomfortably close to the young skipper and engineer, though doing no actual damage. Hepton, with his ear trained to catch the direction of the discharge sounds, changed his guess, firing in a new direction. "There, it's done, until it's put out of business again," muttered Joe, finally. "Slide, Tom." Almost immediately after Dawson disappeared the crash of the spark across the spark-gap and up the wires was heard. The young wireless operator of the "Restless" was making the most of any time that might be left to him. "How about that storm that threatened last night, captain?" inquired Mr. Seaton. "Has it come any nearer?" [Illustration: "There, It's Done," Muttered Joe. "Slide, Tom."] "No, sir," replied the motor boat captain, shaking his head. "It acted the way many September storms do on this coast. It passed by us, out to sea, and ought to be down by Havana by now. The barometer has been rising, and is at nearly the usual pressure. But I don't like the looks of the sky over there"--pointing. "Why not?" queried the charter-man, following the gesture with his eyes. "We'll be playing in great luck, sir," answered the young captain, "if a fog doesn't roll in where the storm threatened to come." "Fog?" Mr. Seaton's tone had an aghast ring to it. "Yes, sir." "Are you sure, Captain?" "No, sir. It's only a possibility, but a good one." Hepton was making his rifle bark again, deep, snappy and angry in its throat, in answer to a challenge from shore, but Powell Seaton stood surveying the weather with a look of deepest concern. Then he turned to regard the drab seventy-footer at anchor near by. "It would be the enemy's real chance, wouldn't it?" he inquired. "Just what I dread, sir," Captain Tom admitted. "Let us be wrapped in a thick bank of fog, and the Drab would be out of our vision and hearing in a very short time." "Shades of hard luck!" groaned the charter-man, growing pallid. Off on the seaward horizon an indefinite haze was soon observable. To the untrained eye it didn't look like much. Though Mr. Seaton spoke of it, he didn't appear much concerned. "It'll be a pity to bother him until the time comes when he throbs with worry," thought Captain Tom Halstead, sympathetically. "But if that low-hanging haze doesn't spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e, then I've been raised among a different breed of sea fogs!" The crashing of sparks over the spark-gap had ceased for the present, and Joe, reporting that there was no wireless craft within reach of his limited aerials, was on deck once more, waiting until the time should come around for another trial. Hank had gone below to start the motors, connecting them with the dynamo, to renew the supply of electrical "juice" in the storage batteries, which was running low, as proved by the last message sent. The chug-chug of the twin motors was heard over on the seventy-footer, and soon an unknown man, his cap pulled well down over his eyes, appeared at the stern of the Drab. He took a long, keen look at the "Restless." "He's wondering if we're going to hoist the mud-hook," smiled Tom. "And hoping that we are," grinned Joe. "Oh, but we must be an eyesore to those wistful scoundrels!" Powell Seaton now spent most of his time gazing at the line of haze, which, by degrees, was growing bigger and coming nearer. "Captain Halstead," he faltered, "I'm beginning to feel certain that you're a prophet." "Or a Jonah?" laughed Tom, though it was not a very cheerful sort of laugh. "No, no, no!" cried the charter-man, earnestly. "Never that! The little luck that I've had in these trying days has all come through you youngsters. Without you I'd have been flat on my back in the fearful game that I'm playing with such desperate hopefulness against hope. But I see our fog is coming in as a sure thing. If it envelops us, what can you do with regard to that drab-tinted sea-monster over yonder?" "It depends upon the depth and duration of the fog, sir," Halstead answered. "We have our motors going. At the first strong sign of our getting hemmed in by it we'll lift our mud-hook [the anchor] and move in closer. If the fog isn't too thick we may be able to take up a position where we can at least observe her dimly. If she starts to pull out into a fog-bank, we'll follow at her heels, keeping as close as necessary to keep the Drab's stern flag-pole in sight. We won't lose her if there's any way of stopping it." The advance guard of the fog was in upon them by the time that Joe went once more to his sending table in the forward end of the cabin. The light mist extended to the shore, though it did not altogether screen it. But the lookout on the Drab's deck appeared wholly watchful at the weather side of the craft. "Not in touch with any other wireless boat yet," reported Dawson, coming on deck, presently. "Look at that heavier white curtain rolling in," uttered Powell Seaton, in a tone near to anguish. Whoever was in the drab boat's pilot house took occasion to toot derisively twice on the auto whistle. "That's as much as warning us that their turn is coming," declared Mr. Seaton, wrathfully. Their faces were wet, now, with the fog as it rolled in. Slowly the nearby shore faded, wrapped in the mist. "We'd better get up anchor," decided Skipper Tom. "Come along, Hank, and you, Hepton." As the anchor came up and was stowed, Captain Halstead moved the deck speed control ever so little. The "Restless" began to barely move through the water. They overhauled the seventy-footer, passing within a hundred feet of her starboard rail. Yet only the same deck watch appeared in sight. He favored those on the bridge deck of the "Restless" with a tantalizing grin. Halstead slowly circled the drab seventy-footer, Mr. Seaton keeping ever a watchful eye on the stranger. "There! They're hoisting anchor!" muttered the charter-man, at last. "I saw 'em start," nodded the young skipper. "And the fog is growing thicker every minute." "How are you going to beat them, if they try hard to get away?" "I don't know," confessed Halstead, honestly. "We may keep 'em in trail, but the chances are all in favor of the drab boat." Presently the seventy-footer slipped slowly away from her anchorage. Halstead promptly closed in, keeping not more than a hundred feet behind her drab stern. If the fog grew no heavier, and the enemy's speed no greater, he could maintain his position. But the sea-born fog continued to come, looking as though it arrived in ever-increasing billows. Once the seventy-footer's stern vanished for a moment or two. Tom, cautiously increasing the speed, soon came in sight of that drab stern once more. "I don't want to croak, sir," warned the young motor boat skipper, "but, luck aside, it looks as though we're about done for in this salt water blindman's buff." "I realize it," nodded Powell Seaton. Just then the seventy-footer crawled ahead again into the fog, and was lost to the pursuer. Throwing the wheel somewhat to port, Captain Halstead tried to come up on the Drab's quarter. A full minute's anxious suspense followed, but the enemy's stern did not show through the white shroud of the atmosphere. Then Halstead threw off the power without applying the reverse. The "Restless" drifted under what was left of her headway. "They've done it," uttered Tom Halstead, grimly. "They've given us the slip--gotten away in this white mass of mystery!" Shaking, Powell Seaton leaned against the deck-house, his face pallid with sheer misery. CHAPTER XVI A GLEAM OF HOPE THROUGH THE SHROUD OF FOG Resting one hand lightly on the top spokes of the wheel, young Halstead turned to his employer with a look of keenest sympathy. "Is there any order you wish to give now, Mr. Seaton?" "What order can I give," demanded the charter-man, with a piteous smile, "unless it be to say, 'find the drab boat'?" Tom made a grimace. "Of course I know how senseless that order would be," pursued Seaton, with a nervous twitching of his lips. In fact, at this moment it filled one with pity, just to witness the too-plain signs of his inward torment and misery. There was a pause, broken, after a few moments, by the charter-man saying, as he made a palpable effort to pull himself together: "Halstead, you've shown so much sense all along that I leave it to you to do whatever you deem best." Skipper Tom's brow cleared at once. A look of purpose flashed into his eyes. "Then we'll keep eastward out to sea, sir, or a little bit to the northeast, until we get out in the usual path of the southbound steamers." "And after that?" demanded Powell Seaton, eagerly. "All we can do, sir, then, will be to wait until we get a wireless communication with other vessels." "Go ahead, lad." Tom moved the speed control slowly, until the "Restless" went loafing along at a speed of six miles an hour. Heading weatherward, he gave more heed to the wheel, for there were signs that the water was going to roughen somewhat. "Hank!" called the young skipper, and Butts came to the bridge deck. "Sound the fog-whistle every minute," directed Halstead. "Too-whoo-oo-oo!" sounded the melancholy, penetrating note through the mist. "Are you going to keep that up, Captain Halstead?" inquired Mr. Seaton, in instant apprehension. "Got to, sir. It's the law of the ocean in a deep fog." "But it signals our location to the enemy on the drab boat." "If it keeps the seventy-footer within sound of our horn all the time," laughed Halstead, "so much the better. Then the Drab will be within range of our marine glasses when the fog lifts." "It shows those rascals the direction of our course, too," cried Seaton, in a still troubled voice. "We've got to observe the law, sir, even if _they_ do break it," Tom gently urged. "That other boat's people have been acting like pirates all along, but that would be no excuse for us. What if we cut into a lumber-laden schooner, and sank her at once?" Mr. Seaton was obliged to nod his assent. "It's a fearfully tough piece of luck for us, this fog," Tom continued, feelingly, "but we've got to make the most of it." "And, if Anson Dalton gets aboard any Brazil-bound steamer while we're in this fog, the whole great game for myself and my friends is lost," faltered Seaton. "If that steamer has a wireless installation," retorted the young motor boat skipper, "then we've every chance in the world to reach her before the Drab possibly can. Joe will hear her wireless two hours or more before the other fellows can hear or locate a fog-horn." "It's--it's a dreadful uncertainty that this fog puts upon us," groaned the unhappy charter-man. "Dalton may take advantage of this white shroud to run straight for the nearest post office and mail the papers that he stole." Captain Tom's mildly warning look checked Mr. Seaton ere he had time to say more in the hearing of Hepton. "If you'll come aft, sir, we'll talk this over," suggested Halstead, in a low voice. "Gladly," murmured the charter-man. "Now, then, sir," almost whispered the motor boat skipper, as he and his employer stood on the deck aft, "you've written out a duplicate of the papers that were stolen." "I have the duplicate set in an inside pocket," responded Seaton, tapping his coat. "Are you ready to chance the mailing of them?" "It's--it's a fearful risk, a terrible one, even to think of sending such priceless papers by registered mail." "At least, sir," urged Tom, "you would be sure the documents were properly started on their way." "Yet with no surety that they wouldn't fall into wrong hands at the other end," shuddered Seaton. "Then, since your life would undoubtedly be the forfeit if you attempted to take the papers yourself, will you trust me, or Joe, to board the first steamer we pick up by wireless?" "Wh--what do you advise, Halstead?" queried Seaton, with the air and tone of a man tortured by uncertainty and hesitation. "I advise, sir, your making a very definite move of one kind or another, without the loss of another hour," rejoined young Halstead, almost sharply. "Simply drifting in a fog won't settle anything." "Oh, I know that only too well," replied Powell Seaton, desperately. "Let us," proposed Skipper Tom, "take a northerly course. We'll try to pick up a Rio-bound steamship. Failing in that, let us put in for land, you to send the papers off by registered mail--or I'll take train for New York and go by the first boat." "I--I'll do it," agreed Powell Seaton, falteringly. "Halstead, my boy, I've pondered and worried over this until my brain almost refuses to act. I'm glad to have your clearer brain to steady me--to guide me." "Are your papers sealed?" asked Captain Tom, after a little further thought. "No; but I can soon attend to that." "I'd go below and do it, then, sir." "Thank you; I will." Powell Seaton, as he started down the after companionway, trembled so that compassionate Halstead aided him. Then, returning, the Motor Boat Club boy stepped steadily forward to the bridge deck. Studying the time, Tom determined to keep to the present course for fifteen minutes more, and at the same speed, then to head about due north. This, he figured, would keep him about in the path of southmoving coast steamships. Hank, who was still at the wheel, took the orders. Joe, after a glance at the bridge deck chronometer, dropped below on his way to his sending table. The crash of his call soon sounded at the spark-gap and quivered on its lightning way up the aerials. "Nothing happening in my line," announced Dawson, soberly, when, some minutes later, he returned to deck. Captain Tom stood by, almost idly attending to the fog-horn, though Butts would have been able to do that as well as steer. "Did you get anything at all?" Halstead inquired. "Nothing; not a click by way of answer," Joe Dawson responded. "I had half a hope that I might be able to pick up a ship that could relay back to another, and so on to New York. If that had happened, I was going to ask the companies direct, in New York, when their next boats would leave port. I'll do that, if I get a chance. I'm bound to know when to look for the next Rio boat." "If this fog seems likely to last," resumed Halstead, "I've been thinking about increasing to ten miles and keeping right on toward New York." "Bully!" enthused Dawson. "Fine!" "Yes; so I thought at first, but I have changed my mind. If we get wholly out of these waters we might put a messenger aboard a steamship bound for Rio Janeiro, and then Dalton, by hanging about in these waters, might find a chance to board. If he suspected our messenger--and it may be you or I--it might be the same old Clodis incident all over again." Joe's face lengthened. "It's growing wearing, to hang about here all the time," he complained. "I'm near to having operator's cramp, as it is." "Don't you dare!" Skipper Tom warned him. "Well, then, I won't," agreed Dawson. For four hours more the "Restless" continued nearly due north, at the same original speed of six miles an hour. Halstead began to think of putting back, slowly retracing his course. Joe went down for his regular hourly "sit" at the sending table. "Hurrah!" yelled Dawson, emerging from the motor room several minutes later. He was waving a paper and appeared highly excited. "Picked up anything?" called Tom Halstead, eagerly. "Yes, sirree!" uttered Joe, delightedly, thrusting a paper into his chum's hand. "The Jepson freight liner, 'Glide,' is making an extra trip out of schedule. Here's her position, course and gait. We ought to be up to her within two and a half hours." Tom himself took the news to Powell Seaton. That gentleman, on hearing the word, leaped from the lower berth in the port stateroom. "Glorious!" he cried, his eyes gleaming feverishly as he hustled into an overcoat. Then he whispered, in a lower voice: "Tom Halstead, you're--you're--It!" "Eh?" demanded the young motor boat skipper. "You'll take the papers on to Rio!" A gleam lit up Halstead's eyes. Yet, in another instant he felt a sense of downright regret. He was not afraid of any dangers that the trip might involve, but he hated the thought of being weeks away from this staunch, trim little craft of which he was captain and half-owner. "All right, sir," he replied, though without enthusiasm. "I'll undertake it--I'll go to Rio for you." CHAPTER XVII WHEN THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB BOYS "WENT DAFFY" All this had been spoken in whispers. Both Mr. Seaton and Tom Halstead were keenly aware of the presence of the prisoner in the starboard stateroom. "You don't seem as overjoyed as I thought you might be," observed Powell Seaton, in a tone of disappointment. "I'm going through for you, sir, and I'll deliver the papers into the proper hands, if I live," replied Tom Halstead. "And you're not afraid of the big chances of danger that you may be running?" persisted his employer. "Why, I believe every human being has times when he's afraid," Skipper Tom replied, honestly. "But I shan't be any more afraid than you've seen me once or twice since this cruise began." "Then I'll bet on your success," rejoined Mr. Seaton, holding out his hand, which the young motor boat captain grasped. "Suppose we go on deck where we can talk a little more safely, sir," whispered Tom. They made their way above and forward. "Any further word, Dawson?" inquired the charter-man. "I haven't signaled since I brought up that last message," Joe replied. "Oh, of course not," retorted Powell Seaton. "It was an idiotic question for me to ask, but I'm so excited, boys, that I don't pretend to know altogether what I'm talking about." Captain Halstead bent forward to look at the compass. He found Hank Butts steering as straight as the needle itself pointed. "What on earth can I do to pass the time of waiting?" wondered Mr. Seaton, feverishly. "Eat," laughed Tom. "You haven't had a meal since I don't know when. Give me the wheel, Hank, and see what you can fix up for Mr. Seaton in the way of food." Yet, poking along at that slow rate of speed, cutting through the fog but not able to see a boat's length ahead, proved an ordeal that tested the patience of all. After awhile Joe returned to the sending table, in order to get in touch with the "Glide" and make sure that the two vessels were still approaching each other head-on. "It's wonderful--wonderful, this wireless telegraph that keeps all the great ships and many of the small ones in constant communication," declared Powell Seaton, coming up on deck after having finished his meal. "Yet it seems odd, doesn't it, to think of even freight boats carrying a wireless installation?" "Not when you stop to consider the value of the freight steamships, and the value of their cargoes," rejoined Tom Halstead. "If a ship at sea gets into any trouble, where in older times she would have been lost, now all she has to do is to signal to other vessels within two or three hundred miles, and relief is sent on its way to the ship that needs it. In the case of a freight steamer the wireless aboard means greater safety for the crew and often saves the owners the cost of ship and cargo. The Standard Oil people were among the first to think of the wireless for cargo-carrying boats. They installed the wireless on their tank steamers, and it wasn't long before the owners of other freight vessels realized the value of such an installation. Now, every freight boat that amounts to much has the wireless aboard." "You speak of the wireless being used at a distance of two or three hundred miles," pursued the charter-man. "Dawson can't send the electric wave that far, can he?" "No, sir; because our signal mast is shorter than that on a big steamship. The length of our aerials is less. Still, we can handle a message for a pretty good distance." "What distance, Halstead?" "Why, our ideal distance is about sixty miles; we can make it seventy easily, and, under the best conditions, we can drive a message, so that it can be understood, for about ninety miles. But that doesn't really hold us down to even ninety miles. If there's a wireless ship within our radius we can ask her to relay for us. With a few ships spread out at proper intervals we could easily wire direct from the 'Restless' to the coast of England." "Joe," called Tom to his chum as the latter came on deck between wireless performances, "do you notice that the fog is lightening off to weatherward?" "Yes; the fog is heaviest off to westward, and we've been working out of that." "By the time we reach the 'Glide' I believe we're going to have some open weather around us." "It will be fine if we do," nodded young Dawson. "It's nasty work going up alongside of a big ship when you can't see fifty feet away." As they watched and waited, while the "Restless" stole slowly along, the fog about them became steadily lighter, though off to the westward it remained a thick, dense bank. "Say, it'd be great to have four or five miles of clear sea around us, so that we could see whether the seventy-foot boat has kept to anything like our course," declared Hank. At last the "Restless" came to within twenty minutes' hailing distance of the "Glide," as the young motor boat skipper figured it. Then, a few minutes later, a deep-toned fog-horn came to them faintly. As the minutes passed, now, this blast became heavier and nearer. "I've only a few minutes left with you, Joe, old chum," declared Captain Tom, with a half-sigh. "You'll take great, good care of the dear old craft, I know, while I'm gone." "As soon as Mr. Seaton is done with the boat I'll tie her up until you get back--that's what I'll do," grunted Dawson. "No sailing without a skipper for me." "You needn't look so bad about it, Cap," grinned Hepton. "I wish it was me, cut out for a long trip to Rio and back. Maybe I wouldn't jump at such a chance. Some folks are born lucky!" Too-woo-oo! The oncoming steamship's deep fog-horn sounded loud and sullen, now. Tom Halstead, still at the wheel, was peering constantly forward for the first glimpse of the freighter, for the fog had lightened much by this time. "There she is!" hailed keen-eyed Joe, on the lookout for this sight. "You can just make out her bow poking up through the fog. She must be a thousand feet off yet." With two boats approaching each other, this distance was, of course, quickly covered. Finding that he could see the other craft at such a distance, Skipper Tom threw on a little more speed, making a wide turn and so coming up alongside on a parallel course. "Take the wheel, Hank," directed the young skipper, seizing the megaphone and stepping to the port rail. "'Glide,' ahoy!" bawled Halstead through the megaphone. "'Restless,' ahoy!" came back from the freighter's bridge. "Lie to and let us come alongside, won't you? We want to put a passenger aboard." "Passenger? Where for?" "Rio, of course. That's where you're bound, isn't it?" "You'll have to be mighty quick about it," came the emphatic answer. "We can't afford stops on our way." "We may want to delay you a few minutes," began Tom. "Few minutes, nothing!" came the gruff retort. "We can't be held up in that fashion." "We can pay for all the trouble we put you to," retorted Halstead. Powell Seaton produced and waved a bulky wad of banknotes. "Oh, if you want to pay extra, above the fare, it'll be a little different," came, in mollified tones, from the bridge. The captain of the "Glide" was now much more accommodating. The fare received from a passenger put aboard in mid-sea would go to the owners of the freighter. But any extra money, paid for "trouble," would be so much in the pocket of the "Glide's" sailing-master. Several new faces appeared at the rail of the freighter, as that big craft slowed down and one of her mates superintended the work of lowering the side gangway. "Hullo, lobster-smack!" roared one derisive voice above the freighter's rail. "Say," called another voice, jeeringly, "it may be all right to go lobster-fishing, but it's no sort of good business to leave one of your catch of lobsters in command of even a smack like that!" Tom Halstead reddened angrily. One of his fists clenched unconsciously as he shot a wrathful look upward at the rail. "Say, you mentally-dented pilot of a fourth-rate peanut roaster of a boat, do you go by craft you know without ever giving a hail?" demanded a mocking voice, that of the first derisive speaker. Standing at the rail of the "Restless," Tom Halstead almost dropped the megaphone overboard from the sheer stagger of joy that caught him. "Hey, you Ab! You worthless Ab Perkins!" roared the young motor boat skipper, in huge delight. "And you, Dick Davis!" The two who stood at the "Glide's" rail overhead, and who had called down so mockingly, stood in uniform caps and coats identical with those worn by Halstead and his mates aboard the motor boat. They wore them with right, too, for Perkins and Davis were two of the most famous of the many youngsters who now composed the Motor Boat Club of the Kennebec. "Hey! What's this?" roared the usually quiet Joe Dawson, his face wreathed in smiles. He almost danced a jig. Hank Butts had never before seen either Davis or Perkins, but he knew about them, all right. He knew that uniform, too, the same that he wore. "Now, then--altogether!" yelled Hank. "Give it with a roar, boys!" Powell Seaton stared in bewildered amazement. So did officers, crew and others at the "Glide's" rail and on her bridge. For five lusty young Americans, all wearing the same uniform, all bronzed deeply with the tan that comes of the gale and the sun, all keen-eyed, quick and sure as tars ever are, roared in mighty chorus: "M-B-C-K! M-B-C-K! Motor Boat Club! WOW!" CHAPTER XVIII THE FIRST KINK OF THE PROBLEM SOLVED Again the roaring chorus rang out. "What's this? College boys' joke on me, or a floating mad-house?" huskily roared down the freighter's captain from the bridge. "It's all right, captain," sang back Tom Halstead. "We'll make it plain to you as soon as we get a chance. We're neither as bad nor as dangerous as we seem." The "Glide's" headway had all but ceased by this time, and the side gangway was at last in place. The "Restless" was run in close, while Hank stood up on the top of the forward deck-house with a coil of line, waiting until it came time to leap across onto the platform of the freighter's gangway and make the line fast. As quickly as the line was secured Captain Tom Halstead followed Butts, and dashed on past him up the steps of the gangway. Ab and Dick came down to meet him, each grabbing one of the young skipper's hands and wringing it. Then they turned to give the same greeting to Joe Dawson, who gasped: "Gracious, but it _does_ seem good to meet fellows of the Club and from the old home town at that!" Mr. Seaton, though following in more leisurely fashion, now passed them, going on up to the deck. There he met Captain Rawley. "Don't mind what my young men do, captain," begged the charter-man, "and don't mind if they delay you for a few minutes. I'll make good the damage." "Help yourself to a little of my time, then, sir," grimaced the freighter's captain. "Anything that I can spare from the proper time of the run, you understand." "How on earth do you fellows happen to be on this ship, of all places in the world?" demanded Tom Halstead. "Easy enough to explain," laughed Dick Davis. "Port authorities at Rio were good enough to order six motor boats for harbor purposes. My dad got the chance of building the boats at his yard at Bath. The Rio motor boats are on board, down in the hold, and Ab and I are sent along to deliver the motor boats, put them in running order at Rio, and, if necessary, teach the natives how to run such craft." "Did you fellows know we were signaling you by wireless?" Joe was asking Ab Perkins. "Did you know that you were going to see us?" "Didn't know a blessed thing about it," admitted Ab Perkins, almost sheepishly. "Dick and I were asleep in our stateroom. We were getting ready to come out on deck when we felt the old tub slackening speed. Then we came out to see what was happening. We looked over the rail, and--_wow_!" Ab again seized Joe Dawson's hand, giving it another mighty shake. Then the irrepressible Ab reached out for Tom's hand, but Dick Davis was drawing Halstead up on deck. Readers of the first volume of this series will remember both Ab and Dick well. They, too, were boys born near the Kennebec River, and took part in the stirring adventures narrated in THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OF THE KENNEBEC, just before Tom and Joe left for the next scenes of their activities, as related in THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AT NANTUCKET and THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OFF LONG ISLAND. Ab Perkins and Dick Davis were two of the most valued of the early members of the Club. All in a twinkling, Tom Halstead was seized by an idea. He looked about for Powell Seaton, saw that gentleman talking with Captain Rawley, and caught the charter-man's eye. "See here, Mr. Seaton," whispered Halstead, as soon as he had gotten his employer aside, "there's no great need for me to go to Rio." "No?" "Of course not. Give the papers to Dick Davis, with exact instructions as to who is to receive them at Rio Janeiro, and those papers will get into exactly the hands for which you intend them." "You feel certain of that, Halstead?" demanded Powell Seaton, his voice tremulous with anxiety. "Absolutely sure, sir. Dick Davis can be trusted as long the world holds together. There isn't the faintest yellow streak in him, either. Square, straight, keen, brave--that's Dick Davis. And Ab Perkins would go through the jaws of anything with Davis! Why, Mr. Seaton, they're Motor Boat Club boys! You can trust them to the same degree as you're willing to trust me. Moreover, they're going down to Rio on a mission to the Government. They've got a better chance to get ashore, unmolested and unwatched, than any other stranger would have." "Get your friends together, then, somewhere where we can have a private corner," begged Powell Seaton. "We'll talk this matter over--we've got to talk like lightning, at that." While Mr. Seaton sought Captain Rawley, Tom shot back along the deck to where Joe, Hank and the two Rio-bound members of the Motor Boat Club stood talking. "Hank," said Tom, in a low voice, "Hepton is all alone down on the 'Restless,' except for our prisoner aft. Hepton may be all right, and I think he is--but one of our own crowd ought to be on board our boat." "I'll be the one, then," half-sighed Hank Butts, turning to descend the side gangway. Captain Rawley promptly agreed to turn his own cabin over to the friends who wanted a private chat. "But only for five minutes, mind you," he insisted. "Then I must be on my way." Behind the closed door of the captain's room Powell Seaton and Tom Halstead swiftly explained what was wanted. "Will we do it?" said Dick Davis, repeating the question that had been asked him. "Why, of course we will. There's only one answer possible. Tom Halstead is fleet captain of the Motor Boat Club, and a request from Captain Tom is the same thing as an order." "You will go straight to the American consulate at Rio Janeiro, then," directed Mr. Seaton. "From the consulate you will send a messenger to bring to you Shipley D. Jarvis, whose address is the American Club. The American consul will be able to assure you that it is Shipley D. Jarvis who comes to you. You will turn over these papers to Mr. Jarvis in the presence of the American consul. A letter from me is in the envelope with the papers. That is all, except----" After a brief pause Mr. Seaton went on to caution Dick Davis and Ab Perkins as to the dangers against which they must guard on the way. This Tom Halstead supplemented with an exact description of Anson Dalton and of Captain Dave Lemly, of the now seized "Black Betty." "Either, or both, of the rascals may board this ship a little further along," cautioned Mr. Seaton. "Night and day you must be on your guard against them." Then Tom Halstead quickly outlined to Davis a system of apparently common-place wireless messages by means of which Davis might be able to keep Mr. Seaton informed of the state of affairs, for some days to come, on board the "Glide." Some further last instructions were added. Powell Seaton wound up by forcing a few banknotes into the hands of both these unexpected messengers. "Wait until we've succeeded," proposed Dick Davis. "This is for expense money, for sending wireless messages, and other things," replied Mr. Seaton. "Your real reward will come later on." "When we've succeeded," nodded Davis. So much time had been taken up by this talk that now all had to step out on deck. "We're ready to go aboard our boat, sir," Skipper Tom reported. "You and Dawson go, Halstead," nodded Mr. Seaton. "I want not more than sixty seconds with Captain Rawley in his own room." When the charter-man of the "Restless" came out once more the thick pile of banknotes in his pocket had grown a good deal thinner, but Captain Rawley had been enlisted as a friend to the cause. "Good-bye, old chums," cried Dick Davis, gripping a hand of Tom and Joe with each of his own. "Good-bye! Good luck now, and all the way through life!" murmured Tom, earnestly, and with a hidden meaning that Davis caught. As speedily as Tom and Joe had assisted Powell Seaton aboard the motor boat, Hank cast off, while the crew of the "Glide" began to raise the side gangway. There were more rousing farewells between the two groups of Motor Boat Club boys. Then the hoarse whistle of the "Glide" sounded, and the freighter began to go ahead at half-speed. The "Restless" fell away and astern, yet she followed the freighter. That she should do so had been understood with Captain Rawley, and with Dick and Ab. Powell Seaton intended to keep the "Glide" within sight for at least thirty-six hours, if possible, in order to make sure that the seventy-foot drab boat did not attempt to put Anson Dalton or any other messenger on board. "If we stick to the sea for a hundred years, Joe," laughed Skipper Tom, as he followed the bigger craft at a distance of eight hundred feet, "nothing as lucky as this is likely to happen again. I was afraid I was booked for Rio, for sure, and it made me heartsick to think of leaving the 'Restless' so long and living aboard a big tub of an ordinary, steam-propelled ship!" "I've taken the step, now, and can't very well change it," declared Mr. Seaton, who looked both pale and thoughtful. "Halstead, all I can hope and pray for is that your comrades on the ship ahead are as clever and watchful, as brave and honest as you think." "If wondering about Dick and Ab is all that ever worries me," laughed Tom Halstead, easily, "I don't believe I shall ever have any wrinkles. I know those boys, Mr. Seaton. We were born and raised in the same little Maine seacoast town, and I'd trust that pair with the errand if it were my own diamond field at stake." The fog had lifted sufficiently, by this time, so that clear vision was to be had for at least a quarter of a mile. Skipper Tom whistled as he handled the wheel. Joe Dawson was so relieved in mind that, after a careful look at the motors, he threw himself upon one of the berths opposite and dozed. Hank put in his time looking after preparations for supper. "What ails you, Halstead?" demanded Seaton, pausing abruptly beside the young skipper. For the boy had turned, suddenly, to a sickly pallor. "It has just struck me, sir," confessed the young motor boat skipper, "that, if Dalton has the slightest suspicion of what we've done to outwit him, he's just the man who will be desperate enough to put his whole set of papers in at the nearest cable office for direct sending to Rio Janeiro!" CHAPTER XIX HELPLESS IN THE NORTHEASTER! "I've already thought of that," nodded Powell Seaton. "And it doesn't worry you, sir--doesn't make you anxious?" questioned Captain Tom Halstead. "No. Of course, Dalton might cable the full contents of the papers. If the paper could fall only into Governor Terrero's hands it would be well worth the cable tolls. But if such a cablegram were sent, openly, to Terrero, or one of his representatives, it would have to go, first of all, through the hands of the Government officials who have charge of the cable." "But couldn't Terrero fix that?" asked Halstead. "No; Rio is out of his state, and beyond the sphere of his strongest influence. Now, if I were to land in Rio Janeiro, I would be arrested on a warrant issued by Terrero's judges, up in the state of Vahia, and I would have to go to Vahia for trial. Undoubtedly Terrero's rascally officers would shoot me on the way, and report that I had tried to escape." "Then what harm could it do to Terrero's chances for Dalton to send him the cablegram direct?" "Why, either the cable officials in Rio are very great rascals, or else they are honest officials. If they are rascals, they might hold the cablegram long enough to act for themselves on the information it contained. On the other hand, if they are honest officials, then they would undoubtedly notify the Government of such a stupendous piece of news. The Government would then very likely take charge of my diamond field itself, which would be wholly legal, for the Government already owns many, if not the greater number, of the producing diamond fields of that country. So, if the Government, acting on information from its cable officials, took possession of the news and of the diamond field, what good would the cablegram do Governor Terrero? No; you may be very sure that Dalton won't send the contents of the papers by cablegram. He undoubtedly has the strongest orders from Terrero against doing that." "I feel better, then," Tom admitted. "For the moment it came over me, like a thunderbolt, that Dalton might nip all our work in the bud by sending a cablegram. Still, couldn't he send it by code?" "No; for only the ordinary codes can go through the Brazilian cable offices, and the Government officers have the keys to all the codes that are allowed. Rest easy, Halstead; Dalton won't attempt to use the cable." "Then, if he doesn't get aboard the 'Glide,' we'll beat him out to Brazil--that's the surest thing in the world!" cried Tom, with as much enthusiasm as though the great fortune at stake were his own. They were still following in the wake of the "Glide." Once in a while Dick Davis or Ab Perkins had the operator on the freighter flash back a wireless message of a friendly, personal nature. Joe answered all these. For thirty-six hours this pleasant stern-chase lasted. By night the helmsman of the "Restless" kept the searchlight enough in use to make sure that the drab boat did not appear. "Dalton and Lemly lost the 'Glide,' if they were looking for her, in the fog," chuckled Halstead, in huge satisfaction. "Any Rio-bound boat they can catch now is hopelessly to the rear of the 'Glide,' I reckon." Joe, by wiring back, and asking other wireless vessels to relay, from time to time, had ascertained that there was no other steam vessel, bound for Rio, in close pursuit. Mr. Seaton took his trick at the wheel occasionally. So did Hepton. Joe gave most of his time to the wireless installation, though he maintained charge of the motors, Hank doing most of the work there. All had sleep enough during the cruise south. Joe used some of his spare time in carrying out his former plan of connecting the wireless table with the helmsman by means of a speaking tube. They were well down the coast of Florida when even anxious Powell Seaton declared that there was no need of cruising longer in the wake of the "Glide." He felt certain that the freighter had entirely eluded the vigilance of those on board the drab boat. By this time the supply of gasoline was nearly out. Tom had cautioned the charter-man that so long a run would use up about the last of their oil. There was, however, a small sail fitted to the signal mast. Now, when the crew of the "Restless" turned back, the sail was hoisted and power shut off. "We've oil enough to run perhaps three-quarters of an hour, sir," the young skipper explained. "We'll have to use that up in making port when we get in sight." Sailing aboard the "Restless" proved lazy work at the outset. With this small sail there was not wind enough to carry the boat at much more than two miles per hour on her northwest course for the nearest Florida town where gasoline was likely to be had. "We'll have a jolly long sail of it," laughed Skipper Tom, "unless the wind should freshen." "Well, we don't care," smiled Mr. Seaton. "At least, you won't be overworked. And our minds are easier--mine especially." "All of us have easier minds," Halstead retorted. "Don't you understand, sir, that the rest of us have taken this whole business to heart? We couldn't be more concerned than we are to see the affairs of our charter parties come through all right." "Oh, I believe that," nodded Powell Seaton. "You boys have been the strongest sort of personal friends to me in my troubles. You couldn't possibly have made my affairs, and my dangers, more thoroughly your own troubles." Two hours later a wireless message came back from the "Glide." It was from Dick Davis, and couched in vague terms, but meant to inform those aboard the "Restless" that the drab seventy-footer was still out of sight. An hour after that a second message reached the motor boat. Soon after the "Restless" found herself unable to answer, though still able to receive. "Hank, are you feeling particularly strong to-day?" inquired Mr. Seaton. "I'm always strong, sir," replied the young steward. "Then why not rack your pantry stores in order to supply the biggest thing in a meal for all hands this evening? I feel more like eating than I have any day in a month." "You'd have to go to a sure-enough number-one hotel to find a better meal than I'll put up for this evening," retorted Hank, grinning gleefully, as he started for the galley. In such lazy weather Tom Halstead felt that he could go below for a nap, especially as Joe was around. Hepton was left at the wheel. Tom speedily closed his eyes in one of the soundest naps he had enjoyed in many a day. He was awakened by Hank, who came into the stateroom and shook him by the shoulder. "Weather's all right, up to now," Butts informed the young captain. "Still, we don't like the looks of the sky, and the barometer is beginning to show signs of being eccentric. Won't you come up on deck for a minute, anyway?" Tom was out of his berth in a twinkling. There was enough of the sea-captain in him for that. The instant he reached the deck his gaze swept around anxiously, inquiringly, at the sky. "The clouds up on the northeast horizon don't look exactly friendly, do they?" he inquired of Joe. "Don't know," replied Dawson. "Haven't seen enough of them yet." "I'm thinking you will, soon," replied Halstead. "How's the wind been?" "From the east, sir," replied Hepton, who was at the wheel. "It's working around to northeast, now," muttered Halstead. "And it was almost from the south when I turned in." Tom stood by the barometer, watching it. "Trouble coming," he said, briefly. Within half an hour his prediction began to be verified. The darkish, "muddy" clouds first seen on the northeast horizon were looming up rapidly, the wind now driving steadily from that quarter. Even with all the smallness of her single sail the "Restless" was heeling over considerably to port. "Lay along here, Hank, and help me to put a double reef in the sail," Tom ordered. "I don't want this little bit of canvas blown away from us." As Tom called, he eased off the sheet, and Hepton lounged away from the wheel. "Too bad," muttered Hank Butts. "We've been making a good four knots since the wind freshened." "I'm out of a guess if there isn't a wind coming that'd take a sail out of its fastenings in ten seconds," rejoined Halstead, working industriously with the reeves. A light squall struck them before the boys had finished their task. "A September northeaster along this coast is no laughing matter, from all I've heard of it," Tom explained as the two boys took the last hitches. "Now, come on, Hank. We'll hoist her." With long rhythmic pulls at the halyards Tom and Butts got the shortened sail up, making all secure. "You'd better take the wheel, Joe," sang out the young skipper. "Hepton, stand by to give a hand if the helm moves hard." "You seem rather excited over a pleasant breeze like this," observed Powell Seaton. "Wait," said Tom, quietly. "I only hope I am taking too much precaution. I've never handled a boat along the Florida coast before, you know, sir, so it's best to err on the side of caution." Hank was sent off on the jump, now, to make everything secure, while Skipper Tom took his place on the bridge deck at starboard to watch the weather. "I guess there'll be time, now, Hank, to rig life lines on the bridge deck," hinted Halstead, coolly. "Never mind about any aft. Whoever goes below can go through the motor room." Catching a look full of meaning in the young commander's eye, Butts hustled about his new task. "You seem to be making very serious preparations," suggested Powell Seaton, seriously. "Nothing like being a fool on the wise side," answered Skipper Tom, calmly. Within ten minutes more the wind had freshened a good deal, and the "Restless" was bending over considerably to port, running well, indeed, considering her very small spread of canvas. Now, the sky became darker. The weather was like that on shore in autumn when the birds are seen scurrying to cover just before the storm breaks. "I reckon there's going to be something close to trouble, after all," observed Powell Seaton, when it became necessary for him to hold his hat on. Tom nodded in a taciturn way, merely saying: "If you're going to stay on deck, Mr. Seaton, you'd better put on a cap, or a sou'wester." Mr. Seaton started below, through the motor room. While he was still there the gale struck, almost without further warning. "Watch the wind and ease off a bit, Joe," bawled Skipper Halstead in his chum's ear. Joe Dawson nodded slightly. The gale was now upon them with such fury that making one's self heard was something like work. Despite the prompt easing by the helm, the "Restless" bowled over a good deal as the crest of the first in-rolling wave hit her. Powell Seaton, a cap on his head, appeared at the motor room hatchway. Tom motioned him to remain where he was. Clutching at the rail, Tom Halstead kept his face turned weatherward most of the time. He knew, now, that a fifty-five-foot boat like the "Restless," weather-staunch though she was, was going to have about all she could do in the sea that would be running in a few minutes more. Nor did he make any mistake about that. A darkness that was almost inky settled down over them. Bending through the hatchway, the young sailing master yelled to Powell Seaton to switch on the running lights. "For we'll need 'em mighty soon, if we don't now," Captain Tom added. Hank reappeared with rain-coats, and with his own on. Hardly had those on deck so covered themselves when, accompanied by a vivid flash of lightning and a crashing peal of thunder, the rain came down upon them. At first there were a few big drops. Then, the gale increasing, the rain came in drenching sheets. The decks began to run water, almost choking the scuppers. The heeling of the "Restless" was no longer especially noticeable. She was rolling and pitching in every direction, accompanied by a straining and creaking of timbers. Powell Seaton, standing below, clutching for support, and not much of a sailor at best, began to feel decidedly scared. "Are we going to be able to weather this, Captain Halstead?" he yelled up, as the young skipper paused close by the hatchway. Though the noise of the now furious gale prevented Tom from making out the words very clearly, he knew, by instinct, almost, what had been asked of him. "Weather the gale, sir?" Tom bawled down, hoarsely. "Of course! We've got to!" There was a new sound that made the young sailing master jump, then quiver. With a great tearing and rending the single canvas gave way before the roaring gale. In a trice the sail was blown to fluttering ribbons! CHAPTER XX "C.Q.D! C.Q.D.!--HELP!" "Lay along with me, Hank!" bawled the young skipper, hoarsely, in the steward's ear. "We've got to cut away what's left of the sail." Neither helmsman could wisely be spared. Though the boat now had no power of her own she was being driven sharply before the gale, and some fine handling of the wheel was needed in order to keep the boat so headed that she might wallow as little as possible in the trough of the sea. Nor was the work of the young captain and Hank Butts anything like play. Making their way out along the top of the cabin deck-house was in itself hazardous. They were forced to clutch at any rigging that came to hand to avoid being washed overboard, for the waves were dashing furiously over the helpless boat. It was not much of a task to haul in the sheet, making fast. Then, using their sailor's knives, they slashed away. It was needful for one of them to go aloft. "I can do it," proposed Hank, summoning all his courage. "I know you can," Tom bawled in his ear. "But I'm not going to send anyone where I wouldn't go myself. It's mine to go aloft." Thrusting his knife securely into the sheath at the end of its lanyard, Tom Halstead began to climb. Hank watched him closely. The pair at the wheel had no time to observe. All their attention was needed on their own work. As he climbed, Tom Halstead had a sensation of being in danger of being pitched overboard. Next, as the "Restless" lay over harder than she had yet done, it seemed as though the mast were bent on touching the water. Halstead had to halt in his climbing, satisfied to hold on for dear life. "Oh, if we only had enough gasoline aboard!" groaned the young skipper, regretfully. "It would be a tough storm, even then, though nothing like as bad as this!" As the boat partially righted herself, he went on with his climbing. At length he found himself where he could bring his knife into play, slashing away the fragments of the wind-torn canvas. When the work was done Halstead let himself to the deck again, half-expecting that the force of the pitching and fury of the gale would catch him and sweep him over into the dark, raging waters. Yet he reached the deck in safety, finding himself beside Hank Butts, who, by this time, looked more like some water-logged thing than a natty steward. "Come on below to the sail-locker," roared Captain Tom in the other boy's ear. "Be careful to hold to the life lines and go slow when the boat heels over. We'll get the new sail out and rig it--if we can." Hepton, seeing them coming, made a sign to Joe, who stood doggedly braced at the wheel. Joe did all he could--it was little enough--to swing the boat's head a trifle so that she would ride more easily, if possible, in that terrible sea. Slowly Tom and Hank made their way to the motor room door and slipped down below. There Powell Seaton, his face white, confronted them. "Captain, this is awful. I don't see how the 'Restless' rides such a sea at all." "She'd not only ride but steer well, sir, if we had gasoline enough to run her by her propellers," Halstead shouted back. "I'd go all the way to Havana in a gale like this if I could use the twin propellers. The 'Restless' is a sea boat, and she can't sink unless the watertight compartments are smashed." "But she can turn over and ride keel upward, can't she?" demanded Mr. Seaton, with a ghastly grin. "She can, sir, if she heels enough," Tom admitted. "But that's why Joe's at the wheel--because we need a fellow who can make the most out of such headway as the force of wind and waves gives us. And now, sir, Hank and I must try to rig a new sail." Out of the sail-locker they dragged the new canvas. It was all in readiness for rigging. In calm weather they could have done this readily--but now? Only time could tell. "Lend 'em a hand, Hepton!" roared Joe, as he saw the young captain and helper appear with the bulky canvas. It was all the three of them could do, in the rolling, high seas in which the "Restless" pitched like a chip of wood, to get that sail on top of the cabin deck-house. Bit by bit they rigged it in place, working fast, straining muscle and sinew to hold the sail against the gale that strove to carry the canvas overboard. At last, they had it in place, ready for hoisting. "Stand by to hoist," sang out Captain Tom. "The two of you. Go slow! I'll watch for trouble as you shake it out." All the reefs had been taken in the sail before hoisting. Tom Halstead had made up his mind to be satisfied with just a showing of canvas to catch the high wind--enough to keep the boat steady. As the sail went up, flapping wildly in the breeze, Halstead began to have his doubts whether it would last long. It was their last chance, however, for the control of the "Restless." "Lay along here!" roared Tom, through his hands as a trumpet, when he saw that they had made the halyards fast. Now he signed to them to help him haul in on the sheet. Joe, watching, just making out the white of the canvas through the darkness, threw the wheel over to make the craft catch the wind. In a few moments more the gale was tugging against the small spread of canvas, and the "Restless" was once more under control--while the sail lasted! All but exhausted, the trio found their way forward. For a brief space they tumbled below into the motor room, though Halstead stood where he could see Joe Dawson and spring to his aid when needed. "Hank," called Halstead, five minutes later, "your trick and mine on deck. We'll give Joe and Hepton a chance to get their wind below." Small as was the spread of canvas, Tom found, when he took the wheel, that the good little "Restless" was plunging stiffly along on her course. She was a wonderfully staunch little boat. The young sailing master bewailed his luck in having hardly any gasoline on board. It should never happen again, he promised himself. Again? Was there to be any "again"? The motor boat captain was by no means blind to the fact that the "Restless" hadn't quite an even chance of weathering this stiff gale. At any moment the sail might go by the board in ribbons, as the first had done. Hank was not even watching the sail. If it gave way it must. Joe presently came on deck for his next trick at the wheel. Hepton was with him. "I've been thinking about the prisoner in the starboard stateroom," announced Joe. "It's inhuman to leave him there, locked in and handcuffed, in such a gale. He must be enduring fearful torment." "Yes," nodded Tom. "I've just been thinking that I must go down and set him free as soon as I'm relieved." "Go along, then," proposed young Dawson. "I have the wheel, and Hepton by me." Taking Hank Butts with him, Tom Halstead made his way below. "Dawson was just speaking to me about our prisoner," began Powell Seaton. "Dawson thinks he ought to be turned loose--at least while this gale lasts." "Yes," nodded Captain Halstead. "I'm on my way to do it now." "Will it be safe?" "We can't help whether it is, or not," Skipper Tom rejoined. "It's a humane thing to do, and we'll have to do it." Powell Seaton did not interpose any further objections. It would have been of little moment if he had, for, on the high seas, the ship's commander is the sole judge of what is to be done. Even below decks, going through the electric-lighted passage and cabin, Tom and Hank made their way with not a little difficulty. They paused, at last, before the starboard stateroom door, and Tom fitted the key in the lock. Jasper, the man locked within, faced them with affrighted gaze. "We're going to the bottom?" he demanded, hoarsely, tremulously. His very evident terror gave the young skipper a new idea. "Are you prepared to go to the bottom, Jasper?" demanded Halstead. "Am I fit to die, do you mean?" asked the man, with a strange, sickly grin. "No, sir; I'm not. At least, not until I've cleared myself by telling a few truths." "Come out into the cabin, man," ordered Halstead, leading him. "Now, sit down, and I'll get your handcuffs off." The young captain of the "Restless" unlocked the irons about the fellow's wrists. Jasper stretched his hands, flexing his wrists. "Now, I can swim, anyway, though I don't believe it will do much good," he declared. "No; it won't do much good," Halstead assented. "We're something more than forty miles off the coast. But what do you want to say? What's on your mind? Be quick, man, for we must be on deck again in a jiffy. I don't want to lose my boat while I'm below with a rascal like you." "I haven't always been a rascal," retorted Jasper, hanging his head. "At least, I have been fairly straight, until the other day." "What have you been doing for Dalton and Lemly?" demanded Tom Halstead, fixing his gaze sternly on the frightened fellow. "Never anything for Dalton," whined Jasper. "Well, for Lemly, then?" "Oh, I've been snooping about a bit, for two years or so, getting tips for Dave Lemly." "What has Lemly been smuggling in the 'Black Betty' all this time?" "Diamonds," admitted Jasper, sullenly. Tom Halstead felt like giving a great start, but controlled himself. "Smuggling diamonds under Anson Dalton's orders, eh?" insisted the young skipper. "Yes; I reckon so." "How did you come into our matter--as a guard and a traitor?" "I was on hand when Mr. Seaton was getting his guards together," replied Jasper. "So was Dave Lemly's mate. The mate told me to jump in and get my chance with the guard." "What other orders did you have?" "I was to watch my chance to do anything nasty that I could," confessed the fellow, hanging his head. "That was why you tried to ruin our aerials?" "Yes." "You also listened to Mr. Seaton and myself, the night we were going over to Lonely Island?" Jasper squirmed, his face growing more ashen. "You heard what was said about papers hidden in a cupboard at the bungalow. Did you? Answer me, confound you!" With an appearance of utter rage Tom bounded at the fellow, as though about to attack him. Hank closed in, to be ready in case the attack turned out to be a genuine one. "Yes, I stole an envelope full of papers," admitted Jasper. "What did you do with them?" "I turned them over to Dave Lemly." "Where? On Lonely Island?" "Yes; Lemly visited the island twice, at night, while I was on duty there," confessed the fellow, whining and letting his head fall lower. "What else have you done against us?" "Nothing, except trying to disable your wireless." "Are you telling the whole, full truth?" demanded Captain Tom Halstead, surveying the fellow suspiciously. "As much of the truth as you want to lay bare before going to the bottom in this wild storm?" "Yes! Oh, yes, yes!" insisted Jasper, easily. "Now, I've cleared my conscience of its load!" "Humph!" muttered Tom Halstead, dryly. At that moment a snapping sound overhead reached their ears. The "Restless" veered about, then heeled dangerously. "Our second and last sail has gone!" cried the young skipper, starting forward. "Jasper, I hope you have told me the whole truth, for there is no knowing, now, how soon you'll start for the bottom--how soon we'll all go down. Helpless in this sea, the 'Restless' may 'turn turtle.'" Nor was Tom speaking in jest, nor in any effort to scare the recent prisoner into a fuller confession. Indeed, the motor boat captain was paying no further heed to the wretch, but making his way forward. Jasper started to follow, Hank bringing up the rear. As they reached the motor room the pitching and rolling of the boat were awesome enough. It seemed incredible that a boat the size of the "Restless" could live even a minute in her now helpless condition. Joe still stood at the wheel, white-faced but calm. "I don't see what we can do now, Tom," he shouted. "Nothing but get down to the wireless, and do anything you can in the way of picking up some steamship," Halstead answered. "We might get a tow, or, at least, another spread of canvas for a third try to ride out the gale. The chances aren't big for us, but--well, Joe, we're sailors, and can take our medicine." Joe smiled grittily as he edged away from the wheel after his chum had taken it. "At least, if we go down, we go down in command of our own ship!" he yelled bravely in Tom's ear through the wild racket of the gale. Then Joe went below. The storage batteries held electricity enough to operate the few lights and keep the wireless going at intervals for some hours yet. Once, in the minutes that dragged by, Hank Butts thought of the fine spread he had been instructed to serve all hands that night. But no one else was thinking of food now. Coffee would have been more to the purpose, but to start a galley fire was to take the risk of adding fire at sea to the already more than sufficient perils of those aboard the "Restless." Every few minutes Captain Tom Halstead called down through the speaking tube that connected him with Joe Dawson at the sending table. Always Joe's calm answer came, the same: "Our wireless spark hasn't picked up any other ship yet." Then, just as frequently, Joe would rest his hand on the sending key again, and send crashing off into space the signal: "C.Q.D.!" The three letters that carry always the same message of despair across the waves. "C.Q.D.!"--the wireless signal of distress. "Help wanted, or we perish!" CHAPTER XXI THE SPARK FINDS A FRIEND THROUGH THE GALE The time had dragged on far into the night. Joe was still at the wireless sending table, sleepless, patient, brave--a sailor born and bred. Jasper, like many another rascal a superstitious coward in the face of impending death, was seeking to appease the sting of his conscience by doing everything in his power to make amends in these grave moments. He stood by, pallid-faced yet collected enough to obey any order instantly. Captain Tom remained on deck all the time now, though Hank often relieved him briefly at the wheel. Both Hepton and Jasper stood by to help as deck-hands. Powell Seaton came up on deck occasionally, though he remained more in the motor room. Again and again Joe signaled--always that desperately appealing "C.Q.D.!" It was all the signal he needed to send out. Wherever heard, on land or water, the first operator to catch it would break in at once with a demand for further particulars. Yet Joe's soul grew sick within him as time passed, and no such break came through the storm-laden air. For Dawson, as well as had he stood on deck, knew that this endless, malignant fury of the gale must sooner or later start the seams of the staunch little craft. Or else, struck by a wave bigger than any others, she would lie so far over on her beam ends that she must finish the manoeuvre by "turning turtle"--lying with her keel uppermost, and the crew penned underneath to drown in haste. "Nothing to report yet, Joe, old fellow?" came down Captain Tom's brave though anxious voice for perhaps the fortieth time. "No reply to our signals, Tom," went back the answer. "Do you think our spark is still strong enough to carry far?" "Plenty of electric 'juice' left," Joe responded. "The spark is as strong as ever. Oh, if we only had as much gasoline!" "Oh, if we only had!" But ten minutes after that last call Joe again sent forth: "C.Q.D.! C.Q.D.!" Then down the receivers traveled a click--not loud, yet unmistakable. "Where are you? Answer!" came the response, out of the air from some quarter. In frantic haste Joe Dawson fell upon his key once more. Motor yacht "Restless!" Under no power whatever. Gasoline almost gone--saving the last for any emergency chance that comes to us. All canvas blown overboard. Do you get this? It seemed to frenzied Joe Dawson as though many minutes passed, yet the response came promptly: Give us your present position, "Restless," as best you know it! Joe obeyed with fingers that seemed themselves to be worked by electricity. The receiver of the message repeated Joe's response, to make sure that it was correct. "Who are you?" Joe now broke in to answer. Havana liner, bound north, and, we believe, within thirty miles of you. Have you been signaling long? "Seems as though I had been signaling for years," sent back Joe, laughing nervously to himself. The answer came: We'd heard you before, then, but there was a little mishap to our installation. You keep at your table to send and receive. I'll do the same at my end. Keep up your courage until we reach you. Be ready to burn Coston lights when we ask you to. Then how fast Joe Dawson managed to talk up through the speaking tube! Tom Halstead, after first announcing the great news to the deck with a wild cheer, put Hank at the wheel and hurried below. Shortly, however, the young skipper was back on deck, bearing the wonderful news. In smooth weather the Havana liner, ordinarily a fifteen-knot boat, would have reached them in two hours. Under the weather conditions of this wild night it was much later when the two craft were within hailing distance by signal lights. Hank was now in command of the deck, Skipper Tom and Powell Seaton being with Joe. "Shall we try to send you a line for a tow?" came the demand from the liner. "Yes," replied Halstead. Then, with a grimace he added: "But the salvage charge for such a tow will call for more than we can raise, Joe, old fellow. I reckon the 'Restless' will have to be put up for sale to pay her own bills." "Do you think I'd let you boys stand the towing charges?" demanded Powell Seaton, indignantly. "Whatever charges there are are mine to pay, and I'm at least good for the entire purchase price of a few boats like even this good little old salt water wizard!" Tom soon afterwards made his way to the deck, but Mr. Seaton, weak and almost ill after the hours of anxiety, threw himself upon a cushioned seat near the wireless sending table. As Tom stood on the bridge deck he studied the liner's lights as that larger craft manoeuvred in to the leeward of the motor craft. Once she had gained this position at a sufficient distance to make any collision on this wild sea unlikely, the liner steamed ahead. "Stand ready to receive our line!" came to Joe in clicks through the watch-case receivers over either ear. He swiftly transmitted the order through the speaking tube to Halstead on the bridge. Then the liner burned another light. Tom answered with one held in his own hand. It was the signal to look for the line, and the answer. Through the darkness came a sudden, red flash from the after deck of the liner. The wind was so heavy that those on the bridge deck of the "Restless" could not be sure that they heard the report of the gun. But a missile whizzed over their heads, and to this blessed projectile trailed a thin line that fell across the top of the cabin deck. Tom and Hank made a simultaneous bolt to get hold of that line. It was young Butts who secured it. He passed it on to the young captain, and, together, they leaped to the bridge-deck with it. From there they crawled forward over the raised deck, slipping the line, at last, between the two raised ends of the towing bitt. "Now, haul in with a will," glowed the young skipper, as they crept back to the bridge-deck. A great wave swept over them on their way back. Tom saw it coming, and braced himself. Hank was caught by the rush of waters; he would have been swept overboard, but Halstead grabbed at one of his ankles, holding on grimly. At that moment the late prisoner, Jasper, saw what was happening. Projecting himself forward over the raised deck, he, too, caught hold of Hank Butts, while Powell Seaton held to Jasper. It was a sort of human chain by which Hank was pulled to safety. Tom, throughout the excitement, held the "thin line" in one hand. "Haul in this thin line, quickly," shouted the young commander, who could barely make himself heard above the tumult of the gale. As the line was some four hundred feet long, it used up precious moments to haul it and coil up the slack. As the last of the "thin line" came into their hands there came with it the first of a stouter hawser, the two lines being knotted securely together. "Hold on to me, now! Form a chain again," ordered Skipper Tom. "I'll make the hawser fast forward." All this while the Havana liner, some four hundred feet away, was going through a complicated bit of manoeuvering under the hands of her officers. Alternately she moved at half-speed-ahead, at stop, or on the reverse, in order that, despite the high-rolling waves, she might not go too far ahead and snap the thin line. But now young Halstead soon had a stout hitch about the towing bitt at the bow. A few more turns, then he signaled to those behind holding him to help him back to the bridge deck. A dozen great waves had rolled over him on that smooth raised deck, but the members of the human chain hauled him back to safety. "Signal to our friends that they can apply full speed ahead, Joe, if they want to," directed the young motor boat captain, briefly, as he reached the comparative safety of the bridge deck once more. Over the noise of the gale the answering blast from the liner's whistle came to them as a far-away sound. But now the big boat ahead started on at a ten-knot speed. "Gracious, but this seems good, once more!" glowed Tom Halstead, taking over the wheel as the towing hawser tautened and the "Restless" began to move forward under a headway that could be controlled and directed. "We couldn't have stood this racket much longer, without a tow," chattered Joe. "I've had moments at the wheel, to-night, when, on account of our helplessness, I've felt sure we were going to 'turn turtle.'" "What ails your jaws, old fellow?" demanded Tom, looking curiously at his chum. "Say, you're shaking to pieces, and I don't wonder. Get below and get dry and warm. Get below all of you, except one to stand by me. Who can best remain on deck for a few minutes more?" "I can," proposed Jasper, starting forward with an odd mixture of sullenness and eagerness in his tone. "I'll trust you--now," nodded Captain Halstead, after eyeing the man keenly. "The rest of you get below. We want a few dry folks aboard." On board there was clothing in abundance, enough to enable everyone to make at least a few changes. Now that the "Restless" could be held to a course, Hank Butts cautiously made a small fire in the galley stove, and then stood by to watch the fire. After a while he had coffee going--this with a "cold bite" of food. Hepton came up, bye-and-bye, to take the wheel. As he was wholly capable, Tom surrendered the helm to him, then dropped down below for some of that coffee. "We've found out to-night what a wireless is good for," declared Joe. "But for it, we wouldn't have kept the 'Restless' afloat and right side up through the night." "Until we got this tow I didn't expect ever to see port again," Tom Halstead admitted, quietly. "Do you know, the worst thing folks will have against row-boats in the future will be the fact that row-boats are too small to carry a wireless installation!" "You feel wholly safe, now, do you, captain?" demanded Powell Seaton. "It rather seems to me that the gale has been getting heavier." "It has," Halstead admitted. "If we were adrift, now, we probably couldn't keep right-side up for ten minutes. But give the 'Restless' real headway, and she'll weather any gale that a liner or a warship will." "If the towing hawser should part!" shuddered Mr. Seaton. "We'd hope to get another line across, and made fast, before we 'turned turtle,'" replied Skipper Tom. No one could venture from below on the bridge deck without being quickly drenched. For that reason the wheel-reliefs were short. Hank, by staying right by his galley fire, was able to keep heat at which anyone coming down from the bridge deck could dry himself. By daylight the gale and sea were lighter. For one thing, the Havana liner had carried her tow so far north that they were out of the worst of it. Half an hour after daylight the wireless operator aboard the larger craft telegraphed Joe: "We've taken you in four miles off the town of Mocalee. You can get gasoline there. Do you want to cast off our line now?" "Yes," flashed back Joe, after consulting Captain Halstead. "And our greatest, heartiest thanks for your fine work for us." There was further interchange of courtesies, then the line was cast off as soon as Joe and Hank had started the twin motors going on the little that was left of the gasoline. There was no way, or need, to settle the liner's towing charges now. These could be collected later, for the "Restless" was a boat registered by the United States authorities. She could be found and libeled anywhere if her young owners failed to settle. "Hooray! But doesn't it feel great to be moving under one's own power again!" chortled Captain Tom, as he felt the vibration of the propellers and swung the steering wheel. Though the coast had been visible from daylight, the town of Mocalee was not in sight until the boat neared the mouth of a river. Up this stream, half a mile, nestled a quaint little Florida town, where, as one of the natives afterwards expressed it to Joe, "we live on fish in summer and sick Yankees in winter." "We'd better get on shore, all hands, and stretch our legs," proposed Powell Seaton, after Skipper Tom had made the "Restless" fast at the one sizable dock of the town. "I see a hotel over yonder. I invite you all to be my guests at breakfast--on a floor that won't rock!" "I'll stay aboard, then, to look after the boat," volunteered Hepton. "And you can rely on me to keep a mighty sharp eye on that man, Jasper," he added, in Halstead's ear. It was after seven o'clock in the morning when the shore party from the "Restless," after strolling about a little, turned toward the hotel. As they passed through a corridor on the way to the office Tom Halstead glanced at a red leather bag that was being brought downstairs by a negro bell-boy. "Do you see the bag that servant has?" asked Tom, in a whisper, as he clutched Powell Seaton's arm. "Scar on the side, and all, I'd know that bag anywhere. It's the one Anson Dalton brought over the side when he boarded the 'Restless' from the 'Constant'!" CHAPTER XXII TOM HALSTEAD SPRINGS THE CLIMAX "Can that fellow be here?" demanded Powell Seaton, his lips twitching. "He must be--or else he has sent someone else with his baggage," Tom Halstead answered, in an undertone. None of the party had paused, but had passed on into the office. "We've got to know," whispered Powell Seaton, tremulously. "Then you go ahead, sir, and register us for breakfast, and I'll attend to finding out about this new puzzle." While Mr. Seaton went toward the desk, Tom signed to Hank Butts to follow him aside. "About all you can do, Hank, is to get outside, not far from the door, and see whether Dalton goes out," Halstead declared, after having briefly explained the situation. "If Dalton leaves the hotel, give us word at once." "Here, you take charge of this bag of mine, then," begged Hank, turning so that the clerk at the desk could not see. Butts had come ashore in a long rain-coat drawn on over his other clothing. Now, he quickly opened a small satchel that he had also brought with him. "That old hitching weight of yours!" cried Tom, in a gasping undertone, as he saw Hank slip that heavy iron object from the bag to a hiding place under his coat. "How on earth do you happen to have that thing with you?" "It must have been a private tip from the skies," grinned Hank, "but I saw the thing lying in the motor room and I picked it up and slipped it into this satchel. Take the bag from me and I'll get out on the porch." All this took place so quietly that the clerk at the desk noticed nothing. Halstead now carried the empty bag as he sauntered back to the party. But he found chance to whisper to Joe: "Anson Dalton must be in this hotel. Hank is slipping out to watch the front of the house. Hadn't you better get around to the rear? If it happens that the fellow is about to leave here, it might be worth our while to know where he goes." Nodding, Joe quietly slipped away. The negro with the red bag had now entered the office. The bag, however, he took over to the coat-room and left it there. "Breakfast will be ready at any time after eight o'clock, gentlemen," announced the clerk. Powell Seaton lighted a cigar, remaining standing by the desk. Tom stood close by. The door of the office opened. Anson Dalton, puffing at a cigarette, his gaze resting on the floor, entered. He was some ten feet into the room before he looked up, to encounter the steady gaze of Captain Halstead and the charter-man. Starting ever so little, paling just a bit, Dalton returned that steady regard for a few seconds, then looked away with affected carelessness. "Going to leave us to-day, Mr. Dalton?" inquired the clerk. "I don't know," replied the scoundrel, almost sulkily. Then, lighting a fresh cigarette, he strolled over by one of the windows. Presently, without looking backward at the captain and charter-man of the "Restless," the fellow opened a door and stepped out onto the porch. There he promptly recognized Hank Butts, who stared back at him with interest. "I wonder if Lemly is with this fellow?" whispered Halstead to his employer. "I'm going beyond that, and wondering what the whole fact of Dalton's presence here can possibly mean," replied Powell Seaton. The office door from the corridor opened again. Through the doorway and across the office floor stepped, with half-mincing gait, a young, fair-haired man who, very plainly, had devoted much attention to his attire. "Where is Mr. Dalton?" demanded this immaculate youth, in a soft, rather effeminate voice that made Halstead regard him with a look of disfavor. "You'll find him out on the porch, I think, Mr. Dawley," answered the clerk. "Oh, thank you, I'm sure," replied the soft-voiced one. As though he were walking on eggs young Mr. Dawley turned, going toward the porch door. "Oh, good morning, Dalton, dear fellow," cried the fair-haired dandy, in the same soft voice, as he came upon Seaton's enemy, who was walking up and down the porch utterly ignoring Hank Butts. "Good morning, Dawley," replied Dalton, looking more than a little bored by the interruption. "Now, who and what, in the game, is Dalton's Elizabeth-boy friend?" wondered Hank, eying the latest arrival. "Have a cigarette, Dawley?" asked Dalton, in a voice almost of irritation, as he held out his case. "Charming of you, indeed," declared Dawley, helping himself to a cigarette and lighting it. "Look out the tobacco doesn't make you sick, babe," muttered Hank Butts under his breath. "Now, my dear Dalton, about the business we were discussing here last evening----" began the soft-voiced one, but the other broke in on him with: "If you don't mind, Dawley, I want to think a bit now." "Oh, that will be quite all right, I am sure," agreed the soft-voiced one. "Then I'll just stroll down the street a bit and be back in time to breakfast with you." Dalton nodded and the fair-haired fashion plate stepped down into the path and strolled away. "All of which tells us," reflected Hank, "that our friend Dalton has been here at least since yesterday, and that he and the Elizabeth-boy dude are not very well acquainted." Butts looked up, almost with a start, to find Dalton close at hand, scowling into the boy's face. "I suppose you're out here to watch me," growled Dalton, glaring. "If I am, you wouldn't expect me to grow confidential about it, would you?" asked Hank, grinning into the other's face. "Oh, I don't want any of your impudence," snapped the rascal. "I wouldn't give you any, or anything else belonging to me," clicked Hank Butts, decisively. "If you're standing out here to watch me," continued Dalton, "I am willing to tell you that I am not leaving the hotel for the present." "That, or any other information you are willing to offer me, will be treated in the utmost confidence, I assure you," promised Hank. "Don't be too frolicsome with me!" warned Dalton, wrathily. "I?" echoed Hank, looking astonished. "Why, I didn't say anything until you spoke to me." With a snort Anson Dalton strolled away to a chair, seating himself and blowing out great clouds of smoke. "He isn't exactly glad to see us here--I can guess that much," thought Hank. "But I wish I could guess how Anson Dalton comes to be here. I didn't see anything of his drab boat in the river." In the meantime Tom Halstead and Powell Seaton, after dropping into chairs in the office, were talking most earnestly in undertones. From where they sat they could see Dalton's red bag resting on a shelf in the coat-room. "I'd give the world to know whether the rascal has the stolen papers still in that bag!" cried Seaton, anxiously. "Would he be likely to leave the bag around the hotel carelessly, if it contained anything so important?" asked Tom. "He might have been willing to do so before he knew we were about here," replied the charter-man. "But even when he knows we're here the fellow doesn't seem anxious about the matter." "Because the clerk is behind the desk, where he can see everything," hinted Mr. Seaton. "Yet, for all Dalton knows, the clerk might leave the room for a minute and give us our chance." "I've an idea," muttered Mr. Seaton, rising so quickly that Tom stood up with him. "You keep the best eye possible over the rascal. Don't go in to breakfast unless he goes. Never mind whether I come to breakfast or not." "All right, sir," nodded Halstead. As Powell Seaton crossed the porch without even looking in Dalton's direction, the young motor boat captain also stepped outside, going over to Hank. "Watch that fellow, Hank," whispered Tom. "Don't let him get away from you." "Not if I have to steal his cigarettes," promised Butts, with vim. Then Skipper Tom vanished, though not for long. He merely went to find Joe Dawson, at the opposite side of the building. The two chums returned together. "Now," said Tom, in a chuckling whisper, "if Anse Dalton wants to get away from us, he'll have to run in four different directions at the same time." "But did you see the nice plush boy that's with Dalton?" asked Hank, dryly. Butts, more than any of the others of the party, had taken a great dislike to the soft-voiced one. Dalton turned, once in a while, to scowl in the direction of the three motor boat boys. That, however, was all the attention he gave them. A little later Dawley returned and seated himself beside his friend. "Breakfast is ready, gentlemen," called the clerk, opening the door. Not one of the Motor Boat Club boys stirred until after Dalton rose and stepped inside. Then they followed, close in the rear. Dalton and his companion stepped into the dining room, installing themselves at a table not far from the door. Tom led the way for his party at the second table beyond. Two waiters appeared, one attending to each of the tables. Dawley was evidently in bubbling spirits. He insisted on talking much, in his soft voice, to Anson Dalton, who was plainly annoyed. Tom Halstead glanced over at his enemy with an amused smile. Yet no word passed between the tables. Food and coffee were brought, after some minutes, and at both tables the meal was disposed of slowly, excellent appetites being the rule. Powell Seaton, in the meantime, had hastened to the telegraph office. From there he wired, "rush," to the chief of police at Beaufort, advising the latter that Anson Dalton was in Mocalee, and asking whether Dalton was wanted by the United States or state authorities on any charges growing out of the seizure of the schooner "Black Betty." This dispatch sent off, Mr. Seaton, though remaining at the telegraph office, sent a messenger in haste for James Hunter, who represented Mocalee as chief of police and the entire police force. "Jim Hunter," as he was locally called, a raw-boned, taciturn man, came speedily to the telegraph office. He was in his shirt-sleeves, chewing a straw, but he wore his police badge on his coat, while a short "billy" appeared in a hip pocket. Jim Hunter listened quietly while the operator, at Seaton's request, displayed the original of the telegram that had been sent to Beaufort. Telegraph companies give quick service on telegrams relating to police business. So it was not long ere the operator's receiving instrument began to click with the local call. The first dispatch that the operator passed out through the grated window was addressed to Powell Seaton, and signed by the chief at Beaufort. It read: Thank you for information. Have wired chief of police, Mocalee. The second telegram, following almost instantly, was addressed to the chief of police of Mocalee. It ran: Arrest Anson Dalton, wanted by U. S. authorities on charge of smuggling. Powell Seaton will point him out to you. Notify me when arrested. Be careful to get all Dalton baggage. Hold for orders. "That's all I wanter know," said Hunter, laconically, biting off the end of his straw and spitting it out. "Lead me to your friend Dalton, Mr. Seaton." "I ought to warn you that he's a desperate fellow," murmured Mr. Seaton, as the pair left the telegraph office together. "I've seen that kind before," nodded Mr. Hunter, curtly. "Pardon me, but I notice you carry a club. Dalton will undoubtedly have a revolver, and he's likely to be ugly enough to attempt to use it," explained Mr. Seaton, apprehensively. "May I ask if you have a pistol, too?" "I always carry all the tools I need," answered Jim Hunter. "I don't gen'rally 'low any man to pull a gun on me, though. Sometimes I'm quicker'n I gen'rally look." There was an air of quiet, forceful reserve about this Florida policeman that made Powell Seaton feel more confident that the business in hand would not be defeated for lack of preparation. They made their way quickly to the hotel. Anson Dalton and his soft-voiced companion were still at table, though evidently near the end of their meal. Hank Butts, at a signal from his captain, had left the table. Hank had donned his rain-coat again, and was now waiting in the corridor leading to the stairs, in case Dalton should pass that way. A moment later Joe left the table, stepping through the office and out onto the porch. [Illustration: The Table Struck Hunter Amidships.] Dalton and Dawley were just rising when Halstead, seated where he could see out into the office, saw Seaton and a stranger enter. "Now, the music will begin," thought Tom Halstead, throbbing. "There he is, officer--the dark one!" cried Powell Seaton, leading the way into the dining room. Jim Hunter lost no time. He made a spring in the direction of Anson Dalton, whose eyes flashed fire. Trained in a hard, desperate school, Dalton was fuller of tricks than the police chief had expected. As Hunter rushed at him, Dalton forcefully pushed one of the small tables toward him. It struck Hunter amidships, most unexpectedly, and had the result of sending Mocalee's police force sprawling to the floor. "You can't stop me--you shall not!" roared Anson Dalton. He made a dash for the doorway leading to the office. Swift as he was, Tom Halstead darted through ahead of him. "He'll try to get that red bag--and he'll put up a fight with a pistol!" flashed through the young motor boat skipper's brain. "I'll fool him so far as the bag is concerned." Diving into the coat-room, the door of which stood open, Halstead was in season to snatch up the bag. He turned, to find Dalton rushing at him, hands reached out. Ducking under, Tom eluded Dalton, and darted across the office. "Let some of the others catch him," gritted Halstead, inwardly. "What we want most to know may be in this bag!" It was all done so quickly that Skipper Tom was across the office, pulling open the door into the corridor, before Anson Dalton bounded after him. Joe Dawson rushed in from the porch, but too late to be of immediate help. Officer Hunter had sprawled badly, and Mr. Seaton had halted to aid him to his feet. "Drop that bag, or you'll wish you had--no time for this nonsense," blazed Dalton, angrily, thrusting his right hand at his hip pocket. CHAPTER XXIII HANK BECOMES REALLY TERRIBLE Bump! Whack! Tom Halstead tried to slam the door shut in his pursuer's face, but one of Dalton's feet barred the closing, then thrust the door open. As Halstead raced into the corridor Anson Dalton was close behind him, his hand yanking a revolver from his pocket. There would have been a shot in another instant. Halstead might have been badly hit. But Hank Butts, on duty in the corridor, had heard the cries. As the door was thrust open Hank leaped forward. Out from under his rain coat he brought that same old hitching weight. There was an instant, only, for action, but young Butts was an expert with the weapon he had made his own. His hands flew aloft, then descended, just as Anson Dalton's left foot was thrust forward in his running. "Halt, you----" roared Dalton. Bim! Down came the hitching weight, and landed squarely across the left foot of the pursuer. Dalton let out a fearful yell, while his revolver fell to the floor. There was a flash and a crashing explosion in that confined space; the weapon had been harmlessly discharged. As for Dalton, he swayed dizzily for a few seconds, trying to lift the injured foot. Then, with a groan and a burst of ugly language, he sank to the floor. Hank darted in, securing his hitching weight and backing off with it once more. Though he had heard the discharge of the pistol, Jim Hunter did not stop to reach for his own revolver. He leaped through into the corridor, his pocket police club in hand. "There he is, but you won't have to club him any," announced Hank, dryly, pointing to the groaning Dalton. "He'll eat out of your hand, now--will Anson Dalton." Pausing only to drop his club to the floor, Jim Hunter whipped out a pair of handcuffs from a cavernous pocket, bent over Dalton, and---- Snap-click! The troublesome enemy of the motor boat boys was not only badly hurt, but a secure prisoner as well. Now, Seaton and the boys gathered about the law's captive. "I reckon you'll have to git up," announced Jim Hunter, putting a helping hand under one of Dalton's arms. "I can't--oh, stop! Let up! My foot's crushed. I can't stand on it!" yelled Dalton. Hunter came quickly to realize the fact that Dalton could not stand with much comfort. Joe came up with a chair, onto which the prisoner was allowed to sink. "Oh, you boys think you've finished things for me, don't you?" leered Dalton, glaring around him in a rage. "But you haven't. You'll soon find that you've just begun to stir up trouble for yourselves." "Go easy, man--do!" begged Hunter, soothingly. "Of course yer pet corn feels bad just now. But, say! That's the niftiest way of stopping a bad man, I reckon, thet was ever invented." "Is it?" groaned Dalton. Then, catching the trace of a smirk in Hank's eyes, the rascal shook his fist at the steward of the "Restless," snarling: "I'll find my own way to settle with you!" "Take your time--when you're feeling better," Hank begged, cheerfully. Fair-haired, soft-voiced young Dawley had followed the crowd out into the corridor. The hotel clerk, the proprietor and three or four of the servants all had increased the crowd there. Dawley rapidly learned what had happened. "It's a beastly outrage," he announced, his soft voice sounding almost harsh in the indignation that he felt. "Oh, take a fan, Dolly, and go out on the porch to cool off," growled Joe Dawson. One of the servants, in the excess of excitement, actually took the fair-haired youth by the shoulders, and, though the latter protested, thrust him out through the open door onto the porch, slamming the door after him. "That's too bad," grinned Hank. "I'll go out and see if the poor fellow has fainted." As Butts stepped out on the porch, closing the door shut after him, Dawley, his cheeks very red, leaped out from the chair into which he had sunk. "It was you who played that mean trick on my friend," cried Dawley, in a voice which he fondly believed trembled with rage. "Yes," admitted Hank, meekly. "I'll punish you for that!" quivered the soft-voiced one, stepping forward. "Don't strike me on the wrist," pleaded Hank. "I have rheumatism there." But Dawley, too angry, or else too dull to understand that he was being made a mark for ridicule, continued to advance upon Butts, who retreated, a look of mock alarm in his face. "Keep away from me--please do, while you're angry," begged Hank, still retreating. "I won't!" snapped Dawley. As Hank now retreated rapidly backward, Dawley went after him with corresponding speed. "If you must have it, then, why--take it!" cried Hank, in a tone of desperation. One of his hands had been held under his rain-coat all along. Now Hank thrust the other hand inside, as well, to reach for some object concealed there. "Oh. O-o-oh! Don't you drop that weight on my foot!" yelled Dawley, blanching and falling up against the wooden wall. But Hank, ruthlessly, as one whose blood is up, brought both his hands swiftly into view as he sprang at Dawley. There was a yell from the fair-haired one as Hank bent forward, then dropped squarely on the toes of Dawley's right foot--his _pocket-handkerchief_! "There, now!" mimicked Hank Butts, turning on his heel. A roar of laughter came from Mr. Seaton, Tom, Joe and two or three of the bystanders who had followed outside. CHAPTER XXIV CONCLUSION "I'm sorry, young man," said Powell Seaton, resting a hand on Dawley's collar, "but the chief of police wants to see you." "I'm not arrested, am I?" demanded the soft-voiced one, in a tone of great alarm. "I think not. But come along. The chief wants to see you in the office." There they found Hunter and his manacled prisoner, who had been carried into the office just as he sat on the chair. "Where's that red bag that started all the trouble?" demanded Chief Hunter. Joe Dawson produced it. "You can't open that," leered Dalton, though he spoke uneasily. "If we can't unlock it, we'll cut it open with a sharp breadknife," mocked Hunter. "Yet I reckon thet we'll find the key in yer pocket." This guess turned out to be correct. The key was inserted in the lock and the bag opened. Powell Seaton pushed forward to help the police official in the inspection of the contents. "There are my papers," cried Powell Seaton, grabbing at two envelopes. "Look 'em over, ef you want, but I reckon I'll haveter have 'em to go with the prisoner," assented Chief Hunter. "They're the same papers that this fellow stole--one set from Clodis, and the other from my bungalow through a helper," cried Mr. Seaton. Anson Dalton watched Seaton with a strange, sinister look. "Gracious! Look at these, here!" gasped Chief Hunter, opening a small leather case. Nearly a score of flashing white stones greeted his eyes. "Di'munds, I reckon," guessed the police chief. "Yes; Brazilian diamonds," confirmed Powell Seaton. "Probably this prisoner's share or proceeds from smuggling in diamonds. That business, then, was what the 'Black Betty' was used for." "Those are the diamonds I came down here to negotiate for," broke in Dawley, wonderingly. "You?" demanded Hunter, surveying the soft-voiced one. "Yes; my father is Dawley, the big jeweler at Jacksonville," explained the youth. "Here's his card. I'm the buyer for the house, and your prisoner wrote that he had some fine stones to sell." "They're fine, all right, or I'm no judge of Brazilian diamonds," nodded Powell Seaton. "But I guess the United States Government owns them, now, as a confiscated prize." A carriage was brought around to the door, and Anson Dalton was driven to the county jail, eight miles away, to be locked up there pending the arrival of United States officers. Dawley easily proved his innocence, and the truth of his own story. Despite his effeminate manners and soft voice, it afterwards developed that the youth was a skilled buyer of precious stones, and a young man of no little importance in the business community of his home town. Following the swift succession of events at the little Florida town, there came a lull in the long strain of excitement and danger. Every now and then Dick Davis and Ab Perkins, aboard the Rio-bound "Glide," found a chance to have a wireless message relayed back to the United States. These messages came in veiled language, according to instructions, but they conveyed to Powell Seaton the joyous news that these two far-away members of the Motor Boat Club were proceeding safely on their long journey, and that no harm was happening to them, nor to the precious papers in their care. One fine day a cablegram came all the way from Rio Janeiro which told that Dick and Ab had reached that Brazilian city, and had turned over the papers in their care to the waiting American for whom they were intended. A week after that came another cablegram, announcing that the American syndicate had succeeding in locating the lost diamond field, and that papers for a proper patent were being filed with the Brazilian Government. Right on top of that came the news, in the daily press, that Governor Terrero, of Vahia, had been shot and killed by an escaped prisoner--a former enemy whom the governor had greatly and wickedly harassed. Captain Dave Lemly was captured about this time. He and Dalton, it developed, had been the principal American agents in a big scheme for smuggling Brazilian diamonds into the United States. The gems, it was shown, were secretly shipped in quantities from Rio, aboard a sailing ship. This ship, carrying a general cargo, was always met near Beaufort by Lemly, in the "Black Betty," and the diamonds were taken on the little black schooner. As the "Black Betty" sailed as a fishing boat, Dave Lemly had always been able to evade the American customs authorities, and a hugely profitable business in diamond smuggling had been built up. Governor Terrero, of the state of Vahia, Brazil, it is supposed, was behind the southern end of the smuggling scheme, though this has not been proved. Dalton, acting as the governor's go-between and spy, had played his part well and desperately. Yet now, in the end, Dalton was convicted on the evidence furnished by some of the members of the late crew of the "Black Betty." So was Lemly, and both are now serving long sentences in prison, along with the members of the crew of the smuggling schooner. Clodis recovered, after a few weeks. He was handsomely rewarded by the new diamond syndicate for the dangers through which he had run. He last remembered descending the stairs to the "Constant's" stairs, and had no recollection of having been struck down. All the members of the guard over at Lonely Island were more than handsomely paid. Even Jasper was forgiven, and well rewarded. After he had been in prison some length of time Anson Dalton one day confessed to Mr. Seaton's attorney that, while at sea on the drab boat (which was afterwards found and confiscated by the revenue people), he, Dalton, had copied the stolen papers, intending to send one set southward and retain the originals. After losing both the "Restless" and the "Glide" in the fog, Dalton had had Lemly put in to shore. There they had been met by a trusted Brazilian spy for Governor Terrero. The Brazilian, with the copies of the papers, had hurried to New York by train. This Brazilian did not succeed in starting for Rio until some days after the "Glide" had sailed, and, moreover, he went on a slower boat. So, by the time the Brazilian spy arrived at Rio, the American syndicate had located the lost diamond field, had filed patents with the Government, and Terrero had died. So all of Anson Dalton's plotting had come to naught. One of Powell Seaton's first acts was to adjust fully the claim of the Havana line for the towing of the "Restless" through that fearful northeast gale. While waiting for the final news of the success of his plans, the charter-man cruised much up and down the coast with the boys of the "Restless." Then afterwards, through the month of November, Seaton enjoyed another cruise with them. The charter money was not all that Captain Tom, Engineer Joe and Steward Hank received for their splendid work. As soon as the final plans of the great new American diamond syndicate at Rio Janeiro had been established on a safe and firm basis, the charter-man of the "Restless" was prepared to talk of a splendid reward. His plans were so big, in fact, that all three of the boys felt bound to call a halt. Yet the reward that they _did_ finally accept made very important additions to the bank accounts of all three of these daring young motor boat navigators. Dick Davis and Ab Perkins, on their return from Rio, were "remembered" by Mr. Seaton with bank drafts the size of which almost took away their breath. Then came a new cruise, a new set of adventures in new surroundings. It was a cruise which the many friends of our Motor Boat Club boys will agree was the most wonderful, the most exciting, and certainly the most mysterious lot of adventures through which any member of the Club ever passed. The details of what happened, however, must be reserved for the next volume in this series, which will be published under the title: "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB IN FLORIDA; Or, Laying the Ghost of Alligator Swamp." [THE END] HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY'S CATALOGUE OF The Best and Least Expensive Books FOR Real Boys and Girls THESE FASCINATING VOLUMES WILL INTEREST BOYS and GIRLS OF EVERY AGE UNDER SIXTY Sold by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price Henry Altemus Company 507-513 CHERRY STREET PHILADELPHIA THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB SERIES By H. Irving Hancock The keynote of these books is manliness. The stories are wonderfully entertaining, and they are at the same time sound and wholesome. The plots are ingenious, the action swift, and the moral tone wholly healthful. No boy will willingly lay down an unfinished book in this series, at the same time he will form a taste for good literature and the glory of right living. 1 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OF THE KENNEBEC; Or, The Secret of Smugglers' Island. 2 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AT NANTUCKET; Or, The Mystery of the Dunstan Heir. 3 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OFF LONG ISLAND; Or, A Daring Marine Game at Racing Speed. 4 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AND THE WIRELESS; Or, The Dot, Dash and Dare Cruise. 5 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB IN FLORIDA; Or, Laying the Ghost of Alligator Swamp. 6 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AT THE GOLDEN GATE; Or, A Thrilling Capture in the Great Fog. Cloth, 12mo, Illustrated. Price, per Volume, 50 cts. Sold by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price Henry Altemus Company 507-513 CHERRY STREET PHILADELPHIA SUBMARINE BOYS SERIES By Victor G. Durham These splendid books for boys and girls deal with life aboard submarine torpedo boats, and with the adventures of the young crew, who, by degrees, become most expert in this most wonderful and awe-inspiring field of modern naval practice. The books are written by an expert and possess, in addition to the author's surpassing knack of story-telling, a great educational value for all young readers. 1 THE SUBMARINE BOYS ON DUTY; Or, Life on a Diving Torpedo Boat. 2 THE SUBMARINE BOYS' TRIAL TRIP; Or, "Making Good" as Young Experts. 3 THE SUBMARINE BOYS AND THE MIDDIES; Or, The Prize Detail at Annapolis. 4 THE SUBMARINE BOYS AND THE SPIES; Or, Dodging the Sharks of the Deep. 5 THE SUBMARINE BOYS' LIGHTNING CRUISE; Or, The Young Kings of the Deep. 6 THE SUBMARINE BOYS FOR THE FLAG; Or, Deeding Their Lives to Uncle Sam. Cloth, 12mo, Illustrated. Price, per Volume, 50 cts. Sold by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price Henry Altemus Company 507-513 CHERRY STREET PHILADELPHIA PONY RIDER BOYS SERIES By Frank Gee Patchin These tales may be aptly described as those of a new Cooper. As the earlier novelist depicted the first days of the advancing frontier, so does Mr. Patchin deal charmingly and realistically with what is left of the strenuous outdoor West of the twentieth century. In every sense they belong to the best class of books for boys. 1 The Pony Rider Boys in the Rockies; Or, The Secret of the Lost Claim. 2 The Pony Rider Boys in Texas; Or, The Veiled Riddle of the Plains. 3 The Pony Rider Boys in Montana; Or, The Mystery of the Old Custer Trail. 4 The Pony Rider Boys in the Ozarks; Or, The Secret of Ruby Mountain. 5 The Pony Rider Boys on the Alkali; Or, Finding a Key To the Desert Maze. 6 The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico; Or, The End of the Silver Trail. Cloth, 12mo, Illustrated. Price, per Volume, 50 cts. Sold by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price Henry Altemus Company 507-513 CHERRY STREET PHILADELPHIA HIGH SCHOOL BOYS SERIES By H. Irving Hancock In this series of bright, crisp books a new note has been struck. Boys of every age under sixty will be interested in these fascinating volumes. 1 THE HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMEN; Or, Dick & Co's First Year Pranks and Sports. 2 THE HIGH SCHOOL PITCHER; Or, Dick & Co. on the Gridley Diamond. 3 THE HIGH SCHOOL LEFT END; Or, Dick & Co. Grilling on the Football Gridiron. 4 THE HIGH SCHOOL CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM; Or, Dick & Co. Leading the Athletic Vanguard. Cloth, 12mo, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c. GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS SERIES By H. Irving Hancock This series of stories, based on the actual doings of grammar school boys comes near to the heart of the average American boy. 1 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS OF GRIDLEY; Or, Dick & Co. Start Things Moving. 2 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS SNOWBOUND; Or, Dick & Co. at Winter Sports. 3 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS IN THE WOODS; Or, Dick & Co. Trail Fun and Knowledge. 4 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS IN SUMMER ATHLETICS; Or, Dick & Co. Make Their Fame Secure. Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c. WEST POINT SERIES By H. Irving Hancock The principal characters in these narratives are two sound, wholesome, manly young Americans who go strenuously through their four years of cadetship. Their doings will prove an inspiration to all American boys. 1 DICK PRESCOTT'S FIRST YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Two Chums in the Cadet Gray. 2 DICK PRESCOTT'S SECOND YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Finding the Glory of the Soldier's Life. 3 DICK PRESCOTT'S THIRD YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Standing Firm for Flag and Honor. 4 DICK PRESCOTT'S FOURTH YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Ready to Drop the Gray for Shoulder Straps. Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c. ANNAPOLIS SERIES By H. Irving Hancock The Spirit of the new Navy is delightfully and truthfully depicted in these volumes. 1 DAVE DARRIN'S FIRST YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Two Plebe Midshipmen at the U. S. Naval Academy. 2 DAVE DARRIN'S SECOND YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Two Midshipmen as Naval Academy "Youngsters." 3 DAVE DARRIN'S THIRD YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Leaders of the Second Class Midshipmen. 4 DAVE DARRIN'S FOURTH YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Headed for Graduation and the Big Cruise. Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c. BOYS OF THE ARMY SERIES By H. Irving Hancock These books breathe the life and spirit of the United States Army of to-day, and the life, just as it is, is described by a master-pen. 1 Uncle Sam's Boys in the Ranks; Or, Two Recruits in the United States Army. 2 Uncle Sam's Boys on Field Duty; Or, Winning Corporal's Chevrons. 3 Uncle Sam's Boys As Sergeants; Or, Handling Their First Real Commands. (Other volumes to follow rapidly.) Cloth, 12mo, Illustrated--Price, per Volume, 50c. BATTLESHIP BOYS SERIES By Frank Gee Patchin These stories throb with the life of young Americans on today's huge drab Dreadnaughts. 1 The Battleship Boys at Sea; Or, Two Apprentices in Uncle Sam's Navy. 2 The Battleship Boys' First Step Upward; Or, Winning Their Grades as Petty Officers. 3 The Battleship Boys in Foreign Service; Or, Earning New Ratings in European Seas. (Other volumes to follow rapidly.) Cloth, 12mo, Illustrated--Price, per Volume, 50c. THE CIRCUS BOYS SERIES By Edgar B. P. Darlington Mr. Darlington is known to all real circus people along every route that big and little shows travel. His books breathe forth every phase of an intensely interesting and exciting life. 1 THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS; Or, Making the Start in the Sawdust Life. 2 THE CIRCUS BOYS ACROSS THE CONTINENT; Or, Winning New Laurels on the Tanbark. 3 THE CIRCUS BOYS IN DIXIE LAND; Or, Winning the Plaudits of the Sunny South. (Other volumes to follow rapidly.) 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Cloth, Illustrated--Price, per Volume, 50c. THE BOYS OF STEEL SERIES By James R. Mears In this splendid series the great American steel industry is exploited by a master pen. The information given is exact and truthful, and full of fascination for the American youth. 1 The Iron Boys in the Mines; Or, Starting at the Bottom of the Shaft. 2 The Iron Boys as Foremen; Or, Heading the Diamond Drill Shift. Cloth, Illustrated--Price, per Volume, 50c. 
21980	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration. See 21980-h.htm or 21980-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/1/9/8/21980/21980-h/21980-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/1/9/8/21980/21980-h.zip) MOTOR BOAT BOYS MISSISSIPPI CRUISE Or The Dash For Dixie by LOUIS ARUNDEL [Frontispiece: Jack was keeping his hand on the alert, ready to reverse his engine at even a second's warning.] Chicago M. A. Donohue & Co. Copyright 1914 by M. A. Donohue & Co. Chicago CONTENTS I. ALL ABOARD FOR DIXIELAND! II. THE START III. A HANDICAP AT THE FIRST STATION IV. THE SUDDEN PERIL V. AROUSED AT MIDNIGHT VI. STARTLING NEWS FROM NEAR HOME VII. QUITE A SURPRISE PASTY VIII. LEFT IN THE LURCH IX. THE SWIFT RUN OF THE "TRAMP" X. IN A KENTUCKY COVE XI. TURNING THE TABLES ON THE BANK ROBBERS XII. "LUCKY JACK!" XIII. THE "WIRELESS" IN TOW XIV. SIGNS OF THE SUNNY SOUTH XV. BUSTER TAKES HOPE XVI. ERASTUS, THE HOUSEBURNER XVII. THE SHERIFF'S POSSE XVIII. AT THE MOUTH OF THE SUNFLOWER XIX. IN THE LAND OF COTTON XX. THE CASTAWAYS OF THE SWAMP XXI. BUSTER FACES STARVATION XXII. THE DISCOVERY XXIII. THE WINNER OF THE CUP--CONCLUSION [Transcriber's note: The following two short stories were in the original book, but are not related to the above story. No author was given for them.] An Awakening at Alvin Caught with a Scrap of Paper THE MOTOR BOAT BOYS' MISSISSIPPI CRUISE; or A Dash for the Dixie Cup CHAPTER I. ALL ABOARD FOR DIXIELAND! "Aw, quit your kidding, now, George. You know I said I'd stick by you to the bitter end; and nobody ever knew Nick Longfellow to back water, did they?" "I guess you're right about that, Pudding. Your word is your strongest hold--next to eating. I depend on you to be my boat-mate on that long cruise, if so be we make a go of the race." "Huh! even if Herb Dickson and Josh Purdue can't get a chance to enter this old tub of theirs which they call the _Comfort_, what's to hinder us from starting when Jack heads his dandy _Tramp_ south; tell me that?" "Nothing, Nick; only three boats would be better than two, and add to the fun of the race for the silver cup;" and the speaker, George Rollins, bent affectionately over the smart, bright engine of a new and exceedingly narrow motor boat undoubtedly built for speed alone, and carrying the significant name of _Wireless_. "I'm told by Jack that the cup his father is having made is a jim dandy one, and has the word 'Dixie' engraved on it," the fat boy remarked. "He says it will be here by tomorrow. Perhaps when the other fellows show it to their folks, they'll get the word they're waiting for." "Well, for one I'm not worrying about their not going along," remarked George, as he rubbed away with a bit of waste. "Why, you know there'll not be any school till away after Christmas this year, because the Dunker boys came down with smallpox, and the health board ordered the building closed. That gives us a hunky-dory vacation. It was what made me think of going along with Jack in the first place." "Yes," Nick went on; "he just has to be in New Orleans on the first of December, because that will of his daffy old uncle is to be read then; and the lawyer sent word that Jack Stormways was a big thing in the money that's left. And everybody that's mentioned has to be present when the will's read, or lose their share. That's a punk sort of a job, ain't it now, George?" "Let up about that queer old uncle," remarked the other, in a low tone. "For there's Jack coming right now, with Jimmy Brannagan dangling at his heels. I guess Jimmy would go through fire and water for Jack, if he could only do him a good turn." "Well," observed the fat lad, shaking his head in a positive way he had, "why shouldn't he when Jack has done so much for him? Ever since Jimmy's mother died he's lived at Jack's house, and had a chance to attend school; though for that matter I don't think he'll ever set the world on fire with his knowledge of books." "All the same the Irish boy is a shrewd fellow, and you've got to get up mighty early in the morning to beat him out in an argument," grinned George, who could look back to numerous occasions when he had confessed himself a poor second under such conditions. "Say, look at the big bundle Jack's carrying, would you?" exclaimed Nick, taking a sudden new interest in matters, and getting to his feet; for he had been lazily stretched out, watching his comrade work at the engine of the speed boat, which was like a big cigar in shape, somewhat near twenty-seven feet in length, by only four and a half beam. "I honestly believe that's the bully old silver cup Jack's bringing over to let us see," declared George, also aroused, so that his black eyes flashed. "And it's going to be our silver cup some day before long; because, just as you say, this fine little beauty can cut circles around both the other motor boats," and the fat boy patted the varnished frame of the _Wireless_ as he spoke. "Sure thing," replied George, with a grin; "but don't discourage the rest by rubbing it in that we've got such a soft snap." Two other fellows bustled into the big boathouse, where several launches were resting on the floor on either side of the basin, at the further end of which the water door was situated. Jack Stormways was an active lad of about seventeen. His figure was as straight as that of an Indian, and his face one in which a steady purpose seemed to abide. Usually of a sunny, cheerful disposition, he knew how to arouse all dormant faculties in the members of a baseball or football team of which he might chance to be captain. Nearly everybody liked Jack Stormways; and even such enemies as he naturally made during his career in school admitted that they admired his clean methods of doing things. His companion, Jimmie Brannagan, was a short-bodied Irish lad, with red hair and a freckled face; but possessing a sturdy frame, as well as a ready wit. "Open it up, and let us have a peep, Jack!" exclaimed George, as the newcomer placed his package on a bench near by. "No use asking such sharp chaps as you to guess," observed the other, laughingly, as he started to follow instructions by unwinding the many papers that covered the mysterious bulky object. "You see everything, know everything. Well, what d'ye think of that for a beauty, George and Buster?" Poor Nick had about as many names as a prince of the royal blood. His companions seemed to think that every title signifying something bouncing should be applied to him at odd times. And so he answered to anything that came along. "My gracious! but ain't she a corker, though?" Nick now gasped, as his eyes seemed to be trying to pop out of his head with admiration. "Finest ever," observed George, a little envy in his black eyes; for there were certain weak spots in his disposition that he had to fight continually, sometimes winning out, and again giving in to the temptation. It was certainly a handsome specimen of the Winona silversmith's cunning, standing almost a foot and a half high, and being decorated with a magnificent mimic representation of a little motor boat resting under a live oak tree that overhung the water of a bayou; and which, of course, represented Dixieland, as could be easily seen from the long streamers of Spanish moss dangling from the limbs. Both boys handled the trophy with eager hands. "Say, that's worth going after," said Nick, finally. "And I'd like to wager that when Herb and Josh show it to their folks they'll easily get permission to join us in the long dash to New Orleans." "And what great times we've already had, laying out the program," remarked Jack. "That was worth something, alone. The journey's divided up in about two hundred mile divisions. No boat can leave a division point until every contestant is there to make an even start. Only the time _consumed between actual stations_ to be counted in the final summing up." "And that other provision about the running time being exactly between eight in the morning and four in the afternoon is a mighty wise thing," remarked George. "Yes," said Nick, "but what worries the crew of the _Wireless_ is what they're going to do with all the time on their hands. We've planned to take a gun along, so we can do some shooting as we wait; and then the fishing ought to be worth while. If necessary, I'll go overboard, and try those new White Wings I bought. I'm going to have a whole lot of fun with those contraptions; besides learn how to swim like a duck." "Oh! bother those old junk things; will we ever hear the last of the wonderful stunts Pudding expects to do with 'em'?" groaned George. "Sure I saw him sthandin' in two fate of water one day, and flappin' his wings like a burrd, so I did," declared Jimmie, seriously. "I wanted him to walk out to dape water, but he said he didn't wish to get the blissed things wet too suddent like." "Say, just change the subject, won't you?" begged Nick, turning as red in the face as a turkey cock. "My time will come, and I'm going to astonish you fellows. Why, I can float right now, though perhaps you won't believe it." "On the contrary, I never believed you could sink," declared George, derisively, as he surveyed the swelling proportions of his boat mate. "Talk about needing artificial support to keep you on top; I bet you'd float like a cork, or a lump of grease, if you only wasn't afraid to make the try." "What are we waiting for now?" asked Nick, appealing to Jack, because that comrade never nagged him. "Only to find out if the other fellows are going along," was Jack's reply. "Well, we've just got to know pretty quick," grumbled Nick. "I've been kept waiting so long I'm wasting away to a mere shadow. If it holds up much more, why I'll not have the appetite of a poor little dicky bird." Of course there was a shout at that, for truth to tell Nick seemed never to get enough to eat. He couldn't cook worth while, and yet was always first and last at the feast. On the other hand, there was the long-bodied and lanky Josh Purdue who was a splendid hand at getting up a camp dinner, yet seldom cared to partake of his tasty dishes, and was also, they whispered, addicted to dyspepsia tablets! Between these two there was an almost constant warfare of humorous badinage in connection with their several weaknesses. Josh would twit the fat boy on his enormous capacity for stowing "grub" away; and on the other hand, Nick generally came back with sarcastic remarks about "shadows," and "living skeletons," and such unpleasant things. "I've got a pretty good hunch that the thing will be all settled before another day," remarked Jack, nodding. "And if so, we can get away on next Monday morning." "Hurrah!" shouted Nick, waving his arms above his head. "Just imagine what a bully good time we've got ahead of us, cruising down that creek yonder," and he pointed to where they could see the waters of the Mississippi flowing past the boathouse. "I've already made most of the arrangements," announced Jack, "and only want to know whether there are going to be six of us, or only four, before ordering the provisions for the start." "Oh, how happy I am!" gurgled Nick, trying to dance in the confined space alongside the motor boats, and almost falling into the well. "He always acts that way at the mere mention of the word grub," declared George. "Now you wrong me, partner," remonstrated the injured one. "I'm only anticipating what ge-lorious times you and I will have waiting for the others to come along--you shooting a cargo of ducks and geese on the sandbars, and little me sportin' in the tide with my jolly old wings buoying me up. How can I stand another three days of this agony? Somebody put me to sleep, and don't let me wake up till the horn blows for the race to start Monday A. M." "Sure, I like to oblige," observed Jimmie, rolling up his sleeves to the elbows of his muscular arms. "If so be you wouldn't moind tilling me av ye'd prefer the jolt on the ind of the chin, or under the lift ear. I'm not at all particular mesilf, only I like to plase as good natured a chap as Puddin' Longfellow." "Well, forget it, won't you, Jimmie? I guess I'll stay awake, after all; there's so much to see and hear, yes, and eat, too. But seems to me I just noticed a couple of fellows making this way from the road; and sure as you live it's Herb and Josh. Look at the big grins they're carrying, would you? Say, what d'ye think, they've gone and done it--got permission to take part in the race for the cup. Wow! ain't that all to the mustard, though?" The door was darkened by a couple of hurrying figures, as the pair pushed into the boat house, almost out of breath from hard running, yet with faces that fairly shone with eagerness to tell the news. "Hurrah for us, fellows!" shouted the leading boy, as he waved his cap violently above his head; "we're going along, all right. Dad gave in at last after ma put it up to him. Count the _Comfort_ in that race; and she's going to give you all the time of your lives, too. Oh, my! is that the silver cup trophy? Josh, take a look, will you? Won't it just fit in my den, though? and I can see where they left space for our illustrious names. Boys, three cheers and a tiger for the Mississippi cruise!" CHAPTER II. THE START. The volume of shouts that went up was so tremendous that several other fellows who happened to be passing the boathouse came rushing in to find out what had happened. They found the six intended Mississippi cruisers shaking hands wildly, and congratulating each other on their good fortune. There would be some envious fellows in town from that time on, when the news that the great race had been finally arranged went abroad; for hardly a boy but who would wish with all his heart and soul that he had been lucky enough to be in the game. "Now, let's see that list of yours, Jack!" said Nick, after the excitement had in a measure subsided, and they could talk coherently again. "Yes," observed Josh quickly, "you don't suppose Buster would be able to sleep a wink unless he knew there was going to be heaps of eatin' stuff along. For goodness sake, get out your list at the grocer's, Jack, and let him run it over. If Buster keeps on losing flesh, what in the world d'ye suppose the blessed old _Comfort's_ going to do for _ballast_?" "There you go," declared Nick, reproachfully, "hitting me below the belt as usual. Ain't I only thinking of the rest of you when I bother myself about such a thing as grub? Some people have to be tempted with dainties, to take their daily rations. As for me a cup of coffee, huh, give me some bread or crackers, a rasher of bacon with eggs, a potato baked in the ashes of a camp fire--and I'm as happy as a king." "Oh, yes," Josh went on, persistently, "I admit all that, provided the _quantity_ is there. Quality seldom enters into your calculations, Buster. But say, Jack, let's get busy. We've only got one more day, then comes Sunday, and the morning after----" "We're off!" cried George, as he cast a fond look toward his swift speed boat; and then glanced around in a way that told how much he pitied these poor "chumps" who actually imagined they had a ghost of a chance to win the long race. So for an hour and more they put their wise heads together, and conned the lists Jack produced. Many changes were suggested, some of which were made, after they had been discussed _pro_ and _con_; for Jack was open to conviction, though as a rule there was little that he had forgotten, or that could be bettered in the program. Then each couple started to examine the boat in which they purposed taking that long dash toward Dixieland. It was of great importance that as few accidents as possible occur while on the way south. For, although an accident in itself would not penalize the contestant, if it happened to occur during the eight working hours there must be a loss of time that would lessen the chances for winning out. "There's only one thing I wish," remarked Herb, as they talked over these matters, and jotted down a few ideas connected with the race. "What might that be?" asked Nick, eagerly, for he was taking note of everything that occurred, and casting envious glances toward the fine trophy on the box. "Of course," the other went on, "I hope the reliable old _Comfort_ won't break down once on the trip; and I give you my word I don't believe she will. But if that _has_ got to happen, I'm wishing it will be just around four in the afternoon. See the point, fellows?" "Sure," replied Jimmie, with a grin. "That gives ye the hull night to be makin' repairs, and without losin' a blissed minute of time. A wise guy ye are, so I'm thinkin', Herbie." A close inspection failed to disclose any structural weakness about any one of the three boats, or their motive power. Of course, each pilot was convinced in his own mind that he had the best chance to win. George relied mainly on speed; Herb placed his dependence on the well known ability of his broad-beamed boat to stand up before heavy seas, and always get there safely in the end; while with Jack there was a combination of these several points of excellence. "Well," the last named remarked, as they prepared to go home, and the boathouse was being locked up for the night; "I can see where we're going to have a warm time of it in the last half of the race." "How's that?" burst forth the eager Nick. "Tell us, Jack; it ain't fair to keep anything back. Will they arrest us for breaking the speed laws down south?" "See!" cried Herb, instantly, "that's where a guilty conscience works overtime. It's just what he gets for risking his life in that floating coffin," and he jerked his thumb disdainfully toward the building they were leaving. At that the proud owner of the cigar-shaped craft laughed aloud. "Green with envy already, Herb!" he exclaimed. "Don't you pay any attention to what he says, Pudding. We're just going to lick the whole bunch to a frazzle, and that's easy. Now, Jack, suppose you tell us what's on your mind? How are we going to have lots of trouble in the last half, more than in the beginning?" "When you fellows begin to study those maps of the Mississippi I brought you, it will open your eyes," Jack went on. "Why, the upper stretches of this river are as straight as a yard stick compared with what lies below Memphis. If ever you saw a snake turning and twisting after you've hit him with a stone you've got an idea of what the big river is down there in Dixie. It forms loops and bends galore. It turns back north, runs east, then west and for a short time south. For ten miles southing you make you have to go thirty." "Well, I understood that was the way; but why should that bother us?" demanded George. "What's fair for one is fair for all. We'll hug the easterly shore all we can, and save many a mile." "Perhaps you will," smiled Jack, "and then again the current races faster out in the middle, so the boat that ventures may profit by that. But what I had in mind was the innumerable cut-offs we're apt to strike." "Cut-offs!" exclaimed Nick, turning a trifle pale, as though he thought this had something to do with the favorite southern lynching bee. "Oh! I know about those things," declared Herb, carelessly. "Sometimes a native can save twenty miles by shooting through where a passage runs across a neck of wooded land. But I guess the good old _Comfort_ will stick to the main stream. I may be the tortoise in this race, but there's lots of chances the hares will lie down for a little nap in the way, and let me go past." "But it's fair to take advantage of a cut-off, ain't it?" asked George. "Of course it is, if you want to take the chance of getting twisted, and losing oodles of hours wandering around in some old swamp," Jack answered. "Well, they ought to have those cut-offs marked with buoys, or sign posts," grumbled George. "Too many changes taking place all the time," Jack replied, showing how earnestly he had been studying the field. "They just couldn't do it. But of all three craft, yours ought to be the last one to want to steal a march on the rest, George." "Oh, well, I don't expect to be compelled to; but then you never know what's going to happen. Suppose we had a breakdown, and lost many hours--it might be up to the _Wireless_ to get busy, and wipe out some of that slack. But I'm going to study that lower river part till I get it by heart, bet your boots on that, fellows." "And me ditto," said Nick, quickly. "None of that lost in the swamp for me. Just think how awful it would be, boys, wandering around day after day with snakes and alligators waiting to snap you up! Ugh!" "That isn't the worst of it, Buster; just imagine the food giving out! Whatever in the wide world would you do?" asked Jack, with a chuckle. Nick gave a wild look, and then groaned dismally. "If it came to a case of drawing lots I just know George would pick out the lucky number, because he often looks at me now as if he'd like to eat me," he mumbled, no doubt falling to the joke, but nevertheless with a vein of seriousness in his voice. On the following day the six boys haunted the boathouse most of the time. If anything was forgotten it could not have been for lack of consultations, since they were constantly putting their heads together, advising, making little changes in the packing and stowing of things, and running errands back to their homes and the stores. When they left at eventime they knew of nothing that could be done to better conditions. Each boat was in prime condition for the southern dash of many hundreds of miles, possibly over stormy waters, where perils of various kinds awaited them. And doubtless never in the history of those several families were such restless boys known as during the Sunday that followed. The minutes seemed to drag as if weighted down with stones. But the longest day has its end, and finally night came. Alarm clocks had been set for dawn, but in few cases were they needed, since the boys were up and doing before the gray had actually crept into the eastern heavens. At seven o'clock a crowd began to assemble in the vicinity of the boathouse from which the start was to be made; for the race was the event of the season. Every boy in town was on the spot, and the constables had to keep the crowd from actually swarming over and swamping the busy contestants and their families. The three motor boats were ready in the water, with burgees flying and looking as spic and span as human energy could make them. The silver trophy was in the possession of Jack's father, and had been admired by hundreds. As the time set for the start approached, the six boys manifested considerable nervousness. But this might be expected even of old campaigners, not to speak of young lads who, up to now, had possibly never been more than one or two hundred miles away from home. Jack was really in command, since he had been elected commodore of the club by unanimous vote. He seemed capable of keeping his head in a time of excitement, and that meant a great deal. Everything had been attended to so far as he knew, and they were now only waiting for the town clock to boom out the hour of eight, when the starting toot of his conch shell horn would announce that the race was on. It was a foregone conclusion that the speed boat would easily take the lead, for almost everything had been sacrificed in her construction to the one prime necessity for reeling off the miles. Nick was quivering all over with anxiety. He might have backed out only that he chanced to have a stubborn streak in his make-up, and his word had been given. But he certainly looked far from happy as he faced the gloomy prospect of days and days cooped up in that cranky craft, where the least movement abroad [Transcriber's note: aboard?] set up a dizzy wabbling. "Got your hair parted exactly in the middle, Buster?" shouted a comrade from the crowd, noting how the fat boy gripped the sides of the boat every time the pilot made a sudden little movement that caused the touchy _Wireless_ to bob or roll. "Better take a teenty more breath in that right lung, Hippo!" called another, with cruel intent; but Nick only grinned, and waved his hand, as though utterly indifferent to their jibes. Jack looked at his little dollar nickel watch for the last time. "Five minutes more only, fellows!" he announced. "Get aboard, all!" Presently they were settled in their places, and the engines had been started to make sure everything was right for the word "go!" Then the plain sound of the clock in the town hall came to their ears, as it started to strike the hour. "Let loose!" called Jack; and immediately gave several sharp toots on his shell signal horn. A storm of wild cheers broke out when the trio of handsome boats shot off as soon as those on the dock had eased the detaining cables. "Look at the _Wireless_, will you? Talk about your speed, ain't she got it to burn, though?" shouted one enthusiast, as the long, cigar-shaped boat shot ahead, and rapidly opened a gap between herself and the other contestants. And minutes before the _Tramp_ and the _Comfort_, she passed out of sight around the bend in the river, a mile below the town. As long as the pilots of the other two craft could see the faintest sign of the home town they were leaving on this long and doubtless perilous voyage over unknown waters, they could hear the whoops of the excited people, as they waved the adventurous cruisers and racers an adieu, with good wishes for a safe journey. CHAPTER III. A HANDICAP AT THE FIRST STATION. "We've got to pull up here, Jimmie!" "Sure; and what time have ye, Jack?" "Just eleven. We've been booming along for three hours today, besides the whole eight yesterday, and without a single breakdown, too," and Jack looked proudly at the little motor which he was bending over and petting. "Thims the houses of Clinton we say away ahead there, thin?" asked Jimmie, as he shaded his eyes with a palm, and stared toward the south. "Yes, on the Illinois shore; and across the way lies Clinton in Iowa. I used the marine glass which every boat carries, and there isn't a sign of either the _Wireless_ or the _Comfort_ ahead. That means, Jimmie, we're the first to arrive at the initial bag or station." The Irish boy grinned as though tickled. "Sure I can understand why Herb and Josh are held back by a slow boat; but by the powers where can that speed boy be? By the way he wint off he might be bringing up in New Orleans just now," he remarked, humorously. "If I gave a guess I'd say he was up in some creek, tinkering at that twenty horsepower engine of his that shakes the whole frame of his boat whenever he opens the throttle wide," Jack replied. "Right ye are," declared Jimmie, nodding his head. "And by the toime we get to the journey's ind I belave on me sowl George and Buster will know the location of ivery creek along the river." "Well," remarked the pilot of the boat, as he turned shoreward, "if a fellow is daft enough to sacrifice everything else for speed, on a long cruise like this, he must expect to put up with all sorts of trouble. But I'm sorry for Buster, though." "Sure he can afford to lose twinty pounds, and not fale it," declared the Irish boy, sagely. "And so long as the provisions howld out, Buster won't kick too harrd." When they had arrived at a certain point not far from the shore the engine was shut off. "Now!" sang out Jack, "drop it! Quick, Jimmie!" With a splash the anchor fell into the water, and presently the jaunty little motor boat was riding restlessly at the end of her cable; while the two boys started to get something ready to eat. Jimmie was to act as cook most of the time, since the other inmate of the _Tramp_ had plenty of things to hold his attention in managing the engine, and figuring out the course. First of all Jimmie placed on a firm foundation a neat little contraption made of brass, and which seemed to be a kerosene stove, capable of manufacturing gas. It was the pet of the skipper, and had served him many a time under conditions when a camp fire was out of the question, on account of pouring rain, or from some other reason. This Juwel kerosene-burning stove was of German origin. It was primed with a little alcohol, and when the heat had thus been applied to the plate a few pumps started the oil to moving, and it was turned into blue flame gas, very powerful in its capacity for boiling water speedily. When the stove was going it made a little crackling, hissing noise, but nothing to cause annoyance. And its convenience on a cruise of this sort outweighed any minor faults. The other boats were equipped with other cooking appliances, the _Wireless_ having a battery of three lamps, and the _Comfort_ a genuine gasoline affair, of course of generous proportions as became so big a craft, on which a dinner for the crowd might have been prepared if necessary. Jimmie heated some Boston baked beans left over from the preceding night's supper, and made a pot of coffee. A loaf of bread and some cheese afforded ample substantial, as Jimmie declared when he could eat no more. Still there were no signs of either of the other boats above. They could see various river craft moving about, but though Jack used his glasses diligently up to two o'clock he had discovered nothing of the others. "Say, this looks bad for a beginning," he observed, as three o'clock came, and he took the glasses again to sweep the upper river. "Already we have a start of four hours on both our rivals. Perhaps after all George may have to explore some of those cut-offs Nick dreads so much, in order to make up for time lost while tinkering with that blessed old engine of his, that breaks down once in so often." He had hardly applied the glasses to his eyes than he gave an exclamation. "I wager now that's the bully ould _Comfort_ splashing along in the middle of the river!" cried Jimmie, who had good eyes of his own and had been using them to some advantage meanwhile. "Go up head, Jimmie," said Jack; "for that's just what it is. And as sure as you live I think I sight the rushing _Wireless_ away back there, booming along, and cutting through the water like a knife, while the broad bow of Herb's boat throws the spray flying with every dip! It's a race for second honors, that's what it is, Jimmie!" "Whirra! and we're the spectators, so we are!" cried the delighted Irish lad, as he eagerly reached for the glasses and clapped them to his eyes. "Yis, ye're right, Jack, it's the speed boat all the same; and my sowl, how she's rushing things! By the powers, don't I hope the ould _Comfort_ draws in here ahead. Won't it make George feel down in the mouth to be last at the stake?" "Oh! this is only a beginning," remarked Jack. "Nobody can tell what is going to happen before we bring up at New Orleans. Depend on it, Jimmie, all of us will know a heap more by then than we do now." "Herb sees us," observed Jimmie. "Josh is wavin' a flag. And the boat heads this way, too, makin' better time than I iver saw her do. Hurrah for thim! Look at the coffin nail gainin'; but I do believe the tub will win out afther all, I do that." And so it proved; for, although George evidently risked considerable, and shoved on every horsepower his engine was rated at, he could not quite overtake the big clumsy craft he had affected to despise; so that the _Comfort_ was alongside before the speed boat was more than within hailing distance. Jack himself timed the coming of each craft, as was the duty of the one first at a station. Thus he knew just what a handicap the other boats labored under as the result of the initial run. It was already late in the day, and as they were prohibited from running after the hour of four, a start was out of the question until another morning. Accordingly the three craft made preparations for stopping over another night. A place was found where they could go ashore and camp, though meaning to sleep aboard their several boats; a necessity that caused poor Nick many a groan. "Why, fellows," he grunted, rubbing himself in various places, "I'm just covered with bruises after one night of it. No room to turn without the bally old boat heaving and rolling. I give you my word there were lots of times I really made up my mind the blessed thing wanted to turn us both out into the creek. And would you believe it, I haven't yet been able to find those bully water wings anywhere. Seen anything of 'em, boys? Oh! I hope you have, because half the fun will be lost to me if I've gone and left my wings behind." But no one remembered seeing the articles in question after the last time the owner had been holding them up for admiration, and which was on the Saturday before the start. "So, you did pass the night in a creek, then?" asked Jack. "That's what we did," admitted George, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Engine began to give trouble before two o'clock, and as we were near the shore we found a convenient creek, where we pushed in; and I've been working on that motor pretty much all the time since." "We saw you both go past this morning," remarked Nick. "But George wouldn't let me give a toot on my horn. All I did was to cook while he worked." "And eat. Don't forget to mention that, please," grumbled the aforesaid George. "Why, fellows, if he keeps on the way he's started, I sure don't know how we'll ever get enough grub aboard to keep going. And besides, such cooking you never saw." "Here, no complaining," declared Jack. "You knew what you were up against before you started. And Buster is a willing chap, even if he has his faults. I've got a man aboard who's in training to equal Buster's record before this trip ends," and he nodded his head toward Jimmie, who grinned and answered: "Indade an' I begin to belave that same mesilf, fellers. I'm hungry all the time, so I be. It must be in the air. Jack himself is no slouch whin it comes to stowing away things." "That's all right," laughed Josh, seeing a chance to get in one of his favorite digs at Nick; "but I can feel for poor old George. He's tucked in with a cemetery, that devours everything, and keeps yawning for more." And so they talked as they made a fire and prepared supper for the crowd just as the sun hovered over the distant shore to the west. No one came to bother them, for the place was isolated. A railroad ran near by, and during the night they heard numerous trains passing along. But snugly tucked away in their respective boats--much too snugly, Nick believed--they found little cause for complaint. Another dawn found them facing a proposition that offered new possibilities. "Hey! it's raining!" shouted Josh, he being the first one in the little fleet to get outside that morning. But Jack had known this for some time, since he had been awake and heard the patter of the falling drops on the taut canvas awning that covered the main part of the _Tramp_. After a while the boats were allowed to come closer together, while the pilots conferred as to the program for the day. There were one or two feeble protests against starting in the wet; but on putting it to a vote the decision was reached that they must go on. "We're not made of sugar or salt," declared Jack; "and besides, haven't we anticipated just such weather by providing waterproof garments. Everybody get into their oilskins right away, and slap a real old sou'wester on their heads. We can afford to laugh at this poor little storm. Wait till we strike something worth while later on, and then duck." "Yes," put in George, a little maliciously; "we've just got to be moving right along, fellows. Satan always finds mischief for idle hands to do. Buster is supposed to be the deck hand aboard this boat, and when he hasn't anything else to do his mind keeps wandering in the line of eating. Suppose we did get really cleaned out some fine day, am I bound to begin on him for chops?" All this while they were busy dressing, and Nick made the narrow speed boat wabble fearfully with his movements as he drew on his oilskins. "Oh! I tell you I'm just going to be a complete nervous wreck before we get done with this fool race," he complained when he had finally succeeded in donning the wide trousers, the legs of which persisted in sticking together. "Get out and walk then," said George, promptly. "I would if the walking was good," replied Nick; "but it's wet both above and below; and besides I want to give another look around for my precious white wings." At eight o'clock another start was made. As before, the fleet boat shot ahead, with the _Tramp_ a good second, and the wallowing _Comfort_ in the rear, Herb and Josh in no way disconcerted because of the poor beginning. History had a way of repeating itself; and they believed that the accident to George's cranky engine was only a specimen of many other troubles and tribulations that would be apt to befall the ambitious pilot during the progress of the race. But hardly had the _Wireless_ gone two hundred yards before there was a tremendous splash heard. "Arrah now!" burst out Jimmie, who had happened to be looking at the time, "it's happened just as I knowed it would!" "What is it?" asked Jack, bobbing up from the engine, which had been taking all of his attention. "He falled overboard, so he did, just like a sack of corn!" continued Jimmie. "Who did----oh! look at all the splashing back of the _Wireless_! Why it's Buster and he's holding on to a rope or something! Stop the boat, George; stop her!" CHAPTER IV. THE SUDDEN PERIL. Even while Jack Stormways was giving vent to that shout he saw that George had shut off power, for the swift speed boat no longer rushed through the water like a thing of life. Meanwhile both the other launches were bearing down upon the scene, with their occupants only too anxious to lend a helping hand. George had seized hold of the other end of the rope to which the unfortunate Nick clung so desperately, and was dragging the floundering fat boy in, hand over hand. "Hold on, George--not so fast I tell you! I'm full up now with this nasty yellow water, and can't stand any more. Easy, George! Oh, if I only had my wings on right now, what a chance to try 'em out!" In this ridiculous fashion the flapping boy-fish gave vent to his mingled feelings of reproach and regret as he found himself hauled close in to the side of the drifting _Wireless_, until the skipper managed to get his fingers twisted in the abundant scalplock of his boat-mate. "Why, he's got a life preserver on! He couldn't have drowned if he tried!" exclaimed Josh, as he leaned over the side of the big roomy _Comfort_; an act that did not seem to disturb her stability one bit. "Course I have!" spluttered the dangling Nick, ever ready to take up cudgels with this adversary, no matter what his condition. "Course I have," he repeated. "Think me crazy to sail in this cranky message boat without insurance against a spill? I guess not. And you see what a wise head Nick has, fellows! Why, hang it, I'd just about been drowned this time if it hadn't been for this hunky-dory life preserver!" "That's so," said Jack, warmly. "And you're a wise boy, all right, Buster. Just as long as you ride in that speed machine you keep close to that cork affair. You never know when you'll need it." "That's so," grunted Nick, as he ejected a quart or so of water which had gotten into his mouth and stomach. "Ugh! get me aboard, please. I feel wet!" "Glory! hear that, would ye?" roared Jimmie. "Sure he looks it, too, by the same token. But it will nade the hull caboodle of us to lift Buster aboard, for what wid all the wather he's gulped down he must weigh a ton, so he do." "Say, he certainly changed his mind, and concluded that the walking was good, after all!" exclaimed Herb, as he lent a hand toward raising the young elephant. "Yes," remarked George, who had really been badly frightened, but now tried to hide his feelings by a little joshing, "and I don't think it's a bit fair for your own crew to mutiny that way, and turn against the skipper." "What's that?" gasped Nick, half way over the side; "who mutinied?" "Why, the evidence is all against you, Hippo," returned his boatmate. "Didn't you see him, boys, holding on to a rope, and trying his level best to keep the dandy little _Wireless_ from getting too great a start? I'm going to offer that as a protest if I miss getting the silver Dixie cup." "Huh!" That was all Nick could get out, for just then with a grand heave all around his comrades managed to raise him over the gunwale of the speed launch, so that he came down on the after deck with a squash, streams of water running off his saturated garments. "There's only one thing to do," remarked Jack, "and that's to make a fresh start when Buster gets into some dry clothes. So hurry up, old fellow." "However did you come to do it, Pudding?" demanded Herb, as the three boats kept company drifting on the current of the river. "Well, I hardly know," grinned the other, as he started to leisurely undress. "I saw a coil of rope slipping overboard, and remember bending down to grab it. Guess the frisky little craft must have given a kick just about then. Next thing I knew I was in the drink, and swallowing more water than was good for me." "But you grabbed the rope all right, it seems!" remarked Josh, sarcastically. "Looks like it," admitted the other readily; "and I held on, too. My dad always did say I was a great fellow to keep my grip once I got it. There's only one thing I'm sorry about." "Now just quit that right where you are," remarked George. "What do you take me for, a phonograph with a blank record? Forget about those silly wings that were going to make a swimmer out of you. A few more duckings like this at the end of a rope and you'll be a boss paddler." "Oh! do you think so, George! Perhaps, then, once in a while you wouldn't mind tying a rope under my arms and letting me drop, easy-like, off the stern here, to learn the strokes. I wouldn't care very much, if I always had this good old cork thing on." "You get out!" snorted George, who never knew when his companion was serious or joking, since his pudgy face was always set in a broad smile. "What d'ye take me for, hey? Think this is an excursion to teach fellows who won't try it on at home, how to swim? You've got another think coming then. Hurry up and get into some dry clothes now. We want to be off." "Oh! start just when you feel like it; I'm going to take my time. Now quit joshing me. I'm too full for utterance," and to prove the truth of his assertion Nick bent over the side to eject another quart of water he had been forced to swallow, much against his will. So presently Jack gave the word and again the three boats made a fresh start, in the same general alignment as before, with the _Wireless_ ahead, and the big _Comfort_ bringing up the rear. Half an hour later and Jack, looking around, found that he could no longer see either of his competitors, the rain and mist utterly shutting them from view. For some time, however, the heavy "pant" of the _Comfort's_ exhaust came booming from the rear, though by slow degrees it grew fainter, until finally even this sign of her presence failed. "I hope George will be cautious in this half fog and rain," Jack could not help remarking, as they continued to run along, and he kept Jimmie constantly in the bow to report what the prospect ahead might be. "Sure, I was just thinkin' that same," admitted the Irish lad, turning his head for a minute while speaking. "It's so thick beyant that I do belave a stameboat might crape up on us unawares, and we not know a thing about it till we kim slap bang against its bow." "That's one thing I'm afraid of," remarked Jack. "You notice that I manage to keep fairly close to the shore, don't you, Jimmie? Once in a while I glimpse the Illinois bank when the breeze lifts the fog a bit. I wouldn't like to run out in the middle of the river in this muss. The only thing I'm wondering is what boats coming up-stream do in a mess like this? Do they creep along closer to the shore than usual; or stick to the middle, and whistle from time to time?" But Jimmie shook his head. "Blest if I know a thing about it, Jack," he admitted. "All the same, it's me opinion that ye're doin' the right thing. Sure, ye always do, by the same token," for Jimmie was a great admirer of Jack Stormways, and ready to stick to him through thick and thin. "What a lucky thing it was Buster thought to tie that life preserver on. Only for that he might have been drowned before any of us could get to him," Jack remarked a short time later. "Oh! after all, he's the wise guy, an' don't ye forget it, Jack. Only I'm sorry for poor Buster, becase, ye say, he really don't hanker afther goin' on the thrip at all, it sames. And sure, it must be pretty tough balancing in that cranky ould boat all the time." "Don't waste too much pity on Buster, Jimmie," laughed Jack. "When you come to know him as well as I do you'll understand that a heap of his agony is put on. To tell the truth, I've often suspected him of being even a bigger joker than Josh. Besides, he ought to put up with a heap from George; just think how the skipper has got to eat Buster's cooking for a couple of weeks, maybe. I wonder if he'll ever live through it. But perhaps Buster may improve, now that he just has to eat his own messes." "Sure, he's got his mamy's blissed cook book along," observed the other, with one of his broad grins. "Didn't I say him studying it like a gossoon?" "Poor George! I wouldn't be in his shoes for a cooky. But turn around again, Jimmie. I don't feel easy about this sort of cruising. That's why I've cut off some of our speed, you notice. Safety is my play first, and progress afterward." "And a bully good motto, Jack, that always gets ye through all sorts of scrapes, right side up wid care. Ugh! did ye say that floater we passed? Sure it was a big tree, so it was. And av we'd slapped bang agin the roots, what a juicy hole they'd have knocked in our shiny side. Ye swerved just in the nick of time, Jacky, bye." "Keep watching, and sing out if you see or hear anything." Jack was keeping his hand on the alert, ready to reverse his engine at even a second's warning. Then he could swerve, if it became necessary to avoid some peril that suddenly loomed up ahead. A train was moving slowly along ashore, and apparently groping its way, if one could judge from the many signal whistles heard. This rumbling sound was magnified in the fog until it seemed almost deafening at times. It annoyed Jack, for he was straining his heading to catch anything that came up the river. Still, he had adopted all precautions that might occur to a careful cruiser, and under the circumstances it seemed a bit silly to think of halting in his progress down the stream. Several hours passed thus, with both boys laboring under a constant strain. "Would ye moind tilling me the time, Jack, darlint?" asked the Irish lad, still crouched in the bow as a lookout. "Just twelve," replied the engineer, straightening up for a change, and as customary, casting a glance ahead as well as on either side; for if anything the atmosphere was just as thick as ever--indeed, Jimmie had more than once referred to it contemptuously as "pea soup!" "Arrah! would ye moind now if I got a bite of grub? I'm that impty I suspect me stomach is glued till me backbone." Jack laughingly gave his consent. "I'll keep on double duty while you're about it," he remarked; "and play the part of engineer and pilot. At the same time here goes to reduce speed another notch, to be on the safe side." Of course it was useless thinking of having anything hot while going along at even half speed, much as they would have enjoyed a cup of coffee to warm them up, for the rain and fog made the air seem chilly. "But in a race every minute ought to count," remarked Jack, when Jimmie suggested this thing of stopping half an hour. "This is our running time, you know. After four o'clock we can hold up all we want. In fact we have to, as nothing gained by keeping on then counts." And so they ate a cold "snack," as Jack called it, while pursuing their course down the river. Jimmie was again perched in the bow, talking when his jaws were not otherwise taken up in masticating his sandwich. "Seems to me the fog is lifting just a little," suggested Jack. "I don't belave it," objected the other. "Me eyes is clane tired tryin' to say into the mess beyant. Sometimes I do be thinkin' I glimpse a big stameboat comin' straight for us; and just whin I'm shoutin' to ye to back wather, I discover that it do be a fraud. Right now the same delusion sames to strike me, an' sure am I dramin', or is that something like a house below? Jack, darlint, it moves, sure it do! The wolf is comin' at last! Back her, Jack, back her, me bye! It's a stameboat this time right enough, and bearin' dead for us, by the same token!" And the boy at the motor knew the emergency which he had been anticipating for the last three hours had suddenly come upon them, for a packet was pushing up the river just ahead, and aiming direct for the little launch! CHAPTER V. AROUSED AT MIDNIGHT. "Hold tight, Jimmie!" cried Jack. "I am that!" shrilled the Irish lad, crouched in the bow, with his eyes staring wildly at the dreadful shape that was swiftly drawing closer to them, as though bent on running the motor boat down. Jack had changed his plan at the critical instant. He had a peculiar faculty for grasping a situation, and solving a problem. Although he had made up his mind to reverse in a case like this, it flashed over him that such a course just then would have but one result--the collision might be deferred for a few seconds; but if the approaching steamboat continued to advance, it must take place after all. Better to throw on full power, and try to slide off to one side, thus giving the big craft the right of way. It was done in a twinkling. The _Tramp_ shot forward with a jerk; and had Jimmie not been forewarned he might have found himself thrown sideways into the river, for the little craft careened badly in making the swerve. But she answered gallantly to the call, and glided out of the way just is the broad bow of the sternwheel steamboat came along, raising a white, foam-crested wave as she breasted the swift current. Jack fancied he heard a startled exclamation from up in the pilothouse of the big craft; but not a word was flung at them. That the man at the wheel realized how remiss he had been in not signaling oftener, was made evident, for immediately a long and hoarse whistle broke loose, even as the steamboat was passing the boys. "Wow!" gasped Jimmie, as he turned a white face toward his mate; "that was about as clost a call as I iver want to mate up wid. And sure, only for your wonderful prisence of moind we might have been run down. The same 'twas criminal carelessness, so it was. And I'd like to give the bog-trotter a bit of me moind." Jack himself had gone through a thrilling experience, which he would hardly care to have duplicated. He was trembling some too, now that the necessity for prompt action and quick thought was gone. "But didn't she respond to the wheel fine though, Jimmie?" he asked: just as if the boat deserved all the credit. "If it had been the clumsy old _Comfort_ now, nothing would have saved her, she's so slow to mind her helm." Jimmie had ideas of his own about the matter. What they were he did not choose to put into words just then; but the way his kindling eyes surveyed his friend made it easy to guess. "An' did ye notice how soon the pilot blowed his whistle?" he remarked, as they resumed their course. "Small use that same would have been to us afther a smash. Sure, I'd taken it for Gabriel's trump calling us to the resurrection, I would." "Well, let's forget it if we can, and talk of something more pleasant," observed Jack, who was now urging the little boat nearer the shore than ever, since it appeared they had been in the path of up-river craft, hugging the Illinois bank. Of course he had again reduced the engine to half speed; and his vigilance was not in the least relaxed. "Give me warning if you ever even _think_ you see anything ahead, Jimmie," he remarked a little later. "Then we can get ready to head in, while we're trying to make out what it is. But I'll be glad when this beastly day is over, that's what." "Amen!" said Jimmie, with due reverence; for that expressed his own feeling to a dot. The time crept on slowly. They had passed under the great railroad bridge at Rock Island, and even navigated the river at this dangerous point, where craft were moving in many directions. And as the afternoon wore away, with mile after mile left behind, Jack, who had taken occasional furtive looks at his maps, concluded from certain signs that they were within ten miles of Burlington. "It's nearly four, Jimmie, and we'd better be hunting a place to put in for the night, I don't just fancy anchoring here on the open water in this fog. And as to going on, what's the use, when a big city looms up a few miles ahead? We couldn't get past it without cribbing on the time that doesn't count. So keep your eyes on the watch for anything that looks like a creek." They often saw the gaping mouths of these little tributaries that emptied their flow of water into the Mississippi; and Jack hoped such would be the case now, when they were in sore need of a harbor. When therefore Jimmie presently announced that he believed the signs were favorable ahead the skipper of the _Tramp_ rejoiced. "I only hope it's a decent creek, and has some bully good places for keeping out of sight," Jack declared, as he headed for the opening near by. Jimmie knew what was on his mind, for they had talked this matter over with the other fellows more than once. Jack had read lots about the great Father of Waters, and knew what a highway it has been for scores of years to a class of criminals who are fleeing from justice. Of course there are many honest men on the numerous shanty boats that float down the river, tying up from time to time at some landing, or hunting a friendly creek mouth in which to pass the night. At the same time thousands use the water highway as a means for eluding pursuit. It offers such an easy method of fleeing, after committing a robbery, or breaking the law in some other way, that the honest traveler must needs keep his eyes about him constantly while floating on the bosom of the mighty Mississippi. The creek proved to be everything Jack could wish. "This is all right," he said, after they had moved up its tortuous channel for a little distance, until, coming to a promising spot where trees and bushes chanced to screen them, the boat was stopped. "We'll call this our camp for the night, Jimmie, and proceed to make ourselves as comfortable as the law allows." "No going ashore to cook dinner this night," remarked Jimmie, as he surveyed the dripping trees close by. "Well," said Jack, "let's be thankful that we've got such a bully old tarpaulin to keep the wet off. Suppose we get busy right away with it? The sooner it's up the quicker we can shake these nasty oilskins; though I hadn't ought to run them down, because they've served us well today, and kept us dry as toast. I don't believe you could get wet if you tried, in these Fish suits." "Aw! Buster did!" observed the other, with a droll chuckle. "You're right, he certainly did. But then I didn't mean if you took a header overboard. Now, up with your end, Jimmie, and fasten it snug. I've got mine ready; and in a few shakes of a lamb's tail we'll be able to laugh at the weather." "And, worse luck, now that we've stopped runnin' it looks like it's goin' to clear up, so it do," grumbled the other. "All right," laughed the skipper, "we can stand it. So much the better, because we've got a big run ahead tomorrow, to make up for the time lost today. I'd give a cooky to know just where the other boats are right now. I only hope nothing has happened to either--at least nothing serious; because there's just bound to be something going amiss with that engine on the _Wireless_ nearly every day she runs." Presently the cover was in place, and tautly secured. Under its shelter both boys doffed their waterproofs and made things look more shipshape. Jimmie, as usual, was more than ready to get to work with that dandy little Juwel kerosene gas contraption; and its cheery humming soon told that supper was under way. Jack meanwhile found plenty to do in rearranging things in the boat; for during a day such as they had just endured makeshifts are in order. Under Jack's schooling Jimmie was beginning to improve in his cooking; and as he took more or less pride in the results, there was some hope for him; whereas with Buster it was a thankless task. They had a few eggs left, and these were made into quite a tasty omelette. Then a can of corn was opened, to be heated in a saucepan. This, with a pannikin of tea, and some baker's cakes, constituted their meal. And as both boys were quite hungry they enjoyed every particle of the same. "While they were eating Jack had heard sounds that annoyed him. "I'm afraid we're pretty close to a road, Jimmie," he had remarked. "And I only hope no curious party spies the light of our lantern inside the tent here. I'm not at all anxious to pick up acquaintances." "So say we all of us, Jack, me bye," the other had replied promptly. As the sounds of vehicles passing were heard at frequent intervals the boys determined not to keep the lantern lighted very long after they had prepared their beds for the night. Sometimes it was their habit to sit up, and read or talk; but this seemed to be an occasion when it would be better to crawl in under their blankets and get all the sleep they could, looking forward to a busy day on the morrow. "It's eight o'clock!" announced Jack, finally, with a yawn; and as that had been the time set for retiring, he prepared to "douse the glim" as he termed it, in sailor's parlance. "Let her go!" remarked his boatmate, as he snuggled down in his place. They were of course confined to rather scant space; and many persons might have found it hard to sleep soundly when in such close quarters. But healthy boys can stand for almost anything, and think it fun. So Jack, having arranged his own bed, crawled in, after which he reached out his hand to extinguish the lantern. One last look he took at the Marlin shotgun that he had brought along, in the hope and expectation that he might find use for it during the long cruise. It was hanging from a couple of pegs just under the coaming of the deck, and by simply raising his hand he could touch it. Somehow the very presence of that reliable little shooter seemed to give Jack a sense of security when they found themselves marooned in an exceedingly lonely place, with the darkness shutting them in as with a curtain, and unknown perils impending. Once the light went out the boys lay there and talked in low tones for perhaps a full hour. They had much to confer about, with the uncertain future beckoning them on; and the main history of the cruise yet to be written. The last thing Jack remembered hearing as he passed into the land of sleep was a vehicle rumbling over the bridge that evidently spanned the creek some little distance above. Then he knew no more for some time. The little launch floated on the bosom of the creek, fastened to the shore. At times she heaved gently, as some wave of larger proportions than usual came in from the river, possibly caused by a passing steamboat's suction. But by this time the boys were getting accustomed to this sort of thing. One night afloat had taken off the newness for them, and they could sleep now through any ordinary motion. Something digging him in the ribs aroused Jack. Then a voice whispered in his ear, and he knew that it was Jimmie. "Jack, wake up! I hear voices beyand, and I do belave the thaves of the worrld are comin' to clane us out, so I do!" "'Sh!" was all Jack made reply; but at the same instant his hand groped for the reliable gun so close at hand. Once this was in his possession he gently lifted the flap of the waterproof tent that covered the boat; for he knew just where to find this loose portion, left so for an emergency of this sort. The storm had departed, and the sky was now clear. While it was far from light without, still to Jack's eyes things looked fairly plain. And the first thing he saw seemed to be moving figures, two of them, that were creeping toward the tied-up motor boat. Now and then they would pause, and then low and significant whispers would follow. Jack felt a thrill pass over his frame as he began to quietly thrust the muzzle of the shotgun through the opening of the tent. He did not intend to aim at the prowlers of course, but hoped the sudden shot might give them a good fright. Jimmie was creeping toward the bow, as if desirous of seeing all that went on; when Jack, feeling that he was certainly privileged to defend his property against pirates, pulled the trigger which his trembling finger had been pressing; and a sudden roar awoke the echoes of the night. CHAPTER VI. STARTLING NEWS FROM NEAR HOME. "Run, ye spalpeens, run wid ye!" whooped Jimmie, as he thrust his tousled red head through the opening at the bow. Jack was prepared to repeat the shooting part of the business if there seemed any necessity; and perhaps the next time he would not be so particular about aiming so as to miss the prowlers. But he immediately saw that there would be no need, for already the pair of would-be thieves could be heard crashing madly through the undergrowth, in the endeavor to make a safe getaway. Jimmie continued to send derisive shouts after them until Jack advised that he had better bottle up the balance of his enthusiasm. "But did ye say how they tumbled over wan another whin ye let go?" demanded the Irish lad, gleefully. "Well," remarked the skipper, dryly, "I noticed that they never waited to leave us a visiting card. And Jimmie, this proves how wise I was to fetch my gun along. I'd advise every fellow who intends to knock about along this river to have some way of defending himself in case of need." With which remark Jack slipped a new shell into the chamber of his double barrel shotgun. "Did ye pepper thim good and hot?" asked Jimmie, presently. "Oh! no, I didn't want to do that," said Jack, quickly. "We really had no business to shoot straight at them unless they were coming aboard. I just aimed close enough to give them a good scare. And I think I did the right thing, too." "By the powers, I bet ye they're runnin' yit!" ventured his boatmate, confidently. "They must have hit the road by this time. I only hope they won't think to come back for another turn," Jack observed, thoughtfully. "No fear of that, I wager," laughed the Irish lad. "Sure, thim gossoons know whin the stick is loaded, and they'll niver return to say what it was wint off. Make your moind aisy about that, Jackey, me bye." The boys lay down again, but Jack could not sleep. "I don't like this thing," he said, finally, sitting up. "And it would be better for us to take turns watching. In that way we'll have some sleep; and as it is, I don't feel as if I could get a wink. The idea of waking up to find a couple of greasy hoboes in possession of our boat gives me a chill." Jimmie announced himself as favoring the plan, and declared that he was ready to stand his watch either then or later, just as Jack decided. And so it was arranged. The balance of the night was divided into two equal parts, and in this way both of the cruisers managed to obtain a few hours sleep. Nothing happened after all, and Jimmie must have been right when he declared that the pair of thieves had been so badly frightened when the gun went off so unexpectedly that nothing could induce them to return to the attack. All the same Jack was glad to see that it was broad daylight when he awoke. He found, just as he might have expected, Jimmie at work getting breakfast. Indeed, it may have been the delightful aroma of coffee and bacon that helped awaken him, for the interior of the tent was fragrant with the combination. Eight o'clock came, and they started from the creek, passing the city shortly afterward. If their visitors of the preceding night saw them come out they were sensible enough not to disclose their identity; though Jimmie did declare he saw two men who might be tramps watching them from behind the trees below the mouth of the friendly creek. There were numerous boats upon the river, but although Jack used his glasses to advantage he could pick up no clue to either the _Wireless_ or the _Comfort_. The day was nice and clear after the fog and rain. "Here's where we hit it up to make time, and pay for the slow traveling yesterday," the pilot announced, when he coaxed the steady going little motor to do its prettiest. At noon they had reeled off something like sixty-odd miles, the current having assisted very much in advancing the boat. Keokuk had been passed, and they were now aiming to reach Quincy by the middle of the afternoon. Just below this place the second station had been marked; and if, as was to be expected, George and Buster had arrived ahead of them, they might anticipate being signaled to draw in. "It's right funny we don't say anything of the other byes at all," remarked Jimmie, while they were pushing steadily along, the engine working with clock-like fidelity, and never missing a stroke. "Oh! I don't look at it that way. Unless some accident happens to George there's never the least chance that we can look in on him in that racer. And the same applies to the _Comfort_--if we go on as we have, they can never hope to catch up with us. And there you are," and Jack laughed as he spoke. "Ye mane that we're betwixt the divel and the dape say," observed Jimmie, with one of his chuckles. "Oh! now that's going it pretty steep," Jack protested. "The _Comfort_ might come under the head of deep sea, or anything else that's big and slow and reliable; but it's pretty hard calling George's boat by that other name. But there's another railroad bridge across the river far below, unless the glass fools me. And if so, this must be Quincy just beyond." "Hurrah! thin, we've arrived at the ind of the sicond stage of the journey, and right side up wid care. If ye choose to hand me the glass, Jack, I'll be afther lookin' for signs of the sassy little _Wireless_." But it was some time after they had passed under the bridge spanning the Mississippi that Jimmie was able to announce that he believed he had discovered the object of his search. "Let me have a look," remarked Jack; and a minute later he went on: "There's a boat of some sort anchored close to the shore down there, and the sun shines on her just as it does on the varnished deck of the _Wireless_. Yes, I do believe that's our peerless leader, as George is so fond of saying. I'm glad to know they've got here all safe and sound." Shortly afterward they heard the sound of a horn, and Jimmie answered with a few vigorous blasts on the conch shell, which had its apex sawed off to admit of a certain amount of air; though some practice was necessary before one could produce a far reaching note. "Thought you'd never get here," said George, as the _Tramp_ swung in alongside so that the rival crews could shake hands, which they did heartily. It turned out that luck had highly favored the leading boat. They had escaped any catastrophe on the river, even though making fast, and possibly reckless time. And wonderful to relate, not once had the engine broken down since last the boats separated. "That's good news!" exclaimed Jack, when he heard this; and there was not a trace of envy or malice in his hearty tone. "That would be fine, if only it kept up all the rest of the trip, eh, Buster?" "It would be just heavenly," sighed the fat boy; "but I don't expect it. I know that measly old engine all right; and I just bet you she's holding in so as to get a good whack at us when she does let go. My! all I hope is, that the blamed thing don't go up the flue, and scatter us around. I seriously object to getting wet as a regular diet." "I wonder if the other boat will get here by four?" George ventured; but none of them pretended to be a prophet, and so his question remained unanswered. When the time arrived there was still no sign of the _Comfort_. Another hour passed, two of them, and the boys were growing anxious, with many looks cast up the river. It had been arranged that if one of the boats had to run "after hours" in order to join the others at a station, the time stolen should be charged against that craft's record. And this was how it came that they were hoping the third boat might yet appear. But the darkness gathered around them, and they had to give it up for that day, since they had all promised their folks at home never to run at night except under an actual necessity. There being no creek handy the two motor boats remained where they were, with their mudhooks holding them steady against the never ceasing flow of the current. They were close enough to shake hands, though when it came time for sleep the one nearer the shore hauled off fifty feet or more, so that there might be smaller chances of a collision. Nothing occurred during that night to alarm them, though Nick professed to feel nervous, after having heard of the adventure which Jack and Jimmie had met with on the other occasion. In the morning they did not hurry, for they could not leave that station until the arrival of the third craft, no matter if it meant several days' delay, such being the conditions of the Dixie cup race. "There they come!" whooped Nick, after they had finished breakfast; he had been looking through the glasses which George owned, and of course his thrilling words quite electrified the others. "You're right, Buster; that's the steady old _Comfort_, all the same," said Jack, as he too leveled his marine glasses up-river way. "She rides like a big goose," laughed George. "But mighty comfortable, all the same," sighed Nick, mechanically rubbing his fat haunches as though they still felt sore from contact with the sides of the narrow boat, while trying to sleep. When the steady-going launch brought up alongside, many inquiries were made as to what had detained them so long. "Lots of trouble," Herb replied, readily enough; "not with the engine, for she never missed a note; but Josh here got cold feet after a steamboat shaved us, and made me cut down speed, so we hardly did more than crawl with the current for hours. Yesterday we boomed along, trying to make the riffle in time; but finding we couldn't, we just stopped about ten miles above for the night." "And then as we came into Quincy I went ashore to see if there was any mail. A letter for each of us, Nick, and only a paper for Jack," with which Josh handed over the articles in question. As the two boys had not eaten any breakfast, it was decided to wait for them. Jack after a bit picked up the home paper, and idly started to open it. The others immediately heard him utter an exclamation, and looking up, saw that he seemed to be eagerly reading something he had discovered. "Well, I declare, if that just don't beat the Dutch!" he remarked. "What does?" cried Nick, all excitement. "Has John Guthrie got new shingles on his barn; or was old Weatherby seen at church for the first time in ten years?" "Yes," added Josh, "don't keep us waiting so long, Jack. Go on and tell us what excites you so. Nobody ain't got twins, have they?" "Say, fellows, it's happened at last. You know the bank over at Waverly? Well, it's been robbed--cleaned out, the paper says, and thousands taken. May bust the bank up, if they don't get the thieves. And what do you think, they say they believe the two men who did the job have gone down river _in a motor boat_!" "A motor boat!" shouted the rest in unison. "Listen while I read about it, and then tell me what you think about this description of a suspicious craft that was seen leaving the river front between midnight and Tuesday morning," saying which he went on to read the account, while all the others sat there in suspense, drinking in the news, since they knew that bank in the thriving town mentioned very well. "Hear what that reporter says about the suspicious motor boat," said Jack, in conclusion. "Now, fellows, what craft does that make you think of?" "The _Tramp_!" sang out Nick, immediately. "Yes, Jack," said George, soberly. "It sure hits your boat to a T. I only hope it don't get you fellows into a peck of trouble, that's all!" But it did, all the same. CHAPTER VII. QUITE A SURPRISE PARTY. "I say, George, remember me telling you about that suspicious boat I saw across near the other shore just after we got settled last night?" said Josh. "Hold on," returned George, quickly. "You don't mean it that way, Josh. To hear you talk the fellows might think we were running after hours. Fact is, we reached our stopping place at just ten minutes of four. How was that for a swift run on a foggy day, one hundred and thirty miles? And it was just before dusk when the rain let up, that Josh said he glimpsed a boat that looked like the _Tramp_, sneaking along down close by the Missouri bank." "Yes, sneaking, that's the word I used," declared Josh, positively; "because, you see, there was something about the way it went on that made me think the crew didn't want to attract attention. Of course I knew right away it wasn't our crowd. But after hearing what Jack read I'd just like to bet that was the thief boat." "Oh! well, there are heaps of motor boats on the old Mississippi," laughed Jack, "and I guess the same company that made mine have sold a dozen of the same model in Illinois and Missouri. Still, it might be as you say, Josh. And perhaps it will pay all of us to keep an eye out for these slippery customers." "What would you do if you happened to come on the boat like yours?" asked Nick. "That depends," replied Jack, seriously. "If I felt positive the men aboard were the chaps who broke open the Waverly bank I'd try to let the authorities know. But they must be pretty hard cases, and I'd go mighty slow about trying to grab such customers myself. I'm not hired to play the part of detective or sheriff. All that stuff I leave to the proper officials." "How do we stand on this second leg, Jack?" asked George. "I've just been figuring it up," replied the other, referring to his notebook. "It seems that the speed boat made the run in just ten hours of actual work. We did the same in fourteen hours, twelve minutes; and the steady old _Comfort_ in eighteen hours, seven minutes. That's as near correct as it could be figured." George beamed with gratification. "Shake, partner," he said, thrusting out a hand to Nick, who looked at him suspiciously, then examined his hand, and finally gingerly allowed the other to take hold of a couple of his pudgy fingers. "You see, we've more than wiped out our first day's loss, and have a nice little balance in the bargain," George went on. "Yes," laughed Jack, "and a balance is a handy thing to have, whether in a bank or in a record of days' runs during a long race. I congratulate you, fellows, and hope you may duplicate the performance." Herb and Josh seemed in no wise cast down over the poor showing their boat had made up to date. "Just you wait," observed the former, positively. "Perhaps we've got a card or two up our sleeves. We don't tell _everything_ we know, do we, Josh? And long ago I learned that the race is not always to the swift." "Yes," added his comrade in misfortune, "and it's a long lane that has no turning. Anyhow, we didn't make any big brag about what we were goin' to do when we set out; so you see nobody's going to be disappointed even if we get left. I'm enjoyin' every minute of the time; and that's more'n some fellers could say," with a meaning look in the direction of poor fat Nick, who winced, and shook his fist at the speaker. It was all of nine o'clock when Jack got the three boats in line, and had Jimmie toot his conch shell horn as a starting signal. History repeated itself again that day. The speed boat shot off like a greyhound released from bonds, the _Comfort_ wheezed along amiably in the rear, and Jack's craft took up a midway course. Thus for two hours and more the crew of the _Tramp_ could watch both competing craft. Then the narrow beamed _Wireless_ seemed to melt out of sight in the dim distance, nor could Jimmie pick her up again, though several times he thought he glimpsed her. Half an hour later, and the other boat had also passed from their ken, swallowed up in the little wavelets that covered the surface of the rapidly growing river; for they were now approaching the spot where the mighty flood of the Missouri joined forces with the swollen current of the Mississippi, to boom along toward the sunny land of Dixie. Then they came to where the great city of St. Louis stood. It required considerable and careful maneuvering to pass safely among the various river craft they found moving about on the Mississippi at this important port; but Jack was a keen-eyed pilot, and knew just how to handle his boat, so that they managed to get by without any serious trouble, though whistled at by tugs and ferryboats as they bravely cut along. The running time was pretty well up when they saw the last of the metropolis of the Middle West. "One hour only, and then we must pull up, Jimmie," remarked the skipper. "'Tis mesilf that's glad to hear the same," replied the other, with a wry look on his freckled face, and one hand pressing against his stomach, as if to call attention to its flat condition; for they had only eaten sparingly at noon. "You might be keeping a lookout for a harbor," remarked Jack; but not with any great amount of animation. Truth to tell, he was wondering whether after all it paid to leave the river and hide up one of those gloomy looking creeks, where all sorts of dangers might be lying in wait. "I hope as how we don't have the same luck we had before," grumbled Jimmie, who apparently had not forgotten the experience either. After that he was constantly on the job of looking ahead for signs of a creek. "If we don't find the same, thin what?" he asked, when half an hour had passed without any favorable result from his critical survey of the nearby shore; creeks he could see in plenty; but none that seemed navigable for a boat drawing as much water as their craft; and Jack meant to take no chances of being held fast in the mud on a falling river. "Why, we'll just have to stick it out, and anchor. But there's a point below us that looks favorable, Jimmie, where the brush is heaped up on a sandbar. Unless I'm greatly mistaken the signs point to a fair-sized opening there." And just as Jack said it proved to be just what they were looking for. "This looks better to me," remarked the skipper as they turned in. "Plenty of elbow room here. We can go up a little ways, and then anchor right in the middle of the stream. We'll be free from the wash of the big New Orleans and St. Louis packets, that nearly upsets our little boat." "Yis," added Jimmie, "and just be afther sayin' how dape the water is, Jack, me bye. 'Twould take a hobo with mighty long legs to wade out here, and crawl aboord our boat." "All the same," replied the skipper with grim determination, "it's another case of four watches during the night, of two hours at a stretch." The mudhook was soon down, and good holding ground found. While Jack busied himself rubbing up the faithful little engine that was serving them so well, and afterwards poring over the maps of the river he had secured for each pilot in the long race to New Orleans, the cook wrestled with supper. It was a congenial task for Jimmie, and he often sang as he worked. Jack liked to hear Jimmie warble, for he had a voice like a bird, clear and sweet, though wholly untrained. "Another good day takes us below Cairo, and the mouth of the big Ohio," Jack announced after a while; to which the cook added his blessings, and hoped everything would run to their liking. It was five o'clock when they sat down to supper. Jimmie had spread himself to some purpose on this occasion; that is to say, he had made a fine stew out of some corned beef taken from a tin, the balance of the corn, left from a previous meal, but removed from the can after opening, in order to avoid danger of ptomaine poisoning, and a couple of cold potatoes cut up into small pieces. Then he had also opened a can of peaches, to top off with; and they also devoured the last piece of homemade gingerbread, carried from the start. "This is simply great," observed Jack, as he sighed while looking at his share of the dessert, as though doubtful regarding his capacity. But no such fears ever assailed Jimmie, who could run even Buster a race when it came to doing "stunts" along the line of eating. "I wonder if there could be any other boat above us?" Jack ventured after a little while spent in chatting, as night set in. "Sure, now, ye must have seen the same thing I did," declared the other, quickly. "Do you mean to say you noticed that small piece of cotton waste floating on a bit of board just at dusk?" demanded Jack, curiously. "I did that, and have been badgerin' me moind about the same iver since. Truth to till, I was jist about mentionin' it to ye whin ye spoke," Jimmie declared. "H'm. Well, I've been figuring it out this way. There's a distinct current setting out of this big creek. You can see that by the way our boat hangs with her bow upstream. All right. Then it stands to reason that that piece of waste was thrown over at some point _above_. And then again, it looks as if the other craft might be a motor boat, for some one has been wiping the engine off. There was fresh oil on that waste. I could see it passing off on the surface of the water." Jimmie fairly gasped in his great surprise. "Did I iver hear the loike?" he said. "Next ye'll be tillin' me the kind of boat it is, I'm thinkin'. Looky here, Jack, ye don't guess now that it could be that same dhirty craft that was spoken of in the newspaper--the one as looked like the dear ould _Tramp_?" "Oh! there would hardly be one chance in twenty of that happening," laughed the other. "Just think of both boats picking out this very creek, of the scores there may be south of St. Louis? Oh! that would be too funny for anything. It's just a plain motor boat, I reckon; and those aboard don't want to make our acquaintance any more than we do theirs. So there you are." Jack pretended to dismiss the idea lightly; but nevertheless it remained with him during the balance of that evening, to give him more or less cause for speculation and anxiety. At nine he bade Jimmie go to sleep, as he would sit up until eleven, when he promised to awaken the other. So the Irish lad, confident that no evil would befall them while Jack stood watch, curled up in his blanket, and presently his heavy breathing announced that he had found solace in slumber. Promptly at eleven Jack aroused him, and handing over the gun, with positive directions that he was to be called if anything suspicious arose, he in turn took to his blanket on the bottom of the cockpit of the boat. Why, it seemed that he had hardly lost his senses when he felt Jimmie shaking him. Just as before the Irish boy was whispering in his ear. "Wake up, Jack; there's a boat comin' this way!" was what he heard. "Why," replied the skipper, as he bounced up, "it sounds as if it might be coming in from the river! I can hear the stroke of oars, a lot of them, too." As the two boys poked their heads out of the canvas cover that served as a tent over the open boat, they could easily see the advancing boat. "Glory be!" murmured the amazed Jimmie, "we're in a nice pickle, now, Jack. Sure there's half a dozen of the gossoons, if there's one. And by the powers, look at 'em heading this way, too! What will we do, Jack? Lit me have the gun, if so be ye don't want to shoot!" "Wait!" replied Jack, sternly. "We'll see if we can hold them back first. Perhaps, when they see that we mean business and are armed, they may haul off." Nearer came the boat. It could now be seen that those who handled the oars were trying to make less noise, as though desirous of not arousing the sleepers they expected to take by surprise. Suddenly Jack called out as sternly as he could: "Stop there! or it will be the worse for you!" He also waved the gun that the starlight might glint from its barrel, and show the men in the boat they were not unarmed. A man stood up in the bow of the advancing craft, and a heavy voice shouted: "It's all up with you, men. You are known, and we demand you to surrender in the name of the law!" CHAPTER VIII. LEFT IN THE LURCH. The two young cruisers in the motor boat could not say a single word when these astounding words reached their ears. Meanwhile the other craft had drawn quickly nearer, and Jack could even make out the fact that the men crowded in her seemed to be in some sort of uniform, for he certainly discovered brass buttons. Then it was not a joke, nor yet some sort of trick being played by cunning river vagrants in order to catch the boys off their guard. Jimmie was rubbing his eyes, and muttering to himself, as though he began to believe he might be dreaming. "Don't think of offering any resistance, you rascals!" continued the gruff voice in the nearby boat; "because we're ready to give you a volley. Take hold there, Grogan. Now aboard with you!" A couple of burly men came sliding into the natty little motor boat. Then lights flashed in the faces of the two astonished occupants. "Say, they're a couple of boys, Cap!" exclaimed the man who had grasped hold of Jack, as the glow of his lantern illuminated the face of the skipper of the _Tramp_. "Guess you've made a little mistake, mister," remarked the boy, as calmly as he could, for he was naturally more or less excited. "Hold on there!" bellowed the leader of the expedition, as he started to clamber aboard; "don't let up on 'em a minute, men! Just remember the account said something about the thieves being young chaps, with smooth faces. This is the boat to a dot; and I reckon we've got our men!" But even he was more or less shaken when he came to look into the smiling countenance of Jack Stormways. "Take a look around," he said, presently. "Perhaps you may find the evidence we want, and the plunder. These are the days of the young men. I've known mere kids to undertake jobs that long ago would have staggered old professionals." While two of the men were upsetting things in their eager search, the man who had been called "Captain" once more turned to Jack. "Who are you fellows, where'd you come from, and what are you doing here up this creek?" he demanded, harshly, as though expecting to scare the other into a confession of guilt. "My name is Jack Stormways, and his is Jimmie Brannagan. We are on our way south on a little race to New Orleans. There are two other motor boats in the match, and a prize of the Dixie silver cup falls to the winner." "Well, you've got that down fine, anyhow," remarked the big officer, with what sounded like a sneer. "Perhaps it's the truth, and again it may be all hatched up to pull the wool over the eyes of honest officers. What would you think if I told you there was a thousand dollars reward out for each of you if taken; and five times that if the swag is found intact?" "I'd think some one was valuing me pretty high, considering that I've never as yet done anything to make it worth while capturing me," replied Jack, pleasantly. His manner was apparently having an effect on the burly officer, who again surveyed the face of the boy by the aid of his own dark lantern. The two men were all this while making a sad mess of things in the boat, turning waterproof clothes bags inside out, upsetting the stores so neatly packed away in order to give all the room possible, and making things look "sick" as Jimmie afterwards observed. "What's that you've got, Grogan?" suddenly demanded the captain, as he saw one of the others looking closely at something he had picked up. "A newspaper with something marked by a blue pencil, Cap," replied the other. "And by the powers, if it ain' an account of that Waverly robbery, too!" Immediately the captain became severe again, and shot a triumphant look at the boy, even as he let a heavy hand fall on Jack's shoulder. "Say you so, Grogan?" he exclaimed. "Hold it out here, so I can see. Well, now, that looks like a find worth while. A paper with a marked account of the bank robbery, and in the possession of these innocent boys. How would you account for such a thing, my fine fellow?" "Nothing easier, Captain," replied Jack, readily. "You never heard that we belong in that little town where the paper is published. I've been in that bank more than a few times when over in Waverly on business." "Sure you have; ain't that just what we're saying?" declared the man named Grogan. "Keep still, Grogan, and let me do the talking. Go on, young fellow; tell how the paper chances to come in your possession, and who marked it?" the one in authority continued. "I suppose my father marked that with a blue pencil, because he knew all of us would be deeply interested. Besides, when we read the description of the mysterious motor boat we recognized that it was a ringer for my own little _Tramp_ here." Grogan was apparently inclined to be incredulous. While he dared not break in again with any remark of his own, he took occasion to sniff as loudly as he could, and in this manner show his utter disbelief in the story given out by the skipper of the craft they had boarded. "Then the paper came by mail?" continued the captain, as he examined it again. "Surely," replied Jack. "One of my companions got it at Quincy, where others received letters; but this was the only thing for me. You can see the creases plain enough, where it was folded several times." "Yes," the other went on, cautiously; "it has that appearance, though any smart chap could do the same thing if he had his wits about him. But I suppose you boys can easily prove you are what you claim?" "Sure we kin!" spoke up Jimmie just then. "Give me the chanct, and I'll show ye lots of things to prove I niver had but the one name, and that was Jimmie Brannagan." "There's another thing I just thought of, Captain," Jack broke in with. "Well, let's have it then. For unless you satisfy me that you're the parties you say I shall consider it my duty to take this boat back with me, and both of you boys in the bargain." "Let me have the paper, please," said Jack. "Officer Grogan didn't look inside, or he might have seen another article, marked with a blue pencil too." "Look out, Cap," warned the suspicious one; "mebbe he just wants to tear it into finders [Transcriber's note: flinders?], and destroy incriminating evidence." "Give him the paper, Grogan; I'll be responsible for its safety," returned the captain, who seemed to be drawn more and more toward a belief in Jack's innocence; for there was something in the clear gray eyes that met his gaze to convince him that this lad could never be a desperate criminal. So Jack turned the local sheet inside out. "There it is, Captain; please read it, and see if you can believe what I told you to be the truth," and Jack thrust the paper into the other's grasp. "What's this?" exclaimed the burly officer, as he read, "an account of a race to the Crescent City, in which six young fellows, well known to most of the readers of this paper, have entered, the prize to be a magnificent silver cup donated by Mr. Stormways, the father of the skipper of the _Tramp_!" Grogan uttered a disgusted grunt, as if keenly disappointed because apparently he had made a dismal failure in trying to fasten the robbery upon these two lads. Doubtless he had been figuring on what he would do with his share of the prize money, and hated to see his rosy visions fade away so soon. "And this is that same little _Tramp_, sir," continued Jack, pleasantly; "as you can see for yourself if you take a look at the stern, where the name is painted in gold letters. We are unfortunate enough in having a boat that seems to resemble the one supposed to have been used in their flight down the river by the robbers. But if you care to wait long enough for me to get out some letters I have, I am sure you will be convinced of our entire innocence." "Say no more, Jack," declared the captain, heartily. "I'm satisfied right now that we've been misinformed when told that a boat answering the description of the one in which those two yeggmen fled, was seen to enter here this afternoon; and that two young men were aboard her." "What time in the afternoon, Captain?" asked Jack, quietly, though with a purpose in the question. "The man who talked to me over the phone, said he had arrived in the suburb where he lived at four o'clock. He had been out in his motor, and was crossing a bridge here when the boat passed under, going up. He could not be sure to the minute, but reckoned that was somewhere around two p. m." Jack turned to Jimmie. His face shone with eagerness, for a faint suspicion that had been creeping into his head was now rapidly becoming a certainty. "Tell the captain, Jimmie, when we came in this creek," he said, quietly. "Twelve minutes till four, it was, sir," replied Jimmie, promptly. "Oh! what made you take such exact notice of the time, may I ask?" the officer went on, curiously, though plainly interested. "We are compelled to make a memorandum of our stoppings. The conditions of the race forbid any boat to be moving south before eight in the morning, or after four in the afternoon. So I can show you in my notebook how an exact record is kept of such things. It will be figured on when the race is decided. We are going by stations you see, Captain, that are about two hundred miles apart. At each station we wait for the slowest boat, and then make a new start." "It was about four-twenty when the gentleman called me up," observed the police officer; "and he had a long way around to go after leaving here. He could never have made it if it was your boat he saw." "There's another thing, Captain," said Jack, smiling. "Please let me hear what it is, my boy," returned the other, eagerly now, for he was beginning to comprehend that this was no ordinary young chap with whom an error of judgment had thrown him in contact. "Did the gentleman in the auto say that the motor boat went _under_ the bridge at the time he saw it?" Jack pursued. "That's just what he did say," replied the captain. "Of course he only had one quick look as his machine traveled over the bridge crossing the creek; but even then it seemed to him the boat had a familiar look. And then, later on it suddenly dawned on him that it just fitted a description he had been reading in a St. Louis paper about the mysterious motor boat of the bank thieves." "All right, Captain. We have not been up as far as the bridge, as we anchored right here when we came in. But, Captain," Jack continued, earnestly, "both of us believed at the time that there must be some sort of a motor boat up yonder, for we saw a piece of oiled waste floating down on a chip of wood, as if some one had been wiping an engine, and thrown it aside." "Well, what do you think of that?" exclaimed one of the listening officers. "It beats anything our best detectives could have done. But say, Cap, I hear something moving close by. There it is again! There's a boat coming down, and being poled, too." "Turn your lights around that way, quick!" cried the police captain, as though he grasped the true significance of the sound. As the men did so the dim outlines of a motor launch were discovered not far away, with one man using a pole at the stern to hasten its departure. Jack understood what it meant, even as must the officers; for as seen in the faint light from the dark lanterns the strange boat was an exact duplicate of his own little _Tramp_! "There they go, Cap! Sure it's the rascals all right!" shouted Grogan, forgetting how he had been so sure that Jack and Jimmie were the guilty parties. Immediately the second man aboard the other boat must have turned the engine over, for there sounded a quick popping, and the launch began to glide through the still waters of the wide creek with increasing velocity. "Stop! Hold up, there! You are under arrest!" bawled the captain, as he started to fire a pistol he had snatched from his pocket. The man aboard the fugitive boat ducked; and as the craft faded away in the darkness of the night a derisive laugh came floating back to the ears of the officers. CHAPTER IX. THE SWIFT RUN OF THE TRAMP. "I reckon you pinked that feller, Cap!" cried one of the officers. "Not much," returned the disgusted leader of the expedition. "He only dropped to avoid getting in the way of flying lead. They're gone, and left us holding the bag." "If it hadn't been for these boys we'd a gone further up the creek, and sure nabbed 'em," grumbled Grogan, sourly. "That isn't the fault of these boys," replied the captain, quickly. "They had a right to stay here if they wanted. It's just our tough luck to hit on the wrong boat. They must have heard something of the rumpus, and thought it a mighty good time to clear out." "And all that long row back to town for nothin'," Grogan complained. "If I only had a fast boat I'd feel like following the rascals. Say, boys, what's to hinder you taking us down river. Perhaps your little _Tramp_ might overhaul the other craft, or keep them going till daylight, when we could corner the yeggs?" and the captain turned upon Jack with renewed interest. But the boy was not at all inclined to favor him. In the first place it would break up the race, since the strict conditions must be shattered. Then again their promise not to travel after dark except in case of dire necessity stood in the way. And last but not least, Jack did not much fancy having that disagreeable officer Grogan as a passenger for hours at a time; nor did he care to be compelled to remain awake. "Sorry, Captain," he remarked, pleasantly, "but the fact is I was working at my engine when night came on, and it's not in condition for immediate service. I expected to finish the job while my friend cooked breakfast. So you see, long before I could get it to working that sound would be lost, and we'd never raise it again." "Oh! well, if that's the case," said the other, with a quick look toward the motor of the boat, which even his inexperienced eye could see was in some measure taken apart, "I reckon we'll just have to call it off, and make the best of a bad job. But you've interested me a whole lot, Jack, and I hope you will win your race, my lad." "I'm not thinking much about that," replied the boy, "since the cup was given by my own dad, you see. But I was wondering whether we might not get in more trouble below because our boat happens to look like that other one." "That's a fact, to be sure. Here," said the captain, as if struck by an idea, "perhaps I might be of some assistance to you." He drew out a pencil and paper, and wrote a few lines, signing his name. "If any police officials bother you, just show them that, and tell them if they want to call me up on the long distance phone I'll stand sponsor for you." "Thank you, Captain, I will," and Jack gladly put the little document away, hoping at the same time that it would never have to be shown. And so the disappointed officers clambered back again into their rowboat, and started on the tiresome journey against the current of the river. The last the boys heard of them was the grumbling sound of Grogan's complaining voice. "Well, that was an experience, sure enough!" exclaimed Jack, as he looked around at the confusion which abounded aboard the motor boat. Jimmie, who had lighted their own lantern when the police boat pulled out, was already trying to get things in some sort of order, though most of the work would have to be left until they had daylight to assist them. "And would ye belave it, that sassy little boat was a lyin' beyant the bridge all the toime we were here, an' us not suspectin' the same!" Jimmie remarked. "But how slick they got away," observed Jack. "That chap with the pole was bent on pushing her past without being discovered, while the other had his hand on the engine, ready to start things with a rush. It was a bold venture; and between you and me and the lamp post, Jimmie, I rather guess the nervy chaps deserved to get off that time." "Bad luck till 'em," grumbled the other, "jumpin' aboord a gentleman's boat like that, and turnin' iverything topsy-turvy, so that ye don't know where ye kin foind a place to slape at all." "Oh! anything will do for the rest of the night. But you lie down, Jimmie. It was just about time to call me anyhow, and I'll take my turn on duty," saying which Jack started to arrange his blanket half way decently, so that later on he could crawl under it again. The balance of the night passed without further alarm. With the coming of the morning both boys were astir. Jack anxious to complete his little job at the engine, and Jimmie, of course, just as desirous of attending to the vigorous demands of the inner man. Promptly at eight the start was made, for they were to have a great trip that day, unless some unexpected trouble arose to alter their plans. The current of the river was now very manifest. Jack even ventured out further upon the vast flood than at any previous time, wishing to get all the advantage possible, so as to make Cairo before the hour came to haul in. Both of them noticed a vast difference in their progress. Even if the current were only a mile an hour faster there than close to the shore, that must count considerably in their favor during the day. "It's moighty foine ridin' out here this way, I'm thinkin'," remarked Jimmie, after they had been booming along for several hours on the swift tide, with the little engine doing its prettiest all the while. "You're right," replied Jack, "though I'd just hate to have any accident happen while it lasts. We're a long ways from shore, Jimmie, remember." "But the swimmin's foine, by the same token," was the immediate response of the ready-witted Irish lad, who never took trouble by the forelock, believing there was always time enough for worrying after things had happened. As had become their habit, they ate a cold lunch at noon, though Jimmie hinted broadly that it might pay them to pull in closer to the shore, and anchor, while he made a pot of coffee. The afternoon began to wane as they came in sight of Cairo on its low point of land at the junction of the two great streams. "My sowl, whativer becomes of all the wather?" exclaimed Jimmie, as they passed the mouth of the Ohio, and could see the great flood of turgid water that was pouring into the Mississippi, there having evidently been something of a rain to the eastward recently. "Oh! this is only a swallow to the ocean, Jimmie," laughed his comrade. "Just wait until we get our first peep at that, and then talk." "Sure we same just loike a teenty chip on it all, and I'm growing nervous, so I am," remarked the Irish boy, looking from side to side at the heaving flood that was bearing the motor boat so swiftly on her way. "Well," returned Jack, soothingly, "if you observe you'll see that I've already headed her in toward the shore on the left. That would be Kentucky now; and somewhere between the junction and the ten mile mark, as we can guess it, is our next station. I wonder if the _Wireless_ is there, and has George grown sick waiting." The boat rolled considerably when Jack steered her slanting with the current; but there was never a time when the young pilot did not have her under complete control; and if a wave that was larger than ordinary swooped down toward them he instantly changed the course so that it followed behind, and would not strike the _Tramp_ on the counter, and splash water aboard. In this fashion, then, they drew nearer the shore. Both boys were on the lookout, for many crafts had been moving about on the water at the confluence of the two rivers, though by degrees they left these behind as they made progress down stream. "It's afther getting near our toime, I'm thinkin'," remarked Jimmie, with a shrewd squint up at the sun, pretty well along down the western heavens. "Yes, we have just enough to find some sort of a refuge for the night," replied Jack. "You see the current is getting so swift now that it's dangerous for a small boat like ours to anchor near the shore. When one of those big packets goes past it draws the water off, and then lets it come back with a rush. We might be upset, or thrown on the rocks, and get smashed." "Thin it's us till a nate little cove, or a swate creek!" exclaimed Jimmie. "Only I do be hopin' that this toime we run aginst no polace officers or thaves. It do distarb me more nor I care to be waked up so suddint loike, and arristed for something I niver did." On this occasion they were compelled to go a mile or so after the time had expired, before finding what they sought. But it was worth the penalty, both thought, as they pushed into the little opening, where they could rest in peace, without the fear of an upset on account of the "wash" from passing steamboats. They remained near the mouth of the creek as long as daylight lasted, so that a watch could be kept, in order to signal either of the other boats, should one of them heave in sight. But there was no such luck. Apparently neither had reached the third station, for Jack had scanned the shore line for miles just before they came in, without seeing any sign. That night passed without any incident of note; although Jimmie insisted upon having an entry made in the log to the effect that his first effort at flapjack making proved an elegant success, since not one of the mess was left. But if the truth were told it would be found that the cook himself accounted for something like three-fourths of the number. And then he had the nerve to declare that he had made only one mistake, which was in limiting the amount of flour used. "Looks like we might have a nice loafing spell over Sunday for a change now," remarked Jack on the following morning when, having partaken of breakfast, they moved down to a position nearer the river, where they could use the glass to advantage. "Thin ye don't be sayin' annything of thim whativer?" asked Jimmie, who was still wrestling with the various kettles and dishes used in preparing and eating the meal, while his comrade swept the watery waste with the marine glasses. "Nothing doing, as yet," replied Jack. "But perhaps in an hour or so we may pick one of them up. Of course it stands to reason the _Comfort_ is away up there somewhere. I only hope George didn't go on down past here. After a while perhaps we'd better show ourselves outside, and anchor there. If he is below he'll see us through his glasses, and make signs." It was a long morning to the boys. By turns they went ashore to stretch their legs, which were beginning to feel very much cramped on account of the length of time they had been in the confined space of the small boat. About two o'clock Jack sighted something that looked promising. "It's either a big alligator acomin' surgin' and heavin' down the river, tryin' to drink up all the wather; or ilse it's that bully old _Comfort_ swimmin' along, wid a bone in her teeth," declared Jimmie, after he had had a turn with the glasses. Of course it proved to be the motor boat; and half an hour later they caught the attention of those aboard, so that a reunion was speedily accomplished. "But where's George, and poor old Nick?" asked Herb, as he shook hands with the skipper and crew of the _Tramp_, while Josh got the mudhook overboard. "That's what is beginning to worry me," admitted Jack. "I knew you couldn't outrun us here; but they had a great send-off. Of course something happened. It always will with that cranky speed boat and the big horsepower motor it carries." "I warned George that sooner or later it would shake the plagued boat to pieces," declared Herb. "Hope that didn't happen when they were away out on that rearing, tearing flood, though. My gracious, how it does rip along! Guess we could have made six or eight miles an hour without using our engine." It was then after three. Another hour passed and not a sign of the absent boat could they discover. Several false alarms caused a thrill to pass over the four boys; but night finally drew near without the hoped-for arrival of the _Wireless_ manifesting itself. And although they found a snug harbor in the mouth of the creek that had proved so secure a refuge to the _Tramp_ on the preceding night, none of the boys rested as well as they might. They were worried over the strange absence of their two chums, and imagined all sorts of evils as having overtaken the crew of the _Wireless_. CHAPTER X. IN A KENTUCKY COVE. "Turn out, you sleepy heads! The sun's coming up!" "That's Jack, of course," grumbled Josh, thrusting his tousled head out from the curtains of the big launch, and digging his knuckles into his eyes. "Say, have you been awake all night? Don't you ever sleep, Jack?" All were soon astir, and preparations made for a meal. Jimmie, of course, was keenly awake to the fact that he could pick up a few points by watching the boss cook of the entire outfit; and hence he turned his eyes toward the _Comfort_ many times while busy with his own duties. Jack and Herb took things easy, sitting in the bow of their respective boats and swapping experiences. Of course both the others had been deeply interested in the story about the descent of the police and the daring escape of the mysterious boat manned by the two robbers. And Herb never wearied asking questions concerning the thrilling events of that night. When breakfast was finally a thing of the past, both boats were started out of the creek. Finding a good anchorage not far distant, they settled down for a wait, the length of which no one could prophesy. But Jack, after making preparations for an indefinite stay, electrified the rest when he declared that he believed he had sighted the missing launch far up the river and coming like a streak of light. It was no mistake, as the rest declared once they had taken an observation. And when the lost boat drew near, such a dreadful clamor as broke forth, both Jimmie and Josh blowing conch shell and tin horn for all they were worth; while Nick did his best to drown them out with his own battered musical instrument. "Same old story," laughed George, as they came alongside. "Don't rub it in too hard, fellows. Breakdown right when we were doing the best stunt of the trip. Only for that it would have been a record breaker of a run between second and third stations for the _Wireless_. Gee! but she can fly when she takes the bit between her teeth." "And gee! but she can bite though," grunted Nick, as usual rubbing his haunches and putting on a most forlorn expression. "Well, what's the use of staying here?" remarked Herb. "It's now past eight, and time we were on the move. It's just a picnic for Josh and me. We sail along like a big house, and nothing disturbs us. Josh cooks to beat the band; only I don't believe he eats more'n a bite each meal himself." "That's where you're away off, commodore," asserted the other. "Why, I'm feeling ever so much better since I started. If it keeps on I'll soon be able to get away with my full share of the prog, as well as the rest of you--all but Buster. I never want to run a race with that----" "Don't you dare call me a hog," cried the fat boy, pretending to get ready to hurl a big spoon, which he was wiping, at the cook of the other boat. "I didn't, leave it to the rest if I did. You're the only one who mentioned the name at all," grinned Josh, ready to dodge behind his skipper if necessary. It being decided to get away without further delay, the start was soon made, and once more the three boats began their progress toward the Land of Dixie. For a change George did not rush off immediately; nor did Jack put on speed so as to leave the _Comfort_ behind. Truth to tell, they wanted to chat some more; and talk of future plans when they should get farther along in the journey. For by now it had been impressed upon the minds of them all that "the worst was yet to come," as Jack put it. An hour later and George believed he had loitered long enough. "My boat is just itching to get a move on, fellows," he called out, as he started to leave the others. "So by-by until we meet up again at Station Four." "Good luck to you!" cried Jack, waving his hand after the speed boys, one of whom looked anything but happy as he sat there with the life preserver belted on, and his fat hand clutching the brass after rail. Presently Jack also considered that the pace was altogether too slow for him, much as it pleased Josh and Herb. Far ahead they could see the _Wireless_ looking like a speck on the tumbling waters. "Good-bye, fellows!" Jack called out as he too increased his speed, and began to draw ahead of the big launch. "Off, too, are you?" laughed the easy going Herb. "Well, wait up for us below. And I say, Jack, if you get the chance, you might grab that nice fat reward that's out for the apprehension of the robbers. Five thousand ain't to be picked up every day, I'm telling you. And what with your great luck I believe it wouldn't be hard for the two of you to do it. Good-bye! Good luck!" An hour later and those aboard the _Tramp_ could just barely make out the last boat in the race. The _Wireless_ had long since vanished from view in the hazy distance down-river way. "What are you thinking about, Jimmie?" asked Jack, as he saw his boatmate sitting there with a queer look on his freckled face. Jimmie grinned, as though tickled with what was passing through his mind. "Sure, I do be pityin' that poor Buster," he observed. "Did ye not hear him tellin' how he longed so much to be havin' thim ilegant wings of his durin' the six hours George was tinkerin' wid the ingine? It was the chanct of his loife, so it was; and he says he would have been sportin' in the wather all the toime, learnin' to shwim loike a duck, by the same token. I've been wonderin' what he did wid the same, and I've come to the conclusion that he swallowed thim wings!" "Oh! that's too much for me to believe, Jimmie," laughed his companion. "Whatever put such an idea into your head?" "Becase he ates iverything he says. Josh is right whin he calls him a human billy goat, so he is. I wouldn't put it past him, now," and Jimmie shook his head in an obstinate manlier, as if to show he could not be persuaded differently; so Jack did not waste time trying. As before, the day wore on, and with the coming of the hour which was to mark the close of the run they began to carefully watch the bank as they flew along, in the hope of discovering a friendly haven of refuge. These things may seem a bit wearisome, but they became an important part of the daily program with the venturesome small boat cruisers, and as necessary as partaking of their meals. Once more luck seemed to favor them, for after a long search Jimmie discovered what seemed to be a series of little coves, in one of which they could doubtless find water enough to float the _Tramp_. It was almost dusk by now, and they would have to deduct considerable time from their balance sheet in making up the record for the day's run, according to the conditions set for the participants in the race. "Think we can get in?" asked Jack of his mate; for Jimmie was in the bow, using a pole to test the depth of the water. "Aisy it is, wid plenty of wather, and to spare," came the reassuring reply. So, urging the boat gently on, Jack sent her over the bar and into what proved to be a splendid little cove, apparently just made for a haven of refuge to small craft, risking the dangers of the vast river flood. "Snug as a bug in a rug!" declared Jack, joyfully, as they came to a stop in the cove, being able to run alongside the bank, which fact would allow of their going ashore if they chose. Jimmie looked about him a bit nervously. "Sure it's mesilf is wonderin' if we'll have the luck to run slap up against that other motor boat agin," he called out, as Jack happened to be bending over the engine at the moment. The skipper made no response, as his attention happened to be taken up just then with something that required a little work. But the words had been spoken loud enough to have been heard twenty yards away in that quiet nook. "I wouldn't shout so, if I were you, Jimmie," remarked Jack a little later, as he came back to where the other was getting the tent ready for erecting over the boat. "Why, who's agoin' to hear me, sure?" demanded Jimmie, at the same time casting a nervous glance around at the heavy growth of bushes and trees that bordered their little cove. "Oh! I don't suppose there's a human being within a mile of us right now," admitted Jack, laughingly; "but all the same it isn't good policy to tell all you know. Nobody can be sure there isn't some tramp lying hidden in these woods. And we don't want company, you see." Frequently after that Jimmie would turn to glance around him, even while he was building the fire ashore and cooking the supper over it for a change. He could not get the warning of his boatmate out of his head, and Jack noticed that for a wonder the usually merry and light-hearted Irish lad made no attempt to carol any of his favorite school songs that evening. They sat there by the fire a long while after eating. The night air had grown a bit cool, for it was October, when the early frosts nip. vegetation in the north; and even this far south the coming of night brings a change from the warm day. And about nine o'clock Jack, feeling his eyes growing heavy, wondered whether it would not be wise for them to turn in. They had concluded, since everything seemed so safe, to try sleeping ashore for a change from the narrow quarters aboard the little motor boat; and the blankets were already lying in a heap; in fact, one served Jack as a means of keeping him from coming in contact with the bare ground as he sat there writing in his log book and figuring out the respective positions of the participants in the race, up to that time. "I say, Jimmie," he began, when, looking around, he discovered that he was alone, the other having crept away at some time while Jack was busily employed. "Now, where under the sun did that boy go to?" Jack said to himself, as he turned his head this way and that in the endeavor to see some sign of the missing one. Presently he made another strange discovery. "Well, I declare, if he didn't take my little Marlin gun along with him," he muttered, failing to find the weapon where he felt sure he had laid it down. This gave him food for more serious thought. He remembered now how Jimmie had been impressed with that chance remark of his about the possibility of danger in the shape of concealed hoboes. Evidently, unable to resist the temptation, Jimmie had silently picked up the gun and crept away to make the rounds of their immediate neighborhood, his design being to learn whether there could be any hobo camp near by. "Oh! well, I suppose I'll just have to sit here and wait for him to come back, after he's had his little turn. A queer boy Jimmie is, and inclined to be superstitious. Perhaps he's looking for a ghost right now, or one of those banshee's the Irish people believe in. Hello! I believe I hear something moving over there! Wonder if that's Jimmie now?" Jack had arisen to his feet as he watched to discover what came in sight. Although he might not have confessed to the fact that he was excited, still his hand was trembling a little as he held back the branch of the tree to see better. "Of course it's Jimmie. But what does he act that way for? Why is he beckoning to me and holding a finger on his lips, just as if he'd taken a turn to tell me not to call out. What has the boy discovered now, I wonder?" Jack awaited the coming of his comrade, who was crawling along, looking back every little while as though fearful lest he had been followed. "What under the sun ails you, Jimmie?" asked Jack, in a low tone, as the other reached his side. "Have you gone clean daffy, and are you seeing things that no decent, self-respecting boy ought to see?" "H'sh!" whispered the other mysteriously; and then after another quick look in the direction from whence he had just come, he went on hurriedly: "They're roight over there, Jack, me bye, both of 'em as big as loife, wid the sassy little motor boat alongside in another cove; and Jack, they belaves us to be officers of the law, come to take thim till the bar of justice. I know it, becase I heard 'em talk!" CHAPTER XI. TURNING THE TABLES ON THE BANK ROBBERS. "Whew! that's stunning news you bring, Jimmie!" said Jack, looking keenly at his companion, as if suspecting that possibly the other might be imagining things. "I give ye my worrd of honor it's the truth, the whole truth, an' nothin' but the truth," affirmed the other, raising his right hand in the most positive manner. "You saw the men, then?" demanded Jack. "I was that clost till 'em I could have coughed in their ears, on'y I didn't, d'ye moind," replied the returned scout, in that convincing whisper of his. "And the boat--it looks like ours, does it?" continued the skipper of the _Tramp_. "Two peas in the pod couldn't be more aloike. And sure, didn't I hear the gossoons talkin' an' whisperin' atween thimsilves about us two." "You did?" exclaimed Jack, more astonished than ever at the sudden daring exhibited by the Irish lad. "What were they saying, Jimmie?" "Jist as ye warrned me, thim smarties they do be hearin' what I called out till yees about the other boat," replied Jimmie. "And that makes 'em decide we're in the employ of the polace, wid the intintion of running thim to a finish. Glory be, but they're mad clane through, becase a couple of boys dast chase 'em." "Mad, are they, and at us?" repeated Jack, as he began to gasp the situation. "And do you happen to know if they mean to slip away again, like they did a couple of nights ago?" Jimmie shrugged his shoulders in his knowing fashion. Probably he also winked, though Jack failed to catch this part of the performance. "Wan of thim do be for slippin' off, and showin' a clane pair of heels; but the other sames to be a wicked sort. He swipes his fist jist so," making a furious gesture as he spoke, "and will be hanged if he goes till he taches thim silly fools a lesson." "Meaning us, I suppose?" Jack asked, softly. "Nothin' else, me laddybuck. I heerd him say as how burnin' our boat wouldn't be too harrd a job; or tyin' the both of us till the trees here, and lavin' us to shout till we got black in the face. Ugh! he's sure a divvle, all right, is that smooth-faced young thafe of the worrld. And I'd loike nothin' betther than to be turnin' the tables on him, so I would." "Well," said Jack, quietly, "perhaps you may, Jimmie." Jack Stormways was ordinarily a peaceful lad. All his schoolmates were agreed on that score. And yet once he felt that he had been unjustly treated he would fight at the drop of the hat. They had done nothing to injure these two young rascals; and if let alone the chances were Jack would never have gone out of his way to inform the public officials as to what he knew about the robbers of the Waverly bank. But when he heard that they were planning to do him and his comrade an ugly turn, something within seemed to rise up in rebellion. If they wanted war to the knife they could have it. "Whirra, now, an' do ye mean that, Jack, darlint?" demanded Jimmie. "Of course we could escape by going out of this in the night. But I object to running a dangerous river in the dark; and I also don't like the idea of being chased out of a comfortable berth. So I'm going to stick here a while longer; and try to give the other side a little surprise, if so be they come across lots to bother us." "That's the kind of talk, Jack," Jimmie whispered, excitedly. "Americans should niver turn their backs on the foe. I'm riddy to back ye up in annything ye say. Do ye want me to lade the way to where they sit clost by the wather where the other boat swims?" "Not at all," replied Jack. "If there's any aggressive movement made, it's got to come from their side, not ours. Millions for defense, not one cent for tribute, you know, Jimmie. Now watch me get busy." The Irish boy was filled with the most intense curiosity. For the life of him he could not give the faintest guess as to what his companion had in his mind. And consequently he watched every movement Jack made as though eager to solve the puzzle. He saw Jack go aboard the boat, and when he came back again he seemed to be carrying some extra clothes. "Fill up those trousers with dead leaves, trash, anything, so long as you make them bag out and look like they do when on you. Then button up the coat, and do the same with that. Do you catch on yet, Jimmie?" "'Tis dummies ye are afther makin', be me sowl!" gasped the other, as he hastened to follow out the directions given him; and the grin on his face told better than words could have done how splendid the idea seemed to him. "I've done it when I went to boarding school," said Jack, softly, while he worked, "and left it for the sophs to grab when they came to haze me; but I never dreamed then I'd live to see the time I'd try the same old trick on a couple of bank robbers!" It did not take them long to finish that part of the job. "Now," said Jack, "let's try and fix the dinky things under the blankets so they'll look like a couple of greenies sleeping sweetly, and dreaming of home." Again his genius for arranging little details came into play. Jimmie was only too glad to turn over his dummy to the care of Jack; and it was not long before it looked as though both boys were lying there, lost to the world, with the fire burning cheerily close by. "Nixt!" chirped Jimmie, filled with the excitement of the thing. "We're going to hide, and wait for them to come. You hunt up a nice fat shillalah that you can use on the head of one of our visitors when they get here. Yes, that looks like the billy for you. And remember, not a peep until I say the word: 'Go!'" "Yis, and thin?" demanded the eager one. "Tap the nearest fellow on the head, just hard enough to daze him, mind. I'll be looking out for the other meanwhile, with the gun. And I really hope he surrenders peaceably, because I'd hate to fill his legs full of birdshot, you know." "Oh! what luck we do be havin', Jack, bye. Sure, iverything is comin' our way, an' the others ain't in the swim at all; excipt that Buster made wan plunge, and hild on till the rope. Where do we hide? Show me the place, me laddybuck. Five thousand dollars the captain, he said, Jack." "Hush! I'm not doing this for the coin, remember. These fellows have nothing to fear from me unless they come hunting trouble. Then they'll find it. People always do, Jimmie," Jack said, as he looked around to locate the best place where they could hide, and still be within reach of the spot. "Right ye are," chuckled the other; "and especially whin they run aginst Jack Stormways." "Listen, Jimmie," the other went on. "I've just thought of something. Look up, and you'll see that the tree is thick just above the place where the two babes in the wood are sleeping so sweetly. Now, if one of us chanced to be hiding up there, it would be the easiest thing in the world to drop down on the back of the chap as he threw himself on the dummy. How does that strike you?" Jimmie shrugged his shoulders. "If ye say the worrd, it's me that will climb up the tree, and lie low. And sure they used to say Jimmie Brannagan was a born monkey all but the tail, so they did." "Then climb now," said Jack, "and keep as quiet as a mouse there, or sharp eyes might spy you. Remember, when I shout the word, drop like a brick on the nearest fellow, and be sure you flatten him out, even if you have to use the stick!" He watched the Irish boy mount the body of the tree and clamber out along the limb that hung some ten feet from the ground, until he was directly over the spot where the two motionless figures lay under the blankets. "That will do, Jimmie. You are well hidden there. Quiet now, and wait!" and with this whisper Jack left the open spot. In seeking a hiding place he had two things in mind besides concealment. One was to keep close to the place where the fire burned lower and lower, so that when the proper time came he could be there to do his part in the program. The other lay in the line of keeping the boat under observation, for fear lest the enemy creep aboard and cause an explosion of some sort that would simply ruin them. The minutes passed slowly. Jack had to guess at the flight of time; but it certainly seemed to have wings of lead. Still, an hour had surely gone, and as yet all was still. He wondered whether Jimmie could have been mistaken about seeing and hearing the two bank thieves? Jimmie had something of a vivid imagination; but then Jack had never known him to make a blunder of this sort. Ah! was that really a rustle he had heard just then? To tell the truth it did seem to spring from the quarter where he expected danger to appear. Jack raised his eyes for one last look at the hiding place of his confederate. All seemed as peaceful as a dream in that direction; and no one could possibly suspect that in the midst of that bunch of foliage a brawny lad was crouched, ready to drop like a plummet when given the word. Yes, the sound was repeated, and as near as Jack could make out it seemed just what might be expected were an inexperienced person trying to creep through a thick covert. These two fugitives from justice might be exceedingly clever in their own field; doubtless they knew everything pertaining to the art of blowing open safes in country banks; but as woodsmen they had much to learn, ere they could crawl through brambles without making a swishing noise. Jack held himself sternly in. When he found that his hand was quivering more than he thought necessary, he mentally took himself sternly to task and put a stop to such silliness, as he termed it. The wonderful command which he had always possessed over himself had been the secret of much of his great success on the baseball field, when the whole game hinged on a single ball which he had to deliver to a heavy batter. And that batter usually struck out when the pinch came, for he proved to have less stamina than the opposing pitcher. Now Jack could see the bushes moving, and knew that something was going to happen in short order. He hoped Jimmie would be able to master his end of the job without a blunder; for sometimes the Irish boy, no matter how willing, had a peculiar faculty for doing the wrong thing. Jack had both the hammers of his gun drawn back, ready for business. He remained as motionless as a stone when he saw moving objects creep into the little opening alongside the cove in which the motor boat lay moored to a couple of trees. Of course they were the two desperate rascals come to carry out their design of injuring the boat of the lads they believed to be in league with their pursuers, and possibly even harming Jack and his mate in person. Several times they raised their heads to look around. Jack could see their faces at such times, for the fire was not yet dead; and somehow he fancied that the two were hard looking fellows, just of the stripe one would expect to find ready to attempt some daring, lawless deed. Now they were crawling eagerly toward the spot where the blankets covered the two forms. Then it must be their intention to first secure the owners of the boat before attempting its destruction. Jack steeled his heart against anything in the shape of mercy: These fellows were making the game, and they must take what was coming to them without whining. No doubt of it but if the truth were told it would be found that Jack was pretty white in the face about that time; but his teeth were pressed hard together, and his heart knew no fear. Now they were close upon the dummy figures, and Jack got ready to give the signal that would cause a movement above. But he expected to first see the leap made, so that Jimmie would have a better chance to drop on the back of his man. It was at this most intense moment, when Jack's nerves were all on edge, that a sudden sound burst forth. "Ker-choo!" Jimmie had been almost choked from time to time with the smoke from the fire, and as luck would have it he broke out in a loud sneeze just as the two men jumped forward. CHAPTER XII. "LUCKY JACK!" "Go!" cried Jack. And Jimmie went. Jack had seen the two men spring upon the blanket-covered dummies, and knew the cheat would be instantly discovered. A delay of three seconds just then would mean trouble all around. Had that unfortunate break on Jimmie's part come about earlier, it must have played havoc with all Jack's cleverly arranged plans. But the men were even in the act of jumping and could not stop to investigate just then. Before one of them, who was wrestling with the blanket and trying to sprawl all over the unresisting form beneath it, could grasp the situation, bang! came a heavy body down between his shoulders, with a force that made him grunt and flatten out like a pancake. "Hands up! You are under arrest!" shouted Jack, as he brought his shotgun on a level with the head of the second man, just as the other tried to scramble to his knees after learning of the cheat under the blanket he had assaulted. Jack was taking a leaf from the police book, and applying it to advantage. He knew just how thrilling those words had sounded in the ears of himself and Jimmie and believed in passing them along. Jimmie, by the way, was engaged in rapping the back of his captive's head with the stout little cudgel he had picked up. At the same time he kept threatening to add to the force of the taps if the other showed any inclination to resist. "Do you surrender?" demanded the boy who held the gun. "I guess we do. There don't seem to be anything else for us, the worse luck!" growled the fellow who crouched there on his knees and stared into the twin tubes of the threatening Marlin double barrel. "Then lie down on your face, quick now!" commanded Jack, who had been thinking over what ought to be done in case they safely reached this point; and had made up his mind. The desperate young bank robber hesitated. No doubt he was considering whether he might not take Jack off his guard by a sudden shout and a quick movement. And Jack guessed exactly what was passing through his mind. "It wouldn't be safe for you to try it, let me tell you," he remarked, assuming as much fierceness as he could. "I've got my finger on both triggers, and this gun goes off mighty easy. You know what would happen to you then. Roll over on your face, and don't stop to think twice about it, either!" As usual Jack had his way. There was something convincing about his method of argument that even this young desperado could not combat. And so with muttered angry words the fellow dropped flat on his face. "Now, stay that way, if you know what's good for you," Jack went on. "Jimmie!" "Yep! Sure I'm here, roight side up wid care, Jack, darlint," chirped the other, temporarily ceasing his tattoo upon the head of his alarmed victim. "Get out your cord," continued the leader, steadily. "Make him cross his wrists behind his back. Then tie them hard together. If he tries any funny business you know what to do; and do it so that he'll understand what hits him, too." "Indade I will that. D'ye hear the captain, mister? Give us your other paw, and do ye moind, I've me club handy to clip yees acrost the cranium if so be ye show anny disrespict till the law. Now, aisy loike, and the job's done. There ye are, and riddy for the nixt prisoner!" Jack meanwhile kept the second fellow under his eye. Whenever the rascal made the least movement, as though tempted to rebel against the hard fate that had come upon him, a stern word from his captor was enough to make him cringe again. So presently Jimmie mounted his back and treated him exactly as he had done the first victim. When Jack saw the job completed he drew a long breath of relief. The beads of perspiration stood out on his brow, such had been the terrible strain under which he had labored while all this action was taking place. "Thank goodness, it's done with!" he exclaimed, as he allowed the gun to drop, and his muscles to relax. "And now what are we to do wid these beauties, Jack?" asked Jimmie, as he also arose and stretched himself; for his long vigil among the branches of that tree had, as he declared, "tied him all up in a knot." "Take them along with us and hand them over to the authorities at Memphis, if we get no chance nearer. Suppose you stay here with them just now, Jimmie." "While you drop over to the other cove and see what they do be havin' in that motor boat of theirs," observed the Irish boy, cheerfully. "Just as ye say, Jack. Ye know bist, and I'm riddy to folly orders. But don't be too long, if ye plaise. It moight be lonely for me, I'm thinkin'." Jack came back inside of fifteen minutes, during which time Jimmie had sat there by the resurrected fire, holding the precious Martin, and keeping a close watch over the two bound robbers. "Ye found it, all roight, I say, Jack?" announced the guardian of the camp, as he noticed that his chum was "toting" a fair-sized satchel. "Yes," the other answered, "this holds the stuff they carried off, and which Mr. Gregory, the president of that Waverly bank, will be mightily glad to get hold of again. But I know now just why they were so anxious to capture us." "They did be thinkin' we was sint afther thim, so I belaved," Jimmie observed. "That may be so," said Jack; "but there was another reason. They had need of our boat." "But, by the powers, they had wan jist as good; how could they use both, Jack?" "Theirs has got a big hole punched in the bow, and must have hit a rock just when they started to come into the cove. They had tried to mend it, but I guess that's a job for a practical boatbuilder and not for amateurs. We'll have to let it stay here, and take our prisoners along in the _Tramp_." "So, that's the way the land lies, do it?" remarked Jimmie. "And whin they saw us come in this same night, to be sure they made up their moinds it was the finest bit of luck iver happened, changin' ould lamps for new." Jack was not satisfied until he had examined the bonds of the two men and made them additionally secure. He also tied their ankles together, avoiding hurting them all he could, yet taking no chances, for he knew he was dealing with desperate characters. The fellow whom Jimmie had flattened out like a pancake had nothing to say, and seemed a gloomy customer. On the other hand, the second prisoner made out to be a nervy, reckless, happy-go-lucky sort of a fellow. He joked with the Irish lad, and pretended to be utterly indifferent as to his fate. Still Jack distrusted him and meant to keep an eye on him pretty much all the time, until an opportunity came to hand them over to the authorities. It was now about midnight. Both boys were tired, but too excited to think of doing much in the way of sleeping. So Jack laid out the balance of the night in watches, and during the six hours remaining he and Jimmie managed to pick up a little rest; though when morning came both of them were feeling, as Josh Purdue would have said, "pretty punk." They managed to get breakfast, and both of the men were fed after a fashion, although the cautious Jack would take few chances of allowing them to have their hands free. At eight o'clock the little _Tramp_ put out of the cove, and once more breasted the brawling Mississippi flood that moved ceaselessly southward. Jack kept near the Tennessee shore for many reasons. He wished to get rid of the two prisoners as soon as he could, and meant to go ashore when he came to the first good-sized town, where he had reason to believe the captured robbers would be properly taken care of, and the recovered valuables placed safely, awaiting the claim of the bank authorities. On the afternoon of the preceding day they had heard many faint reports as of guns. Jack had looked the matter up, and was inclined to believe that these must be caused by duck hunters in the sloughs around Reelfoot Lake. Occasionally they saw flocks of water fowl on the sand bars; and Jimmie was wild for a chance to secure one for a meal. "All in good time," laughed Jack, as the other kept asking why he did not try to pot some of the game. "We've got our hands full, as it is, Jimmie. Just wait until we lighten our load, and then you'll find me ready for sport." Truth to tell, Jack had too great a load on his mind to think of pleasure. Until he had handed the prisoners and the plunder over to the authorities he felt in no humor for fun. Nor might it be a wise thing to have an empty gun along, even for a brief period of time. The ugly way one of the men looked at him every little while kept Jack constantly on the anxious seat; and he feared lest there might be some unpleasant surprise sprung on himself and Jimmie. But noon came without their having made up their minds what to do. "We're getting close to Covington," Jack remarked, after a bit, when Jimmie proposed that they have a cold snack. "And perhaps we can lighten ship there. Anyhow, I've about made up my mind to land and find out." "And perhaps we may be saved all the trouble, Jack, darlint," remarked Jimmie, with one of his quizzical chuckles. This, of course, caused the skipper to lift his head and look down the river. "Oh! you mean that that launch is heading for us; is that it, Jimmie?" he asked. "Here, take the glasses, and ye'll see the glint of brass buttons aboard the same," remarked the crew of the motor boat, holding out the magnifiers as he spoke. Jack whistled, and then laughed. "Well," he said, "that's good news you are telling me, Jimmie,--for us, I mean. Nothing could please me better than to be met half way by a posse of police just now. We've got a little surprise in store for them, I guess. But I'll have to go ashore after all, for I don't mean to let that bag go out of my possession without getting a receipt in full for all it holds." The launch was coming full-tilt for them. Soon it was so close that they could see the several police officers who manned it, although they were apparently trying to keep under cover as much as possible. Jack kept straight on for the other boat. He even tooted his whistle several times as though in greeting. And presently the larger launch came alongside. "Looks like the boat all right, boys," observed the man who was in the bow, handling the wheel. "Yes, and the description hits these two young scamps to a dot!" echoed another, as he laid hold of the _Tramp_ and started to clamber over the side; when he suddenly paused, and stared at something he had discovered in the bottom of the boat. "Hi! what d'ye think?" he cried. "They've got a couple of fellers tied up here, neck and crop. Pirates, all right, you better believe. And here's a bag that's got the loot in it, I wager. Keep 'em covered, will you, till I slip the bracelets on." "Hold on, if you please, officer!" called a voice, as a gentleman in civilian dress suddenly appeared at the side of the police boat. "I'm afraid there's a little mistake here, after all. We've had a false clew. I know these boys, and they're not the ones we're after." Jack stared, as well he might. "Why, hello! Mr. Gregory!" he cried, perhaps with hardly the reverence he ought to show toward a bank president; but the astonishment of seeing the gentleman away down here, so many hundred miles from home, rather disconcerted him. "Yes, it's no other, Jack," replied the other, smiling. "They wired me that perhaps if I hurried down I might be able to recognize the valuable bonds that were stolen from our bank, in case they turned up. We were told that a boat answering the description of the mysterious one in which the robbers took flight had been sighted on the river; and for two days now we've been watching. But it must have been your little boat they meant." "Perhaps not, sir," said Jack, quietly. "There was another just like mine, and we have run across it several times. In fact, the two fellows who operated it are lying here right now; and that satchel contains all the stuff they stole from your bank, Mr. Gregory." CHAPTER XIII. THE "WIRELESS" IN TOW. "What's that?" exclaimed Mr. Gregory, hardly able to grasp the astounding news that Jack Stormways so modestly launched at him. "Why, you see, we camped in a little cove last night," continued the boy; "and as luck would have it, these fellows had entered another one close by. Seems that an accident had happened to their boat, so that, with a hole stove in her bow, they could not go any farther. So they figured on stealing our dandy little _Tramp_, you know, and leaving us to hold the bag." The police officers looked at each other and nodded their heads, as if to say they knew a smart young fellow when they saw one. "Yes, and naturally you objected to such a bold procedure, Jack, and determined to turn the tables on them; was that it?" asked the bank president, smiling broadly, as though he might be the happiest man in the country just then. "Yes, sir," Jack made answer. "We set a little trap, and they tumbled into it. So we tied them up, as you see, though we tried not to treat the poor chaps too roughly while doing it, and have fed them as well as we could. I found that bag, and we expected to go ashore at Covington to turn the men and the property over to the right authorities. And seeing that it's yours, sir, will you please take it off my hands? I hope it's all there." While the boats drifted down-stream Mr. Gregory, with trembling hands, opened the bag, and proceeded to hastily look over the papers. There were some thousands of dollars in bank notes tied up in packages; but he hardly gave these any attention, for the bonds represented the solvency of his bank. "Good!" he presently cried, aloud; "I believe they're here, every one. I'm the happiest man going right now. And, Jack, shake hands with me, my boy. Your father will have cause to feel proud of you when I tell him how you've acquitted yourself." "Don't forget Jimmie Brannagan, Mr. Gregory," said Jack. "He had as much to do with it as I did. Now, don't you say a single word against that, Jimmie, do you hear? And, Mr. Gregory, since you've got back everything, please go as easy as you can with these fellows. They're hardly more than boys, you see, and perhaps one more chance might be the making of either of them." "That speaks well for your heart, Jack, although I'm afraid you're mistaken in the matter. But I promise you to get as light a sentence as I can for them. I ought to feel in a forgiving mood, for a terrible load has been taken off my mind this day, thanks to you boys." "And how about that same reward we do be hearin' talk of, sir?" asked Jimmie. "Jimmie!" exclaimed Jack, frowning; but Mr. Gregory only laughed. "He's quite correct, Jack," he said promptly. "Jimmie knows his rights, and isn't afraid to press them. There was a reward offered for the capture of the thieves, and a larger one for the recovery of the stolen property. After you come back from this little excursion I want both of you to drop over and call on me. I'll have something for you worth while. Perhaps it may be an engrossed resolution of thanks from the directors of my bank; and possibly it may be something more." So, after all, Jack did not set foot ashore at Covington when they arrived opposite the place. The two prisoners had been transferred to the police launch, with something more substantial in place of the cords that Jimmie had wound around their wrists; and after each of the officers had warmly shaken hands with the boys, Mr. Gregory gave them a last grip, when the larger boat was turned in toward the bank. "Well, that was an adventure worth while!" remarked Jack, as he settled down to look after his engine and hit up a livelier pace; for Memphis was a long ways off, and that had been settled on as their next station. "I do be having to laugh whin I think of poor Buster," observed Jimmie, with a broad grin on his good-natured countenance. "Why about the Hippopotamus?" queried the skipper, without looking up. "What d'ye suppose he will be afther saying now, whin he hears what happened till us again? Didn't ye listen whin he said, 'Oh, splash! nothin' iver happens till the wan of us save Jack and Jimmie!' And by the token it do same to be thrue. We're the broth of boys that git in the ruction ivery toime." "I wonder if Buster has been overboard again?" mused Jack, smiling at the recollection of the tremendous splash the fat boy had made the time he dropped into the Mississippi, and held on by the trailing rope. "I do be thinkin' ivery toime a big wave comes along; 'there's Buster takin' wan of his headers again, and makin' the river quake!'" chuckled Jimmie. So they beguiled the minutes while lunch was being prepared; which, since it was only a cold one, did not take much time. Then they sat and enjoyed themselves, while the _Tramp_ bustled merrily on her way, and the speeding shore panorama interested them constantly, on account of the changes taking place. Occasionally Jack consulted his maps, in order to find out what the name of some town they were passing might be, and in this way locate their position. "Will we make it, do yees think?" asked Jimmie, after one of these periods of study on the part of the skipper. "I think so; I hope so," replied the other. "Because, you see, we ought to pull up there and get ready for a fresh start. So far we've done just elegant work; but there's no telling what trouble is waiting for us below. The river gets bigger all the time, until there are places where you can hardly see across to the low shore on the other side. And those false cut-off channels will give us the time of our lives, maybe." "Of course, ye ixpect that George will be waitin' for us all the while at Memphis?" remarked Jimmie a little later, as he swept the watery horizon to the south, and the shore line closer by with the fine glasses. "Well, I suppose so," replied Jack. "That is, if he's managed to pull through without another blowout or breakdown." "Sure, ye have another guess coming Jack, me bye, and that's no lie," remarked Jimmie, a smile beginning to creep over his wide face. "Then you've seen something," declared the other. "Here, take hold of this wheel and give me the glasses." He swept the shore line with a careful scrutiny. "I see him," he remarked presently. "And it's just as you said, Jimmie; George is in a peck of trouble again with that cranky high-power engine. They've tied up to the shore and have got the red flag flying that was to be our signal of distress. Poor Nick; I can just picture him right now, grunting over all the misfortunes that haunt them, while the rest of us have had so little trouble. I'm afraid he'll waste away to mere skin and bones yet." The _Tramp_ was soon headed for the spot where they could see their comrades waving their arms wildly as if afraid the second boat in the race might pass them by. "Same old story?" asked Jack, as he brought alongside and gripped the hands of the forlorn shipwrecked travelers. "Rotten luck!" groaned Nick, shaking his head dolefully. "I'm pining away, fellows, inch by inch. Why, my clothes are ready to drop off me, I'm getting so like a scarecrow. Mebbe you don't believe me, but it's a fact. And I'm that nervous I keep quivering all the time like a--a----" "A bowl full of jelly;" burst out Jimmie. "Sure, I do belave ye, Buster. And as Jack and me sail along so cheerful loike, me thoughts often fly till ye, and I fale that only for that stubborn will ye'd have gone and given up long ago." "What's wrong this time, George?" asked Jack. "Oh! everything now," replied the disgusted skipper of the _Wireless_. "No use in my trying to tinker with the job. It will take a practical machinist to overhaul the plagued contraption. I guess you'll have to give us a tow to Memphis, where I can put a man to work getting this engine in some sort of shape." "All right!" Jack exclaimed. "And the sooner we start the better, if we want to make it before dark. Get a line out, and we'll fasten to this cleat at our stern. Then we can talk as we move along; because Jimmie and myself have got a lovely little fairy story to tell you, to pass away the time." Nick looked at the others suspiciously. "Now, what's been coming your way, I'd just like to know?" he grumbled. "Never saw such luck as you have in all my life. 'Tain't fair, that's what. Here I have all the tortures, the scares and the duckings, too, when I've lost my swimming wings; and you fellows gobble everything that comes along in the way of fun." "Sorry," laughed Jack; "but they will keep piling these things upon us. We have nothing to do with it at all, Buster. Only when it happens, we just have to get out of the hole the best way we can, you know." "I just bet, now, you've met up with them old bank smashers again. Look at 'em grin would you, George. Ten to one they grabbed the fellers and recovered all that fine boodle we read about! It would be just like Jack's luck!" "We did that same, thank ye, Buster," said Jimmie, assuming a proud attitude, with a hand thrust into the bosom of his coat, and his chest thrown out. "They did!" shrieked Buster, falling back. "Do you hear that, George? Ah, me! why was I born under an unlucky star? Get busy now, Jack, and tell us all about it. Next to being a hero myself I like to hear about you doing big things. Reel off the yarn now, and don't you dare hold back a single thrill." Of course the other boys were deeply interested in what Jack had to tell. They stopped him many times to ask questions, under the belief that he was not going deeply enough into details. But finally the story was told. Toward four in the afternoon they began to realize that they were drawing near a large and busy city on the eastern shore. Boats could be seen upon the river, and cotton began to be in evidence everywhere. "This is Memphis, all right," said Jack, as he looked through the glasses at the buildings on the high bank of the river. "How long will we stay here?" asked Nick, who had some idea on his mind, as the others readily understood from his abstracted manner. "A day or two," replied Jack. "All depends on how long it will take to have the _Wireless_ engine overhauled thoroughly; and then you know, we have to wait until the other boys drop along. They may get here tomorrow. But what do you ask for, Buster?" "Why, I was thinking that perhaps I might be able to find a pair at some store here. They would be apt to keep such splendid life saving things, I guess," replied Nick, anxiously. "A pair of socks?" asked Jack, pretending not to understand. "Sure, 'tis a pair of oilskin pants he manes," cried Jimmie. "Didn't ye say how the wans he had on filled out wid air the toime he wint overboard. 'Tis ilegant loife presarvers they make whin naded!" "Oh! quit your kidding, fellows!" said Nick, in disgust. "You know what I've been shy on all this blessed trip. A pair of wings; not angel wings, but canvas ones, to keep a new beginner swimmer from sinking. I tell you I'd never lost all this flesh with worry on this cranky, wobbly boat if I'd known I had those jolly things along. I do hope I'll find them in Memphis." "You just bet I do," declared George, with a sigh. "Because I've heard nothing else all the journey but your whines about those pesky missing silly wings. Get a whole dozen sets if you can, Pudding, and it'll make you any happier. I'll stand the bill, for the sake of the peace of mind it brings." "That's just the way he goes on, fellows," said Nick, pretending to look deeply injured, but slyly winking at Jack. "I never can make a peep but what George comes down on me. I'm afraid he's getting dyspepsia. What do you think, why he even began to complain of my cooking." George made no verbal reply, only pressed both hands across his stomach, and looked forlornly at the skipper and crew of the _Tramp_, who shouted with laughter. And in this fashion, with the derelict _Wireless_ bobbing behind, they finally drew up at the wharf in front of the Memphis levee, where a score or two of black roustabouts and loungers flocked around them to look with evident delight upon the two neat little cruisers from the north. CHAPTER XIV. SIGNS OF THE SUNNY SOUTH. "Me for a good juicy beefsteak for supper tonight!" exclaimed Nick, after they had found a boatbuilder's establishment, in the enclosed yard of which they could spend the night, their two crafts safely tied to spiles alongside a little wharf. It had been an understood thing that, as a condition of the race, no participant must be guilty of spending a single night under any but a canvas roof. Thus unless in case of sickness, they must not take shelter in a house of any type. Consequently each night must be spent either aboard their respective motor boats, or on shore, with the canopy of heaven for a roof. "Well, for once I'm with you, old chap," grinned George; "and since you're such a good judge of prime steak, I appoint you a committee of one to go forth and forage. But remember that it ought to be an inch thick, and a yard or two long! That's the way I feel right now about it." "Count us in on that deal, too," remarked Jack, looking toward Jimmie, and receiving a quick affirmative nod. "Duplicate the order. And while you're about it, Buster, bring a couple of quarts of nice white onions along." "Oh! my, you're just making my mouth water!" cried the deputy, working his jaws in an energetic fashion. "Why, I've been half starved on this trip, up to now, and something desperate's got to be done soon, if you want my folks to recognize me when I get back home." "All right," said George promptly. "Just you drop that plagued cook book overboard the first chance you get, and take a few lessons from Josh. Then we'll have something that's fit to eat. Just make up your mind that I'm going to stand over you when this royal steak goes into the pan, and see that it's done right." Accordingly Buster was dispatched to market for the party. He made a fairly decent job of it too; at least they certainly did seem to enjoy the steak and onions amazingly; and George even condescended to admit that, under the lash of his reproaches Nick was improving in his cookery. "I begin to have hopes of you, Buster," he said, as he lay back after disposing of his fourth helping, unable to accept the last bite offered him by the fat boy, who was himself stranded. "Thanks. I believe myself I am beginning to pick up some. Seems to me I weigh a pound or so more than an hour ago," grinned Nick, sighing as he contemplated the small remains of their feast, "though I do hate to see things go to waste." "You may say that," remarked George when Buster made such a remark; "but I don't believe it, judging from the smug way your belt hugs you just now. I rather think you are fond of seeing things go to waist." So they sat around and joked as the evening advanced. And the night passed without any disturbance; although it was a little odd for them to be so close to a city, and hear the various sounds that floated down to them in their enclosure below the bluff. With the coming of morning they were up betimes. Breakfast taken care of in a little more elaborate manner than customary, on account of having more time, they considered what they should do waiting for the coming of the _Comfort_. George set out to interview the boat builder, and have a mechanic get to work on his engine without delay. Nick on his part declared he had business in town, and would ask for any mail that might be waiting for the party at the general delivery. They could give a pretty good guess that the fat boy still had the idea of hunting up another set of those swimming bags, which he hoped to fasten to his shoulders in times of need. He came back when it was toward noon. One look at his despondent face told Jack the stout lad had met with a grievous disappointment. "Nothing dong, eh, Nick?" he asked. "A rotten old town, that's what," grumbled the other, as he disgorged what mail he had fetched with him. "Been to every sporting-goods establishment in the whole of bally old Memphis. What d'ye think, most of 'em didn't know what I meant when I asked for swimming wings? They looked like they thought me loony. One place they used to keep 'em; but the man said that the boys along the river learned how to swim when they was kids a year old, and nobody had any use for such silly things; so he dumped the last pair he had in the ash bin. Just think what measly luck! That was only two days ago. See what I missed by your old machine breaking down on us, George. I might have had that bully pair." "I was thinking," said Jack, with a smile at the forlorn expression on his fat chum's face, "why you didn't depend on that cork life preserver. You couldn't sink, and if you flapped pretty hard I think you could learn to paddle after a bit." "Oh! do you really think so, Jack?" cried the sad one, his face lighting up with a new hope. "It's awful good of you to crack your brain thinking up such a bully idea for me. And how silly that I never once jumped on that plan. I'm going to try it the very next time our engine kicks up a shindy, and holds us up." "Well, you've got another think coming then," burst out George. "For this machinist assures me that after he's through with the engine it will run as smooth and regular as--well, that Old Reliable in the _Comfort_. "What's the matter wid ours?" burst out Jimmie, his fighting blood up at once. "Sure, we've niver had wan bit of throuble up till now." "Oh! all right. Consider yourself kicked then, ditto, Jimmie," laughed George. At three p. m. the _Comfort_ was sighted, sailing along on the current "like a big ship," as Nick declared. The conch shell lured the third crew ashore, and once more the party found itself intact. Herb and Josh had no thrilling adventure to relate. Their voyage up to date had been a most uneventful one. And how they did listen with wide open eyes when Jack modestly narrated the astounding event that had overtaken himself and the crew of the _Tramp_ since last seeing the others. "It beats the Dutch," complained Josh, as the story was completed, "how some fellers are lucky. Why, we've got all our lightning rods out, but never a thing happened. We go sailing along like a duck in a mill pond; and it's nothing but cook and stuff with Herb here. I'm sick of the sight of grub, that's what." "That will do for you," spoke up his skipper. "You know you've begun to feel like a fighting cock, so you said. And Josh, you ate twice as much the last supper we had as I ever knew you to before. I wager that before this trip is over you'll be rid of that feeling of indigestion that's been troubling you so long." "That's right," declared Jack, cheerfully. "Nothing like a life in the open to tone a chap up, give him a sharp appetite, and make his food agree with him. Why, Josh, the fact is you look a hundred per cent better right now, don't he boys?"' "Sure he do that," said Jimmie, readily. "Look at the color in his cheeks. And, by the powers, his eye shines like it niver did before. Josh, ye're going to be a well man in a few days more, and kin ate a house widout falin' it, so you kin." The machinist, under the spur of double pay from the impatient George, made it a one day job. True, he had to stay after dark to finish; but the boys gave him his supper; and before bedtime came he pronounced the engine of the speed boat as in "apple-pie" shape. So after all they had not lost much time. Indeed, as it would have been out of the question to have started at the hour the _Comfort_ arrived, Jack declared that they had no reason for complaint. Promptly at eight on the following morning they set out. It was cloudy, and looked as though it might rain before the day was done. George, anxious to test his rejuvenated engine, shot away at full speed, and as usual they lost him in the distance. Still, Jack had a suspicion that the skipper of the _Wireless_ would not be apt to try for a distance record on this day, as he had done in the past. They had talked with many negroes and whites while stopping at Memphis. The machinist had taken a keen interest in their race; and tried to give them all the information in his power about the lower Mississippi, between Memphis and Vicksburg. As he was something of a duck hunter he knew considerable about the flooded sloughs skirting the wide river. He had also hinted about a disturbed condition among the planters. They were having an unusually great amount of trouble with vicious characters, mostly blacks; and several lynching bees had taken place within the preceding fortnight. George had listened to these stories, and made no remark; but somehow Jack had a little suspicion that from now on the skipper of the speed boat would try to make it convenient to halt sooner, so as to allow the _Tramp_ a chance to overtake them. Company under such conditions was a big part of the enjoyment; and George was, to tell the truth, a trifle timid when it came to trouble from human sources, though reckless in other regards. Several times during the day Jack took occasion to land on various pleas; so as to have a few words with people they saw gazing at them with open mouths. He even asked questions too, and learned that a reign of terror did actually exist through the country to the south, bordering the big river. And hence, it caused Jack to smile when just about half-past three he and Jimmie heard the well known signal blast upon a horn, and looking ahead saw Nick standing on a point of land, beckoning wildly. "Just what I expected," said Jack quietly; but he did not take the pains to explain what he meant to his boatmate. So the _Tramp_ headed in, to find that there was indeed a creek back of the jutting point, and that the _Wireless_ was snugly moored to the shore there. CHAPTER XV. BUSTER TAKES HOPE. "Hello!" called Jack, as he discovered George standing ashore near his speed boat, waving a hand at him. "What's all this mean? Had another breakdown already, after that dandy job done to your motor?" "Shucks! No. Engine seems to be working to beat the band. But the fact is, Jack, I'm getting tired of camping with only a cemetery for company. Nick can't think of anything but eating; and those plagued old wings he misplaced somewhere just before we started on this run. So I made up my mind I'd hold up at this fine camping site, and spend a night with you fellows." "Yes," cried Nick, as he came bustling along, "and you'll be glad we held up, too, when you set eyes on the bully little smoked ham I bought from a coon this afternoon. I told George it was a shame some of the others couldn't be along to enjoy a slice; and do you know, he took me up like a flash, saying he'd been thinking the same thing. So when we ran across this place we drew in." "What time was that, Nick?" asked Jack, smiling. "I asked George, and he said half-past one," replied the fat boy, hastening to get out his prize smoked pork and exhibit the same to the admiration of Jimmie. "That so? Well, you did make fast time of it," remarked the skipper of the _Tramp_. "No use talking, George, that engine of yours does the trick; if you can only depend on it from now on, the cup is going to be yours for a dead certainty." "Barring some accident, such as being upset in the big waves from steamboats," remarked Nick, shaking his head dubiously at several recollections that did not seem to give him much happiness. "My! you don't know just how we wallow, and nearly flop over on our beam ends at such times. I think I lose six ounces of flesh every narrow escape we have from swamping; and I keep wishing I had----" "Stop right there!" shouted George. "Didn't I say I'd jump you if you ever gave another peep about those blessed things. Use the wings nature gave you the right way, and you'll swim like a goose. Why, you just _couldn't_ go under. You'd be like an empty bottle with a cork in the neck, floating around." Jack and Jimmie were laughing heartily at this little passage between the nervous skipper of the speed boat and his plump crew. But Nick made no answer, only looked reproachfully at George, as though wondering to what lengths his ingratitude would take him. A short time later the others were astonished to see Nick come forth from the interior of the _Wireless_, upon which the tent had been erected, disrobed, but still wearing the cork life preserver about his body. The air was none too warm, for it was now about the start of November; but evidently Nick had made up his mind to put into practice the idea Jack had advanced, and over which he had evidently been brooding the live-long day. He stepped into the water, drew his foot up as if its coldness chilled him; then with a firm look on his fat face, pushed on until he was waist deep. Then he turned an appealing look toward Jack, which the other could not find it in his heart to resist. "All right, Buster," he called out, waving his hand encouragingly. "Just wait five minutes, and I'll be with you. Perhaps a little ducking may be a good tonic, and make us enjoy that fine home-smoked ham you grabbed." Jimmie was ready to follow suit, but George declared he did not feel any too warm as it was, and for one, hardly cared to take a bath. So he busied himself in getting various things ready against supper time. Jack was an obliging fellow at all times. He realized that this notion of learning how to swim had become the one dominant idea in the obstinate mind of the fat boy; and that the sooner he started to take lessons the quicker they would have peace. Besides, now that the motor boat boys had organized a regular club, and expected to take numerous excursions on the water, it was only right that every member of the organization should know how to save himself in case of a spill. And so he willingly started to show Nick how easy it was to float in the still waters of the lagoon; also what little effort it required to kick his feet and swing his arms in a way to make forward progress. George occasionally stepped to the bank to watch operations, and call out various things, sometimes sarcastic and again complimentary. "Bully boy!" he yelled after seeing Nick actually keep himself afloat a whole minute amid the greatest splashing ever known. "You're getting it down fine, old chap! Keep going next time. Never mind if you use up all the water in the lagoon. Plenty more in the river, you know!" Nick felt much encouraged, and that was half the battle. "I'm going to keep at it every chance I get, till I've mastered all the kinks," he declared enthusiastically a short time later, as he came out and began to rub himself industriously with a towel. "Yes, siree, before this cruise is over I'll know how to swim even if I did lose them----" "Beware!" thundered George. "It's as much as your life is worth to breathe that name again. From this time on you talk about cork aids to swimming. And I reckon that I'm just going to be pestered to death after this with whines, because I won't stop the boat every few miles to let this elephant disport himself in the water. Next trip we take, my man, it's you to the _Comfort_, hear?" "Oh! I'd made up my mind to that long ago," replied Nick, coolly; "that is, if Herb will take me, and Josh wants to try balancing himself on an apple seed. Somehow I just don't seem to fit aboard a speed boat. I need elbow room." The night coming on, they started supper. Of course, it was to be cooked ashore, for even the ardent lover of the narrow-beam boat admitted that cooking was a most serious problem aboard such a cranky craft, and he would be only too glad to make use of the camp fire that had been kindled. Jimmie and Nick busied themselves, as they were supposed to be the cooks of the two racing craft; but the others were not averse to lending a hand at times. In this manner then, the meal was made ready; and had a hungry wanderer come within fifty yards of that spot just then he must have sniffed the fragrant odors of frying ham and boiling Java coffee until he would be almost distracted. The four lads sat around the fire while eating, and laughed as they spoke of the many things connected with the cruise thus far. "Wish the others could only happen along just now," remarked Jack. "That would be nice," admitted George. "Why, yes," came from Nick, always thinking of his pet subject; "it wouldn't be very much trouble to cut a couple more slices off that ham, and slap it in the frying pan. Kind of wish now, myself, I'd cooked a teenty bit more. Just feel as if a few more mouthfuls would finish me." The others looked at each other and roared; for certainly Nick had devoured as much as any two of them; and seeing that Jimmie was a good feeder that was surely "going some," as George put it. It felt so "comfy," Nick remarked, sitting there by the fire, that none of them seemed very anxious to go aboard and seek their beds. The sky was still clouded over, and the moon, now in its first quarter, hidden from view; which prospect of rain kept them from thinking of passing the night ashore, as they might have done had the heavens been clear. Finally, however, Nick himself began to yawn in a manner that told how heavy his eyes were getting in the heat of the fire. "I just hate to crawl in there, fellows," he grunted, as he slowly arose to his knees, for it was always an effort for the fat boy to get up, after sitting. "Makes me feel just like I'm in a coffin, to lie in such narrow quarters. Why, I tell you, the skin's clean off my hips and shoulders with rubbing against the sides of the boat. I'm going to be a physical wreck yet, that's what." "Well, if you get used to it now, you needn't worry when the time comes to leave this old world," was all the satisfaction George gave him. Jack lay there smiling, as he watched the fat boy heave, and finally plant one foot on the ground preparatory to getting up. He was never tired studying Nick, for he had an idea the other was not altogether so stupid as he seemed; but that he carried on at times just to tease George. And as Jack continued to watch, he saw Nick give a sudden start, while his hands shut in a nervous way. At the time he was apparently looking beyond the fire, and toward the neighboring woods; for they were camping in what seemed to be a lonely place, possibly miles from any human habitation. Apparently Nick had seen something, or he would not have given that start. Jack immediately sat up and took notice. "What's the matter, Buster?" as asked, quickly; and both the others, hearing what he said, also started up. The fat boy turned his head around. Signs of great excitement could be seen in the working of his facial muscles, as well as in his staring eyes. "Good gracious!" he exclaimed, "it's a bear, fellows, as sure as you live!" "What?" ejaculated Jack, as he made a dive for the Marlin, which he had, of course, taken ashore with him; while George also looked hastily around to see where he had laid his rifle. "Where did you see it?" demanded Jack, gaining his feet. "It's right inside that big live oak yonder!" cried Nick, pointing a trembling finger as he spoke. "It must be hollow, because I saw the beast poke his old head out. He ducked back again like fun when he saw me looking. A bear, fellows! Just think how many steaks he'd give us, if we bagged him!" CHAPTER XVI. ERASTUS, THE HOUSEBURNER. "Hold on, George," said Jack, as he saw the impetuous one start toward the big tree that had such a profusion of low branches that it was hard to see distinctly under its canopy. "Go slow now. A bear may turn out to be a dangerous article if you only wound him." "But we ought to get him!" declared the other, handling his repeating rifle eagerly. "That's right," cried Nick, from the rear, where he had picked up a billet of wood and was making several vigorous passes through the air, as if getting his muscles in trim for the combat. "It would be a shame to lose the opportunity for unlimited bear steaks. I've always wanted to taste one; and you know we may not get another such chance. Why, he just wants to get in our frying pan; that's why he's come so close to our fire, fellows." "Keep still," ordered Jack; and when he spoke in that way Nick knew better than to disobey. The fact of the matter was, Jack had a strong suspicion that while the fat boy may have seen _something_ at the time he did, it could hardly have been a bear. He did not believe such a wary animal would have remained so long close to where a bunch of noisy boys had camped. And if he had been sleeping in the hollow of that big live oak he must have been scared away long since. "Jimmie, throw a lot of fine stuff on the fire," said Jack. "We want more light here. That's the ticket," as the flames shot up, and the whole vicinity was illuminated. "Now, George, you keep close to me, and we'll advance until we can see if there's anything doing." Jimmie snatched up a burning brand from the fire, and waving this above his head, he kept behind the two who had guns. "That's a clever stunt, Jimmie," remarked Jack; and the others noticed that his voice did not seem to tremble a single bit, so well did he have his nerves under control right then. "Guess it's all a fizzle," grunted George presently. "I can see behind the tree, and there's no bear there. Buster, you're a fraud." "No, no, I'm dead sure I saw something that looked like a bear's head," said the other, vehemently. "Perhaps he's hiding inside the tree, fellows?" At that George laughed harshly. He was still trembling from excitement. "Well," he observed, "there's is a hollow in the tree all right; but the opening ain't over a foot across; and it would have to be a mighty thin bear that could push in or out of that." "Wait," said Jack, quietly. "There may be a way to prove whether Buster has been fooled, or if he did see something." He took the torch from Jimmie, and immediately pushed right on under the drooping limbs of the wide spreading oak. "Oh! he's going to look for the tracks!" cried Nick, still hugging the neighborhood of the fire. "That's a bright idea, Jack. You're the swift thing, all right. But take care he don't jump out on you. I thought I saw something move right then. And if we don't get them bear steaks I'm going to be mighty sorry, that's what." Jack paid no attention to what the other said. Already he was stooping down, and examining the earth, as he held the blazing torch close. "Any bear sign?" asked George, who stood guard over him, rifle in hand, and dividing his attention between what Jack was doing and the surrounding gloomy woods. "Not a bit," came back the ready answer; "and as I've seen the tracks of a bear more than once I think I'd know such a thing." "Told you so," declared George, in a disgusted voice. "Another one of Buster's false alarms. That's the way he's been doing all along; seeing snags ahead when there wasn't one, and making me check up in a hurry, and that was hard on my engine." "Go slow," observed the boy who was on his knees. "I said there wasn't any bear tracks, didn't I? But that doesn't mean Buster didn't see something." "Goodness gracious! it wasn't a panther, was it?" gasped George. "Oh! no, only a man," replied the other. "Look here, and you'll see the plain print of his foot and toes in the dirt; and an unusually big foot, too." "Barefooted!" exclaimed George, bending eagerly over. "That's so; but haven't we seen scores of negroes barefooted all along?" Jack said, positively. "Then it was a coon. Say, why did he run away, then? Jack, you remember all they told us above about the troubles down here in the region around Coahoma county? Don't you believe that this fellow may have been a desperate negro, hunted by the Regulators, who want to string him up?" Jack pretended to laugh, though George detected a vein of uneasiness in his comrade's manner. "Oh! well," he went on, "I hardly think it's quite as bad as that, George. But still, he certainly did run away when he found he had been seen; and that looks bad." "But what d'ye think brought him here in the first place?" George pursued. "Huh!" grunted Nick, breathing in, "that ought to be easy to guess. Picture yourself hungry as all get-out, and wandering through these woods, when you suddenly get a sniff of the most delicious odors in the wide world. Wouldn't you make a bee line for that grub factory, and see if you couldn't sneak a share off? Huh! some people don't ever seem to understand the common failing of human nature." "Is that it, Jack?" asked George. "I think Buster hit the nail on the head that time," returned the other. "This man must have been drawn by the smell of our cooking. He's been watching us from behind this tree. Then when he saw that he had been discovered he got cold feet, and vamoosed." "Then we'd better keep watch and watch tonight," said George. "I meant to suggest that idea anyway," Jack answered. "Gee! I feel sorry for that poor wretch!" Nick remarked. "Just think of having a chance to smell all the nice odors and get nothing. It's a shame, that's what!" George laughed derisively. "Listen to him, would you?" he cried. "He's so fond of stuffing himself, that he feels for a poor skunk that didn't know enough to keep out of trouble." "Shame on you, George," Jack burst out with. "I think it does Buster credit. And I'm going to tie that half loaf of bread to the tree here, so if our timid black friend comes back, he can get something to keep him from starving." "Better go slow," remarked George. "You may get in a peck of trouble that way, if this fellow happens to be that Erastus we heard about, who burned the house up in Tunica county here, and is being hunted far and near. Dangerous business, Jack." "We don't know anything about it, only that there may be a poor chap nearly starved nearby. What do you say, Jimmie? I'd like to feel that I have backing enough," and Jack turned toward the Irish lad. "Pshaw! no use asking _him_," snorted George. "Jimmie would give away the coat on his back, or his last copper. Make it unanimous, then, if you want, Jack," for already the impetuous skipper of the _Wireless_ was growing sorry because of his stand. And so Jack did fasten the partly eaten loaf of bread to the tree in such a fashion that it could readily be seen should a hungry man come prowling around again during the night. Then they went to the boats and sought rest, Jack dividing the night into two hour watches, during which one of the boys would be on guard. But nothing came to pass that was out of the way during the period lasting up to the arrival of dawn. It did not even rain, for the clouds passed off, and the sun rose as if in for a good day. Jack upon arising walked to the tree. "Looks like it's gone!" called out Nick, who was poking his head out from the curtains of the boat tent. "Hope some wildcat didn't hook it, though." "No fear of that," laughed Jack, "for bobcats don't leave a polite note of thanks behind when they steal a supper. Look here what I found, stuck to the bark of the tree with a splinter of wood." He had a very much soiled scrap of paper, upon which someone had scrawled a few crooked lines. With considerable patience Jack finally read these words: "Neber burnd no hows. My cozin Peck he doned it suah. But dey hangs a culld mans fust down disaways an den tries him fo de crim. Is innersent, I swars hit. I gotter de bred. I et it, case I mity ni starve. But I's innersent. Rastus." "Well, what d'ye think of that?" shouted George, who had also appeared, fully dressed by now. "Better keep that letter of thanks, Jack. We'll have it framed, and hung in our clubhouse some day." The others soon appeared, and preparations went on for breakfast, the fire being revived for the occasion. Nick kept his eyes on the alert during the entire progress of the meal. Perhaps he was thinking of the poor, wretched fellow who was being hunted like a wild animal, and who knew not where his next meal might come from. They had just about finished, with considerable to spare in the frying pan, when Jack held up his hand suddenly, exclaiming: "Listen, fellows!" But the sound was so close by that every one of them had heard it as distinctly as Jack himself; for the baying of a pack of hounds had been carried on the wings of the early morning wind from a point just to the north. CHAPTER XVII. THE SHERIFF'S POSSE. The sound undoubtedly gave each member of the quartette a strange thrill. It was one thing to simply hear the bark of an honest watch dog belonging to some farm in the country; and another to listen to those significant baying sounds which surely meant that the sheriff and his posse of man-hunters must be on the trail of some wretch, perhaps the same Erastus whom they had fed on the preceding night. "Great governor! they're going to pay us a visit!" exclaimed Nick, jumping up. "All right," remarked Jack, composedly. "I don't see any reason for being bothered by that. Let 'em come. For one, I'll rather enjoy seeing a Southern lynching bunch. I've read about 'em lots of times. And we've sure done nothing to make 'em want to swing us up. If there ain't too many, perhaps we can let 'em have some good coffee and a bite of fried ham." "But--Erastus----," began George. "We're not supposed to know a blessed thing about the fellow they accuse of burning a house," said Jack, sternly. "Just act as if you knew nothing--I mean you, Buster, for if anybody gives the secret away, it will be you. Mum's the word, now. There, you can tell from that they're heading down the river bank, and will be here right soon." Jimmie started to brew a new pot of coffee immediately, taking his cue from Jack's suggestion. Jimmie had great faith in the soothing effect of a cup of that same prime Java, and believed that their expected visitors would feel better disposed toward them if offered the olive branch. Presently there was a great stir close by, short barks from a couple of dogs, and the gruff voices of several men. Then through the low-hanging foliage the posse broke upon the boys' vision. There were just three men, one of whom was a sheriff, if the star on his coat denoted anything. He was a fierce looking-fellow, yet with a twinkle in his eye as he sniffed the delightful aroma of the coffee. "Why, it's a passel o' boyees jest," he declared, as though somewhat surprised and disappointed because he had been hoping to come upon some fugitives who were being rounded up. "And look at the boats, will ye, fellers? Some tone to them craft, hey? Howd'ye, boyees! Room thar alongside yer fire fur three tired and mighty thirsty and hungry coon hunters?" "Sure," replied Jack, pleasantly. "We heard your dogs, and guessed who you must be; for they told us up above that the sheriff was hunting with dogs down this way. So we put on a new pot of coffee, sheriff; and there's enough of this ham left to give you all a few bites, I guess." At that the sheriff thrust out a long, brown and sinewy hand. "That's white of ye, my lad," he said. "We appreciate such neighborly kindness, don't we, men?" and he turned to his companions, both of whom were lean looking, dark-faced fellows, heavily armed, and each holding one of the hounds by a strong leather leash. "Yuh bet we does, Sheriff. I'm nigh tuckered out with hunger. And thet thar coffee, my! but she do smell orful fine," with which remark he proceeded to fasten the end of the leather thong to a sapling close by. Jack noticed immediately that both dogs seemed uneasy. They would sniff the air and whine and pull at their collars, always in the direction of the big live oak. He really believed that they had caught the scent of the negro, who had been close by during the night. But the men were not smart enough to understand this, and imagined that the animals were only acting strangely because they scented something to eat. "I hope they don't get a chance to wander over to that tree," was what Jack had passing through his mind about that time. "Because if they do they'll soon give tongue, and the men will know they've struck a fresh trail." He devoted himself to entertaining the sheriff and his posse with accounts of the various adventures that had fallen to the lot of himself and comrades during their race for the Dixie cup. "It's a great little job, this heah race of youahs, boyees," the sheriff remarked, after he had heard about the contest; "but you-all was saying somethin' 'bout a brace of bank robbers that bothered you. What happened to the same, if you are in a position to say? As an officer of the law I'm interested in all such doings, you understand, suh." So Jack told of that night when the two escaping thieves, having their own motor boat smashed by a collision on the rocks, attempted to take possession of the little _Tramp_. He had the three men listening breathlessly until he announced the delivery of the two rascals into the safe keeping of the officers who came out to meet the boat from Covington. "Shake again, young feller," the sheriff said, as he held out that lean hand. "I will, if you'll promise not to squeeze quite so hard. You see I've got lots of use for that hand before this trip's done," laughed Jack. Then he showed the few lines which had been given by the officer, in case the boys had any need to prove their honesty further down the river. The ham now being ready, the trio of hunters started in. By the time they had satisfied their hunger the stock of provisions connected with the expedition had visibly decreased. But every one was satisfied. Even Nick glowed with ardor, for he was never happier than when watching someone "filling up"--next to eating himself, he liked to see others so employed. Of course the three men were in a very happy mood when the breakfast had been concluded. They had not dreamed of such a feast half an hour before. "Nevah will forget this, boyees, nevah," declared the sheriff, as he arose, and allowed his belt to loosen a bit. "It was clever of ye to treat us white. If so be the chance ever comes when we kin return the favor, call on us; eh, fellers?" Both the others added their rude but well meant thanks. The delight of that coffee would doubtless remain a pleasant memory with them for a long time to come. "Now we must git along," remarked the sheriff, as he picked up his rifle. "You see, we're after a passel o' convicts that broke loose from a camp back country a bit, where they was farmed out to a planter. We larnd they hit foh the river, like every rascal down hyah does as soon as he runs; and we 'spect to cornah the same with these fine dawgs this mawnin'. So long, boyees, and thank ye again foh the feed." Jack waited to see if the discovery he feared would come. The two men unfastened the tied dogs, and when the animals tried to pull toward the oak they jerked the other way. "Cum along thisaways, yuh fool dawgs!" one of them shouted angrily, as he again jerked savagely at the leather thong. "Down the river's the way we'uns mean tuh travel, d'ye heah? Nothin' doin' thatways; and the scrub's too thick. Git a move on yuh, Kaiser. We 'spect tuh raise a hot trail 'tween hyah an' Trotter's Point." And so they moved off, the sheriff turning ere they vanished from view down the bank of the river, to wave his hand in farewell; to which the boys of course made a similar reply. Then, when the posse had faded from view, the four turned and looked at each other. "That's the time we were in the swim, Buster," said George, nodding, as if more than pleased. "You see it pays to stick close to these lucky fellows. If we'd gone on ahead now we'd have missed all this circus. "Ain't I just glad we didn't though," declared the fat boy. "Don't care if they did clean up the last of my nice little ham; plenty more where that came from, so long as we've got the spuds in our jeans pockets. My! ain't I glad they don't happen to be chasing after me, that's all. Did you see the teeth of those hounds, fellows? I bet you they'd make short work of a poor escaping convict, unless he took to a tree like a squirrel, and waited to be pulled in." "That's the way we all feel, I think," remarked Jack, as they stood there listening to the baying of the hounds, gradually becoming less distinct as the posse pushed further along the bank of the river. "They weren't just hunting for Erastus, it seems; but given half a chance and they'd have pulled him in. On the whole I'm not sorry we did what we did." "I say the same," declared Nick, positively. "Count me in, by the powers," remarked Jimmie. "Sure I know what it manes till be hungry; and I can understand in me moind how it fales till be hunted wid such savage beasts. Yis, I'm glad we gave the poor divile a chanct." "Oh! well, I guess I feel that way too," observed George. "Only, you know, my dad happens to be a lawyer, and he's always taught me to be mighty shy about assisting a fugitive from justice, or as he calls it, compounding a felony. But in this case we believe Erastus to be innocent. That's right, boys, ain't it?" "It just is," remarked Jack. "And if I thought the fellow would ever have the nerve to come back here to this spot, I'd be tempted to leave something for him--a dollar perhaps, to keep him from starving while he was getting out of the country." "Well, time is getting along, and perhaps we'd better be packing up so as to be ready to start at eight sharp. Tonight we ought to make that place at the mouth of the Sunflower river, opposite the island in the big water, which is marked down as Station Number Five in the race." George, as he spoke, whirled around on his heel. As he did so, the others heard him ewe utterance to a cry of astonishment. "Look there, fellows, at what is in my boat!" he cried, pointing. And the others, upon following the direction of his extended finger, could only stare at what they saw. Seated in the body of the _Wireless_ and holding George's rifle, which had been incautiously left aboard while they ate breakfast, was a big coal-black negro, whom they could easily guess must be the accused house burner, Erastus! CHAPTER XVIII. AT THE MOUTH OF THE SUNFLOWER. No one moved immediately. Nick was gasping for breath; and the sound was not unlike that made by a porpoise in swishing through the water while rolling. Jack happened to have his gun in his hand, having just picked it up. But somehow he hesitated to raise it against a human being. And presently he was glad the idea had not taken possession of him. The man in the boat waved his hand toward them, beckoning, Jack believed. "Cum long ober hyah, sah. I'se done wanter say sumpin tuh youse all." He called this out, with one quick glance toward the section of woods where the sheriff and his posse had last been seen. Well, that did not seem very hostile, at any rate. Jack started toward the two boats, and seeing him carrying his Marlin, the negro immediately elevated both of his arms as high as he could. "Dat means I ain't agwine tuh do yuh no dirt, sah." He hastened to call out, "I cud a stole dis yeah leetle boat, if I wanted tuh. Boss, dar's yuh gun. I might er held yuh off till I got clar; but I didn't wanter, sah. 'Case I done heerd all dat was sed, an' I knows as how yuh ain't gwine tuh gib a pore innercent niggah over tuh be hung foh sumpin' he nebber did do." They reached his side, and Jack was more than impressed with the truth written on the fugitive's black face. Frightened Erastus certainly was, and with good reason; but he did not look like a bad man, Jack felt. "Where were you all the time the sheriff and his men were here?" asked Jack, as a sudden suspicion flashed through his mind, remembering the frantic actions of the two dogs to get over to the big live oak tree. The negro grinned until he showed two rows of snowy ivories. "Right up dar in dat tree, boss," he admitted, "shiverin' all de time, 'case I 'spected dem dawgs'd break loose, and begin yelpin' at de foot ob de same. If dat had happened it'd be de end ob pore old 'Rastus, shore." "Well, now, if that don't beat the Dutch," said Nick. "Say, Jack, there's some ham left in the pan, and some more coffee in the pot--shall I give the poor fellow the lot? Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, you know." "Go ahead," was the reply. "Do you really mean what you tried to tell us in that little note, Erastus, and are you innocent of house burning?" The negro assumed a very serious look. "Mars," he said, half raising his hand as though upon the witness stand, and about to take the oath to tell the entire truth, "I reckons I's done stoled some chickens in mah time; an' p'haps done udder tings along dem lines, as I reckons I ortenter; but, boss, clar tuh goodness if ever I sot fire tuh a house, or eben a pigpen in all my life. Cross my heart if I done it." "You said a cousin was guilty--was that right?" asked Jack. "He done tole me he done it, boss. Dat's all I knows. But dey got arter me, an' w'en dat happens down heah, a pore nigger he better say hes prayers, 'case he's as good as daid. If I cud on'y git tuh nigh Friar's Point, mars, I'se gut frien's dat'd see me acrost tuh Arkansaw, whar I'd be safe. But dat sheriff, he between, an' dem dawgs, dey'd smell me right quick. If I on'y had a boat I cud do it, boss." "All right, Erastus. Sit down, and eat what there is here. I'm going to talk it over with my friends. Perhaps we can think up some way to help you along. Because I'm of the opinion that a live Erastus over in Arkansaw would be better than a dead one in Mississippi." So the negro set to work like a starved dog, waited on by Nick, who watched every mouthful taken, as though filled with envy and awe at the array of shining teeth and the capacity shown for cutting off a large wedge of bread and butter. "Now, what sort of harum-scarum trick have you got up your sleeve, Jack?" questioned George, uneasily, as the three gathered in a group. "I'll tell you," replied the other, positively. "I believe this poor fellow is innocent of any serious wrong-doing, but the fact that he's a cousin of the guilty party will get him in trouble if he's caught. Perhaps they'll string him up to save the expense of a trial." "Well, that is a fact," admitted George, "because I've heard my father telling about it. As a lawyer he doesn't believe in such things, you know. But I can see you're thinking of assisting this coon down to the place he wants to reach. Sure you ain't going too strong when you do that, Jack?" "I've thought it over," came the steady reply. "And I've made up my mind that in doing it I'd only be acting in the interest of humanity. The poor fellow is being hunted like a dog. If he could have a square show when caught I'd never interfere a bit; but you and I know he would never get it. As he says, once let a negro get the name down here, no matter how wrongly, and the game is sure to follow." "And you propose taking him in your boat, to put him ashore above Friar's Point--is that it, Jack?" continued the other. "Just what I do," came the reply. "All right," remarked George at once. "If my boat was larger I'd say put him in the _Wireless_. I don't altogether approve of this compounding a felony business; but I'm dead sure my dad would tell me it was better to take the chances that way that have the nasty feeling that by your actions you've helped hang an innocent person." "Shake, George!" exclaimed Jack, pleased at this sudden change of mind on the part of his careful chum, son of a lawyer as he was. It was so arranged; and when the fugitive was through eating he heard the decision of the boys with tears streaming down his ebony cheeks. "Clar tuh goodness I never done no house burnin' in all my life, boss. An' if I'se kin on'y git clar ob dis kentry I nebber kim back no moah, nebber. I'se gut a brudder out nigh Little Rock, an' he owns a farm. I'll stay dar, an' wuk foh him till I kin send foh my fambly," he said, brokenly, as he kissed the hands of each one of the boys. So Jack had him lie down in the bottom of the boat, where he could be hidden under some loose stuff. After that the start was made at exactly eight; and when they sped down the river at a rapid pace the negro from time to time poked his head out from his coverings to look in amazement at the buzzing little motor; and once even ventured to raise it until he could see how swiftly they were spinning along. A short time after starting they had heard shouts and had seen their friends of the sheriff's posse waving from the bank. Jack had spoken to the concealed black; and for fully fifteen minutes the alarmed Erastus never so much as moved a finger, lest he in some way betray his hiding place to keen eyes on the bank. Before noon came George, who had been in the van, fell back to say that from the indications he believed they were now not more than five miles above Friar's Point and that Erastus ought to be put ashore at the first available chance. About a mile further on Jack discovered what seemed to be a secluded cove, and thinking that this might afford a fine chance for the hidden fugitive to go ashore unseen, the two boats steered for it. Before having the black man leave, Jack thrust some money in his hand. "There's an address on a slip of paper--no name, but just the number of the house in a certain town up north," he said. "And Erastus, if after you get settled, you care to write and let us know how you're coming on, we'd be glad to have you. We have taken big chances in helping you, and it would please us to find out that it wasn't a mistake." Then Erastus gravely shook hands all around, after which he faded from their sight in the heavy timber. "Wonder if we ever will hear from him again?" speculated George. "If he gets safely across the river I believe we will," replied Jack, with a positive ring to his voice. "For he looks honest to me, though perhaps I've had only a small chance to know the Southern black. But we took the chance, fellows, and something tells me we won't be sorry." They ate lunch ashore, seeing that they were together, and wanted to have some apparent excuse for landing. But no one disturbed them, and a little later the interrupted voyage was resumed again. George stuck close to the _Tramp_ all the balance of that day. "Don't seem to pay to run ahead all the time," he remarked when Jack joked him on this score. "And, besides, it does seem as though you fellows have a monopoly of all the adventure. Hang the cup, anyway. It will remain a trophy for the club, no matter who wins. For all of me the blooming old _Comfort_ may come in ahead yet, because, you know, we agreed on her having a big handicap on account of her well known slowness. I'm going to hang by you much of the rest of the trip, fellows." "Well," remarked Jack, when the hour for the close of the day's run drew near; "I can see something away below there that looks like the mouth of the Sunflower river. We're getting in the neighborhood of that place, anyhow. Take a look yourself, Skipper George, and say what's what." Upon doing so the other pilot agreed with him. "There's the big island ahead, you see, and, according to my map, the river empties into the Mississippi exactly opposite that. Then, right along here is where we expect to make Station Number Five; and wait up for the rest." As customary they now drew in closer to the shore, and looked for some favorable nook in which the boats could have a secure harbor during their stay, be it long or short. And once that was found, not far from the junction of the two rivers, Jack made for a point where he set the red flag that, if seen by the pilot of the _Comfort_, would inform him that he had arrived at a stopping place, and that his comrades of the Dixie cup race were nearby. Having attended to that duty Jack proceeded to take things easy; while the two rival cooks started to wrestle with the problem of what to have for the next meal; always a matter of more or less consideration among campers. CHAPTER XIX. IN THE LAND OF COTTON. "Another day to be spent in idleness," remarked George the next morning, after the four campers had passed a comfortable night. "Well, that was a part of the figuring when we started on this race," observed Jack. "We knew Herb and his jolly old _Comfort_ would always be tagging behind. Besides, there's no particular hurry, since I only have to be in New Orleans by the beginning of December. To tell the truth, I'll be sorry that the long cruise must soon come to an end." "Yes, that's a fact," admitted the other. "It has been a great thing for us all. I'm learning new things every day; and as for you fellows it's been a picnic. Perhaps there may be something stirring for Nick and myself before the end comes." There was, plenty of it, as will be presently mentioned. At ten o'clock the cry arose that the _Comfort_ was in sight. "What's that?" cried George, who was fishing around a corner, and had no opportunity to look up-stream. "You must be mistaken, Jimmie; or else Herb has taken to running out of hours. Why, that would throw him only a couple of hours behind our run of the two days." "Well," laughed Jack, "if you could see how the big boat is booming along out there near the middle of the river on the swift current, you'd understand it all. Why, he's got on to it that he can add many miles a day to his run by avoiding the slower water near the shore." "I remember they tell us that fools and babes venture where even angels fear to tread," remarked George. "I wouldn't apply that remark to Herb and Josh," said Jack, seriously. "On the contrary I think it shows wisdom. Their big and safe boat can run out there in perfect safety; but for you to do much of it, would be inviting trouble and a spill. But we must attract them in here, or they may go whirling past on the other side of the island." So Jack fired his gun twice, while Jimmie and Nick set up a most dreadful squawking with the several horns possessed by the campers. "They see us," announced Jack, immediately. "I caught something waving. And listen to Josh almost bursting his lungs to blow that battered old horn." "And they've headed in, too," declared George, who by this time had his own marine glasses in use. The skipper and crew of the _Comfort_ arrived in fairly good humor. "We're already picking up on you fellows," declared Herb, as he stepped ashore to stretch his stiffened limbs a short time. "From this on look out; I give you all fair warning. The _Comfort_ is hot on your trail, and you've got to hump yourselves to keep on even terms with us. As the current grows fiercer so our chances improve. Once more allow me to state that the race is not always to the swift." "Glad to find you so cheerful, Herb," laughed Jack. "As for George here, he's already arrived at the sensible conclusion that, no matter who wins the cup, it's going to remain club property, and will likely be kept at the club house, when we get one." "Say, has Buster been able to swim across the river yet?" asked Josh, who never allowed a chance to get in a sly dig at the fat boy to pass him. "Well, I was thinking about doing that job," returned the fat boy, calmly, but with a knowing wink at his companions; "but George here wouldn't hold up long enough for me to try it. When I want to paddle around, he says I've just got to have a rope tied under my arms so he can yank me back if I get too venturesome." "That accounts for it, fellows," cried Josh. "I just had a suspicion that Pudding might be to blame for all the trouble that old chap told me about when I went ashore at noon today." "Me to blame for what?" demanded the other, pretending to be annoyed. "Why, you see," Josh went on blandly, "he says to me that when he was settin' there on the bank try in' to pull in a few buffalo fish for his dinner, along came a tremendous wave. He vowed that it nigh washed him away, and called it a cloudburst or something like that; but now I understand just what it was." "Sho! you don't say," Nick remarked scornfully; "then suppose you tell the rest of us about this bright idea that came to you, the only one you ever had, I guess." "Why, you see, that wave was started when you stepped into the river for your little sportive paddle. It kept growing bigger all the time as it rolled down the stream, till it nigh swamped the old fisherman. I'm almost afraid to hear what calamity may have happened to some of the lower parishes," grinned Josh. "But what's this, Jack, you're saying about Erastus?" asked Herb. "Do you mean to say you chaps have run up against another adventure, while we were just sailing down on the breast of the bully old river?" So after that the story had to be told, and Josh listened with open mouth as he heard about the sheriff and his posse, not to mention the dogs. "Oh! what we do miss, Herb," he lamented. "That all comes of being on a slow coach boat. Next time I'm going to try my luck with one of the others, and let Buster have this soft snap." "Hurray!" cried the fat boy. "If it wasn't for breaking up the race I'd go you right now. My! but wouldn't I have room to turn around in when aboard the _Comfort_? It's a case of a round man in a square hole right now, fellows. But he ain't going to stay round much longer, because, you see, he's getting all the fat rubbed off and will soon be a living skeleton. I'm going to look out for a job in some freak museum after this trip." "If you do then, it'll be as a champion eater or the fat boy," laughed George. "Your appetite keeps on growing frightfully, and I'd like to bet you weigh ten pounds more now than when you left home. I can tell it by the way my boat groans whenever you step aboard. And she sinks below the line I marked when we started, in spite of the half ton of grub we've devoured." "Oh! George, you frighten me," declared Nick, in mock alarm. "Well, what's the programme for today, fellows?" asked Josh. "It's Saturday," said Jack. "Yes, and we agreed not to run on Sunday if we could avoid it by being together," George added. "This is a fine camp," Jack continued. "And we're only a few miles below Friar's Point, in case we need a few supplies in the way of eggs, butter and such things," Josh cut in. "What say, fellows, shall we camp right here until we are ready for a fresh start on Monday morning? Buster, are you willing to remain?" Jack went on, as the president of the motor boat club. "Me? Oh! I could squat here for a week, provided of course that there was always plenty of provisions to keep us alive," came the immediate reply. "George, what do you say?" "Stay." "And Josh, Herb, Jimmie, are you willing to make it unanimous?" Jack went on. "Sure I am," replied Josh; "and both Herb and Jimmie are nodding their heads. So that settles it. Hurrah for Sunflower Camp, and a good rest." They always looked back on that camp as one of the peaceful ones of the trip. Nothing out of the way happened to disturb them. Jack and George took a run up to Friar's Point to pick up a few needed things; but in reality to learn in a quiet way if anything had been heard of Erastus, the fugitive whom they had assisted because of their tender hearts. Finding the friend whose name Erastus had given them, they made cautious inquiries and were pleased to learn that he had just returned from a visit across the big river in a dilapidated sailboat he owned, and which neither of the white boys would have ever dared navigate out upon the broad bosom of the Mississippi. That was as much as Henry would say, but they could read between the lines that the fugitive was safe over in Arkansas, where his life would not be in danger. While here in this camp of course Nick insisted on having some more swimming lessons. He was the happiest fellow in the wide world when he actually found that he was able to make progress, still aided by Jack and the cork life preserver. By degrees, however, his teacher meant to insist upon his depending entirely on his own powers; and it would not be long before the cork would be discarded and Nick a full-fledged swimmer. Monday came, and with it a cold storm. But they had made up their minds, and were not to be kept back by such a little thing. So at eight a start was made, all of them donning their oilskins, and Nick also wearing a most expansive grin. Josh was forever calling it the "smile that won't come off," and everyone knew that it was the pride of being able to keep himself afloat that made Buster so happy. George was tempted to speed ahead, forgetting his resolve. So presently each of the three boats moved along in lonely state, miles separating them by the time afternoon arrived. Jack and Jimmie found shelter in one of the false channels or cut-offs that had now begun to be frequent sights along the way. It was a very wild night they put in, and more than a few times Jack wondered how their comrades might be faring, only hoping that they were as comfortable as himself and Jimmie. All night long the heavy seas banged up against the shore, driven by a strong northwest wind that reached the proportions of a gale at times. The boys were more than thankful that they were not exposed to the fury of the storm, but had a snug harbor where they could ride it out in safety. CHAPTER XX. THE CASTAWAYS OF THE SWAMP. "Looks like we made a big mistake in trying to navigate that short cut the planter told us about, Jimmie!" "How long we been in this scrape, I'd loike to know, Jack?" "Well, this is the third day now we've been pushing and poling around, sometimes thinking we must be getting back to the river again, and then finding ourselves deeper and deeper in the slough. The worst of it is our grub heap looks mighty low, Jimmie," and Jack glanced seriously at his companion. They had been tempted to take the advice of a friendly planter on the day after the big storm. In fact, to tell the truth, it was Jimmie's urging that had influenced the skipper of the _Tramp_ to enter the opening that yawned before them, and allow the current to swing them along at a swift pace. But by degrees, after twisting and turning until they lost all trace of their bearings, that treacherous current had died away until they found themselves in a lagoon that seemed as still as death. They had tried to navigate by means of their propeller. Then, fearful that the supply of gasolene might become exhausted they had resorted to the pole. Two days had passed and so far as they could see they were worse off than ever. Now and then they came to dry ground on which they set foot with renewed hopes that were soon dashed again. Jack managed to pot a few gray squirrels, and they cooked them by a fire made in a hickory ridge. If it came to the worst Jack said they could catch fish, or shoot some of the numerous raccoons that eyed them inquisitively. "Then there are plenty of muskrats in sight," he had added; at which Jimmie held up his hands in horror, until Jack explained that if properly cooked the "musquash" of the Indian was considered very good food and eaten by many French Canadian trappers in the Northwest and Canada. "Of course," Jack went on, when Jimmie became curious as to how they had lost the right channel, "it's of much more importance how we're ever going to get out of this network of watercourses than how we came here. But, honestly, I'm afraid we made a mistake in the beginning." "Took the wrong cut-off, do ye mane?" asked the other. "That's just what struck me, Jimmie. And now, here's the third night ahead of us and we no nearer escape than in the beginning." "Sure I do be thinkin' they ought to be happy," remarked the Irish lad, after they had gone on pushing for another half hour. "Who do you mean?" asked Jack. "Herbie and Josh. Don't ye say, Jack, all this time we're flounderin' around in this place the _Comfort_ is gaining eight hours ivery day." "That's so, on us," Jack went on, thoughtfully. "But then there's George to contend with. I suppose they're all waiting at the next station and wondering what under the sun has happened to the steadygoing _Tramp_. The only thing I'm bothering about is the chance of our being stuck in here for weeks. That would keep me from being present when that plagued will is read, and I'd lose my share of uncle's money." "Oh! don't worry about that, me bye," returned the cheery Irish lad. "Sure, we're bound to run acrost some native cracker sooner or later, who will be moighty glad for a few dollars to guide us out of this nasty place. But howld on, Jack, me arrms are that tired wid pushing through the mud they fale riddy to drop off." "And as night is coming along I suppose we'd better try and find some patch of land on which to camp. A fire would cheer us up. How many matches have we got with us, Jimmie?" "Och! that's the silly thing for me, Jack. I meant till till yees whin ye wint shoppin' in that little place of Friar's Point till lay in another stock; and sure it shlipped me moind intoirely. The supply is bastely low, so it is. I don't think we've got more'n a dozen or so lift roight now." "That's bad," remarked Jack; and immediately added, seeing the gloom on Jimmie's freckled face, because it had been his fault: "But we won't worry about it. If it comes to it I believe I know how to make a fire without matches. I've seen an Indian do it, and even succeeded myself once with a bow, a pointed stick and some tinder to ignite. Besides, long before a dozen days we expect to be out of here." "If we only had Buster along I wouldn't moind so much," remarked Jimmie, with one of his old time flashes of humor. "For do ye say, he'd last a week or more in a pinch." When they finally discovered a dry piece of ground the night was almost upon them. The moon, more than half full, hung up in the heavens; but on account of the thick growth of cypress and other trees they could not expect much light from that source. "Looks more like a real swamp than anything we've struck yet," declared Jack, as he looked around at their ghostly surroundings, with the trailing Spanish moss festooning many of the trees. "Wow! what's that?" shouted Jimmie, as something went into the dark water with a tremendous splash. "I didn't see exactly," replied Jack, immediately; "but honestly I believe that must have been our first alligator taking a plunge." "An alligator, was it?" echoed the other, nervously. "But why did he want till make all that splash, Jack, darlint?" "Why, we scared him when he was snooping on the bank, and he thought the safest thing to do was to dive. Right now perhaps he's floating on the surface of that black looking lagoon yonder, watching us. He never saw a motor boat before, and perhaps we're the first whites that have invaded his home here. But jump ashore and take this line, Jimmie." "Sure, do ye be thinkin' there moight be another of the same waitin' till grab me by the lig? I'm towld they loike an Irish lad betther than anything, save a black wan." "Oh, rats! Here, wait for me," and with the words Jack was on the shore, ready to make the hawser fast to a convenient tree. Then Jimmie, shamed by the boldness of his boatmate, consented to join him. A fire soon flashed up, fed with some of the handy fuel. "Things don't look quite so bad with a cheery blaze, eh, Jimmie?" asked the skipper of the marooned _Tramp_, as he glanced around at the weird picture that met his eyes in every direction. "Troth, they moight be worse, I suppose," the other admitted grudgingly; for already they were on short rations, and it may be remembered that Jimmie was blessed with an appetite second only to the wonderful capacity of Nick. "Tomorrow, remember," Jack went on, as he busied himself in various ways, "I'm going to begin to hunt in earnest all the while we're looking for an outlet. We may even find a fat wild turkey on one of these same hard timber ridges. I understand they're known to frequent such places." "What if we happen till run acrost a bear?" suggested Jimmie, anxiously. "Well, the chances are the bear would be ten times more scared than either of us, and put for the canebrake at top speed. Even if he tried to attack us, you must remember that a charge of shot delivered at close quarters can penetrate almost as well as a bullet. And I should aim for his eyes, or back of his fore leg." Jimmie sighed heavily. "Sure, I'd loike a bear steak just as much as Buster said he would; but p'raps, Jack, darlint, we'd better be contint wid 'possum, 'coon or muskrats." "Oh! just as you say, Jimmie. But we haven't run across our bear yet, so we can't tell just what we'd do. In cases like that, you know, a fellow has to be governed by circumstances. Suppose the beast was mad, and insisted on coming at us on his hind legs, ready to squeeze us like they often do? I would have to shoot then, wouldn't I?" The supper was soon in progress. Jimmie begrudged everything that they were compelled to cook. He would remark that the coffee was only going to last for five more meals; that the rice seemed low, and as for sugar, he doubted whether it would hold out much longer. But Jack was not to be disheartened, and had a laughing answer for each one of these dismal prophecies. "I do belave that the less ye have to ate the better it tastes," declared Jimmie, as he sat there polishing his pannikin, in which he had just had a third helping of rice, eaten without either milk or sugar this time. "That's right," laughed Jack. "And the smaller the amount of grub, the more you think you feel the gnawings of hunger. Suppose, now, we were cruising on a salt lagoon and our drinking water ran low--why, your throat would feel parched all the time, just from imagination." "Well," grinned the other, as he glanced around, "shmall danger of that botherin' us here, Jack, darlint. We do same till have plinty of wather. And there do be fish in it, for I seen 'em jump." "Oh! we'll not starve, make up your mind to that. There are wild ducks in places, too, and lots of squirrels on the hamaks, after the nuts. We could live here two months, Jimmie, and thrive. I know a few things that would come in useful; just put that in your pipe and smoke it." "Well, I fale better, now that I've had me fill," declared Jimmie, getting to his feet to step over to the boat; but he had not gone five paces than Jack heard him give a shrill yell, as though he had stepped on a rattlesnake or been jumped on by some hungry wildcat that had been concealed among the dense branches of the live oak tree under which the camp fire burned. And as Jack sprang hurriedly to his feet, snatching up the handy Marlin gun, he saw Jimmie leaping toward him, wildly waving his arms like flails. CHAPTER XXI. BUSTER FACES STARVATION. "Look out, Jack! They's wan acomin' for us roight now! And he's a big wan, I'm tillin' yees!" cried Jimmie, gasping for breath. "One what?" demanded Jack, failing to see any dreadful dragon in sight, either on the land or the near-by water of the black lagoon. "An alligator, it is, and sure the granddaddy of the tribe. I jist had a squint of the baste sneakin' along through the wather. He manes till surprise us, and it's a foine supper he'll be afther havin' I'm thinkin'," Jimmie went on, hurriedly. "Where was this?" Jack asked, wondering whether the Irish boy could be joking, or if he had really seen something to excite him. "Look beyant the stump on the idge of the wather, over yander. There, did ye be savin' that now? Don't till me I'm blind agin, Jack. It's movin' this way; sure it do be comin' right along. Och I wirra, listen till that, would yees?" No wonder Jimmie fell back in dismay, for a most outrageous noise suddenly broke forth, such as certainly could never have been heard in that swamp before. But Jack immediately recognized it as the attempt of Nick to blow the old tin horn that was carried aboard the _Wireless_. He shouted at the top of his sturdy voice in reply, and saw the shadowy moving object head straight for the fire. "Here's a couple of poor chaps lost in the wilderness," laughed Jack as the other boat came closer. "Oh! we've only come to find you," retorted Herb. "Have you finished supper, fellows?" bellowed the fat boy. Jimmie had by now recovered from his fright. He even pretended that it had all been assumed, and that he knew from the start the nature of the suspicious black object which he had discovered creeping toward the fire. "Listen till him, would ye, Jack?" he exclaimed, coming forward to where the speed boat meant to land. "Did ye iver know such a gossoon in all your loife? Is it supper ye're afther wantin? Sure, ye'll not foind anny too much grub aboard the _Tramp_ roight now. But such as it is, ye're as wilcome to as the flowers in May." Whereupon he started in at once to cook another supply. "It's lucky ye kim, me byes," he remarked presently, while the others were sitting about, warming their hands at the fire, and waiting for supper. "Now, by the same token, we'll not be facin' starvation so soon." "Don't count too much on that, Jimmie," observed George, making a face. "I guess you forget who was with me these three days, and how he can stow away stuff? Why, we're cleaned out of everything. I was even talking of cooking our moccasins for soup a while back. For, you see, my gun's a rifle, and somehow I haven't been able to knock over much with bullets. We hoped to see a deer or a bear; but nixey up to now." "Glory be!" exclaimed the sorely dismayed cook of the _Tramp_, as he considered what an enormous amount it took to keep Nick going, and he remembered the scanty stores still remaining in the larder. "What brought you in this out-of-the-way place, George?" asked Jack. "Now, don't go to joshing and pretending you knew we were here, because you didn't. Ten to one you met that planter, too." "Meaning Mr. Tweed, the gentleman with the crooked nose, and the long, thin mustache?" George went on. "That's the man," laughed Jack. "You quizzed him, too, about a short-cut, and he posted you. Then, just as we did a little later, you made a blunder and ran into the wrong channel. Confess now." "That's just what we did," grinned George. "And ever since I've been listening to the complainings of Buster. Oh! he's starved to death twenty times, in imagination of course, since we blundered into that false cut-off. I had to finally threaten to tie him up and gag him if he didn't stop. And after that he watched me like a hawk. I guess he thought I meant to eat him up." "Well, it was very suspicious," admitted Nick, soberly, "because, you see, he even pinched me several times; and I got a horrible notion in my head that he was trying to see how fat I was." Then the others burst into a roar, in which Nick himself finally joined, unable to keep a straight face longer. They sat up long that night, trying to lay plans that gave some promise of fulfillment, and take them out of the labyrinth of channels. "If we stay here much longer Herb is going to have a walkover about winning the silver cup," George remarked, half complainingly. "Sure, perhaps he do be matin' up wid the same smooth spoken Mr. Twade," observed Jimmie, with a broad grin. His suggestion brought out another round of laughter. "Then be on the lookout tonight, Jimmie," warned George. "And if you see anything that looks like a big alligator swimming toward us, don't pour in a broadside too soon, for it may be the old _Comfort_. Misery likes company, they say. And just to think of us running across you fellows here, when our last grain of grub had gone." "Not much danger of them striking the planter, for they keep to the middle of the river, while we hugged the shore," Jack observed. "But when morning comes, I'm going to try the plan I spoke of last." "I think it a bully one, Jack," affirmed Nick, always full of confidence in the leader of the expedition. "And if anybody can pull us out of here it's going to be you. The worst of it is I dasen't go swimming in this black water. It's just cram full of snakes." "Well," remarked Jack, seriously, "I wouldn't advise you to try it. Those snakes with the mottled yellow and brown backs are water moccasins. They are a nasty lot, and can strike to beat the band. They say that they poison a fellow so that he may never get over having a running sore. I hit every one I see on the head with my setting pole." "And I will, after this," declared Nick. "Well, if you know what's good for you, I just guess you'll be satisfied to sit quiet, and let me do the pushing," remarked George, meaningly. "For every time I gave you the job we came near having a turn over. Excuse me from a swim in this horrible looking water." During the night there were several alarms. Once an alligator did actually try to invade the camp, doubtless under the impression that it might secure something worth while devouring. It happened, too, that Jimmie was on guard at the time. His yells, accompanied by the double discharge of the shotgun, brought the others to their feet in wild dismay. They were loth to accept the word of the sentinel that he had actually shot at a scaly invader until he pointed out the spot. Then Jack, with a brand from the fire, made a hasty examination. "Jimmie, you're a truthful boy," he declared, "for I can see where a lot of the shot ploughed up the ground; and here's where claws dug into it. Yes, and as sure as anything, you hit him, too, for here's a trail of blood leading to the water's edge. I thought I heard a splash as I jumped up." And Jimmie, with this complete vindication, drew himself up proudly, as if to dare any one to doubt his veracity after that. "But if you see another alligator," Jack went on, "please don't shoot at him, when a shout or a firebrand will chase him back to the water just as well. Because, you see, we may need every shell I have along, in order to keep the wolf from our door. They count for just so many 'possums, 'coons or muskrats." That worried Jimmie very much, and he looked sad. For to shorten their chances of securing game would mean a scanty supply in the larder; and Jimmie's appetite persisted in calling out at least three times a day for attention. Morning found them in a more cheerful frame of mind. Breakfast was eaten, and now that four had to be fed from the scanty stock of provisions--George declared that Jimmie and Buster made it equal to six at the very least--the hole made was shocking. "I move we don't have another meal today," was the startling announcement from Nick, as he finished the last morsel left in the kettle. "Well," said George, "you'll find the rest of us willing enough. But let's get a move on. We must find a way out of this today sure." They started out, filled with confidence. Jack's plan was tried in several different places; but without any success. "Say, there don't seem to be any current at all," remarked Nick, as he watched the dead leaf that had been thrown on the water, and which failed to move save as the faint breeze dictated. "But we're going to keep on trying all the same," declared George, firmly. "Sooner or later we'll strike a place where it does show life. Then we'll just follow after it, and in that way discover an opening where this water joins the river again." "That's the talk," said Nick. "I like to hear that kind of stuff. It shows that George is there with the goods. Just see how he uses that pole. I tell him he'd make a bully old gondolier over in Venice." "Oh! yes, you're a regular old jollier, Buster," scoffed George, who had seen the fat boy wink slyly toward Jack. "You just think to keep me in a good humor while I slave away, and you sit there like a king, giving orders." "Well, you won't let me stand up and push," complained the other. "Not unless I'm hankering for a spill. Lead the way, Jack. You know more about these things than the rest of the bunch. It's up to you to be our Moses and get us out of the bullrushes." CHAPTER XXII. THE DISCOVERY. "Oh, joy! she moves!" It was late in the afternoon when Nick gave utterance to this shout. For the twentieth time the test had been made, and they could see the leaf traveling away from the side of the _Tramp_. Evidently there was a gentle but decided movement to the water, and this could not be caused by the breeze, because that had long since died away. So, with hope once more stirred into life, they started to follow the drifting messenger. Its speed gradually increased. In half an hour there did not seem to any longer be the slightest doubt but that it was in a genuine current. When the night began to settle in they were so eager that Jack lighted one of his acetylene lamps, and kept the now quickly moving leaf under observation. "Listen!" exclaimed George, suddenly. "It's the music of the river, that's what!" cried Nick. And that turned out to be the truth. None of them had ever believed they would welcome the sight of that vast billowy flood with one-half the joy that possessed them as they broke through the overhanging branches and saw the moonlight falling on the mighty Mississippi. So they pulled back a bit, and made themselves just as comfortable as the conditions allowed. There was now no longer any fear of a great famine in the land. In their pockets they had money; and somewhere not a great distance below they would strike Greenville, where, doubtless, supplies could be purchased in any quantity. So the little Juwel gas stove, and the battery of lamps on board the _Wireless_ were put to splendid service in getting up a supper to celebrate this rediscovery of the Mississippi. "I don't believe De Soto ever felt one-half the happiness that we experience," Jack remarked, as they sat in their respective boats, fastened side by side, and discussed the meal. "That's right," declared Nick, between mouthfuls. "Because, you know, he wasn't used to much, and in no danger of having his supplies cut off. It comes harder on a fellow of today to starve than it used to. That is, it seems so to me." Nobody objected to his way of putting it; for truth to tell every one of the quartette felt delighted with the final outcome of their adventure. They made an early start, for after all there was hardly enough food left to provide for a scanty breakfast--at least Nick called it that, though the others felt that they had had quite enough. Arriving at Greenville, a committee was appointed, consisting of Jack and Nick, to go ashore and lay in some fresh supplies as well as have gasolene ordered brought down to the boats. Jack also made inquiries, and learned that a boat answering to the description of the _Comfort_ had been noticed passing down in the middle of the river several days back. "The tortoise has gotten ahead, fellows," he reported, when he once more joined his chums, laden down with supplies, as was also the willing Buster. Nobody cared much now. Somehow the fever of the race had departed from George's veins. He even declared that from now on he meant to stick with Jack and enjoy the pleasure of some company besides that of a fellow whose one thought was cramming. "But you see that I'm not infallible as a guide," laughed Jack. "Don't I strike the wrong channel as well as you?" "That's so," returned George; and then he added gallantly: "But you got us all out of the blessed hole neatly, Jack. Goodness knows what would have become of Buster and me if we hadn't struck you." "Now, I know what you're thinking about when you look sideways at me," declared Nick, pretending to show alarm. "And after this I ain't never going to allow myself to get alone with George Rollins. I tell you, fellows, he's got cannibal blood in his veins. He scares me, the way he acts." It was not a great ways after noon when they saw a red flag waving at a point ashore. Then came a blast from the fog horn owned by Josh. He and Herb played it for all they were worth, because this was the very first chance they had had on the entire trip to welcome their comrades to a camping site. Great was the joshing that followed the landing of the two missing boats. And the skipper of the staunch _Comfort_, as well as the crew thereof, laughed as though they would take a fit when they heard what a mess of it the others had made in trying the cut-off so warmly recommended by the planter, Mr. Tweed, who meant well, of course, but came near wrecking the whole expedition. Their next stop would be in Vicksburg; and when the start was made in the morning George never got out of hailing distance of the _Tramp_. Sometimes he would be ahead; but if so, he would slow down and allow the other to overtake him. Another strange thing occurred on this day's run. At no time was the big _Comfort_ hull down in the distance. It seemed that, by taking advantage of the swift water away out there in the middle of the river, Herb's craft could overcome the difference in speed between the _Tramp_ and herself. And when at about half-past three the leaders found a place to draw in for the night, reliable old _Comfort_ came booming along not fifteen minutes later. Apparently, then, there was now no reason for their separating. This idea pleased them all, for they liked the social life of the camp, where they could exchange yarns, compare notes, josh each other as the whim seized them, and lay plans for future cruises of the motor boat club. Vicksburg was reached without mishap on the next leg of the journey, although on account of staying in camp over Sunday, it was Monday afternoon when they looked upon the city made famous during the Civil War by Grant's persistence and strategy. At the mouth of the big Yazoo George came near having a serious time of it; for his cranky little speed boat was caught in a swirl of mingling waters, and came within an ace of swamping. Only for the action of the frightened Nick in throwing his great bulk the other way, just by instinct, the _Wireless_ would have gone completely over. And Nick was always proud of what he was pleased to term his quick wit in an emergency. It took the place of those wonderful "wings" in his conversation; and often George had to threaten dire things unless he called a halt in his boasting. On Tuesday they put out together, and that night lay over about half way down to what had been marked as Station Number Eight. Here a storm kept them shut up a full day, so that it was Thursday again before they proceeded. On Saturday afternoon Jack announced the glad tidings that he believed they had crossed the border of Louisiana. The others celebrated that night with an extra grand feed, since Nick had managed to purchase a couple of chickens from a man he met when George was tinkering with his engine, and the crew had gone ashore to stretch his dumpy legs. Now that George did not try to push his speed boat to its limit he seemed to be having an easy time with the engine. Either that, or else the machinist up at Memphis had done a "corking good job," as the master often declared. And on the whole George was coming to realize that there could be much more pleasure and satisfaction in taking things moderately, than in being in a constant rush and nervous turmoil. Nick was in an especially fine humor that evening. Jack had been in the water with him after they arrived at the camping place, and, to the great delight of the fat boy, he had discovered that he could actually swim about as he pleased, and without wearing that cork contraption at that. He was fairly hilarious with joy. George had been noticing him, with something like a smile on his face. Whatever was on his mind, he did not say anything until supper had been dispatched, and they were grouped around the fire, chatting as usual. Then George gave Jack a nudge on the sly. "Watch me," he whispered. A minute later he called out to Nick, who had just climbed to his feet to go after his blanket, as he said the ground seemed cold. "Wait a minute, Buster," he said; "if you're going aboard, just get that book of funny jokes for me, will you? I think it's in the cubbyhole where we keep our oilskins, you know. And if you don't feel it at first, hunt around, even if you have to pull everything there is in there out." Just three minutes afterward there was a whoop, and an excited fat boy came skipping off the deck of the speed boat, waving something wildly above his head. "I've found 'em! Just to think of me putting the blessed wings so carefully away in that same cubbyhole, and then forgetting all about it? But you knew they were there all the time, I'm dead sure you did, George! And how cruel of you to let me waste away to skin and bone, mourning for them!" "Well, you never asked me if I knew where you stuck 'em," retorted the skipper, with a big grin. "And, after all, I rather liked to hear you grunt about losing 'em." "Yes, a whole lot you did, when you threatened to eat me, or throw me to the alligators if I kept it up. But I guess you were only bluffing, George. I don't think you could be quite that barbarous," said Nick, reproachfully. "Well, what are you going to do with them now?" demanded the other. "You know how to swim the best ever; and sure you wouldn't be guilty of wearing those silly wings. And I refuse to carry the cargo any further. How about it, Buster?" "Yes; we want to know," added Jack. "They'll do for babies, but not fellows who have mastered the noble art of swimming, so make up your mind," said Josh, grandly. Nick took one last look at the affairs he had once deemed so essential to his happiness. Then he calmly strode over, and amid the shouts of the rest, dropped the swimming wings upon the fire, where they were speedily reduced to ashes. "You're right," he observed, moving his arms like a swimmer; "a fellow who has graduated has no need for artificial fins. I'm in your class now!" CHAPTER XXIII. THE WINNER OF THE CUP--CONCLUSION. "Can anybody tell me what day of the month this is?" asked Nick, who was making up some sort of private log, which would possibly afford his companions more or less merriment in future days. "Why, that's easy," smiled Jack, who had been keeping the official log of the progress of events, partly because he was at the head of the club; and then again because he had a right good cause to know how time flew, since he was due in the Crescent City by December first. "This is Saturday, and we stay here until Monday, which will mark the twenty-first of November." "That gives you another ten days to make the balance of the journey, and land a winner?" observed George. "Yes," said Jack, "we'll take our time this week, moving along, and seeing all the queer sights of the levees that have been built to keep out the river when it is on the flood stage. Since we may never have the chance to get down here again we ought to learn all we can about things." "And then pull into New Orleans next Saturday; is that the official program?" asked Herb, from across the fire. They soon started talking of other things; and so the time flew until George finally discovered that Nick had actually gone to sleep resting on one of the skipper's feet. "I wondered what ailed me," complained poor George, "and began to think I was getting paralyzed. Won't somebody please give this elephant a punch, and wake him up? He's got me pinned down so I'm just helpless." Buster was finally aroused, and convinced that there were softer spots in which to take his nap than resting on somebody's feet. Then by degrees the camp became silent, save for the heavy breathing of Nick, who, whenever he lay on his back, was in the habit of producing the strangest noises ever heard, and which would have actually frightened almost any one, unless they knew the cause. Sunday was always a quiet day with the boys. They just lounged around and rested up for the morrow. With Nick and Jimmie it meant a glorious opportunity to try new dishes; or to partake of something which Josh, the best cook in the whole outfit, got together. Promptly on Monday they again started south. There was no haste now. Dixieland had been reached, the air seemed balmy; and with the time allowance that had been given to the _Comfort_ it was already an assured fact that Herb would carry off the prize. Jack was secretly pleased. As his father had given the silver cup, he felt that he could not well carry it off with a clear conscience. And George really did not deserve it, after all the mishaps that had come about as a result of his lack of wisdom. On the whole, Herb had played the most consistent game, and done the best with the material he had in hand. He often tried to get Jack to acknowledge that he had purposely lost himself in that false cut-off, just so as to eliminate himself from the race. On such occasions Jack would drag Jimmie forward to prove that they had discussed the chances of making a miss, and concluded to take the risk. For several days they just moved along almost with the current, going ashore as the whim urged them, to see how cotton was grown and harvested, make the acquaintance of the Louisiana darkies, a different breed from any they had known on their long trip, and in the case of Nick, to pick up a few chickens, or buy some roasting ears that had survived the touch of frost. It was thus on Saturday that the little flotilla came to New Orleans, and the race for the Dixie cup was officially declared to have ended, with Herb the winner in his steady, reliable big boat, the _Comfort_. Monday, the twenty-ninth, Jack hunted up the lawyer with whom he had been in correspondence, and made his presence in the city legally known. At the proper time he wended his way with the judge to a quaint old house, where a few persons had gathered to hear the last will and testament of the singular gentleman who happened to be Jack's mother's brother, read. Well, no matter what Jack came in for, it was a handsome sum, and many times what he had ever anticipated. Certainly, as the lawyer said, while warmly congratulating the boy from the north, it was worth coming after. Considering what a glorious time he had had cruising down the Father of Waters, Jack believed that he would have been well paid to have even his expenses of the trip settled; but to get a fortune was a streak of great luck. The six boys did not mean to cruise back again. The current of that mighty river was too sturdy to buck against in a little twenty-three-foot motor boat. When they had exhausted the pleasures of the famous Crescent City they made an arrangement whereby the three boats would be freighted back home. That left them free to go where they pleased; and hence, after some wiring back home to get permission, they took a little run down through Forida [Transcriber's note: Florida?] as the guests of the fortunate heir to the fortune. School would open after New Years, so they had to count on getting back before then. The sight of the beautiful Indian river inspired them with a desire to some day come again to the sunny south, and spend a month or more nosing about on the shallow waters of that remarkable series of lagoons stretching along the entire east coast. But meanwhile they had other plans in view for the coming summer, when, free from the trammels of school, they would be able to once more take their several boats, starting out on a delightful cruise in quest of adventure, and perhaps in the line of exploration. To the delight of Jack, later on that winter he received a long letter from Erastus, written by his daughter, who, it seemed, had had considerable schooling, and was intending to be a teacher in the negro college at Tuskegee. Erastus had his family with him, and was prospering finely. He declared he would never forget what the boys had done for him, and his entire family signed their names to the communication, which the boys put in the frame that held the other letter from the fugitive black, found pinned to the live oak after they had left food for him during the night he was being hunted. By the time the participants of the race reached the home town again, they found that every boy within five miles was eager to hear of what strange things had befallen them during the long journey. Not one had ever been further down the Mississippi than St. Louis, and then on a steamboat; so that the mystery of living close to the waters was unknown to the entire bunch. During the whole of that winter Nick was kept busy retailing the amazing things he claimed to have seen and done; until finally the rest of the club had to pass a resolution declaring that unless he brought this yarn-spinning to a stop he would surely be drafted to be George's partner again the next summer in the speed boat. And really Buster had such a horror of such a dreadful thing happening that from then on no one could get him to open his lips with regard to the Mississippi cruise. "It's too much of a temptation for George," he used to say, after getting as far away from the skipper of the _Wireless_ as he could, in the club room. "You see, he just can't help having that cannibal blood in him, for he was born so. But it's wicked in our tempting the poor chap so. Now, if he has a thin, scrawny fellow, say, like Josh here, along, he'll gradually overcome this savage appetite. Me for the bully old _Comfort_ the next time this motor boat club goes on its vacation. You hear me say it, all. Herb and I have got that settled, haven't we, Herb?" And the placid skipper of the big launch would laugh as he replied: "Well, you did say that you admired my boat, because there was so much room to stow things away, particularly lockers for grub galore. But I guess you'll fit better in with me than in either of the other boats; so let's call it a go. Though I'll miss the fine cooking of Josh, I tell you." "Oh! next time we'll probably cruise and camp together, and then we all can enjoy some of his wonderful cooking," Nick hastened to add, feeling that it might pay to flatter his old enemy a little, if he expected to profit by it in the future. And here for the present we must take leave of our motor boat chums, in the belief that the record of their adventurous dash for the Dixie cup may have proved pleasant reading to our boys, who will be only too glad to meet them once again in the succeeding volume of this series, now published under the name of "The Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence; or, Solving a Mystery of the Thousand Islands." Shortly after the return of the club from their Mississippi cruise Jack and Jimmie had the pleasure of being invited over to take dinner with Mr. Gregory, the president of the Waverly bank. He gave them a copy of a resolution of thanks passed by the board of directors after his return with all the missing funds and securities that had been stolen. There were also two checks, each of twenty-five hundred dollars, for the boys, Jack having insisted that it must be share and share alike between himself and Jimmie. The boys deposited their money in a savings bank, where it would lie at compound interest, and be handy in case they were in need of funds at any future time. THE END. AN AWAKENING AT ALVIN. Alvin is a small town in eastern Illinois, a short distance north of Danville, and is a junction of a branch of the Wabash system with the Chicago & Eastern Illinois railroad. The place is large enough to stand the racket of a small brass band, but not of sufficient consequence to support a hotel or bakery. It was evident that either the postal clerk running on the Wabash branch or some person in the Alvin post-office was stealing ordinary letters and rifling registers. After a two-hours' consultation on the case by a committee of three, Henshaw, "Judge" Bedell, and myself, it was unanimously decided that the work was not being done by the postal clerk. It was too well performed. No living being on a railroad train, by any known or unknown art, could cut and reseal a registered package envelope as artistically as these had been cut and resealed. There was no record of any work of the kind that approached it. Could it be the postmaster at Alvin? It certainly had that appearance, but he was a man who seemed as far above a crime of this kind as conception could conceive. He had not been disturbed. No one had written to him and nobody had called. His suspicions, if he had any, had never been aroused. But there was certain information about the office we must possess, and we must know more about him and his methods. Yet, it would not answer for an Inspector to call on him on any pretense whatever. What should be done? The postmaster was a druggist, and sold cigars; so we decided to fit out Bedell as a cigar agent and let him call in the regular course of business and do a little drumming and pumping. A fancy case was borrowed of a regular Chicago dealer, into which was neatly packed a sample box each of McConnel's Perfectos, Con. Mehoney's Shamrocks, Mrs. Kelly's Pappooses, Carter Harrison's Best, Fred Hill's Favorites, and Tol. Lawrence's Prides. A team was procured two stations north of Alvin, and down into the sleepy hamlet Mr. Brooks, the agent of Chesterfield, Schoolcraft & Browning, quietly wended his way and presented his card at the Alvin drug store and post-office. It was harvest time and mid-day trade was quiet, so of course Mr. Brooks found abundant opportunity to do business without being jostled about by applicants for tobacco and tanglefoot for medical purposes. His prices were the most reasonable of any agent who had called since the war; but that was explained by the fact that this house always surprised its customers with good goods and low prices, and this was Mr. Brook's first trip through that section, and his first visit to Alvin. As a result he remained three hours, sold two dozen boxes of Perfectos, four dozen Pappooses, a whole case of Lawrence's Prides, and went to dinner with the postmaster. When he reached Danville about four o'clock that afternoon, where he was to report to Henshaw and myself, he was radiant with the enthusiasm of well earned success. He had studied the Alvin postmaster as thoroughly as he did the ten commandments when a child; was present when the Wabash mail arrived and saw the postmaster distribute it alone for the Eastern Illinois going north; sold him a fine bill of goods, which was not to be delivered on account of the pressing business of the house for two weeks; saw the postmaster lock up the office and went to dinner with him, after which he returned to the office and saw the postmaster endorse the registers and lock out the mail for the Eastern Illinois, north; and everything had been done by the postmaster exactly as a thoroughly honest, upright, conscientious postmaster would do it. There had not been the first false motion, word or suspicious circumstance, and he would wager his entire lot of samples that the postmaster was one of God's noblest works--an honest man. He admitted, however, that the facts of the losses were stubborn and that the circumstances were peculiar, and, having now a good knowledge of all the conditions he thought the tests should be applied. It was accordingly arranged to remove from the Wabash mail every day for a week every registered letter of natural origin that would pass through the Alvin office, and substitute decoy or test letters. These would remain in the Alvin office about two hours, when they would be placed in the postal car going north on the Eastern Illinois, where they could be hastily examined. It was more of a difficult task than the reader can imagine. The work of preparing the test letters, so that they would appear exactly like genuine ones that had been mailed at the various offices along the line of the road, occupied several days, but by the end of the week we were ready to begin on the following Monday. Two lists of the letters to be sent through each day for six days, and a minute description of the contents of each letter, were prepared. Henshaw, who was to go along the Wabash and attend to the delicate task of removing the genuine and substituting the false ones, took one of the lists, and the other was retained by Bedell and myself, who were to examine the letters when they came from the office and were placed in the north bound car. It would necessarily become our duty also, in case anything was wrong, to strike while the iron was hot and secure the transgressor. On Monday the letters came through in good condition. Tuesday and Wednesday brought no good results. By making haste we could usually get them out of the pouch and have them examined before the train left the Alvin station. By so doing it would give us an opportunity to step off the train, and thereby save time, if the examination proved that the letters had been meddled with. On Thursday, while the train was still standing at the depot, we found our letters, examined them, and, as usual, pronounced them correct. The train pulled out and had proceeded probably a mile before we had opened the letters to examine the contents, when, to our surprise, we discovered that two of the eight had been rifled and the money was missing. Quick as lightning the bell cord was pulled, and long before the engineer had come to a full stop, Bedell and myself could be seen walking hurriedly down the track toward the station. We entered the post-office as coolly as though we had called for a prescription instead of a thief, and found the postmaster handing out the mail that had just been assorted. Bedell did not look as Brooks did and so he was not recognized. We waited patiently, listening to the torturing discords of the Alvin Silver Cornet Band that was practicing in the room above the store, till finally the patrons had departed, when I approached the postmaster and informed him of my unpleasant mission, which, was, in effect, that some person in the Alvin postoffice had, within the last three hours, abstracted $67 from the two registered letters that I held in my hand, and that my friend and myself had called to recover the money. "Merciful God," said the postmaster, "it is impossible. No person handled those letters but myself; there is my endorsement; so help me, I did not open them, and I swear with uplifted hand before my Maker that this is the truth." As I turned to Bedell, as much as to ask if he ever heard such a falsehood, the gentle summer breeze wafted in something that admonished us that the silver cornets were trying to catch the air of "Dan Tucker." Bedell, feeling sorry for the postmaster, the band, and me, turned to find relief by reading the labels on the bottles. I told the postmaster that while I did not charge him with the crime I would like to have him satisfy, if he could, that the money taken from the letters was not then in his possession. To this he most cheerfully assented, and search was made not only through his clothes, but through every conceivable place about the office and store where it could possibly have been secreted. At length we became satisfied the money was not there, but, of course, not satisfied that the postmaster had not taken it. I asked him if any person other than himself ever assisted in handling the mails, and he answered: "No one." "Does not some person other than yourself have a key that will unlock either of your store doors?" "Yes." "Who is that person?" "It is George Havens, the leader of the band." Turning quickly to Bedell, I said: "The leader of the band has a key to the rear door, and he steals in while the postmaster is at dinner." Five minutes later the horn that once through Alvin's hall the soul of discord shed, now hung as mute on the band-room wall, as though that soul had fled, and George Havens had been called to account for appropriating to himself certain funds that had not been contributed for the purpose of buying instruments, music, and flashy uniforms. But George had been around the world some himself, and had learned a few airs and quicksteps not mentioned in the books. He was a hard nut to crack. We labored incessantly with him till sundown, and had taken the horns and band-room apart, had been through his residence, with his wife's permission, from the bottom of the well to the top of the lightning rod; had torn up the floors of several neighboring buildings; had been through the brick-yard and the burying ground, and, in brief, had completely upset everything in Alvin looking for the $67 which we did not find. There could be but one conclusion. Either the leader of the band or the postmaster had the money, and we were agreed that it was not the latter. As a last resort we decided to take Havens to Chicago, and, possibly on the trip up, or during the night in Chicago, we might get something from him that would clear away the mists. We reached the city at ten o'clock, without obtaining anything except the ride, and by 10:30 we had reached the office, where Stuart, whom we had informed of our coming by wire, was anxiously waiting to relieve us and spend the night with Havens. About four o'clock in the morning, Stuart's burning eloquence began to be felt, and, by sunrise, Havens in tears had confessed everything he had been charged with, and told how he stealthily entered the rear door of the office and committed the depredations while the postmaster was at dinner. Stuart and Havens left for Alvin on an early tram to secure the money; and as they were digging it up in a grove a few rods back of the Alvin post-office, the friends of Havens, who up to this time insisted that he was innocent, concluded, from the appearance of the valuable articles that were unearthed, that the treasures of Captain Kyd had at last been found. The postmaster, who was one of the finest gentlemen I ever met, was so effected by this terrible affair that soon afterward he sold his business and moved away. Brooks gave his remaining samples to Stuart, while poor Havens went to play B flat in prison. CAUGHT WITH A SCRAP OF PAPER. The post-office at Attica, Indiana, had been robbed. Unknown persons had entered it through a rear window sometime during Sunday night, and on Monday morning when the mailing clerk arrived, the stove was scattered in fragments around the floor, the letter boxes had been emptied, the safe blown open, its entire contents missing, and the room still retained a strong odor of powder. It was a genuine robbery, and, for a place of the breadth and thickness of Attica, it was something much more than an ordinary, every-day affair. The postmaster had barely enough money left to wire for help. When I arrived on Wednesday he informed me that no strange persons were seen in town prior to the robbery, but that on Monday morning about six o'clock, two young men called at the residence of Mr. James Beasley, a farmer residing about six miles eastward, and wanted to engage him to take them to Thorntown, a distance of about twenty miles as an Indiana crow flies. Beasley was a busy farmer, and, not being in the livery business, declined. They than asked the distance to the nearest station on the Wabash railroad, and when Beasely informed them, they told him if he would hitch up and take them over they would give him a dollar and a half for his trouble. Beasley said he would do it, just to be accommodating, and by so doing made a blunder. If he had told them he would do it for two dollars and a half he would have been engaged just the same, and Beasley saw his mistake, as a great many others do, when it was too late. The only vehicle handy that morning was a small buggy containing one seat, and into this the three men placed themselves, Beasley in the middle, and proceeded to ride to the railroad. While Beasley was hitching up it occurred to him that it was very singular that two fine-looking, well-dressed gentlemen should call at his house so early in the morning and want to hire him to take them to Thorntown, and finally be satisfied with a mile and a half ride for dollar and a half, which was a dollar a mile, to another place. His curiosity was thoroughly aroused, and when he got into the buggy with them he intended to look them over very closely indeed, and give them a few questions to crack. Scarcely had they started before he asked them how it happened that they came along so early. "Have not been walking all night, have you?" he asked with a laugh. The larger one of the two then told Beasley about his lovely home in Kansas; about his poor mother dying in Ohio; about being on the way to her funeral; about meeting Mr. Cushman, the other gentleman, on the train; about Mr. Cushman being on his way to Cornell University, and last, though not least, about the wreck on the I. B. & W., which compelled them to leave the train and get across the country to the Big Four or the Wabash. The reason he mentioned Thorntown particularly was because he had a wealthy aunt residing there, and he was thinking some of stopping to make her a short visit. "But what do you carry in that roll, wrapped in light paper, sticking up through your inside coat pocket?" asked Beasley. "A present for my aunt," was the laconic reply. Turning to Mr. Cushman, the quiet gentleman who was on his way to college, Beasley asked: "What are you carrying those iron articles for in your overcoat pocket, that I'm sitting on; you are not going to open a hardware store in connection with the school, are you?" Just then they came to a bend in the highway and the depot was visible only a short distance ahead, and just at that instant, without stopping to answer the question, Mr. Cushman and the big fellow jumped out, and the big fellow said they guessed they would walk the remainder of the way. "All right," said Beasley, who stopped his horse and commenced to look for a good place to turn around. On his way back he said to himself: "they are a queer pair." They were soon out of his mind however, and in a few minutes more he was home attending to his chores, just as though he had not received one-fifty for almost nothing. Tuesday morning the weather was a little lowering, so he concluded to drive into town and learn how many were killed in the I. B. & W. wreck. When he learned that there had been no wreck on the I. B. & W. or on any other railroad, he said to Mrs. Beasley: "How could those fellows, whom I carried yesterday morning, have had the audacity to tell me such a cold-blooded falsehood?" A few minutes later when Mrs. Beasley had heard of the robbery, she answered the question. In my interview with Beasley, he informed me that he looked the young men over very closely, and so firmly were their features impressed upon his mind that he could pick them out of ten or fifteen thousand. I had never met a more sanguine man. I arranged with him to take a few days' vacation, and, in less than an hour and a half after my arrival in Attica, I was waiting at the railroad station with Beasley for a train to take us to Indianapolis. Thorntown, from Beasley's house was directly on a line toward Indianapolis, and, while there were many other stations nearer to Beasley's, Thorntown was the only one between LaFayette and Indianapolis, where every train that passed over the road was sure to stop. Here was a water tank whose supply was never exhausted, and this fact we assumed the robbers knew, as well as some others. They knew if they could reach Thorntown by Monday night they would be able to catch a south-bound freight that would land them in Indianapolis, and no one would be the wiser. All day Thursday, we looked for the mysterious strangers in Indianapolis. We went everywhere where such persons would likely be. A thousand men I saw who looked something like them, but every time I called Beasley's attention to them, he would say, "No." To the captains of the police Beasley described the men minutely. They could think of none who answered the descriptions in every particular. Beasley examined the pictures in the rogue's gallery and in every other gallery, and all without success. The captains said they would wager their lives that the men did not belong to Indianapolis. If they were looking for them they should go straightway to Dayton, Ohio, "where," said they, "more thieves hang out than in any place in North America, with the possible exception of Windsor, Canada." It is true if these men belonged to Dayton, they would have taken exactly the same course to reach home that they would have taken to reach Indianapolis. Friday morning bright and early found us in Dayton, waiting for an interview with the Chief. Presently he came, and to him and two of his assistants I told the story and Beasley described the men. They had a man there who answered the description of Cushman, the quiet gentleman, and they also knew one who answered for the large one, but they had not heard that he was out of prison yet. Handing Beasley an album, containing the pictures of a few of the well-known notables, the chief asked him to see if he could recognize any of them. Scarcely had Beasley commenced to turn the leaves of the book before his eye caught a familiar face, and, jumping from his seat, he said: "That's the big fellow." "This was Tettman," they said, "one of the most accomplished safe workers in the State, and the little red-headed fellow, whom you describe, is Reddy Jackson, a quiet hard-working robber, though not as renowned as the former." The officers assured us that it these men were in Dayton, they would be only too happy to find and deliver them to us, and with this end in view every policeman in Dayton was notified to search for them, and to run them in if possible, while Beasley in high glee took a position on a prominent corner to scan the passing throngs. About seven o'clock that evening word came over the wire to head-quarters that Tettman and Jackson had been safely landed in one of the station houses. It was quickly arranged to remove them to the county jail, a more secure place, and it was desired to have Beasley stand just outside the door of the station house, so that when the prisoners were marched out to enter the patrol wagon, he might get a good look at them under an electric light, and thereby make sure that they were the ones we wanted. When they passed him he turned to the crowd, and with much complacency said: "Them's the fellows." Afterward, while interviewing one of the officers who made the arrest, as the men were coming out of a notorious saloon, he told us that when he told Tettman that he wanted him, Tettman instantly put a piece of paper in his mouth and commenced to chew it. The officer did not like the looks of the operation and he grabbed the man by the throat and ordered him not to attempt to swallow what he was chewing. After considerable of a struggle he secured a portion of the piece of paper, which he handed to me saying: "I don't know as it amounts to anything, but I was afraid it might, and so took the precaution to prevent its destruction; sorry I was not quick enough to get it all." The little scrap of paper contained the following memoranda: 12,427 at 2c. 248.54 3,240 " 4c. 129. 747 " 5c. 3 892 " 10c. 165 speci 400 du On the preliminary examination before the commissioner in Dayton they fought bravely. Their case was managed by the best counsel that could be obtained, who attempted to prove that Tettman and Jackson were in Dayton the day before the robbery in Attica, the day of the robbery, as well as the day after. In fact there was very little proof necessary for their side that they did not produce, but the quality, unfortunately for them, did not equal the quantity. Beasley's straightforward story was accepted by everybody, and when we proved by the postmaster from Attica that the number and the denomination of the stamps stolen from his safe corresponded precisely with the number and the denomination as noted by Tettman on the little slip of paper, which he attempted to swallow, the case was closed and the prisoners were sent to Indianapolis for trial. On the trial the same character of evidence was introduced by the defendants. Ours was also similar, though in addition to that introduced in Dayton, we proved that a novel and ingenious brace found on Tettman's premises in Dayton, which contained irregular and unnatural features, and which left the same impressions on the safe, was the only brace in existence that could have performed the work which the Chief of Police in Attica pronounced "exquisite." The jury was out just five minutes, and two hours later the two distinguished travelers, who mistook Beasley for a chump, were enjoying a free ride to Michigan City, where they are still industriously working for the State, cracking pig iron instead of safes. 
30727	----	[Transcriber's note: this book contains the short story "Mrs. Stone's Money-Order." Its author is unknown.] [Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: Jack, crouching there, with one elbow resting on his knee, took as good an aim as the conditions allowed] Motor Boat Boys Down the Coast Or _Through Storm and Stress to Florida_ By LOUIS ARUNDEL Author of "Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence," "Motor Boat Boys Cruise Down the Mississippi," "Motor Boat Boys on the Great Lakes," "Motor Boat Boys Among the Florida Keys" Chicago M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY Copyright 1913 by M. A. DONOHUE & CO. CHICAGO CONTENTS CHAPTER I. AFLOAT ON THE LOWER DELAWARE II. A GOOD OMEN FOR THE START III. JACK TAKES A HYDRO-AEROPLANE MESSAGE IV. THE FIRST CAMP FIRE ASHORE V. A STORM, AND NO REFUGE IN SIGHT VI. A CLOSE SHAVE, BUT NO DAMAGE DONE VII. HOW THE MOTOR BOAT FLOTILLA WENT TO SEA VIII. THE CAMP INVADED IX. THE DESPERATION OF HUNGER X. NICK IN SEARCH OF A MERMAID XI. A STUNNING DISCOVERY XII. THE CAMP UNDER CAPE CHARLES LIGHT XIII. A SHOUT AT MIDNIGHT XIV. NICK BAGS HIS GAME XV. A WARM WELCOME TO THE STORMY CAPE XVI. THE WIRELESS AS TRICKY AS EVER XVII. GOODBYE TO AN ANCHOR XVIII. A SIGNAL OF DISTRESS XIX. THE MESSAGE OF HOPE XX. MEETING TROUBLE HALF WAY XXI. FOG BOUND WHILE AT SEA XXII. SAVANNAH AT LAST XXIII. THANKS TO THE PILOT--CONCLUSION MOTOR BOAT BOYS SERIES THE MOTOR CLUB'S CRUISE DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI THE MOTOR CLUB ON THE ST. LAWRENCE RIVER THE MOTOR CLUB ON THE GREAT LAKES MOTOR BOAT BOYS AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS MOTOR BOAT BOYS DOWN THE COAST MOTOR BOAT BOYS RIVER CHASE MOTOR BOAT BOYS DOWN THE DANUBE THE MOTOR BOAT BOYS DOWN THE COAST; or Through Storm and Stress to Florida CHAPTER I. AFLOAT ON THE LOWER DELAWARE. "Toot your horn, Jimmy, and let everybody know we're off at last!" "Sure, there's the ould _Wireless_ coming up on us, hand over fist. It's a broth of a bhoy George Rollins is for speed!" "Yes, he always starts out well, and with a rush; but generally manages to have his engine break down; and then even the wide old tub _Comfort_ gets there ahead of the narrow speed boat. Now give 'em a blast, Jimmy. The coast cruise is on!" Accordingly, Jimmy Brannigan, who served as cook and crew aboard the staunch motor boat _Tramp_, some twenty-three feet in length by six feet wide (the boat, not Jimmy), and with Jack Stormways as pilot, puffed out his cheeks and blew. It was a necessary method for sounding the conch shell horn, which, if blown like a bugle, would send out a screech that could be heard a mile away. Answering toots came from the two other crafts that had just left Philadelphia astern, and were heading down the old Delaware River, bound for Florida. Here were six of the happiest young chaps on the face of the globe; and, indeed, how could they help it? Blessed with good health; three of them owning motor boats that had served them now for two seasons, and with stores aboard for a "bully" voyage down the Atlantic coast, taking the inland passage, what more could the heart of a real boy, with red blood in his veins, sigh for! These six lads lived in a town "out Mississippi way." They had long ago ceased to be novices in the management of motor boats, and the great benefit they seemed to have secured from previous trips on the water, both down the wonderful Mississippi and on the Great Lakes, had convinced their fathers that they were to be trusted under any and all conditions. Hence, when a calamity befell the high school of their native place, which all of them attended, fire destroying the main part of the building, so that there could be no session until some time after Christmas, and a brilliant scheme dawned upon the mind of Jack Stormways, they were not long in convincing those who controlled their destinies that the opportunity for a run down the Atlantic coast before winter set in, with possibly a similar cruise along the Mexican gulf to New Orleans, was too good to be lost. And so they had come to Philadelphia, with this object in view. As to the money part--for it takes a heap of cash to transport three motor boats a thousand miles and more by fast freight--that was the easiest part of the programme. It happened that the treasury of the Motor Boat Club was quite flush at that particular time. On one of their former cruises, up on the Great Lakes, and in the vicinity of the Thousand Islands, these lads had been instrumental in bringing to justice a set of rogues, for whose apprehension a large reward had been offered by the authorities. That sum, with others picked up in various ways, had been lying at interest all this while. They had intended using it for their next cruise, no matter where that might happen to take them. Various indeed had been the suggestions made from time to time; and some of them bordering on the ridiculous. Strange to say, it was Nick Longfellow, the companion of George Rollins on the narrow beam speed boat _Wireless_, who gave utterance to most of these absurd propositions. Nick was fat, and a tremendous eater. As a rule he could not be said to be at all bold by nature; and yet he declared that nothing would please him half so much as that they explore the Orinoco River in South America, and discover things never before known by white people. Then there had been Josh Purdue, the tall and thin assistant of Herbert Dickson on the beamy and steady if slow _Comfort_, who wanted them to lose themselves for an entire month in the depths of the swampy country to be found along the St. Francis River. But when Jack sprung his sensation about the long trip down the coast, and around to New Orleans, it took like wildfire, and every other idea was speedily forgotten. Preparations were hurried, the boats shipped, and later on the boys turned up in Philadelphia, where they found their craft waiting for them. And now, here they were, at noon on this late September day, with the prows of their beloved boats turned toward the south, and plowing the waters of the Delaware, the Quaker City left far astern. Doubtless many aboard the bustling tugs, and the vessels that came and went, smiled as they heard the merry tooting of horns exchanged between the three little power boats that were speeding along toward the wider reaches of the lower river. They easily guessed that the boys had a good time ahead of them; but truth to tell not one could have imagined the extent of the voyage upon which the Motor Boat Club had now set out, with so confident a mien. Taken as a whole, a merrier set of young chaps could hardly have been assembled than the six who constituted this same club. They had, of course, their faults; but by now they were so accustomed to each other's society that seldom was a discordant note heard. Jokes abounded, tricks were sometimes played, and accepted with good nature; and without exception the boys had become very fond of each other. For instance, there was stout roly-poly Nick, who could never tear his mind away from his favorite subject of eating, and whom thin and cadaverous Josh liked to tantalize whenever the occasion offered, because he himself, while a great cook, seldom found much appetite for his own messes, being troubled from time to time with indigestion. Then Jimmy, who, it can easily be understood, had sprung from the rollicking Irish race, possessed a fine voice, as sweet as that of any girl; and many the time did he beguile an evening at the campfire with his songs and his clever dancing. Jimmy, by the way, happened to have a fiery thatch, a multitude of freckles, and upon occasions lapsed into the brogue of his ancestors, although he could talk as well as the others when he chose. George had the speed mania. This had developed early in his career, for his one delight was to outstrip others in a race. Consequently, when he had his boat built, he sacrificed lots of things to have it narrow in beam, and naturally it was anything but a pleasure to be aboard the cranky craft. His mate, Nick, had suffered in the past from this condition of affairs; and the log of former cruises would show that he had met with more than one mishap because it was necessary to perfectly balance the _Wireless_ at all times. Poor Nick often declared that if he chanced to fail to part his hair directly in the middle, trouble was sure to follow. The _Comfort_, as its name would indicate, had been fashioned on just the opposite plan, and speed was the last thing considered. They made all manner of fun of Herbert's boat, and called it such derogatory names as "The Tub" and "The Ark"; but all the same, when hurry was not an object, those aboard certainly had the best of the controversy. And then the quick-going boats always had to wait for Herb and his "life-raft," so they did not gain anything in the end. Then about the third craft, called the _Tramp_, and owned by the recognized leader of the sextette, Jack Stormways. It united the good qualities of both the other boats in that it was fast and at the same time steady. While on occasion the cigar-shaped _Wireless_ could leave Jack in the lurch, and the beamy _Comfort_ give more elbow room, taken as a whole the _Tramp_ was the ideal cruiser; and both the other skippers knew it away down in their secret hearts, though always ready to stand up for their own boats. It was close on the beginning of October when they made their start from the City of Brotherly Love. For some time they would have to dodge the many vessels that were moving hither and thither before the busy port; but later in the afternoon they could expect to have clearer weather, where the river widened out, with the shores farther apart. For once George moderated his pace, and hovered near the others. He felt so joyous over the sensation of being once more afloat, and with such a glorious voyage ahead, that he wanted to be where he could exchange remarks with his chums, and hear what they thought. George had been doing considerable pottering with his engine lately. He claimed that he had been able to increase its speed several miles an hour. "Wait till I get a good chance to show you, fellows," he now remarked, with a satisfied air; "why, I expect to make rings around your blooming old _Tramp_, Jack; and as for "The Ark," why, it'll be figure eights for hers." "Wow! don't I just see my finish, then," wailed poor, fat Nick, shaking his head sorrowfully. "The vibration always was just fierce, and now it'll just rattle me, so I'll be only skin and bones. You'll be calling me the Living Skeleton before we ever get to Jacksonville, I bet you, boys." "Oh, when it gets so you just can't stand it any longer, call on Josh here to change off with you, like he did once before," laughed Herbert. "Josh is built on the order of a match, and seems to be especially suited for a narrow-beam boat." But the party mentioned did not seem to like the prospect any better than Nick, to judge from the protest he immediately put out. "Me to stick to the _Comfort_, fellows. One thing sure, if you are last, you always know where you're at; and that's what I never did when on that broncho of a _Wireless_. Why, it threw me twice; and souse I went into the drink." "But just think, Josh," insinuated cunning Nick, "all this shaking would be the best thing ever for that indigestion of yours. It rattles up the liver, and does a heap of good. I don't need that sort of thing, you see. Last time you bunked with George you know you improved a hundred per cent." "Huh! mebbe," grunted Josh, "but it wasn't worth it, I tell you." "Look at that tug bucking up against the tide, will you?" exclaimed George just then--being humiliated by all this talk about the cranky qualities of his pet, and anxious to call their attention elsewhere in order to change the subject. "Must be a greenhorn at the wheel, or else the fellow's had more drink than he had ought to tackle," declared Nick. "He sure does wobble a heap," admitted Jack, keeping a wary eye on the approaching craft, lest it foul his own boat, and bring sudden disaster on the cruise which had begun so auspiciously. "But perhaps that's a trick these river pilots have when heading up into an ebb tide. They know all the wrinkles of the game, I guess, and how to save themselves from wasted efforts." "Say, that rowboat had better look out; if he makes a quick turn with the tug he's apt to run the little punkin seed down," George declared, with a note of anxiety in his voice; for he was nervous by nature, as his love for racing and making high speed would indicate. "That pilot must be watching us all the time, wondering whatever we're heading for down the river, because the duck shooting below isn't on yet. There! he's swung about again! I hope he don't knock that rowboat galley west!" called Herbert. "Hey! look to your starboard--you're running down a boat!" shouted Jack, dropping his wheel for three seconds in order to make a speaking trumpet with both hands. There was a brief interval of suspense. Then came a plain crash, accompanied by loud shouts, and more or less excitement aboard the tug that was heading up river way. "He did it!" bellowed Josh, fairly wild with eagerness. "Oh! I'm afraid the poor fellow will be drowned before that tug can come about and go to his rescue. Turn your bally old tub, Herb, can't you? It takes a whole day for you to get around." "No use of our trying it," declared the skipper of the big roomy _Comfort_, calmly, for nothing could start Herb out of his customary condition of mental poise, because he is as steady in his way as his boat; "he'd be drowned twice over before we reached him. Besides, there goes Jack in his _Tramp_, shooting straight for the smashed rowboat. Unless the poor fellow was injured and has already sank our chum will get him all right, Josh." "That's right," declared Josh. "George has gone and got flustrated, so that he turned the wrong way; but if anybody can save that fellow it's Jack Stormways. Oh! I hope he does it, because I'll take it as a good sign that our new voyage down the coast is going to have a lucky start!" CHAPTER II. A GOOD OMEN FOR THE START. Jack Stormways was always prepared. He never lost his head in an emergency, for which more than one of his chums had had reason to be thankful in times past. So, on the present occasion, when he saw that the tug could not make a complete circuit against the running tide and reach the wrecked rowboat in time to be of any assistance to the unfortunate who had been hurled into the Delaware, Jack instantly headed the little motor boat for the spot. "Get up in the bow with you, Jimmy, quick now, and take the boathook along! I'll slow down when we get there; and perhaps you can grab him in!" the skipper called out. Accustomed to obeying, Jimmy made haste to snatch up the implement mentioned, and which had many the time proved its value in recovering things that had been swept overboard in a wind storm. Then he hurried to gain a position near the bow of the boat, where he crouched, after making sure of his footing, so as to guard against a shock when he clapped the boathook into the clothing of the drowning man. "I see him, Jack!" he bawled immediately. "He's holding to the boat, so he is!" "All right, Jimmy," echoed the skipper, calmly; "I glimpsed him before you did, I reckon. Steady yourself now, and try not to make a foozle of it, old man. There you are. Jimmy; get him!" And Jimmy did the same, catching the coat of the man in the water with his boathook, and holding on tenaciously. Jack, meanwhile, turned his engine backward, so that the momentum of the boat was promptly checked. The man had been clinging to the rapidly sinking wreckage. In another half minute, no doubt, he would have been left without any support; and as he did not seem able to swim a stroke, his end must have speedily come. Jimmy drew in with the haft of the boat-hook, until he could stretch down and seize upon the collar of the man's coat. As the Irish lad was brawny and nerved just then to mighty deeds, he managed to hoist the fellow into the little motor boat. The unlucky man was white, and pretty nearly drowned. He had just had enough sense to cling desperately to the wreck of his boat, and then allow Jimmy to do the rescue act. "Did you get hurt when that tug struck your boat?" asked Jack, for that was what he feared. The man was blinking at him, for his eyes had taken in more or less of the brackish water of the river; but he shook his head in the negative. This relieved Jack more than a little. Like Josh, he had been hoping that in the very beginning of their new cruise a wet blanket might not be cast over the spirits of the party by their witnessing the drowning of a poor chap. "Here comes the tug down after us," remarked Jimmy. "I suppose the omadhauns 'll be expressing their regrets for the accident. Sure, it was criminal carelessness, if ever there was a case. And ye'll be silly, sor, if so be ye don't make 'em pay for the boat they smashed." By degrees the man seemed to come out of the half stupor into which his sudden immersion in the waters of the river had thrown him. "They just got to," he grumbled, shaking his head; "for 'twas a borrowed boat, an' I can't pay for a new one." "We'll try and see you through," said Jack. "If they think we're ready to tell what we saw, they'll not only pay you good damages, but take you ashore in the bargain." "That's the ticket!" declared Jimmy, quite taken with the idea of frightening the captain of the tug into doing the right thing by his victim. Presently the tug came alongside, and an anxious voice called out: "Was he much hurt, boys? I'm sorry it happened. Second accident of the week, and such things don't do a man's reputation as a pilot any good." "Well," replied Jack, promptly, "suppose you whack up for his boat, and a suit of clothes for the man; then take him ashore, and none of us will say a word about the accident, as you call it, but which looked mighty like criminal carelessness to us." There was a brief interval of silence, during which the two men in the wheel-house of the tug seemed to be conferring. "How much does he want, my lad?" asked one, presently thrusting his head and shoulders out, so that Jack could have almost shaken hands had he wished. "The boat ought to be worth fifteen dollars; and say ten more to get him a new suit. That's letting you down easy, my friend," called the skipper of the _Tramp_. "Oh, well, I guess I'll have to stand it, though I don't believe the old tub was worth five. Here you are, bub; and if you chuck the feller across to us, we'll dry him off, and land him somewhere above." Jack eagerly took the proffered bills, and thrust them into the hand of the man who had been so happily rescued. "Here you are, and good luck to you," he said, cheerily. "Do you think you can get aboard the tug now, my man?" The other had gripped the several bank bills eagerly; but at the same time a look of caution came into his eyes. "Say, mister, can't you manage to drop me ashore somewhere below here?" he asked, in a hoarse whisper. "Well, it wouldn't be altogether convenient," replied Jack, hesitating; and then as he saw the pilot of the tugboat watching them, with a grin on his face, a sudden realization as to what the rescued man feared broke in upon him. "They might make me give it back again, ye see, after I got dried off," continued the poor fellow, who evidently had not held so much money in his hand for many a long day. "By George! that's so!" Nick was heard to exclaim; for the _Wireless_ had crept up, and now lay right alongside the _Tramp_. Jack was quick to make a decision, and as a rule his first thought was the right one, too. "I'll land you myself!" he declared, sturdily; "it won't take much time. And I guess a good deed done in the beginning of the voyage ought to bring us luck to pull out of many a bad hole." Then raising his voice and addressing the man at the wheel of the tug, Jack continued: "We'll set him ashore below, Captain. You see, he doesn't want to ride up to the city; neither do you prefer to have him go. It's all right; we'll say nothing of what we saw to anybody. So long, Captain!" And without waiting for an answer Jack simply started his motor, upon which the _Tramp_ shot away from the tug. Looking back, Jack saw the two men conferring, but he felt sure they would allow things to rest. "That negligence cost him twenty-five dollars, you see, Jimmy; and perhaps he'll keep his eyes about him after this, when he's on the move. It's lucky for him, as well as for our friend here, that a human life was not snuffed out in the bargain." "And do we head for the shore now, Jack?" queried the mate and cook. "As soon as I find out which side the wrecked mariner wants to land on," replied the skipper, turning to his passenger. "Just suit yourself, sir," spoke up the man, into whose face the color was once more beginning to creep, as he looked frequently at the wad of greenbacks, which he continued to caress with his fingers, as though the very feel of them did his heart good. "But which side do you live on?" persisted Jack, wishing to do the best he could for the fellow. "Well, now, I live over in Jersey, near Bridgeport," said the man; "but I was goin' across to Lamokin in Pennsylvania, on a chance to get work. So if you'll put me ashore anywhere below here, I can walk up the railroad track to the junction." Jack immediately headed shoreward. "Take things easy, fellows, and we'll catch up with you before you've gone many miles," he called out to those in the other boats, since there seemed no necessity for all of them to leave the middle of the river just to land one man. It was no trouble to get close in on the Pennsylvania shore; the case might have been different over in Jersey, where they could see that marshland abounded at this point. "Here you are; just step ashore on that rock; and good luck with you, friend!" Jack sang out, as Jimmy piloted the boat alongside a section of the shore, using his favorite boat-hook in so doing. "Shake hands first, please, young sir," said the other, who appeared to be a decent working man, for his palms were calloused with toil. "You sure done me a mighty good turn this day. I might a-died out there, only for the way you come to the rescue. I won't forget it in a hurry, I tell you." "Well, pass it along then," laughed Jack, grasping the other's hand at the same time. "Perhaps you'll run across some poor chap who's worse off than you are. Give him a helping hand, and we'll call the thing squared." "I will, just as sure as I live, I will, that. It's a good idea, too. And after gettin' me this money, I reckon ye saved it for me, by takin' me ashore. That tugboat captain looked like he'd a-made me fork over agin, once he had me aboard his craft." "I wouldn't be surprised if you were right," assented Jack. "Shake hands with Jimmy too, while you're about it, friend. He yanked you in like a good fellow. If your life was saved, Jimmy had a hand in it." After this ceremony had been carried out, the man managed to get ashore. Then the boathook was brought into use again to push off; and a minute or two later they were chugging along down-stream, heading once more toward the middle of the broadening river. Jimmy waved to the man several times, until finally they lost sight of him as he gained the railroad track, and started north. "Anyway, that was a good beginning, Jimmy," remarked Jack, in a satisfied tone. "It sure was, for that bog-trotter," chuckled the other. "His ould boat wasn't worth more'n five dollars, as the tug captain sez, an' here he sells it for three toimes the sum. His clothes'll be dry on his back before an hour, in this warm sun; an' he has a noice tin dollars to buy new garments wid. It's the luckiest day av his life, so it is." "Well, I rather think that adventure did net him a cool twenty," laughed Jack. "Not so bad for a dip in the river." "He naded a bath, too, so he did," declared Jimmy. "An, mark my word, he'd be willing to kape it up all the blissed day at the same price, so he would. Now we're safe out from the rocks along the shore, why not hit her up, an' overhaul the rist av the bunch, Jack?" "Right you are, and here goes," sang out the other. "Take the wheel, Jimmy, and look out for anything in the way. I want to watch how the engine works. You know, George wasn't the only one who overhauled his motor after our fun this last summer." "She is makin' better toime than she iver did in her whole blissed life!" cried the delighted Jimmy, presently, after Jack had been working at the engine a spell. "Be the powers! I do belave we kin give George a race for his money nixt toime he challenges us, so I do. Hurroo! we're flyin' over the wather, Jack!" "Less talk, and keep your eyes in front of you!" called the other. "If you get as careless as that tugboat man, we'll be smashing into something, too. And then good-bye to all our hopes for a jolly voyage down the coast." "Aw! 'tis me that is boring the wather with me eyes all the toime, Jack dear; and never a thing as could escape me aigle vision. I'm a broth of bhoy when it comes to steering a boat, do ye mind." The stream was wide, and there were far less vessels moving up or down than had been the case above, so that, just as Jimmy declared, it was an easy job to keep clear of obstructions. Jack had become intensely interested in the splendid working of his reconstructed motor. He was watching its pulsations, and experimenting in many little ways, in order to find out just how to get the maximum of speed from it. And then, all at once, he heard Jimmy give utterance to an exclamation that might be freighted with either curiosity or alarm--perhaps both. Hardly knowing what to expect, the skipper of the little _Tramp_ struggled to his knees, and then drew himself erect, to make a discovery that thrilled him through and through. CHAPTER III. JACK TAKES A HYDRO-AEROPLANE MESSAGE. "Oh! murder! what a big birrd!" Jimmy was crying out. A shadow had fallen upon the water close by, and the distant cries of the other young motor boat boys could be faintly heard. Jack, looking hastily up, saw a strange thing that had extended wings like a monster bird, apparently swooping down toward the surface of the wide river. Of course he knew that it was an up-to-date flying machine, and the presence of aluminum pontoons under the body of the contrivance also told him that for the first time in his life he was looking at a hydro-aeroplane, capable of alighting on the water and starting up again, after the manner of a wild duck. Even as the two in the _Tramp_ stared, the queer contrivance skipped along the surface of the Delaware, sending the water in spray on either side. Then it seemed to settle contentedly there, not ten feet away from the motor boat. There was a young fellow squatted in the seat where the various levers could be controlled. He was dressed after some odd fancy of his own, calculated to serve in the cool air of the upper strata. To Jimmy the vision was very startling. "Why, say, it's a real birdman after all, Jack!" he cried, as though he had only discovered this remarkable fact after the machine had come to a stop close by. The aviator laughed aloud. "What did you think it was, young fellow, an old-time roc come back to life?" he called out; waving a hand at them cheerfully. Jack had shut off the engine at the time he heard the first exclamation from his teammate, and at this time they were hardly more than moving with the ebb tide, so that in reality the boat drew closer to the hydro-aeroplane with each passing second. "You gave us a little start, that's all," laughed Jack. "Of course, I knew what it was as soon as I saw the pontoons underneath. They seem to do the trick first rate, too. Seems to me I'd like to sail in one of those things, if I ever had the chance." "It's a great experience, all right," replied the aviator; "but the way things are going right now, only a very few fellows are fitted for the work. But are you in company with those other two jolly little boats way off yonder?" "That's right," sang out Jimmy, determined to have his little say with the bold navigator of the upper currents; "we're all chums, an' it's the Motor Boat Club we do be represinting. Along the coast we're bound, on a long cruise, by the same token." The young fellow appeared interested at once. "Say, that's nice," he remarked. "I bet you'll have a bully good time of it, too. Headed up or down, may I ask?" He sat there, as much at his ease as though on an ocean steamer, instead of a frail little machine that sprawled upon the heaving waves very much as Jack had seen a big "darning needle," known also as a "mosquito hawk," do on occasion. "Florida, by the inside route, and then perhaps along the gulf to New Orleans," replied the skipper of the _Tramp_, in as careless a voice as he could command, just as though a voyage that might cover a thousand or two miles was hardly worth mentioning. The owner of the hydro-aeroplane whistled, to indicate his surprise. His whole manner showed the keen interest he immediately took in such a glorious prospect; and Jack guessed instantly from this that he possessed the true love for outdoor life and sport. "That's simply immense," remarked the other, with what might seem like an envious sigh. "I can see where your little crowd have a mighty fine time ahead. Wish I could get off to accompany you; but even if I had an invite, my contracts with the company would not allow me. But later on I am to give some exhibitions in the South; and wouldn't it be strange now if we happened to meet up with each other again?" Jack rather liked his looks, and of course immediately expressed the hope that circumstances might throw them together again some fine day. "I'd be glad to see more of you, and learn something about your experiences, for ten to one you've seen some rough times in your air journeys," he remarked, as he leaned on the side of the _Tramp's_ cabin, and let his wondering eyes travel over the peculiar mechanism of the queer air and water craft combined. "Well, rather," smiled the other, nodding his head in a friendly way, as though possibly he had been taken just as much by the frank and fearless face of the motor boat skipper as Jack was by his countenance and bearing. "Might I ask what your names are, in case we ever do run together again?" He had a notebook and pencil in his hands while speaking, and Jack quite willing to oblige, called off the roster of the Motor Boat Club, with the names of the three craft included. "This is a great pleasure to me, I give you my word, Jack," remarked the young fellow, as he thrust the memorandum book once more in his pocket. "Never dreamed of such good luck when I took a notion to swoop down, and see what three bully little craft were doing, headed for Delaware Bay. Going all the way to Florida, you say; and by the inside passage, too? I wonder, now, would that happen to take you in the neighborhood of Beaufort, North Carolina?" An eager expression had suddenly flashed across his face, and Jack saw his eyes sparkle, as with anticipation; though for the life of him he could not understand just why this should be so, unless the said Beaufort happened to have been the home port of the hydro-aeroplane flier, and the mere thought of their being in that vicinity gave him a homesick thrill. "Why, yes, I remember that I've got Beaufort marked on the chart as one of our stopping places," Jack hastened to reply. "Could I do anything for you while there? I'd be quite willing to oblige you--er, by the way, you haven't told us your name in return for having ours!" "That's a fact, I haven't," he replied, quickly, but Jack thought with just a trifle of embarrassment; "it's Malcolm Spence." "Oh! I believe I've read a lot about your doings with one of these air and water fliers. There were some pretty stirring accounts of your trips in the papers out our way not long ago!" Jack exclaimed, looking at the young fellow with considerable admiration; since hero worship has just as strong a hold upon the human heart in these modern days as in times of old, when knights went forth to do battle with dragons, and all kinds of terrible monsters. "I believe they have been showing me up, more or less; but I try to avoid those newspaper men all I can, because they stretch things so," young Spence modestly remarked. "That's why I come down here to try out any new little wrinkle I may happen to have hit on. A week ago I started off the deck of a Government war vessel, a big cruiser, went up a thousand feet, dropped to the water, and last of all landed again in the same place from which I started--all to prove how valuable a hydro-aeroplane would be in case of real war." "Yes, I was reading about that while we were on the way here, but somehow didn't remember the name of the one who had done it," Jack went on, while the little motor boat and the new-fangled contraption that seemed perfectly at home in the air or floating on the waves kept company on the tide of the river. "Did I understand you to say that you would be willing to do me a little favor, if it didn't put you to much inconvenience?" asked Spence, his voice trembling with an eagerness that Jack could not help noticing. "Certainly we will, if it lies in our power," he answered promptly. "They never was a more obliging gossoon in the wide worrld than this same Jack Stormways, and ye can depind on that!" exploded Jimmy, thinking it about time he injected his personality into the conversation, since he did not wish to be an utter nonentity. Malcolm Spence thrust a hand into his tightly buttoned leather coat. When he brought it out Jack saw that it held what looked like a small packet, which, after all, might be a letter, though it was sealed. "I wanted to get this to a party by the name of Van Arsdale Spence," he said, hurriedly, as though afraid that they might back out after all from their kind proposition; "but I knew he no longer lived in Beaufort, and I had no means of finding his present address. So, instead of mailing it, I have carried the thing around with me for three weeks, intending when I went South to make inquiries and send it to his new address, if so be he was far away." "All right, then," declared Jack, stretching out his hand promptly; "I'll promise to do everything in my power to get it into his possession. Failing, you must give me some address through which I can reach you, to tell you it was no go." "Here's my card, with the address of the makers of this machine. A letter will always get to me if sent in their care, because, you see, I'm under a three years' contract to exhibit this invention, and add new ideas of my own. But I do hope you may be able to find the party. I'd like that packet to fall into his hands as soon as possible. Too much time has already been lost. Please keep it safe, will you, Jack?" The skipper of the _Tramp_ accepted the little packet in a serious manner that no doubt impressed the other favorably. "Depend on me to do my level best for you; that's all any fellow could promise, Mr. Spence," he said, simply, as he stowed the article away in an inside pocket of his coat. "Shake hands, please, both of you!" exclaimed the birdman, heartily, stretching across the little gap that separated him from the motor boat; "I only wish it had been my good fortune to meet up with you earlier." The formality of shaking hands was concluded with more or less difficulty, owing to the fact that the wings of the aeroplane extended far on either side, and kept the boat off; but in the end they managed fairly well, though the eager Jimmy came near falling overboard in his ambitious stretching, deeming it a great honor to have pressed the hand of one about whom there was so much being printed in the papers. "Good luck go with you, boys!" called out the young aviator, as he prepared to once more leave the surface of the water, and soar aloft into airy space. "Give my regards to Herbert, Josh, George and Nick, and tell them I hope some day in the near future to make their personal acquaintance. I'm sure you must be a jolly bunch; and what glorious times you have ahead! And I also hope you get track of the party that packet is addressed to, Jack; it means much to me, I tell you." "I'll do everything in my power to find him, and give it personally into his hands, Malcolm, I promise you. Shall I tell him how queerly we met?" Jack went on. "Yes, and how some blessed inspiration caused me to believe there was more than accident about our coming together, with you just on the way down South by the coast route. So long, fellows; and again the best of luck to you all." "Same to you!" called Jimmy, as he heard the motor of the hydro-aeroplane begin to whirr, and saw the strange contrivance start to spin along the little waves, once more sending the spray on either side. Then it began to rise in the air with perfect freedom. They saw the daring young aviator wave his hand in parting as he sped away, circling upwards until he was hundreds of feet aloft, and constantly gaining. "Wow! wouldn't that make ye wink, now, Jack darlint?" exclaimed Jimmy, as he twisted his neck badly in the endeavor to follow the course of the wonderful machine that seemed as much at home in one element as the other. Jack made no reply. He was bending down to start his own motor once more, and upon his face there might have been seen an expression that told of mingled resolution and curiosity. Yes, he would do everything possible to deliver this strange missive that Malcolm Spence had entrusted to his care, apparently on the impulse of the moment; at the same time Jack would not have been human, and a boy, had he not experienced more or less wonder as to what that same communication might contain. But the mystery was one that must remain such to the end of the chapter, since the deep sense of honor that always went with his actions would positively prevent his trying to ascertain what that sealed packet contained. "Hey! get busy there, Jimmy!" he called out; "we're going to start again, and make for the other boats. They've pulled up, and are waiting for us to join them. And, believe me, those fellows are just eating their heads off with envy, because they must have seen that we were hobnobbing with a real birdman, who could scoot along the water as easily as a flying-fish. All ready, are you? Then here she goes, Jimmy," and immediately the merry hum of the motor sounded. CHAPTER IV. THE FIRST CAMPFIRE ASHORE. "Ahoy there, _Tramp_! What's all this mean?" That was George hailing through his megaphone, as Jack and Jimmy drew near the spot where the other boats were waiting. Jack simply waved his hand, to indicate that all in good time the other fellows would hear the news; and that he did not mean to strain his voice shouting across a stretch of water, when there was no necessity. Presently the three craft were moving along abreast, down the river, and only a little distance apart. It might be noticed that while the _Wireless_ hung on the starboard quarter, the _Comfort_ was just as near on the port side; and thus conversation was made easy. "Now spin us the yarn, partner," spoke up impatient George, who did everything in a hurry, though a mighty good comrade all the same. "Yes," broke in Nick, who was also in the same narrow boat, as usual gripping the sides, as though to steady his fat form; "believe me, fellows, we're consumed with curiosity to know what that chap in the aeroplane wanted with you." "Say," came from the lanky Josh, squatted in the roomy _Comfort_, with his long legs doubled up under him, after the manner of a Turk; "what d'ye think, Jack, Nick here kinder expected to see you toddle aboard that hydroplane, and take a spin up among the clouds. Said 'twould be just like your luck to get hold of such a bully chance." "Well, hardly," laughed Jack. "But we did make the acquaintance of a pretty fine young fellow, the same we've been reading about so much lately--Malcolm Spence." "Oh, say! why couldn't we have been along?" grunted George, disconsolately; "for if ever there was a fellow I'd give a heap to meet up with, he's the one. It's a shame, next door to a crime, that we got left out of the deal. But go on, Jack, old chum, and tell us all he said." Jack accordingly proceeded to do so. He was frequently interrupted by Jimmy, who fancied that he was neglecting some important feature of the story. Between them everything was presently told. And the other four hung upon the narration to the last word. "Let's see that queer old packet, Jack," said Herb. "That's so; give us a squint at it, anyhow," Nick demanded. So the skipper of the _Tramp_ took the letter out carefully and held it up. "Excuse me for not passing it around, fellows," he remarked, "but I gave my word it shouldn't go out of my possession until I'd found the party mentioned. From the way the young chap acted, I guess it must be more or less valuable, to him and this same party, anyhow." "What is the name on the envelope--you can tell me that, can't you?" asked Josh. "Van Arsdale Spence," replied the bearer of the missive, as he just as carefully replaced it in his pocket. "Hey! that's the same last name as his, ain't it?" remarked George. "Spence--yes, and it may be some relation of his, perhaps a brother or father. But, fellows, that's none of our business, remember. Now, let's talk of other things, and forget that little adventure for a time." Jack generally had his way, and in this case his chums realized that he was certainly right. So they started talking about their immediate plans for the first night out. "We'll go ashore if we can, boys, and build a rousing fire," said Nick, whose one great delight, outside of eating, was seeing a bonfire burn; and, indeed, he always declared some of his remote ancestors must have been real fire worshippers. "Yes, that would be a good idea," Jack admitted. "There's no telling how often on this trip we'll find ourselves forced to eat and sleep aboard, so when the opportunity offers we might as well get out to stretch our legs." "Great scheme," declared Josh, who, being considerably longer than any one of his shipmates, suffered more in consequence of cramped quarters. "Only one thing wrong," grunted Nick, shaking his head. "I can guess he's thinking of eating right now," flashed Josh, who knew the symptoms in his companion only too well. "Well, Mister Smarty, for once you hit the nail on the head," grinned the fat boy. "I just happened to think of something we hadn't ought to have forgotten to fetch along for our first meal." "What was that?" demanded Jack. "Why, when I looked over that list of things you got up, Jack, blessed if there was anything else I could think of," said George; "but it takes my mate here to have 'em all in his mind, even if he can't cook like Josh." "Let's hear what we forgot, then, Nick!" demanded Herb. "Oysters!" immediately cried the other, triumphantly. "This is the country for the delicious bivalve, I understand, and the season is on. I'd made up my mind some time ago, when this trip was first planned, that I was going to have lots of feasts in that line. When a fellow lives away back on the Mississippi River he gets mighty few chances for real fresh oysters, you know, and I do love 'em so much!" "And a few more things in the bargain," chuckled Josh, who never could resist a chance to get in a sly dig at his friend. "Lots of 'em," replied the stout boy, calmly, and without a blush. "But I thought you understood all about that," remarked Jack. "We expect to pick up all the oysters we want on the way, so there was no use laying in a supply at the start, when we needed room for more important stores." "Depend on it, Nick, you'll get all the bivalves you want before we're through with this cruise," Herb prophesied. "Bring 'em on, then," boasted Nick. "I'm ready to tackle a mountain of 'em right off the reel, in the shell or out. Never believed I could get enough oysters. But about what time do we go ashore, boys?" "He's getting hungry already, I do believe?" cried Josh. "Honest, now, to keep that fellow from complaining, there ought to be a bag of crackers and cheese hung up all the time within his reach, so he could take a snack every hour or two. I reckon those fat legs of his'n must be hollow, for how else could he stow away all the grub he does? He's a regular Oliver Twist, calling for more, more!" Nick took all this in the best of humor. He even grinned, just as though he might look on it as some sort of compliment. "I guess I was born hungry, and never got over the complaint," he observed; "but that don't answer my question, Jack. It's near four o 'clock, right now, and it gets dark not a great while after six, you know." "All right, then; in about another hour we'll think of looking up a creek along the shore, and make a snug harbor. Then for a fire, and a supper, the first of the new cruise," the skipper of the _Tramp_ replied. "Hear! hear! only another hour to wait," declared Nick, waving his hat exultantly. "Think you can hold out that long?" demanded Josh. "I'll try," said Nick, meekly, as he drew an apple from one of his pockets, and proceeded to calmly munch the same. "I give you my word, boys," said George, solemnly, "that's the seventh he's bit into since we left the dock. Two did for me; and I can see still more bunching up in his pockets. If he gets faint, I'll hand him a cracker box to open. But I've some hopes the apples will be a life preserver." Jack presently began to increase the speed of the flotilla. He wanted to get as far down the river as possible before being compelled to put up for the night. And having glanced at his, charts, he knew that they must cover a number of miles ere they reached a tributary flowing into the Delaware at this point. Five o'clock came around at last. Josh remarked that he was pleased to see Nick still holding out, and that he had not wasted away to a mere shadow. "Now we head in toward the western shore, and keep our eyes on the lookout for the mouth of a creek that ought to be along down here," Jack called out, as he began to gradually alter the course of his boat. Of course, this pleased them quite a little, as marking a change in the monotony of the afternoon run. And truth to tell, Nick was not the only fellow who enjoyed looking forward to supper time beside a roaring fire. "Hey! that looks like an opening below us, Jack!" called George, who was in the bow of the _Wireless_, steering, leaving to Nick the duty of attending to other matters connected with the management of the speed boat, especially its balance. "You're right, George, that's just what it is, the mouth of the creek; so slow up everybody, and we'll go in." Impetuous George was the first to turn into the tributary. After running up a short distance, the prospect for a camp not improving, Jack called out: "It looks as if it might get worse instead of better, so let's stop off here. There are a few trees anyway, and we can get all the wood we need. Head in, George, and make a landing." Presently all of them stepped ashore. Although their surroundings did not appeal very heartily to lads accustomed to dense timber, with all that implies, still they knew how to make the best of a bad bargain. Nick began to gather firewood at once, and some of the others helped, so that in a brief time a fire was started that at least made things look a bit more comfortable and home-like, as Nick said, while puffing like a porpoise in his labors. The cruisers had been securely tied up, since there was no danger of any storm out on the river dashing them against the shore in this peaceful harbor. Having brought the mess chests ashore, together with what cooking things they needed, the boys began preparations for supper. Many hands make light work, and Jack utilized every one for some purpose. Some laid in a supply of wood, others opened cans, while Josh, being the boss cook of the crowd, took charge of the menu. Meanwhile night began to settle around them, and with the coming darkness a swarm of insect pests developed. "Whoop!" cried Nick, as he made his fat arms swing around his head like a couple of old-time flails; "what d'ye call all this, tell me? Every time I open my mouth a dozen hop right in. Talk to me about skeeters, these must be the frisky Jersey brand we've heard so much about." "Say, it's lucky Jack thought to get nets for us all in Philadelphia," remarked Herb, as he too waved the invaders aside when they harried him. "No sleeping ashore for me here," declared George. "The varmints would carry a fellow off bodily, I do believe." A little breeze springing up caused the insects to drop into the grass again, so that the boys had some peace. Supper being ready, they finally sat around, and started to partake of the first meal of the great cruise. As they were furiously hungry of course everything tasted just splendid; but then it was good without any starvation sauce to tempt them, for Josh had always proved a remarkably clever cook, even though caring so little himself for eating. After the edge of their appetites had been taken off, the six boys began to chat and joke. Josh was pleased to get a chance to sing one of his little ditties, and required very little urging, after the meal was over, and the things cleared away. It was mighty nice, sitting there in comfortable attitudes, listening to Josh sing, and with the flames jumping up as Nick threw another armful of fuel on the fire. Now and then one of them would make a hurried slap at some over-strenuous mosquito that insisted on having his meal, too; but, taken in all, the boys were enjoying it tremendously. "When does the moon show up?" asked Herb, after a time. "Why, it's already up there in the west, and a fair-sized crescent, too," remarked Jack. "Each night it'll get bigger, until we have it full. That's the time I like most of all, when she hangs up there like a big round shield, and the waves dance as if they were made of silver." "Listen to Jack getting poetical!" laughed George. "Well, who wouldn't, when you can hear the lap of the little waves out there on the creek?" replied Jack, instantly. "And there, that must have been a fish jumping, the way they told us the mullet do down South." "Yes," said Nick, "me to get one of those castnets, and pull 'em in at every throw. No danger of a fellow getting hungry in that country, I guess." "If you didn't get hungry where would be the pleasure in living, tell me that?" demanded Josh. Before Nick could frame any reply there suddenly broke out the most terrible roaring sound any of the boys had ever heard. It seemed to come from right off the surface of the dark creek close by, and gave poor Nick such a fright that he almost fell into the fire upon attempting to struggle to his feet, such was his clumsiness when excited. All of them forgot the comfort they had been enjoying, and scrambled erect. CHAPTER V. A STORM, AND NO REFUGE IN SIGHT. It was only natural that every one of the little party of cruisers should feel their hearts beating much faster than ordinary, as they were so startled by that horrible blast so near at hand. But Jack believed he had heard another sound close on the heels of the first, and which was not unlike a hoarse laugh. That indicated the presence of human beings; and, of course, would account for the roar that had disturbed their first camp ashore. Looking in the direction from whence the sounds had apparently proceeded, which was just below where their boats were pulled up, he could just manage to make out some bulky moving object; then the whipping of what seemed to be a discolored sail caught his eye, and he understood. Of course, it must be some boat, possibly belonging to oystermen who plied their trade out on the bay, close to which they now found themselves. Coming into the creek, which was possibly their regular harbor for night refuge, and discovering the fire as well as the boys, they had blown a fog horn just in the spirit of frolic, to give the boys a scare. Both men were laughing now at the success of their scheme, and one of them called out, with the idea of calming the bunch before they took to shooting, in their excitement, as greenhorns were liable to do under such conditions. "Hey, there! it's all right, boys; we're just oystermen, ye see, an' meanin' to come ashore to jine ye, 'fore we goes home. Got a dock a leetle ways up-creek. So hold yer guns, boys; no harm done, I reckons!" The sloop was run up on the sandy shore and both men jumped off. They proved to be honest chaps, and soon the boys were quite relieved of their first suspicious sensation at sight of such rough customers. These fellows had seldom looked on such dainty tricks as the three little motor boats. Accustomed to heavy craft, they shook their heads when they heard how Jack and his chums expected to make far distant Florida in such frail boats. "Never kin do it, boys, an' I knows it," declared the taller fellow. "But ye got the grit, all right, I reckons," added the other. "We expect to meet up with lots of trouble on the way," said Jack; "but then we've been through some experience, and know a little about managing these things. Often a boat like mine will live in a sea that would swamp a more clumsy craft. A canoe rides the waves like a duck, where a rowboat would fill and sink, being logy." "They may be somethin' in that same," remarked one of the oystermen; "but the chanct is, ye'll never make the riffle, boys. I hate to say that same; but right down in this Delaware Bay they's bad spots where ye kin git caught out in a blow, an' can't land. Many a fine boat's gone down as I know of." "An' if so be ye do make shore they's hard characters all along that section. Look out if ye happens to land near Murderkill Creek, that's all I kin say," his mate spoke up, quite seriously, for they seemed to have taken something of an interest in the boys, and their ambitious plans. "Goodness gracious! did you ever hear such a terrible name as that?" gasped Nick, looking pale, as his imagination worked overtime in picturing the dreadful things apt to be met with in a country where even the creeks bore such suggestive names. "Oh, sometimes things turn out less terrible than they seem!" laughed Jack, who had read something about this same creek, and felt no particular fear about making a camp along its border, should necessity compel such a thing. "Now, we got to be goin' home, 'case we got famblies waitin' for us; but we'll toss a lot o' oysters ashore here, if so be ye'd like to have 'em," the taller man remarked. "All right," spoke up Nick, so promptly that Jack was unable to get in a reply; "give us fifty cents' worth, if that'll buy a bushel. I feel like I could eat that many myself. Yum, yum, just think of the luck, fellows!" The men laughed, but took the money, since their business was gathering the bivalves, and there were doubtless many mouths to feed. And they certainly tossed a full bushel ashore before pushing off, to continue their run up the stream, to the dock they spoke of owning. Nick had galloped over to the _Wireless_, and was heard rummaging about at a tremendous rate, all the while lamenting the fact that he could not find what he was so eagerly searching for. "Oh, George! where did you ever hide that bully new oyster knife I bought up in Philadelphia?" he bellowed, as he raised his head above the side of the speed boat. "Never touched it," answered the other, promptly. "But I do remember seeing some such thing in that locker up in the bow, where the tools are kept." A triumphant squeal presently announced that Nick had unearthed his treasure; and over the side he came, making at once for the heap of bivalves. "You want to go slow with those things," warned Herb. "Oh, rats! I guess I know my capacity!" scoffed the fat boy, starting to rap a shell smartly, and then insert the end of the knife between its two jaws. "When I get enough I'll hold up." "You bet you will before you reach that point!" declared George, "because some of us hanker after oysters, too. But just remember how you cut your fingers with the shells the time we were down at New Orleans. And be careful: they may not hurt much now, but tomorrow they'll fair set you wild, boy." Nick only mumbled in reply. He was stuffing the first fat oyster into his mouth, and as this was an extra large specimen, it allowed of no room for words. The others soon got busy too, using such implements as they could find among the tools. Jack had a regular oyster knife, but none of the others had thought to provide themselves with such a necessary article, save Nick alone. But by degrees they tamed the oyster fiend, and would not let him have any more. Jimmy borrowed his knife, and amused himself in disposing of the juicy contents of numerous shells. And Josh, after swallowing several himself, proved to be a public benefactor by opening them for those who were green at the business. But after a time they cried quits, and began to think of going aboard again; for the venomous little pests were beginning to be very active, and kept them all busy slapping right and left. Once under their nets they found a solid comfort that fully compensated them for not being able to sleep ashore. And so the night passed. Nothing occurred to disturb them; and yet despite the calm, it is doubtful whether any of the six slept very well. The novelty of once more being away from civilization and starting on a long cruise that might bring all sorts of adventures in its train, kept them wakeful. Doubtless, too, memory carried them back to many scenes connected with past experiences; and they lived again in the various happenings marking those halcyon days. Up with the dawn some of them once more went ashore. The fire was started afresh and preparations for breakfast were under way by the time Nick made his appearance. He surveyed what was being done for a little time, and then lifted his voice in protest: "What! no oysters for breakfast? That's mighty funny, now. I expected to have 'em every meal, you know." Not getting any satisfaction from Josh, who was busy making some batter for the camp flapjacks, Nick wandered off. They soon heard him hard at work on oyster shells, though an occasional grunt told that he had cut his tender fingers with the sharp points. He did succeed in opening a few, which he insisted on cooking for his own breakfast; and Josh let him have his way; but it might have been noticed that Nick consumed his full share of the batter cakes; and even wistfully eyed a last one belonging to the cook, upon which Josh generously passed it along, saying that he was "full up." If any one ever saw Nick in that condition it did not readily occur to them, for the fat boy seemed to be built after the style of an omnibus, with always room for "just one more," with crowding. "Looks like a good day ahead," remarked Herb, glancing at the sky. "I was just thinking the other way," spoke up Jack. "Eh? What makes you tell us that, after hearing what those oystermen said about the danger we'd run, if we were caught in the big bay in a storm?" asked George; for his narrow-beam boat always threatened to turn turtle when the waves were very boisterous, and it kept him guessing continually. "Oh! well, I may be wrong; but I didn't altogether like the looks of those mottled clouds as the sun was coming up," Jack remarked. "And it was red, too, which I understand is always a bad sign," Nick put in. "If we could only get another lot of shell fish, I'd vote to stay right here for the day. Perhaps things would pick up by tomorrow." "Rats! Who's afraid?" laughed Josh, who knew he was sure of lots of comfort aboard the roomy boat belonging to Herb. It was, however, put to a vote, because Jack believed in majority ruling in matters affecting the whole crowd. Nick himself voted in favor of going on. Whether he did this because he was ashamed to show the white feather, or from fear lest they might not be able to secure a further supply of oysters, none of them ever really knew. But the motion to continue the cruise was carried unanimously. As they issued forth from the creek they found that the river seemed much wider than they had believed it to be. And apparently it would keep on that way, with the shores drawing further apart, until they found themselves on Delaware Bay, which in parts, Jack understood, to be something like twenty-five miles from side to side, an ocean in fact, for such small craft. "We must have been camping in Delaware last night, eh, Jack?" called out Herb, as the three boats ran along side by side, even George curbing his propensity for rushing ahead. "Sure we did," spoke up George. "I found out on the chart where we stopped. Look away over there in Jersey, and you'll see a cloud of smoke hovering over Salem. How about that, Jack; am I correct?" "That's Salem, all right; and we've got to start at a better pace than this if we hope to get anywhere before night. Hit her up, George, and we'll do the best we can to follow," Jack answered. This pleased the jaunty skipper of the _Wireless_ first-rate. He always liked to lead the procession, and set the pace for the rest. So, as the morning wore on, they made good progress. Of course the others were compelled to tone down their speed to suit the pace of the old _Comfort_, that just wallowed along in what George called a "good natured way." Boat and skipper were very much alike; but then that similarity also applied in the cases of George and his speed boat; yes, and with regard to Jack, too, who united the good qualities of both other skippers, as his craft did those of stability and speed. At noon they ate a lunch while still booming along; for Jack had discovered a bank of clouds coming up in the west that he did not just fancy, and hoped to make a certain point before the storm, if such there was in store for them, should break. "What's this mean, Jack?" asked George, a couple of hours later, falling back somewhat so that he might exchange words with the others. "Yes," said Herb at that; "it's getting as dark as the mischief. Guess we're going to have that storm Jack prophesied this morning, fellows." "Say, perhaps I'd better be shooting ahead, then," suggested George, uneasily. "You know this cranky boat of mine isn't the nicest thing going, to be in when the waves are rolling ten feet high. And it's so wide here, they'll beat that, in a pinch." "What would you be after going ahead for, then?" asked Jimmy. "So as to get to that creek with the lovely name we talked about," George replied, looking troubled, nevertheless. "I noted its position on the chart, and think I might find it." "But if the storm caught you beforehand, you'd be in a bad pickle, George!" declared Jack, soberly. "No, better all keep together. Then, if an accident happens, there's some chance for the others lending a helping hand. But we'll head in more toward the Delaware side, though if the wind strikes us from the east it'll be a bad place to be caught on a lee shore." Nothing more was said just then. They changed their course somewhat, and the three little motor boats continued to push steadily forward. Meanwhile the gloom seemed to gather around them, until even stout-hearted Jack shuddered a little as he surveyed the wide stretch of waters that had begun to tumble in the freshening wind, and thought what might happen if they could find no harbor, with a fierce late equinoctial gale sweeping across the dangerous bay. CHAPTER VI. A CLOSE SHAVE, BUT NO DAMAGE DONE. "See any signs of a harbor, Jack?" It was Nick who called this out, as he watched the skipper of the _Tramp_ swing the pair of binoculars he was handling along the shore ahead, while Jimmy had the wheel. "Not that I could say for certain," replied the other, lowering the glasses for a minute in order to rest his strained eyes. "I was trying to get our bearings; and from several things about the shore, that resemble the line of the chart, I begin to believe I know where we are." "Not near that awful Murderkill Creek, I hope?" spoke up Nick, shuddering. "What's the matter with you?" called George. "Any port in a storm, say I; and even if it happened to be Slaughter Creek, which I believe lies further on toward Lewes, I'd grab it in a hurry, if it came along. Don't you go to saying a single word against that sweet harbor. We'll rename it Paradise Creek, if only it serves us this day." As it was getting darker all the time, no wonder George had begun to feel nervous. Even though he saved himself, and Nick, should he lose his boat, it would almost break his heart; for in spite of her many and serious faults the jaunty skipper of the erratic _Wireless_ fairly loved the craft. "Yes, we are not many miles above Murderkill; and that or Jones Creek will have to be our destination; for we must have passed the Dona opening by mistake. But perhaps the storm will kindly hold off until we're all snug in a harbor." While Jack said this, in order to buoy up the downcast chums, deep down in his heart he believed that they were bound to be caught out on that wide stretch of water, and have a fight for their lives, particularly those who were manipulating the tricky speed boat. But it was useless to ask George to come aboard the _Comfort_, and try to tow his craft. That would seem too ignoble, worse than having a farm wagon drag the broken-down bubble wagon into town, in fact. They had gone in as near the western shore as prudence dictated. Jack told everybody to be on the lookout for the first sign of an opening. Beggars could not be choosers, and only too gladly would they welcome any port, however ill-named or hard looking. "She's coming, all right," declared Jimmy, as he crouched there, his hair blowing in the rising wind, and his eyes taking in every sign of approaching trouble. "Yes, and I'm sorry to say from the one bad quarter, the southeast," Jack made out to answer, between his set teeth. "If it had only been west, now, we'd have had the shelter of the land, and could have crept along nicely until we got where we wanted to go." The waves were surely increasing in size, and the small craft began to heave in a very suggestive way. When they grew still larger, under the influence of the rising wind, Jack expected that with the passing of each billow the screw would flash out of water. That was the time to be dreaded; for as resistance suddenly ceased with the passage of the wave, the screw would revolve at lightning speed, and something was apt to go wrong. Let an accident occur when in such a bad predicament, and it would be all over with the unlucky mariners who chanced to be on the disabled boat. "Be mighty careful, Herb and George," he called to the others. "Watch each billow, and slow the engine before the screw is exposed. You know what I mean. You've both done the same trick before." Constant vigilance was to be the price of safety from this moment on. Nothing must distract the attention of those who manipulated the motors of the three boats caught in this sea in a storm. Of course, George was accustomed to handling his narrow craft. Few amateurs could have done better than the present skipper. He knew her good qualities to a fraction, and was also acquainted with the bad ones. Consequently, he was aware just how far he could allow her quarter to face the sweep of wind and waves, without being thrown on her beam-ends. It was a ticklish business, very much like managing a treacherous mule, loaded with kicks and bites at both ends. One little error of judgment, and the result would be a spill that must toss the occupants into the raging waters. Jack had insisted that the owner of the _Wireless_ provide himself with life preservers; each boat carried a couple, but in the case of George and Nick, four had not been deemed too many. Acting on the advice of Jack, George had fastened one of the cork jackets on himself before the storm really broke; because afterwards he would have no time to spare in attempting such a thing. Nick had gone him one better; and seemed to be of huge proportions as he crouched there, waiting for the worst to happen. He had also secured his old White Wings, which had figured quite largely in previous cruises, to his shoulders, as if he hoped and believed that the bags filled with air would be of considerable assistance in keeping him afloat. Altogether Nick looked next door to a freak escaped from some side show connected with a Barnum and Bailey's circus. Jack often remembered the sight with more or less inward laughter. But it was no time for merriment now, with that wind growing in violence, and the waves assuming a most threatening appearance. The minutes seemed like hours, so intense was the strain that held them in its terrible grip. Jack had a double duty to perform, watching those onsweeping waves, and at the same time keeping the shore under a close supervision, so that he might discover when they came opposite the mouth of a creek. Such a place might be so narrow as to pass unnoticed unless one had exceedingly keen eyes; and, moreover, kept up an unremitting watch. Fortunately they were not fated to experience the worst that might have happened to them; for the crux of the storm had not come along by any means. Jack suddenly uttered a yell that startled the others on the laboring boats. "I saw it, boys; it's all right! Just follow after me; you first, George; and Herb bringing up the rear. Ready now! Here goes!" As he shouted these words at the top of his voice, for the water was making considerable racket by now, Jack began to head straight for the shore, so that the boat was soon running with the spinning sea. If he had made a mistake, and the opening failed them, there could be nothing left but to beach their boats, and to try to save themselves from the wreckage as best they might. But Jack had not made an error of judgment, for presently the others also saw the creek, with its inviting mouth. Even timorous Nick was only too delighted to find a safe harbor from the wild gale to care just then what the name of the creek might happen to be; one was just as good as another to them all. Jack made the shelter, and George managed to swing in, though his boat did almost go over, being struck on the side by a counter sea, when the pilot was not expecting it, so that she seemed to hang there for a second or two, in the balance. But Nick rolled to the other side, and this dead weight was sufficient to keep the narrow craft from going completely over; she righted, and swept into the mouth of the creek. The steady going old _Comfort_ came rolling in like a big tub, with Herb and Josh not at all alarmed, such was their faith in the reliable qualities of the staunch craft under their feet. And it might be noticed that Herb's pride in his possession increased in proportion as George's faith decreased. What suited one did not please the other at all, apparently. Making their way into the creek they tied up, being careful lest they find themselves high and dry at low tide. Jack kept tabs on the state of the tide, and at its flood wanted several more feet under him than while it was at ebb. "Let us give thanks," said Nick, with due reverence, as they found themselves safe. "That was a nasty little scare, all right. Our old _Wireless_ kicked like a bucking broncho; I say that, even though I never rode a cow pony, and only saw the breed at the circus. Oh! I'm glad to be alive right now, and able to eat a few more camp meals!" No one even called him down for mentioning such a thing as food; for as they had not taken the time to more than munch a few bites at noon, it stood to reason that everybody was feeling quite sharp set. "No fire outdoors tonight, fellows, for here comes the rain," said Jack; and even as he spoke the big drops did commence to fall, sending them every one under shelter. George was hustling in the endeavor to get his tent up, and succeeded in doing so before the rain became very heavy. Both Jack and Herb had had a hunting cabin placed on their boats since last they took a long cruise, for they knew how comfortable such a cover must prove in time of stress and foul weather. But George, believing that to do this would keep his boat out of the speed class, had declined to follow suit, using a tent instead, which was fastened to a ridge pole stretched at night-time fore and aft at a certain height above the cockpit. Of course, once George had this waterproof canvas covering in place he too was able to laugh at the rain that now poured down. It might not be just as cozy under his flapping canvas as beneath the steady roofs which the other boats boasted; but George would not complain, and Nick dared not. Of course, every pair now had to cook their own supper. But it was not the first time this same thing had occurred by any means; and hence they knew just how to go about it. Each boat was supplied with one of those splendid Juwel kerosene burning gas stoves, which burn common oil turned into a delightful blue flame by the process of a generator. Once this was started, all manner of cooking could be carried on. Indeed, it is simply astonishing how much can be accomplished by means of this clever little device, which most canoeists carry with them as a necessity, as well as a comfort. The boys had tied up in such a way that they could call out to one another, as the humor seized them. And hence, there was more or less exchange of comments on the bill of fare for supper that evening. When the meal had been finished night was at hand, though only for the storm no doubt the sun might still have been seen shining in the low west. Jimmy got out his banjo, and the musical plunkety-plunk of its strings, now and then accompanying one of his jolly songs, did much to cheer them up. Jack busied himself with his charts meanwhile, for there was a nasty little experience awaiting them when they reached Lewes, where they must watch for a favorable opportunity to pass out upon the open Atlantic, and cover ten miles or so like a covey of frightened partridges, heading for the inlet to Rehoboth Bay, and actually passing around Cape Henlopen, since boats the size of theirs could not well be carted across the land to Love Creek, as if they were canoes. Nick busied himself with the last of the oysters, which he had made sure to throw aboard the _Wireless_, and had found no time up to now, to tackle. George was tinkering with his motor, a customary amusement with him; for his heart was bent on learning how to coax yet another bit of speed from the engine that racked his boat so terribly when put at full speed. On the _Comfort_, Josh and Herb, with room to spare, were having a game of dominoes, and enjoying themselves very much. This was the time when the joy of having plenty of elbow room made itself manifest. Later on, during a little lull in the rainfall, Jack crept out to take observation, just as though he might have been an old salt, on board a sea-going vessel. The storm was raging quite furiously, and made a roar that must have seemed more or less terrifying, had one been out on the big bay, instead of having this snug harbor. "Whether this is Murderkill Creek, or the one rejoicing in the aristocratic name of Jones, it doesn't matter one cent," he declared, as he turned to Jimmy, who had followed him outside for a breath of air before laying down to sleep. "Just listen to that howl out yonder, and then call this bully place a bad name, will you? Let her whoop it up as she pleases, we can laugh, and sleep in peace; for there's good ground between us and the raging sea. Hear the waves break on shore, would you, Jimmy? Starting out by rescuing a poor chap from a watery grave did bring us good luck, now, I'm thinking." CHAPTER VII. HOW THE MOTOR BOAT FLOTILLA WENT TO SEA. In spite of the racket made by the storm, the boys managed to get in a pretty fair night's sleep. In the first place they were tired; and then they had some lost rest to make up. That first night had not been very much of a success as a slumber maker. With the breaking of morning Jack took an observation by peeping out. The rain was still coming down spitefully; and the roar of the waves on the nearby shore announced how utterly impossible it would be for the small craft to continue their voyage south on this day. "We're in for a stop-over, Jimmy," he announced, as a sleepy voice from among the blankets inquired as to the prospects. It was not long before other laments were heard in the land, as Nick, George, Herb and Josh poked their heads out, in order to see what was going on. "Gee! I hope you fellows don't think of butting into such a howler as this?" remarked George, a bit anxiously. "I should say not," laughed Josh. "Though I reckon our comfy old tub could stand up, and take her knocks without squealing. But we'd have to wait over at Lewes just the same, so what's the use?" "I'd refuse to move a foot, and that's flat!" declared George, as he teetered at the stern of the narrow speed boat; for it happened just then that the clumsy Nick was moving around, and whenever this came about, the balance of the craft was visibly disturbed. "No danger," declared Jack. "We're going to make the best of a bad bargain, and roost here in Murderkill Creek for another day." "Whoo! once when I woke in the night," remarked Josh, "and as the wind slackened up a bit, I heard the awfullest noise ever. Sounded just like somebody was hollerin' for help. And when I remembered all they told us about this pesky place, I was a long time getting to sleep again, I give you my word." "Sure, I was after havin' the same thing myself," declared Jimmy, eagerly. "And if any banshee in the ould country ever made a more horrible noise, I'll eat me hat; and that's no lie. Whatever d'ye suppose it was, Jack, old top?" Jack laughed. "Oh! owls!" he remarked, carelessly. "But looky here," Josh flashed up, "don't you reckon I've heard owls hoot before now? I tell you this was different, and much more ghastly; just like somebody was being half choked, and gurgling as he tried to call for help. It made the cold chills creep up and down my spinal column, that's right, now." "Perhaps they've got a special brand of owl down along here, that outdoes all its species in whooping things up," laughed Jack. "And on account of some one hearing those same fierce noises long ago, the creek got its terrible name." "Oh! forget it," broke in Herb; "especially since we've got to pass another night right here, and don't want to be bothered with bad dreams." Breakfast was prepared in much the same fashion as their supper was cooked on the preceding evening. George and Nick had much the worst of it, with that flapping tent sheltering them, while the others found solid comfort in their hunting cabins. Every little while George could be heard warning his stout and rather unwieldy mate to be more careful. Either he was rocking the boat in a manner most exasperating, or else rubbing up against the canvas top, which, in that particular spot, quickly developed a disposition to leak, as supposed waterproof canvas often will if you so much as place a finger on the underside while it is wet. Along about nine o'clock, however, the clouds ceased to squeeze their watery contents down upon the adventurous cruisers. "Hurra! boys!" Nick was heard to shout an hour later; "it's going to clear up, as sure as you live! Looky up yonder, and you'll see a break in the clouds. Then we can go ashore anyhow, and get some of the kinks out of our legs." Nick proved a good prophet, for about eleven the clouds did begin to roll away, so that the sun peeped out. It was a welcome sight, and elicited a series of loud thankful cheers from the boys. They were not long about getting on land. Josh in particular was seen to turn a few hand-flaps, as though in that energetic way he could loosen up his muscles the more speedily. "But that sea will keep up more or less the rest of the day," observed Jack, as they sauntered over to a point where they could look out on the heaving surface of the broad Delaware Bay. Having a stretch of miles in which to gather force under the piping wind, the waves were of considerable height, considering that the three boats were of diminutive size. They watched the tumble of the billows until they were tired. Then each set about doing whatever appealed the most to his nature. Thus Nick wandered along the bank of the creek, examining the shores closely, in the hope of being able to pick up a few shellfish, since his taste for oysters had grown to huge proportions after the feast already indulged in. George set about drying things out on board the _Wireless_, so that he could tinker a little with that high spirited engine of his. Josh settled down to gather some wood, being bent on having an outdoor fire when the next meal came around, meaning supper; for they would only take a cold snack at noon. Herb was writing up his log; Jimmy getting some fishing tackle in readiness, he having an idea that finny prizes only awaited the taking in these parts; while Jack wandered forth, with a gun thrown over his shoulder, hungry for a little hunt. They heard a double report half an hour later. Every fellow looked interested, for well did they know that when Jack pulled trigger there was a pretty fair chance of something dropping into the game bag. Nick, who was pottering with a few rather poor looking oysters he had managed to discover in some little cove, grinned, and rubbed himself comfortingly in the region of the stomach. "Which shall it be, brethren, wild duck, quail on toast, rabbit stew, or great governor! wild turkey roasted?" he demanded, with the utmost confidence that Jack would fulfill at least one of these conditions. When the Nimrod of the crowd came in sight, there was more or less interest manifested as to what he had shot. After all, it proved to be wild ducks. And Nick's eyes glistened when he saw that they were mallards, three fat fellows at that. "I happened on 'em in a little wide reach of the creek about half a mile away," Jack explained; "and as this was a pot hunt, fellows, believe me, I didn't hesitate to shoot the first barrel straight at the three as they sat on the water. Two dropped and the other fellow made to rise; but that was dead easy, and I got him with the second shell." "Yum! yum! I can imagine how good they'll taste," remarked Nick. "But as we haven't any oven along, how can we roast 'em? Jack, why not try that hole in the ground trick that you showed us last year when we were down on the Mississippi?" "That's right, Jack!" echoed George. "Just as you say, fellows; and the sooner we get our oven in working order then, the better; because, you remember, it takes quite some hours for it to do the job. It's really the original fireless cooker, known to woodsmen for rafts of years before the idea was applied to bottles that will keep the stuff warm forty hours; and contrivances to gradually cook meats and other things. So here goes to get busy with the oven. Nick, you and Herb and Jimmy each pluck one of the ducks in the meantime, so they will be ready." Now, this was a part of the business that Nick liked not at all; but he felt that it would be a shame to complain, when he delighted so much in being about to share in the treat; so he set to work, after his clumsy fashion, to make the feathers fly. Jack, meanwhile, dug a proper hole in the ground, where he could find something like clay. With the help of Josh he started a fire in the same. This was kept up a certain length of time, until the walls of the oven were baked hard, and felt exceedingly hot. Then the ashes were cleaned out, the three ducks placed therein, after being carefully wrapped in big green leaves; and when this had been done the oven was hermetically sealed. "We may have to wait a little later than usual for our supper," Jack said; "but when they're done, it'll sure make your mouths water just to get the scent, after that oven is opened." The afternoon passed slowly. All clouds had sailed away, and the sun shone in a cherry manner, giving promise for a glorious day on the morrow. Still, they could not think of changing their anchorage, because the waves continued to run high; and that boat of George's was always to be remembered as the one weak link in the chain. Josh did himself proud in preparing supper that night. And when the oven was finally opened, the delicious odor that immediately assailed the nostrils of the hungry lads sent them into the seventh heaven of delightful anticipation. Nor was the eating of the ducks at all a disappointment. Never had they tasted anything finer in all their lives. "Say, if mallards can touch the spot like this, what must redheads or canvasbacks be like?" demanded Nick, as he polished a leg bone handsomely, grunting his pleasure meanwhile, and perhaps inwardly sighing because there was not one whole duck apiece. "We'll see, later on," replied Jack; "because, as we have to pass through those North Carolina sounds where such ducks can be found, there's a chance we'll take toll on the way." "But I thought the hunting clubs had monopolized every foot of that water; and that only the wealthy New Yorkers, and ex-presidents, could shoot on Albemarle and Currituck Sounds?" remarked Josh. "Well, pretty much all the best points are private territory now," Jack answered, frowning; "but it's possible to sneak a few shots when you're passing through on the way south. Wait and see what we can do, fellows." "Well, one thing sure," declared Nick, admiringly; "if ever Jack Stormways pulls trigger on a canvasback, he goes along with this bully crowd, all right." "Hear! hear!" cried the others, which caused the flattered Jack to smile and wave his hand in token of sincere appreciation. "I reckon now," remarked George, as they sat around the blaze later on, conversing along various topics; "you've hung on to that bally old mystery all tight enough, Jack?" "Meaning the little sealed packet the skipper of the hydro-aeroplane gave into my keeping?" the one addressed made reply. "Why, of course I have it safe; and if I manage to get through to Beaufort, I hope to hunt up the same Van Arsdale Spence, and put it in his possession." "But it may turn out to be a tougher proposition than you imagine," Herb remarked. "Perhaps the gentleman has buried himself in the wild country around that coast town; we can't spend much time hunting all over creation for him, can we?" "Of course, we don't expect to do that," Jack quickly responded. "I only promised to look him up; and if he had gone away, to send the packet to him by mail, if we could get his present address. But what's the use crossing a bridge till you get to it? We worry a heap over things that never happen. Who said he was sleepy?" "Me," spoke up Nick, who had been yawning at a prodigious rate for the last half hour. "You see, we didn't get much of a snooze aboard the old _Wireless_ these two nights. Even at the best, the quarters are cramped; and if one fellow turns over, it nearly throws his mate out of his blanket bed." "Rats!" scoffed George, always ready to stand up for his beloved craft, even though deep down in his heart he knew that the criticism might be well founded. "The trouble is, you're such a hefty fellow that you never just roll over, you _wallow_! Now, when I had Josh for a while with me, things went much smoother." "But I didn't go the same way, I'm telling you, George," declared the tall boy, quickly; "and you needn't try to coax me to change places with Nick any more. I've tried your boat, and I just don't like it. I've got to have room to stretch; and after a night aboard the _Wireless_ I used to feel that I was tied up in a double knot all right. Nixy, I pass. Once is out for me." But all of them were sleepy, and it was not long before they went aboard. There had been some talk of staying ashore; but it frittered out. Whether it was because of the frolicsome mosquitoes, that had put in their appearance with the dying out of the breeze; or recollections of the fearful name by which the stream, was known on the chart and among men, no one confessed. They dribbled aboard the three boats, and went about making up their beds for the night in the most matter-of-fact way possible. And, truth to tell, they did manage to secure a lot of refreshing sleep before another dawn came to call them to duty. After breakfast they left their harbor, in which they had been storm-bound; and were soon pushing along toward the southeast, where Lewes, back of Cape Henlopen, lay. The bay was far from smooth, but by degrees it became more so as the day passed. Finally, after passing several lighthouses, they had glimpses of the great Government breakwater, and the barrier that has been erected to keep the ice from injuring the shipping. That night they lay in a snug harbor in Broadhill Creek, a few miles above the town. Herb and Josh had gone with the _Comfort_ to see if there was any mail for them; and to pick up a few little things which it was believed they needed to complete their happiness. "I hope tomorrow will be as fine as today has been," Jack remarked that evening, as they sat around to partake of supper; "because we've got a nasty outside run to make, reaching for an inlet below; and we've just got to wait until the sea is smooth, if it takes a week. We promised our folks at home not to take any unnecessary chances, you remember, fellows." "And that's one I'd refuse to tackle," observed George, without a blush. "The old ocean is a pretty big proposition for a teenty little motor boat to buck up against." "Especially one that's built on the order of a wedge!" grunted Nick, unconsciously rubbing one of his fat sides sympathetically, as though he might be getting a chronic muscular pain there, from being kept in a state of perpetual balance. When the morning did come they found that the signs seemed most propitious indeed; and Jack declared that they could not afford to let such a chance pass by. "Well, just as you say, Jack," sighed George. "The thing has to be done; and in that case the sooner we get it over with, the better. But I hope there won't be much more of this outside business before we reach Florida." "Very little," replied the other, reassuringly. "And we're going to take no chances at any time, remember. This outside work is easy enough, always providing you bide your time, and no big wind from the east or south comes up while you're making the trip from one inlet to another. Sometimes, I'm told, the sea is like glass, with hardly a ripple." "I hope it turns out that way today, then," remarked George, as he began to do a little final tinkering with his machinery before the start. Jack watched the tide, knowing something about how the wind would be apt to come up at a certain change, as it usually does. Then, at eight o'clock, or "eight bells," as Nick delighted to call it, the signal was given, the gallant little flotilla started off; and an hour later the three motor boats were moving through the heaving sea, with nothing but water toward the east and south, as far as the eye could reach. They were now fully launched on the broad Atlantic, and must take chances of making a safe harbor before the coming of the wind. CHAPTER VIII. THE CAMP INVADED. "Why, fellows, this is dead easy!" George called out, after they had been making good time for an hour or more, with the heaving sea showing no sign of taking undue advantage of the confiding little motor boats that had ventured on its placid bosom. "Just as I told you," Jack answered, for they made sure to keep pretty close to each other while undertaking this passage. "Choose the right time, after a storm with the wind and sea gone to rest, and a little run like this is a picnic." "But she looks pretty wide out there," remarked Nick, pointing toward the east. "Oh! not so much," laughed Herb. "I should think that a matter of four thousand miles or so would cover it." "Gee! whiz! that must be Africa over there, then?" Nick gasped. "That's right!" Jack called; "but there's a trifle of haze hanging out just at present, so you can't quite see the tropical shores, with the black natives dancing around some missionary. But joking aside, boys, I think we're going to make the riffle without any trouble. Already we must be well on the way there, and no sign of wind yet." "Perhaps when she does come it may be in the west?" suggested Josh, who did occasionally have a brilliant thought, it seemed. "Just so, and in that case we'd be all hunky," Jack answered back; "because with a west wind we could creep in close to the shore, since there'd be no waves rolling up on the beach. Suppose we touch up for a little faster gait." "I'm willing," George sent back. "Put it up to the _Comfort_ as usual. We'll have to adapt our pace to what she can do." "Yes," called out Josh from the roomy boat, "and consider yourself lucky, George, if you don't have to call on the old Ark to give you a tow before we cross that same bar at the inlet. It wouldn't be the first time; and it ain't goin' to be the last either, believe me!" "Oh! shucks! my engine is running as smooth as silk now. I could make circles around the whole bunch if I wanted to; but what's the use? We'd better stick together, you know. Somebody might want a little help." "Sure, somebody might," mocked Josh. Jack had let Jimmy have the wheel. With his glasses he was scrutinizing the shore line as they made steady progress. He felt sure that he would be able to discover the right inlet long before they arrived at a point where they must alter their course in order to cross that bar which is always found at such openings. Drawing the small amount of water their boats did, he anticipated not the slightest trouble in getting over. So as they increased their pace somewhat, Jack divided his time between watching the shore and the sky. Wind was something that would oblige them by remaining away. They had figured on taking three hours to make the run; but it was nearer four, owing to the fact that there were some miles to pass over in leaving the creek where they had spent the preceding night, and reaching the open sea; and also because they had to go out some distance. Jack sighted the inlet for which they were so anxiously pressing, and when the three motor boats had crossed the bar, gaining the security that lay behind the sandspits, all of them breathed easier. That night they would not see the flashing of the Henlopen light, or catch the distant gleam of the famous mariner's beacon on the point at Cape May, for they were many miles to the south, and the glow of Chincoteague Light closer at hand. But for some time at least they need not think of danger from a rising sea. If troubles were fated to come, as was almost inevitable, they were apt to be of an entirely different character. Perhaps they would get aground in shallow waters; it might be there would be times when the little flotilla would become lost in some intricate channels connecting the numerous bays that parallel the coast, and which are by degrees being dredged by the Government, with the idea of at some dim future date having an inland coast canal by which even small vessels of war may pass north and south. Again, Jack had before him his chart, printed by the Department at Washington, and supposed to be perfectly reliable as to depth of water, position of lights and shoals, the lay of the many sinuous creeks, and all such important matters upon which the voyager over these sounds must depend for safe progress. "Looky there, what's that over yonder on the water--gulls?" called Nick, after they had been moving along in procession for some time, the _Tramp_ leading the way--for George realized that he must curb his speed propensity while navigating these deceptive shallow waters, unless he wanted to take chances of wrecking his beloved craft on an unseen oyster reef, or a sandbar that lay just below the surface. "I reckon they're ducks," quoth Josh, after a look. "How about it, Jack?" Jack did not have to even make use of the glasses before replying in the affirmative. Nick was all excitement at once. "Say, why can't we sneak up on 'em, and knock about six on the head?" he hastened to demand; and then stooped down to drag out George's shotgun; at which the others shouted to him to be careful, for he was making the boat wobble fearfully. "Well, we might give them a try," said Jack, with a smile; "but even if we did manage to bag a bunch, I reckon now, you wouldn't think them worth cooking." "Why not; I've heard that even fishy ducks can be eaten, if you take the trouble to draw the feathers and skin off together?" Nick declared. "Which is correct, all right, as far as it goes," Jack continued, placidly; "but I'd defy even such an expert as Josh here, to cook those ducks so as to disguise the woody flavor!" "Haw! haw! haw! Jack means they're only a bunch of wooden decoys--stool ducks!" roared Josh, some of the others echoing his merriment. "Perhaps you c'n digest pretty near anything, you're such a walking cemetery, Nick; but I bet you draw the line at a wooden duck, hey?" Nick relapsed into silence, but George took up the talk. "Ain't this early in October for duck hunting, Jack? Some of the States don't allow it till November, you know," he inquired, seeking information. "Yes; and perhaps this fellow is only giving his stools an airing, after all, to see how they float; because the main raft of ducks won't be here till later." During the day they landed at one or two docks, where the customary groups of staring natives surrounded them, asking questions, examining the clever little craft beside which their own looked cumbersome, though sea-worthy, and giving such a sad mixture of information that in the end Jack was glad he had his reliable charts to fall back on, since one man's account seemed to be exactly contradictory in comparison with the next one. The boys believed that it would be wise to halt for the night away from any of the settlements along the sound or bay. Perhaps these rough looking fellows might be all right, and just as honest as they make them; but previous experiences had warned Jack and his chums that there are always some bad characters belonging in every isolated town and hamlet; and there was no use tempting such rascals more than seemed necessary. Accordingly, when the afternoon drew near its end, they began to cast about for a camping place. To the delight of Nick they had been able to pick up a duck here and there, until there were now four on board. "If we could only get a brace more," he kept saying; "or even one might do, as Josh eats so little; how nice it would be. Jack, don't you suppose, now, you might creep up behind that island yonder, drop ashore, since the law forbids one to shoot ducks from a craft driven by sails or any motive power except a fellow's muscles, and get a shot into the lovely little bunch that is sporting there?" "Anything to oblige," was the response; and with that the head of the _Tramp_ was turned aside, so that the skipper could presently jump ashore. His crawl across the reedy island was not as pleasant as one might wish; but when he fired both barrels at the rising flock, Nick nearly laughed himself sick to see not only two, but five birds fall with as many splashes into the water. One wounded duck managed to get away. Jack declared it must have dived, and held on to some of the eel grass at the bottom, preferring death to falling into the hands of duck-eating human beings; for this often happens, as every hunter knows. Again an oven was to be made, and they hoped to have a feast for the next day. "What's to hinder our sleeping on shore tonight, fellows?" asked Josh, as they found a pretty good place for a camp. "Oh! please do!" cried poor, tortured Nick; "I'd love to rest comfy for just once again." "Huh!" grunted stubborn George, "that suits me first rate, because I insist on keeping to my quarters aboard, and there'll be plenty of room. Besides, I won't wake up every little while when you roll over, thinking the boat is going to turn turtle." Upon being put to a vote, five of them were in favor of trying it. So about the time they began to feel sleepy, blankets were brought from the boats, and each fellow started to make himself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Jack had selected his sleeping place with an eye to its convenience; also the fact that by raising himself on his elbow he could have a survey of the entire camp, counting the three boats. And it might have been noticed that both he and Herb made sure to take their guns to bed with them, a fact Nick saw with a bit of uneasiness. The _Tramp_ and the _Comfort_ were both fastened up, for it was possible to lock their cabins in an emergency. George was under his canvas shelter, trying to make himself believe he fully enjoyed the sensation of loneliness. Finally a silence came over the camp on the shore. The fire died down gradually, for no one bothered to keep it going, the night being anything but cold. Jack was always a light sleeper. He had trained himself to awaken if there was anything unusual going on. And when he suddenly opened his eyes, seeing the stars over his head, he knew instinctively that it was not far from daybreak. He also had a sort of intuition that there was some one or _something_ moving close by. And so, Jack, reaching out and securing his gun, began to softly raise his head, hoping that the starlight would be strong enough to let him see what was going on. What discovery he made gave him something of a little shock. CHAPTER IX. THE DESPERATION OF HUNGER. The night was still. Only the soft wash of the tiny waves on the shore came to the ears of the _Tramp's_ skipper as he thus raised his head to take an observation. First he looked in the direction of the three motor boats, and in particular the one on board of which George was sleeping. Perhaps he had a slight suspicion to the effect that some movement on the part of this chum had caused the scuffling sounds. His search for an explanation in this quarter proved to be a failure. He could plainly see the tan-colored canvas tent which covered the speed boat; but it seemed to be perfectly motionless. Just then Jack sniffed the air two or three times. Come, that was surely a most delightful odor that seemed to be wafted in his quarter. Had Nick, for instance, been alongside, and wide-awake, he would have immediately declared that it reminded him of roast duck! By the way, they did have a full half dozen waders in the process of baking in that crude earthen oven. Jack shot a quick glance over in the direction where he and Nick had built the receptacle. What could that dark object be? Even as he looked he surely saw it move. Yes, a second and more positive examination convinced him of this fact. Then there was danger of the expected breakfast being carried off while they slept. Was it some prowling bear that had followed the scent, and dug out the cooked fowls? The bulk of the figure assured him that it could be no ordinary raccoon, or even a cunning fox. Would he be justified in shooting? At that short distance Jack realized that he could riddle the object sadly; for the charge of shot, having no chance to spread, would go with all the destructive power of a bullet. His finger was on the trigger, but he wisely refrained. Perhaps after all this night intruder might not prove to be a bear, nor yet any other wild beast. Roast duck may appeal just as strongly to the human family. If any prowler had seen them bury the ducks on the preceding evening, might he not have waited patiently until this hour, just before the dawn, in order to allow the fowls to cook? Was that a grunt of satisfaction he now caught? It certainly sounded very much along that order. Evidently the transgressor and thief must have finally succeeded in accomplishing his burrowing, judging from that decided aroma that was scattering about the vicinity. Even then he might be trying to gather up the spoils, loth to let a single duck escape his bold foray. Well, Jack believed he ought to have something to say about that. He had gone to considerable trouble to collect half a dozen ducks; and, besides, it took more or less time to build that same oven and prepare the game for the receptacle. They were not in the feeding line, either. If a poor hungry wayfarer chose to approach them the right way, and appeal for help, he would find that generous hearts beat in the bosoms of these good-natured lads. But a thief who came crawling into camp when they were asleep, and tried to make a clean sweep of their expected breakfast, did not appeal to Jack at all. "Hello! there, my friend; if you start to run, I'm going to fill you full of shot; so don't you dare try it!" Jack suddenly remarked, in a clear voice. Up bobbed other heads near by, as these words awoke some of the sleepers. "Keep still, boys, and don't get in my way," said Jack, calmly. "I've got a thief covered, and expect to bring him down if he so much as takes one jump. Easy now, Herb; keep your gun ready, and don't shoot until I say so." For all he talked so threateningly, of course Jack would have done no such thing had the fellow bolted. Better lose a thousand ducks than have cause to regret hasty action. But it seemed that his bold words had the effect he wanted; for the shadowy figure continued to hug the ground in the spot where the oven lay. "Don't yuh shoot me, Mistah!" a quavering voice now broke out; and immediately they understood that the intended spoiler of their breakfast must be a negro. "I ain't 'tendin' tuh run away, 'deed I ain't, sah. I gives mahself up. I ain't eben gut a knife 'long with me!" "Josh!" said Jack, quietly. "Yes, I'm on deck, all right; what is it?" replied the tall boy, close by. "You fixed some stuff for starting a fire in a hurry, didn't you?" continued Jack. "Sure I did; and it's right here beside me," Josh hastened to reply. "Then strike a match, and let's have some light. We'll look this coon over, and see whether we want to take him down to Franklin City with us tomorrow, or give him some grub and let him go scot free." Jack was looked upon as a leader by his chums, and when he received these instructions Josh never hesitated a second about starting to carry them out to the letter. Scratch went his match, which he always kept handy, being the recognized _chef_ of the expedition. Then the light wood flamed up, communicated with other stuff, and in a "jiffy," as Josh called it, the scene was illuminated. Meanwhile Jack had climbed out from among the folds of his blanket, always keeping his shotgun leveled in the direction of the crouching figure of the detected marauder of their stores. He found a badly frightened negro, rather a young fellow, and as black as tar. The whites of his eyes looked staring as he followed the movements of that threatening gun, every time Jack moved. "Come, get up here, and step nearer the fire," said Jack. "When we have company we always like to entertain them in proper style. Now, sit down here, and give an account of yourself. What's your name, to start with?" George had come tumbling out of the depths of the _Wireless_, aroused by the sound of voices, although Jack had not been talking in an excited way. Herb, Jimmy and Josh were all on hand, with blankets wrapped about them; for the night air was a bit keen, and they had on only their underclothing and pajamas. But Nick could be heard snoring away contentedly in his snug nest, dead to the world and all its cares. Nor did any one think to take the trouble to arouse the fat boy, so that he calmly slept through the entire proceedings. "I'se Jawge Washington Thomas; an' I libs back dar in de kentry at er place called Pokomoke City, sah," the prowler promptly answered, as though he realized that since he had now fallen into the hands of these young fellows, he might as well make a clean breast of it. "And what are you doing here on the shore of Chincoteague Bay, creeping into a camp, and raiding our provisions?" pursued the one who held the gun. "'Deed, an' I done must a been a fool," sighed the prisoner; "an' dat's no lie, tuh try an' git dem ducks like er fox, w'en I orter stepped up, bold like, an' asked yuh foh a bite. But I was dat hungry, boss, I jes' couldn't help it. I seen yuh put dem fowls in de little hole in de groun', an' somethin' tempts me tuh hang 'round till dey orter be done foh suah." "But you haven't told us why you're here, instead of over in Pokomoke City, where you belong, George?" went on Jack, meaning to have the whole story. "I'se gwine tuh tell yuh hit all, boss, 'deed I is. Den yuh kin do what yuh want wid me, only foh de love o' misery gib me sumpin tuh eat 'fore yuh takes me down tuh Franklin City, what de sheriff is. I'se ben hidin' out now foh nigh a month. Yuh see I done git in a muss wid a white man, an' we had a scuffle. He done trip an' cut his haid on a stone when he falls down; but dey declar I cut him. 'Taint nothin' serious like, gib yuh mah word on it, boss; an' Hank he ben up an' 'round dis three weeks an' more. But dey got it in foh me ober dere, an' I ain't gwine tuh take de chances ob gittin' kotched." "And so you've been hiding out for a whole month, have you, George?" Jack asked, now lowering his gun, since he realized there was no longer any necessity for standing guard over the dejected chap, hungry, ragged and forlorn as he seemed to be. "Dat's jes' what I done has, sah. At fust I 'spected tuh make mah way tuh Baltimore, 'case dar I got a brudder; but I jest cudn't go 'way, yuh see, widout mah wife an' two chillen. So I kept right on hangin' 'round hyah, an' tryin' tuh git word tuh dem. I has a letter from Susie jest yisterday, sayin' as how she'd jine me termorry at de Scooter Landin', whar a boat is loadin' wid lumber foh Baltimore. An' my Susie sez as how she got de money tuh take us all dar." "That sounds reasonable enough, George. Now tell us why you crawled into camp and tried to lift those roast ducks?" Jack asked, turning to wink at his chums, who in their odd garb were gathered around, listening and grinning. "Jes' as I was sayin', boss; I seen yuh come in here las' night, an' git ready tuh camp. Wanted tuh ask yuh foh sompin' tuh eat de wust kin', but w'en I done sees de guns yuh kerry, I got cold feet; 'case I kinder s'pected yuh mout be all alookin' foh me. So I hangs 'round till I reckons de fowls dey must be ready tuh eat. Den I slicks in, an' tried tuh grab one. Dat's de whole story, boss, gib yuh mah word it is. An' I hopes yuh belibes me." "See here, George, when a man gives evidence in court he is expected to prove it, if he can," Jack remarked, seriously. "Now, that's a rather interesting story you tell; but how can we know that it's true? You mentioned receiving a letter from your wife a bit ago; suppose you show it to us. That would go a great ways toward making us believe; and getting you a breakfast in the bargain." "Good for you, Jack!" exclaimed the skipper of the _Wireless_. "A bully idea!" commented Josh; while the other two nodded their heads, as if they fully backed these sentiments. Jawge Washington Thomas seemed in no wise dismayed by this proposition. They saw a wide grin expand across his sable face as he immediately thrust a hand into the pocket of the ragged jacket he wore over his faded cotton shirt. "Dat seems tuh be de right thing, sah," he remarked, as he drew something out. "I'se right glad now I done kep' dis little letter. Beckons as how I read de same half a million times dis last twenty-foah hours. Dar she be, sah. Hopes as how yuh kin make out de writin'. My Susie she smart gal, 'fore she marry dis good-foh nothin' nigga; she eben done teach school. Reckon she too good foh me, boss; but if I eber gits up in Baltimore, I'se gwine tuh do the right thing by Susie, gib yuh my word I is, sah." The boys crowded around, each eager to see what sort of a letter Susie had sent to her man, in his time of trouble. This was what they made out, although the missive had been handled so often by the fugitive that it was well begrimed: "George--The schooner _Terrapin_ will be at Scooter's Landing day after tomorrow, Thursday. I sold out everything, and will be aboard with the children, bound for Baltimore. We can live here in Pokomoke no longer. Be on the lookout. Your wife Susie." That was all, but it must have brought a lot of hope to the wretched fugitive, who believed that he would be tarred and feathered, or else lynched, if ever he was caught by those Maryland whites. And his claim that Susie had an education Jack saw was well founded. "How about it, boys; shall we take George to Franklin City, or give him a good breakfast and let him wait for Susie and the kids?" asked Jack, though he felt positive as to what the answer would be before he spoke. "He can have half of my duck!" announced Herb. "And the whole of mine," echoed Josh. "That settles it," laughed Jack. "So, George Washington Thomas, draw right up to the fire and begin operations. A starving man can be excused for doing lots of things that in a fellow with a full stomach might appear to be a bad go. We'll forgive you this time; and hope that when you get to Baltimore, you'll show Susie how you can work for a woman who stands by her man like she has." "I'se gwine tuh, boss; I'se got mah mind made up on dat, I tells yuh," declared the fugitive, with an air of determination that Jack liked to see. And as his hunger was such a real thing, they forced him to begin to eat without further delay. Having dressed themselves, for the dawn was now coming on, they started operations looking toward breakfast, wishing to give the poor fellow a treat in the way of some hot coffee and a rasher of bacon. Fancy the amazement of Nick, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes, on discovering an unknown negro, seated on a log, with a tin plate on his knees, and devouring one of the ducks that had been placed in the primitive oven the night before. "W-w-what's all this mean? Who's your friend, and whose duck is he making 'way with, fellows? I hope now you haven't let me sleep on, just to play a trick on me and leave a rack of bones on my dish. Did he drop down out of the sky, or have you engaged a pilot for the treacherous waters of the lower Chincoteague Bay?" was the way he broke out, as he discovered his chums grinning. When he heard the story, Nick hardly knew whether to be provoked, or take it as a joke, that he had been allowed to sleep through it all. "But I ain't going to be outdone by any of you," he said, magnanimously; "and if George Washington can get away with another whole duck, let him tackle mine!" CHAPTER X. NICK IN SEARCH OF A MERMAID. "Good boy, Nick!" cried George, who knew what a great sacrifice the fat boy had in mind, when he offered to give up his share to the hungry stranger. "But there's no need of it," declared Josh. "You know I don't have any appetite in the morning, so he's eating my duck." "And as for me," piped up Herb, "I'm satisfied with half a bird. Besides, somehow, duck for breakfast seems rather strong. I'm used to something light--a rasher of bacon, flapjacks, or hominy, with coffee. So hold your horses, Nick, and get ready to take your turn." After the meal had been completed, preparations were made looking toward an early start. They anticipated having a hard day's work, several inlets having to be crossed, with the ocean setting in heavy against them, it might be. Jack had heard some pretty wild stories concerning the perils that might be expected while crossing these same inlets, where at the full sweep of the tide small boats were in danger of being upset in the mad swirl. He hardly believed more than half of what he heard, however, knowing how prone the natives are to exaggerate things. Besides, the staunch motor boats were not in the same class as the clumsy craft used by those who navigated these shoal waters along the Virginia coast. They said good-bye to the fugitive black. Some of them, in the generosity of their boyish hearts, had slipped quarters and half dollars in the ready hand of the fellow; and his eyes danced with happiness as he stood there, waving the skippers and crews of the little flotilla farewell. "It was a mighty lucky thing for George Washington that he dropped into our camp last night," laughed Herb, as they began to lose sight of the waving hat of the negro. "Yes, and just as lucky that he made a failure of his job," remarked Jack, for they were moving along close together, so that it was easy to talk back and forth. "If he'd managed to get away with a duck or two, that would have ended it all. As it is, he's holding a nice little bunch of coin, that will help pay for the grub, after he gets to Baltimore with his family." "I suppose it's a square deal George gave us?" queried Josh. "Now, what do you mean by that?" demanded Herb. "He couldn't have been playing a trick on us, could he?" the other went on; for Josh was often inclined to be somewhat suspicious. "Come off!" scoffed George. "That's too bad, Josh, for you to suspect him of trying to pull the wool over our eyes," Jack declared, reproachfully. "Oh! I don't doubt him, so to speak," Josh protested; "but you know I'd hate everlastingly to be done by a coon." "That letter was genuine enough," observed Jack, thoughtfully; "and fellows, perhaps you didn't notice the thing, but there were blurs on that writing, just as if somebody had been crying, and the tears dropped on the paper. Whether it was poor old George Washington, feeling awful lonely, and hungry, who wept; or his wife while she was writing the note, doesn't matter. But those marks went a big way toward convincing me his story was genuine." Somehow Josh turned red, and no more was said. Those happy-go-lucky lads could feel for the sentiment that had caused those tears. "That's Chincoteague Light, ain't it?" asked Herb, after a while, pointing ahead. "Sure it is!" Jimmy cried. "I saw it winking at me every time I woke up last night, so I did, me bhoy!" "Then we strike across that inlet soon?" suggested George, showing just the slightest sign of nervousness, Jack thought. Of the three skippers, George had the most cause for looking serious whenever there arose any chance for trouble, either through a storm, or tidal currents. His speed boat, being so very narrow in beam, and cranky, was least fitted to contend with raging seas; since there must always be great danger of an upset. "In less than half an hour we'll spin across and get behind Wallop's Island. As the tide is pretty well up, we ought to make the riffle there. I'd hate to get stuck in the mud, and have to wait ten or twelve hours for another tide to float us off," Jack made answer; for, as he had the charts, they always looked to him for information. "Then what next?" asked Herb, wishing to be posted. "In an hour or more we ought to reach Assawaman Inlet, and after that will come Gargathy, Matomkin, and then Watchapreague; which last is said to be the most dangerous along the whole coast," replied the commodore of the fleet. "You don't say!" ejaculated George, pretending to look unconcerned; "and just why is that, please?" "Well, it happens to be wider than any other, and the currents are fierce. Besides, some of the natives declare there are mermaids, or something after that order, that try to overturn boats crossing." At that the boys let out a combined yell. "Me for a pretty mermaid, then!" cried Nick. "I always did want to have a chat with one of those fair damsels of the sea, ever since I read how they used to comb their hair and sing to the mariners in those old days of Greece." "Makes a fellow think of all the old mythological things," declared George. "That's right," Herb declared. "You remember about Scylla and Charybdis, the two fabled monsters that used to alarm the old chaps hundreds and hundreds of years ago; but which turned out to be a dangerous rock and a big sucker hole, called a whirlpool? That's what ails this old inlet, I guess. The currents suck hard; and these crackers along the coast think unseen hands are trying to drag them down." "What I don't like about it," remarked Josh, "is the sharks." "Oh! I see you have been reading about it, then," said Jack, quickly. "I didn't mean to say anything about those monsters." "Then there are sharks around?" demanded George; while Nick turned a little pale as he leaned over the side of the speed boat and listened. "Yes; all accounts agree on that score," Jack admitted. "But if we manage right, and take the inlet at the proper time, there's no reason why any of us should bother our heads about the scaly pirates of the sea." "I only hope none of 'em butt up against the _Wireless_, that's all," grunted the skipper of the narrow boat. "Gracious! do you think there's any chance of that?" asked Nick, looking as though he half felt like begging Herb to take him aboard at the crucial time, only that he hated to show the white feather. "Oh! hardly," laughed Jack, desirous of cheering the other up. "Still, it might be wise for Nick to keep under cover while we're making that same passage across," suggested Josh, wickedly. "And just why me, any more than you?" demanded the fat boy, indignantly. "Well, the sight of such a bag of bones as me wouldn't be apt to stir those man-eaters up to any extent; but if they caught a glimpse of such a rolypoly morsel as you, Nick, it would set 'em wild." "Oh! let up, won't you?" grumbled Nick. "This is too serious a subject to make fun over. I don't just hanker to make a dinner for any old shark, and don't you forget it, Josh Purdue." They crossed the inlet at Chincoteague without the slightest trouble. Beyond lay Wallop's Island, and their speed had to be considerably reduced while navigating the tortuous and narrow channel lying between that body of reedy land and the main shore. Despite the wideawake work of the pilot in the _Tramp_, there was always a liability of some boat charging upon an unseen mudbank; and hence it was advisable to take things rather easy, so that in case of such a disaster, it would be possible to pull off again, with the help of the other boats. Then came the next inlet, which was also crossed easily. "Say, nothing hard about this," George called out, as they headed once more down the bay toward Gargathy Inlet. "Lots of things look harder than they turn out to be," answered Herb, who was having it easy enough in his wide-beamed craft. "Still, be on your guard all the time," cautioned Jack, who meant to keep near the erratic _Wireless_ all the time, because he felt it in his bones that if any accident did happen it would be in that quarter. At noon they drew up and went ashore on a sandspit, where they ate lunch. Nick of course "browsed" around, as he called it, in search of oysters, and was speedily rewarded by discovering a supply. Indeed, they had hard work making him break away, when Jack tooted his conch shell as the signal for a start. Matomkin Inlet proved as easy as the others. "Now for the terror!" remarked George, as later in the afternoon they approached the spot where Watchapreague lay. Ahead they could see the whitecaps marking the fierce cross currents that have given this half-mile wide inlet its bad name. Many a wreck of shore boats has taken place here, and lives been lost. "We might as well get over now, as in the morning, for the tide is as good as it will ever be. Those whitecaps are caused by the wind blowing from the shore, and the tide coming in," Jack decided, as they advanced steadily on. "And in case of any accident, then, a fellow couldn't be carried out to sea," George remarked, with what seemed like a distinct look of relief. So the start was made. All around them the water fairly boiled, and unseen influences apparently tugged at the frail little craft, as though the fingers of those fabled monsters were gripping their keels. They were just about the middle and most dangerous spot when George gave a sudden cry. It was echoed by a wail from Nick. Looking up, Jack discovered a sight that thrilled him to the core. The erratic _Wireless_ had chosen to play its skipper a nasty trick at just the time it should have been on its best behavior, coming to a stop with such abruptness that poor Nick lost his hold forward, and went splashing into the water like a giant frog! CHAPTER XI. A STUNNING DISCOVERY. In an instant all was confusion! All sorts of shouts broke from the boys; and George, leaning over the side of his stalled _Wireless_, in the vain hope of being able to clutch the boy who was in the dangerous waters of the inlet, came near upsetting his tottering boat completely. Nick had disappeared as soon as he struck the water, but such a fat fellow could not long remain under the surface, so he speedily made his appearance, struggling terribly, and looking badly frightened. There had been a time when Nick could not swim a stroke; but, by keeping heroically at it, he had managed to master the art to some extent. Desperation assisted him in this predicament, and the way he threshed the water was a caution. Herb afterwards declared it beat any old stern-wheel towboat he had ever seen, charging up the current of the mighty Mississippi. Luckily enough, Jack had anticipated something of this sort. That was why he had persisted in keeping as close to the speed boat as he dared, without risking a collision. He later on said he felt it in his bones that if the _Wireless_ had one more kink of evil in her, she was just bound to let it out at the most critical moment. And it had proven just so. The first thing Jack did when he saw the head and wildly plunging arms of his fat chum appear, was to hurl the life preserver he had snatched up from the spot where he kept it handy. And so well aimed was the cork buoy that it fell just in front of the struggling Nick, who gave a half-strangled whoop, doubtless under the impression that it was a shark, or perhaps one of those same mermaids he had declared it his ambition to meet face to face. "Grab hold of it, Nick!" shouted George, excitedly. "It's a life preserver. Get a grip on it, Nick!" bellowed Jack, as he gradually turned the nose of the _Tramp_ around, meaning to bear down upon the imperiled boy. Luckily Nick heard what they said, for he was seen to make a wild clutch for the floating buoy, and catch hold of it before the treacherous swirls carried it beyond his reach. "Oh! look there!" shrieked Jimmy. "That must be the fin of a shark!" It was. And further along Jack even caught sight of several more. The fierce creatures had heard the splash, and apparently scenting a fine dinner, were dashing this way and that, bent upon finding the object that had made all the rumpus. "George, get your gun, and be ready to shoot!" said Jack, himself pale now with sudden anxiety. So the skipper of the _Wireless_, understanding that this was a time to keep cool if they would save their cheery comrade, reached down under the side of his boat. When he bobbed up a few seconds later he was clutching his rifle, which he had brought along, in the faint hope that before the long cruise was done he might get a deer, or even a bear, with it. Now the nose of the _Tramp_ was heading straight for the spot where Nick clung to the life buoy. "Splash as hard as you can!" shrilled Josh, who seemed to remember that sharks can sometimes be kept away by this means. And immediately the fat boy exerted himself at a great rate, his legs and one arm beating the water until it sounded like a vast mill in action. But as Jack cast a swift glance around he saw that the nearest shark was heading straight toward poor Nick. Jimmy had heard what was said to George. He, too, had pulled out a shotgun, and was cowering close by, holding the weapon in his hands, and with a grim look of "do or die" on his freckled face. Bang! went the rifle in George's hands. The bullet struck the water above the advancing monster, but seemed to do no particular damage, for they could see that he was still coming directly on. Now the prow of the _Tramp_ was just alongside Nick; but the shark seemed dreadfully close, too. Dropping his hold on the wheel, Jack bent over to clutch the shoulders of the fat boy. He knew that he would have a tremendous task dragging him aboard, soaked as his clothes were; but desperation causes those who try, to perform wonderful deeds, and Jack felt equal to most anything just then. He was still dragging Nick upward, and the other was trying to help himself as well as he was able, when the big fish, rushing under, seemed to turn over while opening his terrible mouth, lined with cruel teeth. And then Jimmy, who had been holding his fire for a good opportunity, sent the contents of the shotgun straight into that distended mouth. Jack pulled his chum aboard, and almost fell himself, such was the relief that passed over him. The boat was whirling around in the mad currents, but as Jack again took the wheel he quickly mastered its erratic movements. "Sure, I guv him the cowld meal, that toime, I did!" shouted the delighted Jimmy, threatening to attempt a real jig in his excitement. "How d'ye like cowld lead, me bully bhoy? Next toime take one of your own kind, will ye, and lave our chum be. Look at the bog-trotter kicking out yonder, would ye? Don't I hope some of his kind will ate him up now. It's the biter bitten, fellows. Look! by the powers, if they ain't tacklin' the gossoon, so they are!" It was even so, for the wildest commotion was taking place out in the quarter where the wounded shark had been struggling. Even Nick managed to crawl to the side of the boat and gape. A look of satisfaction took the place of the frightened expression on his round face. "Anyhow, he didn't get me, did he, fellows?" Nick seemed to find a strange pleasure in repeating time and again, in a hysterical way. The remainder of the inlet was readily passed, George managing to get a rope to the skipper of the _Comfort_, who towed the tricky speed boat to safety. Jack did not mean to lose that life preserver, and he had Jimmy get it with the boathook as they passed by. It had served Nick a good turn, and showed the wisdom of one being always prepared for trouble. Nick was shaking at a great rate. This might come partly from his recent excitement, but Jack knew that the air was rather cool to one who sat in garments saturated with salt water. "We'd better be on the lookout for a camping ground somewhere on Paramore Island, here," he remarked. "A fire would come in handy for Nick; and, besides, I reckon we've done all we ought to for one day. If tomorrow pans out as lucky, we ought to get in touch with the lighthouse at Cape Charles." "Well, I only hope," sighed Nick, between shivers, "that the programme will be a bit varied tomorrow. If there _has_ to be somebody go overboard to hunt for mermaids, let me off, won't you, fellows?" "We'll think it over, Nick," called George, who was taking it easy now, since his engine was dead, and the _Comfort_ drawing him along in its wake. They presently discovered a place that seemed to promise a certain amount of comfort; and so a landing was made. "Smells like oysters around here, fellows," was the first remark Nick made, as he scrambled ashore, and started to thresh his arms about, in the endeavor to get up a circulation--Jack had advised this as a preventative against a cold. "Well, I honestly believe that chap would think of eating if he heard the angel Gabriel tooting his horn," declared Herb. "He'd say that he wanted to be fortified again the journey across that old river Styx." "Sure, I would!" admitted the grinning fat boy, frankly. "Anyhow, oysters are good stuff, whichever way you take 'em, and that nobody can deny. Get your old fire going, so I can change my clothes, and have an hour to gather a crop. Josh said if I got enough he'd give us scalloped oysters for supper. Yum! yum! don't that just make your mouths water, boys? It does mine." The fire was soon going, and beside its cheery heat Nick made the change. His soaked garments were hung up to dry the best they could, though it is a hard job when clothes have been in salt water. Then, with a tin pail Nick set out to gather his beloved shellfish, signs of which had been noted near by. In half an hour he had deposited three pails of what seemed to be very fair bivalves in a pile near the fire. "Set some of the others to work opening them, Josh," Nick observed. "My fingers are too sore for the job. Besides, I've done my part, seems like, in getting the crop gathered." Jack and Jimmy took hold, and with the oyster knives soon began to fill a receptacle with the contents of the shells. Nick was busying himself whacking a few open on the side, "just to test them," as he said; for they noticed that he made no contributions to the general fund. "A trifle salty, but just prime," the judge of oysters remarked, several times, as he devoured a fat one. "This is worth coming for, boys. The coast for me every time, when you can get such treats as this. Think I gathered enough? Want any more, Josh?" "Oh! hould up!" cried Jimmy, whose fingers were getting sore from the various cuts received from the sharp edges. "Sure, we've got enough for a rigiment, so we have. Just ate up the balance yoursilf, and stow your gab, Nick." A short time later, Jack, who had been rummaging around aboard the _Tramp_, called out: "Anybody see my old coat lying around loose?" At that, Jimmy uttered a startled cry and jumped up. "Glory be!" he exclaimed. "I forgot all about that, Jack, darlint. It must have been your coat that wint overboard in the inlet, and sank, while I was shootin' the murderous shark. And by the powers, that is too bad, beca'se it had that bally ould paper missage in it ye was to deliver to Van Arsdale Spence at Beaufort!" The other boys echoed the disconsolate cry of Jimmy, and looked at Jack, as if they felt the greatest pity for him in his unfortunate loss. CHAPTER XII. THE CAMP UNDER CAPE CHARLES LIGHT. "Say, he don't look bothered a teenty bit!" exclaimed Josh, surprised because Jack seemed so free from care. "And look at him, would you!" burst out Herb; "why, blessed if he ain't grinning right now, to beat the band!" "Here, own up, Jack, old boy, what's got you? Didn't you care much whether you ever got that mysterious packet into the hands of this Spence fellow?" demanded George. "To be sure, I did; and do yet," replied Jack; "but that's no reason why I ought to go around pulling a long face and whimpering, especially since no milk has been spilled after all." "But, sure, it was the ould coat as I saw go over!" ejaculated Jimmy, stubbornly. "I guess it must have been, because I just can't find the same anywhere," admitted the other, nodding. "And ye put that packet in the inside pocket, beca'se I saw ye," Jimmy went on. "Yes, I did," Jack chuckled; "but then none of you saw me take it out again later and stow it in another place. You see, I seemed to have an idea my coat might get lost, because half the time I have it off." "Then the packet is,--where?" asked George, brightening up. "Down in the bottom of my fishing tackle box at this very minute, and not in the stomach of a Watchapreague shark!" declared Jack, confidently. "Hurrah! Count another for our wise ould chum, Jack. He's got the long head, so he has. Let's have a squint at the documint again, now. 'Twould be good for sore eyes to glimpse the same!" Jimmy declared, enthusiastically. So Jack had to get out his fishing tackle box, and, dipping down into its depths, produce the valuable packet. After that, preparations for supper were allowed to go on apace. As for the missing coat, Jack declared that it did not amount to much, anyhow, as he had another handy. And besides, with a sweater to fall back upon in case of cold occasions, he had no regrets. "I wonder will we really find this party, when we get around Beaufort?" Herb remarked, as they sat there, watching Josh wrestle with the broken crackers which, with the large pan of oysters, were to form the mess which, cooked as best they could over the red coals of the fire, would form the main part of the meal. "We will, if anybody can," replied Jack, with determination in his manner. "You just bet we will," affirmed Nick, showing unexpected interest in the idea. The fact was, despite the many raw oysters he had swallowed, Nick was almost famished, and was trying the best he knew how to keep his attention from the slow preparations being made for supper. But all in good time the meal was pronounced ready. Josh, in lieu of an oven in which to bake his scalloped oysters, had kept the pan on the fire, with a cover over the top; and really it had been pretty well browned. They pronounced it simply delicious. Nick softened toward his ancient tormentor, Josh, and, patting him on the back, declared that when it came to cooking he had them all "beaten to a frazzle." "What's that light away off there to the south, Jack?" asked Herb, after they had eaten to a standstill. "I rather fancy that must be the Hog Island Light," replied the other. "Before we make that, we have to cross another inlet, this time over a mile wide; but they say Little Machipongo isn't in the same class as that last one, for danger and ugly currents." "Gee! I hope not," grumbled Nick, who was scraping the pan in which the oysters had been cooked so beautifully. "Then comes Great Machipongo Inlet, and a few more for tomorrow, after which we are due to reach Cape Charles," Jack went on, always ready to impart information when he saw that his chums wanted to know anything. "This whole coast seems to be a series of bays and sounds, connected by little creeks and channels that, at flood time, can be safely navigated by a boat that don't happen to draw many feet of water," Herb remarked. "Yes, and that is the case pretty near all the way from New York to the lower end of Florida," Jack observed. "Some day it's going to be possible to make the entire trip as easy as falling off a log. The Government is doing a heap of dredging in lots of places." "Yes," remarked George, sarcastically; "if they'd only put some of the millions in here that they squander on good-for-nothing creeks in the backwoods, it'd be done in no time." "Huh!" grunted Nick, "I'd just like to have the fat contract for dredging out some of these muddy creeks. Say, mebbe a fellow wouldn't get rich on the job, eh? I think I'll have to mention it to my dad, for he's keen on contracts, you know." They passed a pleasant evening. Jimmy was easily induced to get out his banjo and give them many brisk tunes that seemed to just go with the plunkety-plunk of the joyous instrument. "Seems like a banjo just chimes in with Southern scenes," remarked Herb. "Oh! shucks! this ain't the Sunny South yet awhile, Herb," laughed Josh. "Wait till we get down in South Carolina, anyhow, where we'll run across some palmetto trees. That gives the real tropical flavor." "If there were only some monkeys frisking about in the feathery tops, it'd add a heap to it, in my opinion," remarked Nick. "Or a few coy mermaids," laughed Jack; "but then our friend here wouldn't find it quite so easy to climb to the top of a palmetto as to tumble overboard." "Let up on that, won't you, Jack? It's mean, rubbing it in so hard," complained the object of the roar that followed. In this way, then, the evening passed. As the mosquitoes began to get in their work later, the boys changed their minds, and concluded to sleep aboard, instead of on shore, as they had at first intended. With the morning, things began to happen again. Breakfast was eaten first, and then Jack, who had been assisting George examine his motor, discovered the cause of the unfortunate stop, so that the freakish engine was now apparently all right again. They crossed both the Machipongo Inlets without any accident, though it was evident that the skipper of the _Wireless_ was more or less nervous, and kept hovering close to the other boats, with an eye on the ropes which they kept coiled in the stern. And Nick also crouched down in the body of the boat, gripping some substantial part of the framework, with the grim air of one who had determined not to be pitched out into the water again, come what would. Both heaved plain sighs of relief when the crossings were made without the least trouble. Cobb's Island now lay close by, and beyond were several more openings, where the sea connected with the shore waters. But these were small compared with those already navigated, and with a fair amount of caution they had no need to borrow trouble longer. "There's what we're aiming to reach by evening, fellows!" remarked Jack, about the middle of the afternoon. Following the direction in which his extended hand pointed, the others could see a lighthouse not a great way ahead, though it might take some time to reach it by way of winding connecting creeks. "The great Cape Charles Light, ain't it, Jack?" demanded Herb. "Just what it is," replied the commodore. "Then, tomorrow we'll have to cross the mouth of the Chesapeake and arrive at Norfolk or Portsmouth; is that the programme?" asked George. "If everything looks good to us, yes," replied Jack, seriously. "We want to take as few chances, you know, as we must. And that twenty miles is a big trip for our little craft. All depends on the wind and the sky. But there are always lots of boats around here; and if we got in a peck of trouble they'd help us out." "That's a comfort," remarked Nick. "It was bad enough dropping overboard in that inlet, and I don't hanker to try it in the ocean itself. Excuse me, boys; I pass. I've shown you how to do the trick; some one else take the next try." "We'll hope there isn't going to be any next, like the little boy's apple core," Jack laughed. Then they had to drop into single file as the channel narrowed again, with the pilot boat _Tramp_ leading the way as usual. "This is Smith Island, and the one on which the lighthouse is built. We ought to bring up there in short order now, when the mouth of the bay will be spread in front of us like a picture," Jack called, over his shoulder. "All very nice," grumbled Nick; "but as for me, I'd much rather it was spread out _behind_ us," and George doubtless echoed the thought, though too proud to show any nervousness over the prospective trip on the open sea. At least Jack's prediction came true, for they did succeed in making the point of the island where the Cape Charles Light stood, a beacon to all vessels trying to enter the great Chesapeake Bay. Far across the heaving waters lay Norfolk, Portsmouth, and Fortress Monroe, the Government station. Near here one of the most important naval engagements of the Civil War was fought, when Ericsson's "cheese on a raft," the _Monitor_, faced the terrible Confederate ironclad ram, _Merrimac_, and forced her to retire, after it seemed as though the entire wooden United States navy was to be at the mercy of the enemy. No doubt many of these events thronged the minds of the four high school lads as they stood there on the sandy beach looking across that stretch of sea toward the object of their expectation. And George, with Nick a good second, must have devoutly wished the labor of the next twenty-four hours were completed, with the little fleet at safe anchorage off the town of Norfolk, which they had determined to visit, so as to get their mail, and secure a few fresh supplies, since the hungry Nick was making a terrible hole in what they carried. And on this October night they camped ashore under the gleaming Cape Charles Light. CHAPTER XIII. A SHOUT AT MIDNIGHT. In the morning, after they had eaten an early breakfast, the boys called on the keeper of the light, and were allowed to climb to the top of the tower. Here a glorious panorama was spread before them, with many miles of the sea to the east, the sandy shore line stretching far to the dim north, and one of the most beautiful pictures opening out to the southwest, where lay Norfolk and those other places of interest, across twenty miles of green waters that glistened in the early October sunlight. Jack asked many questions concerning tides and prevailing winds. He also noted the lay of the course they must follow in making their passage across to the other side. The genial keeper gave him numerous points that might be of value. He also declared it as his opinion that they could not have a better day for the trip, as the sea was comparatively smooth, and the wind light, as well as from a favorable quarter. And so the boys returned to their boats, determined to make the effort to cross while the chances were so much in their favor. Nick was only waiting to be invited aboard the good old _Comfort_; and Jack, who believed that it would be better to have only one to occupy their attention in case anything went wrong with the untamed speed boat, asked George if he had any objections to letting his crew change ships, to which the other immediately replied that such a thing would please him immensely. "I can manage her much better without a cargo, fellows," he declared, earnestly. "Now, listen to him, would you, calling me a cargo?" whimpered Nick; but while he thus pretended to be offended, it was laughable to see how quickly he made the transfer, as though afraid Jack might change his mind, or George want him to stay. About nine o'clock the start was made, as the tide would be most favorable around that time, the lighthouse keeper had told them. Since the _Comfort_ had been overhauled she was capable of making better time than previously, when she was known as the "Tub" by the rest of the boys. Herb declared he could take her across in two hours, though Jack privately believed it would be nearer three before they reached Norfolk. It turned out to be a hedge, just two and a half hours elapsing from the time they made the start until they drew up near the big wharves at Norfolk. However, time was not giving these happy-go-lucky lads the least uneasiness just at present, so long as they did reach port in safety. "And it's just as well we started so early," Jack remarked, "because the wind is freshening all the while, and it will be blowing great guns out there before long. "Hey, Josh! why not make a change again, and you get aboard the _Comfort_?" proposed Nick, who hated to give up a good thing. "No you don't," retorted Josh, "not any for me. You just go and stew in your own gravy, will you? Took me a whole month to get the creak out of my bones after the last time you coaxed me to change places. Over you get, now, or else it's a ducking for yours, my boy," and Josh advanced in a warlike manner on the fat youth. So, sighing like a martyr, Nick felt compelled to clamber into the speed boat. "You ought to have one for your own sweet self," declared George, as he grasped the gunnel to keep from being tossed overboard, for Nick careened the boat dreadfully upon climbing in. "Why, you just don't know how fine the old _Wireless_ acted on the way over, with only me aboard." "I wish I did have a boat, as big as a house," declared Nick. "I'm wasting away to a mere shadow trying to keep my balance in this wedge. If I forget to breathe with both lungs at the same time he tells me I'm upsetting the equilibrium of the blessed thing. I feel most all the time like I'm the acrobat in the circus trying to stand on one toe on top of a flagpole." After they had tied up, Herb was dispatched for the mail, while Jack went to buy a few provisions. Nick bombarded him with such a fearful list of things he wanted him to purchase that Jack had to thrust his fingers in his ears. "What do you take me for, Nick, a dray horse?" he laughed. "I'd have to be, to carry the load you'd want. I've got a list of things we must have, and that's all I'll promise to lug down here. If you want anything else, you'll have to go after it yourself." "All right, I'll do that," said Nick, promptly. "Sure; and please tell me where you expect to stow all that truck?" demanded George, immediately, with a frown. "Not aboard the _Wireless_, I promise you, my boy. She's got all she can carry in hauling you around, without a sack of potatoes, a ham, and all that truck you mentioned. Hire a float, and perhaps we'll tow it behind us." Nick said not another word, being completely squelched, as Josh put it. Leaving Norfolk, they started up the broad Elizabeth River, meaning to take the Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal, which had long ago been cut through the Great Dismal Swamp and connected with Currituck Sound, that noted ducking place where so many large gun clubs have their headquarters. Entering this canal, they moved along steadily through the balance of the afternoon. On all sides lay the most interesting sights; for the moss hung heavily on the dismal-looking trees, and the boys thought they had never seen a more depressing picture than was now presented to their gaze. "Say, Jack, do we get out of this place tonight?" asked Herb, who was not particularly fond of swamps and such ghostly places. "No, we made out to start a little too late to get to the little river beyond before night sets in," Jack replied. "But there's a pretty good sized moon now, you remember, and we might keep on. I'm afraid it'll give me the jim-jams to sleep in this horrible old swamp," Herb went on to say. "Like to oblige you," laughed Jack; "but the fact is we're going to tie up mighty soon now. Only looking for a half way decent place." "What's all the hurry?" grumbled the pilot of the _Comfort_. "Look aloft and you'll soon see," came the reply, which caused Herb to cast his eyes upward. "Holy smoke! we're going to get some storm, I take it!" he immediately exclaimed, as he saw heavy clouds mounting upward. "And to think that nobody discovered the fact but you, Jack. Yes, I reckon, then, we'll have to tie up, and get George's boat tent up before she comes. I'll just have to grin and bear it." "That's the way to talk, Herb," said Josh. "What difference does it make to us, tight in our snug little hunting cabin? If anybody made a kick it ought to be the poor _Wireless_ crew." "Here, don't you waste your breath pitying us, now," flashed the jealous George, who could never bear to have any one but himself run his boat down. There seemed but little choice of a camping place, since the shores of the canal proved to be pretty much alike; so presently Jack threw up his hand as a signal that he meant to stop, and the three boats were soon being tied to trees. "You'd think Herb expected a tornado, and wanted to make sure his old houseboat didn't get carried away," laughed George, as he watched the other secure both ends of the _Comfort_ with cables, that he tested again and again. "Oh, well, you never can tell," replied the other, without showing the least ill will; "and 'a stitch in time saves nine,' they taught me at home. 'What's worth doing at all is worth doing well', and sometimes it pays." "It always pays in a contented mind," remarked Jack, who admired this positive trait in Herbert's nature, so different from George's flighty ways. It was the case of the hare and the tortoise over again with these two; and while the speedy hare lay down to take a nap, confident of winning, the slow going tortoise was apt to come along and get to the goal first, after all. The rain held off for a while, and they were able to cook supper ashore, though Josh kept as anxious eye on those dark clouds overhead while he worked. "It's going to prove a big fizzle after all," remarked Nick, after a little water had come down, and the moon peeped out of a break in the clouds. "Perhaps so; you never can tell what the weather will do," Jack laughed. "But all the same we'll be apt to sleep aboard again, for fear it does rain before morning." "You bet we will," remarked Herb; "at least this chicken does. Ugh! I'd wake up, and think a raft of snakes was creeping out of that old swamp there. Are you all of the same mind about bunking aboard?" "If anybody will go me, I'll stay ashore," announced Nick, to the surprise of his chums; but then they knew the narrow confines of the speed boat cramped his ample form, and that explained his boldness. "That is, if George will only let me have his gun too." "Sure I will, and only too glad," declared that worthy, eagerly. "I'd like to stretch all over the bally old boat myself, for once." Jimmy took up Nick's offer, and so Jack set to work making them a rude sort of canopy that was calculated to shed water fairly well. It was composed of branches from nearby trees, and might be called a hunter's lean-to. When the time came for retiring, the two boys lay down under this, drawing their blankets around them, for the night air was chilly. "If it rains too hard, crawl in where you belong," was the last instruction Jack gave them before seeking the bed he had made in the _Tramp's_ interior. Later on all was silent about the camp on the canal. From the swamp near by various queer sounds might have been heard, had any one remained awake to listen; but as the boys were all pretty tired, no doubt they slept well. It might have been in the middle of the night that Jack was aroused by a loud shout, which he recognized as coming from Nick. Wondering what it meant, he immediately started to climb out of the boat, gun in hand, when there came a tremendous report. Evidently Nick, whether he had seen something suspicious or was dreaming he did, had fired George's borrowed gun! CHAPTER XIV. NICK BAGS HIS GAME. "Whoop! I got him!" That was certainly Nick shouting in an exultant strain; and as Jack glanced in the direction of the lean-to he saw the fat boy hunching his pudgy figure out, gun in hand--for the moon had not yet set in the west. Then Jack caught the sound of something struggling in the brush close by. Not knowing what it might prove to be, he was in no hurry to jump over that way. "What did you shoot at, Nick?" he demanded, as the excited boy scrambled awkwardly to his feet, and appeared anxious to renew the engagement; at the same time Jack made sure to lay hold on the other's gun, lest he open fire recklessly. "I d--d--don't know for sure," stammered Nick; "but it looked awfully like a tiger." "What?" exclaimed Jack, astonished. "Why, don't you know there isn't such an animal in North America?" "Might have been a striped skunk, Jack?" suggested Josh, who had poked his head out from the cabin of the _Comfort_. "Or a zebra escaped from a menagerie," Herb remarked. "All right, have all the fun you want, fellows," said Nick, doggedly; "but all the same, whatever it was, I got it." "That's just what he did, boys, I reckon," Jack declared; "because you can hear it kicking its last over yonder in the bushes. Here, where's that lantern of ours, Jimmy? I let you have it, remember? Light up, and show me the way in there." Jimmy quickly applied a match to the wick, and as the light flared up, he swung the lantern in his hand. "Who's afraid?" he said, boldly, as he started toward the spot where silence now reigned. "Come along after me, Jack, darlint; and please remimber that if the beast springs at me, I depind on you to knock spots out of him. Keep back, the rest of ye, now, till we solve the puzzle." Jack kept his gun in readiness, for there could be no telling what lay beyond that fringe of bushes. "I do be seein' somethin' there on the ground, Jack. Looky yonder, honey, an' sure ye can't miss the same, by the token," Jimmy presently said, in a low, strained voice, as he pointed a trembling finger ahead. "Yes, I see something," Jack admitted. "Go on, Jimmy, take a few more steps. No matter what a ferocious monster it may prove to be, I rather guess Nick nailed it with that charge of shot at close range." They kept on advancing, and the nearer they drew the bolder Jimmy seemed to grow, until presently both boys stood over the victim of Nick's fire. Then they broke out into a shout that made the weird echoes leap out of the depths of Dismal Swamp. "Tare and ounds!" burst forth Jimmy, "if 'tisn't a shoat afther all he killed." "Say rather a full grown razorback pig," laughed Jack, as he noted the sharp snout of the rooter, and its slab sides. Jimmy immediately bent down and gripped the beast by one of its hind legs. "'Tis a roast of frish pork we'll be afther havin' the morrow," he declared. "They do be sayin' that these same Virginia pigs have the flavor of the bist Irish pork; an' I've always wanted to try the same. Think of Nick being the one to give us this trate. And if we iver run up against the owner, it's Nick must stand the cost. A tiger, did he say? He must have been saing double stripes the time." When they backed into the camp, and the defunct pig was shown, a chorus of yells arose from the balance of the crowd. Even Nick joined in the whooping. "Laugh all you want to, fellows," he remarked, as he assumed a proud attitude, leaning on his gun as though posing for his picture, with that wild boar at his feet, as the spoils of the hunt. "I thought it was a wild beast about to attack the camp; and as the only one awake at the time, I believed it my solemn duty to give him both barrels, which I did. And what's more, you see that I got him. Now, what do you say about my marksmanship, Josh Purdue?" "Not a word," returned that worthy, throwing up both hands. "Why, you peppered the poor beast from bow to stern. Won't we have a fine time picking the shot out of our teeth, if we try to eat him? But Jack, do they ever make use of such awful thin-looking hogs as this?" "Of course, they do," replied the other, quickly. "All razorbacks are thin. They live in the woods and swamps, feeding on mast, which means acorns and nuts and sweet roots. That's what gives their flesh the sweet taste it has, a sort of gamey flavor, they say, though I never really ate part of a genuine razorback." "But you will now, I hope," remarked Nick. "This is my treat, and I hereby cordially invite you, one and all, to partake with me when our chef has a chance to cook one of these fresh hams." "He just wants us to be in it as deep as he is, so if the owner shows up we'll stand by him," chuckled Josh. "Well, we ought to stand back of him," asserted Jack; "because Nick really rested under the belief that he was protecting the camp from the prowling monster. Of course, we accept your kind invite, Nick; and now, let's get back under the blankets as fast as we can, because it's kind of cool out here." All of them made haste to do so save Nick, who lingered for some time to fairly gloat over his quarry. Seldom had the fat boy been enabled to bring down any species of game worth mentioning, so that his excitement was easily understood. On the next morning Jack cut up the lean pig, having a fair knowledge of the methods employed in such a case. Of course, none of them just fancied living off some man's property, and if they could only find out who the owner of the razorback was they would have only too gladly paid whatever it was worth. But whether they ever did find him out or not, it would be a wicked shame to let all that sweet meat go to waste. And that very morning they had some pretty nice chops from the pig's ribs, which gave them a taste at any rate. That morning they continued to move south through Currituck Sound. There were some ducks in sight, and more arriving, but only an occasional discharge of a gun came to their ears. Once Jack pointed to a wedge-shaped line of geese standing out against the clear sky far above, and heading still further south for some favorite feeding bar. That night they camped on Roanoke Island, and the boys knew that they had made gallant progress through a portion of North Carolina. "Tomorrow we will, I expect, get through Albemarle Sound, which is something like twenty-five miles in length," Jack remarked, as around a cheery fire that night they talked of what lay just before them. "And after that, what?" questioned Herb. "There's a lighthouse at the head of the narrower Croaton Sound, and if you look over there to the east right now you'll see the one on Body Island at Oregon Inlet. We've got to cross there first of all, you see." "More inlets beyond that, are there?" asked George, trying to look indifferent. "Two more before we reach Hatteras in Pamlico Sound, and known as New Inlet and Loggerhead. That last one is a hummer, too, I understand; but it can't be any worse than some we've successfully negotiated," Jack answered. "Particularly that Watchapreague one," chuckled Josh, "where the jolly mermaids lie in wait to coax all handsome fellows overboard." "Huh! that's right," remarked Nick; "and I noticed that you stayed aboard all right, Josh." "Nothing to bother about with any of them, if only the boats behave half way decently," declared Jack. "If the engine of the _Wireless_ hadn't balked just when it did, George wouldn't have had any trouble." "And I'd have been saved my bath," chuckled Nick. "But what of me, kind sors?" broke in Jimmy, in his thickest brogue, assumed, no doubt, for the occasion. "I'd have lost me chanct to win immortal glory. Didn't I be afther fillin' that beast of a shark with lead, so that his cronies they tore him into bits, an' devoured him in a jiffy. Give the divvle his dues, boys." "Yes," Jack hastened to say, "give Jimmy all that's coming to him, fellows. He deserves it," at which there was a roar. Starting again in the morning, the southward run was resumed. All were now in a good humor. They seemed to be able to surmount any and all difficulties as fast as they arose; and this disposition made them light-hearted in the extreme. One of the hams had been cooked in an oven on the preceding night, and proved to be very tender eating after all. Albemarle Sound was passed, and the one beyond it. Even the dreaded Loggerhead Inlet proved to be a hollow mockery, in so far as giving them any real trouble went, for they crossed it with the utmost ease. With several hours of daylight still ahead, they entered upon the great wide Pamlico Sound, which in places is all of twenty miles from shore to shore. As it is extremely shallow in many places, this body of water makes a treacherous sailing ground, and many a boat has met with disaster while navigating it. They had not been an hour afloat on Pamlico before Jack was sorry he had started. Once more clouds had scurried above the horizon, and were mounting with great fleetness. And this time he believed that the storm would not prove a tempest in a teapot, as the last one had turned out to be. Vainly they looked about them for a haven of safety. There was absolutely no point of land where the water was of sufficient depth to allow of their finding a temporary harbor. The clouds were climbing higher with a rapidity that told of the wind that must soon sweep across that wide body of water with cruel violence. "Whew! perhaps we ain't in for it now!" called George, as he drew up closer to the others, to find out what Jack had to say; for strange as it might seem, when peril confronted the boys of the Motor Boat Club, they seemed to turn toward Jack with much the same confidence the needle shows in pointing directly to the north. "What can we do, Jack?" asked Nick, in more or less alarm, as they plainly heard the distant growl of thunder; and in imagination the fat boy could see himself in the cranky speed boat, as she caught the full force of the wind, and turned turtle in the twenty-mile sound, amid the crash of the storm. CHAPTER XV. A WARM WELCOME TO THE STORMY CAPE. There was no time to waste. One last glance around told Jack the necessity for prompt action, if he wished to pull the little flotilla out of the bad hole in which they seemed settled. The storm was racing up from the southwest, beyond the distant mainland. Consequently, the eastern side of the great shallow sound would presently become a boisterous place for craft the size of theirs. "We've got to head into it, fellows!" was his decision, as he began to change the course of the _Tramp_ to conform with his views. It looked like heroic treatment, but neither Herb nor George murmured. They saw what the commodore had in mind, and that every mile they were able to forge ahead would decrease the peril. Indeed, if they could only manage to reach a point close in to that western shore, they would escape the brunt of the rising waves, and only have to think of holding their own against the wind itself. "Full speed, _Comfort_?" called Jack, waving an encouraging hand toward the other. Now George found himself perplexed as to what his course should be. He knew he could make almost twice the speed that the lumbering broad beam boat was able to display at her best. The question was, did he dare risk it? True, the _Wireless_ was in more danger out on that wide stretch than any of the others, and it seemed good policy for him to speed for shelter. But what if one of those exasperating breakdowns, to which the mechanism of the narrow boat seemed subject, should take place without warning? George shuddered as he contemplated such a possibility. He could easily imagine his feelings upon being cast helplessly adrift in the midst of a raging gale, with his tried and true chums hidden from his sight by the rain and blowing spindrift. And so his decision was quickly made. Of the two evils he chose what seemed to be the lesser. He would stick to the fleet. Then, in case of trouble, they could help each other like comrades. Jack had kept an eye on the _Wireless_, for he guessed that just this puzzling question would come up for George to solve. And when he failed to see the speed boat shooting away, leaving the others in the lurch, he understood that the wise skipper had decided on the better way. They were making fine headway, but all the same the storm was doing likewise; and unfortunately, at the time, they happened to be quite a few miles away from the shore that promised shelter. "What ails George, do ye know?" questioned Jimmy, who could not understand why the other did not make with all speed ahead, as he had been known to do on a former occasion, considering that the best course. "That sudden stop on the part of his engine gave him a bad feeling," was Jack's reply. "He doesn't trust it as he did, and is afraid that it may repeat when he is in the midst of the storm. So he's going to stick by us, through thick and thin." "It does his head credit, I'm thinkin'," declared Jimmy; and then, as he stared hard into that inky space ahead, that was gradually creeping up toward them, he continued: "Sure now, do ye think we can make it, Jack darlint?" "Well, we've just got to, that's all," the other replied, firmly. "If the wind doesn't blow us right out of the water, we'll keep on bucking directly into it. The fight will be a tough one, Jimmy; but make up your mind we _must_ win out. Half the battle is in confidence--that and eternal watchfulness." It was in this manner that Jack Stormways always impressed his chums with some of the zeal by which his own actions were governed. That "never-give-up" spirit had indeed carried him through lots of hotly contested battles on the gridiron or the diamond, wresting victory many times from apparent defeat. So they continued to push steadily on. Jack counted every minute a gain. He kept a close watch upon the surface of the sound, knowing that here they must first of all discover the swoop of the gale, as its skirmishing breath struck the water. The last movement of air seemed to have died out, yet this was the calm that often precedes the coming of the storm, the deadly lull that makes the tempest seem all the more terrible when it breaks. Jack calculated that they had been some five miles from the western shore at the time they changed their southern course, and headed to starboard. And as _Comfort_ could do no better than ten miles an hour, under the most favorable conditions, it stood to reason that about half an hour would be needed to place them in a position of safety. "We won't get it, that's flat," he was saying to himself, as he noted the way in which the clouds gathered for the rush. Picking up the little megaphone which he carried, he shouted a few sentences to the others. While the air around them remained so calm, the thunder was booming in the quarter where that black cloud hung suspended, so that talking was already out of the question unless one used some such contrivance for aiding the voice. "George, better fall in just ahead of us, where we can get a line to you in case you have engine trouble. Two sharp blasts will tell us that you want help. Herb, try and keep as close to me as is safe! We must stick it out together, hear?" Both of the other skippers waved their hands to indicate that they understood, and doubtless George was given fresh courage to find how calm and confident Jack seemed to face the approaching difficulty. The land was now less than two miles away, and a faint hope had begun to stir in Jack's heart that there might be enough delay to allow their reaching a point of safety. This, however, was dissipated when he suddenly discovered a white line that looked as though a giant piece of chalk had been drawn along the water. The squall had pounced down upon Pamlico, and was rushing toward them at the rate of at least a mile a minute. "Hold hard!" shouted Jack through his megaphone. Then he devoted himself to engineering the _Tramp's_ destiny. Jimmy knew what was expected of him in the emergency, and was nerved to acquit himself with credit. While his skipper showed himself to be so cool and self-possessed Jimmy could not think of allowing the spasm of fear that passed over him to hold sway. What if that line of foamy water was increasing in size as it rushed at them, until it assumed dreadful proportions? The _Tramp_ had passed safely through other storms, and with Jack at the wheel all must be serene. So Jimmy crouched there at the motor, ready to do whatever he was told--crouched and gaped and shivered, yet with compressed teeth was resolved to stand by his shipmate to the end. Then the foam-crested water struck the flotilla with a crash. First the narrow _Wireless_ was seen to surge forward, rear up at a frightfully perpendicular angle, until it almost seemed as though the frail craft must be hurled completely over; and then swoop furiously down into the basin that followed the comber. George held her firmly in line, and somehow managed to keep her head straight into the shrieking wind, though he frankly confessed that his heart was in his mouth when she took that header. But almost at the same instant the other boats tried the same frightful plunge, and they, too, survived. Jack gave a sigh of relief when he saw that all of them had passed through the preliminary skirmish unharmed, for it had been that which gave him the greatest concern. And now the work began in earnest. They had to fight for every foot they won against the combined forces of wind and wave. Had they been a mile or so further out in the sound, so that the seas had a better chance to become monstrous, nothing could have saved any of them. And Jack's chums once again had reason to be thankful for the far-seeing qualities which their commodore developed when he changed their course, and headed into the teeth of the coming gale. At least several things favored them now. George's boat seemed to be behaving wonderfully well, for one thing. Then again, after that first swoop the gale had slackened somewhat in intensity, as is frequently the case; though presently they could expect it to become more violent than ever, when it caught its second wind, as Jerry expressed it. Then, another hopeful thing was the fact that with every yard passed over they were really getting the benefit of drawing closer to the shore that was serving as a sort of shield from the wind. The seas too gradually declined, since there was lacking the water necessary to build them up. Jack had one thing to worry over. He knew that on such occasions considerable water would be swept from the western side of the sound, and this was apt to send the boats aground unless luck favored them. Such a condition would keep them from going further in any great distance, since the risk of striking became too pronounced. "It's all right, Jimmy!" he called to his helper, knowing how anxious the latter must necessarily be; "we've got to a point now where we're safe. We could even drop our mudhooks over right here, and ride it out, if we wanted. But it's better to go on a little further." "Whoo! wasn't the same a scorcher, though?" Jimmy shouted, a sickly grin coming over his good-natured, freckled face. "It was some wind, I'm thinking," Jack admitted. "I wasn't a bit afraid about the _Tramp_ or the _Comfort_, but there's no telling what that trick boat, _Wireless_, will do, when you don't expect it. But everything is lovely, and the goose hangs high." "Sure it will, if ever ye get a sight on one with that bully little gun; and it was poor hungry Nick I heard sayin', by the same token, that he liked roast goose better than anything in the woide worrld except oysters!" Ten minutes later and Jack blew a blast upon his conch shell horn that told the others they were to come to anchor. Whereupon there was more or less hustling, as the crews got busy. Presently the three little motor boats rode buoyantly to their anchors, bobbing up and down on the rolling waves like ducks bowing to each other. And as they had made out to select positions within the safety zone of each other, it was possible for those aboard to hold conversations, if they but chose to elevate their voices more or less, in order to be heard above the shrieking wind and dashing waves. CHAPTER XVI. THE WIRELESS AS TRICKY AS EVER. "We're in for a bad night, Jack!" called George, some time later on; while poor Nick hung over the side of the wobbling speed boat, and looked forlorn indeed. "You are, in that contraption, George; but the rest of us don't give a hang whether the old storm holds on or not. We expect to get busy cooking supper right soon now, as these bully little Juwel stoves will burn, no matter how the boats jump up and down." "Oh! I wish Herb would only open his heart, and invite me to spend the night on board the good reliable old _Comfort_!" groaned Nick. "Sure! Come right along; plenty of room for three here. George can tuck in, too, if he says the word," called Herb, cheerily. "What! desert my boat in time of need? What do you take me for?" cried George, with a great show of righteous indignation; but as for Nick, he became so excited, Jack feared he would jump in, and try to swim across. By letting out more cable George was enabled to swing his boat close enough to the big craft to allow of Josh seizing hold; and while he thus held on clumsy Nick managed to crawl aboard, though he came within an ace of taking a bath, and would have done so, only that Herb gave him a helping hand. Then George pulled back again to his former position. If he felt that he was making something of a martyr of himself, in thus determining to stick by the madly plunging _Wireless_ all night, George was too proud to indicate as much. He might suffer all sorts of discomforts, and never breathe a word of complaint. But the storm proved short-lived after all. Before they began to think of making up their beds the wind had slackened in violence, and the clouds showed signs of breaking. Indeed, as Jack pulled the blanket over him, he could see that the moon was peeping out from behind the black curtains overhead. "It'll be a fairly decent night after all, Jimmy," he muttered; but as there was no answer, he took it for granted that his mate had passed into slumberland by the short route; indeed, Jimmy had a faculty for getting to sleep almost as soon as his head touched his pillow, which in this case was an inflated rubber one. And as the night wore on, the tossing of the boats became less and less, until along about three in the morning Jack, chancing to awaken, found that the little _Tramp_ lay perfectly quiet on the bosom of the big sound. He could see out, and looking toward the southeast beheld the glow of that great beacon marking the position of the most stormy cape along the whole Atlantic coast--Hatteras. In the morning they were not long in getting under way, as soon as breakfast had been hurried through with, and Nick had to get aboard his own boat again, for his services were needed by his skipper. Across the sound they sped at a clipping rate, heading direct for the sandy spit where the lighthouse stands. The roar of the ocean beating against that barrier that has kept it out for ages came strongly to their ears, as the breeze changed with the turn of the tide. Landing among the sand dunes near the light, they paid a visit to the keeper, and met with a cordial reception. As a rule strangers are not allowed to trespass upon Government property; but such a fine lot of lads seemed to appeal to the heart of the keeper, who took them up to the top of the tower, in order to let them have a view of what lay before them to the south. They listened to his stories of famous wrecks that had strewn the neighboring beaches with dismembered portions of gallant ships and steamers for fifty years; and looking out on the ocean to where the treacherous reefs lay, waiting for fresh victims, Jack could easily picture the tragic scenes that were being described, even though at that time the sun chanced to be shining brightly, and the sea fairly smooth. Then again a start was made, for some difficult cruising lay ahead before they could hope to reach Beaufort, where a little rest would be taken, in order to carry out the promise they had made the young aviator, Malcolm Spence. They had heard ugly stories about Hatteras Inlet. It was said to have treacherous currents, and to abound in fierce man-eating sharks. Hence George became more or less concerned as they bore down upon it on this same morning. But like a good many other things in this world, the expectation of trouble proved to be of far greater proportions than the actual experience. Why, they passed over without the slightest difficulty. Even Nick shouted in great glee when the dreaded inlet was a thing of the past, and he waved his fat hand disdainfully back toward it as they sped away. "It was dead easy, fellows!" he exclaimed. "Why, I just shut my eyes, and counted twenty. Then, when I opened them again, we were across!" and Nick hardly knew why his innocent confession of alarm was greeted by such uproarious shouts. "But the sharks were there, all roight, beca'se I saw the muttherin' critters pokin' their ould fins out of the wather!" declared Jimmy. "That's right, I saw the same," admitted Herb. The next crossing would be at Ocracoke Inlet. And then beyond that they would come to Portsmouth, where mail from home might be expected, since they had laid out a regular plan whereby those so dear to their boyish hearts--the home folks--could communicate with the wanderers. And at each place Jack, or one of the others, left word to have all delayed mail forwarded on. "Sure we do be getting closer all the while to that same ould Beaufort, where ye expect to discover the gintleman by the name of Van Arsdale Spence," Jimmy was remarking, as the flotilla moved majestically on in one-two-three order, the _Wireless_ leading for the time being. "We ought to get there some time tomorrow," Jack answered. "Tonight the plan is to camp on Cedar Island, and that is in Cove Sound, where Beaufort is located." "And then we'll know what the wonderful letter contains. It's bothered me more'n a little to guess, even though I knowed right well I had no business to think of it at all. But there's George pointing to somethin' ahead." "Yes, he sees the rough water of Ocracoke Inlet, and is falling back," laughed Jack, who was amused when the usually reckless skipper of the speed boat developed a cautious vein. George was learning something by slow degrees, and this might be set down to be the truth of that old proverb to the effect that the race is not always to the swift. Perhaps, if he ever had another boat built to order, he would not sacrifice safety and comfort to the mad desire to make fast time. But Ocracoke proved no harder to negotiate than had Hatteras. Perhaps it might be that experience was teaching the young motor boat cruisers just how to manage their craft when passing these dangerous openings, where the sweep of the sea had a full chance to strike them. Then came Portsmouth, where Jimmy was dispatched for the mail, as well as some necessary food supplies. They all had such good appetites, save perhaps Josh, for whose lack Nick more than made up, that it was simply amazing how things just seemed to melt away. But then six boys can always be depended upon to devour their own weight in "grub" during a short cruise upon the water. The salty air seemed to make them hungry all the time, so that it became necessary to piece between regular meals. Jack timed their departure from Portsmouth so as to break into Cove Sound, and reach Cedar Island, before night came on. Somehow he had set his mind in making a camp here. Possibly he had read of some former lone boatman doing the same, for he had devoured several books containing descriptions of this inland passage. As nothing happened to disturb his plans, they drew up for the night at Cedar Island, an hour and more before the sun would set. This gave them plenty of chances to do a number of things that happened to appeal to them individually. George went ashore to stretch his cramped legs, whither Nick had of course preceded him, leaving the _Wireless_ at anchor just beyond the other two boats. And George took his gun with him, thinking there might be a chance to pick up some shore birds, in the way of snipe or curlew. Jack was bent on trying to get a mess of fish for supper, and noting what seemed to be a promising place close by, he set to work. They saw him pull in several finny captives; and Nick would rub his stomach in mute delight every time the patient angler made a strike, as he viewed the possibilities of a prospective feast. Josh was busy making a fireplace out of some stones he picked up. It always did him great good to have things fixed to suit his ideas of what a cooking fire ought to be when in camp. It was fast becoming a hobby with Josh; and yet, strange to say, with all his ability in the line of cookery, he was often unable to partake of his own savory messes on account of his disposition toward indigestion. Herb seemed to be whittling something out of a piece of nice wood he had found; while Jimmy, always good-natured, and willing to be the "handy boy" of the bunch, gathered wood for the cook. They heard George shoot a number of times, and new hope began to take hold of Nick, who, moving closer to Josh, commenced quizzing him on how shore birds ought to be cooked, in order to bring out their particular flavor. Nick was never happier than when engaged in his favorite conversation concerning appetizing things to eat. Indeed, there was only one thing he liked better; and this was to indulge in the actual demonstration itself, and devour the finished product of the cook's skill. Suddenly Jimmy gave a yell. The others started up, thinking that perhaps Jack had made an unusually fine haul, or been pulled in himself by a large fish. George was just breaking through the scrub near by, and he echoed the shout of Jimmy. "Look at the _Wireless_, would you, fellows? Say! she's bewitched, that's what!" was what he whooped, as he started to run toward them. And as they turned their eyes in the direction of the erratic speed boat, what was their amazement to see the little craft moving away at a fast pace, although the engine was quite dead and cold, and not the first sign of a human being could be detected aboard. It was a mystery that sent a cold chill through every heart! CHAPTER XVII. GOOD-BYE TO AN ANCHOR. "Who's playing this trick on me?" demanded George, as he reached the others. "Look around and you'll see we're all here, with Jack running like mad this way," observed Herb, indignantly. "But what in the Sam Hill ails the bally old boat, then?" exclaimed George, as he turned his eyes again on the fast receding _Wireless_, that was heading out from the shore. "It's some trick of a native cracker; he's swimming under water, and pulling the boat after him. We've got to get in the other boats and give chase," declared shrewd Josh. "It's mighty queer, that's all!" gasped Nick; while Jimmy stood as if turned into stone, his eyes round with fear and superstition, for Jimmy had inherited the regular Irish belief in banshees and ghosts. George made a dash for the nearest boat, which happened to be the _Tramp_. "Wait for me!" shouted the owner of that craft, who was putting on a spurt in order to reach them quickly, having forgotten all about his finny prizes in this new and overwhelming discovery. He came up on the run, but already Herb was in the _Comfort_, about to start the engine. "No need, Herb," gasped Jack, "George and myself can overtake it with the _Tramp_. The rest of you stay here." "But glory be, what ails the ould thing?" demanded Jimmy, determined not to let the commodore get away without some explanation of the puzzle. "Why, don't you understand?" said Jack, as he busied himself with the motor. "A big fish, perhaps a wandering shark, has fouled the anchor rope, and getting badly rattled, has put off at full speed, dragging the boat after him. He's headed for the nearest inlet at this very minute; but we'll beat him at that little game, won't we, George?" Then the rattle of the motor sounded, and immediately the _Tramp_ set off in the wake of the runaway motor boat. A more surprised lot of boys it would have been difficult to find than those thus left upon the little sandy beach on Cedar Island. They stared after the two boats, and then turned to look at each other. "Well, did you ever?" gasped Nick. "Beats Bannigher, so it does," declared Jimmy, though it could be seen that a humorous expression had taken the place of that look of fear on his freckled face. "A shark got mussed up in the anchor rope, and then set out to steal the whole outfit!" remarked Herb. "Well, of all the funny things, don't that take the cake, though?" "That silly old boat of George's seems to me is always cutting up some sort of capers. She's the toughest proposition ever," Josh declared. "That's what I'm saying all the blessed time," grunted Nick, unconsciously beginning to feel of his various joints, as though the mere mention of the _Wireless_ made him remember his aches. "But can they overtake the measly thing?" Josh asked, watching nervously to see if he could determine how the race was progressing. "Just because the _Wireless_ is the faster boat, don't think Jack isn't going to run her down, hand over fist," declared Herb. "Already he's gaining on the other. You see, the shark isn't used to towing a boat like that at race-horse speed. And then the anchor bothers him some, I bet you." "Will George shoot the monster--for I take it a shark must be of pretty good size to run away with a motor boat like that?" Josh inquired. "Watch and see what happens. George has his gun in his hands, and seems to be looking over, as if he'd just like to shoot; but pshaw! the shark will stick to the bottom right along, and he can't be touched." It was evident to them all that unless some other line of action was brought into play the pursuers would have a pretty hard time of it outwitting the thief that refused to show himself near the surface. But they knew Jack would be equal to any occasion, and it was with more or less curiosity rather than alarm that those ashore stood there, watching, and waiting to see the close of the exciting little drama. "There, George has put down his gun; and I reckon Jack told him it was no good trying to cop the old pirate that way. Now what's he doing, fellows?" Nick remarked. "I saw the sunlight shine on something he's got in his hand," declared Herb. "That's roight," Jimmy observed, with conviction. "And it's a knife he is howldin', so it is." "Oh! my goodness gracious! I hope that foolish and rash George isn't thinking of going overboard, and engaging the man-eater in a fight, just like I've read those pearl divers do!" Nick gasped. "Rats! what d'ye think George is made of to play such a foolish game?" Jimmy cried. "It's to cut the anchor rope the laddy buck means to thry!" "That's right, Jimmy; and you can be sure it was Jack put him wise to that," Herb broke in with. "But," Nick went on, still half dazed, "he'll never see his blessed old anchor any more, will he? The blooming old shark will run off with it." "Let him," laughed Josh, in derision. "Better to lose a measly anchor than have the boat go to smash. Looky, fellows, he's going to do it right now!" Every one of them stared as hard as he could. The two boats had not gone so far off but what a pair of good eyes could observe what was taking place, even though night was coming on apace, with some clouds gathering overhead. Jack had run the _Tramp_ alongside the erratic runaway, and George was seen to clamber aboard his own boat. Of course, after that it would be a simple job to press the keen edge of Jack's knife upon the strained anchor rope. "He did it!" shouted Jimmy, as the _Wireless_ was noticed to fall suddenly behind the other craft, as though relieved from the unseen force that had been towing her away at such a headlong pace. And presently the speed boat was seen to move of her own accord, George having turned his engine, and thrown on power. They came back side by side, the skippers laughing heartily at the harmless end of what had at one time threatened to prove a calamity. "No harm done except that I must buy a new cable and anchor at Beaufort," said George, as he once more drew up by the side of the _Comfort_. "I've got a spare rope I can lend you till then," spoke up Herb, who liked to fish up all manner of contraptions from the depths of the roomy craft, and see the surprise written on the faces of his chums. So, after all, the excitement died out, though they would never forget their amazement at seeing the boat rushing off without any visible reason for its flight. Jack went back and secured the finny prizes that he had taken, upon which Josh set Jimmy to work, as the Irish boy was a master hand at cleaning fish. George, it turned out, had knocked down a whole covey of small birds, and several of them got busy plucking the feathers from these. Nick was willing to do what he could, but truth to tell, he proved so clumsy at the task that it took him the whole time to get just one little bird ready, while Jack and Herb did six apiece. Of course, they feasted that night, and considerable of the talk around the camp-fire concerned the late adventure. "It might have been much more serious," George declared. "That's a fact," added Josh, wagging his long head, solemnly, as was his custom. "Suppose now that same thing had happened in the middle of the night? Whew! we never would have known what had become of the blessed old _Wireless_. Jimmy here would have said the ghosts had carried her off." "Even if that shark had had a better start he might have given us a long chase before we caught him. And you fellows saw how quick it got dark tonight, with the clouds hanging over us," George continued. "What would you have done in that case, Jack?" asked Nick. "Do you mean if we found ourselves far out on the dark sound?" laughed the one addressed. "Why, I reckon we could have heard you shout; and if that failed there was the fire. Oh, I don't doubt we'd have found some way to get back here, all in good time!" By ten o'clock the sky had cleared again, so that they concluded to keep to the original plan, which included a night ashore. George was seen to pay particular attention about fastening his boat to the others with an extra cable. "He's meaning to make things secure," chuckled Josh. "Yes, one experience is quite enough for George, sometimes," commented Herb. "If another shark gets the fever, and tries to run away with an anchor, he's just got to take the entire bunch." "Yes, and the whole island in the bargain, because they've fastened the boats to that tree, you notice," Josh observed. Their hopes of a good, quiet night suffered no blight, for nothing happened to disturb their sleep, and morning found them eager to go on. They fully expected reaching Beaufort before long now, when the mysterious little packet could be delivered to the party to whom it was addressed, if they were fortunate enough to find him. Young Spence did not seem to be sure that this Van Arsdale Spence still lived near Beaufort, as he evidently once had done; but still Jack had hopes of succeeding, since they seemed to carry such luck along with them. It was eight o'clock when they got started. As usual, George detained them, finding occasion to do some more little necessary tinkering with that miserable engine of his, that was forever getting out of order. Cove Sound lay shimmering in the sunlight as the three little boats left the friendly beach of Cedar Island, and once more cut a passage through the water, with their prows turned southward. It was a beautiful morning. "I only hope," Jack had said at starting, "that it is a good omen, and that we will be able to get on the track of the party without too much delay." And so they started on the last leg that was to take them to Beaufort. CHAPTER XVIII. A SIGNAL OF DISTRESS. They made such fair speed that, as noon came along, they realized they could reach the little city on the sound. Once or twice Jack had been tempted to turn in to the shore, especially when he saw what looked to be a very pretty plantation, with the house having a red roof, and nestling in among many trees, for the idea had occurred to him that he might just happen on some valuable information concerning the party whom they sought. But it ended in his determining that on the whole he had better curb his impatience until reaching Beaufort. At the postoffice he might get in touch with some one who knew. When they pulled in they had eaten a little bite of cold stuff, as it was not their intention to stop to cook anything. Jack himself set off for the postoffice, to secure what mail awaited them, and at the same time make certain inquiries. "Can you tell me anything about a certain party named Van Arsdale Spence?" he asked the postmaster, after receiving several letters. The other looked at him closely. "He used to live near here," he said, finally. "Yes, we understood that, and I want to find him very much," Jack went on. "You passed his old home as you came here, and perhaps you noticed the house in among the trees, the one with the red-tiled roof?" "Why, of course we did!" Jack exclaimed, "and I was tempted to put in there, to make inquiries, but changed my mind. Then we must turn back, and go there?" The postmaster shook his head. "Wouldn't do any good, young man. Mr. Spence no longer lives there," he said. "Do you happen to know where he could be found, sir? I have a very important message to deliver to him, which I promised to hand over while we were passing along this section of the coast." To the surprise of Jack the official looked grave. "The rules of the department are very strict, sir, and prevent me from telling you where Mr. Spence gets his mail now." Then seeing Jack's look of bitter disappointment, and partly relenting, he continued: "But there's a party over yonder who knows just as well as I do, and is under no restrictions either. A drink, or a quarter, would do the business with Pete Smalling." "Thank you; I'll make the try anyway," and Jack hurried across to where he saw a rather disreputable citizen standing leaning against a fence, chewing a straw. "Excuse me, are you Pete Smalling?" he asked, as he came up. The cracker looked him over, and then grinned. Evidently he recognized that the other was a stranger in the community. Perhaps, too, he scented two bits, and later on a happy time in his favorite tavern taproom. "Them's my name, Mistah; what kin I do foh yuh?" he remarked, with the true Southern accent. "I want to see a certain party named Van Arsdale Spence, and the postmaster told me you would know and could direct me." Jack managed in some way to slip a piece of silver into the hand of the other. It had the result of making him talkative. "He was right, stranger, I does happen tuh know thet same, an' kin take yuh tuh whah Mistah Spence is aholin' out right now. Yuh see, it's tuh the south o' hyah, quite a peart ways, p'raps half hour er more." "Could you tell us exactly where?" demanded the boy. "Wall, now, I reckon I knows, but she's thet hard tuh tell. Gut a boat, Mistah, aint yuh?" Pete went on. "Yes, we've got three power boats with us. Could you pilot us to where Mr. Spence is to be found?" Jack went on, beginning to understand how profitable it was to know a thing, and yet be quite unable to describe its location. "Cud I? Wall, nothin' is surer than thet same, suh; allers pervided yuh made it wuth my time. I'm ginerally a busy man, yuh see, suh." Jack thought he must be, as long as he had a dime in his pocket with which to pay for the stuff he guzzled; but then that was no affair of his right then; what he wanted was to find Spence. "Would a dollar pay you for showing us?" Jack asked, with an air of business that no doubt impressed the loafer. "Jest consider me engaged, Mistah. Take me tuh yer boat; on'y its gut tuh be understood that I'm tuh be fetched back heah again. If Spence cain't bring me, yuh promise tuh do hit, do yuh?" "Yes, I guess I'm safe in making that promise. Then come along with me down to the water front. The sooner we start the better." Jack went on, believing in the old maxim that causes one to strike while the iron is hot. "But I hain't had any dinner," said the fellow, with a cunning leer. "Oh! we'll see that you get plenty to eat on the way. No use waiting here. Our time is limited, and we want to be going. Will you come along?" Jack said. "Thet's all right, Mistah; yuh kin count on me, suh. A whole dollah yuh sed, didn't yuh, suh; and make out tuh git me back in Beaufort agin?" "Yes, a dollar and a return ticket. Come along." On the way Jack made several purchases that caused the hungry Pete to lick his chops, and hope he would be able to soon meet up with that promised lunch, for he was getting more and more hungry now with every passing minute. That twenty-five cents in his pocket felt like it weighed a ton, too, and he wondered if the young fellow, who he saw was a Northerner or a Yankee, as all such are called below Mason and Dixon's line, would wait for him while he exchanged it in a saloon. But Jack hurried along, so that they arrived at the place where the three boats had been tied up before Pete could quite make up his mind what he ought to do. Jack determined that he had not returned any too soon. A little crowd of rowdies had gathered near, and were beginning to make remarks about the boats and those aboard. Beaufort was no different from any other place, north or south; there are always some rough characters to be found, and when the town lies on the water it is generally the case that they frequent the landings. George was sitting on deck, apparently shining up his gun. Jack knew, however, that this was all pretense, and that his chum wanted to let it be known that those in the motor boat flotilla were well armed, and, moreover, knew how to take care of themselves. Pete was taken aboard the _Tramp_, because Jack wanted to talk with him while on the way. Then the start was made. Just as Jack had anticipated, some of the fellows on the shore called insultingly after them. "Don't pay any attention to them," he cautioned his mates. It was hard to stand being abused without having done the least thing to deserve such treatment, but all the boys knew the wisdom of controlling their tempers under provocation. Then, finding that no attention was paid to their remarks, the fellows started to hurling stones after the boats. Fortunately, when they thought of this means for making a display of their rowdyism, the small craft had gained such headway that they could not reach them with the missiles. Several splashed water aboard and came near striking home, but Jack breathed easy when he realized that they had passed beyond range of the missiles. "That's a fine bunch of scoundrels," he said, partly to Jimmy. "They don't mean any harm, Mistah; that's on'y th' way they hes o' havin' fun," Pete remarked, at which Jimmy laughed scornfully. "Fun, is it?" he said, with a gleam of anger in his blue eyes; "sure it's little the big trotters 'd care if one of thim stones would be after hittin' us on the head and knocking the daylight out of us. Fun, do ye say? It'd give me great pleasure, so it would, to have a chanct to teach some of thim manners. An' I could do it, too, d'ye mind, for all I'm but a broth of a bhoy." Jack began to ask a few questions of the fellow, whom Jimmy had soon supplied with an abundance of food. "It's on'y a few miles tuh whar Mistah Spence holds out now, suh, an' we kin git thar right peart in this fine little boat," the other was saying, when Jimmy broke into the conversation by exclaiming: "Looky yonder, Jack, darlint; d'ye twig the two gossoons wagging a handkerchief at us? Holy smoke! I belave they've got a motor boat half under water, and do be havin' an accident of some sort. How now, Commodore, do we be after puttin' in to the rescue?" "You're right, Jimmy," remarked Jack, "they have got a boat of some kind partly filled. Perhaps they went too near the shore and got snagged on a stump or a rock. But we just can't pass them by and pretend we don't see them. Listen, one is yelling." "Help! we're wrecked! Come ashore and take us off!" came the call. "Hang the luck!" remarked George, "what else is going to detain us? Seems to me we've just done nothing but hold out a helping hand ever since we started on this blooming trip." "But you know the rules of the road, and the law of the cruiser--'do as you'd be done by,'" said Jack, who had changed his course and was heading straight for the shore, where the two men stood up to their knees in water beside their partly submerged motor boat. "We hit something, and punched a hole in the boat," one of them explained, as Jack and his chums came up. "And if you'd only give us a lift a few miles we'd be very grateful, and would gladly pay for what it was worth," the other, who looked like a lawyer, hastened to say. "That's all right, gentlemen," Jack remarked, hospitably. "Climb aboard the big boat. We're only going a short distance, however, to a little place where Van Arsdale Spence is now living." The two pilgrims who had been wrecked looked at each other in surprise. "Why," said the shorter one, who seemed to be a man of some authority, perhaps a marshal, or even a sheriff of the county, "that's queer, but we're bound for that same place ourselves, strangers!" CHAPTER XIX. THE MESSAGE OF HOPE. "Do you mean that you were on your way to see Mr. Spence at the time your boat struck a snag?" asked Jack, surprised and perplexed at the same time. "That's just what we were, my boy," replied the other, looking curiously at Jack, as though naturally wondering what sort of mission could be taking this flotilla of Northern motor boats to visit the party in question. Jack would have liked to ask questions, but realized that such a course would be bordering on the impudent. There might be numerous people interested in Van Arsdale Spence besides the young aviator whom they had agreed to assist by carrying the packet to the coast town. "In that case you have only to remain aboard here, and we will land you. I have a pilot with me, to lead us right," he remarked. "So I see, old Pete Smalling, eh? Hello! Pete, struck a job at last, after looking for ten years?" remarked the man, winking at the hungry passenger, who was disposing of his food at a prodigious rate of speed. "I reckon as I hev, Mistah Marshal," answered the other, with considerable of respect in his voice and manner. So Jack knew his surmise was correct, and that the heavy-set individual was an officer of the law, after all. But what he could be going to see Spence for, was of course beyond his power to guess. The planter who had owned that fine place now seemed to be living in what might be called seclusion. Had he done anything for which he could be taken to task by the law? Jack hoped not, for the sake of that fine young aviator, Malcolm Spence, who must surely be some relative, and was deeply interested in his welfare. The boats moved on in company, so that it was possible to converse back and forth if any of them so desired. "I suppose this Mr. Spence must have lived around here quite some time?" Jack remarked a little later, as the man smiled encouragingly toward him. "All his life, suh, all his life. He was born on that spot north of Beaufort; yes, and his father before him, I reckon. It never has gone out of the hands of the Spences up to now," came the ready reply. "Oh! by the way, did this gentleman ever have any family?" asked Jack. "I should reckon he did that, suh--three fine gals, an' just one son. The gals they stick by him through it all; but the boy, he left the old man goin' on two yeahs now. It's nigh about broke his heart, I heah." "I don't suppose that this son's name could have been Malcolm?" suggested Jack, pretty sure of his ground now. "That's just what it was, suh, Malcolm Gregory Spence. They was a time when we all 'spected he was going to make something out of himself, because you see the boy was mighty clever; but he quarreled with his old man and went off. P'raps he's dead by now. The old man thinks so, leastways; though one of the gals don't seem to believe that way." Jack could see it all. In some way, Malcolm, estranged from his family, had managed to learn about their recent financial troubles, and that they had left the old home, to go, he knew not where. And Jack, as he pressed his hand over the pocket where he had again secreted that mysterious missive, only hoped that it would bring joy and happiness into the home of the Spences. How pleasant it would seem to be the bearer of good news. He said nothing more, though having discovered this much he could easily guess that the errand of the marshal must have some connection with the breaking of the last tie that would hold the Spence family to the old home up the Sound. Perhaps the marshal and the lawyer were on their way to inform the owner that foreclosure proceedings had been instituted, and to get his signature to documents that were necessary to the proper carrying out of the sad business. Pete, having stowed away an incredible amount of stuff, so that he could hardly draw a full breath, began to manifest more or less interest in their progress. He suggested little changes in the course they were taking, and presently broke out with: "Thar, if so be yuh jest look yondah, suh, p'raps ye kin see a boat tied up tuh a stake. Thet's whar old Van Arsdale lives now, a fishin' shack on a patch o' ground he happens tuh own. But I done heard as how them slick gals o' his'n gone an' made even sech a tough place look kinder homelike. An' see, thar's the ole man right now, alookin' toward us, wonderin' who we be." Jack could easily see all that the other described. It was a lonely place for a man to bring his three sweet daughters; but doubtless necessity compelled such a thing. The man with the white mustache and goatee, who looked like a real Kentucky colonel, Jack thought, walked down to the rude little dock to meet them. Of course, he recognized the marshal, who must have been an old acquaintance of his; and had little difficulty in guessing the errand that was probably bringing him there. Then three young girls came running down to gather about the old man, as if suspecting the coming of new trouble they wished to be near to help him bear his cross. Jack found himself quivering with eagerness. And again did he hope that the message from the absent son and brother might soften the blow that seemed about to fall upon this devoted little family. They reached the landing and hastened to get ashore; all but Pete, who had developed a second-stage appetite, and started in eating again, regardless of all other matters. The old planter stood there like a lion at bay, with his three daughters clinging to him. It was a pretty picture, that would often come up in the memory of the boys when far away from the scene itself. He seemed to be paying particular attention to the marshal, who stepped forward and gravely shook hands with him. "I had your letter, Mr. Burrows, and looked to see you some time today," was the way Mr. Spence opened the conversation. "And as I wrote you, Spence," the marshal replied, "I'm only here in my official capacity to carry out the execution of the law's demands. As your friend, suh, I deeply sympathize with you in your troubles, but being sworn to do my duty, however painful it may be, there was no choice left to me." "I understand all that, Burrows. This is only a mere matter of routine, anyway. The blow fell months ago, when I had to leave my old home. I thought I might save it in some way by keeping myself secreted, in the hope that several friends in another part of the country would come to my assistance. But that hope no longer exists, sir, and I am now ready to do whatever is required." "There is no hurry, Spence," the marshal went on, curiosity concerning the mission of the motor boat boys getting the better of him, "and as these gentlemen happened to rescue us from a very serious position, since our boat was wrecked, and they were even then on the way to visit you, perhaps you would like to talk with them, suh." It seemed as though Mr. Spence noticed the presence of the boys for the first time then. He looked at them with a puzzled brow, as though unable to guess what such a party of pleasure seekers could want with a broken-hearted Southern planter. So Jack at once stepped forward, while his mates gathered in a clump, eagerly observing every little thing that transpired. "While we were coming down the Delaware River, sir, starting on our long coast cruise, we happened to come in contact with a young aviator, who had alighted on the water close by us in a new hydro-aeroplane. When he mentioned his name we recognized it as belonging to a daring aviator who had suddenly jumped into national fame as one of the most skillful of his class. He heard of our plans, and that in all probability we would pass close to Beaufort. And he asked us to bear a packet to a Mr. Van Arsdale Spence, whose present place of residence he did not seem to know, but believed we would be able to learn it after we arrived here. So I am pleased, sir, to hand you the sealed message that was given to us by your son, now famous in the world of aviation, Mr. Malcolm Spence!" The old planter started, and turned pale as his trembling hand was outstretched to take the packet. Indeed, he was utterly unable to open it, so that one of his daughters proceeded to do this for him. Jack held his breath. Oh! how he did hope that it would be good news, for if ever any one had need of cheering intelligence this old, broken-down man did. He saw him adjust his glasses and commence to read. Already had the three girls gleaned all that was contained in that missive, and from their happy faces Jack understood that it was all right. If he had any doubt he had only to look at the face of the planter. First it was eager, then yearning, and finally he turned to the marshal with possibly the first laugh that had burst from his lips these many moons. "Aha! you're having your journey for your pains, Burrows!" he cried. "The old place isn't going to leave the Spence family after all. Look! this is from my boy, and directs me to go to the bank in Beaufort, to which he has transmitted funds to make the first payment that will save our home! More will follow as soon as he hears from us. Money is flowing in on him, money and honors as thick as they can come. And his heart has gone out to the father and sisters he left years ago. It's all right, Burrows, thanks to these kind boys who have borne his message to me." He went around, shaking the hand of every one with vehemence. And no one looked happier than the marshal, upon learning that stern duty after all would not compel him to take from his old friend the home of his ancestors. "But it was a close shave, let me say," was his remark later on to Jack, as they all started to gather under the humble roof of the fisherman's shack which the devotion of those three brave daughters had almost beautified, so that the old man might not be too much broken down; "another day would have been too late." "Then I'm glad that storms and breakdowns did not keep us from getting here on time," said the commodore of the Motor Boat Club. CHAPTER XX. MEETING TROUBLE HALF WAY. Jack had been studying his coast survey charts seriously of late. He knew that there were a few hardships before them ere they could anchor in front of Florida's metropolis on the St. John's River, fair Jacksonville. And as it was only right that every member of the club should share in the discussion as to their course, he gave them to understand that there would be held a caucus on the very next night. At the lower end of Bogue Sound amid the sedge grass they hoped to make their next camp, when this question would be debated from every side, and the plan of campaign adopted as majority decided. When they were getting ready to leave the Spence family, Jack felt some one pulling at his sleeve, and looking around discovered that it was old Pete. "How 'bout that ere dollar, boss?" asked the cracker. "That's a fact, I came near forgetting you, Pete," laughed Jack. "And to prove that it wasn't intentional, here's double pay for you. I guess we've had enough pleasure out of this to count for two dollars." "That's mighty nice of you-all," declared the fellow, actually showing something like gratitude in his manner, as he held out a hand for Jack to shake. "An' mout I be so bold as tuh 'mind yuh thet I don't hanker 'bout stayin' down heah any longer than I has tuh. Yuh promised tuh see I gut back tuh Beaufort, suh," he said. "He's got you there, Jack, for that's just what you did," laughed Herb. "I reckon that money'll burn a hole in Pete's pocket, unless he manages to get to town right smart," declared the marshal; "but Mr. Spence heah has got an old sail boat in which the hull lot of us is goin' to head foh Beaufort soon. Pete is welcome to go along, if he cares." "That pleases us a whole lot," remarked George, "because, you see, we had a nasty little experience with some toughs along the water front, and they bombarded us with a shower of stones as we pulled out, though fortunately none of them struck either the boats or ourselves." "Yes, and as we've got a long trip ahead of us before we reach the place we marked for the end of the motor boat cruise, the sooner we make a start the better. So we'll say good-bye to you all; and Mr. Spence, best wishes for your future happiness. Perhaps some day we may run across that famous son of yours again, because he took our home address and said he meant to get in touch with us. We'd all like to meet him again, eh, boys?" and Jack turned to his chums as he asked this. "That's what!" declared Nick, who had been especially interested in the wonderful hydro-aeroplane, and even hinted that some day he also hoped to fly through the upper currents in one, much to the amusement of his comrades, who roared every time any one tried to picture the fat boy trying such stunts. So they shook hands all around, not forgetting the three charming girls, who seemed very friendly disposed toward the Yankee boys, after discovering what fine news the voyagers had brought their father. "All aboard!" cried the commodore. As the three motor boats put out upon the sun-kissed water the girls waved dainty handkerchiefs as long as they could see the fleet. Then a change of course shut out the fishing shack, where love had made a home for the planter in his hour of adversity. "After all, that was a most satisfying adventure, fellows," Jack remarked, for the other boats were close by at the time. "I should say, yes," admitted Josh. "Only thing I didn't like," declared Nick, who was looking quite unhappy, they began to notice, as though a spell of sea sickness had gripped him, "was that we had to break away just when we were getting to know 'em." At that frank admission the rest broke into roars of laughter. "So that's the way the tide sets, is it?" remarked Jack. "Why, sure," cried Josh, "didn't you see how smitten Nick was with that little brunette with the snapping big black eyes? She was pretty, all right, and ten to one he's got her address, because I saw him writing something down in his note book, sure as you live." But Nick faced them, rosy red but defiant. "Don't care if I did," he said, with a decided shake of his head. "It's just rank jealousy on Josh's part that makes him say that; because Betty wouldn't notice him even a little bit. Now, let's talk of something else. I don't care to bring the lady's name into the discussion." "Good for you, Nick!" said Herb. "And he's quite right, too, boys," asserted Jack, positively, and immediately switched the talk to another subject. They made decent progress during the hours that they kept on. In Beaufort they had managed to renew their supply of gasolene, so that they now had sufficient of the fuel to see them through for some time. Once they reached Charleston it would be necessary to lay in another lot. But there was a hard proposition before them ere they could hope to gain the beautiful city by the sea. Boats drawing the water theirs did could not hope to get through some of the small creeks uniting the broad stretches of water lying parallel with the coast. Hence it would be necessary for them to make another outside passage, possibly several. But Jack had it all planned, and wished to get the opinions of his chums before the course was definitely decided on. Camp was made in the sedge grass on Bogue Sound, just as they had figured on, and after supper had been disposed of, a council of war called. At this the charts were closely scanned, especially the pencil marks which Jack had made. He also explained minutely just what he conceived to be the best method of procedure. "Now, if we were making this cruise in canoes instead of heavy power boats," he remarked, laying his pencil on a particular section of the chart, "our best plan would be to have the craft carried by ox wagon across a little stretch of low rice country here, to the Waccamaw River, which has a very swift current; and down that we could run some seventy miles, bringing us far on our way. But as we'd never be able to find a way to take our boats across country, we must go outside again." There being no other way, the boys presently unanimously agreed to face the music. Besides, their previous success at riding the heaving billows of the ocean began to give them confidence. "If we go around Florida, and bring up in the Gulf, we're likely to do a lot of this outside business," remarked George, as bravely as though he never knew what fear meant. "Yes," put in Nick, also valiant when settled on solid ground, "and I suppose we've just got to get used to the thing. Who's afraid, anyhow? Settle it just as you think best, Jack. We rely on your judgment every time. That's why we elected you to be commodore of the fleet." "Hear! hear!" murmured Josh, pretending to applaud the noble sentiment feebly with his finger-tips. Once the plan of campaign was settled, they all felt better. For some time they had known that this problem must come up for solution sooner or later, and truth to tell, it had been rather a load on their minds. There is a positive relief in knowing the worst. Means for meeting the difficulty can then be discussed; and as a rule most obstacles lose much of their terror when held up to the light. The little insect pests came around in such numbers that it was quickly decided a night ashore would not be comfortable. Nick was the only one who rebelled. "Why, I'd put up with ten million skeeters before I'd voluntarily choose to try and compose myself to sleep in that narrow rocking coffin," he declared. "Now, I like that," complained George, always up in arms when his beloved craft was spoken of in an uncomplimentary manner. "Look a gift horse in the mouth, if you like; but the sleeping accommodations aboard are good enough for _me_. And to show you that I don't bear any malice, Nick, I'm going to help you fix up a berth on shore here." Nick might have backed out, only he dared not after that, and sly George, who really delighted in the prospect of having plenty of room to turn over in, knew it, which was the main reason for his offer of assistance. So when the time came for retiring Nick was left ashore with a little tent constructed of cheese cloth, which was believed to be so closely woven that even the smallest insect pest could not pass through. Nick had tried his best to coax Josh to share his accommodations; but the lanky one was content with his comfortable quarters aboard. Even Jimmy shook his head when the fat boy showed him how splendid it would be to lie there, and get all the night air that was stirring. "Excuse me, Nick," Jimmy had said, "sure, I'd like to accommodate ye, but it seems to me there's a quare smell in the air that makes me think of bears. P'raps they do come down here out of the canebrake beyant. And I'd feel safer aboard the boat." "Now, you think you're going to scare me, don't you?" demanded the stout boy, pugnaciously, his stubborn nature having been aroused, "but all the same you ain't. I c'n see through a knothole in a fence. The rest of you are afraid, that's what! All right, it's good there's one brave feller in the bunch. But, George, you've just got to loan me your gun again." "More razorback pork for dinner tomorrow, fellows," laughed George. "Oh! well, if you try to throw every obstacle in my way, why of course----" began Nick, eagerly seizing upon the slightest excuse to hedge; when George, fearful that he might have to share the cramped quarters aboard the _Wireless_ after all with his team mate, quickly exclaimed: "You can have the gun, and welcome, Nick; only be careful how you shoot. One of those charges at close range would go through the flimsy planking of my boat like a bullet. Here, take the gun. And if there's anything else I can do to make you comfortable, let me know. I'm the most obliging fellow you ever met." Nick looked at him out of the corner of his eye, as though he strongly suspected the genuine character of this generosity. Still, he felt that he could not in decency draw back now, so he took the shotgun and tucked it away beside his blanket. Considerably to the satisfaction of the entire club, the night passed without any wild alarm. If there were bears in the neighborhood, as Jimmy had wickedly suggested, they at least had the decency to keep aloof from the camp. Perhaps they showed their wisdom in so doing when Nick was on guard. That, at least, was what he boasted, when Jack and the rest came ashore and aroused him from a sound sleep. The fact of the matter was that Nick had never once awakened during the entire night. A dozen bears might have prowled around the camp, sniffing at anything left lying around loose, and in all probability he would never have been any the wiser, provided they did not tumble his tent down about his ears. Once more they started on their way. Jack continually consulted his charts. When connecting creeks had to be negotiated, in order to reach some channel beyond, it was absolutely necessary that the tide be taken at its flood, otherwise they were very apt to find themselves stuck in the mud. Three full days did they keep this up, and then, having managed to surmount every difficulty, they reached the point where that outside run became a necessity, ere they could enter the Peedee River at Winyah Bay, and once more take up the inside route. Another day was spent waiting for the conditions to become more favorable. Time was not any great factor in their cruise, but safety did enter very much into their calculations. They had passed through another stormy period and were quite satisfied to snuggle down to camp, to rest up after their arduous work of the last few days, wriggling their way through those tortuous creeks, and working the setting pole at times for hours, when the saving of the precious gasolene became an object. "How's this for the right morning?" asked George, who was anxious to have the long and hazardous outside run over with. "Looks good to me, so far," said Jack, "and I guess we'll get off right after we've had breakfast. We might wait longer and fare worse, you know, George." "Oh! I'm ready for the run. It can't come any too soon to suit me," declared the skipper of the _Wireless_, "and I honestly believe I've got my engine in better shape than ever before." "Thank goodness for that!" said Nick, who did not look any too happy. And at seven o'clock, while the sun was hanging low in the east, they started off, with the longest outside run of the cruise confronting them; and all sorts of possibilities for trouble looming up on the horizon. CHAPTER XXI. FOG BOUND WHILE AT SEA. "How much further do we have to go, Jack?" It was Herb calling out after this style. The three boats were close together, and steadily making progress over the heaving surface of the ocean. Off to the right lay the shore, plainly seen, though they did not dare approach too close, lest they get into that sickening ground swell, that rolled the narrow _Wireless_ in a way to make those aboard dizzy. "As near as I can judge we ought to see the mouth of Winyah Bay inside of the next half hour. It's different from an inlet, you understand, and wide enough to fool us, unless we take great care," replied the commodore, who had his marine glasses leveled at the shore about half the time, trying to pick up landmarks calculated to tell him where they were. "Wow! that _would_ be a tough proposition, now!" shouted Josh. "What if we did go past, why we'd just have to keep right along this way till we made Charleston." "Don't you think of trying it," called Nick, from the _Wireless_, which was being held in leash by the now cautious skipper. "Why, this racking fever of anxiety would just kill us if it had to keep up much longer, and that's right, fellows, even if George here won't acknowledge the corn." "Oh! shucks! it isn't half as bad as you make out, Nick. The trouble is, you're so plagued logy you can't keep the balance of the boat. These thoroughbreds are delicately constructed, you see, and have to be treated different from other boats." "I should just guess, yes," complained poor Nick, in a dolorous tone. "A feller has to be thinking of the blessed old boat all the while, and forget his own aches and pains. Why, every muscle in my whole body is sore from the strain." "I say, Jack, would ye moind turnin' the glass back yander and tellin' us what sort of thing that cloud is that hugs the wather so close? I've been watching the same some time now, and I do think it's comin' this way," Jimmy remarked, loud enough for the others to hear, so that immediately every eye was quickly turned in the quarter toward which the Irish lad had pointed. Jack immediately felt a sudden thrill of alarm pass over him, even before he had focussed the glasses upon Jimmy's so-called "cloud." He suspected what it might prove to be, and the very thought of being caught out on the ocean by a fog gave him a decidedly unpleasant sensation. "Say, that ain't a cloud, I bet you," declared Nick. "Looks more like fog to me," Josh called out, "and as sure as you live, boys, it's creeping down this way and widening out like fun. Hey! Jack, ain't that fog?" "It sure is," replied the one who held the glasses, as he lowered them and cast an anxious look in the direction of the shore, as though he would take a last survey before the land became blotted out. This was one of the things Jack had feared. A sudden storm of course would have brought alarm in its train; but this silent yet gripping fog might be just as potent a force toward their undoing. Once it enveloped them, they were apt to grope along for hours, possibly working more and more out to see. And when a wind dissipated the fog, perhaps they could not see land! Jack immediately determined to risk minor dangers by turning in more toward the shore. If he could only listen for the beating of the rollers on the beach, it would be possible to tell when they came to the open bay by the sudden cessation of this sound. "What are you changing the course for?" demanded George, suspiciously, a minute later, though he followed suit readily enough, determined not to get far away from the other more stable boats. "We'd better get in nearer shore, so we can hear the sound of the surf," Jack replied. "Oh! I see, you hope to keep tabs on our course by ear, when the eye fails us; is that it, Jack?" asked Herb. "That's one reason," Jack called back. "Perhaps we may be able to tell when we're opposite the mouth of the bay, if we listen carefully. But in another five minutes that fog will be down on us, boys, by the way it creeps on, faster than we are going." "How about signals?" asked George. "Every boat has a horn of some sort, and you remember what the different blasts mean. The _Tramp_ is a single toot, the _Comfort_ two in quick succession, while your _Wireless_ is denoted by three sharp ones, George. Four will mean that we must turn a little more to starboard, and five, draw closer together for a confab. Got all that, now?" "All right here, Jack," assented Herb. "And ditto with us," declared George. "Well, be watchful and ready for anything, for here comes the wet blanket to cover us," observed Jack. It was a nasty fog, as thick as pea soup, as George called out a little later. First the outlines of the shore were blotted out as though by an impenetrable curtain. Then even the boats, close as they were, began to go, until it was no longer possible to distinguish them from the sea of gray vapor around. Naturally the boys felt exceedingly nervous every minute of the time. Jack had reduced speed, for he did not wish to run past the mouth of Winyah Bay, if such a thing could be prevented by due caution. An hour crept along. It seemed like three times that length of time to every one of the listening lads. All this while they had managed to catch that low throbbing sound from the shore. Sometimes it would be very faint, and require careful work in order to locate it; then again the beat of the waves on the sandy strand came quite distinctly. Somehow, as long as they could catch this reassuring sound, they seemed to feel renewed confidence. And yet the strain was terrible. The day was passing, and if night came on, to find them still groping their way in this incertain manner down the South Carolina coast, the prospect would seem gloomy indeed. No one seemed to care to eat much. Even Nick, for the time being, had gone back on that wonderful appetite of his, and actually turned up his nose when George got out the bag that contained hard tack and cheese, asking the fat boy if he cared to have a "snack" to fortify him against what might yet be in store for them. "Excuse me," said Nick, loftily. "There are times to eat, but according to my way of thinking this ain't one of 'em. When a feller has to do a lot of high thinking he'd be wise to keep his mind clear and let grub alone." Truth to tell, Nick was feeling rather squeamish. The swell rolled the narrow boat more than had been the case when they kept further out; and besides, such were his fears that they affected his nerves, and also his stomach. "All right," said George, who did not happen to be in the same condition, "I'm not a big feeder, but it's always wise to keep up your strength. And talking about letting grub alone, when you once get ashore again the way you'll pitch in must make our supplies look sad. I know you, Nick; you can't fool me." Nick disdained to make any reply. He even turned his back on the skipper when George started to munch biscuit and cheese. "What time is it?" asked George, after a while, upon seeing the fat boy look at his little nickel watch, for the tenth time at least. "Just three o'clock!" groaned Nick, sadly replacing his timepiece and looking longingly toward the west, where he knew solid ground lay, if only they could ever set feet upon it once more. "And we started out on the sea by eight," remarked George. "Say, that's something worth while; and when we get to talking it over we'll have reason to be proud of the way these bully little boats have served us. Eight hours on the ocean; just think of that, will you?" The others were close enough to hear what was said, for it was quite still, as the motors were running at a reduced speed. "Perhaps it may be eighty before we're done!" called Josh, on the right. "I do believe we're going to bring up on the coast of Ould Ireland before we're through with this job!" Jimmy was saying, from some unseen place on the port side of the _Wireless_, which happened to be occupying the middle berth at the time. At that the rest broke out into a laugh, though truth to tell there was not any too much mirth about the same. "Say, I haven't heard anything for nearly five minutes now, Jack!" called Herb, who, it seemed, was paying strict attention to business, and not bothering about whether he got anything to eat or not, or what would happen in case they headed out into the vast expanse of salt water that stretched across to Africa. "Same here, Herb," echoed Jack. "Do you think we've been heading out too far, and is that the reason, Jack?" "I've got my compass right before me and, if anything, we've been edging in just a little bit more than at any other time," came Jack's answer. "Then what?" asked the _Comfort's_ skipper, eagerly. "Perhaps the bay has opened up, and the shore line is miles away from us!" was the cheering way Jack put it. "Good for you, commodore!" called Josh. "Oh! I hope that's so!" wailed Nick. "But how are we going to find out?" queried Herb. "By changing our course directly into the west, and taking the bull by the horns," Jack replied, boldly. "We can creep along, you know, and if we've made a mistake, why, it's easy to turn around and bear away again. But somehow, I've got a pretty strong notion things are going to work out all right for us, fellows." "Hurrah! that's the kind of talk!" cried Nick, beginning to perk up a little, and wonder if after all George might not be right when he said that they owed it to themselves as a duty to eat, whether hungry or not, in order to conserve their strength for any emergency. "Are you turning now, Jack?" asked George. "Yes; keep close by and try to pattern after what I do. Here goes, then, fellows." "Hit her up; who cares for expenses?" cried Josh, who had been taking it comfortably right along, and seemed almost free from care. By exercising more or less caution, they managed to change their course without losing each other in the fog. This was accomplished by calling out from time to time, or even sounding the signals on the horns. In this fashion then they began to creep along. Only for that compass which Jack had before him, they might as well have been heading out to sea, for all any one could say. "Me to get a compass as soon as we strike Charleston!" declared Herb. "Yes, and George must do the same," Jack declared, from somewhere in the opaque mist. "Supposing we were separated in some way; you two fellows would be badly off with no means for locating east from west, or north from south." "Jack, darlint!" they heard Jimmy cry out just then. "What is it?" asked the skipper of the _Tramp_. "I do be thinkin' I saw a break in the beastly ould fog beyont us; yis, an' by the powers, it's a braze that fans me cheek at this identical minute!" "He's right, fellows!" shouted George. "Then that means good-bye to the nasty old fog, which will be a riddance of bad rubbish!" called the overjoyed Nick, reaching out and possessing himself of the cracker bag, so as to be ready to do his duty by his system. "The breeze is dead ahead, boys," said Jack. "And in that event the fog will be swept to sea. Watch now, and you'll see something worth while." Jack evidently knew what he was talking about, for in less than five minutes it seemed as though some wizard must have waved his magical wand, for suddenly they shot out of the thick pea-soup atmosphere and into the bright sunshine. They were indeed in a big bay, with land on three sides. The sun, now half way and more down the western sky, shone in an unclouded field, and the water danced in the fresh shore breeze. Then every fellow shouted and waved his hat, such was the relief that passed over them at the successful termination of the long outside dash. "Don't any one of you ever dare to run my bully engine down, after it has stood by me so nobly," George was saying, as they started at a faster clip up still further into Winyah Bay, into which the Peedee River empties. No one was disposed to cast the slightest reflection on the cranky motor of the speed boat; for just then they were feeling at peace with all the world, and quite ready to forgive their worst enemies. That night they camped on the shore of a creek that emptied into the bay, ready to take up their southern journey with the coming of the morrow. CHAPTER XXII. SAVANNAH AT LAST. After that came some more hard inside work. There were times when even the sanguine Jack began to fear that they would never reach Charleston; for even at high tide they found the connecting creeks in many instances little more than shallow ponds, and before they could break through, considerable pushing and dragging had to be done. But where there is a will there usually appears to be a way; and by slow degrees they drew nearer the city on the coast. "With good luck, fellows, we ought to make it tomorrow," Jack announced, one evening, after he had been closely examining his charts again by the light of the cheery camp fire. "Do you really mean it, Jack, darlint?" demanded Jimmy, with the air of one who had almost given up hope. "I sure do," replied the other. "As I make it out, this is Bull's Island we are on right now. If that's a fact, there's a fine inside passage all the way to Charleston Bay, behind several other islands, or at least one big one called Capers. Our troubles are over, so far as this part of the trip goes." "That's bully good news you're giving us, Jack," remarked George; "and I hope it won't prove a delusion and a snare. I've had about as much of that push pole business as is good for my constitution, I guess." "Yes, and look at me!" cried Nick, pulling a long face, though with only a great effort; "pretty near skin and bones, with all this worry and hard work; and to add insult to injury, put on half rations latterly. It's a shame, that's what." "Rats!" scoffed the unbelieving George; "I'd like to wager now that you've gone and picked up ten pounds since starting on this cruise. By the way you put away the grub it ought to be nearer twenty." "You don't mean to hurt my feelings, I know, George," said the fat boy, sweetly; "and, considering the source, I'll forgive you. But I warn you plainly, right now, that if I have to keep on being crew to your blooming old speed boat, I'm going to lay in a lot of rubber cushions at Charleston, so as to keep me from rubbing all the skin off my poor body when I have to sleep aboard here, and the boat wabbles with every teenty wave. Don't you say a word, for my mind's made up." "Oh! get whatever you want in that line; it doesn't make a bit of difference to me. I never have needed cushions so far," George exploded, sarcastically. "Huh! that's easy; because you've got me to bang up against!" exclaimed Nick. "That's right, George; he's got one on you there," laughed Jack. "And who'd want a finer cushion than our Nick?" remarked Herb. "Nature knew what was needed, when he was padded and filled out so well," Josh managed to work in with; "and if ever I needed a bumper, I'd pick him out first thing." "Get out!" snapped Nick; but all the same he grinned as though complimented. On the following morning, then, they made an early start, for there was considerable of a distance to be covered ere they could reach the hospitable docks of Charleston by the sea. Jack knew that their supply of gas was growing alarmingly low. Indeed, George had already been obliged to borrow from the _Comfort_, as that craft had the largest reservoir and could spare a little. "It's going to be a close shave to get us there," he remarked, as they started. "What if my tank goes empty again?" demanded George. "I've been thinking of that," said Jack. "As a last resort then, we'll make camp, empty all we've got into one tank, and that boat can go after a new supply." "That's the ticket!" cried Josh. "It takes Jack to solve these maddening puzzles!" declared Nick, with a look of affection in the direction of the chum who never failed them. "But still, I have hopes we'll all pull through," Jack continued, encouragingly. "How'd it be for one of the boats to do the towing act?" suggested Herb. "And that would mean the _Comfort_, because she's built more on the lines of a tow boat than either of the others," remarked George. "I enter a kick against anything of the kind. It's bad enough to be humiliated that way when a fellow's motor goes back on him; but in calm weather, and with the engine in the pink of condition, it just can't be thought of for a minute." "Hey! what you trying to do again; throw me overboard?" demanded Nick, aggressively, as he floundered about when the _Wireless_ came to a sudden and totally unexpected stop, just as George ceased speaking. "His engine broke down again, that's what!" jeered Josh. "Is that a fact, George?" asked Jack, provoked at the idea of delay. "Oh! not quite so bad as that," replied George, peevishly; "I think I know what happened. I forgot something, that's all. Perhaps I can have it fixed in three shakes of a lamb's tail. You go on, and I'll catch up easy enough." "Don't you dare to do it, fellows!" cried Nick. "That might mean for us to be marooned here a whole day, yes, mebbe a week. And most of the grub is aboard that old _Comfort_, you see." "We'll wait a while and see how it comes out," remarked Jack. "Do you need any help, George?" "Who, me? Not in the least. I tell you, I know what's ailing, and I'll get it to going all right in five minutes," George answered, stiffly, for the many freaks of his engine gave him unhappy spells; as Josh once declared, it was like a certain girl he knew, in that "when it was good, it was very, very good; and when it was bad, it was hor-rid!" However, for once George proved to be a truthful prophet. By the time those five minutes were up, he had succeeded in coaxing the refractory motor to behave itself; and suddenly the _Wireless_ shot off amid a rattling volley of explosions that told full well how her muffler was cut out. George continued on at a pace that took him far ahead of the rest. Then they saw him draw up and wait, as though, having demonstrated the ability of his motor to do good work, caution again dictated that he keep in touch with the supply boat and the pilot craft. That day was the easiest of the week. They had an open passage nearly all the way to the bay, the weather was all that could be asked; and the rest did seem so fine after so much hard labor with push poles. "If this sort of thing would only keep up," Nick remarked, as they landed on a sandspit to make a fire and have a pot of hot coffee at noon, in order to cheer things up, "I'd have some hope of getting back to my former condition again." "Well, if that means taking up any more room aboard my boat," grunted George, "I hope you won't do it. Things are getting to a pass now that I'm feeling squeezed half the time. Some day we hope you're going to have that ferryboat made to order, as you've been threatening. Say, it'll just be a jim dandy, I guess." "It's going to combine speed with comfort," declared Nick, unblushingly. "While it'll beat Herb's tub all hollow for room, at the same time it can make rings around the poor old _Wireless_. Just you wait; I've got her all mapped out in my head, and some day I'll surprise the bunch." The afternoon run took them in good time to where the sound they were following broke into Charleston Bay. "There's the ruins of old Fort Sumter!" cried Nick, as they saw the lovely panorama spread out in front of them. "And Port Moultrie, too! Gee! to think that we'd ever get to set eyes on the places we used to read so much about in history," said Josh, staring around. "Well," laughed Jack, "to my mind right now, the best of it is that yonder lies Charleston, where we can lay in a new supply of gas; because I'm expecting to find any minute that my well has gone dry. It's an awful thing to have a thirsty engine and nothing to feed it. But perhaps I'll pull through by making every drop tell." It proved to be better than that, for there was not the slightest trouble experienced in making the run up the bay to the city. Skirting the shore, Jack kept his eyes on the alert for some shipyard, knowing that such a place would better accommodate the three power boats than any other harbor. It happened that Jimmy's sharp eyes caught the first sign of a boat builder's establishment, and presently the three little craft that had come through such a checkered experience with credit, were secured to landings within the enclosed space of the shipyard. Here it was determined to remain for a couple of days, as there were a number of things to be done besides replenishing their stock of fuel and food. All of the boys wanted to see the city, about which, with its beauties, they had heard considerable. "From here on to Jacksonville we ought to have it fairly easy," Jack explained to the rest. "There's an inside route taken by steamers to Savannah, and from that Georgia city clear to Fernandina in Florida. Then we will have to go out for just a little run; after which we enter the broad mouth of the St. Johns." "And we'll really be in Florida then, will we?" asked Nick. "My goodness; sometimes, when we were sticking in those mud creeks, it seemed to me that Florida must be just six thousand miles away. And we're going to make it after all? Well, that's what comes of push and grit. You fellers would have laid down long ago, only for my keeping everlastingly at it. But you're improving, I admit that; and I've got hopes that in time you'll do me credit." Of course they were quite used to Nick's method of joshing, and took all this in good part. Had it been any one else he might have been suspected of egotism; but they all knew Nick, and what an effort it was to get him to do anything requiring an effort; so that the joke was not lost. "When you take to prodding us to do things, water is going to run up-hill," was George's way of heading him off. "Well, fellows, there have been a few things Nick knows how to do better than the rest of the bunch, you must admit that," Jack remarked, dryly. "'Course we do," grinned Josh. "F'r instance, he can beat any bullfrog I ever set eyes on, makin' a jump from a boat into the water." "And sure, he can give the rist of us points on how to balance a boat by partin' his hair exactly in the meddle," Jimmy spoke up. "And there ain't a living soul in the same class with Nick when it comes to stowing away grub. I've often sat and admired him at it, until I just groaned in despair of ever being able to copy after him. I ain't built the right way, boys, you see. My pockets won't stretch far enough." "Oh! keep it going, if it pleases you, boys," the good natured Nick observed; "it don't hurt me any more'n water falling on a duck's back. Josh as much as admits that he's just consumed by envy because he can't enjoy his food like I do. But I'm used to being knocked around like a football. George here has rolled all over me forty times, I guess, since we've been shipmates. I'm beginning to get calloused around my elbows and knees. By the time this cruise is finished I'll be ready to hire out in a side show as the only and original human punching bag." The stay in Charleston was covered in two days, during which they managed to get around pretty well, and see all that was worth while. Besides, they had laid in all necessary stores, and the gas supply was looked after. On the third morning the Motor Boat Club set out along the wide Stone River, which soon narrowed, as all these southern rivers have a habit of doing, a short distance from its mouth. Then, by degrees, they passed through a tortuous channel, that, being safely navigated, took them in turn to another river, called the Wadmelaw. Passing the lower stretches of the swift running Edisto River, they managed to make the northern shore of St. Helena Sound by the middle of the afternoon; and an hour later determined to camp there in the open, rather than enter the tortuous watercourses leading to Beaufort. An early start on the following day gave them a chance to pass Beaufort before ten o'clock, and then head for distant Savannah. The course was intricate; but Jack studied his chart closely; and besides, they discovered that the channel was located by means of targets which doubtless had been placed there by the steamboat company, so that with any exercise of care they had little excuse for going astray. And as the last of Calibogue Sound was left behind they managed to reach the wide Savannah River, just as the sun was sinking in the west. CHAPTER XXIII. THANKS TO THE PILOT--CONCLUSION. When the adventurous six left Savannah in their wake, and struck in for the stream below the city which would take them to Wassaw Sound, they knew that they had really started on what was destined to be the last leg of the trip to Florida. By noon they had managed to make Ossaban Sound, and still kept on, hoping to cross the wide reach that formed St. Catherine's Sound that same day. But it was not to be. The sky clouded up, the wind whipped into the northwest, and in a short time the boys realized that it was getting very chilly for this far south, in the middle of October. When they saw the wild aspect that wide stretch of tumbling water presented, it was quickly settled that the crossing must be put off until another day. Accordingly camp was made in a hamak, where the force of the wind was broken. And here they proceeded to take things as comfortably as possible. George took his gun and went out to see if he could scare up any sort of game; for there had been murmurings of late to the effect that they did not seem to be getting their full share of such things on this trip. The fact of the matter was, that so much of their precious time was spent in trying to overcome the numerous difficulties by which they found themselves confronted, that there were scant opportunities for fishing and hunting. Nick persisted in getting a line out, as he had been seized with a great desire to partake of fresh fish for supper, and no one else showed any signs of intending to make a try. Twenty minutes later those in camp were aroused by hearing a tremendous splash, accompanied by half muffled shouts. "Help! come quickly, or he'll get away! Hurry! hurry, boys!" Everybody ran like the wind to the spot where Nick had been seen calmly seated on a log that projected over the water, offering him a fine seat, from which to carry on his fishing operations. What they discovered was the stout boy floundering in the water of the sound, being drawn this way and that by some unseen agency that was fastened to the other end of his line. Nick's obstinate disposition was made manifest by the frantic way he clung to that same fishing line. No danger seemed sufficient to cause him to let it go. Perhaps, though, he had been unwise enough to wrap the cord around his chubby wrist, and could not have let loose, even had he so desired. Josh doubled up, and fairly howled, the sight was so very comical to him; which made the fisherman all the more angry. "What ails that silly goose?" he spluttered, as well as he was able, considering that half the time his mouth was filled with salty water. "He only thinks of the funny part of it. Don't care a cent whether a human life is sacrificed on the altar of friendship; or a jolly big fish breaks the line and gets away. Jack, somebody come on in, and help me land him, won't you?" Jack was already throwing his coat off, and in another minute he had leaped from the bank into the water. Just as Nick had said, there was some danger that he might be dragged out beyond his depth; and at least the great struggling fish was liable to break away, and become lost to them. Once Jack got hold of the line, and it was all over. By degrees they drew the captive to the shore, upon which he was finally cast, proving to be an enormous red drum, or as they are called in the South, a channel bass, weighing pretty nearly forty pounds, Jack figured. "Is it good to eat?" was the first natural question fired at him by Nick, whose eyes were fairly glistening with pride as they watched the dying flops of the bronze-backed quarry. "First rate, if a bit dry," Jack replied. "The meat is snow white, and something like halibut, only not quite so fine. But it's a great day for you, Nick. I can see one time when you're sure to get your fill." Indeed, it proved to be a good day all around, for just then they heard George letting fly with both barrels, and following it with a glad whoop. "He's gone and got something," declared Josh. "Ain't it queer how things run? With us it's feast or a famine all the while. D'ye reckon it was a deer he knocked over, Jack?" "More'n likely another shoat," said Nick, grinning; "but even if it is, razorback pork ain't half bad when a feller's real hungry." Presently George came in. It was getting near dusk, and they could just see that he was carrying a load of some sort on his back, which he tried to hide until he could reach camp. Josh began to grunt at a lively rate, by which he hinted that they anticipated another diet of pork. "What did you run up against, George?" asked Jack. "That!" exclaimed the proud Nimrod, as he swung his burden around. "Great governor! it's a turkey, as sure as you live!" shouted Josh. At that Nick could hold in no longer, but began to dance around in great glee, rubbing himself as though in anticipation of the feast to come, and making all sorts of suggestive motions, after the manner of a man feeding. "How under the sun did you get close enough to knock the big bird down with a charge of quail shot?" asked Jack, pleased because George had held up his reputation as a sportsman. "I don't just know," replied the other. "I was standing in the shade of a tree, and thinking that it was no use going further, when something lighted close by me, and I saw it was a wild turkey. Well, I just up and gave him both barrels, as fast as I could pull the triggers. Then he flopped over, I ran forward and nailed my prize. And he's pretty heavy to tote any distance, too, I tell you." "That means another of those earth ovens tonight, don't it, Jack?" asked Nick. "Nothing else would do the business," came the reply; "and so everybody get busy, piling up the wood while I dig a hole," replied the one addressed. The turkey was baked to a turn when they uncovered the oven in the morning, and, having their appetites along, even so early in the day, those six lads made that noble bird look like a rack of bones before they admitted that they were satisfied. Indeed, they had to fairly drag Nick away from the wreck, for he declared it to be the finest treat of his whole life. But then, he often said that. What was present always seemed the best to Nick. Fading events held little interest for him, since the mill could never grind again with the water that was past. In the morning the big sound looked smooth enough to tempt them upon its treacherous bosom. The crossing was made with ease; and later on came Sapelo with its particular troubles, the wind having risen meanwhile. But the boats proved seaworthy, and the young Corinthians who manned them had learned many a valuable lesson from past experiences; so that by noon they had navigated this dangerous sheet of water and were well along their way. "There's a lighthouse away over there, Jack," announced Josh, pointing ahead. "Yes; that must be Doboy Light, and the sound of the same name will be the next to take our attention, boys," Jack replied, composedly, as though he had the entire map of the coast region impressed on his mind by now. "Is there any end to 'em?" asked Nick, dolefully. "Two more before we reach Fernandina, St. Simon's and big Cumberland. And after we've rested at Fernandina we'll go through a few more passages, and then take a little outside run of a few miles, when we can enter the St. Johns." "Oh! happy day!" chanted Josh, pretending to strum a banjo as he sang. "Then, if all goes well, we ought to bring up at Jacksonville inside of say two days at the most; is that so, Jack?" Herb inquired. "Correct. And nothing is going to happen, make up your mind to that, fellows," Jack declared, resolutely. "We've allowed nothing to frighten us up to now, and yet used a due amount of caution, just as we promised those at home, when they gave us permission to take this jolly trip. And that's our slogan all the time, 'Speed, with care!' It's a winning combination, I tell you, boys." They spent the night near Darien, in a creek that they happened to be passing through as a sort of short-cut. Jack's confidence proved to be well placed, for on the following day they safely passed both St. Simon's and the big Cumberland Sound, bringing up close to Fernandina by nightfall. Jack advised against trying to reach the city in the dusk. There was danger of running upon a snag, or happening to attract the attention of dissolute characters, who, taking advantage of the darkness of the night and the fact of the cruisers being strangers to the place, might attempt to rob them. His plan was to stay where they were, a safe distance away, until morning, and then make their way across to the city. "Just to think that we've really and truly done it," said Nick, puffing out with either pride or the amount of food he had consumed for supper; "and right at this minute the Motor Boat Club is resting on Florida soil! Why, I can hardly believe it. A year ago I'd have laughed if any fellow told me I'd engage to do one quarter of the stunts we've carried out since we left Philadelphia." "Oh! you're improving every way," chuckled Josh. "I can even see signs of it in your eating. You've got three of us combined beat to a frazzle right now; and honest Injun, we think that by another month you can stand off the whole bunch. Long practice makes for success, and we all give you credit for trying your level best, Nick, every time." It was a lovely night, this their first in Florida. The trees, festooned with the long, swinging, gray Spanish moss, looked like the real tropical thing to all of the boys. And they felt a pride that was surely justifiable, in the success that had attended their cruise down the coast. "Best thing we ever did, and that's straight," asserted Herb. "And not one serious accident to mar the record," Jack nodded, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "Of course we don't count those several little adventures of our fat friend here," Josh put in, jerking his thumb in the direction of Nick, "because we all understand that, being such a good-natured fellow, and wanting to keep us in good humor, he did those stunts on purpose. Yes, I agree with the rest of you, that we deserve a whole lot of credit for coming through it all without a serious accident." "And much of that luck is due to the wise head that piloted the expedition," declared George, generously; "and fellows, I propose that here and now, on the first night we spend on Florida soil, we give Jack Stormways three good cheers and a tiger, just to show that we appreciate his leadership. Here goes!" And they were given with a will that must have made Jack's boyish heart swell with pleasure; for who among us but would feel flattered at the expression of admiration from his chums? The next day they made for Nassau Sound; and happening to strike a favorable time for passing over the few miles in the open, they crossed the bar at the mouth of the St. Johns at just half-past two, continuing up the river to the metropolis of fair Florida. Here in Jacksonville we will have to leave them for a time, recuperating after their eventful voyage, and making due preparations for continuing the same through Indian River and the keys that dot the whole Florida coast, with New Orleans as their destination. THE END. The further interesting and thrilling adventures of the Motor Boat Boys will be found in volume No. 5 of this series, entitled "The Motor Boat Boys Among the Florida Keys; or, A Struggle for the Leadership." [Transcriber's note: This short story was part of the source book. Its author is unknown.] MRS. STONE'S MONEY-ORDER. One day a well dressed lady, purporting to be Mrs. Richard Stone, called at the money-order division of the New York office and asked for the money on an order for £10, which had been issued in Lowestoft, England, payable to the order of Richard Stone. The order presented on this occasion had apparently been properly endorsed by Richard Stone, who had made it payable to his wife. The only precaution necessary on the part of the examiners and paying clerks was, therefore, simply to satisfy themselves that the lady was Mrs. Richard Stone, the rightful payee. There being no person present to identify her she exhibited several letters addressed to herself and her husband, and the identical letter from Lowestoft, which contained the money-order. She told them where her husband was employed, and gave the name and number of the street of their residence. It seemed clear enough, and the money was paid. Just such transactions as this occur a hundred times a day, and it cannot be expected that the clerks can remember very much about any particular transaction many hours after it occurs. Three weeks later, when another lady called, also purporting to be Mrs. Richard Stone, to make inquiries about a money order for £10 sent to her husband from Lowestoft, England, there was not very much to say except that the order had been paid. This lady also produced a letter from her husband's sister in Lowestoft, saying that on a certain day she sent a money-order for the amount named; that she had just received his last letter, and there being nothing said about having received the order, she wrote to ascertain if the order had not been received. Mrs. Stone, the second, stated that this was the first that her husband, or herself, had known of the existence of such an order, and she had called to see what could be done about it. If it had been paid, surely somebody must be responsible for the wrong payment. It is the custom, where a wrong payment can be established, for the postmaster or the clerk making the mistake, to make the amount good to the right payee. Mrs. Stone's case was accordingly referred to me for adjustment. Her story was told in such a simple manner that no one who heard it could doubt her word. But it was possible that she had received the money, and had forgotten about the transaction. When the order was paid the lady who received the money was questioned by two examiners, both of whom were satisfied that she was the person to whom the order should be paid. The same two examiners talked with Mrs. Stone, the second, and one of them thought she was the lady to whom the money was paid, while the other could distinguish very little similarity and felt confident the first Mrs. Stone was not the second Mrs. Stone. On the following day Richard Stone himself called to talk the matter over and give me some points. He suspected a young woman named Nellie Mason, who had been in the habit of calling on his wife, who was an old friend of hers, and who resembled her very much. Mr. and Mrs. Stone resided in Twenty-eighth Street at this time, but at the time the missing letter must have arrived in New York they were living in a flat in Twenty-seventh Street. The mail for the occupants of this flat was left by the carrier on a table in the lower hall, and any person so inclined could have picked up the lost letter. He had several samples of Nellie Mason's writing in the form of letters that Mrs. Stone had received from her from time to time, and they corresponded with the endorsements on the order. The case was now becoming interesting, and, at Stone's request, I consented to call at his residence the next afternoon to talk with Mrs. Stone about Miss Mason. Richard Stone was a young man of probably thirty-two, and an Englishman. His dress and appearance were faultless, while his conversation indicated that he was well educated. He had been in this country scarcely fifteen months, yet he was holding a confidential position in one of the largest corporations in the city, where he was held in the highest esteem, and where he was complimented alike for his rare abilities and gentlemanly deportment. Indeed, every person interested was delighted with him, and they had all often wondered at their good fortune in securing the services of such a preeminently competent man. Mrs. Stone was somewhat younger than her husband, and was of fair size and fine form. "Her brow was like the snowdrift; her voice was low and sweet," and nature had also generously endowed her with an abundance of the most beautiful red hair that ever gladdened the heart of man with its warm and genial rays. She was an American, and had been married to Mr. Stone only a few months. Mr. and Mrs. Stone were both at home when I called. I was as warmly greeted as though I had been a welcome messenger of peace from a mortal enemy. Mrs. Stone had hardly recovered from a terrible scare she had received the previous evening, and the household affairs had scarcely resumed their wonted cheerfulness and repose. "Was it a burglar?" "No, worse than burglars!" And having never learned that anything brought more terror to womankind than the soft step of the artful burglar, I listened with bated breath to the interesting story of the husband. It was his custom to arrive home each afternoon about six o'clock, where the bright smiles of Mrs. Stone had never, till yesterday, failed to bathe him in the warm and tender adorations of perennial affection. Last evening when he entered at the usual hour the house was still and dark, and the bright face of his loved one greeted him not. A strange man approached him, in as great surprise us if the dead had come to life, and bade him be calm and composed, and said he thought Mrs. Stone would soon recover consciousness; that somebody had sent her word that her husband had been killed, and the shock was too great and too sudden for her to bear. A telegram from a down-town office, which brought the dreadful intelligence, lay upon the table, and it was signed, simply "N. M." From this circumstance alone it was painfully evident that Nellie Mason was a bad and designing individual. Mrs. Stone was sweetly reclining on a richly-covered couch, and her faithful husband was lovingly administering to her every little want. The lady, like tender blades of grass that have been watered by a passing storm, seemed more beautiful than before her severe trial. Under the warm sunshine of sympathy and love, her many pleasing charms shone like diamonds in the diadem of royalty. Seating myself within easy hearing distance of the fair Mrs. Stone, she began the enchanting tale about Nellie Mason, the sorceress. It was as follows: "My maiden name was Francis West. My parents died when I was young, and I went to live with an aunt in Peekskill on the Hudson. There I received every attention that a dear relative could bestow upon the young offspring of a deceased sister. There I attended school, and in that school I first met Nellie Mason. She was about my age, and, like myself, was living with an aunt, though she was not an orphan. "Pardon me when I tell you that I was an attractive young miss in those days. Young girls know as well as older ones that good looks, grace, and fine dress are envious attractions. No one understood this more perfectly than Nellie Mason. "At school, at church, at parties, and everywhere, she seemed to grieve at my good fortune. I always treated her kindly, for I had been taught the charm of charity, yet, with all, it seemed that sometimes I could no longer bear the unpleasant feeling that steals over a person when it is known that another is constantly trying to imitate, and perhaps injure you. "It is true, she looked like me in several particulars. That is, Nature had made her something like me, and the points of difference she was ceaselessly attempting to assimilate. There was only one marked difference, but that was easily changed. Her hair was brown; now it is exactly like mine. We were in the same classes and the same social circles. "She tried to imitate my voice, my actions, and, so perfectly did she imitate my writing, that no person can tell which is the genuine and which the false. Whenever I procured a new gown, Nellie was as certain to have one like it as she was to live. She would even squeeze her foot into a two-and-a-half shoe, and was dying to imitate my smile. Poor thing, how I did worry her! But what bothered her more than anything else, was her inability in every instance to associate with the same particular persons that I did. "In Peekskill, as I suppose it is in most places of its size, the young men are quite attentive to the young ladies. While my aunt was very solicitous about my company, I managed to receive about as much attention as the other girls, and, do you know, I never had a beau in my life that Nellie did not try to get away from me. "Finally, just to bother her, I would tell the young men that if they paid Miss Mason any attention I would have nothing whatever to do with them; that I would cut them squarely. Well, one young fellow, whom I had thus admonished, thought it would be smart to tell the young lady what I had said, and since that day Nellie Mason has not been trying so much to imitate as she evidently has to injure me. "Soon after I married Richard and came to New York to live, Nellie went home to Lewiston, Maine; and after she had been there a while she wrote me a letter in which she said she had married. I have her letter now. She did not remain long in Lewiston, for the next thing I heard of her she was here in New York. "She called on me and said she was living with a Mrs. Gilbert, in East Thirteenth Street; that she and her husband had quarreled, and that she had resolved to make her own living, and was then at work in an Insurance office. It is needless for me to say that I did not return the call, but I presume it would have been better for me if I had. "One evening, about half-past five, about three weeks before we left our old apartments, one of Mr. Stone's most intimate friends called. There was nothing particularly singular or remarkable about the call, for the gentleman often came with Richard and made real homelike visits. He had not been in the house long on this occasion before he said he was delighted to receive my kind letter. Of course, not knowing what he referred to, I promptly demanded an explanation, when he took from his pocket a neat little letter apparently written by me and signed 'Frances,' requesting him to call at 5:30 that day, as I wanted to see him particularly. Did you ever hear the like of that? "Well, to make matters still more embarrassing, presently in walks Richard with another letter written in a scrawling anonymous hand, in which he was advised to be home by 5:45 as he would find company. The next thing we heard was the money-order affair, and the next was the telegram announcing Mr. Stone's death last night, which nearly killed me; and who knows what will be next?" The only appropriate words I could command, after Mrs. Stone had finished, were: "Wonderful woman!" I assure you I was unable to state just then whether I referred to Mrs. Stone or Nellie Mason. If the strange story was true, Nellie Mason was wonderfully remarkable. If it was untrue, then Mrs. Richard Stone was the most remarkable character I had ever met. I promised to call again in a day or so, and hastily withdrew to strengthen or unravel the nicely-woven fabric Mrs. Stone had offered. Richard Stone had acted so much in sympathy with his beautiful wife, that I began to think if she was wrong, Richard could not be right himself; so I determined to know more about him. I called upon the chief officer of the company where he was employed, and confidentially asked him what he knew about Stone. He told me that Stone came from England with the best kind of written recommendations from several of the oldest established business houses in London and Norwich; and further, that he had been warmly recommended by the Young Men's Association, in New York to which he had been splendidly introduced, and in whom the officers of the association still retained a deep interest. He was a first-rate business man, and he thought there could be no more question about his character than there was about his own. I told him there were some decidedly singular features about my case; but, of course, they could possibly all be cleared up without leaving a blemish on Stone's character. I thought, under all the circumstances, it would be best to have a frank talk about the matter, and if he still thought Stone was honest and honorable we would say no more about it. He was so impressed with the story that he said they could not afford to retain him, valuable as he was, if there was a probability that he was not what he should be. But to be sure that they were making no mistake, they would commence the investigation in England, and at once. That day a cablegram was forwarded to an agent in London, who was given full instructions what to do and how to send his report. Having disposed of Mr. Stone for a brief period I devoted a day or two to investigating Mrs. Stone and Nellie Mason, and I know the result will be read with interest. There was no record at Peekskill that showed that either of the ladies ever resided there. There was no record in Lewiston of Nellie Mason's father or Nellie Mason. She had never lived at Mrs. Gilbert's in East Thirteenth Street, but Miss Frances West had, and, by the loquacious landlady, who knew about all there was in this world worth knowing, and who had not kept a boarding house all these years for nothing, I was advised to investigate Miss West very sharply indeed. When I asked Mrs. Gilbert if she had not heard of Miss West's marriage, she said: "Tut, tut, I do not believe one word of it." I was not long in determining beyond a doubt that Mrs. Stone sent the telegram to herself, announcing her husband's death. She had ingeniously sent it to her own number in West Twenty-seventh Street, knowing that the messenger, when he found no such person on the west side, would surely cross to East Twenty-seventh, and would not reach the last number till after she had arrived home. While I was looking up the telegram I heard that a detective was looking up a Miss Nellie Mason from Peekskill, who, it was supposed, had purloined a beautiful stem-winding, full jeweled Elgin, No. 10,427 from a gentleman from Boston, who had been spending a short vacation in New York. It is needless to add that there was no such person as Nellie Mason, and that the money-order was not repaid. When the first returns were in from London it was quite evident that Mr. Stone had been elected by an unusually large majority. The highly perfumed letters of recommendation that he brought over with him were all false, the supposed writers never having heard of such a person. He had been compelled to leave England because of a few slight slips of the pen, which, at this time, it is not worth while to mention and that at Lowestoft, where his parents resided, he was looked upon as a "very slippery gentleman," whose true name was not Stone, but Hartley. Not long afterward, and quite recently, Stone attempted by misrepresentations to procure a large amount of money from certain Wall Street brokers, which would enable him, he said, "to return to England and live in splendor." But the scheme failed after he had procured a few hundred dollars, and, instead of being permitted to enjoy the magnificence of the old world, he suddenly found himself enjoying the splendors of one of the oldest prisons in New York. [Transcriber's note: the publisher's five-page catalog follows.] 
38617	----	produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) [Illustration: On the top of the ridge-boards, the lads saw a half-dressed negro boy.] THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI OR On the Trail to the Gulf By HARRY GORDON Author of "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Colorado," "The River Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence," "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Amazon," "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Columbia," "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio." A. L. BURT COMPANY NEW YORK Copyright, 1913 By A. L. Burt Company THE SIX RIVER MOTOR BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI Contents I--A Rambler Reception Day II--Alex. Goes Fishing III--A Waif from the River IV--Two Boys Get a Tumble V--A New Captain on Board VI--Captain Joe Makes a Hit VII--Searching for the _Rambler_ VIII--Faces at the Window IX--Red Declines to Talk X--More River Outlaws XI--Fire-Faces on the Island XII--Half Full of Diamonds XIII--A River Robber in a New Role XIV--Alex. Breaks Furniture XV--The Leather Bag Missing XVI--What Dropped on Deck XVII--Getting out of the Mud XVIII--Swept Into a Swamp XIX--Pilgrims from Old Chicago XX--The Darkey up the Tree XXI--Dodging a Police Boat XXII--The Sheriff Knows a Lot XXIII--A Night in New Orleans XXIV--Something Doing All the Time XXV--Commonplace, After All THE SIX RIVER MOTOR BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI CHAPTER I A RAMBLER RECEPTION DAY A white bulldog of ferocious aspect lay sound asleep under a small table. Lying across the dog's neck, with his soft muzzle hidden between capable paws, was a quarter-grown grizzly bear. Now and then Captain Joe, as the dog was named, stirred uneasily in his sleep, as if in remonstrance at the liberties which Teddy, the cub, was taking with his person. The bulldog and the cub snored in unison! The table under which the animals slept stood in the middle of the small cabin of the motor boat _Rambler_, and the _Rambler_ was pulling at her anchor chain in the muddy water of the Mississippi river--pulling and jerking for all the world like a fat pig with a ring in his nose trying to get rid of the line which held him in captivity. Although early in November, there were wandering flakes of snow in the air, and a chill wind from the northwest was sweeping over the Mississippi valley. There had been several days of continuous rain, and, at Cairo, where the motor boat lay, both the Mississippi and the Ohio rivers were out of their banks. In spite of the wind and snow, however, the cabin of the _Rambler_ was cozy and warm. In front of the table where the bulldog and the young bear lay stood a coal stove, on the top of which two boys of sixteen, Clayton Emmett and Alexander Smithwick, were cooking ham and eggs, the appetizing flavor of which filled the little room. A dish of sliced potatoes stood not far away, and over the cherry-red coils of an electric stove at the rear of the cabin a great pot of coffee was sizzling and adding its fragrance to rich contributions of the frying pan. While the boys, growing hungrier every second, stirred the fire and laid the table, footsteps were heard on the forward deck of the motor boat, and then, without even announcing his presence by a knock, a roughly-dressed man of perhaps forty years stepped into the cabin and stood for a moment staring at the bulldog and the bear, stood with a hand on the knob of the door, as if ready for retreat, his lips open, as if the view of the interior had checked words half spoken. Alex. Smithwick regarded the man for a moment with a flash of anger in his eyes, then he caught the humor of the situation and resolved to punish the intruder for his impudence in walking into the cabin without a bit of ceremony. "Look out for the bulldog and the bear!" he warned. "They consumed two river-men last week! The bulldog tears 'em down, an' the bear eats 'em!" "What kind of a menagerie is this?" began the visitor, but Alex. gave the bulldog a touch with his foot, and the dog and the bear were in the middle of the space between the table and the stove, snarling fiercely, before the startled intruder could open the door. "Call the brutes off!" he added as Teddy began boxing the empty air. "Don't stand in the doorway!" Alex. warned, while Clay Emmett turned his face away so as not to betray his enjoyment of the situation. "It makes 'em mad to keep the door open! What do you want?" The visitor stepped outside and beckoned to the boys through the glass panel. Alex. went out on the deck and stood waiting. The visitor was evidently a riverman, tall, muscular, heavy of hand and sullen of face. He wore rough clothing, neither clean nor whole, and his face was well covered by a bushy beard, light in color except around the mouth, where it was stained with tobacco. Alex. noted that he looked away whenever their eyes met for an instant. "I'm Gid Brent, the riverman," he said, in a moment, "and I've come to warn you boys against starting out alone, on the river in this boat." "That's kind of you," Alex. replied. "What's the matter with the boat?" "It is the river there's something the matter with," replied the other. "The water is high, and is pouring into all the old channels and ditches from Cairo to the Gulf. If you start out without a pilot, you'll run into some bayou and end in a swamp, a couple of hundred miles from the main channel." "You're a pilot, eh?" asked Alex., with a provoking grin. "Yes; and I'm called the best on the river," was the boasting reply. "And you're looking for a job?" Alex. continued, insinuatingly. "I might accept the right kind of a job," Brent replied, "but I shouldn't want any menagerie on board with me. Where are you boys going?" "Oh, well," Alex. said, gravely, though there was fun in his eyes, "if you object to our pets, that settles it! We brought Captain Joe, the bulldog, from the Amazon, and Teddy Bear, the cub, from British Columbia." "Oh, if they're tame!" the other exclaimed. "I might----" "I'll call 'em out an' see what they say to you!" Alex. replied, mischief in his eyes, opening the cabin door and inviting the bulldog and the bear out to the deck! Captain Joe snarled at the man's feet and Teddy Bear stood up and squared off in front of him in a boxing attitude! Brent swung toward the little pier against which the motor boat lay, and the animals, thus encouraged, sprang at him. In a minute the pilot was on the pier, racing toward the shore as if for his life! Clay came out on deck and both boys stood laughing at the retreating figure. Presently Brent came to an old warehouse, where security might be found in an open doorway. Here he stopped and turned back, shaking a fist at the grinning lads. "I'll be even with you for that!" he shouted. "I'll teach you to set your dog on me, you miserable little bum-boat tramps! I'll show you!" "Get him, Captain Joe!" cried Alex., angry at the impertinent language used, but Clay caught the bulldog by the collar and held him back. "All right!" smiled Alex. "Let the tramp go, if you want to! Anyway, I'm about half starved! Funny, Case and Jule don't get back! They've been gone three hours!" "They'll get cold beans for supper if they don't show up pretty soon!" Clay said, turning back to the cabin. "The ham and eggs and potatoes are just done!" Even as Alex. closed the cabin door behind himself, running footsteps were heard, and the next moment two boys of about his own age, Cornelius Witters and Julian Shafer, made their appearance, racing off the pier and on to the deck of the motor boat like young colts. They dashed into the cabin and dropped down into seats at the table. "What's the matter with the fellow at the head of the pier?" Case Witters asked. "He called to us not to come down here! Said there was a crazy boy, a mad dog and a grizzly loose in the boat! Guess you got him peeved, didn't you?" "He's too fresh!" Alex. responded. "He came on board as if he owned the boat, and then had the nerve to tell us that we'd get lost if we went down the river without a pilot! He wanted a pilot's job! We should have given Captain Joe a bite out of him!" "Did he say he was a pilot?" asked Jule Shafer, with a wink at Case. "Sure thing he did!" answered Alex. "Said he was the best on the river!" "Well," Case began, "if he is a pilot he is out of practice! I heard him asking a man about the passage from Hickman to Reelfoot lake. When we went up-town that same man who spoke to us on the pier stood on the levee with a bunch of toughs. Their heads were together, as if they were planning mischief. I thought they looked at Jule and I in a strange way, too!" "I don't believe he ever came on board to get a job!" Jule broke in. "He's a spy! That's just what he is, and I wish Captain Joe had eaten him up!" "But why should he come spying here?" asked Clay. "We're not river thieves!" "Well, there's something odd going on at Cairo!" Case asserted. "There are crowds on the streets, and the policemen seem to be on their metal! I guess we would have been locked up as suspects if we hadn't had on pretty good clothes!" "Why didn't you ask some one to tell you about it?" demanded Alex. "We did," Jule answered, "and got our trouble for our pains! There's been a warehouse robbery up the river somewhere, but I don't see why that should make such a stir down here at Cairo. The merchant I ordered the gasoline of said that $100,000 in diamonds and furs had been taken, and that a watchman who resisted had been seriously wounded." "Perhaps they think we're the thieves!" suggested Clay. "I shouldn't wonder if they did," Case grinned. "Anyway, the men I talked with seemed to have loose shingles--they acted that way, all right!" "Loose shingles!" cried Alex. "You'll wash dishes for a week for that! Loose shingles is slang, and we're not to talk slang. If you wanted to indicate a slant in the belfry, why didn't you say----" "Slant in the belfry!" roared Case. "Guess that isn't slang! I'll have plenty of help washing dishes, all right. S-a-a-y, listen to that, will you!" As the boy spoke he lifted a hand for silence, and the four sat at the table silent and motionless. It was growing dusk now, and the deck of the motor boat showed dim under the gathering shadows of the night. While the lads sat there, listening, Captain Joe, the bulldog, ran to the closed door and sniffed suspiciously. "There's some one out on deck!" Case exclaimed, then. "I wonder if that fellow has had the nerve to come back here? I'll go and see who it is, anyway." "Why don't you wait and see what he will do?" asked Clay. "If he thinks we're the robbers, he'll show himself directly. If it is only a sneak thief, he'll take a jump in the river the minute he knows we are aware of his presence on the deck. Give him a chance!" Then three words came in a whisper from the outside of the door. They were spoken in a trembling voice, accompanied by a soft knock on the lower panel. "Let me in!" the voice said. It seemed like the voice of a child, too. "Come on in, if you want to!" Alex. answered. "This seems to be our reception day!" "Sure! Come on in! Don't be so mysterious about it, whoever you are!" As he spoke Case arose and opened the door. Instantly there tumbled into the cabin a boy of twelve or fourteen--a slender, thin-faced lad whose whole appearance indicated little food and little parental care. He did not rise to his feet. "Well, what is it?" asked Clay, taking the intruder by the arm. "Why don't you get up and introduce yourself? What do you want here, anyway?" "Don't switch on the light!" the boy pleaded, as Clay stretched his hand toward the electric switch. "They are watching the boat from the pier, and I don't want them to know I got in. That's why I didn't stand up when the door was opened. The railing of the deck protected me from the view of any one up there. I'm running away!" "You look the part!" Clay observed, motioning the visitor to a chair. "Why?" "Because they'll make me tell who stole the diamonds and furs up at Rock Island," was the hesitating reply. "They'll put me in jail if I don't tell!" "If you know and won't tell," Clay observed, "they surely will put you in jail!" "Why won't you tell?" asked Alex. "Perhaps you helped do the job yourself!" "No I didn't!" the boy said. He was about to say more when there came another voice from outside--a slow, steady voice demanding attention. "Listen, you kids in there," the voice said. "Listen, and I'll tell you what to do to save a couple of lives!" CHAPTER II ALEX. GOES FISHING "Things seem to be coming our way!" Alex. observed. "Can either of you boys see the fellow who is doing the talking?" Clay stepped to the cabin door and opened it. The night had fallen swiftly, and the deck was quite dark. The boy started toward the switch which controlled the prow light, but the voice checked him, coming, not from the pier, but from the water at the side of the motor boat. "Don't turn on any lights!" the voice said. "I'm right here under the overhang. I came to ask you to do me a favor! You look like decent sort of chaps!" "Thanks for the compliment!" Alex. put in, from the cabin door, where he stood with a freckled nose wrinkled to its full capacity--and then a little more! "Keep still a minute, can't you?" demanded Clay. "Let us see what it is the man wants us to do for him. Why don't you come on deck?" the boy added, bending over in the hope of getting a view of the strange visitor. "I don't come on deck," was the reply, "because I'm not lookin' for trouble! I'm in bad here, strangers, an' I want you to take the boy down the river with you!" The lad who had recently come on board now came up to the cabin door and stood in a listening attitude. In the deep dusk his face could not be seen plainly, but Alex., who stood close to his side, knew that he was shaking with the chill of the water. "The boy says he is running away," objected Clay, bending still lower over the deck railing. "We are not going to aid in any such a game," he added. "Shucks!" came the answer, still from the water. "He ain't got nobody nor nothin' to run away from, that kid ain't! Hide him until you get out of Cairo, an' then I may be able to do something for him." "What's the answer?" Alex. cut in. "Why should he want to be hidden? Perhaps you're the man that robbed the warehouse at Rock Island! He just told us that he knew who did it! Come on deck, and we'll talk it over." "If you want to get away from Cairo without sampling all the jails in the county," the unseen man continued, "you'll slip anchor an' get down the river right soon! The men who are watchin' you are comin' down the pier now. I reckon they saw me talking from the bosom of the river. Before I duck under an' head for Missouri, I'll tell you that the kid you've got there is O. K. Take him along with you!" Then, much to the amazement of the boys on the motor boat, a shot came out of the darkness in the direction of the pier, and a bullet cut the water close to where the man lay, near the prow, half afloat and half clinging to the hull of the _Rambler_. "You see!" the unseen man said. "Drop down until this excitement is over!" "That's a cheerful kind of a merman," Alex. declared. "He heard the shot and took his own advice to disappear, anyway! What do you think of him? Heading a lot of gunmen in this direction an' then advising us to run away!" For a moment nothing was heard save the sighing of the wind and the wash of the river. Lights were showing in the city, which was not far from the pier, and one large street lamp disclosed the figures of a dozen men running toward the motor boat! The man who had done the shooting stood near the foot of the pier, a revolver in his hand. Clay sprang for the switch which controlled the prow light. "That's more like it!" came a voice from the shore, as the light flared out on the cluttered pier and the swirling waters of the river. "Why didn't you do that before?" "Quit your shooting and come on board!" Clay advised. "We understand the use of firearms ourselves! Come aboard and tell us what all this is about." "We'll come, fast enough!" said one of the advancing party. "Keep your lights on." In a minute more the little motor boat was crowded with rough-looking men, all armed, and all insisting that every nook and corner of the _Rambler_ should be searched. The boys offered no objections, but sat on the deck railing waiting for the men to perform their task and go away. Captain Joe and Teddy, however, objected strenuously, and it required the efforts of all four, before the search was completed, to keep the pets from being shot by those whose legs had been nipped by sharp teeth. Finally one of the men, who seemed to be in command, demanded of Clay: "Where did the boy who came on board go?" "He must have gone into the river," was the reply. "Just after the shooting I looked for him, but he was not here. Who is he, and what is he wanted for?" "He belongs to the man who robbed the warehouse office up at Rock Island," was the gruff reply. "If you shelter him you'll be breaking the law. What was that swimmer saying to you?" the fellow continued. "That's the man we want! Why should he come to you, anyway?" "I don't know why he should come to us any more than I know why you men should come on board with your insulting suspicions," Clay answered. "When you make up your minds that neither the man nor the boy is here, we'll go on down the river." The search continued for some moments, and the men reluctantly went ashore. "Honest!" Alex. then asked of Clay. "Honest, now! Where did the boy go?" "He must have taken a jump into the river," was the boy's reply. "He certainly is not on board the _Rambler_. He just disappeared when those men appeared." "Then he's probably drowned!" Alex. commented. "No one could swim long in that current. And the man, too, probably went under! Too bad!" he added, soberly. "Well," Clay declared, "I've got enough of the hospitality of this city. Suppose we drop down to-night? It will be risky sailing because of the flood, but at the same time it may keep us all out of jail. Those men may come back after they get a few more drinks." The _Rambler_ was a staunch little motor boat, fully competent to make her way in almost any body of water, but the boys were afraid of driftwood and wreckage, and also of running off into bayous which ran out into swamps for miles, with almost as strong a current as the main channel. Those who have read previous volumes of this series will doubtless recall the adventures of the four boys in Brazil on the Amazon river, on the Columbia river, far up in British Columbia, and on the Colorado river, as far up as the Grand Canyon. A month before that night in Cairo, the boys had launched the motor boat on the Mississippi far up near its source. They had struggled with sandbars and falls, but had at last worked round the Falls of St. Anthony and struck better water. They had met with plenty of adventures on the way, but nothing of the character of the happenings of that evening. The portion of their journey really worthy of record begins at Cairo on this early November night. The pets, of which the boys were very fond, had, as already stated by one of the boys, been acquired in Brazil and British Columbia, Captain Joe having been bought by Alex. at Para, and Teddy having been rescued from a tree wreck in the great river of the north. Both animals had been taught all sorts of tricks by the boys. "That's all right, about our being in danger here," Case observed, "but, at the same time, if we leave now, in the night, with the river up, we shall only confirm the suspicions of those on shore. Suppose we move away from this pier, so as to be out of the way of the mob, and anchor in another place, where those whose duty it is to look up suspicious river boats can find us if they desire to? For one, I don't like the idea of being chased down the river." "Solomon had nothing on you!" Alex. agreed. "We may as well remain here until morning. I must confess that I don't like the way the Father of Waters is acting!" "Well, let us get somewhere and settle down for the night!" Jule suggested. "I'm still hungry! Those fellows spoiled my supper. Who wants more ham?" "Say," Alex. cried, with one of his inimitable grins, "why not have a fish for supper? I won't be able to sleep much, on account of watching, and may as well have a good square meal! Then I'll sit up and you boys can go to bed." "Where can you get a fish to-night?" demanded Jule. "Think one is going to climb up on the deck? Ham is good enough for me right now!" But Alex. did not abandon the idea of having a fish supper. After the _Rambler_ had been taken a short distance up the river and anchored in a little bay which promised protection from the rushing current, loaded at times with driftwood and the wreck of houses and barns, the lad again broached the subject. "I can get the rowboat out," he insisted, "and let her down stream with a line. Then I can fish under that bank to the east. Don't you ever think all the river fish have moved into top flats because of the flood! I saw one jump up just a moment ago! You boys keep a good fire and I'll guarantee to bring the fish!" "Go it!" Clay laughed. "I wouldn't go out in a rowboat for a dozen fish suppers, but you seem to have the luck of the Irish on such occasions, so get to going!" "You'll eat the fish, all right!" Alex. taunted, "so help me get the boat down." The skiff was lowered from the roof of the little cabin and placed in the water, with a great splash. It tugged and strained at the cord which held it, and now and then received severe bumps from floating debris, but Alex. insisted on drawing it up and jumping in. Then he set about getting his fish for supper! For a long time the boy fished without receiving any intimation that there was a fish left in the river! The boat caught plenty of driftwood, however. At times great masses of trees and timbers would go sailing down, advancing out of the darkness into the circle of light about the _Rambler_ as if brought to life by the presence of mankind. Then the darkness would receive them again and the water would run clear for a time. The little bay where the _Rambler_ was moored was in a measure out of the sweep of the strong current, still the water eddied and swirled around the little rowboat in a threatening manner. Sometimes the boy had all he could do to keep the craft from turning turtle and dumping him into the river. The other boys, watching from the deck of the motor boat, often called to him to draw up on the line in order to avoid a mass of wreckage drifting that way. The strong, high prow-light of the motor boat cast a sharp illumination over the river for some distance up stream, revealing the approach of dangerous wreckage, and the lone fisherman was often glad to heed the warnings of his chums. At last, however, just as he was playing a fish which seemed to him as large as a whale, and twice as ferocious, he heard a call which he disregarded for a second. "There's a roof coming down!" Clay shouted to the boy. "It is likely to pay you a visit! Better come aboard!" "And there's something moving on it!" Jule shouted. "It looks like a baby!" Alex. was busy with his line. The fish supper was almost in sight! If he heard what was said to him he did not heed the warning, for he kept on playing his fish, which seemed inclined to take the rowboat down the river to the Gulf of Mexico! The piece of roof to which the boys pointed swung around the side of the _Rambler_ and was pulled in toward the shore by the eddy which had drawn so many lesser objects in. Then, for the first time, Alex. saw his danger. If the mass struck the boat it might crush it. At the very least it would be likely to break the line with which it was attached to the _Rambler_ and send him adrift! The boy seized the cable and began to draw the boat up to the _Rambler_, seeking protection under its bulk. Then he heard a cry come from the raft, and saw a mite of a boy reaching out his hands. The boat dropped back and the mass, edging in below the _Rambler_, struck it full on the prow! CHAPTER III A WAIF FROM THE RIVER The cable tying the rowboat to the _Rambler_ parted with a snap as the wreckage struck the light craft, and Alex. went rocking and bobbing down toward the Gulf of Mexico! The boys on the _Rambler_ saw him get out an oar to secure steerway, though he was pressed on by the house roof which had done the mischief. It was not a flat roof, but one with two steep sides and a sharp apex. It rode the current apex up, as if floating on a floor crossing under the eaves. On the top of the ridge-boards, clinging on with hands and bare heels, and shouting fit to wake the people of Cairo, the lads on the _Rambler_ saw a half-dressed negro boy of perhaps ten or eleven years. The more the roof bobbed on the waves the louder he yelled. When the line snapped Clay rushed to the motors and turned on full power. The _Rambler_ trembled as she thrust her nose against the current, wavered, and then, answering her helm, swung around broadside to the sweep of water, shook a mass of wreckage from her prow, as a dog shakes off water, and edged down stream. In a minute after the accident the powerful motor boat was chasing Alex., the little negro boy, and the teetering roof down toward Memphis! It was dark on the river, and the roaring of the waters made the prospect doubly disagreeable. The current was running fast, and that one minute of getting under way had swept the rowboat some distance down stream. Still it was just visible under the strong prow light. "There's Alex.'s fish!" shouted Chase, pointing to the cowering negro boy on the apex of the roof. "Wonder how he wants him cooked for supper?" "The last find Alex. made," Jule laughed, "was a bear! What will he be finding next? S-a-a-y, you coon!" he called out, shaping his hands for a trumpet in order to direct his voice, "don't you go to dropping off! We'll pick you up with the motor boat," he continued, as the little fellow began scrambling toward the water's edge. "There he goes!" shouted Clay, as the negro boy, not heeding Jule's directions, went clattering down the shingles and dropped into the river. "The little fellow was afraid we would go away and leave him! What do you think of that?" he added. "The coon is swimming like a fish to the rowboat!" The boy would have reached the rowboat handily if a heavy piece of timber had not intervened. It struck him head-on as he swam, and he went under the brown waters. Then the boys on the _Rambler_ saw Alex. throw off his coat, take the broken line between his teeth, and dive into the river, just missing the great timber as he went headfirst into the flood! There was a growl and a snarl on deck, and then Captain Joe and Teddy Bear were both in the river, swimming down toward the swaying roof. The bulldog, with the instinct of the intelligent canine, doubtless recognized the peril of the situation and took to the water on an errand of rescue, but with the bear it was different. He had been patiently taught to bathe and play in the water with the boys, and now he saw only a frolic ahead! However this may be, it was the bear cub who seized the negro boy as he came to the surface, half supported by Alex.'s arm. The little fellow had not been rendered unconscious by the blow he had received, and was able to sustain himself in the water as soon as he came to the surface. Alex. was busy hauling the boat back, or trying to, with the end of the line in one hand, and Captain Joe swam directly to him. He knew that if he released the line the rowboat would drift away, leaving him and his companions to be rescued by the _Rambler_, and he had a stubborn notion that he would like to get out of the mess without the assistance of his chums! They would then have no opportunity to make sly remarks about his skill as a fisherman! The fishline was wound around his left arm, and he believed that the fish he had been playing when the accident took place was still on the hook! The situation was clearing, for Alex. held to the line, and boy, bear, dog, and frightened negro boy, were doing very well in the swift current when another mass of wreckage came sweeping down upon them. As it came down Alex. dove under, and the negro boy started to do the same, but just then his eyes fell on the bear, hanging to his arm, and with a scream which only half disclosed how scared he was he scrambled on the floating heap of brush and was swept down stream! His round eyes were, apparently, as large as saucers and as white as chalk as he turned to see Teddy Bear pursuing him to his place of refuge. Familiar with the water game, the bear chased the negro boy to the limit of the wreckage and pushed him in with his nose. By this time Alex. was clinging to the rowboat, with Captain Joe serving as chaperon, and the _Rambler_ was at hand, the boys on board cheering Teddy and the negro boy as they chased around the brush heap from which they had been pitched into the river. Although they called out to the boy not to be afraid of the bear, his cries rose above the roar of the waters! Alex. and Captain Joe were picked up first, the rowboat made secure, and then the _Rambler_ rounded the floating mass of brush and took Teddy on board. The little fellow scrambled away from the hands reached out to grasp him, his eyes following the figure of the bear as it was lifted on deck. "Fo' de Lawd's sake!" he gasped, his eyes round and white, "don' yo' feed dis coon to dat bear! He sure done eat dis chile!" When passed up to the deck the boy gave one look at the bear, let out another yell of fright, and, ducking into the cabin, dodged under the table, where he crouched on hands and knees, his eyes sticking out like white doorknobs. The boys were too full of laugh for the time being to try to explain matters to him. As soon as Alex. was on deck he began unwinding the fishline from his arm. Then he played it over the side of the boat, much to the amusement of his chums. "Perhaps you think I didn't catch a fish?" the lad demanded, with a wink at Clay. "If you didn't get a fish," laughed Clay, "it is about the only thing you didn't bring out of the river with you! We fished out a bear, a dog, and a baby coon with you! You surely ought to have a fish!" And Alex. did have a fish! It was firmly hooked, and came flopping out of the water when he drew in the line. Still under the table, with his eyes on the bear, the rescued negro boy licked his chops when he saw it. Clay observed the action and went to him. After a time the little fellow was coaxed out of his hiding-place. "That's a pet bear!" explained Clay. "He won't bite you!" The boy seemed to want to believe the other, for the sake of the fish supper which appeared to be coming soon, but he edged away from the cub, all the same! "You hungry?" asked Case, coming up. The little fellow nodded, and Case went on. "What's your name?" "Abraham Lincoln Charles Sumner Horace Greeley Banks!" The little chap repeated the names in a sing-song tone, with the air of one who had been carefully drilled in the repetition. The boys broke into shouts of laughter, and even Teddy Bear nosed his way through the little group and stood gazing at the negro boy with reproving eyes! The boy tried to dodge away, but Clay held him fast. "Jerusalem!" Case cried, as soon as he could control his voice. "What a name! Where did you get it, chile?" "Mah mammy done 'stowed it on me!" was the reply. "Well, it is too long," Clay decided, "so we'll just call you Mose! Do you happen to be hungry, little one?" he added, with a glance at the fish. In answer the boy laid his hands on the region of his stomach and grinned. "Where do you live?" asked Alex., ringing the water out of his clothes, which had been removed as soon as he reached the deck. "What will your mammy say to your going off on the river? She'll wallop you, chile, good an' plenty!" "I done run away!" answered the boy. "That's two to-night!" grinned Alex., preparing to dress the fish for supper. "How many more are we likely to find before we get to the Gulf?" Teddy Bear, who seemed to feel that he was deserving of some attention for having rescued Mose from instant death in the river, now came up and brushed his soft nose over the boys' hand. Mose's eyes grew wider, but, seeing that the bear did not offer to bite, he ventured to stroke his head, whereat the cub sat up on his hind feet and asked to have a boxing lesson! "That bear is a spoiled child!" Case remarked, as Teddy began sparing. "He is no good at all--just a clown!" "Where did you run from?" asked Jule, anxious to know more of the negro boy. "San Louee," was the reply. "I done lived on th' levee!" "From St. Louis, eh?" Clay said. "Where do you want to go?" "I done hire out to you all," was the reply. "Of course!" Alex. laughed. "Didn't we bring him up out of the waters? He'll make a fine playmate for Teddy Bear!" "If he doesn't disappear, as that other waif did," smiled Clay. "Where do you suppose that boy went to?" asked Alex. "He never swam to shore, that is, to the other shore, and if he had landed on the pier when the men came on board they would certainly have seen him. I reckon the darkness just ate him!" "And the man who came to speak a good word for him!" Clay went on. "If he had been the thief wanted for the Rock Island diamond and fur robbery, he couldn't have been more mysterious. The boy said he would be made to tell about the robbery if they found him, and this man wanted to get him out of the way, so I guess we can put the pieces together and patch out the truth. The man is one of the robbers and the boy belongs to him!" "If I had the Sherlock genius you toss out so easily," Jule cut in, "I'd put it in a book. Why should the robber come to us to speak a good word for the boy? He ought to have known that we'd see through the game." "He may not be the robber at all," Case observed. "There was some mystery connected with the two, and that's all we know about it! The man is gone, and the boy is gone, and they are probably drowned, so we may as well count the story closed." "I'll go you a dinner at the Bismark, as soon as we get back to Chicago," Clay insisted, "that we find both the man and the boy before we get down to the Gulf!" "You're in for the dinners, then!" Case exclaimed. "And now," he went on, "what are we going to do to-night? Are we going on down the river, or are we going to get into some cozy little slip and anchor for the second time?" "I'm no good Solomon on an empty stomach," laughed Clay. "Wait until Alex. has his fish supper served! You want some, too, don't you Mose?" he added, turning to the little fellow, who stood gazing from the bear to the fish, now ready for the pan. "I's done gone empty cl'ar to mah toes!" was Mose's reply. After the fish had been eaten Mose was put to bed in one of the bunks, and the boys decided to go on down the river. They wanted to get away from any such entanglement as had been suggested by the visit of the officers and the search of the motor boat. They made a long distance with little trouble, as they were going with the driftwood, and at daylight tied up in a small bayou, at the end of which a deserted old house stood lowering down upon the flood with a touch of mystery in the broken windows and overhanging eaves! CHAPTER IV TWO BOYS GET A TUMBLE "I'd give a cent to know just where we are!" Jule declared, as he stood on the deck of the _Rambler_, waiting for Case's call to breakfast, the advance odors of which were creeping out of the cabin, where Mose and Teddy Bear lay on a rug together, evidently the very best of friends! "Give me the coin, then," Alex. exclaimed. "We are about ten or fifteen miles below Hickman, Kentucky, and we are on the Missouri side; and there's a loop of river which runs north a long way and comes back again. Some day the Mississippi will cut through the neck of land, and then there'll be another large island, with houses set back from the river a long distance! Give me the cent!" Jule gravely passed the coin over to Alex., who as gravely pocketed it, and drew Jule to a seat beside himself on the gunwale of the boat. Captain Joe came up to the boys as they sat there and wagged his tail, his nose pointing toward the deserted old house at the end of the bayou. "Do you see what the bulldog wants?" Alex. asked, in a moment. "He wants a run on shore," replied Jule. "He wants to get off the boat and do stunts on the grass. I'm with him in that, too!" "He's pointing to the old house!" Alex. suggested, with a grin. "Good idea!" winked Jule. "Suppose we go over to the ranch and see what sort of a place it is? We'll just sneak off after breakfast and be back in an hour." "Right," agreed Alex. "We may find a buried treasure! Or plunder from the Rock Island warehouse may be hidden in some dusty attic! What? That sounds like a story of John Paul Jones, out of a book!" "I reckon all we'll find will be rats," the practical Jule replied. "But I like to ramble over old houses. It evidently used to stand on the bank of the river, but some washout left it back so far that it was deserted. It looks like there might be ghosts hiding in it right now! Do you hear anything?" the boy added, as he bent his ear toward the neglected mansion, sinking to decay now for many a long year. "Do you hear anything that sounds uncanny? I thought I heard a ghost call!" "I half believe you mean it!" laughed Alex. "I believe you really think you hear something ghostly! If I were rich once for every ghost there is in the world, I wouldn't have a cent to my name! What does this ghost call sound like?" added the boy. "It sounded like a long, low call for help!" was the reply. "I believe all the calls from deserted houses are long and low, what?" "Right you are!" Alex. answered. "Say, what's the matter of taking Captain Joe with us when we go to the house? If there's a ghost behind the casings, he'll be certain to find and bring it out to us!" "Then I'm strong for Captain Joe!" cried Jule. "We'll bring the perturbed spirit on board and put it with our collection of animals! And there's the breakfast call, at last!" he continued, whereat both boys rushed into the cabin. Clay, who had been tinkering around the motors for half an hour, entered the cabin before breakfast was over, his face looking troubled, his clothing smeared with grease. "I have an idea that we'll stop here a few days until some one goes to one of the towns hereabouts and brings back some bolts," he said. "The motors are out of whack, and ought not to be operated in the shape they are in." "I'll go back to Hickman in the rowboat," declared Case. "I have a notion that I'd like to see the town." "And row against that current?" asked Alex. "I see you doing it!" "You couldn't do it in a thousand years!" Jule observed. "Well," Case went on, looking at his map of the river, "there's New Madrid, on the Missouri side. I might walk up there and back in a day." "Up there?" laughed Alex., looking over Case's shoulder. "Why do you say up there? New Madrid is north from here, all right, but it is down stream, for all that!" "Well, walk down there, then!" Case replied. "I want to learn something about that robbery anyway, and there may be news of it; besides, a walk along the river will be a sort of a picnic. It isn't more than ten or twelve miles to the town." "Then you'd better arrange to return to-morrow," Clay advised. "You are not used to such long walks. We are in no hurry to go on, for we have all the time there is until this time next year!" So it was finally arranged that Case should walk down to New Madrid and get the needed repairs for the motors, while the others looked over the country which lay about them. When Alex. suggested the visit to the deserted house, Clay was anxious to become one of the party. He said he had had the same idea in his mind ever since seeing the old place. "After Case goes," Jule suggested, "that would leave only Mose and Teddy Bear on board the _Rambler_. I don't believe it is safe to leave her alone." "Of course it isn't," Clay admitted, "so I'll remain here to-day and visit the old building to-morrow. Then you two boys can remain at home." Everything being satisfactorily arranged, Alex. and Jule started away up the bayou in the rowboat. The old basin was full of water, and so there was little current, which made it easy rowing. In half an hour they were at the foot of an old pier, slanting over on weak legs like a tipsy man. It was plain that the landing had not been used for commercial purposes for a long time. The boys fastened the boat and ran briskly up the rotting footway which led to the enclosure in which the old house stood. There was a wilderness of trees and shrubs in the enclosure, and the walks, which had evidently once been carefully tended, were now overgrown with weeds and long grass. Lizards darted out of unseen places and sped away as the boys advanced along a broken walk which led to the front door of the mansion. At the very threshold the boys paused, listening. The ragged blinds were flapping in the breeze, and the trees which rimmed the enclosure rustled and creaked in a most uncanny way, but these sounds were not the ones which brought the adventurous boys to a halt. The noise they heard sounded like the tones of a violin, coming from a great distance. The notes, faint, sweet, perplexing, rose and fell on the wind, now lifting into a weird song, now dropping to the softest melody! "There's some one here, after all!" Jule suggested, though there was a question in the way the words were spoken. "Some one lives here? What do you think?" Alex. pointed to the broken door which opened into the disordered hall, to the window blinds, beating the casings at the will of the wind, and at the long grass and weeds growing between the planks and stones of the walks. "I don't believe any one lives here!" he insisted. "Then what is it making the music?" demanded Jule. "If that isn't some one playing the violin you may eat my head for a cabbage!" They listened again. The sounds stopped directly, then there came a banging of doors and a rustle, as if some one in trailing clothes was being dragged through the hall. Then a shriek which appeared to come from directly under the feet of the boys cut the air, lifting into a terrifying yell at the end. The lads involuntarily started back down the path, but both stopped and faced the house again. "I'm not going away without knowing more about it!" Alex. declared. "That's the way I look at it!" grinned Jule. "We can't turn tail and run like a couple of cowards. I wish we had brought Captain Joe along with us!" "Clay wanted him for company," Alex. explained. "Joe looked like his heart was broken when we came off without him! I'll bet he runs away and comes after us!" Seeing that their automatic revolvers were in working order, the boys walked back up the broken walk, mounted the steps, and passed into the ancient hallway of the mansion. All was ruin and decay there. The floor was broken out in places, and there were marks of an axe on the casings of the door and on the narrow windows beside it. The stairway leading to the rooms above was broken, too, some of the steps being gone entirely. The lads stopped at the foot of the steps for an instant to gaze upward and then turned into a lofty room on the left. This must have been the parlor, and the apartment beyond it must have been the library. The furniture, which had once been valuable, was broken into bits, and a charred spot on the floor showed where a fire had been kindled. The rooms on that floor were all desolate and dismantled, and the boys soon turned their attention to those above the ruined staircase. Scarcely had they gained the head of the stairs when the music began again. It seemed to come down the wide hallway which ran nearly through the house parallel with the front. "We're getting nearer to the band!" Jule whispered. There was such a hush over the place, such a weird, uncanny atmosphere, that, somehow, the boys did not feel like being loud-voiced or boisterous. "We'll be running into a reception committee next!" Alex. returned. The music continued for a few seconds, then ended in a repetition of the dragging, rustling sound and the shriek which had been heard before. This time the noise indicating physical motion appeared to come from the very hallway where the boys were standing! Alex. and Jule continued on through the hall until they came to a partition which shut off the north end of it. There was a door in this partition, but it was locked. At first all the efforts of the lads failed to budge it. "There's one part of the ranch that hasn't rotted away," Alex. observed, as red-faced and perspiring, he paused in his attack on the door. "That shows there's some one taking care of it," Jule decided. "Suppose we try the door once more? It ought to give way before our weight." They both threw their shoulders against the upper panels and they dropped back, revealing a small room which had the appearance of having recently been occupied. There was a wide fireplace at the back of the room, which was at the end of the house, and a chair standing near the hearth was softly cushioned. There was a window on each side of the fireplace, but the curtains were drawn so all the details of the apartment were not visible. The boys drew back for an instant. "We're breaking into some one's house!" Jule whispered. "I guess that's right!" Alex. returned. "What ought we to do now?" "Keep right on until we get at the solution of the mystery," Jule answered. "It may be that we shall find a maiden in distress, and----" The boy stopped in the midst of his light-hearted speech and looked again through the broken panels of the door at the end of the hall. What he saw was a side door opening. As the door swung back an old man, white haired and walking with a stout cane, came into the room and sat down in the chair by the hearth. Then, without glancing toward the broken panels and the boys beyond, he spoke: "The door is not fastened, boys. You are welcome to enter." The boys entered, feeling ashamed and half afraid, and the old man pointed to two chairs by the hearth which had not been seen through the broken door. "Sit down!" he said, almost with an air of command, "and tell me why you are here." The boys sank down into the chairs; then there came a sharp click, and they felt themselves falling through the floor! CHAPTER V A NEW CAPTAIN ON BOARD Clay continued his work on the motors for a long time after the departure of Alex. and Jule. It was impossible to make them work with safety without the repairs Case had gone after, but the boy decided that the present would be a fine time to clean them. While he worked, polishing and oiling, Mose and Teddy came out of the cabin arm-in-arm! At least the little negro boy had one arm around the cub's neck! "You've got over your scare, eh?" Clay laughed, as the two came to his side. "Ah sure tu'n white las' night!" Mose declared, rolling his eyes until they looked like white billiard balls. "Ah's so scared!" "You are black enough this morning," Clay suggested. "Where did you come from?" "Ah done come f'm San Louee," was the reply. "Ah lib on de levee." "Did you run away from St. Louis?" asked Clay. "Did you come all the way from the levee on the roof Alex. fished you off from?" Mose, still playing with the cub, explained that he had sneaked on board a steamer at St. Louis, but had been put ashore at a landing above Cairo by the mate. Then, so great had been his desire to get farther south for the winter, he had taken a drifting boat and pushed out into the swollen stream. The boat had been crushed in a mass of wreckage, but the boy had managed to crawl up on the floating roof where he had been found. The mammy he had spoken of as having been so liberal with him in the bestowal of names was an old colored lady who had given him a place to sleep on cold nights and occasionally fed him when he was hungry. He knew nothing of his parents or any relatives. He was just a levee waif. After a time Clay went to the cabin and lay on his bunk, which let down from the ceiling, being usually drawn up during the daytime. The motors were still under process of cleaning, and various parts lay scattered about. Presently the boy heard a great racket on deck. Captain Joe's deep voice came in threatening growls, and Mose and Teddy scampered into the cabin. Clay sprang to his feet and made for the deck, not doubting that Alex. and Jule had returned and were up to some mischief. Before he reached the door he heard the sound of a heavy blow. He could see no one through the doorway, which Mose had left open, although most of the deck was in sight, yet the blow he had heard warned him that something out of the ordinary was taking place. He stepped back to a shelf for his revolver. He knew that during floods bands of outlaws frequented the river in quest of plunder, and it was his first impression that one of these had discovered the motor boat and was trying to board her. He wondered at the silence of the dog. As the boy reached for his weapon, a gruff voice from the cabin doorway commanded him to face about and hold up his hands. "And hold 'em up empty, too!" the gruff voice said. There was nothing for Clay to do but to obey. It was with an effort, however, that he kept his arms extended. The leering eyes of the man with the face of a fox who stood before him with a revolver pushed almost into his face caused such hot surges of rage to fill the boy's brain that he came near facing the peril and springing upon the outlaw. Mose, levee bred and wise to the unlawful purpose of the intruder, moved stealthily toward the shelf where Clay's revolver lay, in plain sight. In another second it would have been in the little fellow's hand, with what result Clay could not imagine, but the outlaw saw the movement and edged forward, still keeping the revolver leveled at Clay, much to the latter's disgust. "Here, you coon!" the man shouted, "get over in that corner and stay there! Move, or I'll give you a lift!" The brute gave Mose a savage kick in the side as he spoke. It was one thing for Clay to be placed in a humiliating position, to be threatened with a gun, but it was quite another for him to stand inactive and see a boy brutally treated! Disregarding all his thoughts of the uselessness of the move, the boy sprang at the outlaw. Although only a boy, Clay was muscular and in training. The man he had attacked was stronger and heavier than the lad, but he was slower of movement, and the result of the conflict might have been a victory for Clay if the two had been permitted to continue the struggle unmolested. While the meager furniture of the little cabin was being broken and tossed hither and yon by the combatants, while Teddy was jumping about, eager to get hold of one of the fighters--as he had been taught to do when the boys were wrestling--and while Mose was doing his best to get over to the shelf where the revolver lay, there came a quick jar on deck, a jar caused by the bunting of a boat against the hull of the _Rambler_, and then hurrying footsteps on the forward deck. Clay fought all the harder when the sounds reached his ears, for he was sure that Alex. and Jule had returned, and that short work would now be made of the intruder. He was gradually securing a hold on his enemy which would have ended the battle when he was seized and lifted--by a giant, it seemed to him--clear of the cabin deck and held there while the outlaw slowly regained his feet and picked up his weapon. Clay saw that it was the other side that had received the reinforcements, and motioned to Mose to remain quiet and keep out of sight. He feared that further activity on the part of the negro boy would add to his punishment. After catching his breath, the outlaw with whom Clay had been struggling lifted a pair of bloodshot eyes to Clay's face and sprang at him, his huge fists clenched until the knuckles showed hard and white. "You bum!" he shouted, lunging at the lad, "I'll give you some of your own medicine! What do you mean by striking me?" The blow would have landed squarely in the boy's face, but the man who had picked him off the outlaw warded it off with a fist like a ham, and set the boy behind the great bulk of his own person. Clay was encouraged by this defense, and began hoping that he had found a friend instead of another enemy. But this hope was soon shattered, for the newcomer produced a hard cord, which had evidently once been used as a fishline, and coolly proceeded to tie the boy's wrists. This task completed to his satisfaction, he pushed the boy over on his bunk and tossed Mose on top of him. "There!" he cried. "You keep quiet, or I'll turn Sam loose on you! And, Sam, if you molest the boy again I'll settle with you for it. I take it he had a right to fight for his boat! And the little coon! You keep your hands off him, too!" The man called Sam flashed an ugly look out of his foxy, inflamed eyes and went out on deck. In a moment he was seen in the doorway again, dragging Captain Joe after him. "Shall I pitch the dog overboard?" he asked, in a surly tone. "He took a piece out of my leg and I gave him a rap on the head. He's knocked out!" Clay sat up on the bunk and glared at the man, who was still holding the bulldog by the collar. At that moment, whatever the consequences, the fellow's life would not have been worth a farthing if the boy had had a gun! "Don't let him kill the dog!" Clay said, appealing to the giant. "He's a good fellow, that dog! Of course he bit that robber! He wouldn't have been a good dog if he hadn't. Take what you want on the boat, but let the dog live." The giant, who was at least six foot six inches in height and large in proportion, looked Captain Joe over after the manner of one acquainted with dogs while Clay awaited his decision anxiously. "The kid is right," he finally declared. "This is a good dog, and we'll keep him with us. Took a piece out of your leg, did he?" The big fellow placed his hands on his mammoth hips, threw back his head until his hairy throat rose like a sturdy column of strength, and poured forth such a torrent of laughter that Teddy came out of the cabin to see what new sport was being prepared for his amusement. Sam struck at the cub, but the other pushed him away before he had done any mischief. "That's a good one!" roared the giant. "Took a piece out of your leg, did he? If he ain't pizened, and lives after that, I'll keep him. There's a heap of pizen snakes down my way that need looking after. Took a piece out of your leg! That's too good for anything! Ho! Ho! Ho! Took a piece out of your leg!" "I hope he'll some day take a piece out of that throat of yours!" roared Sam. "No doubt, no doubt!" replied the giant. "He may be a doin' of it when the hangman is busy puttin' a new hemp tie about that weazen of yours! Now let the kids and the dog and bear alone, and help work the boat out into the current. We've got to be getting out of this!" "You'll have to put the motors together before you move her," Sam replied. The giant looked thoughtfully at the scattered fragments, then at Clay, still in the bunk, and scratched a thatch of red hair which looked like a hayrick. "It seems to need puttin' together," he said, beckoning to Clay. Then the boy saw that it was the intention of the outlaws to take possession of the _Rambler_ and shift her down stream before any of the boys returned. He thought of Alex. and Jule, marooned on that desolate point of land where the old house stood, of Case, trudging back from New Madrid with the repairs to find the boat gone! He glanced about hopelessly, searching the shores of the bayou on the faint chance of seeing Alex. and Jule returning. Captain Joe was now regaining consciousness in the cabin, and Teddy was trying to interest him in a boxing match! Mose sat in a corner motionless, except that his eyes rolled about in anger or panic, the boy could not determine which. "Well, get the engines together!" ordered the giant. "There are parts missing," Clay answered. "One of the boys has gone to New Madrid for repairs. She won't run a foot without them." Sam and the giant conversed together for a moment, and then the former called out to Mose, emphasizing his words with a threatening gesture: "Here, coon!" he shouted. "Can you swim?" "Ah sho' can," was the reply. "Then jump ashore and take this dog with you. If I ever see either of you again I'll take your hides off!" "It would improve matters to hold 'em under a while!" he added, angrily. "I won't have it," the giant returned. "No murder for me!" "You'll see what'll come of lettin' 'em go!" Sam warned. "Git!" ordered the big fellow, in a not unkind tone, and Mose, nothing loth, gathered the dog in his arms and leaped into the bayou. Clay almost held his breath for a moment, until he saw that the cold water had revived the dog, and that he was swimming. Then his attention was attracted to the outlaws, who were, with pole and oar, edging the _Rambler_ out into the river. He believed that the boat would be wrecked the moment it, helpless, struck the mass of floodwood sweeping down. Presently he felt the push of the current, and the boat went whirling down stream, tipping from side to side as she spun around, helpless in the current. Then a great tree struck the stern and half capsized her. The end seemed at hand. CHAPTER VI CAPTAIN JOE MAKES A HIT While the _Rambler_, in charge of reckless river pirates, was swinging down with the current, threatening to capsize every instant, Alex. and Jule sat flat on a rotten, yielding floor somewhere in the interior of the deserted house, feeling tenderly over their limbs to see if they had received severe injuries during the fall from the room where they had been so inhospitably welcomed by the aged man. The boys had not fallen far. In fact, it seemed to them that they had only slid down a gentle incline to the story below. A hatch in the floor in front of the hearth had been dropped back, and their chairs had slid into a chute which seemed, from its smoothness, to be in frequent use. For a minute the boys were alarmed, excited, angry, then the humor of their sudden removal from the apartment above appealed to them. Alex. was first to speak. "Vot iss?" he exclaimed. "This must be a page of a comic section in one of the Chicago newspapers. How many legs and arms have you broken?" "Not a one!" answered Jule. "What kind of hospital treatment do you require?" "If I felt any better," laughed Alex., "I wouldn't know what to take for it." It was dark as pitch where the boys were, and they felt about until their hands touched. The personal contact gave them new courage. "What do you make of it?" asked Jule. "This doesn't look good to me!" "We've simply butted in on some other fellow's game," Alex. replied. "We seem to have visited a crank who thinks it best to be prepared in advance for unwelcome guests." "A moonshiner or a river pirate!" Jule suggested. "That's about it!" Alex. answered. "We've interrupted the industry of a set of illicit whisky makers or warehouse thieves. The valley is said to swarm with bandits whenever the river is out of its banks. Now, the question is how are we going to get out and back to the _Rambler_?" They did not know that at that moment Clay and the motor boat were in a situation far more serious than that in which they now found themselves! "I wish it wasn't so dark here!" Jule whispered. "Why the soft pedal?" asked Alex. "We've got a right to talk as loudly as we like, I take it, being alone in a dark old donjon keep!" "There's some one in the room with us!" Jule explained, in a whisper which barely reached his chum's ears, so faint it was. "I hear him breathing." "Hello!" Alex. called out, then. "Hello! Come on out an' be a good fellow!" There was no answer, and then Alex., reaching into a capacious pocket, brought out a small electric torch and pushed the button. On board the _Rambler_ or on shore, it was a rule of the boys never to move about without an electric torch and an automatic revolver ready for use. When the light flashed out, its round circle showed only a room twenty feet square in size, with bare discolored walls. Plastering hung to broken lath, so they knew that they were on the ground floor of the deserted house, and not in the cellar. The floor was worn, and the rough boards which half protected the broken windows showed signs of having been long in position. There was no furniture at all in the place. "Looks like we might rip off a board and walk out," Jule said, still speaking in a very low tone of voice. "Don't you ever think we're not watched!" Alex. hastened to say. "I don't know but I made a mistake in showing this light." "There's only one way to discover whether we are watched or not," said the other, "and that is to try to get away. I'm going after that window." As Jule spoke he moved toward a window which seemed to open on the bayou, as a gleam of water could be seen through the cracks in the window-guard. The instant his hand touched a crumbling board a voice came out of the darkness. "I wouldn't do that, boys!" That was all. Jule stopped at the uncanny interruption with a hand suspended in air, and Alex. quickly flashed his light in the direction from which the sound had come. There was no one in sight. Rats or other creeping, crawling, things seemed to be working in the disreputable walls, for there was a continuous scratching noise, but there were no other sounds. Alex. shut off the light and sat down on the floor again. "I guess it is no use!" he said. "We'll have to surrender!" "There will always be someone here to see that you don't get away!" said the voice. "If you make any trouble, you won't get anything to eat! Now, be good!" "You can keep me as gentle as a lamb by feeding me right!" Alex. said, with a chuckle which was rather forced. "Why don't you show up?" "You'll see me soon enough," the voice went on. "In the meantime, don't show that electric light again, and if you have any weapons lay them on the floor in this corner." "I haven't any," lied Alex. "I brought the light instead." As he spoke the boy nudged Jule, and he, understanding, slid his revolver along the floor in the direction of the voice. It struck against the wall with a metallic thud. "That's right!" the voice in the darkness said. "Now, you with the light, send it over here. I might want to use it!" Alex. slid his torch along the floor. In its progress the button was pressed and a round illumination sprang up on the wall. Almost in the center of this they saw the white hair and beard of the old man who had invited them into the room above! The boys sat for a long time in serious thought after that, well knowing that every word uttered would be heard by their guardian. Alex. was more than hopeful in his views of the situation. "If these fellows were professionals," he mused, "they wouldn't take any chances on us not having more weapons and more lights. They would make sure by searching us! I don't believe they ever took a prisoner before, or that they are very anxious about keeping us. I guess we just butted in where we're not wanted, and they'll let us go after a time. Anyway, they're easy!" Directly loud noises were heard in the old house, and the insecure walls shook under heavy burdens. It seemed to the listening lads that huge boxes and barrels were being transferred from one room to another. There were excited voices, too, although no words could be understood. It seemed to the two prisoners that the old mansion was being deserted, and their impression was that the thieves were removing their plunder because their hiding-place had been intruded upon. In that case, they thought, they might soon be released. After what seemed a whole day, food was pushed into the room, and the boys ate heartily of the fresh pork sausages, corn pones, and sweet potatoes given them. "You're all right on the feed!" Alex. called back in the direction of the corner where for an instant the old man had been seen. There was no answer, but, somehow, the boys were convinced that there was some one there in the room with them. It does not always require the eyes, or the hands, or the ears, or the sense of smell, to show one that others are close by. There is a tingling of the nerves which warns of the presence of hostile elements, and this it was which showed the prisoners that they were still under guard. That was a long afternoon. For the most part there were no sounds in the old house; still, now and then, there came the jar of heavy burdens on the floors, and the sharp and angry voices of men, speaking in a tongue the boys did not understand. When the cracks in the boards at the windows began to darken, they knew that night was falling. They thought of the comfortable cabin of the _Rambler_, and of the companionship of the other boys with spasms of anger and regret. As the darkness became more complete outside, they arose and walked up and down the floor of their little room. "Say, Mister!" Alex. called out to their invisible guard, directly, "how many acts are there in this drama? When do the persecuted c-h-e-i-l-d-s return to their agonized and heart-broken parents?" "I'm as weary of it as you are!" was the remarkable answer, still in that calm voice they had heard before. "Then why don't you cut it out?" asked Jule. "There are men in the party who advise that," was the significant answer. "They are at present discussing your fate. Many declare that it is not wise to permit you to leave the place! I'm sorry for you, but you had no right to snoop in here!" "Next time," Alex. replied, "you hoist a piracy flag, and we'll keep away." "When will this strategy board you refer to make a report?" asked Jule. "I may receive orders at any moment," was the answer. Silence followed. There were crunchings and chatterings, in the walls where rodents were busy making nests, but no sound of human action. In the long wait the boys heard a low, inquisitive sniff! Alex. drew Jule's head over to him and whispered in his ear: "That's Captain Joe, for a dollar and a half!" "You're on!" Jule responded. "I'll be glad to lose the bet at that, too!" "I guess I know that inquisitive snort!" Alex. went on. "Besides, I told you that the dog would find some way to get to us!" "Aw, Clay sent him!" declared Jule. "He never found his way here alone." "The boys may be with him," Alex. suggested, as the sound came again. "I hope he won't make enough noise to disturb his nibs, over in the corner. Good old dog!" After a time they heard the patter of the dog's feet, and then the guard whistled softly, as if attempting to make friends with whatever animal was approaching. "Come here, you foolish dog!" he said. "Why don't you come in out of the dark?" The pat-pat of the dog's soft feet came nearer, and the guard spoke again: "How the Old Harry did you get in here?" he demanded. "Whose dog are you, anyway?" The dog growled and there came a flash of light. The guard, becoming afraid of this thing which had found its way into a room supposed to be secure from intrusion, and had switched on the electric. The light revealed the two prisoners, grouped together in the middle of the room, the old man, standing with weapon extended and with staring eyes, Captain Joe all ready for a spring, an open window, and, lastly, the black face of Mose overlooking the scene with eyes which seemed too large for his head! "Get him, Joe!" cried both boys in unison. The light dropped as the dog leaped, and a revolver clattered to the floor. Alex. had hold of the dog in an instant, his other hand reaching for the rolling flashlight. "Don't eat him up, Joe!" the boy said, tearing the dog away from the fallen man. Captain Joe fell away with a sullen growl. "The brute has bitten my arm!" the old man moaned. "If you remain quiet," Alex. said, "you won't have any more wounds to complain of. We'll just tie you up and get out! After we are gone some one will come and let you out. What sort of a place is this, anyway?" The old man groaned and made no reply, so the boys secured him and crept out of the window into the darkness. CHAPTER VII SEARCHING FOR THE _RAMBLER_ Case found the walking fairly good and reached New Madrid shortly before noon, having started about 8 o'clock. He procured the supplies for which he had been sent and then sought the hotel and partook of an excellent dinner. "Now," he thought, "shall I walk back to the _Rambler_ to-night, or shall I remain here and look over the town?" The question was soon decided, for all there was of the town could be seen in a very short time. At 1 o'clock he started back to the motor boat. At 5 o'clock, just as the sun was setting, he came to the bayou where the _Rambler_ had been anchored. There was no boat there. The night was falling fast, and the bayou and the river were dimly seen through a slight mist. The boy stood on the bank of the bayou for a long time, studying the situation. "There's something wrong!" he decided. "The motors could never have been forced into motion with the parts missing! The boys would never attempt to drift down, for the river is still filled with drifting timbers and wrecks of houses and barns. "And even if they should have decided to change locations, notwithstanding the peril of the undertaking, they would never have gone away without leaving some one here to notify me of the new position!" Passing on up the bank of the bayou, searching for some sign in the darkness, Case finally came upon the rowboat which Alex. and Jule had left half concealed in a tangle of bushes in a little bay. Before him, then, lay the old house, dim in the night. He had heard the boys talk of visiting the place, and at once concluded that they were there. He looked over the structure for lights, but saw none. Then he listened, catching in time the sounds which the two boys had noted. He crouched down in a patch of shrubbery and waited, listening for some indication of the presence of his chums. Directly he heard a shrill scream of fright, then the bushes between his hiding-place and the house were shaken violently, and a small figure darted out, running at top speed and sending a scream into the night at every jump! "If that isn't Mose," Case thought, "then there are two young negroes with most extraordinary calliope possibilities! He runs like the Old Scratch was after him, and has plenty of wind left to tell how scared he is!" he added. The small figure came smashing through the shrubbery and finally landed in the thicket where Case had secreted himself. Here he stumbled over a trailing vine and fell forward on his face. Before he could regain his feet Case had him by the arm. "Mose!" he said. "Keep quiet! You'll have all the pirates in the state steering in this direction! What is the matter?" "Fo' de Lawd's sake leave dis nigger go!" wailed Mose. "Dar's ghostes in dat ol' house, an' dey's got de boys!" "Are the boys in there?" demanded Case, giving the frightened lad a gentle shake to bring him back to his senses. "Where is the _Rambler_?" "Ah don' know!" gasped the little negro. "Piruts don' got de boat, an' dem ghostes don' 'pear fo' dis nigger!" "If you don't brace up and tell me what's going on," Case declared, "I'll throw you in the river. Where are the boys?" Before Mose could reply Captain Joe came dashing through the bushes. He stopped by Case's side and lay down, trembling with excitement. "If the dog could talk he would tell me what's going on," Case said, reprovingly, to the negro. "Where have you two been?" Mose, evidently encouraged by the presence of the dog, told haltingly of the attack on the _Rambler_ that morning, of his being thrown overboard, with the dog, of his day of wandering, hungry and afraid, about the old place, and of Captain Joe following the tracks of the boys to the entrance to the house. He said that he had lain in hiding, afraid to enter, and had kept the dog quiet until it began to get dark, when he had followed Captain Joe to a window from which the sound of voices had issued. The dog had leaped in, after he had pulled away the rotten board, he said, and there he had seen Alex. and Jule, enveloped in a ghostly light, with a white ghost struggling with the dog! The story was told with many sidelong glances at the shadows which lay heavy on the landscape, for a moon was now struggling through drifting banks of clouds. As the boy concluded his story, often delayed by his fright, another commotion came from the grounds nearer the old house. Lights flashed from the windows and pistol shots were heard. Getting one sniff of the acrid smell of powder, Mose leaped to his feet and bounded away again. Captain Joe lifted his nose, wrinkled it in derision, and rose to meet two figures which were pounding down the broken walk toward the bayou. "Alex.! Jule!" called Case. "What's doing?" "Get a move on!" panted Alex. "Get to the boat! Where did that little coon go?" "He must be somewhere near the Rocky Mountains by this time," Case replied, falling into the fast pace set by the other boys. Very soon there were sounds of running feet behind them, and the lads redoubled their efforts to reach the boat before any one else could get to it. Now and then a bullet cut the air close to their ears, but they were not struck. When they came to the edge of the bayou, Mose had the boat out a rod from shore, and was doing his best to row it across with one oar. The boys did not wait for him to return to the bank, but plunged into the water and waded and swam out, Alex., the last one in, giving the craft a vigorous shove as he crawled over the stern. Without loss of a minute's time Alex. and Case took the oars and Jule seized the helm. They were soon proceeding down the bayou at a rapid rate of speed, but, fast as they were going, others were moving faster along the bank. "Come back or we'll fill you full of air holes!" shouted one of the pursuers. The boys might have been forced to return to the shore only for the fact that at that moment the moon's face was hidden by a mass of clouds. Taking advantage of this, and sitting as low in the boat as possible in order to avoid the bullets which were coming in their direction, the boys made for the mouth of the blind channel, and soon felt the push of the current of the Mississippi. Before long the sounds of pursuit died out. The old mansion, which stood on the point of land between the river and the bayou, was now in darkness. When the moon came out again it stood silent and solitary in its neglected enclosure. It seemed to the lads that everything that had taken place there must be a dream! "Now where?" Jule asked, as the boat passed a bend and the house was no longer in sight. "Do we know where we are going, any of us?" "Where is the _Rambler_?" demanded Alex. "We ought to have reached it long ago." Then, briefly, Case repeated the story told by Mose of the capture of the motor boat. There was silence for a moment, for the boys recognized the seriousness of the situation. There was little doubt in their minds that the _Rambler_ would be wrecked. No boat could drift down that surging river, cluttered with driftwood as it was, without meeting with disaster. And Clay was on board, bound, and helpless in case the worst happened! "So that is how Mose and Captain Joe happened to come to the rescue," Alex. said. "The pirate threw them off the _Rambler_! Well, he did a good job when he did it, anyway! But how that coon did run when we made for the window he had opened!" Mose, nestled in the bottom of the boat, stroking Captain Joe's wet head, grinned and declared that the boys had looked like ghosts. "It is a wonder the boy and the dog were not discovered in the grounds!" Jule remarked. "I don't see how they came to keep out of sight!" "I can tell you!" Case put in. "Mose was so afraid that the pirates would come and get him that he lay in the bushes with his face in the dead leaves! Is that right, Mose?" he asked. Mose had to admit that he was "sho' scared white," and Captain Joe tried to explain, in perfectly good dog talk, that he wasn't frightened a bit, but only lay by Mose to help keep his courage up! "Well, boys," Alex. said in a moment, "we've got to study out some plan to get to Clay. We can't dodge the issue by talking of something else. What shall we do?" "I'm for going on down the river," Alex. continued. "The pirates can't run the _Rambler_ up stream, and so we must find her if we keep on going." "But she has nearly ten hours the start of us," urged Jule. "I don't think they will go far, as it is risky drifting a boat down now. They will probably go far enough to get out of the zone of pursuit and then tie up, if the boat isn't wrecked before that," he added, gravely. "That's good judgment!" Case declared. "We're lucky if we don't get wrecked ourselves," Jule declared, swinging the boat about to avoid a mass of wreckage which lay before her. "When we come to the bend just ahead we're likely to be pushed over to the other shore. See how the current sets that way? We'll have to go some to beat it!" The current was indeed swift and treacherous. It swept toward the east shore with almost resistless force, and the rowboat was like an eggshell in its grasp. "Look out for the log ahead!" cried Jule, as the boat swirled around. But there was more than one log ahead. It seemed that a whole drive of logs, or timbers, had been caught by the flood and whirled down stream. The boys backed water, and Jule did all he could to keep out of the mass, but the current was remorseless. The boat struck a great timber and the force of the shock and the cracking sound which followed told of an injury to the craft. Mose stood up in the boat, for water was now coming in! "This seems to be our good-luck night!" Case grumbled, in a sarcastic tone, as the boat lurched against a great log and came near tipping over. "There's a raft ahead, anyway!" shouted Jule. "We can ride down on that!" "Until it takes a notion to dump us into the drink!" complained Case. The boat filled fast, and Captain Joe mounted the prow and looked longingly toward the bobbing timber raft just ahead. From the raft he looked back to the boys. "I reckon the dog has more sense than we have!" Alex. exclaimed. "We'll have to take to the raft, all right, so here goes." "Wait for a bit of light!" urged Case. "The moon will be out in a second." In the darkness which followed the boys could feel the water rising in the boat. The current was pressing the craft down against the timber raft, and the creaking of the hull proclaimed a badly wrecked boat. "Say," Case called out, "one of you boys get out a light. We've got to make a jump right soon. This is some adventure! What?" Jule reached for his electric, but Alex. caught his arm. "There's a light on the Missouri bank," he said, "and it looks to me like the cabin windows of the _Rambler_ were sending it out. Lay low in the dark and drift with the raft!" CHAPTER VIII FACES AT THE WINDOW "Look here, Red," the outlaw who had been called Sam said, addressing the giant, as the _Rambler_ struck the half-submerged tree, "we've got up against something hard!" "We never should have put out into the river!" retorted Red. "A few more bumps like that, and to the fishes we go! Get a pole out, and see if you can push away from that consarned tree. Then we'll soon get to shore." Sam went into the cabin, where Clay sat, side by side with the bear cub, on a bunk. "Where's your river pole?" he demanded. "You must have something of the kind!" "There's one in hooks at the side of the cabin," replied the boy. "If you'll cut this cord I'll help you get out of the current." Sam leered savagely at the boy for a moment, picked up the revolver which lay on the floor not far away, put it into a pocket, and then severed the cord. "Mind you," he said, as Clay sprang for the pole, "if you try any tricks on us we'll chuck you to the fish!" Without paying much attention to the threat, Clay grasped the pole and ran to the prow, which was now entangled in a wilderness of branches springing from the bole of the tree the boat had struck. The boy's strength was insufficient, and Red came to his assistance. Both pried and pushed, but it seemed impossible to back the boat against the sweep of the current. As if to make matters worse, a long timber lodged against the stern and added its weight to that of the motor boat and the running water. Sam stood looking on with a cynical smile on his hard face. "You never can do it," he finally declared. "We'll have to let the boat drift down in company with the tree. Just our luck to strike such a snag!" "If that limb wasn't in the way," Red asserted, "we could get the boat out. It binds on the side of the cabin." Clay hastened into the cabin and soon returned to the prow with an axe. Both men eyed him sharply as he came forward with the keen-edged implement. "You know what I told you!" Sam shouted, stepping toward the boy. "Let him alone!" commanded Red. "I reckon the kid knows what he is about!" "Now," Clay explained, addressing the big fellow, who seemed more inclined to be friendly than his companion, "if you'll stand ready with the pole, I'll get over on the trunk and cut that limb away. Then we can edge over to the shore." "Oh, yes!" sneered Sam. "We let you off on the tree, and you go on down and call out the police at the first landing. Not for your uncle!" "Go on," shouted Red, to Clay. "I'll steady you with the pole, and when the limb is off you give it a poke and come on board. Will you do that?" "Sure!" answered the boy. "I have no intention of going off and leaving the _Rambler_! Hand me the axe when I get down on the trunk, will you?" Without waiting for any further conversation, which was difficult because of the roaring of the river, Clay crept over the gunwale and landed on the tree, which sank lower under his weight. Then he reached for the axe, which Red promptly passed to him. "I wouldn't get down on that tree for a thousand dollars!" cried Sam. "If he don't time himself to a second, he'll get knocked into a cocked hat by the boat when she swings loose! I'm not stuck on taking any such chances." "That is some kid!" Red exclaimed, admiringly, as Clay chopped away at the limb. "I wish we had him with us!" "You want to look out for him!" Sam cautioned. "He may prove to be too much of a kid for both of us, but I've got him covered, so if he tries to----" The limb dropped away after a few strokes with the axe, and the boat righted and swung against the trunk. The swaying of the trunk upon which Clay stood threw him into the water, but he clung to the tree and tried to work back to the boat. Sam lifted the pole to strike his unprotected head. "May as well get rid of him now," he declared, with an ugly oath. Red struck the would-be murderer a savage blow in the face and reached down to assist the boy to the deck. For a moment it seemed that both of them must be drawn under the boat, but the big fellow's strength won, and Clay was hauled, dripping and exhausted, up on deck. Sam eyed him malevolently and snarled. "It will come some time!" Red pushed the boy toward the cabin, the look on his face friendlier than ever. "Go and get into dry clothes," he said. "Never mind what Sam says! He means all right, only he don't know how to express himself!" The _Rambler_ now swung off toward the shore, and Red and Sam were kept busy working wreckage out of her course. They snarled at each other as they worked, and Clay was in constant fear that Sam would play some treacherous trick on the big fellow in return for the blow he had received. The marks of the short encounter were still on his face. Much to his relief, the _Rambler_ was edged into calmer water next to the Missouri shore. He had no idea at that time, even, that he would lose the boat. He did not know what had become of his chums, but he believed that in some way they would be able to come to his rescue. They had never failed him. The _Rambler_ drifted down for some distance, leaking a little but not seriously, and was finally worked into a little bay where there was no current. That was a long day for the boy. Several boats passed up and down on the river, and relief parties searching for flood victims were frequently seen, but Red always announced that they were in no trouble whatever when questioned. Clay was not bound again, but was kept in the cabin, with the door closed. He could hear calls from passing boats, but did not dare make the situation known. During the day the outlaws devoured what cooked food there was in the cabin and gave some to the boy. Once Sam lay down for a short nap. Red was not communicative, and refused to answer any questions as to his intentions regarding the _Rambler_. A fine mist came down as the night shut in, but presently the moon came out, and the outlaws began discussing the advisability of proceeding on down the river. "We can get to our landing," Sam insisted. "Once there, we can get into the bayou back of the island, where no one will think of looking for us. We must get the boat out of sight," he went on, "before reports of her capture spread along the river. Besides, the boys will be waiting for us at the shanty." "All right," Red finally agreed. "I'm willing to take my chance on being smashed flat by a tree or floating barn." Clay listened to the talk with interest. Somehow he began to recognize the voice of the big fellow! Where had he heard it before? Then, like a flash, the memory came to him! The man had talked with him from the river at Cairo! There is where he had heard the voice! At that time the big fellow had been pleading for the safety of a waif who had come on board the _Rambler_! Both the man and the waif had disappeared when the officers had come on board. Clay wondered where the boy was, and why this outlaw had taken an interest in him. The man appeared to be kind, though his appearance and his modes of life were against him. It was all a deep mystery to the boy. However, the giant's defense of himself, when Sam would have mistreated and, perhaps, murdered him, led Clay to believe that he was not wholly depraved. There might be some powerful motive for his adopting the life of a river outlaw. The boy resolved, at the first opportunity, to question Red regarding the fate of the lad who had so suddenly disappeared from the boat that night. He now saw that the willingness of his companions and himself to aid the waif had led to good results, for it was this willingness which had undoubtedly caused the giant to stand between him and injury or even death. His little loaf of bread cast on the waters had returned to good purpose! Sam seized the pole, as soon as Red agreed to his proposition to make their way down the river without delay, and began working the _Rambler_ out into the current. "Better wait until that mess of wreckage passes!" Red advised, as a crush of floating timbers made its appearance under the moonlight. "If we get into that bunch we'll never get out again. It will go by in a few moments." Sam stood looking at the mass with a frown on his sullen face. He was anxious to be away for more reasons than one. The boat had undoubtedly been reported seized long before this, and every craft passing up or down would soon be looking for her. His idea was that the lads who had left the boat would soon return and report the disappearance. He did not know, of course, that Case was at New Madrid, or on the way there, when they had attacked Clay, nor did he suspect that Alex. and Jule had fallen into the hands of a band of bandits in every way as desperate and unscrupulous as that to which he belonged. But, aside from the question of safety, there was another matter he wished brought to a conclusion. He had been assaulted by Red, and was raging for revenge. Once in the company of his lawless fellows, his revenge might be gained! "There is some one on that wreckage," the watchful Sam finally declared. "I saw a movement there. Good thing we are not near enough to be asked for help." Red looked at the floating raft and shook his head. "There is a boat lodged against the mess," he said, "but there's no one on board her, and there's no one on the raft, either." The light of the moon was now shut out by a drive of clouds, and the two men waited for a clear sky again. When the raft was revealed they saw a white bulldog running up and down across the timbers! "That's the brute I pitched overboard up in the bayou!" cried Sam. "I wish I had knocked him on the head. Some of those boys are not far off." Red laughed at the idea of the boys being there, But Clay, listening with every faculty awake, had a different notion of the capabilities of his chums. "If Captain Joe is there," the boy mused, his heart bounding with hope, "the boys are not far off! Anyway, I'll give them a chance to see the old boat once more!" he continued, reaching out and turning on the cabin lights. Sam uttered a fierce oath as the lights flashed out on the rushing water, and made for the cabin, but Red caught him by the arm and faced him around. "Look here!" he snarled, "if you go to making trouble for that boy I'll send your worthless hulk bobbing down to the Gulf! The lights won't hurt! We don't have to answer any calls for help that may come. Now, edge her out into the current and leave the boy to me. There's no sense in beating up the kid!" With a word of warning to Clay, not unkindly spoken, Red switched off the cabin lights, and then went to assist Sam in getting the _Rambler_ out into the stream. Clay heard them saying that the raft was, after all, empty of life except for the dog. "The boat lodged against it seems to be broken," Red said, and Clay's heart went into his throat again. He feared that the boys had been caught in wreckage and drowned. The presence of the dog showed that they had been with the broken boat, he thought. Then, while the two men worked frantically in front, Clay heard the window leading to the cabin from the stern deck cautiously pushed aside, and then the faces of Alex. and Case appeared at the opening! CHAPTER IX RED DECLINES TO TALK In a moment the ray of moonlight slanting through the west window of the cabin was cut off by a floating cloud, and the faces of the two boys passed out of view. Their voices, however, came to Clay, enquiringly. "Are you all right?" Alex. asked. "Have you got any dry guns in there?" was Case's question. Clay answered both questions in a whispered affirmative and moved softly toward the window. It was necessary that some definite plan of action should be agreed upon, for the lads' presence there might be discovered at any time. "Is Jule there?" whispered Clay. "We're all in this neighborhood!" snickered Alex., "including Mose, Teddy and Captain Joe! We came down the river in a busted boat and on a poor raft! We should have passed the _Rambler_ only for the flash of lights in the cabin. What next?" "First," Clay answered, "I'll get the reserve weapons. One of the outlaws has my gun, but the others are in the lower drawer of the cupboard. I've been trying to get at them for a long time, but this is the first time, since I was set free of bonds, that the men have been too busy to notice me." Clay crawled to the cupboard and secured three revolvers, held as a reserve stock. "Now," he directed, "you boys get through the window while the ruffians are busy and the moon is out of business." As the boys wiggled their way through the small opening, Teddy began uttering growls of joy and welcome. He pranced about the cabin, too, in spite of all Clay could do to restrain him, tipping over chairs and rattling the dishes in a great pan on the floor, where the pirates had left them after their luncheon. And then, as if to add to the perplexities of the situation, the clouds which veiled the moon drifted away, and a slant of light shone full on the little stern deck, and on the figures grouped there. Case and Jule pulled themselves through into the cabin, but Alex. was left crouching on the outside. Clay passed him a revolver, and started to close the window. At that moment, attracted by the unusual commotion on the inside, Sam lurched to the door and looked through the glass panel. He saw Clay at the window, and caught sight of a figure outside and called out to Red, who was still busy at the prow, trying to keep the boat out of a mass of wreckage which was coming down faster than the boat was going for the reason that it was farther out in the current. Almost before Red could turn around, before his brain could grasp the significance of Sam's warning shout, Clay swung the door open and turned the switch which operated the prow light. In an instant the deck of the _Rambler_ was as light as it had ever been at noon. The cabin was still in darkness, save for the light which came through the glass panel of the door. The hands of both outlaws swung to their hips as the light flashed out, but did not bring forth the weapons carried there. Instead, they came up empty and were pushed out straight and held there. It was Clay who had given the order to keep hands out. Clay advanced along the unsteady deck to Sam and held his gun within an inch of his crooked nose, at the same time calling to Case to come and relieve the outlaw of his weapons. Sam's looks would have committed murder, if savage eyes and revengeful frowns could have done so, when the weapons were taken from him. Glancing hastily at Red, Clay thought he saw an amused smile lurking in the giant's eyes. "Now, Sam," Clay said, "we've got to repair the motors and get the _Rambler_ out of this ruck, where the leak can be repaired, so we've got no time to waste guarding a skunk like you. You would have murdered me if Red hadn't interfered, but I'm going to give you a chance for your life! Can you swim?" "Fo' de Lawd's sake!" grunted Mose, appearing on the deck, wet and shivering from the river, "dat's de 'dentical question he done ask me!" Captain Joe, who had come on board from the raft with the negro, sniffed at the heels of the outlaw and seemed to ask permission of Clay to take a bite out of him. The cub pranced around the little waif as if he had found a friend from whom he had long been parted. Sam did not answer the question. He glared at the weapons, at the exposed fangs of the bulldog, and turned a scowling face to Red. "These rascals seem to be friends of yours," he said. "I don't hear anything about your being given a chance to swim! Is this a frame-up?" Red's already flushed face darkened at the insulting question, and he would have struck Sam only that Case, whose gun was at his breast, motioned him to desist. "There'll come a time!" growled Sam. "Me an' you will have a settlement right soon after we get shut of these imitation tramps. Understand that?" "Yes, kiddo," Red cut in, turning to Clay, "Sam can swim. He's great on giving exhibition stunts in the water. He can do anything with water except drink it." "Glad to know it!" Clay replied, "for I want to see how far he can swim! Take a run-and-jump, you toy pirate, and get overboard." "Fo' de Lawd's sake, dat's what he said to dis----" Sam did not wait to hear the completion of the sentence, for Captain Joe, sensing, doubtless, that the outlaw was in bad with the party, advanced upon him. The pirate sprang for a floating timber, missed it, and went under. He came up in a second and struck out for the shore through a comparatively clear channel. The boys watched him until he crawled out on a mud bank and then turned to Red. "Well?" asked that individual, a smile on his face. "What next?" "First," Clay said, "I want to thank you for saving me from that ruffian, and then I want you to sit down and wait until we get up the greatest dinner that ever was served on the Mississippi. I'm half starved, and I know that the boys are. Of course, if you want to land right now, we'll put you ashore." "I reckon," Red replied, with a slight tremble in his gruff voice, "that I can't do better than to stick here for a time!" "Well," Clay went on, "the boys are wet and cold, as well as hungry, and so I'll have to do the cooking. Will you come in the cabin and sit by me while I do it?" "Will I? I'm lucky not to be out there on the shore with Sam!" The two passed into the cabin, after the boys had put on dry clothes and warmed themselves at the coal stove, and Clay set about cooking a mammoth steak which had been bought at Cairo and kept in the tiny refrigerator. Then he boiled potatoes, and made light biscuit, and the coffee he produced was a hearty meal in itself! There were tinned beans, and sardines, and salmon, and many other things when the meal began, but when it was over the table was bare of everything in the provision line! In the joy and comfort of being full-fed, Mose, Captain Joe, and Teddy rolled up in a common rug on the floor, in a corner where they would not be in the way, and went to sleep. Clay and Red went out on deck while the others washed the dishes. "Are you thinking of sticking about this section all night?" asked the latter. "Only for a short time," Clay answered. "We'll fix the motors, directly, and go on down the river. Why do you ask the question? Don't you want to stay here?" "I was thinking," Red observed, quite coolly, "that, with the lights going, and the shore not far away, Sam might be thinking of taking a shot or two at the boys!" "But he hasn't any gun!" Clay exclaimed. "Yes, he has," Red returned. "He has a gun that wasn't found on him. He keeps it in a watertight sack under his left arm. He's used to taking to the water!" "And you think he will hang about the bank, walking down from where he was put off, and try to pick us off?" asked Clay. "How far are we now from the mud bank he mounted?" "Not more than a couple of miles," was the reply. "We are in water that shows only a trace of current now, because there is a great headland just below, and the flood has packed the curve full. He probably has been able to keep up with the boat." "That isn't going very fast!" laughed Clay, "for it has been at least two hours since he left the boat. The moon, which is in the first quarter, sets about eleven, and it is hiding itself in the trees already!" "I wouldn't advise sticking hereabouts," insisted Red. "I can say no more!" "All right!" Clay replied. "We'll fix the motors and start on down. Here, Case," he called out, "did you bring the repairs?" "Surest thing you know!" was the answer, and in a short time Clay was at work on the motive power, which was not much out of repair and was soon fixed. "You know, of course," Clay said to Red, as the _Rambler_, under perfect control, started down stream at a pace which kept the driftwood from lunging against her stern, "that I recognize you as the man who talked with me out of the river at Cairo?" "I never suspected it!" was the slow reply. "How do you know I'm the man?" "Your voice!" was the reply. "It puzzled me at first, though." "I'll have to trade voices with some river rascal!" grinned Red. "You spoke, that night, about a boy who had come on board?" Clay said, tentatively. "That was my business there," Red replied, with a slight frown. "Where did the boy go that night? We never saw him after the officers came on board. He must have swum to the Missouri shore." "He did," was the hesitating reply. "He made it, too!" "Why didn't he remain with us?" asked Clay. "He got scared! If I had kept away he might have done so." "Is he your son?" was the next question Clay asked. Red looked the boy in the face steadily for a moment and then asked: "You don't want to harm the lad, do you?" "I want to help him," was the reply. "He looked so forlorn, and wet, and cold, and hungry, that I've thought of him a lot since. Where is he now?" "Well," Red said, in a perplexed tone, "that is what I can't tell you." "Because you don't know where he is?" demanded Clay. "No; not that. I know where he is, but I can't tell you." "Is the child implicated in any crime?" Clay asked, looking sharply into the man's flushed face. "Is there any reason why he can't go with us?" "Why do you suggest crime in connection with the kid?" demanded Red, a frown on his face. "He may be associated with criminals, innocently, and yet be worthy of all your confidence and esteem!" They talked a long time about the boy, about the events of the day, and about the future plans of the _Rambler_ boys. The boat made good progress during the night while all save Clay and his strange companion slept. With the first flush of dawn Red asked to be put ashore, refusing to give any reason for wanting to leave the boat. "You've used me mighty white," he said at parting, "and there'll come another day! Don't you ever forget that, lads! There'll come another day! And if you come across that waif again, just feed him, and warm him, and clothe him, and pass him on to wherever he wants to go. Thank you all!" and he was gone! "What do you think of that for a mystery?" Clay asked as the man disappeared in a grove near the landing. "We shall hear from Red again." CHAPTER X MORE RIVER OUTLAWS "And I have a notion that we'll run across that waif again," Case said. "I imagine that he is somewhere down the river, and that Red will not be far away when we come to him. Somehow, we bunt into mysteries wherever we go!" "I've got a hunch," Alex. exclaimed, "that we are headed for news of that warehouse robbery at Rock Island! It seems to me too, that the boy had something to do, with it, or is mixed up in it in some way." "He looked pretty lean and shabby for a chap who had been interested in a diamond robbery!" Jule suggested. "Perhaps he's not guilty--just suspected!" The day was fine and the flood was running out. The river showed less wreckage than had been seen the day before, for the lowering water caused much of it to land on headlands and sandbars. During the forenoon the _Rambler_, which was still leaking a trifle, passed several river shanties and houseboats, tied up below half-submerged islands, where they were protected from wreckage. These houseboats are common all along the Ohio, Cumberland, Tennessee and Mississippi rivers. Fishermen and indolent river characters live in them the year round. Some of the boats are of good size and well built and furnished, while others are merely shanties built on rafts of logs and other spoils taken from the waters. Many of the boats carry whole families, and go sailing toward the Gulf with streamers of shirts and petticoats blowing from clotheslines. Others carry two or three men and numberless dogs. Those who reside on the boats live principally on fish, and on corn meal and pork purchased with the proceeds of fish sales. Shortly after dinner the boys were asked to come on board a shanty boat navigated by two men and numerous dogs, so the _Rambler_ was run alongside and Clay and Alex. went aboard, where they were warmly welcomed by two Chicago young men who were making the river trip in the way of a winter vacation. Their quarters were crude but comfortable. They had had a rough voyage because of the flood, but declared that they were going down to the Gulf if the raft held out. Almost the first question Clay asked was about the Rock Island robbery. "So you have been overhauled by the officers, too, have you?" laughed one of the young men, called Ben by his chum. "We had a bit of that, also, but the officers didn't remain with us very long. It doesn't take a week to search our craft!" "Are you sure they were officers?" asked Clay. "Oh, yes, they were officers, all right. They asked for a boy of about twelve, who, they declared, had been seen down the river, and who is believed to have been associated with the Rock Island robbers. They also asked for a man of six feet and over, with red hair." Clay looked at Alex. significantly and asked for any news they might have of the robbery--any details they might have learned. "Oh, we got the story from a St. Louis newspaper we begged of a steamer captain," was the reply. "It seems that the silks, furs, and diamonds stolen were stored in the warehouse one day and taken out by thieves that same night. A boy answering to the description of the one the officers asked for was seen about the premises during the afternoon, and at one time he was observed in the company of a giant of a man with red hair. "It is the theory of the police that the thieves captured the boy and forced him to enter through a broken window and unfastened the door, à~la Oliver Twist. They believe that if he can be caught he will be able to identify the robbers if they are caught. The red-headed man was seen in the city, wandering about the streets, aimlessly, on the night of the crime. It is not believed that he was interested in the robbery personally. However, they want him because he seemed to take a great interest in the boy." "Have the officers found any of the stolen property?" asked Alex. "Not that we know of," was the reply. "The robbers got off handily, and it is believed they put the goods on board some river boat and sent them down toward New Orleans. Diamonds, silks and furs can be hidden in a small space." The boys visited with the strangers for an hour or more and then went on down the river, sailing a very little faster than the shanty boat, which depended entirely on the current, and which was obliged to tie up at intervals to avoid wreckage. "I've got a notion," Alex. said, as the boys left the shanty boat in the distance, "that the newspaper story is the right one. That boy never took part in that robbery of his own free will, though. I am sure of it! And the man? That was Red he described, eh?" "It undoubtedly was," Clay replied, thoughtfully. "That's your bosom friend!" Alex. grinned. "You let him escape!" "What else could I do, under the circumstances?" demanded Clay. "The fellow saved my life! Sam would have murdered me only for him!" "Well, if he's on the level, what's he doing with a man like Sam?" questioned Alex., still grinning. "We shall have to leave that question to the future," was the short reply. "You believe that Red had a hand in the robbery at Rock Island?" persisted the boy. "I don't think anything about it! I'm waiting for additional information!" "Well, we've got a long way to go yet," Case cut in, "and we may meet with the red-headed man again. We may meet him in some jail yet, if our luck doesn't change!" "Speaking about jails," Alex. questioned, "what do you make of the old jail of a house Jule and I were locked up in? What do you think they wanted to hold us for?" "Probably to keep you from spying on what was going on there," Clay suggested. "But what was going on there?" asked Alex. "That is what _we_ didn't find out!" "Whatever it was," Jule observed, "the people interested in keeping it secret took long chances when they left us in the dark room with only an old man to guard us. And imagine them never knowing that Mose and the dog were in the grounds!" At mention of Mose Alex. burst into a roar of laughter. "I never saw a human face that showed real fear until I saw Mose looking in at the broken window!" he said, directly. "I have seen men and women show fright, but never anything like that! He thought he had come on a collection of ghosts! I presume he thought we, Jule and I, were dead and buried in the cellar, and that our spirits had come forth to haunt the murderers! And he streaked it away like a flash of light!" "There's probably nothing worse than the manufacture of moonshine whisky going on in the old house," Case contributed. "Or the loot from the warehouse may have been stored there," he added. "The boys heard heavy articles being moved, though they may have been scared stiff and mistook the footsteps of a mouse for the heavy noises!" "I hope you'll get in just such a predicament some day!" growled Jule. "It wasn't any fun, sitting there in the dark! And I expected that crazy old man to shoot us any moment! I believe he was crazy! He acted as if he was!" "That's right!" exclaimed Case. "Keep on talking, and I won't have to wash a dish all the way to the Gulf. I love to hear you get funny." "That will do for you!" cried Jule, gleefully. "I see you washing the supper dishes right now!" "I'd like to go back and investigate that old house," Alex. observed. "It would be great fun! I believe it stood there when the cave-dwellers lived along the Chickasaw bluffs, and that was before De Soto discovered the river and was buried in its depths." "I thought La Salle discovered the Mississippi," Case said, with a wink at Clay. "He made a stab at navigating it from the Illinois river down," Alex. answered, seeing that Case was prodding him in the desire of receiving information. "But he gave the wrong course to the stream. The real Mississippi turns at St. Louis and runs off toward the Rocky Mountains." "Yes it does!" exclaimed Jule. "You're in need of mental rest, young man." "Certainly it does," Alex. insisted. "The longest stretch of water takes the river name, doesn't it? Well, the Missouri is about three thousand miles long from the fountain-heads of the Gallatin, Madison and Red Rock lakes to the junction with the Mississippi, while from the junction to headwaters the Mississippi is only about twelve hundred miles long!" "It does seem as if the longest river should carry the name," said Case. "In that event, this would be the Missouri river!" "Sure it would," insisted Alex. "The river from the Red Rock lakes to the Gulf is the longest river in the world--eight hundred miles longer than the Amazon, though not so wide! Some day the name of the Missouri will become the Mississippi, or the Mississippi will be called the Missouri!" The boys argued over the proposition for a long time, until it was time to get supper, and then Clay and Alex. began watching for ducks, with which the river swarms at times. While they secured three fair-sized birds, Alex. caught fish, and insisted on their being cooked with the ducks. "I'll never get enough to eat if I leave the menu to you boys," he declared, "and Mose feels about it just as I do!" he added, pulling the little negro's ear. "Ah sure do feel empty!" answered Mose, rolling up his eyes. The Mississippi is a tangle of channels and islands above Memphis, and the boys decided to tie up for the night on the down-stream side of one of the little "tow-heads" which are so frequently seen close to larger islands. These are formed by deposits of sand and vegetable matter, but they increase in size rapidly as soon as cotton-wood brush takes possession of the new ground, assisting materially in resisting the encroachments of the current. The islands of the Mississippi are numerous and uncertain as to location. They have all been formed by the cutting of new channels across headlands. The river itself winds like a very crooked snake through the soft bottom lands of the south, and the water is forever finding new and shorter ways to reach the Gulf. From the junction of the Ohio, there are one hundred and twenty-five numbered islands from Cairo to Bayou la Fourche, in Louisiana, and besides these there are nearly as many more which bear the names of the owners. Many of these islands are grown up with impenetrable thickets or show only deserted fields. In proceeding down the great river the boys had kept on only sufficient power to gain steerway, as they were in no haste to reach the Gulf of Mexico, which was their final destination on that trip. They decided that day to travel nights no more. After supper had been eaten the boys switched on all the lights and sat out on deck. There was a brilliant moon, but they preferred to let everybody in that vicinity know that they were there--hence the electric lights. "If any one sneaks up on us now," Alex. laughed, "he'll have to get to us by the under-water route! And, even then, one of us would be apt to see him. Captain Joe is losing his record as a watch dog, but I guess Teddy can take his place." Captain Joe, as if he understood every word that had been said, and resented the insinuation, walked up to the prow and sat in a meditative mood, looking over the small "tow-head" which sheltered the boat from the current. He sat there motionless so long that Alex. finally called attention to him. "Ah knows what he's done seein'!" exclaimed Mose. "Dar's a big fat coon watchin' us from dat mess ob bushes. Ah done seen him long time ago!" An inspection of the spot pointed out showed half a dozen evil-looking negroes watching the boat. CHAPTER XI FIRE-FACES ON THE ISLAND "What are they squatting there watching the boat for?" queried Jule, as the prow light fell full on the group of negroes on the island. "They don't look good to me!" "If we keep away from them," Case suggested, "and don't try to stare them out of countenance, they'll probably keep away from us. They do look fierce, though!" While the boys discussed the matter the negroes moved away from the shore of the island, where they were under the boat lights, and secreted themselves behind a patch of willows which fringed the "tow-head," for the place where they were was little else. "I don't believe they have any idea of letting us alone, if they can manage to get on board the _Rambler_," Clay declared. "I have often read that lawless negroes and whites are alike alert for plunder during flood seasons, and it is floating goods those fellows are after, unless I am much mistaken. We'll have to keep a sharp watch to-night." "Wouldn't it be wiser to drive them away?" asked Alex., with one of his grins. "We have no right to drive them away," Case suggested. "We may get into trouble if we try it. I'll watch half the night and not mind it at all." Alex. nudged Jule in the side and whispered in his ear for a moment. "Jule and I will watch the first half," he then said. "Perhaps they will go off home by midnight, and Case won't have to watch at all." "Alex.," Clay exclaimed, "you've got some mischief in your mind. Heretofore you've come out of your scrapes with whole bones, but sometime you'll get into serious trouble if you don't stop running out nights. I strongly advise you to let those levee negroes alone! You go to bed early, and I'll watch the boat!" "Who's got mischief in the mind?" grinned Alex. "I guess I can stay up until midnight without gettin' into trouble! You see if I don't make the dandy watchman to-night! When it comes to keeping guard, I'm the candy boy!" "You usually manage to get into trouble when you are left alone!" laughed Clay. "If I can't be good to-night," grinned Alex., "I'll be careful." Nothing more was seen of the negroes at that time, although the boys were satisfied that they were still on the island, as no boat had been seen to leave it. After a time Clay, Case and Mose went to bed, leaving Alex., Jule, Captain Joe, and Teddy on deck. The dog seemed particularly wide awake, moving about as if he scented danger, while the cub sat looking toward the island with twitching nostrils. "Seems as if the dog and the cub know there's something coming off here to-night," Jule remarked, as Captain Joe put his paw on the gunwale and sniffed the air. "Do you really think they have a way of discovering approaching peril which human beings have not? Captain Joe certainly looks as if he saw something unpleasant coming." "I often think dogs have an instinct which warns them of danger," Alex. replied. "Well," Jule went on, "we'll soon see what comes of the signals of danger he is now handing out to us! Whatever he sees or senses is on that island." The boys watched for a long time, but there came no sounds of life from the island. "You're like the dog," Jule said to Alex., presently. "You are getting ready for a break of some sort! Suppose you loosen up and tell me what it is?" "You remember that night on the Amazon, when we scared the life out of a couple of renegade Englishmen and a native Indian?" asked Alex. "Sure I do!" was the reply. "That was the funniest ever!" "Well," Alex. explained, "I'm goin' to try something like that on these negroes." "Better let 'em alone!" advised Jule. "They are wise to tricks!" "Shucks!" Alex. laughed. "I'll have them walking on their heads, and walking the water at that. I wish I had a boat, so I wouldn't have to swim to the island!" "We've lost a rowboat every trip!" Jule exclaimed. "I wonder why we didn't pick the one we had off the raft and fix it up. It wasn't badly smashed." "We may find it yet," Alex. said, hopefully. "We have come down just a little faster than the current, and so it is probably behind us. When it comes down we'll get it and make it as good as new." "Yes, when we get it!" laughed Jule. "There's a thousand people along the island beaches and mainland levees watching for boats! Just like these negroes are watching for anything at all that seems worth picking out of the water!" "It won't do any harm to keep a lookout for it," Alex. decided. "Now," he added, turning out the lights and throwing off his coat, "do you want to go to the shore with me? If you will go I'll show you a race that will beat anything you ever saw." "And leave the boat alone?" demanded Jule. "I should say not. I'll remain here and see that your retreat is properly covered. You'll want some one here to hold a gun on the negroes you seem determined to stir up." "Now don't get a grouch on," pleaded Alex. "I'm doing this purely in the interest of science! I want to see how far the emancipation proclamation has relieved the negroes of the south from the old-time superstitions of the race! Not to put too fine a point upon it, kid, I want to see what a good healthy ghost will do to a lot of river thieves! Do you get me?" "Going to play ghost, are you," laughed Jule. "Then I'll be a ghost, too!" Alex. listened at the cabin door for a moment, but heard no sounds indicating the lack of sleep on the inside. Then he crept in, fumbled around in the darkness until he found two old bathing suits and a square package which smelled of sulphur. "Now," he explained to Jule, as he came out, "we'll put on these bathing suits, so as to have dry clothes ready when we return from the island! You take a part of the matches, for we may become separated in the thicket. We won't do the Mephisto act until we get to the island, then rub the sulphur on thick--on your hands and face." "I guess I know how!" Jule remonstrated. The boys placed their clothing in two piles on the deck and donned the bathing suits--much to the wonder of Captain Joe, who wrinkled his nose and looked suspiciously at the boys. His remarks on the subject of bathing in a swift river in the night time were not in favor of the experiment. However, he crouched down by Alex.'s feet and expressed himself as willing to share in the doubtful expedition. "When we get into the willows," Alex. explained, "I'll let out a yell which will put Mose's efforts in that direction away to the bad! Then you run at them on the right and I'll close in on the left, and we'll see a race that will put the Greek events out on a blind siding with fires banked. When you are ready, drop in and swim for the bunch of willows straight ahead. Swim slow and don't make any noise." The boys left the dark deck of the _Rambler_ and entered the water. There was little current where the boat lay, and they had no difficulty in making the willows pointed out by the promoter of the midnight excursion. The lights of Memphis made a faint haze in the sky to the south. The wash of the river drowned all individual noises. In the distance the caving of a bank sent down a heavy sound. Believing that they had left the boat without awakening any of the sleepers and landed on the island without attracting the attention of the negroes, the boys crouched down in a thicket and listened. The moon, which would set about midnight, was low down in the west, and gave a fitful light at rare intervals. There was a heavy mass of thunderheads in the sky, and few stars showed through. There were no indications of a light or fire on the island. The boys, however, were much mistaken in their understanding of the situation. When they dropped off the deck of the _Rambler_, Clay poked his head out of the cabin and watched them as far as the darkness would permit. Then he returned to the cabin, put on a bathing suit and took a square box from the cupboard. The box contained the reserve weapons and flashlights of the party and was waterproof. With this in his hand, and leaving Captain Joe on guard, with strict orders not to leave the deck, he entered the water and swam toward the shore, turning away from the bunch of willows where the two boys had landed. Of course he did not know that Alex. and Jule had left the water there, but it seemed to him that they would naturally select the nearest point as their landing place. Once on shore he sat down to await developments. He was certain that Alex. and Jule had entered upon a dangerous expedition. The river negroes of the south are by no means as superstitious as is generally believed, and Clay knew it. He doubted if they would run far at sight of a face blazing with sulphur. It was his opinion that the boys would be the ones to start the race! The negroes were sure to be armed, and they might be drunk, in which case they would not be likely to permit the outer spirits to bluff the inner spirits! Besides, they might have valuable plunder on the island, and some would be brave enough to remain and fight for it. Of course, if Clay had gravely asked the boys to give over their proposed joy visit to the island, they would undoubtedly have done so, but he did not care to do that. His thought was that he ought not to attempt to control the actions of he boys, as they all stood equal on the trip, no one having authority over the others. Besides, if the truth must be told, Clay, himself, was not averse to a little excitement! In addition, he was anxious to know what was doing on the island, and why the negroes were assembled there. Another feature of the situation was that a watcher on the beach saw all three forms in the water as they left the boat! When the lads landed, Alex. and Jule at the clump of willows and Clay farther to the west, this watcher lost no time in communicating with his fellows in their rough-and-ready camp near the center of the little "tow-head." The noise made by the negroes in getting ready to meet whatever attack might be made upon them gave the location of their camp to Clay, and he pressed as close to it as it was possible for him to do without advancing into the open, where he might have been seen during any moment of moonlight. It was a chill night, and there was a wind blowing from the west which seemed to cut into his bones, but Clay sat down not far from the camp and awaited the opening of the drama! He could hear the campers moving about, but could not distinguish the words spoken. The moon sank out of sight for good before any movement was made. Then Clay saw a figure fit to frighten the most courageous leave the fringe of willows and advance deliberately toward the center of the island. He had hard work to make himself understand that the thing he saw was only one of the boys. If the very Old Scratch himself had set foot on the "tow-head" he could not have presented a more sinister appearance. Clay watched the advance of the figure with bated breath. In a second after the figure appeared, flaming of face and pointing hands, with a great cross of fire on what appeared to be a naked breast, a long, wavering cry went up from the camp, and then there came a rush of feet. Clay could not tell at first which way the feet were going, but a moment convinced him that they were putting a swift distance between the camp and the devil-figure approaching. When a second figure, marked like the first, appeared the shrieks of alarm, the running of frightened feet, were drowned by the commands of a bull-like voice to stop the panic-stricken flight and use revolver and knife! CHAPTER XII HALF FULL OF DIAMONDS At that moment, notwithstanding the commotion and the threats of coming trouble, Clay felt like congratulating Alex. and Jule on the manner in which they were carrying out their reckless plans. More blood-curdling shrieks than now proceeded from the throats of the boys he had never heard. Knowing that defeat, perhaps death, would instantly follow on the heels of retreat, Alex. and Jule charged the camp, swinging their fire-coated arms and uttering cries which it did not seem possible could issue forth from human lips. There naturally followed a swifter flight on the part of the negroes. But three or four black men, less superstitious, or having more at stake, than the others, stood their ground, calling to their companions that it was a white man's trick, and that they should return and ascertain by the use of steel and lead just how human their visitors were. For a time the voices of the courageous ones did not check the mad rush for the river, but finally a group gathered on the beach and engaged in conversation, which, of course, Clay could not hear. Alex. and Jule now "disappeared" in approved "ghost" fashion--that is, they drew black cloths over their faces and hands so that their flaming make-up could no longer be seen. In fact, it was now so dark, the moon having set, that even the figures of the boys could not be seen when they crouched on the ground. The negroes on the beach were only visible because they formed quite a large group and kept constantly in excited motion. Clay wondered if the boys would now understand that their trick had failed and make for the _Rambler_. At the first rush the negroes had fled, but they were now listening to arguments intended to reassure them, and the ultimate result was not in doubt. Before long the black men would swarm back to the camp, perhaps make a thorough search of the entire "tow-head," in which case the boys were sure to be discovered, unless they made their way back to the boat before the search began. Clay placed himself between the camp and the boat and waited, thinking that his reserve weapons might be needed. The information that he had seen figures leaving the boat just before the advent of the "ghosts," as given by the watcher, had instant effect on the negroes. They swarmed back toward the camp, making a great many more threats than Clay thought was necessary! Two familiar figures now came dashing toward Clay, and he called out softly to them to halt a moment. The figures developed into two rather frightened boys as soon as they came close to the watcher. "Me for the boat!" panted Jule. "I reckon these coons know a ghost when they see one--not! Me for the feathers, too when I light! Come on, Alex!" "Go on and get aboard!" Alex. urged. "I want to see Clay a moment." Jule darted away and was soon out of sight. Although he had carefully made up as a disciple of Old Nick, he was careful not to exhibit any of his trade-marks as he moved towards the boat! Clay and Alex. stood listening to the commotion for a moment, and then the latter panted, taking Clay's arm as he did so, and drawing him back toward the camp: "When I got up there," he said, "I stumbled over some one lying on the ground! I felt about for a minute and found pretty much rags! Then some one told me to get off the island or I would be murdered." "Go on!" Clay said excitedly. "We have no time to lose if we are to investigate this matter. Was the person you talked with a prisoner?" "Sure he was. He asked me to cut the cords, but I had no knife with me and so had to make an effort to untie them. The captive talked while I was at work on the knots, and who do you think it was. Give you three guesses!" "Hurry! Hurry! We have no time to lose, I tell you, if the captive is in need of our assistance. Who is it?" "The kid who came on board the _Rambler_ at Cairo!" replied Alex. "And you had to leave him there--tied?" "What else could I do?" asked Alex. "I didn't have even a knife! This foolish bathing suit has no pockets, so I brought no arms with me. What could I do, when the coons were making a rush for the camp?" "We've got to get that kid!" Clay cried. "If they would only go away for a minute," Alex. declared, "I could get him and bring him to the boat, ropes and all!" A shot came from the _Rambler_, and, turning, the boys saw that the craft was aglow with electric lights! Instantly they crouched lower in the willows, for the strong prow lamp cast a ray far over on the "tow-head." Another shot came from the boat, and then the negroes at the camp made a break for the beach, passing within a rod of where the two boys lay concealed. "Shall we take them in the rear?" asked Alex. "They have attacked the boat." "Don't shoot!" warned Clay. "Remember that we had no right to molest them in the first place! The boys on the boat are awake, or the lights wouldn't be on. They can protect themselves, I reckon. I hope Jule is in a safe place!" The lights were still on, but not a person could be seen. Then more shots came, and Clay saw that the boys were firing through the small port holes in the gunwale, and that the negroes were contenting themselves with firing volley after volley at the cabin windows, which were now void of glass! While the boys on shore watched with intense anxiety, the motors of the _Rambler_ were heard, and then the boat began to drop down stream. "I wonder if Jule got on board?" Alex. asked. "If he met with no opposition on the way he probably did," was the reply. "At least we must suppose that he is either on the boat or in hiding on the island." "Come on, then!" shouted Alex. "We'll make a success of this excursion yet. We'll take possession of the camp. I want a confidential talk with the prisoner!" "You'll be getting a confidential talk with a bullet pretty soon, if you don't pay more attention to getting off!" Clay answered. "The boat has dropped down, and the negroes will soon be back here. It is another swim! What?" Almost before Clay had done speaking Alex. was off in the darkness. Clay could just see his figure moving along the ground, so he followed on after him, wondering what new trick the lad had in mind. The light from the _Rambler_ grew fainter every instant. For some reason unknown to Clay, the boat was being moved down stream a long way. In a moment Clay saw Alex. bending over a figure lying on the ground at the edge of a rude windbreak of willow bushes, cut and woven together. "Where's the coon's boat?" he asked, hurriedly. Clay smiled happily. He had not thought of that! "Off there on the east side," replied the boy. "Have you got a knife yet?" For answer Alex. seized the lad by the feet and called out to Clay: "Catch him by the shoulders, and we'll carry him!" Clay was not slow in following the suggestion, and the boys soon had the captive between the fringe of willows and the water. The boat was there, a large, four-oared craft which was partly filled with plunder taken from the river. The negroes were evidently making a business of gathering supplies from the flood. Just then Jule came up, out of breath from a stumbling run in the dark. The captive was placed on board, and then Clay seized a pair of heavy oars. "Take the helm," he called to Alex., "and you help with the oars, Jule," he added. Then the craft shot out into the current. When she came around the corner of the little island, where the light from the _Rambler_ struck her a series of frantic shouts came from the men huddled on the south bank, and a few shots were fired, but, the current running swiftly, they were soon out of range. "Let 'em swim," chuckled Alex. "A bath will be good for what ails them!" "Alex.," remarked Clay, panting with the heavy work at the oars, "you deserve a Carnegie medal!" "Sure!" chuckled the other. "I'm the Johnny-on-the-Spot when it comes to prescribing healthful stunts for the working classes! Where is that boat going?" he added as the _Rambler_ disappeared around a distant bend in the stream. "This is what comes of running off in the night without telling the boys what we were up to!" panted Jule. "This is some boat, when it comes to weight." In ten minutes the lights of the _Rambler_ were in sight again, the rowboat having passed around the bend. Then Clay took out a searchlight and began making signals to those on board. Directly an answering signal came from the boat, and then the lights halted, turned, and came up stream. "You're a nice lot of watchmen!" Case called out, as the two boats came close together. "We thought you had caught a floater boat and drifted down stream." "This," grinned Alex., "is the only old and original relief expedition. We have with us to-night a brand snatched from the coons!" "Hand down a knife!" called Clay. "This lad is capable of climbing on board by his own self! And swing around a little so as not to tip us over!" With no little difficulty the boys were landed on the deck of the _Rambler_. Case regarded the visitor with a quizzical smile as he bent over him. "Did you take a dive at Cairo," he asked, "and come up at Memphis?" The boy answered only by a weary smile, and Mose stood staring at him with widening eyes, while Captain Joe sniffed suspiciously at his worn garments. Teddy invited him to a boxing match! "I'll go you boys a dollar to an apple," Case observed, "that this kid is still empty! He looks it! Anyway, I'll go and get him something to eat!" "And don't forget the heroic rescuers!" Alex. called out. "I haven't had a thing to eat since supper! Say, kid," he went on, "what's your name?" "Chester Vinton," was the reply, in a frightened voice. "I'm running away." "You wasn't running very fast when we found you!" commented Alex. "How did you come to mix with those wreckers?" "I was on a raft," was the answer, "and I was hungry, and I saw them on the island, and asked them for something to eat. They tied me up!" "Why didn't you stay on board the boat at Cairo?" asked Clay. "I was afraid," was the reply. "Red is back up the river looking for you," Jule observed, still shivering from his exposure to the cold water. "He took passage with us part of the way down." "I should think he did!" chuckled Alex. "And he was a first cabin passenger at that!" "Well," Clay decided, presently, "perhaps we'd better feed this boy and put him to bed. He looks as if he'd been up against something hard." The lad ate ravenously, and then began undressing. Clay sat in the cabin with him. He was full of wonderment at this second meeting with the boy, and wanted to ask him a hundred questions, but decided to wait until the lad was in better condition. As the visitor threw his ragged clothes off a thud on the floor told of something of considerable weight in one of the pockets. "Do you carry a gun, lad?" he asked, stooping over to lift the trousers. The boy bounded forward and snatched at the trousers, but Clay was too quick for him. The article which had made the noise on the floor was a leather bag. An investigation showed that it was half full of diamonds of exceptional quality! CHAPTER XIII A RIVER ROBBER IN A NEW ROLE With half a dozen stones of splendid value rolling over the palm of his hand, Clay regarded the boy accusingly. "Where did you get the diamonds?" he asked. The boy did not answer. Clay had expected confusion and shame. Instead he met with anger and reproach. Chester ("Chet" from that day forward) shot forward like an arrow and tried to wrest the bag from his hands. Clay put him back tolerantly. "Give them back to me!" Chet shouted so loudly that the boys out on the deck entered the cabin and stood in an astonished group about the two. Clay, grasping the bag and the lose gems, held his hands high above his head. "Where did you get them?" he persisted. "Give them back to me!" yelled Chet. "You've been following me for this, have you? You're all as bad as the river thieves I've met up with! Give them to me!" "What do you think of the little one for a diamond dip?" asked Alex., pointing at the flushed face of the agitated boy. "He's some clever!" "I reckon he belongs with Red, the Robber, all right!" Jule put in. "He seems to be pretty well fixed!" laughed Case. "Those gems are worth more than a hundred thousand dollars! Did you swipe them from the men who robbed the Rock Island warehouse, kid?" he added. Chet turned a flaming face toward this new accuser. "Don't you dare call me a thief!" he shouted. "The diamonds are mine! I never stole them. Give them back to me, you--you--river pirates!" "That's good, coming from him!" grinned Alex. "Come on, little one, and tell us who these stones belong to." "I tell you they are mine!" Chet again insisted. "I never stole them! You give them back to me! If I had the strength I'd tear your heart out!" "Of course!" laughed Clay. "Of course you'd do something desperate if you had the strength! But don't trouble yourself about the diamonds! If they belong to you, you shall have them. But we don't want to harbor a thief, you know!" "I don't believe you'll ever give them back to me!" sobbed the boy. "I've brought them down the river, all this way, to be robbed of them at last!" In a spasm of grief the lad threw himself on the cabin floor and burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. The boys stood around for a moment, looking rather sheepishly at each other, and then all left the cabin but Clay. "Come kid," the latter said, lifting Chet from the floor and holding him in his arms like a baby, "don't act like you'd lost your last friend! If you're honest, you've found friends instead of losing them. You shall have the diamonds back, if you can show that they belong to you. Brace up, now, and go on to bed!" Chet regarded Clay through wet eyes for a moment and then slipped away to the bunk which had been set aside for him. The frank inspection seemed to have in a measure restored his equanimity. Clay sat down by the side of the bunk, the diamonds in his hands. "Why don't you tell me all about it?" he asked of the boy. "Why not settle the whole matter right here, and so have done with it? Where did you get them?" "I've promised not to tell," was the reply. "You are not making a very good beginning," Clay admonished. Chet made no reply whatever, but turned his face away. Clay went on, patiently: "Where is your home?" "I haven't got any home," was the reply. "I never had one." "But you must belong somewhere," Clay insisted. "Where did you live last?" "I'm not going to tell you anything at all," Chet replied, "until I see the man that made me promise to keep silent, and until he gives me leave to talk with you." "Is the man you mention Red, the riverman?" asked Clay. "Didn't I just tell you that I wasn't going to talk?" demanded the boy. "All right," Clay responded. "Take all the time you want! In the meantime, I'll keep the diamonds. Will you promise to remain on the boat?" "If I had the diamonds, I'd quit you right now!" said the boy, savagely. "I may as well tell you the truth. If you keep the diamonds, I'll stay until I get them, but I'll find them and take them with me if I can. You just mind that!" "You're a frank little chap, anyway!" laughed Clay. "I wasn't brought up to tell lies!" was the astonishing reply. "Who brought you up?" asked Clay. "You just said you never had any home!" "Never did!" was the reply. "Say, you won't blame me if I find where you put the diamonds and run off with them, will you?" he added, quite gravely. "I don't see how I can blame you, after such fair warning," laughed Clay. "And you won't help any one to find me?" persisted the little fellow. "No," answered Clay, "if you are sharp enough to get the diamonds away from me, I'll never let on that I ever saw or heard of you. Is that satisfactory to you?" "Will you shake hands on that?" asked Chet, sitting up on the bunk. "Gladly! Now, go to sleep and wake up in a more communicative mood to-morrow." "I'll stick to what I said!" Chet answered, and Clay left him alone in the cabin. When he reached the deck he was at once surrounded by the boys, all eager to know the outcome of the conference. Clay told them of what had taken place. "He's a nervy little chap!" Clay concluded, "and I like him very much already." "You bet he's all right, that kid!" Alex. said. "If he wasn't, he wouldn't have told you that he would get the gems the first time he got a chance. Besides, see how he is keeping the promise made to some other fellow! Where are you going to keep the diamonds, Clay?" the boy continued. "Don't you ever think the kid won't try hard to find them! I hope he won't feel called upon to cut all our throats in order to obtain possession of them! I believe he would do it if he thought it necessary!" "Well," Clay answered, speaking in a low tone and looking in through the glass panel of the cabin door to see that Chet was still in his bunk, "I think I'll go ashore at Memphis, for supplies, you know, and put the gems in a deposit box at one of the banks." "That's a fine idea!" cried Case. "He'll never get them there!" "But you want to look out that you're not pinched in the bank," Alex. advised. "That warehouse robbery is making some noise, and if a boy from a river boat is seen to have diamonds, it is the jail house for yours!" "If you put them in a bank deposit box," Jule observed, "you'd better do them up so as to look like a package of papers--bonds, or stocks, or something like that." "That is a good idea, too!" Clay exclaimed. "I'll do it!" "I'd give a lot to know more about the boy and the diamonds," Clay mused, as the boys began getting breakfast. They had talked so long, after reaching the boat, that they had not before realized that it was most morning, and now there was a flush in the east which told of sunrise. When Clay went back into the cabin to see about the fire, he found Chet crouching on the floor just back of the door. He yawned as Clay entered the apartment. "What are you doing here?" asked Clay, in amazement. "Guess I'm trying to find my way to the door!" was the half-smiling reply. "I didn't seem to know where I was when I woke up!" Clay accepted the excuse, and went on with his preparation of breakfast. However, he doubted what the boy had said. Notwithstanding the previous good impression he had formed of the waif, he wondered if the lad had not crept out of bed and stationed himself by the door in order to hear what was said about the disposition of the gems. "I'll have to be more careful," Clay thought. "That boy is a clever one!" After breakfast the waif was rigged out with a suit of Alex.'s clothes. In the new attire he seemed to be a different boy from the one taken from the camp. The boys did not accept as the truth all he said about himself, though that was not much. When he declared that he had never had any home, they commented on the fact that his speech and manners were those of a boy who had been given a fair education. Chet at once took to the pets of the boat, Mose, Captain Joe, and Teddy, the bear cub, and they immediately recognized him as a member of the family. While he was playing with the cub on the prow, Clay made an oblong package of the diamonds, scattering them in between sheets of paper, and marked them "Bonds." The bag in which they had been found was half filled with burrs, and small bits of a broken dish and tied tight. It resembled the bag as it had stood before any change had been made when Clay had finished with it. This bag Clay resolved to keep in his pocket until he could place it under the eyes of the boy who claimed it, the idea being to see if he really would snatch the supposed prize and take to the river again. Clay hoped that he would not, for all liked the little fellow. That afternoon they ran down to a Memphis pier and Clay went ashore with the gems. He was in time to secure a deposit box at a bank and stow the diamonds away. The cashier with whom he did business asked questions regarding his age and permanent residence, and seemed satisfied with his answers. He was, indeed, especially interested in Clay's description of the _Rambler_ and the voyages the boys had made in her, and asked permission to visit the party that evening if he found time. Clay gladly gave the required permission, ordered supplies sent to the pier, and then started out for a look at the beautiful city. Almost at the entrance to the bank he met Alex., who had the flushed appearance of a boy who had been walking pretty fast. The two walked together for a block without speaking, save for the initial greeting, and then Alex. proposed that they go to a restaurant and have a "steak about as big as a parlor rug," as he expressed it. Clay agreed, but laughed at the notion. "Why not take it on board?" he asked. "We can cook it much better than any city chef," he added. "Well," Alex. replied, "I saw a neat little restaurant back here, not far from the river front, and I thought I'd like to go there and have a feed." So the two turned into the restaurant, when they came to it, and took a small table at a rear corner of the room. It being late for dinner and early for supper, there were few in the place. One party, at the front of the room, at once attracted Clay's attention. There were three men in the party, one young, smiling and flashily dressed; one old, grizzled and clad in a well-worn business suit; and another dressed expensively and with great care. This man had a surprising growth of red hair which showed evidences of great care. His face was smooth-shaven, and had the appearance of having recently been divested of a beard, the flesh showing soft and white, as if not long exposed to the weather. When this man arose to pay the check and laid a hand on the back of a chair, Clay noticed that the hand was very large and finely kept. The man was something over six feet in height! Clay gave Alex. a kick under the table and directed his gaze to the large man, then passing over to the cashier's window. "Take a good look at that man," he whispered. "Ever see him before?" "I saw him when I passed," was the reply, "and brought you here. That's Red, the Robber." CHAPTER XIV ALEX. BREAKS FURNITURE "Unless Red, the Robber, has a twin who is an exact duplicate of himself," Clay whispered, "that is just who it is!" "When I passed here," Alex. explained, "the three were just sitting down to dinner, and I knew that I could get you back here in time to see Red, the Robber, before he could finish the big steak he had just tackled. There he is! Now what?" "It doesn't seem possible that that finely-dressed, well-groomed man is really the one who talked with us out on the river at Cairo, and who afterwards captured the _Rambler_ by holding a gun about the size of a cannon on me," Clay declared. "And the man who bespoke kind treatment for Chet, the waif," Alex. went on. "I guess we're both seeing things not present to the senses! There ain't no such man!" "It can't be!" Clay tried to convince himself. "It can't be the same man!" Yet he knew deep down in his heart that it was the same man! If there had been any doubt of the complete identification at the start, there was none when the man spoke to the cashier in the full, deep voice which Clay knew that he had heard while he was tied up in the cabin of the _Rambler_! "I have heard that river thieves sometimes make up to look like bankers and high-up politicians," Alex. whispered. "And I have heard that bankers and high-up politicians occasionally assume the disguises of river characters for some purpose of their own," Clay returned. "Do they mix with murderers and steal motor boats when they do that?" asked Alex., with a provoking snicker. "'Cause if they do, this may be one of the high-ups!" "He must recognize us," Clay went on. "Watch and see if you catch in him any signs of joy at the meeting!" "He hasn't yet shown that he knows we are in the room," Alex. replied. "There's one way to find out who he is," Clay suggested. "When he leaves here, you follow him until he enters some house or office and ask questions about him after he goes on. I'll do the same here--that is, I'll see what the cashier knows about him." Alex., glad of an opportunity of showing what he could accomplish as a detective, readily agreed to this arrangement, and, the man leaving the restaurant at the moment, Alex. darted away after him, leaving Clay to question the cashier. The big man, still in the company of his two companions, walked briskly toward the river front, after leaving the restaurant, and finally came to a stop at a pier some distance down the stream from that at which the motor boat lay. Alex. watched the three men shake hands gravely and part, the one he believed to be Red going on board a small steamer which lay close by with smoke pouring from her stacks. "Now," thought the boy, "shall I give it up, or shall I sneak on board the boat and see what I can learn of this man who poses as a river pirate one day and as a gentleman of great respectability the next?" Alex.'s horse sense told him to wait about the pier until some one came off the boat and engage that person in conversation in an effort to learn the identity of the man he was following, but his natural love of adventure told him to make his way on board and learn there what he could, not only of the man, but of the steamer and its destination and cargo. The spirit of adventure won, and Alex., waiting until there was no one in sight on the freight deck, ventured on board. There was still no one in sight when he reached the staircase leading to the cabin, and he proceeded to climb up, listening between steps for indications of human life. He found the indications he sought with a vengeance at the head of the stairs. As he stepped up a husky negro seized him by the collar and dragged him toward the prow. Alex. kicked and struggled to no purpose. The negro was too strong for him. All the time he was carrying him along, almost as he would have carried a kitten, the negro kept up a running fire of comment. The boy gathered from this comment that he was regarded as a sneak thief, and tried more than once to explain, but the negro kept on talking to himself and paid no attention to the words of his prisoner. Alex. administered a sturdy kick and gave it up. Presently a door was opened at the very front end of the cabin and the boy was thrust into a small stateroom. The force of his entrance sent him against a berth and he crawled up and lay down to think things over. He heard the door behind him locked. "This is a pretty kettle of fish!" grunted the boy, as he looked about the room. It was just an ordinary stateroom, with one bunk, a dresser, and a chair. The window looking out on deck was covered by green slat-blinds, and ornamental metal-work covered the glass panel of the door opening into the cabin. After taking in the room in all its details, Alex. arose and tried to open the green blinds so as to get a look outside. To his surprise he found that they would not open. They were of steel, and were there to protect the window! The room was as stoutly guarded as a prison cell! "Red, the Robber, seems to have use for a cell," the boy thought, "that is, if this is his boat! I wonder what he thinks he's going to do with me?" Alex. had now no doubt that Red had recognized Clay and himself at the restaurant. He wondered if Clay, too, had been trapped! He could not make up his mind as to whether the man was a robber or a gentleman of business standing, but he knew that he was in a most undesirable situation. Then he began to wonder if Red knew that he was on board! The man had given no intimation that he had knowledge of being followed. He, Alex., had sneaked on board, like a veritable wharf rat, and the husky negro had been fully justified in taking him into custody! Still, the negro should have listened to his explanations and given him a chance to prove his innocence. This last view of the case was much more to the liking of the boy than the previous one, for Red had shown a friendly spirit while on board the _Rambler_, and might now set him free as soon as informed of his capture. Clay had permitted Red his freedom under much more trying conditions! "If he's a river thief," Alex. concluded, "he'll keep me here until he is sure I can't injure him by telling of his raid on the motor boat, but if he is on the level--if he was, for some purpose of his own, masquerading while in company with Sam--he will release me as soon as he knows I am here--for Clay's sake, if not for my own!" This was a rather comforting conclusion, so the boy began beating with all his might on the panels of the door. He pounded away for some moments without hearing the least response, and then sat down to rest. While he sat there on the berth, panting from his unnoticed exertions, the boat quivered in all its timbers, the noise of escaping steam reached his ears, and then he knew that the steamer was under way. This was the worst thing that could happen to the boy, and he knew it. The steamer might go to Cuba, or to the upper reaches of the Missouri or the Mississippi, separating him from his chums for weeks. If Red really was a robber, he would not take the chance of releasing him, for that would give him an opportunity to warn those on board the _Rambler_, as well as to report to the police the illegal seizure of the motor boat! "I'm going to find out about this!" Alex. declared, springing off the berth. "I'm going to do an English suffragette stunt and smash windows!" As his whole mind was set on making a noise so as to attract the attention of the man he had followed on board, the boy was by no means conservative in his next move. First he took the light-framed chair which stood by the berth and smashed it against the fancy metal work which protected the glass panel. The chair went to pieces without touching the glass, so Alex. took up a slender leg and, poking it through in between the metal work, punched out the pane. It fell back into the cabin with a rattle, and then Alex., putting his face close to the opening, let out a yell which would have done credit to an Apache Indian on the warpath! In the meantime the steamer was backing out into the current. "I guess that will let 'em know they have a cabin passenger!" Alex. grunted, as he began tossing the fragments of the chair out on the cabin floor. The boy was just considering the firing of his automatic, which had not been taken from him by the negro, when a heavy voice near at hand broke into a hearty laugh, and the face of the red-headed man appeared before the opening, half-shielded by an arm, for the boy was still looking for things to throw through. "What seems to be the difficulty?" the man asked, and Alex. thought he saw a twinkle of humor in the blue eyes fixed upon him. "No difficulty at all," Alex. answered, with a touch of irony in his tone. "I'm just doing this for exercise, and to make business for boat builders!" "Of course," laughed the man, "you wouldn't come out if I should unlock the door?" "Oh, I don't know," Alex. replied. "I've got a good deal of work to do in here yet, and I might bring back an axe to help out." "You'll find that the berth is of steel," the red-headed man said. "You can't chop that up. How long will it take you to finish the dresser? I might come back and let you out as soon as you have got through with that!" "All right!" grinned the boy, "anything to oblige," and he went at the dresser with the leg of a chair! The giant unlocked the door, stepped inside, and, taking Alex. by the ear, marched him out of the wrecked room. Once in the cabin he let go of the ear and walked toward the stern with a hand on the boy's arm. "You wasn't so giddy the last time I saw you!" declared the boy. The man laughed, opened the door of a large stateroom toward the stern, pushed the boy inside, and stepped in after him. This was a handsome room, elaborately furnished. Alex. dropped into a chair and looked about. The steamer now seemed to be making fast time down the river, and Alex. looked out of a window in the hope of seeing the location of the _Rambler_. "Say," he finally asked, wrinkling his freckled nose at the man, "what is the answer to this? I give it up!" "What was it you boys put in the deposit box at the bank?" asked the man. "I didn't put anything in; I didn't go to any bank." "But your chum did. You met him at the bank entrance, and brought him back to look at me! You know what he put in the vault box. What was it?" "It was a long package marked bonds," was the boy's reply. "But did the package contain bonds?" "I don't know; I never saw the inside of it," answered Alex., wondering if this man had followed all their movements since being allowed to leave the _Rambler_. "Perhaps the lad you call Clay will tell," smiled the giant. "Or the boys on the _Rambler_ may give the information I seek--when you both fail to return to-night." "So you've got Clay, too, have you?" shouted Alex., and he make a rush for the door! CHAPTER XV THE LEATHER BAG MISSING When Clay went to the cashier's desk to pay the check for the meals the two boys had eaten, also with a view of finding out what was known there of the red-headed man, he asked the first question which came into his mind. "Is that the sheriff--the tall man with the red hair?" The cashier eyed the boy keenly for a moment and then answered the question by asking one, as many who wait on the public have a habit of doing. "Why? Do you want to see the sheriff?" he asked, suspiciously. Clay was provoked, but tried not to show it as he replied, "I thought I knew the man, that's all. Perhaps I was mistaken, for he would have recognized me, I'm certain, if he had ever seen me before." "Well, that's not the sheriff," the cashier replied, more civilly; "I don't know who he is. He came in here this forenoon, for the first time, with those two men, and he has been in here twice since. There are others with him, too, for people kept coming in and making reports of some kind to him. One made a sign to him, through the glass, while you were eating. He may be a crook, for all I know." Clay thanked the cashier and went away, turning in the direction of the river front immediately. At the next corner he came face to face with the cashier of the bank where he had secured the deposit box. The banker extended a hand in greeting. "I was just wishing," he said, "that I could run across you this afternoon. I have a little spare time, and I'd like to look over that wonderful boat of yours. Not long ago I saw a full-page description of your river trips in a Chicago newspaper." "Come along, then," Clay replied. "You'll have a good chance to see it by daylight if you go now. It isn't very much of a boat, but we're proud of it. It is just an ordinary motor boat, with electrical attachments which provide for lighting and cooking. There's also a little refrigerator, cooled by water, and a container for holding electricity in storage, so we have plenty of light when the boat is not running. But come along and take a look at it." As the two walked arm-in-arm down the street two men fell in behind them, moving as they moved, fast or slow, and stopping whenever the cashier drew up to explain some city feature to the boy. After a couple of blocks of this work, the two walked faster and, coming in advance of the two they had followed, turned about and greeted the cashier warmly. They were promptly introduced to Clay as Hilton and Carney. "We're just going to the river to look over the _Rambler_, the famous motor boat we have talked so much about," Benson, the cashier said. "If Mr. Emmett, here, has no objections, I'd like to have you go along with us." "No objections whatever," Clay responded. "There isn't much to see, but such as it is you are welcome to have a look." Clay did not observe the significant look which passed from the cashier to the two men, as they walked along toward the boat. They soon reached the pier and went aboard the _Rambler_, finding Case, Chet, Jule and Mose there. The bear cub attracted a great deal of attention, and Chet seemed to take special interest in the doings of the party. The three men did not hurry themselves at all, but took their time about everything. They inspected the bunks and the cupboard, and even looked into the storage places under the decks and the cabin floor. Clay was with them most of the time, but now and then they halted and conversed together in low tones, so, of course, the boy dropped away from the group. He considered this a strange proceeding on the part of the guests, but said nothing. Finally they asked Clay all sorts of questions about their progress down the river, when they left Rock Island, when they touched at St. Louis, and when they reached Cairo. The boy, though wondering, answered the rather personal questions frankly. It was almost dark when the visitors left the boat. Their last visit had been made to the cabin, to inspect the electric stove, and they passed the boys on the prow as they went ashore. For a time after their departure the boys discussed the unusual conduct of the visitors, and then Chet and Clay went in to prepare supper. Taking advantage of a momentary absence of Chet from the cabin, Clay looked in the hiding-place where he had left the leather bag in which the diamonds had been brought on shore. The bag was gone! Clay hastened out on deck to meet two astonished boys. "Say," Case said, "what's come over Chet? He came out of the cabin like a shot and jumped off on the pier. Then, without even stopping to look back, he ran down into the city! What have you been doing to him?" Clay stood for a moment like one incapable of speech, then he dropped into a deck-chair and laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. Captain Joe and Teddy joined the others in their criticism of his strange actions. "You didn't get too many high balls while in the city, did you?" asked Case. "You might have kept sober enough to bring Alex. back with you!" Jule put in. "Ah believe yo' done scare dat lad off de boat!" little Mose suggested. "Well," Clay explained, presently, "I suppose I ought to treat the matter more seriously, for we may have lost Chet for good, but it is funny for all that." "Why don't you pass it around?" demanded Case. "Let us in on the laugh!" "You all know what I did with the articles we found on Chet," Clay responded. "Well, when I took the valuables out of the leather bag, I put burrs from the repair kit and pieces of broken dishes into the bag and hid it where I thought Chet might find it if he looked long enough." "I don't see anything funny in that," observed Case, with a frown. "Just wait! When I looked for the bag, just now, it was gone, and the next thing I hear is that Chet has taken to his heels. You see what has happened!" "The poor little chap!" exclaimed Case. "I'm sorry for him." "So am I," Clay agreed, "but he ought to have been honest with us." "We knew what to expect," Jule suggested. "He said he'd get the gems back if he could, didn't he? Now he thinks he's got them, and is lugging off a lot of truck not worth a cent! I call that a shame!" Clay looked thoughtful for a second and then burst out: "But is he? Look here, fellows," he went on, excitedly, "suppose he never took the bag at all! Suppose Chet found it and changed his mind about running off with it! Suppose one of the visitors took it! Suppose that is what they were here for; suppose Chet missed it as soon as they went away and chased on after them!" "You said the visitors were bankers!" exploded Jule. "What about that?" "One of them was, but I don't know anything about the others. Strange they should all be so eager to inspect the _Rambler_! Strange they should get off by themselves and talk in whispers! I reckon we're knee-deep in mystery!" "Well, where did you leave Alex.?" asked Jule. "He hasn't come back yet!" "And here's another funny thing," Clay went on, without answering the question, directly. "We saw Red, the Robber, up town, dressed like a gentleman! Alex. followed him out of the place where we saw him, and may have got into trouble!" "Then the stealing of the bag is Red's work!" decided Case. "No need to guess about that any more! How he got his men in with the banker I don't know, but he did it, and one of them took it, and poor Chet saw that it was gone, and now he is following a bag filled with crockery about the city!" "Pshaw!" Jule exclaimed. "It is dollars to doughnuts that Chet got the bag himself! He said he'd swipe it if he got a chance. You all know that!" A figure now came dashing down the pier at break-neck speed and Alex. leaped on the deck and dropped into a chair, wiping the sweat from his face. "Did you find who he was?" asked Clay, as the boys all gathered around Alex. Alex. told the story of the steamer and the wrecked stateroom, and ended with the talk he had had with Red, while the boys looked on in wonder at the odd twist things were getting into. Even Teddy Bear seemed impressed by the mystery, Jule declared! "And how did you get away from him?" demanded Case. "How did you get back here?" "I jumped and ran, and he caught me," was the reply. "Then he made me promise not to say a word about his escapade on the _Rambler_ and let me go! Can you beat it?" "What did he have you locked up for?" asked Clay. "I don't understand that." "Just because he wanted that promise," Alex. suggested. "Is that the answer?" "It may be," Clay admitted, "but here's the question: Is he a robber or a detective? Is he on the level, or is he just a clever scoundrel?" "Perhaps Alex. can judge better of that when he knows what has taken place here," Case suggested, going on with the story of the disappearance of the leather bag. "Red's gang got it," laughed Alex., without a moment's hesitation, as Case finished the story. "He knew Clay put something in the bank, and asked me what it was. Yes, we know all about it now!" "I just believe Chet took the bag, thinking the gems were in it," insisted Jule. "We'll never know the truth until we find the lad," Clay said, with a sigh. "Unless Red, the Robber, shows up again in a confidential mood," Alex. laughed. "If the supplies I ordered are all in," Clay went on, "I think we'd better be on our way. There's mystery in the very air here!" "If we stay here long," Alex. prophesied, "the coon I biffed on the shin may show up, lookin' for revenge, or Red may come after pay for the furniture I smashed!" "What did he say about that furniture?" grinned Jule. "You've got the nerve!" "He never mentioned it," was the reply. "Say," the lad went on, "I believe that chap is all to the good, after all! He seemed to think the smash act was funny." During the afternoon Case and Mose had caught a large fish and Chet had succeeded in bringing down a wild duck, so the cooking of supper was an elaborate affair. Then Clay made light biscuits and coffee, and fried potatoes, and the boys were as happy as well-fed boys with no one to "boss," usually are, except that they missed Chet. After supper they discussed the proposition of waiting there a day in the hope of finding the runaway boy, but it was finally decided that he could find them easier than they could find him, so they started the motors and went on toward the Gulf. The early part of the night was bright, so the boys ran down about twenty miles, as the river ran, and then tied up below a "tow-head" which stuck up out of the water below an island of good size. They found it necessary to take this precaution always, for the wash of large steamers passing up and down would have rattled things in the _Rambler_, if the motor boat was not capsized. At midnight the sky became overcast with threatening clouds and the wind blew in fitful gusts. There seemed to be no danger of their being disturbed by visitors that night, but all the same they thought best to station a watchman, and Case volunteered to keep awake and see that "no one flew away with the boat," as he expressed it. Somewhere about two o'clock in the morning, the boy, who was having hard work keeping awake, heard the puff and bellow of an approaching steamer, toiling up against the strong current. Almost at the same instant he felt a jar, as if the boat had been struck by floating driftwood. He switched on the prow light to see what was doing, but quickly extinguished it as the steamer came up and a heavy rowboat dropped away from her! CHAPTER XVI WHAT DROPPED ON DECK "I guess my turning on that light started something!" the boy mused, as he darkened the small electric globe in the cabin and sat down to await developments. He kept just inside the cabin door at first, for the wind was cold and searching. For a few moments he could hear the working of oars and the push of the current on an advancing boat, and then all was silent save the sighing of the wind and the wash of the river, still burdened at times with floating wreckage. It seemed to him that the boat which had slipped away from the steamer had anchored somewhere near the _Rambler_. "I fully believe," Case grunted, as he finally left the cabin and looked out upon the dim river from the deck, "that if we should fly through the air on a cloud there would be some scamp watching us from another cloud! It's rotten, the way we are chased about!" The boy did not know that his complaint had found words until he heard a chuckle close to his side and turned about to faintly distinguish the freckled face of Alex., who stood looking over the river to the south. "You've got no kick coming!" Alex. declared. "You wouldn't go on these river trips if we found nothing more than scenery, any more than I would! It seems like living to be chased about, as you call it! If it wasn't for the mystery and adventure in the jaunts I'd be at home in little old Chicago--and that's where you'd be, too!" "Well," Case returned, "I'd like to get one night off occasionally!" "What is it now?" asked Alex. "I heard the steamer pass, but that didn't mean anything to me. What's going wrong now? Tell your old uncle Alex. all about it!" "Uncle nothing!" laughed Case, restored to better humor by the optimism of the other. "If you want to know what's on the string, go and get a glass and try to find a rowboat in this mess of river and black sky. A safety razor that won't cut air will be given to the first one that discovers the boat!" "Oh!" cried Alex. "There's a boat watching us! All right! Now I feel better! I was beginning to wonder when we'd have something to stir us up!" "The boat dropped off when the steamer went up," Case explained. "I saw it under the lights, but of course it vanished in the darkness as soon as the big boat passed." "There's something going on, then!" Alex. declared. "Of course they wouldn't know on board the steamer in the dark, that we were here, and so the thing which is going to happen is set to come off on shore. I'm going to stay awake and see what it is." "You see," Case stated, hesitatingly, "I heard a bump on the hull of the _Rambler_, just as the steamer was churning into sight, around that bend, and turned on the prow light to see about it! That's why the rowboat dropped off here, I take it." Alex. gave vent to a long, low whistle. "Then we've got into the spot-light again!" he said. "It won't be any trouble for me to keep awake now! Shall we tell Clay the glad news, or let him sleep?" "Oh, let him sleep! We can run this watch, all right!" While the boys whispered and listened, the long, bellowing roar of a locomotive whistle came to their ears from the east. Then came the distant rumble of a train. "What do you make of that?" asked Case. "I thought we were in the heart of a wild river country, and here come a train of cars--palace cars, I'll go you, at that!" "About three or four miles from the river, in the state of Mississippi," laughed Alex., "runs the old Yazoo & Mississippi railroad. There are little towns all along its line. Perhaps the boat dropped off the steamer to make one of the country bergs! We never thought of that, did we?" Case pulled the other by the arm and both drew away from the gunwale. "There's a boat out there now," he declared, in a whisper. "I heard the tunk of an oar then! I'll bet they are trying to get on board!" "Got your gun?" asked Alex. "Sure thing I have," was the reply. "And your searchlight?" "You know it!" "So have I," Alex. went on. "Now, if they try to board the _Rambler_, we'll lie low until they begin to climb over the rail. Then we'll turn on our electrics. If they are strangers, and look like river pirates, we'll shoot them up! What?" "But why not turn on the prow light?" asked Case. "Because we can handle the electric flashlights quicker. If we have to show the light and shoot, be quick to change your position after the light is switched off. Then, if they shoot back, they won't hit you." There was a boat approaching. There was no doubt about that. And the people on board of her were doing their best to keep their movements from being known by those of the _Rambler_. Case and Alex. could hear the dash of oars, and now and then a rough command. The two boys sat in silence and waited. Then, as Case and Alex. afterward complained, something happened which "spoilt all the fun!" Captain Joe came out of the cabin and gave forth a series of threatening growls, and Teddy added to the warning by saying things in bear talk! The mysterious boat came on no longer. There were still sounds of the working of a heavy craft in a strong current, but these gradually died out. "I'd like to throw you both into the river after them!" Alex. scolded at the animals, as they came around him, asking to be congratulated on their success in driving off the visitors! "Now we'll be haunted by those fellows for a week, while if you had kept quiet we'd have settled with them right here!" "Suppose we turn on the power and chase 'em up?" asked Case. "And give them a chance to do all the shooting!" replied Alex. scornfully. "I'm not looking for a watery grave in the Mississippi." "Well," Case continued, "if you don't want to follow them up, just to see what they look like, perhaps we'd better drop down a short distance. If we can't fight them, we don't want to feel that they're right under our noses, waiting for a chance to get us into a hole! I'd rather face a hundred men in the open than know that one was skulking about me in the darkness!" "This is a fierce old stream for strangers to travel on in the dark!" Alex. said. "I know it, but----" Before the boy could finish the sentence a faint jar came, as if some person had caught hold of the anchor chain and given it a pull, or hung his weight on it. "There's our friend!" Case whispered. "Now, get ready with your gun!" In a second, while the boys listened, they heard a hard substance fall on the deck. Alex.'s light flashed around the gunwale, but there was no one in sight. In the middle of the deck, however, still dripping from the river, lay the leather bag which had held the diamonds, and which had held only burrs and broken crockery when last seen on board the _Rambler_! Alex. picked it up, found that it was still half full of some hard substances, and shut off the light. "You saw it?" he asked of Case, as he cuddled down by the boy's side. "Of course! The leather bag!" "What do you think of it?" demanded Alex. "I don't think!" admitted Case. "I've lost the power of thought!" "But what did they throw it back here for?" insisted Alex. "Why did who throw it back here?" chuckled Case. "Now, look here, Smarty," Alex. continued. "There are only four persons who could have taken that bag from the boat, the cashier and his two friends, and Chet." "Unless the dog ate it, or Teddy threw it overboard." "Oh, quit your foolishness! Now, which one of the four is out there in the river? Whoever it is has a sense of humor, for the tossing of the bag back shows that the situation is appreciated." "You notice the steamer came UP the river?" asked Case. "Yes; what of it?" demanded Alex. "I don't see anything in that." "Well, that shows that whoever threw the bag on deck came from down stream! It shows, too, that we have been watched every minute, for reasons which we don't know anything about!" "Yes, in order to keep track of us they might have taken the railroad down the river bank and then taken a steamer up, so as to meet us on the way down! I see something in it now. But who is it?" "It may be Chet!" suggested Case. "He may have returned the bag just to show us that he knows about the removal of the diamonds." "I just believe Chet is out there somewhere, and that he would come on board if he knew we wouldn't raise a row about the way he left us!" declared Alex. "I give it all up!" Case returned. "It's your watch now, and I'm going to bed! If there's anything good to eat thrown on deck out of the darkness, just wake me up, otherwise let me alone. I'll hunt up my dream book to-morrow and find what it says about leather bags dropping out of the sky!" Alex. sat alone in the dim night, watching the river and the dark bottom lands of the island for a long time before anything attracted his attention. Then a light, like that made by a camp-fire, sprang up on the Mississippi side of the river. He could see figures moving about in front of the blaze, but of course could not distinguish faces. Presently the low, weird chant of a plantation song came over the waters. It was evident that a gang of negroes, possibly railroad repair men, was passing the night in camp on the shore. As Alex. listened to the plaintive songs he heard a splash in the water at the side of the boat, and shot his light in that direction. A stick was floating away, and the boy concluded that it was that which had made the noise he had heard. He heard the negroes come to the bank of the river to gather driftwood for the fire, and heard their drawling voices saying something of the river going down fast, but could not catch the full import of their words. The companionship of the fire and the voices was something to the boy, and he sat until daylight began to show in perfect contentment. Then he went into the cabin to get a line, it being his idea to surprise the boys with a fish breakfast. He looked at the sleeping faces for a moment and started when he came to a rug in the corner where Mose usually slept! Captain Joe was there, his nose in his paws, but Mose was not there! Alex. searched the boat. The negro boy was gone! The amazed boy half pulled Clay out of his bunk and began the story of the night. "We're not yet out of the enchanted land," he said. "We are still seeing things! The leather bag comes back out of the sky, and Mose goes up in the air. I'm for getting down to the Gulf right soon." "Have you looked in the bag for any solution of the puzzle?" asked Clay. "There may be a note of some kind there: a note of explanation. See?" "Yes," declared Alex., pointing over the side, and not answering the question about the bag, "I see that we are stuck in the mud, and not likely to get out until another flood, a year, or perhaps two years, off." CHAPTER XVII GETTING OUT OF THE MUD Clay's face plainly expressed the dismay he felt as he bent over the gunwale and looked downward in the growing light of the morning. The _Rambler_ lay in a bed of soft, oozy mud, with harder ground between her and the "tow-head." "I presume," Alex. said, "that the people of this country will be glad to see that the river lowered in the night! So are we?" "We ought to have provided against this," Clay exclaimed, in self-reproach. "We might just as well have anchored a few yards farther down. What next, I wonder?" "The longer we wait before getting the motor boat into the water," Alex. said, "the harder work it will be, for the river is lowering every minute." Clay scratched his head and estimated the distance to deep water. "We'll have to put on our bathing suits and take to the mud," he decided. "By all taking hold, we may be able to get her out of this mess. Nice job it is, too!" "Sure!" Alex. grinned. "Mud baths are healthful! There's Mike Cogan, the Chicago politician, he goes to take mud baths twice a year! If we had him here now we wouldn't charge him a cent for his cure! I think he'd like it, too." "I'll wake Case and Jule, and we'll get right at it," Clay said. "I wish a lot of husky plantation hands would happen along in a shanty boat." "There was a group of them over on the Mississippi side last night," Alex. explained. "We might get them, if they are there yet. Say," he continued, with a grin, "I believe that is where the little coon went! He saw the camp-fire and heard the plantation songs, and couldn't remain away from his own people!" "In that case," Clay suggested, "the little rascal will be back soon." "Never can tell about boys of the Mose stripe," Alex. predicted. "He may follow the men off and never show up here again." Clay started for the cabin to arouse Case and Jule and then turned back to ask: "Did that pocket book--the bag, rather, that had the diamonds in, make its appearance before or after Mose disappeared?" "I don't know when Mose lit out," was the reply. "At one time I heard a splash in the river and looked to see what it was about, but Mose was not in sight then. There was only a large stick floating in the stream. Still, he might have gone at that time. If he did, he left long after the bag was thrown on deck. What about it?" "I was thinking that he might have followed off the person who threw the bag," Clay explained, "though I can't understand why he should have gone away so secretly. Did the dog make any remarks about the time the bag reached the deck?" "Nix on Captain Joe! He's getting too sleepy! He stirred only once in the night, and that was when the boat was coming up to us. He frightened the pirates away, when Case and I had planned to shoot 'em up!" "Then," concluded Clay, "when we reach the truth of it, we'll discover that it was Chet who was around here last night, and who threw the bag on deck. You know we have been thinking, all along, that he might have taken it." "That's what Jule insists on," Alex. returned, "while the rest of us think one of the visitors took it, and that Chet chased off the boat to get it back, not knowing that the diamonds had been taken out of it." "It seems clear now," Clay replied, "that Chet took it. In the first place, there is no good reason for supposing that the visitors would find the bag, or take it if they did find it; or take any trouble to return it after they had found its contents of no value. Chet got it, all right, and, disappointed and chagrined at the substitution we had made, he lost no time in throwing it back at us." "Chet was broke, wasn't he?" asked Alex., with a sly grin. "So far as I know, yes. Anyway, he didn't look like a millionaire when we took him on board and fixed him out with a suit of your clothes!" "Then how would he ride up the river in a steamer, or ride down the river to the next town to take the steamer, or hire a rowboat and pay the captain of the steamer for letting him off in his boat as soon as he saw the light of the _Rambler_?" "You smash all my solutions," laughed Clay. "Now, give me one of your own, so I can smash that," "I ain't no prophet!" grinned the red-headed boy, "but I'm gambling that when we get down to the bottom of matters we'll find Red, the Robber, in the mess!" "We have already found him in the mess," laughed Clay. "He knew, according to your story, that I had put something in the safety vaults! Besides, he seemed to own the steamer you were on, didn't he?" "He seemed to be the boss." "Suppose we quit guessing and get the _Rambler_ out of the mud," suggested Clay, then. Case and Jule were called out on deck, and the lads, clad only in their bathing suits, were soon wallowing in the soft mud, which was so deep that they could get no footing at all, and so could not lift on the boat. In fact, the more they tried to lift the boat, to slide it toward deep water, the deeper she seemed to sink. "We're up against a beautiful proposition!" Jule exclaimed, climbing back on deck and leaning over the gunwale. "If we jar the boat any more, we'll have to take a trip to China and pull it through from the other side!" Clay plowed out of the mud and made his way to the "tow-head" where he began examining the growth of willows. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, for he began cutting the long wands and called to the others to join him. "What's doing?" asked Case. "This ain't no island improvement corporation!" Alex. grinned. "I know what he's up to!" Jule shouted, and in a second he was off the deck, cutting willows and throwing them into a heap at the edge of the hard ground. "We've got to make mattresses of these willows," Jule declared, wiping the sweat from his face. "I read about that in a paper not long ago." "To sleep on?" asked Alex., with a wink at Case. "Silly!" roared Jule. "Get busy, both of you." When a great stack of the willow wands had been cut, Clay and Jule began roughly braiding them together. In this way two mattresses a foot in thickness and nearly twelve feet square were constructed before noon. During all this time the boys had seen nothing of Chet, of Mose, or of the negroes who had camped on the shore the previous night. They had also overlooked breakfast! The novelty of their employment had so engaged their attention that they felt no need of food until Teddy appeared on the deck sitting up like a man, begging for his breakfast! Then Alex. threw down the wands he was carrying to Clay, who was doing the weaving at that time, and sprang over to the boat with a chuckle of amusement. "You're all right, Teddy Bear!" he cried. "We don't know enough to eat when we're hungry, do we? We'll show 'em what it is to feed up right without delay." "What you going to get for dinner?" demanded Jule, putting a hand to his stomach to show how empty it was. "I want a whale fried whole!" "Get your whale, then," advised Alex. "Perhaps you think I can't!" laughed Jule. "Pass out my line and rod and I'll show you whether I'm a fisherman or not!" Alex. did as requested and Jule waded through the mud to where there was a bit of hard ground, next the island, with a little swirl of water close by. "Watch me now!" he cried. But the boys did not care to watch him. Case and Clay continued the work of braiding mattresses, and Alex. got out a gun and sat on deck watching for ducks, of which there were plenty in that vicinity. Presently a yell from Jule called the attention of the others to him. He was fighting a fish which seemed to the astonished boys to be not less than ten feet in length, and the fish was pulling him down stream. "Give me a hand!" the boy shouted. "He's pulling me in!" "Let go the line!" cried Alex. "And lose it!" answered Jule. "Not much! Give me a hand!" Case and Clay both rushed to the boy's assistance, and with great effort a monster fish was landed in the mud. Jule was jubilant. "The biggest catch of the trip!" he declared. "Who says I can't produce a whale when I feel the need of a whole one fried?" Case and Clay leaned back and screamed with amusement. Alex. looked on with a grin which was more provoking than the laughter of the others. "Have all the fun you can," roared Jule, "but don't get gay!" "Throw him back into the river!" Clay advised, poking at the catch. "That is just a big catfish, and no one eats them save the negroes! They're tougher than the tripe at Bill's restaurant, in Chicago!" "I guess you won't throw him away!" yelled Jule. "All right!" Clay answered. "Take him to bed with you, if you want to, but kindly see if you can't get a bass for our dinner. There are plenty of them in here." Reluctantly Jule started the catfish back toward his natural element, and the big fellow seemed to thank him with a parting wave of his tail as he took to the water. In a few moments he had a fine large bass, weighing six or eight pounds, and before long Alex. had a couple of ducks, so work was suspended while dinner was cooked and eaten. After the meal the work was continued until Case declared there were enough willow mattresses on hand to float a city. Then the mattresses were hauled alongside the _Rambler_ and a considerable part of the cargo of the boat was put out on them. Thus lightened, and having a strong footing, the lads had no difficulty in pushing the _Rambler_ out into deep water. "What shall we do with the mattresses now?" asked Clay, as the boat swung off the bottom. "We have spent too much time on them to throw them away!" "Tow them along," advised Case. "It won't cost us anything to tote them along, and we may have use for them. A man could build a tent on them, by fastening them together, and live there. I'm strong for taking them with us." This was finally agreed to, and the boys were about to start down the stream again when a shout from the Mississippi side of the river attracted their attention. "There's that little coon!" laughed Case. "See the rascal! He's going to swim to the boat, or going to try to!" "He never can do it," Clay declared. "We'll have to swing the _Rambler_ over that way and pick him up. He's making a swift run, though!" "Well," Alex. replied, "just you look behind him and see what he's running from." Half a dozen negroes and one white man were now seen running down the river bank in pursuit of Mose. They seemed to redouble their exertions when the _Rambler_ shot over toward the boy, but were obliged to halt when the boy was picked up and the boat went on down stream, towing the willow mattresses in her wake! Mose dropped down on deck, panting and rolling his eyes. "Ah'm scared white!" he chattered. "Fo' de Lawd, dat's de man what trun dis coon an' Captain Joe into the ribber up no'th! Ah's scared of him!" CHAPTER XVIII SWEPT INTO A SWAMP "Who threw you and Captain Joe into the river, up north?" demanded Jule. "Wake up and tell us what's the matter with you. What were those people chasing you for?" Mose only sat up on deck and rolled his eyes as the _Rambler_ increased the distance between the pursuers and himself. Seeing that he was now beyond their reach, he arose and leaned over the gunwale and made funny insulting faces at them. "What does he mean?" asked Jule, turning to Clay. "Who's chasing him?" "Don't you remember how Sam, the Robber, the fellow who, with Red, captured the _Rambler_ in the bayou, threw the boy and the dog out, and how they lay in the grounds at the old house until dusk and then came to your rescue?" asked Clay. "You must have a poor memory, I think." "I didn't know whether it was Red or Sam who threw him in," Jule explained. "So that's Sam over there with the negroes?" questioned Alex. "What did you do to them, Mose? Where did you go last night? What do you mean by forming an exploring expedition all by yourself and having all the fun?" "Ah went 'shore to hear de singin'," the boy replied, "an' dey cotch me stealin' de yaller leg chicken, an' say de's goin' to beat dis coon up plenty!" "You swam all that way to steal a chicken?" asked Jule. "Was it cooked?" "Yaller leg chicken!" insisted the boy. "Was it cooked?" persisted Jule. "Where did they get it?" "Dey say it done lef' de roos' an' follow dem into camp!" "Did you eat a whole one?" asked Case. "A whole yellow-legged chicken?" Mose grinned and showed the whites of his eyes. "Ah shore did!" he replied, and Jule declared that he would willingly have helped him do it if he had only known about it! "What were they talking about last night?" asked Clay, as the _Rambler_ turned a bend and lost sight of the negroes and Sam, still gesticulating fiercely, on the east shore. "They're sho' goin' to get you-all!" was the reply. "They goin' to steal dis boat, first thing you know. Ah'm scart ob dat white man!" The little fellow could tell very little of the talk he had heard while detained in the negro camp. He knew that Sam, the Robber, was there with the negroes, and that he was continually urging them to help him secure the _Rambler_, but that was all. Of their plans he knew nothing but this. During the afternoon the boys passed a great many steamers, going up the river, some with supplies for those who had been made homeless by the flood. Fortunately the levees had held, but the water had filled in back of them, in some instances and destroyed much property. The lagoons and swamps up river were still flooded, and in places farming land was still being washed away. All the way down, until night closed in, they saw gangs of negroes on the levees, fishing drift wood out of the water. In some instances small out-houses were brought out in good condition. One shanty boat the boys saw had the cupola of a house set up on the prow, and a farm bell in the top of it was ringing as the raft bobbed in the currents of the river. Now and then families were seen gathered on the levees, evidently waiting for a steamer to take them off. The boys kept up good speed until night and then tied up in a small cove on the lower side of an island, not far from the Mississippi side. "We have been going pretty fast," Clay observed, as the boat was worked in behind a point so as to be out of the wash of the steamers. "We haven't a thing to do until we get back to Chicago, and we can take all the time we want getting back. How is that for a peaceful life, Mose?" he added, turning to the little negro boy. Mose showed a mouthful of white teeth and a pair of chalk-white eyeballs. "It takes a corkscrew to get conversation out of Mose!" Jule observed. "I think I can make him talk," laughed Alex. "Mose," he went on, "I'll give you a plate of honey for supper if you'll tell me where Chet is and who threw the leather bag on deck last night?" "Some one fro' what?" asked the little fellow. "Some one threw this on the boat in the night," Alex. answered, handing the bag to the boy. "Did you hear any one around before you left?" The negro boy rolled his eyes for a minute then took the bag and held it under the nose of Captain Joe, who sniffed at it for a second and then walked back to the place in the cabin where Chet had slept. "De dawg sho' know who fro' dat bag!" he said, patting Captain Joe on the head. "That shows why the dog didn't make a row when the person who threw it got close enough to the boat to heave it on deck!" Jule laughed. "It takes a little coon to find out things about animals!" grinned Alex. "Here we've been studying over who tossed the bag, and Mose settles the question in a minute. That is sure some coon!" "There's an affinity between a boy and a dog, anyway!" Clay laughed. "I wonder if the kid is right?" Case questioned. The boys discussed the matter during supper, and, right or wrong, Mose was given his plate of honey, which he was obliged to divide with Teddy! The night passed away without incident, and early morning found the _Rambler_ on her way to the Gulf again. The day was not different from other days for a week. The boys passed plantations and villages, swamps and lagoons, which seemed to have escaped the force of the flood, but now and then came to a wrecked cabin toppling from a bank. They secured a supply of gasoline at a small place near the Arkansas line and at night found themselves in the heart of a desolate country. When they tied up they were at the mouth of a lagoon which seemed to lead into a great swamp. "It is a sure thing that no leather bags will be thrown on deck to-night," Clay observed, as supper was prepared. "We are even off the track of the steamers, for they seem to stick to the opposite side of the stream." "This would be a dandy spot for a band of river pirates to inhabit," Jule added. "Don't talk about pirates!" admonished Clay. "You'll have Mose turning white again. Some day he'll turn so white with fright that he will never turn black again, and he wouldn't like that, would you, Mose?" "Ah's 'tented wif mah color," answered the boy. "That's all right, as long as you are on the boat," Alex. put in, "but you jump into the lagoon and see how long you'll last. An alligator will leave a fat pig any time to make a dinner off a black boy!" "Quit scaring the boy!" exclaimed Case. "First thing you know, he will be afraid to swim ashore to steal a yellow-legged chicken roasted by tramps!" When darkness fell a soft wind came out of the west and a slow rain began falling. It was wild and uncanny outside, but bright and warm in the cabin. Alex. entertained his chums for a time with stories of the Mississippi, and explained how Grant had shortened the stream by cutting a new channel at Vicksburg, but all were tired, and by nine o'clock all were asleep save Jule, who was to stand guard that night, and Mose who was moving restlessly about. "Come on into the cabin, Mose," Jule finally ordered, "and go to bed, like a good coon! You'll get wet out on deck!" The boy entered the cabin and sat down near the stove, in which a small fire was burning. Jule regarded him attentively. "What's the matter with you to-night?" he finally asked. "Ah hear a roar!" was the reply. "That's the wind in the cypress trees," Jule explained. "Is it de win' makes de ribber come up?" asked Mose, in a moment. "Is the river rising?" asked Jule, going to the door and switching on the prow light. "It ought to be running down." By the light of the electric the boy saw that the river was indeed rising. Little knolls which were above water when the boat had been anchored were now under a swift current. The river was sweeping past the mouth of the lagoon with a new force. Presently trees and wreckage of different sorts were seen drifting down, and there came a rushing sound which added greatly to the weirdness of the scene. "This beats me!" Jule muttered. "The flood has been going down for nearly a week. There must have been heavy rains up to the north, and at the sources of the rivers emptying into the Mississippi. I wonder if it will do anything to us?" At that moment a timber crashed against the _Rambler_, jarring it considerably. Clay and the others were out of their bunks in a minute, and out on deck to see what had taken place. Alex. was the first one to grasp the situation. "We'll have to turn on the motors to hold this boat," he said. "The anchor lies in the mud, and will pull away at the first push of a current. First thing we know, we'll be down there in a cypress swamp!" "You're excited!" Case called out. "We passed the flood two days ago." "That's the trouble," Alex. explained. "We passed the flood! The crest of it is still to the north of us. It has undoubtedly been raining up river, and that has swelled the volume of water." "Do you mean that we got down the river in advance of the flood?" demanded Case. "We have been going a little faster than the current, haven't we, notwithstanding our tying up nights?" Alex. asked. "This little boat has been going some! To-night the crest of the flood overtakes us. See?" "It doesn't look reasonable!" Case insisted. "I don't believe it!" "The kid is right," Clay declared. "I have often read about boats meeting the flood the second time, once when they passed it, and once when it caught up with them." The roaring sound which Mose had referred to now grew louder, sounding like the rush of a long and heavily loaded freight train. While the lads listened, hardly knowing what to do to protect themselves, Mose pointed a shaking hand at a spot far down the lagoon. Clay looked and saw a great blaze on what seemed a wooded knoll to the west of the river. "There's a camp down there!" he said. "That makes it nice!" grinned Alex. "No honest men ever made camp in that hole at this season of the year! It is dollars to tripe that if we don't put on power the crest of the flood will wash us down, when the full strength comes, and beach us among a band of river pirates! If we don't get under way up stream we'll have do to something to make the anchor hold!" While the boys were discussing some way of accomplishing this, for they did not like the idea of breasting the flood, the crest of the flood came seething down the stream, a wall of water four feet high! It swept over the point of land between the river and the bayou and dashed against the _Rambler_. The anchor held for a minute, then the boys knew that they were in motion. The current seemed stronger there than in the river itself. "The water is cutting a new channel below," Clay shouted, as the _Rambler_ was swept away, "and we are headed for that swamp. Now, we are in a peck of trouble!" CHAPTER XIX PILGRIMS FROM OLD CHICAGO The "peck of trouble" referred to as their portion by Clay turned out to be a full bushel, and good measure at that, in a very short time. Although the boys turned on the power--a thing they should have done long before--as soon as the crest of water came in sight, the _Rambler_ was pitched down toward the swamp like a chip. If the boys had been able to direct her course, they might have held her in the current, and so kept out of the muck hole into which she was swept when the water cut around a bend, driving straight on the shore. But just as the craft was getting under control a mass of limbs and cane-brake tangled her propellers, and she went down with the flood, striking, as has been said, in a swamp where the head of the bayou had been, and into which the water still poured. It was pitch dark out on the river and in the swamp, but the lights of the _Rambler_ cast a circle of illumination about the spot where she lay, so that the black, bubbling water, with all the unclean reptiles it was forcing forth from their haunts, was in full view. It was carrying wreckage now, and this was piling up between the current and the boat, shutting off all chances of backing out, even if the current would have permitted it. It was indeed a desperate situation. The motor boat had come to a stop against two monster cypress trees, between which she had wedged her nose. Only for this she might have been carried farther into the swamp, the water being deep for some distance ahead. During the whirling passage down the bayou, while the boat was bumping against tree trunks and bounding off with a jar and a swish to go swinging around again, like a foolish dancer doing the time limit, Mose had clung tightly to one of Clay's legs. At the very beginning of that mad race he had caught sight of a couple of alligators, and was in deadly fear that they would climb on board and make a meal of him! When the boat finally lodged between the giant trees, the little negro boy bounded from the deck and, seizing hold of a mass of vines, clambered up the tree to the west like a young monkey! Believing that he would have to help the others up, he carried a rope with him! Finally, sitting astride of a limb, he called down what he considered very good advice to the boys on the boat. "Dey done get yo', sho'!" he warned. "Catch on de rope an' shin up!" Serious as the situation was, with the water trinkling in over the stern of the motor boat, the boys grinned at each other at the fright of the boy. "Come on down!" Alex. called. "If the boat should break away from the trees, you would be left alone in the swamp. Come on down and help get the boat out of this blessed swamp! You may get out with your rope and tow her if you want to!" he added, with a chuckle. "Fo' de Lawd!" cried Mose, shuddering at the idea of getting into water inhabited by monsters who would leave a fat pig to feast off a black boy! At least that was what one of the boys had said to him! Attracted by the strange lights, walking and creeping things now began gathering in the shadows at the rim of the circle of light. Once Clay caught sight of the soft, appealing eyes of a deer, and now and then the howls of a swamp cat came to their ears above the roaring of the flood. Great water snakes struck their heads above the surface and looked, red-eyed, and hostile, at the boys. Swamp creatures with soft fur and frightened eyes crouched on fallen trees and scanned the deck as a possible refuge. To make the scene more desolate still, if possible, two round-eyed owls answered each other's cries from a near-by cypress. "Say," Jule whispered to Clay, during a little lull in the rain, "there's a man by that tree. I've been watching him a long time. Look at him!" Clay followed the line of the pointing finger and laughed. "Why, that's a bear!" he shouted. "A swamp bear--one of the kind Teddy Roosevelt came down here to shoot when he was president! Let him alone and he'll let us alone. They fight like devils when wounded or molested." The boys all agreed to let the bear alone, but Captain Joe and Teddy seemed to have notions of hospitality. The dog barked invitingly, and Teddy did a stunt of bear talk which brought the wanderer one tree nearer to the boat. He was now in the circle of light, and could get no nearer without swimming. "He sees Teddy and wants to ask his advice!" Jule laughed. At that moment Mose, noting that the boys were gazing fixedly in one direction, turned his eyes that way and saw the bear. The shriek he let out might, it seemed, have been heard in New Orleans, if the wind had been blowing in that direction! "Ah's a gone coon!" he wailed, after that one yell. "Ah's a goin' whar de good niggers go! Good bear! Good bear!" he added coaxingly. The bear looked upon the scene for a moment longer with disapproving eyes and then turned away. For a moment he was seen walking on jammed logs, alternately wading through shallow places, and then he was lost in the darkness. "There!" Alex. called out to Mose, "you've frightened our bear off!" "Dat yo' bear?" asked Mose. "Den yo' keep yo' animile out our ya'd!" Although frequently invited to return to the boat, Mose insisted on keeping his place in the tree. Now and then he called out that a bear or a deer was about to board the _Rambler_, but for the most part he sat still, looking about for more things to be frightened at! The _Rambler_ was now securely fastened in between the two trees, standing on a level, or floating on a level, rather. There was considerable water under the deck, it having worked its way down through the joints about the hatches, and the boys proceeded to lift all available covers and bail it out. "How are we ever going to get out of here?" asked Jule, working away with a basin and a sponge. "These trees will hold us forever." "We'll have to cut them down, Silly!" answered Case. "Just as soon as the water goes down, we'll crawl out on one of the mattresses and fix the propellers." "Mattresses!" answered Jule. "They drifted away long ago." "Look ahead and see," remarked Case, and Jule did so. The willow and brake mattresses which had been towed down stream were loose from the motor boat, but they were in sight, having lodged against the mud bank farther in the swamp. They could be reached, the boys figured, by a little wading after the flood subsided, which it was certain to do before long. "You see," Case went on, "the trees will hold the boat up, like it was in a dry dock, and we can fix the propellers and the leak and then chop down the trees and get out. Perhaps we can follow this channel out to the river. If there wasn't an opening somewhere, the current here wouldn't be so fierce!" "There may be a channel," Clay agreed, "but if there is it must be full of standing trees and hidden snags. If we ever get out of here, we'd better run back to the main channel, and keep out of such holes in future!" "There wouldn't be any fun in river trips," laughed Alex., swinging an axe at the head of a water snake which was trying to get up on the deck, "if it wasn't for the adventure there is in it! I wouldn't have missed this for anything!" With the last word of this endorsement of the situation on his lips Alex. took a header over the gunwale of the boat into the water! A great trunk had bunted the _Rambler_ on the port side, and she had tipped so as to knock the boy off his feet and over the railing before he could make up his mind what was coming off! "Wow!" cried Clay, as the boy came, spluttering to the surface. "You wouldn't miss this for anything!" roared Case. "Bring a couple of snakes and an alligator out with you!" requested Jule. Mose, sitting on the limb, high up in the tree, called down to the boy that a water snake was trying to get into his pocket, and that an alligator was nosing about his leg. Disregarding all comment and advice, Alex. crawled back on deck and sat looking wrathfully into the flood. But his anger did not last long. "If that log hadn't come along," he said, "I should have forgotten my bath. When it comes daylight, I'm going to get up a race with that alligator, with the snake as referee! Mose can enter if he wants to!" Mose shivered at the thought. He was now climbing higher. When near the top he gave another yell and hustled down to a lower limb, where he sat with his hands clinging tightly to the trunk. "Fo' de Lawd's sake!" he shrieked. "What is it now?" asked Jule. "If you don't come down I'll shoot you!" Mose pointed to the rim of the light zone and cried that the river robbers had come to get the boat. The boys looked where he pointed and saw three young men standing in a submerged grove of cypress trees. All were armed and all were bearded and forbidding in appearance. As the boys looked one stepped forward. "Just a second," Clay called. "That is near enough!" CHAPTER XX THE DARKEY UP THE TREE While Case talked with the young man Clay went back into the cabin to talk with Alex., who was now changing into dry clothing. "Do you think the story that man is telling is all right?" he asked. "I think he is telling the truth about the river thieves," Alex. replied. "I was wondering if that wasn't just a bait to help them get on board." "It may be, but there are river robbers in this section. They told us that where we bought the gasoline. These may be the robbers, for all I know, but we ought to make sure of that before turning them down. They'll starve here, if they have lost their boat and provisions. Of course they can get wild game, but I don't see how they are going to cook it. We ought to give them a chance, anyway." Clay went back to the deck and listened to the conversation between Case and the visitor, who seemed a little annoyed at the doubting of his word. "Where did you live in Chicago?" he heard Case ask. "In furnished rooms on Elizabeth street, near Washington boulevard," was the reply. "Where did you work?" was the next question, impertinent and personal, but seemingly necessary at that time. "At a machine shop on Clinton street, not far from West Madison. "Then you are machinists?" "Yes, all of us. Business is dull in our line just now, and we thought we'd make a hit with ourselves by spending a winter in the south." "When did you leave Chicago?" "We left Chicago last September," answered the man, turning toward the rail. "We expect to get back sometime during the next century, if all Chicago boys are as hospitable as you are! Now, with your permission, I'll go back to my friends." "How do you know we are from Chicago?" asked Clay, stepping forward. The other laughed lightly and pointed to the boat's name on articles scattered about. "But, aside from that," he said, "we'd know you anywhere. The Chicago newspapers carried a lot of feature stuff about your boat and your trips." "All right, stranger," one of the three answered, in rather a pleasant tone of voice. "Just as you say!" "What do you want?" asked Alex., still shivering from his cold bath. "We want a ride out of this consarned swamp," was the reply. "How did you get in here?" asked Clay. "Get out the way you got in!" he added. "Our shanty boat is smashed to flinders and our grub is gone," complained the other. "It don't look as if we could walk out of here, does it?" "Was that your fire we saw?" asked Case, drawing closer to the gunwale. "We had a fire before the flood pounced down upon us," was the reply. "What shall we do?" asked Clay, facing the others. "If they are on the square we can't leave them here. They would starve!" "They may be pirates!" suggested Jule. "I don't believe it," Case declared. "They don't look the part. Besides, if they had designs on the boat, they could have picked us off in the darkness, and we'd never have known where the bullets came from. They're all right!" "One of you come aboard," Clay instructed, "and we'll see what you look like." In plain view of the boys the man who had done the talking handed his gun to a companion and struck out for the boat, walking on logs part of the way, wading part of the way, and swimming when he could do neither. In a moment he was on deck. "The three of us," he explained, "were out of work at Chicago. We had a little cash, and decided to come down here and spend the winter where we wouldn't have room-rent or restaurant bills to pay. We thought we could cut and market enough fish-poles out of the brake swamps to pay our way back in the spring." "That wasn't a bad idea!" Jule declared. "We were getting along all right," the other went on, "until the river thieves began troubling us. They stole our food, and at last began stealing our poles. We were getting ready to go out when the flood smashed our shanty boat into smithereens. Now we are up against it, unless you take us with you. And," he added, with a quick glance around, "you'd better take us on board, for the thieves are back there in the swamp, with their envious eyes fixed on this boat. They are mostly negroes, and escaped convicts." "You ought to know that we've got to be careful," Clay said, as the man was about to leave the boat. "We don't know anything about you, except what you have told us, but we're going to take a chance on you. Tell your friends to come on board." In five minutes the three were in the cabin, trying on some of Clay's clothes, for their own were not only wet but they oozed black muck. When they were dressed again they passed their revolvers over to Clay, with the statement that they wouldn't need them unless the river pirates took a hand in the game that night. "Have the ruffians been here long?" asked Clay. "About a month ago," was the reply, "a lot of negroes broke away from a convict camp off to the west somewhere. They came into this swamp and built a camp on a knoll, which must, by the way, be under water now. They are murderers, housebreakers and sneak thieves of the most desperate kind. We tried to make friends with them, but it was of no use. They think their camp is unknown, and so object to our getting out and telling where it is. I half believe they will try to keep you from getting out for the same reason." "If it is all the same to you boys," another of the visitors said, "we'd like something to eat. We were half starved when we came on board. I think I can catch a fish or shoot a duck, so our supper won't cost you anything only the bother of having us around. What do you say? Do we eat?" "I should say so!" cried Alex., sticking his head out of the cabin, "and when you are out after game get enough for me a little lunch. I haven't had anything to eat since dark!" "Is that rowboat at the side all right?" asked the visitor, pointing to the boat which had been found up the river. "If it is, I'll get a little ways from the motor boat, in the shadows, and see what I can do getting ducks." "The boat is all right," Alex. answered, "and I'll go with you. I'm beginning to feel the lack of adventure. I get awfully tired of this monotony sometimes!" They all laughed at the idea of there being any monotony in the situation, there in the swamp, with the river roaring around them and the watchful thieves in the thicket, and Alex. seemed quite annoyed at the thought that they regarded his remark as a joke. "Perhaps something will happen before you get back," Clay grinned. "The boat may smash," said Jule, cheerfully. "It has been banged about quite a lot since we got it. Or you may find some of the robbers. There's no knowing what streak of good luck you may get into!" "I'm not looking for any good luck of that kind!" the visitor said, as he drew the rowboat around and clambered into it. "I've had all the cheerful incidents of that character I care to have. When I get back to Chicago, I'm going to get a room next to the Desplaines street police station and go to bed at seven o'clock every night." "What's your name?" asked Alex., abruptly as he pushed off from the _Rambler_. "Gregg Holder," was the reply. "I'm just Gregg to all my friends, but I'm Bully Gregg on South Halstead street. The others are Eddie Butler and Hank Quinn." "That settles it!" grinned Alex. "I'm going back." "What for?" asked Gregg, in surprise. "Don't you want a duck or a fish?" "Sure I do," was the reply, "but I'm afraid! You're the man that fought Murphy to a draw? What? And Eddie Butler is the boy that bested Murray!" "You've got that right, kid," was the reply. "We've all been in the prize ring, but we're no slum toughs. If you think the bears and snakes and robbers are better company than we are," he added, "we'll get out of your boat!" "You're just the lads to give the pirates a good drubbing!" Alex. laughed, "and so we'll ask you to remain with us and learn something of the rules of polite society! Let me take one oar, unless you want to keep on going round in a circle!" "There's something pulling on the boat," Gregg said. "I can't keep it on a straight line. See if you can find out what has tangled us." Alex. turned on his searchlight and cast its rays on the water ahead. Then he dropped his light in the bottom of the boat and stuck his hands out straight. Gregg looked up as the light fell, then dropped the oars and stuck his hands out straight! "This is the adventure you wanted!" Gregg said, as half a dozen negroes showed on a hummock only a few feet away. "We're held up by the river thieves!" "What do you fellows want?" Alex. demanded, looking straight into the muzzle of a gun that seemed to have a bore as large as the Hudson river tunnel. "We want that boat, so we can get on board the motor contraption," said a voice. "That's no negro!" whispered Alex. "It is a white man blacked up!" "Right you are!" replied Gregg. "What are you boys talking about?" demanded the holder of the threatening gun. "We were telling each other how glad we were to meet you!" Alex. snarled. "You're a nervy kid, anyhow," said the other. "Push the boat up here, so we can get in. We were raised as pets, and don't want to get wet." There was nothing to do but obey instructions. They knew the desperate character of the men they were facing. If they followed orders and waited for an opportunity to turn the tables on their captors, they might get out of the mess with whole skins, but if they forced a fight there and then there would be little hope for them. When there were four of the pirates in the boat, crouching down under the gunwales, who made the fifth, the spokesman gave his orders. "Now you boys row back. When we get close up I'll show myself and put the whole party under cover. See? My men will also have their guns, and if you disobey instructions in the slightest particular, you'll be shot in the back." "That's where you like to shoot, I take it!" growled Gregg. "If I had one of you out on the bank I'd break him in two pieces and feed him to the snakes." "Cuss if you want to!" commented the robber. "We can settle all that after a time. Just now, get over to that boat, and call out that you've found another castaway in the swamp! We'll be on board before they can say a word." This looked like turning the _Rambler_ over to thieves, but there was no way in which the boys could reverse conditions just then, so they rowed toward the motor boat, calling out that they had found a sick man in the jungle. The robber prodded them with the muzzle of his gun when they did not give the right inflection to their voices. When the boat entered the circle of light the boys on board the _Rambler_ were all leaning over the gunwale, looking for the boys and the rescued individual. There were no weapons in sight, and Alex. feared that all the revolvers were stowed away in the cabin, and that the _Rambler_ would be taken without a shot being fired in her defense. When the boat touched the hull of the _Rambler_ the robber sprang to his feet, presenting two long guns as he did so. "I'll empty these guns into the crowd of you," he said, in a low, even voice, "if there is one move on deck. We are coming aboard, and the better you use us the better we shall use you. Just sit still, boys," he added, addressing his men, "until I get on deck." He was lithe and strong, and was on the deck in an instant, without opposition, his guns threatening the amazed boys and their visitors. Captain Joe gave forth a volley of ugly growls, and would have attacked the man, but Clay ordered him back. "Never mind the dog," he said. "He won't bite!" "If he does, he'll get a chance to bite lead!" the robber exclaimed. "Now, men," he went on, "climb up into the boat. Leave the rowers where they are." Four husky negroes, all with traces of whisky in their breath, began climbing over Alex. and Gregg to reach the motor boat. As they were steadying the rocking craft, they carried no weapons in their hands. Then something happened which was as much of a surprise to the boys as it was to the men who were trying to capture the _Rambler_! A rope with a wide noose at one end came whirling out of the sky and fell over the robber's head, resting for an instant in a neat coil on his shoulders! He clutched his weapons closer and looked up. Then the line tightened about his muscular neck until his feet left the deck and his face grew red with the blood of strangulation, then grew white. The revolvers clattered to the floor, and the man's figure toppled and fell as the rope slacked. When this strange thing happened, Alex. and Gregg were bending their heads down to permit the negroes to clamber over them. Still they saw the rope fall, saw the man gasp as it closed about his neck, and felt the negroes springing back in dismay. Then they arose with their heavy oars in their hands and struck slashing, crunching blows at the heads below them! One negro lifted an arm to shoot, but it fell with the bones of the shoulder crushed to pulp. One by one they dropped out of the boat, some with broken arms, some with broken heads. After they had all disappeared, either under the surface of the lagoon or into the darkness of the swamp, a shrill voice came from the tree where Mose had taken refuge from the snakes and the alligators: "Go on, white folks," it said, "Ah goin' hang dis immitation coon up on dis tree!" CHAPTER XXI DODGING A POLICE BOAT "You little coon!" Clay gasped. "Hurrah for Mose!" cried Alex. "If you'll come down here I'll hug you!" shouted Gregg. "How did you ever think of it?" Case called out. Mose, now the happiest little negro boy in the United States, sat astride of his limb and grinned until it seemed that the top of his head would drop off backward! In the meantime, the river pirate had remained unnoticed on the deck, the rope so deftly dropped by Mose still around his neck. Case finally bent over him. "Why!" he exclaimed, shrinking back. "The man is dead!" "Dead!" echoed Clay. "What killed him?" Then they all bent over the still figure for a closer examination. Just as Case had declared, the robber was dead. His neck had been broken by the rope when Mose had drawn him off his feet! Alex. looked up at the boy. "You must have a good pull in your arms!" he cried. "How did you manage to swing him up? You're a wonder, Mose!" Mose only grinned in reply, but Clay explained the matter by saying that the boy had thrown the rope over a limb higher up and used that as a pulley. "Still," he added, "it took a lot of muscle to jerk that heavy man off his feet. I didn't think the boy had it in him." Then came the question as to what disposition should be made of the body. There was no hard ground near at hand so that a decent grave could be prepared. There were marshy knolls, it is true, but any excavation made there would instantly fill with water. "Well," Gregg said, "the best we can do is to bury him in the water. I don't mean in the lagoon or in the river, but in a grave which will fill with water. There he will at least be out of the reach of reptiles and wild animals when the water subsides." "But how are we ever going to get out there and dig a grave?" asked Jule, who was not inclined to waste much effort on the body of a man who, in life, would have robbed, perhaps murdered, them! "With your permission," Gregg said, "we'll take the body out and bury it. I haven't much use for men of his type, but he's dead, and that settles all accounts!" "We may be able to get a couple of birds for supper while we are away," suggested Eddie Butler. "We have been so busy lately, that we haven't eaten, or provided anything to eat! I'm empty clear to my toes!" "And I'll catch a fish off the boat!" Jule volunteered. "I saw some big ones jumping up not long ago! They've been driven out of their nests by the flood." So Gregg and his friends went away in the rowboat to bury the outlaw and get a couple of ducks for supper, while Jule and Alex. angled over the stern of the boat for a fish. The first rush of the flood was past, but the water was still high. There was a strong current rushing past the stern of the _Rambler_, and this indicated that there must be a channel open to the main river not far below. The boys caught a great catfish and two awkward-looking buffalo-fish and turned them loose in the stream before they succeeded in getting anything they wanted for supper. Then they caught a dozen perch of good size and proceeded to clean them. By the time the fish were ready for the pan Gregg and his friends were back from their expedition with half a dozen fat ducks, already dressed. "We'll have some for breakfast, and some for dinner!" Eddie declared. "I feel now as if I'd never get enough to fill me up again!" Something long and twisting dropped on the man's shoulders and fell off to the deck. "Holy smoke!" he shouted. "Look at the snake!" A shout from up the tree told of the trick Mose had played on the man, and the rope was coiled away. In a short time Mose came sliding down the trunk. "He smells supper!" explained Clay. "I've a notion to set Captain Joe on him!" "Dat dog don't bite dis coon!" Mose replied. "Ah'm in lub wid dat dog!" Captain Joe and Teddy came forward and looked the three visitors over approvingly. "That bear would make a good meal!" Gregg declared, with a wink at Case. Mose's eyes stuck out for a minute, and then he tickled his own chin and gave out a sound like a goat. "B-a-a-a-a-a-a! B-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!" he bleated. "What's the matter with the coon?" asked Gregg, with a look of surprise. "He's telling us to get wise to the alfalfa!" Jule cut in. "Alex. don't know how to translate so white men can understand." "You'll both wash dishes for a month!" roared Clay, doubled over with laughter. "We make that a penalty for talking slang," he explained, turning to Gregg. "But I don't understand yet," the other went on. "What is the matter with the boy? Has he turned himself into a billy goat?" "He's suggesting that you mow the lawn!" Case explained. "He doesn't like the fire-escapes!" Clay roared and pointed to the beards worn by the three, and then they understood and joined in the laugh until the swamp echoed back the sounds. "You'll all have to wash dishes, I take it!" Gregg declared. "That's about the way it usually turns out, when one starts talking slang," Clay explained. "We're all so full of it that it just bubbles out." "It is fine that we have something to be jolly over," Gregg hastened to say, "for the prospects of getting out of here are not alluring." "Wouldn't be no fun if everything went right!" Alex. insisted. "We have the most sport when we're lost, or stolen, or strayed away. Now, you watch me cook these ducks." The boy got out a baking pan standing on three short legs. The bottom was double so as to prevent burning. Then he put two fat ducks inside, secured the cover, and removed what seemed to Gregg to be the whole top of the stove. The short legs of the pan rested on the red-hot coals in the firebox, while the cover was always within reach. As soon as the ducks, which had previously been hastily parboiled, began to simmer and send forth appetizing odors, the boy watched them every minute, turning and basting until they were a beautiful golden brown. In the meantime coffee had been made and the fish fried on the electric coil. "I presume you'll want hot biscuits for supper, too?" asked Clay. The visitors were too busy with the game to do more than shake their heads. "We usually have three kinds of meat, fish, baked potatoes, pancakes, light bread, pie, honey, and three or four vegetables on the side," Alex. explained, with a wink at Mose, who sat in a corner next to the deck with Joe and Teddy watching the meat disappearing from a "drumstick" he was busily engaged on. "An' possum pie!" the little negro boy added, licking his chops. "Sure! I forgot the possum pie!" Alex. declared. "Excuse me!" "Certainly!" laughed Gregg, "and we'll excuse you, too, for all future products of the imagination! The twenty course dinners at the La Salle haven't got anything on this little banquet! For my part, I don't care whether we ever get out of here, now, or not." "Some day," Alex. observed, "I'll show you how to cook a steak à la brigand! After you eat one of them you'll go hungry for a week before you'll touch anything else!" "You may lead me to one of them any time you see fit!" Eddie laughed. The river was still roaring and foaming about the _Rambler_, caught in the narrow space between the two cypress trees. Just where the boat lay the current turned away to the east, that is the current of the lagoon. The Mississippi was, of course, across the inundated spit of land which lay on the west shore of the river and on the east side of the bayou or lagoon. Just as the boys finished their somewhat delayed supper the lights of a steamer showed up the stream. It passed the mouth of the bayou and hugged the opposite shore of the Mississippi for a time, then headed for the west shore. "That's strange!" Case exclaimed. "She sees our lights, but what is she coming over to this side for?" The mystery became more of a mystery still when, reaching the west side, the steamer turned prow up stream and started to breast the flood, still carrying great masses of wreckage down stream. She made her way up to the mouth of the bayou and stopped, her propellers going just fast enough to keep from dropping back. "If I'm not mistaken," Gregg suggested, "that is a boat carrying officers on a hunt for the escaped convicts. Can't we get out of here before they reach us?" "Why should we run away from them?" asked Clay, suspiciously. "Because they will mistake us for convicts," replied Gregg. "An officer in a position to abuse his authority always does so. Many of the man-hunters along the river are little better than the men they hunt. Some of them are worse. This, of course, does not apply to the sheriffs and deputies of the counties touching the river, but to hired detectives and gunmen who come here to make a living hunting others." "You must be sore on the police," Alex. exploded. "I've got a lot of friends on the Chicago police force. They're good fellows, at that!" "All right!" Gregg assented. "There are a lot of good men there. But if you want to remain here and permit those ruffians to overrun your boat, insult you, and hold you prisoners until you can get to some town where identification is possible, you can do so. We can stand it if you can." "There may be some sense in what he says," Clay urged, "and if we could get out of the trap we are in and make the propellers go, I'd be willing to go on down the river and let the officers have the whole country to themselves." "Can't we follow this bayou current and get out on the river below them?" asked Jule. Clay said no; Gregg and his chums said yes. "The water has been cutting a channel for a long time," Gregg explained. "It needed only a slight push to send the remaining bank down. There are few obstructions in the new channel, as I figure it out, and I believe we would go through like a top once we got started. And we'd better hurry, if we are going to do anything, for, of course, they have seen your lights. They wouldn't have stopped here if they hadn't." "But the propellers!" urged Clay. "They're broken." In a moment one of the men had his clothes off to the undersuit and was diving down at the stern of the _Rambler_. He remained under the water so long that the boys began to fear that he had met with some accident, or been attacked by a snake or an alligator. He came up smiling, however. "Only clogged!" he cried. "You, Gregg and Eddie, get axes and chop the east tree down! The boat will then swing away from the other. You must make the cut down in the water, then we'll have to lift the prow over the stump." The plan suggested proved successful, and the _Rambler_, under power, and trailing the mattresses, was soon feeling her way down the new channel. Then excitement was observed on the steamer, and she was headed about for the main stream again. It looked like a race was on! CHAPTER XXII THE SHERIFF KNOWS A LOT It was still raining when the _Rambler_ headed into the Mississippi, and there was no glimmer of light in sight save that which came from the steamer, still puffing at the mouth of the bayou, and that which lighted the path of the motor boat. The wind had gone down, and the slow, soft rain dominated the night. It was evident from the very start that the steamer was no match for the _Rambler_ when it came to a question of speed. As well might a delivery truck attempt to compete in swiftness with a perfect touring car. Besides the power of speed, the _Rambler_ had another quality which enabled her to rapidly increase the distance between the two boats. The river was still covered with wreckage, and the motor boat was a good dodger! She responded quickly to her helm, avoiding the driftwood ahead easily, while the steamer was slower in picking her way. "Your boat is a peach!" Gregg exclaimed, enthusiastically, as the lights of the steamer dropped out of sight behind a bend in the river. "Nothing would please me better than a long trip in her." "Well," Clay replied, "why not? We are going to the Gulf, and are in no hurry to get there. We are shy sleeping bunks, but if you boys can put up with beds on the floor you are welcome to go along with us. I reckon you'll manage to supply your share of the provisions!" "The prospect is an attractive one," Gregg replied, "but I think we'd better stop at Vicksburg and find employment of some kind. Later, we may go on down the river in a houseboat of our own. That depends on how lucky we are in getting good jobs." "We shall be sorry to part with you," Case put in. "We have been together only a few hours, but a great deal has happened in that time! Only for your warning, the river thieves might have sneaked aboard the _Rambler_ and captured it. In that case, you know very well what would have become of us. We should have been murdered!" "I have no doubt that you would have taken care of yourselves," Eddie declared. "There's one thing I want to ask you," Clay went on, "and that is about the outlaw you buried back in the swamp. He was a white man, wasn't he?" "Yes; a white man blacked up like a negro." "Did you look him over carefully enough to be able to give me a description of him?" "Well, we washed him up a little when we saw that he was a Caucasian, and I got a fair impression of his face, which wasn't a prepossessing one, by any means." "Can you give me something of a notion of it in a few words?" asked Clay. "Some old acquaintance of yours?" asked the other, with a smile at Case. "He might have been. The fact is, I thought I recognized the voice of the spokesman." "There!" Alex. exclaimed. "I had that same notion. Mose," he added, turning to the negro boy, "was that the man who threw you and the dog into the water?" "Ah sure done thought so!" was the reply. "You think it was Sam, the Robber, the man who accompanied Red?" asked Jule. "I didn't know but it might be!" answered Clay, and Alex. at once insisted that it was the same man. Mose was ready to swear to the fellow's identity by this time! "Tell us how he looked after the black was washed off," requested Clay, after a short pause, during which the three men compared notes--mental notes--of their impressions of the man they had left in the lonely grave in the swamp. "We have decided on one word that expresses our thought of the man," Gregg finally replied. "You know that all human beings in some manner resemble some wild animal species. Some men are lions, some are monkeys, some are dogs, some are bears, some are foxes. Well, this man was a fox!" "I thought so," Clay exclaimed. "I thought the fellow's voice sounded like Sam's." "There are many men with fox-faces," Gregg warned. "This man may not have been the individual you refer to as Sam. If he is an enemy of yours, keep looking for him." With this bit of good advice the matter was dropped for the time. The steamer was no longer in sight, but the _Rambler_ was kept on her way to the Gulf. In the middle of the next forenoon they came to Delta, which is at the bottom of the Vicksburg cutoff, on the west bank of the river. Here, with many handshakes and expressions of regret at parting, the three men left the boat. "If we have any luck at all," Gregg said, as the _Rambler_ pushed out, "we'll meet you somewhere south of New Orleans. We've always wanted to see that swamp country." The boys moved slowly down the river after that. Again they were enjoying themselves, fishing, hunting and exploring the country on either side of the great stream. There were lowlands, swamps, winding bayous and forests in places. Again, there were plantations, with noble houses showing from the river. Whenever they halted at a plantation landing they were received most hospitably. The wreckage of the flood was running out of the stream, and the water was dropping down to normal. Occasionally they left the boat at night and built rousing camp-fires on high banks. At such times plantation hands often gathered about them with banjo and mandolin and violin and made the night musical. They heard no mention of the Rock Island warehouse robbery until they approached Baton Rouge. The night before they sighted that beautiful city they camped on a piece of high land on a small island. No sooner was their fire blazing high than a couple of rowboats skimmed across the river and drew up near the little camp. There were three men in one boat and two in the other, and the whole five hastened to greet the boys. They were evidently planters, for they were well dressed and gave the impression of being gentlemen. The man who seemed to be the leader looked keenly around the camp, peered into the cabin of the _Rambler_, and then approached Clay with outstretched hand. "I don't need to ask who you boys are," he laughed. "I am a regular reader of the Chicago newspapers. One of them, not long ago, printed your pictures, including those of the dog and the cub! If you'll desert this camp and come over to the house, I'll be glad to put you up for the night." "I hardly think we would sleep well under a roof," Clay laughed, "but we're all very thankful for your kindness. Besides, we'll have to remain here and watch the boat. We've had some trouble coming down, and are determined to be on our guard." "You won't find any river thieves around here," smiled the visitor. "I'm sheriff of this parish, and I've taken considerable trouble to clear the country of them. You say you've had trouble on the way down? Then this must be the party that gave the officers such a race up above Vicksburg?" "There was a steamer chased us--for a little while!" grinned Clay. "Yes, I understand," replied the sheriff. "The newspapers were full of the incident the next day, and you were held forth to the public as the boldest of river brigands! Why did you run away from the officers?" "We only suspected that they were officers," was the answer. "It wouldn't have taken long for you to have found out," smiled the officer. "It might have taken us a long time to get away from them," Clay answered. "You know how eager some officers are to make a capture. Well, we didn't want to be bothered with them, so we just took to our heels." "The officers were looking for a boy believed to be on your boat," the sheriff remarked. "They had information that he had been seen with you on two occasions." "He must refer to Chet Vinton," Case interrupted. "I don't know his name," the sheriff went on, "but he is the boy believed to have taken a hand in the Rock Island robbery." "That is the lad," Clay answered, with an amused smile. "We have had him on board the _Rambler_ on two occasions, and each time he has mysteriously disappeared." "Where did you see him last?" "At Memphis." "That was after you rented a deposit box at a bank?" "You seem to know all about it," grinned Clay. "Yes, he left soon after I rented the deposit box in the bank. By the way, do you know a giant of a man, red-headed and kind-hearted, who is a gentleman of leisure one moment and a river pirate the next?" Clay thought he saw suppressed excitement in the face of the sheriff as he asked the question, and waited expectantly for an answer. The officer hesitated before saying a word, then he pushed the direct question aside. "There are a good many men along the river who might answer to the description," he said, "but I can't call any names to mind just now. What about him?" "Why, I met him on the river," Clay answered, resolved to be just as secretive as the officer, "and I also met a man I took to be him at Memphis. I have a notion that I would like to meet him again some time. He's all right, that man!" "Tell me this," said the sheriff, then, "what did you boys discover in the old house on the bank of the lagoon? I understand that at least two of your party spent the day there. I'd like to know what they saw and heard in the house." 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 assist 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." Without deciding the point the boys tied up some distance above the city and prepared supper. The moon arose in a clear sky about eight o'clock and the boys did not turn on the electric lights after eating. They sat in the moonlight on the deck and watched Captain Joe, Teddy and Mose tumbling about. "If it wasn't so much trouble to dress," Case said, after a time, "I'd like to go to a theatre to-night, and have a swell supper afterwards." "You don't want much!" laughed Clay. "Why not go, then?" asked Alex. "I'm not too lazy to put on a decent suit." "Do you mean it?" demanded Case, rising from his chair. "If the others will stay and guard the boat I mean it," was the reply. "Go if you want to," Clay answered the inquiring look, "for Jule and Mose can help me keep off the pirates! Only don't remain away all night." "Ah done like to see dis town!" Mose suggested. "You'll have to wait until some other time, Mose," Clay replied. "You must stay on board and help repel boarders now!" The little negro grinned as if perfectly satisfied with the arrangement, and went on with his boxing match with Teddy. Case and Alex. dressed as rapidly as possible and were taken ashore, in the four-oared boat captured above Memphis, at the foot of a street not far from a trolley line running to the business center of the city. When Clay returned with the rowboat, Mose was on one of the willow mattresses which had been brought down the river. In a few minutes Clay called to him to come on board, but there was no reply. Mose was nowhere in sight. He had evidently started out to see the city on his own hook! "I reckon that is the last we'll ever see of him," Jule commented, as they gave up the search for the boy. "He'll get to shooting craps in the city and live there forever. Can't do anything with a kid like that." "It is hard work to knock any sense into the head of a boy brought up on the St. Louis levee," Clay admitted, "but I hope he'll return." "Perhaps he followed Case and Alex., and will return with them," Jule suggested. "That would be like him," Clay admitted. The boys were not sleepy and the moonlight was fine, so they sat on the deck until midnight, waiting for the others to return. They had not returned at one o'clock, and the watchers were becoming anxious when a call from the shore came to their ears. In a moment the call was repeated, shriller than before, and then there followed a splash in the river and a shot. The boys saw a figure swimming toward the _Rambler_ and got out their guns. "Doesn't look very formidable!" Clay observed, as the figure came nearer. "It looks like Mose! Now, what the mischief is the little coon up to, I'd like to know?" "It is Mose, all right," Jule assented, "and there's some one on shore shooting at him. He may have been up to some of his pranks on shore." Directly the shooting on the shore ceased, and then Mose came on faster, not being obliged to swim under water half the time. He crawled, chilly and dripping, on deck and rolled his eyes at Clay. "Dey done got um!" he exclaimed. "What about it?" demanded Jule. "Who's got them?" After much questioning it was learned that Mose had left the _Rambler_ in time to overtake Case and Alex., that he had followed them into the city, and had seen them talking with Chet Vinton, the mysterious boy who seemed to turn up in the oddest places and to disappear in the strangest manner. The boys had talked with Chet for a long time, the little negro said, and had not gone to the theatre at all. Instead, they had gone into a disreputable part of the city with the boy, and had there met two men believed by the negro to be thieves. At last, at a late hour, the boy declared, still with much hesitation, Case and Alex. had attempted to leave the little cottage where they were sitting and had been forcibly detained. Chet, Mose said, had been the first one to oppose their departure. Then he, Mose, had dashed away to warn those on the boat and had been followed by some of the men he had been watching. He described in glowing terms and very bad English how he had jumped fences and chased through moonlit backyards, and how he had been shot at at every step of the way! "I reckon you were shot at because some one mistook you for a thief." Mose looked reproachfully at Jule, and rolled his eyes wider than ever. "What are we going to do now?" questioned Clay. "I don't know how much of this story to believe." "One of us might leave the boat and go back with Mose," the other suggested. At mention of his going back to the place from which he had fled, Mose rushed into the cabin, lowered his bunk, and covered up, head and ears, in the bedclothes! Captain Joe tried to worry him out, but without success. "I believe the dog can find them," Clay remarked, presently. "I'm willing to go and try what he can do," Jule answered. "If we could get that foolish negro to come along!" Clay commented. Jule went back to the bunk and shook Mose by the shoulder. "Come on," he cried. "We're going to take Captain Joe out with us and find the boys. You'll have to go along and show the way!" "Fo' de Law'd's sake!" wailed the boy. "Let dis coon die in hes bed!" "Come on!" insisted Jule. "You've got to come." After many arguments and many promises of reward in the shape of yellow shoes and red shirts, the boy consented to go ashore again. Clay warned Jule to be watchful and cautious and saw him go away with Mose and Captain Joe with a feeling that a great deal depended on his good judgment. Jule and Mose were obliged to wait some time for a late car, and the walk to the quarter of the city toward which their steps were turned was a long one, so it was nearly three o'clock in the morning when they came to a dilapidated old shanty near the river front. Mose declared this was the place, and Captain Joe seemed to think so also, for he said quite positively, in his best dog-English, that there were people he knew in that old ruin, which was dark in every window and door. Now and then, as the boys and the dog stood in front of the house, loiterers of the night paused in their aimless wanderings and regarded them speculatively, possibly mistaking them for disreputables like themselves. For a long time there was no sign of life in the house, and then a soft footstep was heard at the front door and the boys heard a knob stealthily turned. Listen as they might, they heard nothing more for a long time, and then a figure dropped softly out of an open window and moved off toward the river, evidently failing to see the watchers crouched near at hand. "That's Chet!" Jule muttered, starting away, but Mose shook his head vigorously. CHAPTER XXIV SOMETHING DOING ALL THE TIME Jule was at a loss what course to pursue. The boy who had left the house might be Chet, in which case he felt that he ought to follow and induce him to return to the _Rambler_, if that were possible. The diamonds which had been placed in the deposit vault belonged to Chet. At least the boy had had them in his possession when he came aboard the boat, and in the absence of any other claim upon them they belonged to him. If they did not belong to him, then their owner ought to be found. If they did, he ought to have possession of them. Just how a boy had become possessed of a fortune in precious stones, Jule was not trying to figure out at that time. What was in his mind was the thought that the question of ownership ought to be settled at once. This question, he believed, could best be settled by the boy himself. He waived, for the time being, all consideration of the possible connection of the gems with the Rock Island robbery, all consideration of the possible connection of the boy with the man known to him as Red, the Robber. Chet himself could best decide the question of ownership, and Jule thought he ought to be taken back to the boat, by force if necessary. Just as the boy was on the point of pursuing the figure, now fast disappearing in the shadows along the levee, Mose pulled at his arm and pointed to Captain Joe. The dog, with short ears and tail rampant, was crouching close to the closed door of the house, uttering low growls as his paws moved toward the threshold. "Alex. in dar!" the little negro exclaimed. Then there came a heavy, stumbling footstep along the walk, and a burly man in the garb of a riverman paused at the door, overlooking the boys crouched at the angle of the house, but cursing the dog drunkenly. Captain Joe behaved remarkably well under the kicks delivered at him, and the newcomer took a key from his pocket and opened the door. Before he could enter the dog had disappeared in the darkness of the interior. "I reckon Alex. is in there, perhaps Case, too," Jule muttered. "Yo' sure cain't fool dat purp!" Mose whispered. The boys did not attempt to follow on into the house by the open doorway, but passed on to the window and entered there. All was still dark inside. They could hear the man who had just entered moving about, still striking at and cursing the dog. Directly another key was turned, and then all was confusion. Jule switched on his flashlight and the circle it cut in the darkness revealed the man standing in a doorway with a long-barreled revolver in one shaking hand. The casings of the doorway appeared to be of two-inch plank, and the door itself was crossed by iron bands. The man turned as the light flashed out and fired, the bullet going wide of the mark. Then a voice came from the interior of the room, a voice which brought joy to the hearts of boys outside. The voice of Alex. "Get him, Joe!" the voice cried. "Get him good!" The man wheeled and shot at the springing dog, but the bullet went off into the ragged ceiling instead of into Captain Joe's head, as intended. Directly the dog and the man were in a struggle on the floor, the only light Jule's electric. Alex. and Case came out of the room, leaping over the fighters, and seized Jule and Mose in enthusiastic embraces. "Wait!" Jule commanded. "Get the man on the floor first. The dog will take his life. Joe!" he added, "let go!" "Take him away!" shrieked the man. "He's chewed my arm off now!" Jule picked up the fallen man's revolver and held it to his head while Alex. forced the dog away. There was blood on Captain Joe's jaws, and the man on the floor was breathing heavily. "Shut the door and put down the window!" Alex. said, presently, "and put the light out! There's no more fight in this chap just now." "Here, I'll fix him," Case said. "I'll chuck him into this refrigerator and lock him up. See how well he likes his own medicine." "But he'll get right out!" advised Jule. "Oh, will he!" Alex. answered. "Then he'll do more than we could. I'll bet the walls of that hole are a foot thick! And the air? I'm choked to death." "We tried our best to get out and couldn't," Case added. "Suppose we see if he is badly hurt before we leave him?" Jule put in. An examination showed that the dog had seized the fellow by the shoulder and bitten through the flesh, making an ugly though not serious wound. "That won't hurt him!" Alex. declared. "His chums will come and get him in the morning, anyway. Chuck him in and lock the door and we'll climb out of this!" "Isn't the place watched?" asked Jule, peering out cautiously. "It would be if the outlaws weren't drunk," Alex. replied. "There's a copper over on the other side of the street. Probably he heard the shots. We'll duck out of a back window and make for the _Rambler_." The boys were watched furtively by the policemen in that section of the city as they made their way along the streets with the dog, but they were not molested. When they came to the residence district where there was little fear of their being followed, Jule turned to Alex. with a grin. "How did you like the play?" he asked? "You saw about as much of it as we did!" was the reply. "How did you come to get into such a scrape?" was the next question. "The outlaws followed us from the boat," was the answer. "Oh, yes they did," the boy insisted as Jule grinned. "They were waiting for the _Rambler_ to come down stream! They thought we had the diamonds and were going into the city to dispose of them. They swore they'd keep us in that hole, without food or drink, until we told them where the stones were! I wish I'd never heard of the diamonds!" "Who was the other boy?" asked Jule. "The other boy? Where? When? Oh, that was Chet! We'll settle with him!" "The lad who jumped out of an open window just before we got in and ducked away toward the river. Was that Chet?" "Blessed if I know!" Alex. answered. "It might have been." "I believe that really was Chet!" Jule declared. "It looked like him." "How did you get here?" asked Case. "You're a wonder! And Mose and Joe, too!" As the boys walked along the story of Mose's runaway expedition was told, and Alex. immediately grasped the little negro boy by the collar. "You're a little brick!" he exclaimed, "and I'm going to see that you have a 'possum for dinner to-morrow--or to-day, rather--if there is one to be found in the city." "It is a wonder," Case commented, "that the fellows didn't make an attack on the _Rambler_! After they searched us, they talked for a long time in whispers and then started away. I believe they did go to the boat--and Clay there alone!" "We ought to make better time," Jule observed. "Where do we get the trolley?" "Unless we get an owl car," Alex. replied, "we'll get none at all until the early run, and that will be after five o'clock. Guess we've got to walk it." Eager, yet almost dreading, to learn the exact state of affairs on the motor boat, the boys traveled fast, breaking into a run now and then, much to the wonder and amazement of the few negroes they encountered making their way to the business section. At last, just before daylight, they came in sight of the boat. A short distance up the bank a bright camp-fire was burning, and several figures could be seen moving around it. All was quiet on board the _Rambler_. No lights were in sight, either from the cabin or the prow. The boys waited a short time, wondering, and then Jule went to the levee and looked for the rowboat. It was not there. "They've got possession, I reckon," he said, when he came back. "Then all we've got to do is to take it away from them!" Alex. suggested. "But how?" asked Jule. "We can't go on board without their seeing us." "First," Alex. went on, "I'm going to make a sneak up to that fire and find out what those men are talking about. They may be all-right fellows, for all we know." The others waited breathlessly for the boy's return. When he came back he said: "They've been on board and ransacked the cabin. They found no one there! Now, what do you think has become of Clay?" he added. "It's a wonder they didn't run off with the boat," Case said. "Oh, they wouldn't do that," Alex. ventured. "They want to get us. I half believe the men are officers. What gets me is what they built that fire for?" "Probably thought we were fools enough to run up to it," hazarded Jule. "But where is Clay?" demanded Case. "We've got to find him. Do you know if they left any one on board the boat?" "I didn't hear anything said about that," was the reply, "but it is a cinch that they did. And I believe there's more than one on board, too." "Hard luck to lose the boat after getting so far on our journey!" Jule commented. "We don't lose the boat, if they are officers," Alex. hastened to say. "What they want is the crew! We'll fool 'em at that. I'm going to swim over and see what's doing on board. If everything is all right, I'll make a noise like an owl." "That's a nice long swim," Case objected. "I don't think you can make it." "Mose made it, didn't you, coon?" Alex. replied. "I'm the boy that poured the water into the Mississippi! Nice adventure this?" he continued. "I'm going to give the residents of the valley a chromo each for the manner in which we have been entertained by them! Here goes for the _Rambler_!" "You act like you meant to walk back to Chicago," Case suggested, as Alex. started away, turning away from the river in order to avoid the people at the fire. "Oh, I'm only going to walk up a little way and drift as I swim down." "Come up on the other side, then," Case cautioned. "Then you won't be seen." When Alex. started away on his perilous trip Mose disappeared, and Captain Joe was nowhere to be seen the next minute. Case searched and grumbled, but did not find them. "They've gone with Alex.," he suggested. "They always do. Well, let them go, they can swim better than I can! Wish I was along, also." "If they are officers, the men at the fire," Jule asked, "why don't we go right up to them and find out what's doing? They won't lock us up, will they?" "That is just about what they will do if they get us," was the slow reply. "We would get out of jail in time, but who wants to lie in a cell when there is so much fun to be had on the river? These fellows have been wired to head us off, probably by the sheriff we met up there. It may be that the diamonds Clay put in the deposit box have been identified as the ones stolen from Rock Island. I wish Chet would show up right now!" "Oh, well, if they want to coop us up," Jule agreed, "we'd better cut our luck until they find out who stole the diamonds--or, at any rate, find out that we didn't." The boy ceased speaking suddenly, for the motor boat was getting under way, heading down toward the business wharves! CHAPTER XXV COMMONPLACE, AFTER ALL "Can that be Alex. moving the _Rambler_?" asked Case, as the motors sputtered out their insistent clamor. "I don't believe he has had time to get on board yet." "Well, Captain Joe has, anyway!" Jule declared, as a sharp bark came from the craft, which now seemed to be turning around. "That's the Captain's voice, all right." Standing high on the levee, with the lights of the city growing below them, the lads watched the _Rambler_ for a moment and then started on a run up the stream toward a small landing that was not far from the camp-fire. "If Alex. wasn't on board," Case reasoned, "Captain Joe wouldn't be there. If Alex. is running the boat up to that landing, it is safe for us to go there." The _Rambler_ did tie up at the landing, and then the boys saw that the rowboat they had missed was tied to her stern. The willow mattresses were also still hanging on to the cords to which they had been tied. The men at the fire started up toward the landing as the boys reached it, but, much to the surprise of the lads, they did not attempt to go on board. In a moment Clay, Alex. and Mose showed their faces on deck. "Come aboard!" shouted Alex. "I've arranged a surprise party for you here." "What is Chet doing on there?" demanded Case. "I thought we left him with his new friends, the thieves, in that old house in the city." "This is no time for story-telling!" said another voice on board, and the man who had been known as Red, the Robber, came out of the cabin and sat down, calmly, on the gunwale. The boys on shore were, by this time, prepared for almost anything. When they reached the deck, Red waved a farewell to the men on the levee and the boat whirled down toward the Gulf of Mexico. "You see," Alex. grinned, "we don't know where we are going, but we are on our way." "I know!" Clay insisted, "we are going to complete our trip to the Gulf of Mexico. We've had all the mystery we need on this voyage, and the next one that starts anything in that line will be banished to one of the mattresses!" "All right," Alex. retorted. "We don't care about knowing what this all means! I reckon it is too commonplace to refer to again." He grinned at Red and Chet as he spoke, and they both laughed back at him. "We have with us to-night," Alex. went on, in a very good imitation of the after-dinner orator, "Red, the Robber! His specialty is taking boats away from boys and sneaking off down the river with them--until some one gets the drop on him! "We also have with us," he continued, "Chester Vinton, the waif who was rescued from a barren island in the Mississippi with a hundred thousand dollars' worth of diamonds in his possession! He will soon do his stunt of telling how he found them in a piece of pie at a Rock Island restaurant. "This wonderful Chet is also the last word in friendship. When he sees boys who have befriended him, it is his habit to turn them over to thieves, who lock them up--not in anger, but to protect them from other naughty boys!" Instead of showing anger at this blunt talk, Red and Chet sat down on the gunwale and laughed until the river echoed back their voices. Clay also seemed much amused. "What's the answer?" demanded Case, turning to Chet. "Now you boys just wait a short time," Red observed, "and you'll know all about it. I would tell you right now, only I see how hungry you all are. And, seeing that I have a monster beefsteak in the cabin, with ducks ready to roast, and eggs ready to fry, why, it seems like we ought to eat before we mix with any long yarns!" So Case and Alex. took to the cabin, and the odors of steak and coffee and roasting duck soon filled the boat. While the good things were cooking the _Rambler_ dropped down to a wharf where a tank wagon of gasoline awaited them, and there, also, loads of provisions of all kinds were put on board. And the strangest part of it all was that there was nothing to pay! Red appeared to have temporary charge of the boat, and the bills seemed to have all been paid in advance. They were headed down stream when breakfast was eaten. "We ought to reach the Gulf in three or four weeks, if we hurry!" Red observed, as he carved the ducks. "That is, if we hurry in the right way!" "I thought it would take until spring," Chet broke in. "I hoped so!" Alex. regarded the two with a whimsical smile on his freckled face. "How long will it be before you'll both disappear?" he asked. "Never again!" laughed Chet. "Say, boys, I did make a quick get-away a couple of times? What? I hated to go, but I just had to." "Yes, and you prevented Case and I making one at the house in the city," Alex. said. "It is all as simple as twice two," Red observed, sitting back from the table. "The robbery at Rock Island was planned and carried out by Sam, the outlaw who assisted me in the capture of the _Rambler_. I knew that at the time I was with him--at the time I let him go--or when you boys did, rather." "But why didn't you pinch him?" demanded Alex. "There's a reward." "Because I hadn't then discovered the goods which had been taken. He was going to take me to them, I being a possible purchaser!" "Well, of all the nerve!" Jule cut in. "Just think of that, now!" "Were they in that old house on the bayou?" asked Alex. "Some of them were. As soon as I got off your boat I wired back to have the place surrounded and searched. They found all the silks and furs there! You boys did a good job for me when you permitted yourselves to be trapped." "It was Captain Joe and Mose who did the good job when they got us out!" Jule said. "Did you find Sam again?" asked Case, in a moment. "He was a corker!" "You boys found him in the swamp," Red replied soberly, "and Mose executed the sentence of the law upon him--hanged him by the neck!" "So you are a detective?" asked Case. "Why didn't you say so?" "I am not," was the reply. "I am the owner of the warehouse that was robbed, and I set out to get the goods back, that is all." "But you asked us to take Chet on down the river when he had the diamonds in his clothes!" Alex. exclaimed. "What about that? It was a funny stunt." "Of course I didn't know that he had the diamonds," added Red, now to be known as Mr. George Redmond. "He told me about his having had them when I told him that Sam was dead, that was last night, in New Orleans. Then he told me that he had taken the diamonds from Sam because he wanted to restore them to me, but had promised Sam that he would never reveal his, Sam's, connection with the crime. Of course Sam never knew positively that the boy had stolen the diamonds, but he suspected." "And sent this riverman, Gid Brent, on board at Cairo to see if the boy was there?" "Yes, he did that. By that time I was satisfied that the boy had been in on the robbery--that he had been forced to enter the building by way of a window and open the door for the thieves to enter. "I knew that the boy would tell the whole story to me if I could get him away from the robbers, and not scare him half to death by putting him in jail. So I followed him along down the river. As the robbers were making their way down toward New Orleans, too, I was doing a pretty good job following him--and especially as the robbers were after him, too. They believed, all but Sam, he had taken the diamonds, you see. "They got him last night and searched him, but found nothing. Then they told him that if he would get Alex. and Case into their hands they would let him go. So Chet did that very thing, and now the two boys are witnesses that the robbers admitted to them that they were in on the robbery! "When they let Chet go he made for the _Rambler_ on a run, and found me on the way. All the people who were in the old house are under arrest. And the diamonds are up at Memphis in the deposit vault, and all is well." "How do you know that?" demanded Clay. "Why, we opened the box, the cashier and I," was the reply. "I knew they were there before I knew that Chet had ever had them. My one great difficulty was to get hold of the boy after he ran off at Memphis! Your boat was watched all the way down, you know, of course." Then Clay told of his talk with the sheriff, and they all laughed at the idea that they had not seen through it all long before. "If Chet had kept to boats I could have found him," Red went on, "but he rode on wreckage, and that made it difficult. I might have saved you boys and Chet some of this mystery talk if I had told you about it when I had Alex. in the cabin of my boat, after I knew where the diamonds were, but I thought I would let it work out for itself, especially as I was having the time of my life." "I suppose those three mechanics were detectives, too?" asked Case. "They were just what they represented themselves to be," was the reply, "and they got good positions at Vicksburg. They are expecting to meet you down the river, in a houseboat of their own. I saw them soon after they left you." "I don't wonder the robbers wanted to get hold of Chet," laughed Alex. "They must have been red-headed when they found that the diamonds had been stolen from them!" "Yes, they were," replied Chet, "but they didn't suspect me, at first. The man Brent, who came on board the _Rambler_ at Cairo, would have killed me had he found me there. I was afraid he would, so I took to the river." "And you took to the river again the night you threw the bag back on deck, too." "Yes, I got pretty cold, too. I knew where the bag was, in the cabin, all the time, and I thought the diamonds were in it. Believing it would be safe, I did not take it and run away, as I had threatened to do, but when the cashier and another came on the boat I did take it and skip. When I found that the diamonds were not there I threw the bag back just to let you know I was wise to the game," he added. "It is a commonplace story, after all, when you come to get it all told," said Mr. Redmond. "If it has spoiled your river trip I'm sorry for it!" "We wouldn't have had any fun only for that!" cried Alex. "Well," Clay cut in, "now we'll go down the river and have fun! We'll spend two months or more on the way to the Gulf, and then we'll put the motor boat on board a ship and sail her around to some point where we can get into the St. Lawrence river. The St. Lawrence comes next, you know." "Why not put her on a gondola car again and take her as near to the headwaters of the St. Lawrence as we can?" asked Case. "I'd rather float down than sail up, any day." "We will decide that when we get done here," Clay answered. Those were two golden months for the boys, and Mr. Redmond seemed to enjoy the outing fully as much as any of them. They fished and hunted and loafed in the numerous passages of the delta of the Mississippi, and built roaring fires on the knolls, when they found them, and lived the care-free lives boys enjoy so much. And then they were off for Chicago, and from there to the headwaters of the St. Lawrence. Their adventures on this noble river will be found in the next volume of this series; entitled: "The Six River Motor Boys on the St. Lawrence; or, the Lost Channel." THE END. 
32024	----	Proofreading Team at http://www.fadedpage.com THE MOTOR GIRLS ON THE COAST Or The Waif From the Sea BY MARGARET PENROSE The GOLDSMITH Publishing Co. Cleveland Ohio Made in U.S.A. Copyright, 1913, by Cupples & Leon Company CONTENTS Chapter Page I. A FLASH OF FIRE 1 II. THE STRANGE WOMAN 13 III. A STRANGE STORY 29 IV. ON THE ROAD 41 V. A FLOCK OF SHEEP 52 VI. JACK IS LOST 59 VII. WORRIES 68 VIII. THE GIRL 75 IX. QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 85 X. REUNITED 90 XI. THE GIRLS RETALIATE 97 XII. AT THE COVE 106 XIII. THE LIGHTHOUSE MAID 113 XIV. SETTLING DOWN 122 XV. LAUNCHING THE "PET" 130 XVI. SUSPICIONS STRENGTHENED 138 XVII. THE LIGHT KEEPER'S STORY 145 XVIII. BELLE SWIMS 154 XIX. GATHERING CLOUDS 158 XX. THE STORM 166 XXI. THE WRECK 172 XXII. THE RESCUE 179 XXIII. THE FLOATING SPARS 187 XXIV. SAFE ASHORE 194 XXV. A SURPRISE 199 XXVI. THE STORY OF NANCY FORD 206 XXVII. A BOLD ATTEMPT 216 XXVIII. A STRANGE MESSAGE 224 XXIX. AT THE SHARK'S TOOTH 231 XXX. HAPPY DAYS 237 THE MOTOR GIRLS ON THE COAST CHAPTER I A FLASH OF FIRE Filled was the room with boys and girls--yes, literally filled; for they moved about so from chair to chair, from divan to sofa, from one side of the apartment to the other, now and then changing corners after the manner of the old-fashioned game of "puss," that what they lacked in numbers they more than made up in activity. It was a veritable moving picture of healthful, happy young persons. And the talk----! Questions and answers flew back and forth like tennis balls in a set of doubles. Repartee mingled with delicate sarcasm, and new, and almost indefinable shades of meaning were given to old and trite expressions. "You can depend upon it, Sis!" drawled Jack Kimball as he stretched out his foot to see how far he could reach on the Persian rug without falling off his chair; "you can depend upon it that Belle will shy at the last moment. She's afraid of water, the plain, common or garden variety of water. And when it comes to ripples, to say nothing of waves, she----" "Cora, can't you make him behave?" demanded the plump Belle in question. "Belle's too--er--too--tired to get up and do it herself," scoffed Ed Foster. "May I oblige you, Belle, and tweak his nose for him?" "Come and try it!" challenged Jack. "Let Walter do it," advised Bess, who, the very opposite type of her sister Belle, tall and willowy--æsthetic in a word--walked to another divan over which she proceeded to "drape herself," as Cora expressed it. "Well, let's hear what Jack has to say," proposed Walter Pennington, bringing his head of crisp brown hair a little closer to the chestnut one of Bess. "He has made a statement, and it is now--will you permit me to say it--it is now strictly up to him to prove it. Say on, rash youth, and let us hear why it is that Belle will shy at the water." "It's a riddle, perhaps," suggested Eline Carleton, a visitor from Chicago. "I love to guess riddles! Say it again, Jack, do!" "Why is a raindrop----" began Norton Randolf, a newcomer in Chelton. "The answer is----" "That you can bring water to a horse, even if you can't make him stand still without hitching," interrupted Walter. "Go on, Jack!" "I don't see much use in going on, if you fellows--and I beg your collective pardons--the ladies also--are to interrupt me all the while." "That's so--let's play the game fair," suggested Eline. "Is it a riddle, Jack? Belle is afraid of the water because--let me see--because it can't spoil her complexion no matter whether it's salt or fresh--is that it?" and she glanced over at the slightly pouting Belle, whose rosy complexion was often the envy of less happily endowed girls. "I'm not afraid of the water!" declared Belle. "I don't see why he says so, anyhow. It--it isn't--kind." "Forgive me, Belle!" and Jack "slumped" from his chair to his knees before the offended one. "I do beg your pardon, but you know that ever since we proposed this auto trip to Sandy Point Cove you've hung back on some pretext or other. You've even tried to get us to consent to a land trip. But, in the language of the immortal Mr. Shakespeare, there is nothing doing. We are going to the coast." "Of course I'm coming, too," said Belle. "Stop it, Jack!" she commanded, drawing her plump hand away from his brown palm. "Behave yourself! Only," she went on, as the others ceased laughing, "only sometimes the ocean seems so--so----" "Oceany," supplied Walter. "Now Jack--and you other boys also," said Cora in firm tones, "really it isn't fair. Belle is nervous about water, just as the rest of us are about some other particular bugbear, but she is also reasonable, and she has even promised to learn to swim." Cora brushed from the mahogany centre table a few morsels of withered lilac petals, for, in spite of the most careful dusting and setting to rights of the room, those blooms had a persistent way of dropping off. "Belle swim!" cried Jack, rising to his feet, since his advances had been repulsed, "why she would have to be done up in a barrel of life preservers, and then she'd insist on being anchored to shore by a ship's cable. Belle swim!" "Indeed!" retorted his sister, "you'll soon find that the more nervous a girl is, the more persistent she is to learn to swim. She realizes the necessity of not losing her head in the water." "If she lost her head she wouldn't swim very far," put in Ed with gentle sarcasm. "Put him out!" ordered Walter. "But say, when are we going to get down to the horrible details, and make some definite plans? This sort of a tea party suits me all right--don't mistake me," he hastened to add, with a glance at Cora, "but if we are going, let's--go!" "That's what I say," came from Belle. "You won't find me holding back," and she crossed the room to look out of the parlor window across the Kimball lawn. "My! That's a stunning dress!" exclaimed Jack. "Fish-line color, isn't it?" "He's trying to make amends. Don't you believe him," echoed Walter. "Fish-line color!" mocked Cora. "Oh, Jack, you are hopeless! That's the newest shade of pearl." "Well, I almost hit it," defended Jack. "Pearls are related to fishes, and fish lines are----" "Oh, get a map!" groaned Ed. "Do you always have to make diagrams of your jokes that way, old man?" "Let's go outside," proposed Cora. "I'm sure it's getting stuffy in here----" "Well, I like that!" cried Belle. "After she asked us to come, she calls us stuffy! Cora Kimball!" "Oh, I didn't mean it that way at all," protested the young hostess. "But it is close and sultry. I shouldn't wonder but what we'd have a thunder-shower." "Don't say that!" pleaded Jack, in what Walter termed his theatrical voice. "A shower means water, and Belle and water----" "Stop it!" commanded the pestered one. "Do come out," and she linked her arm in that of Cora. "Maybe we can talk sense if we get in the open." The young people drifted from the room, out on the broad porch and thence down under the cedars that lined the path. It was late afternoon, and though the sky was clouding over, there shot through the masses now and then a shaft of sun that fell on the walk between the tree branches, bringing into relief the figures that "crunched" their way along the gravel, talking rapidly the while. "Looks like a rare old reunion," spoke Jack. "I guess we'll do something worth while after all." "Don't distress yourself too much, old man," warned Ed. "You might get a sun-stroke, you know." "That's the time you beat him to it," chuckled Walter. "Do they do this sort of thing out your way?" and he addressed pretty Eline. She blushed a charming pink under her coat of tan--a real biscuit brown, it had been voted by her admirers. She reminded them of a little red squirrel, for she had rather that same timid appearance, and she nearly always dressed in tan or brown, to match her complexion. "Sometimes," she murmured. "Chicago----" began Jack in rather judicial tones. "You let Chicago alone!" advised Walter. "I'm looking after Eline. I won't let them hurt you," and he moved closer to her. She seemed to shrink, whereat the others laughed. They walked about for a little while, strolling out to the Kimball garage--a rebuilt stable, where three fine machines now stood, two of them having brought the visitors. Then when they had acquired the necessary breath of air, they went back into the house. Eline matched herself up to a Chippendale chair, while Belle, always fond of plenty of room, found it on a divan. Bess had secured one of those Roman chairs curved up at both ends, seemingly intended to prevent anyone from sitting anywhere but in the exact center. She assumed a graceful pose--everything Bess did had that attribute. "My! it is certainly getting warmer!" complained Walter. "Maybe we should have stayed out." "We can talk better in here," was Cora's opinion. "We'll need all the breeze that we can get on high gear if this keeps up," said Ed, with a sigh. "Oh, but the dust!" exclaimed Bess. "I know I'll simply choke, and----" "Chew gum!" broke in Cora. "That absorbs the dust." "Couldn't we chew chocolates as well?" asked Belle. "I would rather swallow half the dust of the roads from here to Sandy Point Cove and have my throat macadamized, than chew gum." "We'll allow you to make yours chocolate," conceded Jack, "though chocolates do not allow space for----" "Gab," put in Norton Randolf, who seldom said anything really nice to the girls. Yet he always managed to interest them with his drawl and indifference. "We ought to get out something that would stop the talk when we get to a close turn," he proceeded. "I'm always afraid some one will release the emergency brake on a down grade, with a rude remark." "He's real bright!" chuckled Ed. "I don't think!" "Now, please, let's get down to business," suggested Cora, crisply. "The time passes so quickly, and we have a lot of matters to arrange. Bess, I put an extra wrench in your tool-box. I remembered your ability in losing those handy little articles." "Thanks," drawled Bess. "But why stop at a wrench? Why not duplicate all the fixings? What I don't lose Belle does. But then," and she turned mocking, pleading eyes on Jack, "your brother is such a dear for fixing us up. I guess the _Flyaway_ will be there at the finish." "Is it very far where you are going--to Sandy Point Cove?" asked Eline. "Oh, yes," answered Walter, "it's miles and miles, and then more miles. But we are all going, little girl, so don't worry," and he struck a stiffly-heroic attitude to show his valor. "It is a good thing you have a livery-stable-sized garage," remarked Ed to Cora. "It holds all the cars very nicely." "Yes, there isn't another in Chelton, except the public ones, so well arranged," added Walter. "But we might have waited until morning to bring the machines here." "No, I thought it was best to have them here the night before we were to start," explained Cora, who was to assume the leadership of the prospective trip. "Some of us might have been tempted to go out on a little spin this evening, and an accident might have occurred that would delay us." "Did the _Petrel_ get off safely?" inquired Ed. "Yes," replied Jack. "It's in a regular motor boat crate that the man said would stand the journey. I saw it put in the freight car myself, and well braced. It will be there waiting for us when we get to the Cove." "I hope it runs," murmured Walter. "Don't be a pessimist--or is it an optimist? I never can tell which from what," spoke Belle. "I mean don't be one who's always looking on the dark side. Look for the silver lining of the clouds." "Say, it's clouding up all right," declared Jack, as he glanced from the window. A distant rumble was heard at that moment. "That's thunder!" exclaimed Belle, "and we have no umbrellas." She glanced at her sister and Eline. "Better have it rain to-night than to-morrow, when we want to start," said Cora, philosophically. "Sit by me, Belle," pleaded Jack. "I won't let the bad thunder hurt you." "We'll all sit by each other!" proposed Walter. This was a signal for a general change of places, each boy pretending to protect a girl. "Now don't let's get off the track," went on Cora, when quiet had been restored. "Are you all sure that you want to go directly to the Cove, and don't care for a little side trip before reaching there? Of course it's going to be fine at the shore, and there's enough variety so that each one can find something she or he likes--rocks, ocean, sandy beach, a lighthouse----" "Where they do light housekeeping?" asked Ed, softly. "Please don't," Cora begged. "Any nice girls down there?" asked Jack, making eyes at Eline. They all started as a particularly loud clap of thunder followed a vivid flash of lightning, and the wind rose suddenly, moaning through the trees. "I don't believe it will amount to much," was Walter's opinion. "Probably only a wind storm." "But I guess I'd better put down the windows on the West side," remarked Cora. "I'll be back in a moment----" As she spoke there came a dash of rain against the side of the house, and another flash of lightning was followed by a vibrating peal. Cora screamed. "Oh, what is it?" demanded Bess, nervously. Jack clasped her hand. "Look!" cried Cora. "The garage--it's on fire. I just saw a flash of flame! Our autos will be burned!" "We've got to get 'em out!" declared Jack. "Come on, fellows!" He made a dash for the door. Ed leaped through the low, open window. Walter followed Jack. The girls stood uncertain what to do. "The lightning struck it!" gasped Eline. "We must help to get out the autos!" cried Cora. "We must help the boys to fight the fire!" "Telephone in an alarm!" suggested Bess. "The autos first! The cars first! We must get them out!" Cora cried as she hurried out of the door, the three other girls trailing after. "If we get the cars out the barn can go!" CHAPTER II THE STRANGE WOMAN Only for an instant had Cora Kimball hesitated. Usually she was even more prompt than her brother Jack to get into action, but the flash of fire she had seen in the garage, and the thought of the valuable cars stored there--cars in which they were to make their delightful summer trip--seemed to paralyze her for the time being. Then she was galvanized into life and action. "Cora, there comes your car out!" cried Bess, as the _Whirlwind_, the powerful Kimball auto, was seen to poke its hood from the now blazing barn. Ed had been the first to reach the structure, and, quickly switching on the self-starter, had run the machine out. "I guess they can get out the others!" said Belle, as Walter and Jack dashed inside. Cora suddenly turned and ran back toward the house. "Where are you going?" asked Eline. "Oh dear! The whole place will soon be afire!" "That's what I'm afraid of!" Cora called back, over her shoulder. "I'm going to get some extinguishers! Maybe the boys can't reach the one in the barn. It's our only chance--an extinguisher. Water is the worst thing you can put on a gasoline fire. Get some pails of sand, girls!" "That's right--sand!" yelled Ed, as he leaped from Cora's car, having taken it a safe distance down the drive. He went back on the run to help Jack and Ed. The rain was now pelting down, but unmindful of it, the girls drew nearer the burning barn, while Cora sped toward the house. "Sand--pails?" asked Belle. "Yes!" cried Bess. "There are some pails over there!" and she pointed toward a pile of gardening tools. "The watering can will be good, too. Scoop up the sand--use your hands!" She rushed over and picked up one of the pails, an example followed by her sister and Eline. "Oh, why don't those boys come out!" cried the latter. "Maybe they are--burned!" she faltered. "Perhaps they can't get our car started," said Bess. "Sometimes it just won't respond!" Quickly they filled the pails with sand, and while this is being done, and other preparations under way to fight the fire and save the autos I will take just a moment to tell my new readers something about the characters in this story, and how they figured in previous books of the series. The first volume, in which Cora Kimball and her chums were introduced, was entitled "The Motor Girls," and in that they succeeded in unraveling a mystery of the road, though it was not as easy as they at first thought it might be. Then came "The Motor Girls on a Tour; Or, Keeping a Strange Promise," and how strange that promise was, not even Cora realized at the time. But in spite of difficulties it was kept and a restoration was made. In the third book, "The Motor Girls at Lookout Beach," there came the quest for two runaways. That girls--even young girls--do things on impulse was made clear to Cora and her friends when they sought after the rather foolish creatures who ran such a risk. That only good came of it was as much due to Cora as to anyone else. "The Motor Girls Through New England" gave Cora and her companions a chance to see something of life under strange circumstances. That one of them would be captured by the gypsies never for a moment entered their heads. But it happened, and for a time it looked as though the results might be serious. But once again Cora triumphed. The volume immediately preceding the present one is entitled "The Motor Girls on Cedar Lake; Or, The Hermit of Fern Island." Who the hermit was, and the strange secret he kept so long, and how it was finally solved you will find set down in that book. Then came the return to normal life, but with the prospect of more adventures, on the verge of which we now find Cora and her friends. They were ready for the summer vacation, and had voted to spend it at Sandy Point Cove--a resort on the Atlantic coast. It was the evening before the start, and they had gathered at Cora's house to arrange final details. They were to motor to the cove, taking their time, for it was no small distance from Chelton where our friends lived. The motor boat _Petrel_ sometimes just called _Pet_ for short, had been shipped on ahead. I think I have already mentioned the names of the young folks. Cora generally came first, by reason of her personality. She was a splendid girl, tall and rather dark, and had somewhat of a commanding air, though she was not at all fond of her own way, and always willing to give in to others if it could be made plain that their way was best. Her mother was a wealthy widow, and there was Jack, Cora's brother, taller than she, darker perhaps and was he handsomer? Cora had, some time before, been given a fine large touring car, and Jack owned a small runabout. Walter Pennington was Jack's chum, both of them attending Exmouth College, where, of late, Ed Foster had taken a post-graduate course. Ed was very fond of hunting and fishing, and considered himself quite a sportsman. The Robinson twins were daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Perry Robinson, the father being a wealthy railroad man. He had given the girls a fine car--the _Flyaway_ it had been christened--while Jack called his the _Get There_. Sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn't. To go back to the girls. Belle, or Isabel, as she had been christened, was plump and rosy, and her sister Bess, tall, willowy and fair, her rather light hair contrasting with the brown locks of Belle. Eline Carleton, from Chicago, a distant cousin of Cora had been invited to spend the summer with the Kimballs, and was to go to the Cove. Norton Randolf was a newcomer in town, said to be of a wealthy family. He had only lately made the acquaintance of Jack and his chums, but was rather well liked. Chelton, as my previous readers know, was a most charming semi-country town, nestling in a bend of the Chelton River, a stream of picturesque beauty. The location was in New England, not so far from the New York line that the trip to the metropolis was a fatiguing one. The young people had often taken it on pleasure bent. And now, not to keep you any longer from the story, which I am afraid I interrupted at a rather critical point, I will merely remark, in passing, that other characters will be mentioned from time to time, some of whom have appeared in previous books. In the excitement attending the fire, Bess was puffing on her way to the garage, carrying a pail of wet sand that she had scooped up from the driveway. She was followed by the other girls. "Oh, see the smoke!" cried Eline. "That must be gasoline burning!" "It is," assented Belle. "Oh, do hurry--somebody!" Cora came running out of the house, carrying long tin extinguishers, one in each hand, and one under her right arm. She had just bought a new lot, and had intended hanging them in the garage, but had forgotten it. "These will be just the thing!" she cried. "Don't be frightened! There's not much gasoline in the barn. If we can get out the cars----" "Something must be the matter!" cried Bess. "The boys--they are in there yet--they may be overcome!" As if to deny this startling suggestion Jack fairly shot out of the smoke in the _Flyaway_--the car of the twins. "They have left their own car to the last!" gasped Belle. "They had to!" Cora panted. "They could only take them as they stood, you know. They were in line. Mine was first, then yours. Oh Jack! is it very bad?" "A mean little blaze, Sis! Did you 'phone in an alarm?" He wiped his streaming eyes, and, bringing the car up alongside the _Whirlwind_, leaped out to go back to his chums. "Here! Take these extinguishers!" his sister cried. "I'll get the department in a minute!" She tossed the tin tubes to Jack, who, catching them, ran back toward the barn. It was raining harder than ever now, but no one seemed to mind it. The girls were totally oblivious of their smart gowns, now badly bedraggled. "Take this sand!" wailed Belle. "I don't know what to do with it!" "Grab this sand from the girls!" yelled Jack to Ed, Walter and Norton, who, at that moment came out in Jack's car. "Throw it on the blazing gasoline! What kept you?" "Your car wouldn't crank!" cried Walter. "It's all right now, though--just scorched a little in the rear!" The three lads, Norton clinging to the run-board, got the car to safety, and then raced back, grabbed the sand from Belle, Bess and Eline, and followed Jack into the garage, which was now under a pall of smoke. The tin tops of the extinguishers were yanked off, and the chemical powder sprinkled toward the blaze. Sand was also cast on it, but the fire had spread more than the boys had thought. The choking fumes, too, drove the amateur blaze-fighters back. Again Cora came running from the house through the drenching rain. "I can't get the fire department on the wire!" she cried. "Something is wrong with the telephone!" "It's the storm, I guess," answered Jack, coming to the door of the old barn that had been converted into a garage. He had to have a breath of air. "Oh, can we help?" cried Eline. "Better stay out," gasped Ed, as he too, came for a little relief. "I guess we can keep it from spreading." By this time several men had run in from the street. "Where's your water?" asked one. "Don't want any!" cried Jack. "It's gasoline. Get more sand if you want to--dry, if you can find it!" He kicked one of the empty pails toward the men. A flash of lightning blazed over the structure, and the thunder rumbled as the rain came down harder than ever. "This rain'll put it out soon enough!" shouted one of the men helpers. The boys had gone back into the barn, leaving the girls outside. "I can get some sand in that!" cried Belle, as she saw a pan in front of the dog's kennel--it was used to contain his dinner. The girl began scooping up in it some of the damp gravel from the drive. "Don't! Don't!" cried her sister. "Drop it. You mustn't hold metal in a thunder storm." "Oh, I'm going in!" exclaimed Eline. "I can't bear to be in the open when it lightens." She darted toward the garage. Instinctively the others followed. There seemed to be less smoke coming out now, and no blaze could be seen. "I guess they can stop it," murmured Cora. "Oh, I do hope they can!" "Let's go in and help!" cried Bess. "They may need us!" Bravely the motor girls entered the garage. A shift in the wind had blown the smoke away from the door. They could see the boys and men fighting the flames that were in a far corner of the main room. Belle suddenly ran forward and dashed on the blaze the pan of sand that she had not relinquished. "Bravo!" cried Jack. "You're a heroess!" He held his hand to his smarting eyes. "Let me take that extinguisher!" begged Belle, plucking a half-emptied one from him. "Here's one for me!" exclaimed Bess, picking it up off the floor. It had not been opened. She knocked off the top and, doing as the others did, she sent the powder in a sweeping motion toward the flames. Some of the men ran out for more sand. The blaze was being well fought now. There was really no need for the fire department. Above the place where the autos were stored were rooms formerly occupied by the coachman and his family, before Mrs. Kimball disposed of her horses. The stairs to these rooms were boxed in, a door leading directly to the path that went to the driveway. "I can go up there and get another extinguisher!" cried Cora, indicating the stairway. "I know there's one there." "No need to!" exclaimed Ed, who again had to get a breath of fresh air. But Cora was already in the enclosed stairway. The next moment she shrieked: "Oh, what is it? Oh dear! Who is it? Come quick--someone!" Everyone was startled--even the danger of the now almost extinguished fire spreading again could not detract from the import of danger they recognized in Cora's voice. Some one seemed to answer her from the stairway. "Don't! Please don't! I did not do it! Let me go! Please do!" "What is it, Cora?" called Jack, preparing to go to her. His sister had found a woman in the hallway--a strange woman who seemed much excited. Her pleading tones as she confronted Cora touched the girl's heart. "Don't let them know I am here--not yet!" begged the stranger. "I can explain--everything. Oh, so much depends on this! Please do as I say!" "All right!" said Cora, making a sudden resolve. "I'll let you explain." "But keep the others back--they are coming!" "I'll send them back." Cora took a few steps toward the door. She could hear some one running across the garage floor. "It's all right!" cried Cora. "Go back and fight the fire, boys. I'll be there in a minute. I want to get that other extinguisher to make certain. But I thought a rat----" She knew that would be explanation enough for her cries, and from where they were the boys, girls, and men now in the garage could not see her or the strange woman. "A rat!" cried Jack, with a laugh, as he heard his sister's word. "The idea of being frightened at a rat in a time of fire!" "I guess the rodents will make short tracks," was Ed's opinion. "Come on, we've got to give it a little more, Jack!" The boys went back to the fire, Bess, Belle and Eline, who had taken shelter in the garage, watching them. It was pouring too hard to stand outside, and, now that the smoke had mostly disappeared, there was not much discomfort. The danger, too, was practically over, as a can of gasoline that had not burned had been set outside. There had been really more smoke than fire from the first. Cora went back to the strange woman. "You need not be afraid," spoke the girl, in a tone that gave encouragement. "We will not blame you too much--until we have heard your story. But of course I must know who you are." "Yes--yes," answered the woman. She sank down on the stairs. The place was free of smoke, and some distance from the blaze. Suddenly the stranger arose, and clutching Cora's arm in a grip that hurt, and that showed the nervous tension under which she was laboring, she whispered: "I know I can trust you--I can tell by your face. But the--others!" she gasped. "Leave it to me," answered Cora. "I may be able to think of a way to help you. Go over into the kitchen, and say Miss Cora sent you. It is so dark now the others will not see you. Hurry." With her brain in a whirl--wondering upon what strange mystery she had stumbled, Cora thrust the woman forth from the stable. Then, seeing that she advanced toward the house, the girl groped her way up the stairs to get the extinguisher. When she came down the fire was sufficiently conquered as not to need more attention. "Did a rat get you?" asked Jack. "Say, you do look pale, Sis," for the electric lights, with which the garage was illuminated, had been turned on. Truly Cora seemed white. "There are some big ones up there," she remarked evasively, wondering if the woman would really go to the house. With unsteady steps the stranger made her way to the kitchen, where two rather frightened maids were watching the progress made in fighting the fire. "Miss--Miss Cora told me to come here--and wait for her," faltered the woman. She made no effort to ascend the steps of the back porch. "Come right in," urged Nettie. "Or perhaps you would rather sit out here and watch. I'll get you a chair." "Yes, I would--thank you." She walked up and sat down. "I--I had rather be out in the air," she went on. Back in the garage the young people were seeing that no lingering spark remained. "It is all out," remarked Bess. "Oh, but we're so soiled and--and smoky." "Regular bacon," remarked Jack with a grin. He looked like a minstrel because of the grime. "Oh, wasn't it a narrow escape!" gasped Belle. "Could the lightning have struck?" "It didn't seem so," remarked Cora, not now so nervous. But she was still puzzled over the presence of that strange woman in the garage at the time of the fire. "It was gasoline--whatever else it was," declared Jack. "I can tell that by the smell. Maybe some of that we used in an open pan to clean my machine exploded," he went on to his chums. "Could it go off by spontaneous combustion?" asked Ed. "It's possible," admitted Walter. "Unless some one was smoking in here--some tramp." "Oh, no!" protested Cora quickly. The woman did not seem a tramp--certainly she did not smoke. "We must get the cars back in here," said Jack. "The rain is slackening now." This was so, for the shower, though severe, had not been of long duration. "We want them in shape for to-morrow," he went on. "Are we going after all this?" asked Belle. "Certainly!" exclaimed Cora. "This fire didn't amount to much." "I'm much obliged to you," spoke Jack to the passing workmen who had come in to help. Jack passed them some money. "We'll help you roll the cars in," suggested one. "Yes, it will be better to roll them by hand than take chances on starting them up, and making sparks," said Jack. "Come on, boys!" "Come on, girls!" echoed Cora. "We'll go to the house." While her brother, his chums and the men were putting the autos back in the garage the girls ran through the slackening rain to the rear porch. There Cora found the strange woman sitting, pathetically weary, in the chair Nettie had brought out. "Oh--some one is here!" gasped Belle, who had nearly stumbled over the figure in the darkness. Then one of the maids opened the kitchen door, and a flood of light came out on the porch. "Wait a minute, girls," said Cora, in a low voice. "I think I have a little surprise for you." She motioned to the strange woman. CHAPTER III A STRANGE STORY "Come inside," Cora said, while the others looked on in amazement. Who could this strange, elderly woman be? Where had she come from? And Cora appeared to know her. "One of Cora's charity-cronies," Ed whispered to Norton, who stood inquisitively near. "Come on. She knows how to take care of that sort." The boys after putting back the autos had come on to the house. Jack and Walter were evidently of Ed's opinion, for they also passed into the house with not more than a glance at the woman. Bess lingered near Cora. "We will go in here," Cora said kindly, as she opened from the kitchen a door that led into a room used for special occasions, when many dishes were served. "Then I can have a chance to talk with you. Perhaps you are hungry?" she added. The woman looked about her as if dazed. Cora saw that she had a face of rather uncommon type. Her deep-set gray eyes were faded to the very tint of her gray hair, and her cheeks, though sunken, outlined features that indicated refinement. Her clothes were very much worn, but comparatively clean and of good material. She wore no hat, nor other head covering. "Yes, I am hungry, I think," the woman said. "But I need not keep you from your friends. If you will just have a cup of tea sent in here to me." "Oh, they don't mind," Cora said, with a laugh. "My friends can be with me any time." The other girls had gone to get rid of the grime of the fire, as had the boys. "Very well," said the woman. "You are so kind." Cora scarcely heard this for she was out in the kitchen giving some orders. She soon returned to the little room, and took a chair opposite her guest. "How did you come to be in the barn?" she asked. "I went in--to rest," answered the woman wearily. "Of course," Cora said, as if that were an explanation. "But I won't ask you to talk any more until you have had your tea. There," as Nettie placed a tray of refreshment beside her, "let me give you your tea first, then you will feel more like talking." The tea was poured when Jack entered. He looked at Cora questioningly. "This woman was out in the storm," Cora truthfully explained without making a clear statement, "and I insisted that she come in." "Why, of course," assented the good-natured brother. "But say, Cora," and he changed the subject tactfully. "Wasn't it a good thing mother was not at home? She would have been scared to death." "Oh, I know we always have to get mother off first," she replied. "When we are arranging a trip I count on--happenings." "This is your brother?" asked the woman, who seemed to have revived under the influence of that cup of tea. "Yes," Cora replied. "Have some of the ham. And some bread." A particularly sharp flash of lightning blazed through the room. The storm was not over yet. The three girls from the parlor threw the door of the pantry open, and stood there with very white faces. Even Belle, the rosy one, had gone pale again. "Oh, do come in here," wailed Belle. "I am so frightened!" "With all the others near you?" Cora asked, smiling. Then, seeing the actual terror of her friends she did stand up to comply. "I suppose it was the fire," apologized Eline. "We are especially nervous to-night." "Yes, do go," begged the woman, "and when I have finished, I will show my gratitude by telling you all a very strange story. One forgets fear, sometimes, when a matter of deeper interest is brought up." "Very well," assented Cora. "I will be back in a few minutes, and then we will all be primed for the wonderful story." "What is it?" whispered Jack in the passage-way, as the girls entered the library. "Hush!" Cora cautioned. "I found her--in the barn." "The barn! Before the fire?" he gasped. "Did she----?" "After it was--going," Cora managed to say. Then she put her finger to her lips. The young folks, at least the girls, insisted upon huddling in the very darkest corner of the room. "Don't go near the phonograph," cautioned Eline. "Musical sounds are very dangerous during a storm, I've heard." Then the absurdity of "musical sounds" from a silent phonograph occurred to her, and she laughed as quickly as did the others. "Well it's metal at any rate," she amended, "and that is just as bad." "Who's your friend, Cora?" Ed asked, in an off-hand way. "Oh, she is going to tell us a wonderful story," put in Bess before Cora could reply. "Wait until she has finished her tea." "She looks like a deserted wife," Belle ventured softly, in her usual strain of romance. "What's the indication?" asked Walter somewhat facetiously. "Now, do I look anything like a deserted lover?" Cora got up and went out into the pantry again. She found the woman standing, waiting for her. "I do not know if I was wise or foolish to have made that promise," she said. "But as I have made it I will stand by it. I feel also that to talk will do me good. And, after all, what have I to fear more than I have already suffered?" "We have no idea of insisting on your confidence," Cora assured her. "But, of course, I would like to know why you went in _our_ garage." "And I fully intend to tell you," replied the woman. "Are you all young folks?" "Just now, we are alone," answered Cora. "We are going away to-morrow, and were finishing our arrangements when the barn caught fire." "I scarcely look fit to enter your--other room," the woman demurred, with a glance at her worn clothing. "But I assure you I have been no place where there has been illness, or anything of that sort." "You are all right," insisted Cora. "Come along. I am sure the girls are more frightened than ever now, for the storm is more furious." The thunder and lightning seemed to be having "a second spasm," as Jack put it. A hush fell upon the little party as the strange woman entered. Even the careless one, Norton, looked serious. Somehow the presence of a gray-haired, lonely woman, in that unusually merry crowd, seemed almost a painful contrast. "Sit here," said Cora, pulling a chair out in a convenient position. "And won't you take off your cape?" "No, thank you," replied the stranger. "I must talk while I feel like it, or I might disappoint you." This was said with a smile, and the young folks noted that though the woman showed agitation, her eyes were now bright, and her voice firm. "Very well," Cora acceded. Then the woman told her strange story. "Some time ago I was employed in an office. I had charge of the cataloging of confidential papers. I had been with the firm only a short time, when one day," she paused abruptly, "one day I was very busy. "A big piece of business had just been transacted, and there was a lot of ready cash in the office. It was my duty to see that the record of all finished business was entered in the books, and I was intent upon that task." Again she paused, and in the interval there came a flame of lightning followed by a roar of thunder. "My, what a storm!" gasped the woman. "I'm glad I am not out in it." The remark seemed pathetic, and served to distract the most nervous of the girls from a fear that they otherwise would have felt. "We are glad you are with us," Belle ventured, as Cora hastened out into the kitchen, to make sure that all was right there. The maids had been startled. Nettie was assuring a new girl that thunder storms were never disastrous in Chelton, but the latter had suddenly become prayerful, and would not answer the simplest questions. Assuring herself that Nettie could take care of the girl and two newly hired men, who had assembled in the kitchen, Cora went back to the library. "Well, that day," continued the woman, "marked my life-doom. As I worked over my books, and counted the money, I saw two men standing in the door. A young girl clerk--Nancy Ford--was nearest to them. As she saw them she screamed, and darted past them out--out somewhere in this big world, and I have never been able to find her since." The woman put up both hands to cover her pallid face, and sighed heavily. No one spoke. Eline had shifted her chair, unconsciously, very near the stranger, and sat with rapt attention waiting for the continuation of the story. "Then," went on the woman, "when Nancy Ford was gone I saw the men come toward me! I screamed, put my hand upon the cash I was counting--and then--they hit me!" "Oh!" gasped Cora, involuntarily. "They robbed you!" "Yes, they robbed me!" repeated the woman. "Not only of my employer's money, but of my reputation, for the story I told afterward was not believed!" "How dreadful!" exclaimed Bess, clasping her hands. The boys, less demonstrative, did not interrupt with a single syllable. But they were impressed, nevertheless. "Yes, I was discharged! I was shocked into a nervous collapse, and ever since I have been searching for Nancy Ford. Why did she run before any harm was done? Why did she flee at the sight of the men, who showed no indication of being robbers? Why did Nancy Ford not return to clear my name? I went to the hospital and was there for months. Oh, such terrible months! I was threatened with brain fever, from that mental searching for Nancy, but she never returned!" Belle was stirred to sympathy by the recital, and, while no one saw her, brushed by the woman's chair and slid into the gaping pocket of her cape her own little silver purse. "My name is Margaret Raymond--Mrs. Raymond. I am a widow," went on the woman finally, "and I am not ashamed or afraid now to have the world know who I am. I loved Nancy: she was almost like a daughter to me, and I would have trusted her with anything. But now--she has deserted me! And no one else can ever clear my name!" "No one else?" Cora repeated. "Some of the firm members believed my story, but it was vague and one could scarcely blame them for doubting it," said Mrs. Raymond. "Didn't it look bad for the girl?" Jack asked. "She ran away?" "Yes, it did, but a girl somehow has a better chance than an old woman," said Mrs. Raymond sadly, though she was not so very old. "They thought she was scared into flight, and afraid to come back. Oh, when sympathy is on one's side it is easy to make excuses! I was on my way to look for work when the storm overtook me. I went in your garage. My hat blew away." "We will do anything we can to assist you," Cora declared. "Your story seems true, and we have the advantage of some leisure time." "And a good heart, besides brains," the woman said emphatically. "My child, you have a great chance in life. May no misfortunes rob you of it." The storm had moderated somewhat. The strain of the strange story made a deep impression upon the listeners, and the young men, quick to realize this effect upon their girl friends, now proposed that they all go outside and see "what the weather looked like." Anxious to know the prospects for the long auto tour they were to take on the following morning, all now hurried to the side porch, leaving the woman alone. "My, isn't it beautiful!" exclaimed Eline. "How sweet everything smells!" "And that little breeze," said Ed, "will soon dry up the mud. I am glad it did not rain longer." "If it did," added Walter, "we would have to load up with planks to bridge over the bad places. Can't depend on rail fences over where we're going." For some time they stood admiring the newly-made beauties of the wonderful out-doors, then Cora thought perhaps she might arrange for Mrs. Raymond to stay in the servants' quarters over night. They had left the woman rather abruptly, she feared. Cora asked Jack what he thought, and he agreed that the woman's story sounded plausible, and that it was their duty to do what they could to assist her, if they could. But he did not seem very keen. With the intention of asking Mrs. Raymond to remain, Cora left the others and went back to the library. No one was in the room! "Perhaps she went into the kitchen," Cora thought, opening the door through the hallway to that room. "Where's Mrs. Raymond; the strange woman?" she asked Nettie. "She did not come out here," replied the maid. "Isn't she with you?" "No, we left her in the library," Cora replied, and without further inquiry she looked down the driveway and could just see a vanishing shadow turn into the road. But it may not have been Mrs. Raymond. "I guess she's gone," continued Cora to Nettie. "And I am sorry, for we wanted to keep her for the night. Well, I hope the poor creature was cheered up some. She seemed to need encouragement. We did all we could, perhaps." "Is she gone?" asked Bess, when they all had come in again, having satisfied themselves that fine weather was promised for the morning. "I hoped she would tell us more about the Ford girl--give us a description of her, at least. We might run across her somewhere." "It all seemed rather weird," said Cora. "But really we must be on the lookout. Who knows but we may help unravel the mystery?" "But why did the woman hurry off so?" asked Belle, as if any one present knew. "Suppose she thought we might think she caused the fire," Ed answered. "It looked strange for her to be in the barn at that time. But anyone could see that it was a small explosion--too much gas somewhere." "Well, all we know about Nancy is her name," observed Cora. "We will have to trust to motor girls' luck for the rest. But I love a mystery." "Of course," Eline declared, "if we could have the wonderful luck to find that girl we might be able to clear the poor woman's name. It looked to me as if the girl was in league with the robbers when she ran before they entered the room." "No use speculating," Cora commented. "Better finish our arrangements. It's getting late." CHAPTER IV ON THE ROAD There was more "finishing" to be done than even Cora had thought, and, with her usual habit of looking after matters, she had counted on much. But the thunder-shower, the fire, the finding of the strange woman, and listening to her still more strange story all combined to make the affair of getting ready for the trip in the morning no easy one. But Cora was determined to carry out the plans as agreed on, so when her friends showed a disposition to delay, and dwell in conversation on the recent happenings, she "brought them up with a round turn," as Jack expressed it. "I just can't get over that queer woman," observed Belle, during a lull in the talk, while Cora was jotting down in a pretty red leather notebook some matters she did not want to forget. "She had such--such a patient face." "Maybe she was tired of waiting for a new one," suggested Norton, who was usually flippant. "I've heard that ladies can get new faces at these--er--beauty parlors." "It's a pity there isn't some sort of a parlor where one can get--manners!" murmured Eline. She seemed to have taken a distinct dislike to the new young man. Belle and Bess, who had overheard the remark, looked rather askance at Cora's relative, but said nothing. "Now then!" exclaimed the young hostess, "since you have all gotten rid of as much of the effects of the fire as possible, we'll go over the main points to be sure nothing will go wrong. Oh, that's something I almost forgot. I must send mamma our address." Mrs. Kimball had gone to Europe for a summer tour, leaving her daughter and son at home. When they went to the Cove the house would be in charge of a care-taker. Cora had not fully determined on her vacation plans when her mother went away, and now there was necessity for forwarding the address. "I'll attend to that the last thing to-night," Cora went on. "I'll send mother a long letter, and write again as soon as we get settled at the Cove." "If we ever _do_ get settled," murmured Walter. "Say, boys, am I any less--hammy?" and he sniffed at his coat about which still lingered the smell of gasoline. "You're of the ham--saltiest--or hammiest!" declared Ed. "You may break, you may burn the garage if you will The taste of the gasoline stays with it still." It was Walter who mis-quoted this couplet. "Oh, boys, please do be quiet!" begged Cora. "We will never get anything done if you don't!" "It strikes me we got considerable done a short time ago, when we put that fire out," remarked Jack. Cora looked sharply at him. "I'll be good, Sis--don't shoot--I'm coming down," he exclaimed, and he "slumped" at Eline's feet and made a fruitless endeavor to hold her slim, pretty hand. "Stop!" she commanded with a blush. "That's my privilege!" called Ed, as he made a quick move, but the visitor from the Windy City escaped by getting behind Bess, who was in the Roman chair. "If you don't----" began Cora determinedly, and then she changed her tone. "Please----" she pleaded. "After that--nothing but silence!" came from Walter. "Go easy, boys!" Silence did reign--or, considering the shower, might one not say "rain" for a moment? Cora resumed. "We are to start as early in the morning as possible," she said. "I figured--or rather Jack and Ed did--that the trip to Sandy Point Cove would take about three days--perhaps four if--if anything happened like tire trouble. But we are in no hurry, and we can spend five days on the road if we like. "My cousin, Mrs. Fordam, will go along with us as a chaperone, so that stopping at hotels will be perfectly--proper." "I thought it was always proper to stop at a hotel--when you had the price!" ventured Jack. "You don't understand," declared his sister, giving him a look. "So Cousin Mary will be on the trip with us. I guess you all know her, except Eline and Norton. She's jolly and funny." "Why can't she go right on to the Cove with us, and chaperone there, too?" Belle wanted to know. "Because Mamma's aunt--Mrs. Susan Chester--is to look after us there. You'll like Aunt Susan, I'm sure." "Are we to call her that?" Ed asked. "Of course--she won't mind," spoke Cora. "Well, as I said, we'll go to the Cove--taking whatever time we please. There are two bungalows there, you know, and we girls are to have the larger one, so----" "Well, I like that!" cried Jack, sitting up. "As if we fellows could dress in a band-box." "Oh, your place is plenty big enough--you know it is!" retorted his sister. "And you know when you and I went down to look at them you said you liked the smaller one best, anyhow." "Did I?" inquired Jack, slightly bewildered. "You certainly did!" "Now will you be good?" laughed Walter. "We girls need more room anyhow," was the opinion of Bess, calmly given. "Nothing more to say," declared Ed, sententiously. "I know how many dresses each of you is going to take now. Slay on, Macbeth!" and he closed his eyes resignedly. "Everything will be ready for us at the bungalows," went on Cora. "Aunt Susan has promised to see to that." "How about--er--grub--not to put too fine a point upon it?" asked Jack. "The refreshments will be there," Cora answered, pointedly. "Oh my! Listen to that!" mocked Ed. "We'll have to put on our glad rags for dinner every night, fellows--notice that--I said dinner! Ahem!" "Please be quiet!" begged Cora. "Now we're at the bungalows," and she consulted her list. "Come out for a swim" cried Walter, imitating a seal, and barking like one. "I mean in imagination," added Cora. "There, I think that is all. Our trunks and suit cases are nearly packed, Cousin Mary will be here later to-night, ready to start in the morning with us. Our route is all mapped out, and I guess we can count on a good time." "Are the bungalows near the beach?" asked Eline. "Almost on it," answered Cora. "At high tide and with the wind on shore the spray comes on the porches!" "Oh dear!" exclaimed Belle, apprehensively. "I know----" "You're going to learn to swim, you promised!" cried Cora. "Can anyone think of anything else?" They all could, and promptly proceeded to do so, a perfect babel of talk ensuing. Some forgotten points were jotted down and then, as it was getting late, the young people dispersed, promising to meet early in the morning. It had stopped raining when they went out, so there was no need to hunt up umbrellas. "Cora," said Jack, a bit solemnly, as he was helping her lock up for the night, "was there anything about that strange woman that you didn't tell us?" "Not a thing, Jack, except that I discovered her in the stairway that time I screamed, and I let you think it was a rat. Then I told her to hurry in the house without being seen. I saw she was in no condition to talk then. That was all." "Good for you, Sis. You managed it all right. But I would like to get at the bottom of her trouble." "So would I. Perhaps we may--later. Good-night," and they separated. The next day was all that could be wished for. The sun shone with revived and determined energy, as it always seems to after a rain, when it "has been deprived of its proper set the night before," to quote Jack. The roads had dried up nicely, and everything pointed to a most delightful trip. An investigation by Jack in the daytime proved that the fire had done very little damage to the barn. A close inspection seemed to indicate that spontaneous combustion of some gasoline carelessly left in an open can had caused it. Jack's car was not enough scorched to be more than barely noticeable from the rear. Cousin Mary had arrived on time, and helped Cora get ready. Jack ran the three cars out of the stable before his friends arrived, and had them ready for the passengers. Gasoline and oil tanks had been filled the day before, and the motors gone over to insure as perfect service as possible. Tires had also been looked after. Jack and Ed were to go together in the former's _Get There_, Cora, in her big maroon _Whirlwind_ would have Eline as her passenger, the tonneau being taken up with luggage. Norton Randolf, who owned a small, but powerful car, had invited Walter to go with him, Norton being included in the invitation to go "bungaloafing by the sea," as Jack characterized it. He was really good company after one had become used to some of his mannerisms. The Robinson twins, of course, would use their own car. The girls, including Cora, were no longer amateur motorists, but could drive their machines with a skill equal to that of the boys. Norton arrived soon after Walter and Ed, coming up in his car, which was kept in a public garage. "Where is your cousin going to ride, Cora?" asked Belle, as they hurried the final preparations. "I don't see how you can get her in your machine, with those trunks and things in the tonneau." "That's so!" exclaimed Cora, with a tragic gesture. "I knew I had forgotten something. I had down on my notes 'Cousin Mary--where?' and I took it to mean where would I put her to sleep. I see now it was where should I put her to ride." "Let her come with us!" exclaimed Bess. "You can take one of our suit cases in your car, and that will leave plenty of room for your cousin." "I guess that's all we can do now," said Cora. "Oh, dear, I thought I had fixed everything!" "Don't fuss, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Fordam. "It will be all right. Your car is so big that I'm really afraid of it." So it was arranged, and when a few other forgotten matters had been settled, Cora gave the last instructions to the care-taker of the Kimball home, and blew a blast on her auto horn as a signal to start. "At last we are off!" sighed Eline, as she sat beside Cora. "It seems as if time moves slowest of all at the end." "It really does," agreed Cora. "I'm glad we are able to start. When I saw that blaze in the garage--Oh, my dear, you've no idea how my heart sank. It almost stopped beating." "I can imagine so. What a pretty suit you have," and she glanced admiringly at Cora's smart motoring costume. It was a light biscuit shade, of a material that would stand wear, and not show the stains of travel. "Your own is fully as pretty--perhaps a little too nice," returned Cora. Eline had made rather elaborate preparations for her Eastern trip, as regarded dress. But she was within good taste, for she ran much to harmonizing shades--perhaps too much so. "Are we going at this snail's pace all day?" cried Jack to his sister. "Can't you move faster?" "We want the good people of Chelton to have a chance to admire us," called Belle. "Shall we pass her?" asked Norton of Walter. "My car can easily get ahead of the _Whirlwind_." "Don't do it," Walter advised. "I don't believe Cora would like it. And really, she arranged this affair, so she ought to make the pace." "All right," assented the new lad, and he had the good sense to see the wisdom of the advice. They passed the Robinson home, the twins waving and being waved at, and then the four autos turned out on the main road that led into a glorious country--a country doubly glorious this morning because of the rain of the night before. They were really on the road at last, and as Cora glanced down it, her gloved hands firm on the steering wheel, she could not help wondering if it was this road that the strange and perhaps misunderstood woman had taken when she fled so silently from the Kimball house. Also Cora wondered if she would ever meet her again. The chances were against it and yet---- "Really so many strange things have happened to us on some of our auto trips," she explained to Eline as they talked it over, "that I would not be surprised if we did see her again--and perhaps----" "Even that Nancy Ford!" supplied Eline. "Oh, that would be too much to expect, my dear!" said Cora, with a laugh. "We turn here!" she added, "just hold out your hand, Eline." "Hold out my hand?" Eline asked, wonderingly, as she stretched it straight out in front of her. "What for?" "No, I mean out at the side of the car," explained Cora. "It is a sign to whoever is coming behind that you are going to turn. It prevents accidents." "Oh, I see," and this time the Chicago girl did it properly. CHAPTER V A FLOCK OF SHEEP "What a delightful road!" "Isn't it splendid!" "Too perfect!" It was Cora who made the first remark, Eline who answered and the Robinson twins who chorused the third. The highway was so wide, and there was so little traffic thus early in the morning, that the two cars could run side by side. On high gear with the gas throttled down they made scarcely any noise, so that conversation was possible. "I don't know what I have done to enjoy such pleasure," said Mrs. Fordam. "Are you really enjoying it, Cousin Mary?" inquired Cora. "Indeed I am, my dear! I wouldn't have missed it for a good deal. I never knew before how delightful it was to be chaperone to such nice girls." "I'm sorry I can't stop steering long enough to pass you a chocolate candy!" exclaimed Bess. "Belle, you will have to do it for me. Such compliments!" "No, I really mean it," declared Mrs. Fordam, earnestly. "Wait until the boys begin to cut up," warned Cora. "Oh, I know Jack of old," returned the chaperone. "He can't do anything very bad." "They seem to be hatching up some sort of a plot back there," remarked Eline, as she looked to the rear where Jack's gaudy red and yellow car was careening alongside the _Beetle_--that owned by Norton. It had been so christened because of its low, rakish appearance, and the fact that it was painted a dead black. It was not a pretty car, but it had speed, as Norton often boasted. "Oh, I've no doubt they will do something," conceded Belle. "But we can do things too!" They ran on for some distance, this stretch of the road being particularly fine. They were under a perfect arch of maple trees, which, being planted on either side of the road, mingled their branches over the centre, affording a delightful shade. It was needed, too, in a measure, for the sun, creeping higher and higher in the blue sky, was sending down beams of heat, as well as light. There was gentle wind, which was accentuated by the motion of the machines. "Is it hard to learn to drive a car?" asked Eline, as Bess and Belle combined in telling Mrs. Fordam something of the excitement of the previous night, she not having arrived until it was over. "It is, my dear, at first," Cora explained. "Then it all seems to come to you at once. Why you'd never believe it, but first I used to imagine I was going to hit everything on the road. I gave objects such a wide berth that everyone laughed at me. But I did not want to take chances. Now watch!" She speeded up a little, and turning to one side seemed to be headed straight for a tree. "Oh!" screamed Eline, and Bess and Belle echoed the cry. "There!" cried Cora, as she skillfully passed it, far enough off for safety, as even the most careful motorist would admit, but near enough to make an amateur nervous. "You see what it is to have confidence," she added to Eline. "Yes," was the somewhat doubtful comment. "Cora, dear, I wouldn't take those risks if I were you," rebuked her Cousin Mary, gently. "Oh, it wasn't a risk at all! I had perfect control. I just wanted to show Eline what practice will do. I am going to teach her to drive." "I'll never learn!" was the nervous protest. The road narrowed about a mile farther on, but before the cars lengthened out into single file again, Belle asked: "Where are we to lunch, Cora?" "I planned on stopping at Mooreville. There is a nice, home-like restaurant there. We'll be in Churchton soon, and we can stop there and 'phone in to have a meal ready for a party of nine." "That would be a good idea." Churchton was soon reached, and Jack found he had a puncture. While he stopped to put a new inner tube into service Cora got the restaurant on the wire and made arrangements. "Now will you please be good?" Jack begged of his car, when the tire had been pumped up again. "This is a bad beginning for you, old _Get There_." "If it makes good you can tack on another title when we're in Chelton again," suggested Ed. "What?" "Call it _Get There and Back_." "I believe I will!" laughed Jack. "Sorry to delay you," he said to the others, for they waited for him after Cora had finished telephoning. "It's all right," spoke Walter, good-naturedly. "We have plenty of time." Once more they were under way. The road was now not so good, and in places positively bad. But they knew they would soon be on better ground, and on a fine highway leading into Mooreville. Later they were on a narrow thoroughfare, so narrow, and with such deep ditches on either side, that it would take no small skill to pass another vehicle in certain places. Then, as Cora made a turn, the road ahead being hidden by a thick growth of trees, she saw straggling along the highway a big flock of sheep, tended by a man and two beautiful collie dogs. The fleecy animals straggled and spread out over the whole road. "Oh dear!" Cora cried, as she slowed down. "Isn't this provoking! We can't get past them." "Why not?" asked Eline. "Because they are so--so straggly. They take up the whole road, and if I tried to pass I'd be sure to run over one of them. Oh! what a shame! "We've got to take it slowly!" she called back to the twins, who were just behind her. "I can't take a chance of threading my way through all these animals." "This is tough luck!" complained Jack, as he saw what the trouble was. The herder looked up stolidly, puffing on a short pipe, and called to one of the dogs, who leaped off to drive back into the flock a sheep that showed a propensity to lag behind. "Can't you try to pass them?" asked Eline. "I'm sure you could do it." "I'd rather not," answered Cora. "Don't you dare!" cautioned Bess, who heard what was said. "But we'll be late for lunch--and it has been ordered," wailed Belle. "And I'm so hungry!" Cora resolved on an appeal. "Do you think you could drive your sheep to one side, and keep them there until we passed?" she asked the man. "It will take us only a minute to shoot by." "It would be a risky undertaking miss," the herder answered respectfully enough. "Sheep is queer critters. You think you've got 'em just where you want 'em, when, all to once they break out, and if one goes the others follow." "Yes, I know!" Cora was genuinely distressed. "But we simply must get past!" she exclaimed. "Can't you think of a way?" She looked ahead at the sheep. There were a hundred or more--quite a flock. The herder took off his cap and scratched his head reflectively--looking the while meditatively at his pipe. "It might be done--it might," he murmured. Cora brought her car to a stop. "Oh!" cried Bess and Belle together, and Bess, who was driving, jammed on the foot and emergency brake quicker than she ever had in her life before. As it was her fender struck the rear tires of Cora's car. "Oh dear!" wailed Eline, clutching at Cora, while Belle, recovering from her momentary fright, had the presence of mind to raise her arm in the air as a signal for the boys to come to a halt. "Cora Kimball!" cried Bess. "What did you stop so suddenly for, and not signal us? We might have broken your car!" "I'm sorry. But I just thought of something, so didn't think of signalling. Any damage done?" "No, but there might have been." "All right then. Will you please come here?" she called to the man. "I want to speak to you--that is, if the sheep will be all right." "Yes, miss, the dogs will look after 'em," and, calling a command to the intelligent collies, he advanced toward Cora's car. CHAPTER VI JACK IS LOST "How many sheep have you?" asked Cora. "Well, there's just a hundred and ten, miss. I had a hundred and 'leven, but one died on me," the man explained. "What is this--a class in arithmetic?" inquired Jack, who had left his car and come up to where his sister sat in hers. "Now, Jack--please----" she said. "And how much farther does this road go before----" "The road doesn't go--it stays right here!" chuckled her brother. "Stop it!" she commanded in such a tone that he knew she meant it. "How far before there is a cross-road into which you could turn your sheep?" went on Cora, fixing the man with what Jack said afterward was "a cold and fishy glance." "A matter of four mile, miss." "I thought so. Then we'd have to tag along behind you all that distance, losing time, and----" "To say nothing of swallowing all that dust!" exclaimed Belle, pointing to a cloud of it that hung over the flock of sheep, which the dogs were skillfully herding. "Oh, it's awful!" "That's why I've thought of a way out," spoke Cora. "Then _out_ with it, Sis!" exclaimed the irrepressible Jack. Once more his sister turned her attention to him--this time it was only a look, but it sufficed. "Do you see that field over there?" asked Cora of the sheep man, pointing to one rich and luxuriant in deep, green grass. "Yes, miss, I see it," and he pointed with the stem of his pipe to be sure he made no mistake. "Yes. Well, now, could you take your sheep in there, and keep them--er--quiet--until we passed in our autos. You see it is impossible for us to get by on the road, for even if you did get the animals to one side one might leap out, under the wheels of a car and there would be an accident." "I see, miss. The sheep might be killed." "Yes, and we'd be wrecked," growled Jack. "What's the game, Sis? If we stay here much longer that dinner will be eaten by some one else." "Be quiet Jack--please! Now could you not drive your sheep into the field?" she asked. "Then we could get past. Of course we might turn around and go back to some other road, but it would delay us. Could you?" Certainly no mere man could withstand the appealing glance thrown at this humble sheep herder. He capitulated. "I guess I could do it, miss. But what if the man who owns this field was to see me? You see I'm a stranger in these parts--I'm only hired to drive these sheep to the man that bought them." "I see. Well, if we gave you a dollar or so, you could give it to the man who owns that pasture in case he made objection. It would be worth two dollars to get past." "More," Jack framed with his lips, but he did not speak aloud, being a careful and frugal youth. "The sheep could not eat much grass in the short time you drove them into the field, kept them there until we got past, and then let 'em out again; could they?" she asked, with a winning smile. "No, miss, I guess I can do it. Sheep is queer. They is easily frightened, and maybe it would be the best way. Why, only last night, when I had turned 'em into a pasture they near ran off on me." "Why?" asked Jack, rather idly. "Well, you see it was this way. I had 'em all settled for the night, a matter of several miles back, when a woman came running along the road. She was takin' on somethin' bad, cryin' like, and mutterin' 'Kin I ever find her? Kin I ever find her?' You see----" "Was that what she said?" cried Cora excitedly. "She did, miss!" "What sort of a woman was she?" With her eyes Cora signalled to Jack to remain quiet. She knew the girls would. "Well, I couldn't rightly say, miss, as it was so dark right after the storm. But before I knew what she was doin' she had come into the pasture that I hired for the sheep over night, and run toward a hay stack. She stumbled over a lamb, fell down, the dogs barked, and it took all I could do to quiet them sheep." "What became of the woman?" asked Cora, making a motion with her lips to signify that she thought her the same mysterious one who had been in her barn. "Well, she was real sorry for having made me so much trouble, and it _was_ trouble. She said she didn't see the sheep in the field, and she was as scar't as they was, I reckon. I asked her what she was doin' out and she said looking for a girl." "A girl?" asked Jack, sharply. "Yes. I ast her if it was her girl--thinkin' she might be a farmer's wife from around there, but she didn't say any more. Only she kept sort of moanin' like, an' sayin' as how her life was spoilt, an' how if she could only find a girl--well, I couldn't make much head or tail of it, an' anyhow I was worried about the sheep, for one got torn on a barbed wire fence. But I was sorry for the woman. I ast her if she intended to spend the night out-doors, and she said yes. "I couldn't hardly stand for that--for by her voice I could tell she wasn't a common kind. So I ast her if she had any money. I was goin' to give her some myself, so she could get a night's lodging anyhow. She put her hand in her pocket--sort of absent-minded like, and then she got a surprise, I guess, for she pulled out a silver purse, that she didn't seem to expect to find there. I could see it plain for I was lightin' my pipe just then to quiet my nerves." "A silver purse?" cried Cora. "Ahem!" coughed Belle, meaningly, and Cora, looking at her, understood there was something to be told--later. "Yes, a silver purse," went on the man. "She didn't appear to know she had it, and when she opened it and saw some bills and silver, she was more struck than ever. She said something about not knowing it was there, and then she cried out: 'Oh, it must have been them dear girls! God bless 'em!' That's the words she used, miss. I remember 'em well." The others had left their cars now, and come up to hear the recital. The boys looked meaningly at one another, and the girls exchanged glances. "What happened next?" asked Cora. "Why, nothin' much, miss. You see the woman had money though she didn't know it, which I took to be queer. But it wa'n't none of my affair. She gave me good-night and went back to the road, walkin' off in the direction of the town. I guess she got lodging all right--she could go to a hotel with that money. It was more than I carry. But the sheep was all right by then, quieted down, so I left 'em to my dogs and crawled under the hay. I slept good, too. "But now, miss, I want to oblige you an' your friends, so I'll just drive my animals into that field. I don't believe the owner will care." "Well, take this in case he does," said Cora, passing over a two-dollar bill. "Get ready now, people!" she cried gaily. "We're going to move!" With the aid of the beautiful collies, who seemed to be able to do everything but talk, the herder drove his sheep through the lowered bars of the pasture. Then, with the bars up again, so they could not come out, the man waved for the auto to proceed, swinging his cap at the boys and girls in token of good will. Cora's _Whirlwind_ speeded up, followed by the others, and soon they were on the broad, level highway that led to Mooreville. "Cora, I simply must speak or I'll----" began Bess. "Don't burst!" cautioned Jack, running his car up alongside his sister's. The road was wide enough for three for a short distance. "Wasn't that the same woman who was at your house?" went on Bess. "I'm sure of it," assented Cora. "Only I didn't want to speak of it before him, Poor creature! What a plight to be in! No place to stay!" "But that silver purse!" cried Bess. "And the money----" She stopped suddenly and looked at her sister. "Belle Robinson, you never gave that to her!" she cried. "Yes I did," admitted Belle. "I slipped it into the pocket of her cloak. I could see she needed it." "'Bread upon the waters,'" quoted Cora. "I was wondering where she got it when the man mentioned it. To think of hearing about her again. Girls, I'm sure she must be, in some way, tragically mixed up in our lives. We are destined to meet her again, I'm sure." "Well, I can't afford another silver purse," said Belle, smiling. "It will have to be plain leather next time." "We'll all chip in," declared Jack. "Well, we must make time now," asserted Cora. They found a rather anxious restaurant keeper looking down the road up which they came, but he became all smiles when he saw the merry party, and soon they were sitting down to a plain, but well-cooked and substantial meal. And they all had appetites, too! "We will spend the night at the Mansion House, in Fairport," spoke Cora, consulting a list after dinner. "I will telephone for rooms." "Perhaps you had better let me," suggested Cousin Mary, and she made the arrangements over the wire. Once more they were under way again, and all went well until Jack shouted that his tire had gone flat and would have to be pumped up. "Go ahead--don't wait for us!" he called to his sister. "We can speed up and catch you." "Don't take the wrong road," Cora cautioned, and then Jack and Ed got out the repair kit. The work took them longer than they had expected, and it was getting dusk when they were ready to proceed. "We'll never make it before dark, old man," said Ed. "Oh, I guess we will. I'm going to fracture some speed limits," and Jack opened wide the throttle. The _Get There_ did make good time, but it was not worthy of its name. For, after going for some time, Jack felt that he must be nearing Fairport. He got out to look at a sign post, lighting a match to distinguish the directions. Then he uttered an expression of dismay. "What is it?" asked Ed, anxiously. "Something else gone wrong, Jack?" "Yes--_we've_ gone wrong!" "How so?" "Why, we're on the Belleville turnpike, and to my certain knowledge we're about fifteen miles off the right road for Fairport. I thought that fellow we asked, about sunset, didn't seem very sure of his directions. He told us wrong--maybe not on purpose--but wrong just the same. Ed, old man, we are lost in a dismal country with night coming on. Please groan and shiver for me, while I think of the proper thing to say. We're lost!" "Well, the only thing to do is to go back," remarked Ed, philosophically. "Come on. Luckily the roads are good." "Hark! Some one is coming!" exclaimed Jack, as he heard footfalls on the hard highway. "I'll ask him. Maybe there's a short cut to Fairport." The figure advanced out of the darkness into the glare of the lights on Jack's car. Then he exclaimed involuntarily: "It's a girl!" CHAPTER VII WORRIES "Where shall we leave our cars?" asked Belle. "There's a garage just around the corner from the hotel," answered Cora. "We can have the man look the machines over, too, and see that there is plenty of gasoline and oil. Then we won't have to worry." The three cars had drawn up in front of the Mansion House at Fairport, following a pleasant run after the sheep episode. Jack and Ed, of course, were not present, and of them more presently. They were having, as Jack might express it, "their own troubles." "Oh, but I'm warm and dusty!" exclaimed Eline as she "flopped" from the car to the sidewalk. Flopped is the only word that properly expresses it. "Then you're not much used to motoring," remarked Cora with a smile, as she disengaged herself from the steering wheel. "It is tiring, at first, but one soon becomes used to it. How did you like it, Cousin Mary?" "It was delightful, my dear, purely delightful; but I will own that I shall be glad to walk again." She alighted from the car of the twins. The two sisters got down, and Belle went around to look at one of the rear tires. She had a suspicion, amounting to a conviction, that it had gone flat. It had. "I'll let the garage man attend to it," she said. "I'm too anxious now to get some nice warm water, soap and a large towel." "Me for a large, juicy towel!" exclaimed Walter, coming up with Norton. "Will you have yours boiled or stewed?" "Silly! I don't call that a joke!" "You don't need to; it comes without calling." "That's worse," declared Bess, trying to get some of the road dust off her face with a very small handkerchief. "Well, we're here, anyhow!" put in Norton, "I don't think much of the hotel, though." "It will do very nicely," answered Cora somewhat coldly. She was not quite sure whether she was going to like Norton or not. He did not seem to improve upon acquaintance, and she was a little sorry that Jack had asked him on the trip. Still, she reflected, one can easily be mistaken about boys. Perhaps his flippant manner might be due to nervousness, or a diffidence in not knowing how to say the right thing at the right time. "We're here--because we're here!" exclaimed Walter. "That's more than can be said for Jack and Ed." "Are they in sight?" asked Cora, looking down the long straight road--the main street of Fairport--by which they had entered the town. "Not yet," answered Bess. "Oh, do let's get into the hotel!" she exclaimed. "A crowd is collecting, and I do so want a drink of cold water." "Hot tea for me," spoke Belle. "Hot tea with a slice of lemon in it." "Since Belle went to that Russian tea-fest last winter she always takes lemon in her tea," explained her sister. "Ugh! I can't bear it!" Bess was nothing if not certain in her likes and dislikes. "It's really the only way to drink tea, my dear," said Belle, with an affected society drawl. "It's so--so mussy with cream and sugar in it," and she spread out her hands in æsthetic horror--or something to simulate that. "I think I shall be satisfied with just plain tea," voiced Cora, as she took another look down the road for her brother. "Come on, girls--and boys!" she added. A little throng was beginning to gather in front of the hotel, somewhat blocking the sidewalk, for the sight of the cars drawn up in front of the hostel and perhaps the sight of the four--well, it might as well be said--pretty motor girls, had attracted attention. "Shoo--shoo--chickens!" exclaimed Mrs. Fordam with a laugh as she brought up back of the girls. "Let's get in and freshen up for supper." "Dinner!" cried Walter. "It's not allowed to say supper on this tour. Dinner; isn't it, Cora?" "As you like," she assented a bit wearily, for now, after the excitement of the day, the work and worry, much of which had necessarily fallen to her, Cora was beginning to feel the reaction. The fire, too, and the strange woman, all had added to it. But she knew they could have a good rest that evening. "Jack must be having trouble with that tire," she went on, as they entered the hotel. "I think he had better put on an entirely new one." "Oh, he'll be here pretty soon," said Walter. "Really we haven't been here long, and we ought to allow him half an hour anyway. The _Get There_ will go----" "Once it does go," interrupted Norton. "I wonder where we register?" "There's the desk," said Walter, pointing to where the hotel clerk stood behind the counter waiting for the party. He smiled a welcome. "I'll register for the girls," said Mrs. Fordam. "I want to see how the rooms are arranged before we commit ourselves to them." The suite was satisfactory and soon the girls had gone to their apartments, their suit cases having been brought up by the bell boys. Walter and Norton, after putting their names down on the register, took the three cars to the garage around the corner, leaving them there for the night. "Unless we want to take a little spin this evening," suggested Norton, as they were on their way back to the hotel. "I guess the girls will be too tired," returned Walter. "We might take in a show, however. That would be restful." "Not any moving pictures!" exclaimed Norton, hastily. "I'm dead sick of them." "So am I. There are a couple of good theatres in town, I think. However, we'll leave it to the girls." "Did you see anything of Jack?" asked Cora, anxiously, as the two young men came in. There was a worried look in her eyes. "No, he hasn't come yet," answered Walter. "But it's early yet. Dinner won't be served for an hour, the clerk told me. Say, you girls look all right!" and there was genuine admiration in his eyes. "Why shouldn't we?" asked Eline. She had put on a fawn-colored dress that set off her complexion wonderfully well. Cora had put on her new brown, while Belle in blue and Bess in mauve added to the charm. The girls had freshened their complexion with cold cream and a thorough rinsing, and all traces of the rather dusty trip had been removed. "It's up to us for our glad rags," said Norton. "Come on, Walter. There's no use letting them carry off all the honors," and he started for the elevator. "I wish you'd give just a look, and see if Jack isn't coming," went on Cora. "I'm really a little worried. He may have had an accident." "Now don't you go to worrying," counseled Walter, in his best brotherly manner. "Jack and Ed can take care of themselves, all right." "No, don't worry," went on Mrs. Fordam. "It will spoil your pleasure, Cora." "But I just can't help it. Come on, girls, we'll get our wraps and go outside. I simply can't sit still." "No, we had plenty of sitting all day," admitted Bess. "I believe it would be nice to walk up and down out in front for a change. It's rather stuffy in here," and she glanced about a typical hotel parlor. "All right, go ahead and we'll be with you in a little while," directed Walter, he and Norton going to their rooms while the girls and Mrs. Fordam went outside. All the injunctions of her companions not to worry did not drive anxiety from Cora. Time and again she glanced down the road her brother must come, but the _Get There_ was not living up to its name. Dusk came, but no Jack. The promise of good appetites for the dinner was not carried out, for Cora's worry affected all of them more or less. And it began to look as if something really had happened. "I simply must do something!" Cora exclaimed after dinner. "I'm going to see if I can't telephone to some one along the road, and ask if there has been an accident." They tried to persuade her not to, but she insisted and started toward the booth. CHAPTER VIII THE GIRL Jack and Ed, standing near the machine, under the sign post, peered at the advancing figure of the girl. She had stopped short--stopped rather timidly, it seemed, and she now stood there silent, apparently waiting for the boys to say something. "It's a girl, sure enough," said Ed, in a low voice. "Out alone, too." Jack, who never hesitated long at doing anything, resolved to at once plunge into the midst of this new problem. "Excuse me," he said, taking off his cap, and he knew she could see him, for they were all in the glare of the auto's lamps now, "excuse me, but can you tell us if there is any shorter way to get to Fairport than by going back? We are lost, it seems." "So--so am I!" faltered the girl. "What?" exclaimed Ed. "That is--well, I'm not exactly lost," and Jack could see her smile faintly. Yet behind the smile there seemed to be sorrow, and it was evident, even in the difficult light of the gas lamps, that she had been crying. "You're lost--but not exactly lost," remarked Ed, with a laugh. "That's--er--rather odd; isn't it?" He was anxious to put the girl at her ease. Clearly a strange young girl--and pretty, too, as the boys could see--would need to be put at her ease when alone, after dark, on a country road. "I--I guess it is," she admitted, and Jack made a mental note that he liked her voice. Quite discriminating in regard to voices Jack was getting--at least in his own estimation. "Then you can't help us much, I'm afraid," went on Ed. "If you're a stranger around here----" "Oh, yes, I'm a stranger--quite a stranger. I don't know a soul!" She said it so quickly--bringing out the words so promptly after Ed's suggestion, that it almost seemed as though she had caught at a straw thrown in her way by a chance wind. Why did she want to make it appear that she was a stranger? And that she did want to give that impression--rightly or wrongly--was very evident to both young men. "Then we are both--I mean all three--lost," spoke Jack, good-naturedly. "I guess there's no help for it, Ed. We'll have to go back the way we came until we strike the road to Fairport." "I suppose so. But it will bring us in pretty late." "No help for it. What is to be--has to be. Cora will worry--she has that habit lately." "Naturally. Well, maybe we can get to a telephone somewhere, and let them know." "You could do that!" exclaimed the girl, impulsively. "I know what it is to worry. I saw a telephone not more than a mile back. I mean," she explained with a smile, "I saw a place where there was a telephone pay station sign. It was in a little country store, where I stopped to--to----" She hesitated and her voice faltered. "Look here!" exclaimed Jack. "Perhaps we can help _you_! Are you going anywhere that we can give you a lift? We're bound to be late anyhow, and a little more time won't matter. You see my sister and some friends--other girls and boys--are out on a trip. We are going to Sandy Point Cove, and are taking it easy on the way. My machine developed tire trouble a while ago--quite a while it is now," he said ruefully, "and the others went on. I thought I could get up to them, but I took the wrong road and--well, here we are. Now if we can give you a ride, why, we'll be glad to. Ed can sit on the run-board, and you----" "Oh, I couldn't trouble you!" the girl exclaimed. "I--I am going----" She stopped rather abruptly and Jack and Ed each confessed to the other, later, that they were mortally afraid she was going to cry. "And if she had," said Jack, "I'd have been up in the air for fair!" "Same here!" admitted Ed. But she did not cry. She conquered the inclination, and went on. "I mean that I don't know exactly where I am going," the girl said. "It isn't important, anyhow. It doesn't much matter where I stop." There was a pathetic, hopeless note in her voice now. Again Jack took a sudden resolve. "Look here!" he exclaimed, "I've got a sister, and Ed here, and I, have a lot of girl friends. We wouldn't want them to be out alone at night on a country road. So if you'll excuse us, I think it would be better if we could take you to some of your friends. We won't mind in the least, going out of our way to do it, either." "Of course not!" put in Ed. "But I--I----" she seemed struggling with some emotion. "I love to be in the country!" she said suddenly--as though she had made up her mind to rush through some explanation of her plight "I take long walks often. I think I walked too far to-day. I--I expected to reach Hayden before dark, but I stayed too long in a pretty little wood. I--am going to stop at the Young Women's Christian Association in Hayden. But that's only a mile further, and I can be there before it's very much darker." "If it can get any darker than this, I'd like to see it," remarked Ed, staring at the blackness which surrounded them. "If it's only a mile or so farther then we're going to take you there!" exclaimed Jack. "We're bound to be late anyhow, and we might as well be killed for a sheep as a lamb. Ed, it's you for the run-board." "With pleasure," and he bowed to the girl. She laughed--just the least bit. "Oh, but I couldn't think of troubling you!" the girl exclaimed. "Really, I--I----" She did not know what to say. Jack saw her clasp her hands convulsively. He had a good look at her face. Really she was quite pretty, he decided, an opinion in which Ed coincided. "Look here!" cried Jack, purposely rough. He had found that tone advisable to take with Cora sometimes. "Look here, we are going on to Hayden anyhow, so you might as well ride with us as walk. I know my sister, Cora Kimball--perhaps you know her----?" "I don't believe I do," she answered. "Well, no matter--anyhow, she'd never forgive me--nor Ed either, if we left you like this. And I know Ed would fuss more about Cora not forgiving him than I would. So you've just got to ride," and he smiled frankly. "But I thought you said you were going to Fairport," spoke the girl. "We are," answered Jack. "But I'm not going to chase back all those fifteen miles we came by mistake. It would take too long, especially after dark. So if we can't take a short cut over from Hayden, we'll stay there all night, and go on in the morning. I can telephone my sister. I suppose there are 'phones in Hayden." "Oh, yes, it--it's quite a town--a small city, I believe," said the girl. "I inquired about it at the last stop I made, and they told me of the association where I could stay." "Then come on!" invited Jack. "I'll crank up, and you can ride with us." "You're sure it won't be any trouble?" "Not a bit--it will be a pleasure to have you. But perhaps we ought to look for a nearer telephone, and send word to your friends," Jack suggested. "No--no," she spoke rapidly. "I haven't any--I mean they won't worry about me. I am used to looking after myself." Truly she seemed so, and now she appeared even more self-reliant as she stood there in the glare of the lamps of the auto. Her face had lost some of the traces of hopeless despair, and she had somehow managed to get rid of the evidences of the tears. The boys wondered how she did it, for it was rather like a magician's trick, "done in full view of the audience." Jack and Ed paid a mental tribute to her accomplishment in using a handkerchief. "Are you sure you are comfortable there?" the girl asked Ed, as he crouched partly on the floor of the car, with his feet on the run-board. "Quite," he affirmed, not altogether truthfully, but at least gallantly. "It seems so selfish of me, that really----" "Say, Ed's all right!" cried Jack, gaily. "He'd rather ride on the run-board than anywhere else; wouldn't you, old man?" "Sure!" "In fact, he often sits there when there's a vacant seat. It's a hobby of his. I've tried to break him of it, but he is hopeless!" "Now I know you're poking fun at me!" she exclaimed, and she laughed lightly. "I've almost a notion----" She made a motion as though to alight. "Don't you dare!" cried Jack. "Here we go!" He let in the gear, and the clutch came into place. The car moved forward slowly, and gathered speed. "We'll be there in no time," Jack went on. "It's rather unpleasant for you, isn't it, going about by yourself?" he asked the girl. "Oh, I'm used to it. I have been working in an office, but I--I decided on a vacation. I took it rather suddenly, and I haven't made any plans since. I decided to go off--and, yes, lose myself for a time. That's why I'm in a part of the country I have never visited before." "I see," remarked Jack. "It is sometimes good to do things on an impulse. I know how tiresome the dull routine and grind must be." "He never worked a day in his life!" exclaimed Ed. "No knocking, old man!" laughed Jack. "I think I'd like to be in an office myself," he added. Mentally he decided that one where this girl was employed might not be a half-bad place. "Yes, he'd want an office where the hours were from ten to twelve, with an hour for lunch," grunted Ed, as the car went over a bump, jolting him. "I really liked the work," said the girl. "Of course there were some unpleasant features--in fact, that is why I left so suddenly. Now I am--free!" She took a long breath of the night air rushing against her cheeks, as though the idea of being free was most delightful. They talked of various subjects as the car shot along in the darkness. Both Jack and Ed were quite curious to learn more about this stray girl, but they had the good sense not to ask leading questions. Nor did she volunteer much information. Finally the lights of Hayden glimmered into view, and soon the car had stopped in front of the Y. W. C. A., which Jack had located through a policeman. "Now I shall be all right," the girl exclaimed as Jack helped her out. "Thank you a thousand times. I really--I don't know what I should have done had I not met you. I--I was just beginning to--get afraid." "Are you sure you will be all right now?" asked Ed. "Can't we do anything more for you?" Jack wanted to know. "I'm Jack Kimball, of Chelton, and this is Ed Foster. We are pretty well known in these parts, though we've never been in Hayden before. We auto around a good bit. If we can do anything----" "Oh, no, thank you ever so much. I shall be all right." She gave Jack her hand, in a warm clasp, and then turned to Ed. "Thank you--so much!" She smiled, showing her white, even teeth, and ran up the steps of the building--a place where a lone girl could always find a safe shelter. She turned on the top step, waved a good-bye to them, and disappeared behind the doors. CHAPTER IX QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS "What do you know about that?" "It's rather queer--all the way along." Jack asked and Ed answered. They stood by the machine and looked up at the building into which the girl had gone. "Well, I guess there's nothing for us to do but to see if there isn't some way to get to Fairport from here," remarked Jack, after a pause. "That's it--and telephone. There's a drug-store across the street. It has a 'phone sign." "Come on, then." Presently they had been connected with the Mansion House, and Cora was at the other end of the wire. "Oh, Jack, what happened?" "We got lost--on the wrong road--that's all." "Oh, Jack, I've been so worried!" "Pshaw! What was the use? Didn't I ever get lost before?" "Yes, I know----" "You're too fussy, Sis. How's everybody?" "All right--but----" "But them as is wrong; eh? Well, we'll soon be with you. We had quite an adventure." "You did? Were you hurt?" "No, can't a fellow have an adventure without getting hurt? We met a pretty girl, and gave her a ride--that's all." "Jack! You never did!" "Oh, yes, we did. Ed's here, and he'll tell you all about it. It was a great time." "Jack Kimball, I believe you're just teasing me! You're not in Hayden at all!" "Where am I, then?" he challenged. "Right in town, and just as like as not you're calling up from across the street here." "Well, I'm not then. You ask central. We really were lost on the road, and had quite a time. I don't know now whether we can be with you to-night or not." "Oh, Jack, you must!" "But if we can't--we can't. If we can find a short cut we'll take it. Otherwise we'll stay here all night and come on early in the morning." "Well, that will have to do then," said Cora, with a sigh. "Oh, but we have been so worried. Who was that girl, Jack?" "I don't know." "You don't know?" "No." "Does Ed?" "Not guilty." "The idea! And you gave her a ride?" "Why not? We met her on the road--she was all alone--it was dark. What else could we do?" "That's so, I suppose. Where is she now?" "In the Y. W. C. A." "Oh, that's all right then. Listen, you will try to come on to-night; won't you?" "Sure, Sis." "I'm so tired, and it's more of a responsibility than I thought it would be." "Well, don't worry, Sis. We're going to get something to eat, and then we'll see what we can do." "Eat! You don't mean to say, Jack Kimball, that you're going to stop to _eat_?" "Well, I guess we are. Haven't had a bite since noon." "Why can't you get dinner after you get here?" "It might be more like breakfast than dinner if we waited," and Jack laughed. "No, we're going to eat here and then we'll see what we can do. Don't worry any more. The _Get There_ will go somewhere, anyhow. Now take it easy." "All right. I will, only do try to come." "Want to talk to Ed?" "What for?" "Oh, only to say 'how de do,'" and again Jack laughed. "Certainly I'll speak to him." Ed on the wire. "Hello, Cora. It's all right. I listened to what Jack said." "And it's all--I mean did you really help a girl?" "Sure." "Who was she?" "That's telling. I've got her name, only Jack doesn't know." "Don't you believe him," interjected Jack sideways into the transmitter. "Try and make him come on to-night!" said Cora. "Your rooms are all engaged." "I will. Are the girls all right?" "Yes." "And your cousin?" "Surely." "Walter making himself useful as he always does, I suppose?" "Of course. Don't be silly." "I'm not. I'm only trying to think of something else to say." "You needn't try then!" and Cora's voice had a tint of snap in it. "Don't get mad," Ed advised her. "Give my love to the girls, and tell 'em we'll be with 'em soon. Do you want to talk to Jack again?" "No, only tell him to please come to-night. I want to talk to him." "About that girl, I expect." "I don't believe a word about her." "Ha! I'll show you a lock of her hair." "Then I'd surely know you were fooling. Say, listen, you will make Jack come; won't you, Ed?" "Surest thing you know. Shall I say good-bye?" "If you can't think of anything else to say." "All right. See you soon." "You'll have a sweet telephone toll to pay." "I'm going to make Jack do it. He's asking the clerk here how to get to Fairport the quickest way. The clerk's another girl." "Oh, I'm not going to talk another word. Good-bye," and a click in his ear told Ed that Cora had hung up the receiver. He laughed and joined Jack, who had gone away from the booth. CHAPTER X REUNITED "Who was she?" It was Cora who demanded this when, an hour or so later, Jack and Ed had been reunited to their party in the Mansion House at Fairport. "Who was she?" and Cora looked appealingly at her brother, who smiled in a tantalizing fashion. "We told you everything," remarked Ed. "Over the wire, you know." "It's very easy to tell things--over the wire," remarked Belle, with a laugh. "One doesn't have to--blush, you know." "And if one does, even the central operator can't see it," spoke Bess. "Oh, you boys have given us a big scare!" "Scare? How?" demanded Jack, with a look at his sister. "We couldn't help getting on the wrong road." "Perhaps not, Jack," said Mrs. Fordam, gently. "But Cora was quite worried, and has been telephoning to police stations all along the route to see if she could get any word about you and Ed." "Did you?" asked Ed, quickly. "There was one report of an auto accident," spoke Cora, "and I was so frightened, Jack, until I heard that it was a big car, and then I knew it couldn't be yours. But did it all happen as you've told?" "Exactly," exclaimed Jack. "Girl and all?" Walter wanted to know. "The girl _most_ of all," answered Ed. "How about it, Jack old man?" "I'm with you. She----" "Stop!" commanded Cora. "We don't want you to incriminate yourselves any more than you have to. Besides it's getting late, and we must get some rest to be ready for an early start to-morrow morning. "But I have been quite worried, Jack, and I couldn't get much satisfaction by telephoning. However, you're here now, and we will forgive you. Did you have supper?" "We had--dinner," answered Ed, with a tantalizing smile. "It was a good one, too. Then we got on the right road and made pretty good time over here." The little party of young people was in the hotel parlor. As Cora had said, it was getting late, the hands of the clock approaching the midnight hour, and they all had had rather a strenuous time that day. Jack and Ed had left their car in the garage with the others. "Me for the downy feathers!" exclaimed Jack, with a yawn. "You look sleepy, too, Eline." "I'm not, even a little bit, really," and she smiled brightly. "They keep late hours--in Chicago," remarked Belle, with a laugh. "I really think we had better retire," said Mrs. Fordam. "That's what I'm going to do--in the morning," spoke Jack. "You're not going to stay up until morning, Jack!" cried Cora. "No, that was only a joke," he explained. "I mean I'm going to have a new tire put on the _Get There_--have it re-tired you see. Get the idea? It was a joke." "A tired one," yawned Ed. "Come on to bed." "Say, if we try to get off any more smart sayings we'll all have the nightmare," suggested Walter. "And it's no fun to make a tour on one of those creatures instead of in an auto," put in Norton. The young travelers were soon on their way to that part of the hotel set aside for them. Mrs. Fordam had seen to it that the girls got the most comfortable rooms. The boys were not so particular. "We'll try and get started by nine o'clock," suggested Cora, as she bade her brother good-night. "That's too early," he protested. "Why, we'd have to get up and have breakfast at seven. Make it ten, Sis, and that will give me time to have that tire looked after. Otherwise I may be holding you back all along the route." "All right," Cora assented. "We'll make it ten." "Say, old man, who was she?" asked Walter, as he and Jack strolled along the corridor together. "Tell a fellow; can't you? I won't give you away if you were stringing the girls." "I wasn't stringing them!" declared Jack. "It all happened just as I've said." "But who was she?" "A mystery of the road," put in Ed. "Pretty?" Norton wanted to know, quickly. "Pretty--pretty," echoed Jack. "Really all she told us was that she had been working in an office, had become tired of it and was traveling about as a sort of vacation." "Did she look as though that might be the case?" asked Walter. "Eminently so, my august cross-questioner," answered Jack. "And that's all I'm going to say. I'm dead tired. See you later," and he went to his room. "Who do you suppose that girl could have been?" asked Bess of Cora a little later, as they were putting up their hair for the night. "I haven't the least idea." "Why, how queer. I thought you did have!" and Bess looked at Cora in rather a searching manner. "No. Why should I?" "Oh, I haven't any special reason for saying so, and yet--oh, well, it doesn't make any difference I suppose, but----" "Bess Robinson, just what do you mean?" and Cora's eyes lost their slumberous inclination as she faced her chum. "Why, Cora dear, nothing at all," and Bess spoke very sweetly. "Only, from the way you spoke to Jack, and the way he answered, I fancied--oh, really it's nothing at all. I shouldn't have said it." "I don't like those half-formed questions, Bess. If you think anything----" "No, really I'm too tired to think, Cora. I'm going to bed." They had adjoining rooms. "Perhaps you have some theory yourself?" suggested Cora. "None in the least. I don't even know what a theory is. Is it that algebra affair?" "No," answered Cora, with a laugh. "You are hopeless, Bess. Good-night!" Jack and the other boys were up early, despite the former's objection to a too-soon breakfast. They ate before the girls had come down, and then went around to the garage to see about the cars, Jack to get a new tire for his, while Norton wanted the ignition system of his engine gone over. It was when these attentions had been given that Norton, with a twinkle in his eyes, exclaimed: "Fellows, I've thought of a joke!" "What is it?" demanded Jack. "Hush! Listen, as the telephone girl says. Pray thee come hither," and he led the three to a corner of the garage. Then ensued some whispering. "How's that?" demanded Norton, when he had concluded. "Won't it be rich? The girls won't know what is up, for we can get Bess and Belle into the car, without them seeing the rear of it." "It's a good trick all right," admitted Jack rather slowly, "I only hope they won't get angry about it." "Angry!" cried Norton. "How could they be? According to your story they've done worse than that to you fellows lots of times." "Sure they have," declared Ed. "Go ahead and do it." "I have my doubts," spoke Walter, deliberately, "but I'm not going to be the kill-joy. Go ahead, I'll do my share," but he was not very enthusiastic. "We can get the cloth and paint here," went on Norton. "I'll do the lettering. You can make the pudding, Jack." "All right. But who's to get in the car with Belle?" "I will," exclaimed Norton, quickly. "You fellows can make some excuse. I'll let Walter drive my car, and Bess can ride with him." "All right," assented Jack. "It's a go," and they proceeded to carry out their little joke, over the outcome of which Walter and Jack, at least, had some anxiety. CHAPTER XI THE GIRLS RETALIATE "But why should we change our plans?" asked Cora, when, a little later, the boys had brought their own cars up in front of the hotels and had gone back for those of the girls. "I don't see why Bess should ride with Walter." "No, but I see it," said Walter, quickly. "I want to talk to her, and----" "Oh, that's a different story," admitted Cora, with a smile. "But what will Norton do?" "I'd like to drive the _Flyaway_, if I might," put in the latter. "There's a bad stretch of road ahead, and perhaps Belle may not be equal to it." "Don't you dare intimate there's danger ahead," cried Belle. "Not exactly danger," returned Norton, with a wink at the other boys, "but the road is rough. If Cora wants to I guess Ed could drive her car for her, too." "Thank you, I'll wait until I see what sort of a road we are going to encounter, and if I can't negotiate it, I'll let Ed take the wheel," assented Cora. "But I've driven over some very hard stretches myself; haven't I, Jack?" "Indeed you have, Sis. But it's all right if Belle wants Norton to drive for her for a change." "Well," began the Robinson twin, "it all came so suddenly. I don't know yet whether I want Norton to drive for me. Of course I'd like to have him in the car, if Bess wants to go with Walter for a change, and----" "That's it," broke in Norton. "Just for a change. Hurry up now, girls, get in the cars and we'll be off." He ran here and there, helping lift in the luggage, and appeared anxious to make a start. In fact, the boys had seemed in a hurry ever since they brought up the girls' cars, and this very haste might have made the motor maids suspicious, but it did not seem to. Then came the proposal for the change in companionship for a time, and this took the attention of Cora and her friends. Jack had run his car close up to the rear of the _Flyaway_, so that the back of the tonneau was not easily seen. "All aboard!" cried Ed. "We're off!" Quite a little throng had gathered on the sidewalk in front to see the start, and among the persons might have been noticed a certain number of boys, with paper bags concealed in their hands. These same boys might have been observed to be receiving signals--in the way of nods and winks from Jack and his chums, from time to time. "I am sure those boys are up to something!" exclaimed Cora to Eline, as they took their places. "What do you mean?" "I mean some trick." "How can you tell?" "Why, Jack's so anxious to get us off. He paid the hotel bill for me, bought me a magazine and some candy. He never does things like that unless there is something queer about to happen. Does anything seem wrong? Do I look all right?" "Perfectly charming, Cora. That's a stunning sweater you have." "Yes, I like it. Then it can't be me that he's going to bother. I wish I could tell what it was." She looked back to where Jack, with hurried politeness, was helping Belle into her car. He did not want her to have a glimpse at the rear of it. "Well, we'll see what develops," spoke Cora, as she slipped in first speed, and prepared to set the clutch. She gave a last look back. The little cavalcade of autos was all ready to start. That of Norton, with Walter at the wheel, and Bess on the seat beside him, was directly behind Cora's big maroon beauty, then came the machine of the twins and lastly that of Jack. "Let her go!" shouted Jack. Cora's machine shot forward. Norton's jumped as Walter let in the clutch. Then Jack, with a quick motion, pulled from the back of the Robinson car, that Norton was driving, a strip of white muslin. It left revealed another, containing the words: ON THEIR HONEYMOON "Let 'em have it!" cried Jack. Instantly the urchins with the paper bags opened them and a shower of rice fell over Norton and Belle, being scattered liberally over Mrs. Fordam. "Mercy!" cried the chaperone. "What is this? Stop it at once!" she ordered to the boys, but laughingly they persisted. "Good luck!" cried the street lads. "Hurray!" "Send us a piece of wedding cake!" Cora, turning, seeing the showers of rice and hearing the calls, guessed what had happened. "This was Jack's trick!" she exclaimed. "He's given the impression that this is a big wedding party. Oh, wait until I get a chance to retaliate. Hurry up!" she cried back to Norton, who was grinning cheerfully, and trying to summon a blush to his cheeks to make him fit the part of the bashful bridegroom. Walter shot Norton's car ahead, and Norton guided that containing the placard out into the middle of the street. There the words were more plainly seen, and good-natured laughter came from the throng, who thought they understood the situation. The rice continued to fall, for the boys had bought liberally of it, and had bribed the street urchins to throw it. "This is terrible!" exclaimed Bess, in the car with Walter, seeing what had happened. "It's only a joke," he said. "But I was afraid you girls wouldn't like it." "Like it? I should say not. I'm going to take that sign off our car at once." She made a motion as though to alight from the moving auto, but Walter detained her. "We'll take it off when we get around the corner," he promised. "What does this mean?" demanded Belle, rather indignantly, of Norton. "I guess they take this for a wedding procession," he replied. "And who are----" She stopped suddenly. "I see!" she exclaimed, as the meaning of the rice came to her. "Well, I don't think this a bit nice. I'd rather have my sister back here with me," she went on coldly. "Mrs. Fordam, is there anything on our car--any of those silly white satin ribbons, or----" "Old shoes?" suggested Norton, rather abashed at the way his joke had been received. The chaperone looked over the rear of the tonneau. "There's a strip of cloth on here, with some letters on it," she answered, "but I can't read it upside down without my glasses. Surely----" She hesitated for a moment, and then cried: "The rice! Oh, I see! Boys, you shouldn't have done it!" but she laughed nevertheless, and Norton felt more relieved. "It was only in fun," he protested. "A boy's idea of fun, and a girl's, often differ exceedingly," spoke Mrs. Fordam. "I really think it had better be taken off." The crowd had been following along the sidewalk, tossing rice and showering congratulations on those in the "bridal-car." Norton saw that Mrs. Fordam meant what she said. So he stopped the machine and got out to remove the placard, just as Cora was about to turn around to learn more of the cause of the merriment. Norton ripped off the lettered muslin and tossed it aside. "It may do for someone else to play a joke with," he remarked. "I guess I got myself in bad here. I'll have to make up for it." "There, you needn't get out--Norton is fixing it," said Bess to Walter. "But I think I'll ride in my own car, if you don't mind," and she prepared to get out as he put on the brakes. "Not mad; are you?" he asked, and there was a note of anxiety in his voice. "No, not exactly," she replied with a smile. Cora, who had made the turn, and had learned what had happened, said nothing. She looked at Jack rather reprovingly, however. Then, the crowd seeing no more chance for fun, began to drop back. The autos went on, the twins in their own, and Walter back with Norton, while Jack and Ed rode together, Cora being with Eline up ahead--a pacemaker. There was a little coldness among the girls and boys--on the side of the girls--when they stopped for dinner at a country hotel. Nothing of moment had occurred on the road, save that Cora got a puncture, and Jack and the other boys had no little difficulty in getting off an old shoe that had not been removed in some time. A little later something went wrong with the carbureter on the car of the twins. The boys took turns trying to adjust it, as they were far from a garage. It was Norton who discovered the trouble--a simple enough matter--and remedied it. "Doesn't that entitle me to a rebate of punishment?" he asked of Belle. "I'll see," she answered, but her glance was not as stern as it had been, and she ventured to smile a little. With the offending placard removed, the cars proceeded onward again. They had planned to take the trip leisurely, and to stop over night at another hotel. The day following that would bring them to Sandy Point Cove in good time to settle the bungalows before dark. "We're going to the theatre to-night," Jack announced, shortly after the arrival in Duncan, where they were to spend the night. He had gone out after reaching the hotel, and purchased the seats for a popular comedy then running. "Oh, are we?" asked Cora with a lifting of her eyebrows, a signal, that had Jack but known it, meant more than he suspected. "That's awfully nice of you, really." "It's a fine show," declared Norton. "A friend of mine saw it in New York." "What time are we to be ready?" asked Belle, with a look at Cora. "It begins at eight, if you start now putting on your hats you'll be ready in time, it's only a little after six," remarked Ed. "Smart!" exclaimed Bess. "We can be ready as soon as you!" After supper--or dinner whichever you prefer to call it--the boys went to their rooms to get ready for the little theatre party. The girls, with much whispering and not a little laughter proceeded, apparently, with the same object. But a little later the motor maids, accompanied by their chaperone, Mrs. Fordam, slipped down a rear stairway, out into the ladies' parlor of the hotel, and thence into two big limousine cars that awaited them. The girls had on semi-evening dress, with some flimsy chiffon veils over their heads in place of hats, which might account for the speed with which they got ready. "Isn't it nice we met those boys!" exclaimed Eline. "They came just in time to make it possible for us to retaliate," remarked Cora. "And our boys need a lesson." In the somewhat luxurious autos that had drawn up in front of the hotel were four young men in evening dress. They greeted the girls enthusiastically. "It's awfully nice of you to come on such short notice," said one to Cora. "Oh, we were only too glad to" she answered. CHAPTER XII AT THE COVE "Well, what do you know about that?" "It--well, so long as there are none of 'em here I'll say it--it's the limit!" "They got back at us all right!" "And to think we never suspected." "What will we do with these theatre tickets?" Four young men, in freshened attire after their auto ride, stood disconsolately in the hotel parlor. Jack was fingering a note that a bell boy had brought him. Walter, Ed and Norton, with the assistance of Jack, had given voice to the expressions with which we have begun this chapter. The note read: "Dear Jack: "We don't seem to care about the theatre this evening. I met Harry Dunn, and his two cousins--also another young man--Ralph Borden--and they asked us to go to a little private dance. Mrs. Fordam is with us. We met Harry at Lake Como last year, you remember. He is that tall, dark, distinguished-looking fellow. So we thought we'd prefer the dance to the theatre, especially as Belle and Bess have seen the play. Sorry to have to waste so many good tickets, but perhaps you boys will have time to paint another honeymoon sign. "Cora." It was this note which had been handed to Jack as he and his companions had been waiting in the parlor for the girls, that had caused all the trouble. "So, that's their game!" exclaimed Cora's brother, as he crumpled the paper up in his hand. "They've played a trick on us all right!" "To get back at us for that sign on the auto, and the rice," added Ed. "I wonder if they really did go off to a dance?" asked Walter. "Oh, yes, I know this Dunn chap--not half-bad," put in Jack. "Sis and I did meet him last year. His folks have a country place somewhere round here. But how did he meet the girls and get them to come?" "I have it!" cried Norton. "Pass it over!" commanded Walter. "You know that time my car developed a kink," he continued, "and you stopped yours, Jack?" "Sure," assented Cora's brother. "Well, the girls went on, you know, and when we caught up to them I saw a couple of autos speeding down the road, as though they had been acting as escorts. I guess those fellows must have met the girls on the road, proposed the dance, and the girls accepted." "That's it!" declared Jack. And so it proved, as they found out later. "Well, there's no help for it," sighed Walter. "We'll have to go to the show alone," added Ed. "If we could only find some nice girls," spoke Norton. "We don't know a soul in town," declared Jack. "If that Dunn fellow had been half-way decent he'd have made some arrangement about us after he stole away the girls. Well, there's no use wasting all the tickets. Come on to the show." So the boys went, but they did not have a very good time by themselves, and there was some amusement among the audience over four good-looking boys occupying eight seats. As for Cora and the girls, they had a delightful dance. It had turned out as Norton had said. The girls, proceeding on ahead with Mrs. Fordam, after Jack and the boys had stopped to look after Norton's car, had met young Dunn and his companions out for a spin. Cora knew them at once, and the young men, delighted at the prospect of such charming partners at a dance they had almost elected to forgo, invited the motor girls to it. Mrs. Fordam, who was a distant relative of young Dunn's father, had consented to the arrangement. The girls and she slipped away after Jack came in with the theatre tickets, proceeded to attire themselves most becomingly, and had been met by their escorts, who lavishly hired big cars to take their friends to the affair. Then Jack and his chums had been handed the note which Cora left for them. It had all been very simple. "Wasn't it glorious!" "The floor was just splendid!" "And those boys knew so many nice fellows." "My card was filled almost before I knew it." "The music was lovely!" Thus chattered the motor girls as they came back to the hotel rather late--or was it early? with Mrs. Fordam. They saw Jack sitting disconsolately in the parlor, trying hard to keep awake by reading. "Well, so you're back!" he exclaimed to Cora, rather shortly. "Yes, brother mine!" she laughed tantalizingly. "Well, it's about time," he growled. "Why, how long have you been back?" she asked. "I hear that it was quite a long and--tiresome--show. I'm sorry we had to disappoint you, but really we had no other way of telling you where we were going. It was a lovely dance!" "Yes," said Jack, coldly. "And we hope you had time to embroider another sign for our car," added Bess. Really, she said later, she could not help it. "Um!" grunted Jack. "I sat up for you," he added to his sister. "There was no need, Jack. We had Mrs. Fordam. It was a very pretty dance. I am glad the girls had a chance to go." The girls seemed glad too, and really looked quite effective in their party growns, which were carried in the trunks that were strapped on the autos. "Oh, it was lovely!" sighed Bess. "And that tall young fellow was such a fine dancer!" echoed Eline. "Huh!" growled Jack. "I'm going to bed." "I guess we're all tired enough to re-tire--joke!" exclaimed Cora. "Good-night, Jack. Sorry we couldn't go with you, but we had a--previous engagement!" The boys did not say much next morning, though the girls were enthusiastic about their affair. "If we could only have one two or three times a week," sighed Belle, who was a fine dancer. "We may, at Sandy Point Cove," spoke Cora. "There is a pavilion there--also moving picture shows, to which the boys can take us," and she glanced at Jack. He said nothing. Once more they were on their way. The roads were good, and save for the fact that they took a wrong one shortly after lunch, and went a few miles out of their route, nothing of moment happened. "Ten miles to Sandy Point Cove!" read Jack, as they stopped at a cross-road, to inspect the signboards. "We'll make it in an hour." "And then for a bath in the briny deep!" cried Walter. "I hope the fishing is good," remarked Ed. "I haven't caught anything in a month." "I hope the _Pet_ has arrived," Cora exclaimed. "I am just dying for a motor boat ride." "Let us hope it has then; we don't want you to expire," came from Norton. In less than an hour they had reached the shore road and were spinning down it toward the cove where they were to spend the summer. As they mounted the bluff, around the end of the cove, from which a magnificent view of the ocean could be had, Cora uttered a cry: "Look, that sailboat has capsized!" she exclaimed. And she pointed to a small sloop that had jibed and gone over in a sudden squall. As the motor girls and boys looked they saw a girlish form clinging to the rounded side of the craft, her bright red bathing suit making her a conspicuous figure against the dark hull. CHAPTER XIII THE LIGHTHOUSE MAID Jack Kimball had always said that his sister Cora only needed an opportunity to prove that she could think quickly in emergencies, and could demonstrate that she was courageous. Cora had done this on other occasions, and now at the sight of the overturned boat, and the figure of the girl clinging to it, there came the chance for Cora, as one of the motor girls, to prove that her ability in this direction had not lessened. Without another word Cora turned her car down a slight slope that led to the sandy beach. It was a perilous road, rather too steep to negotiate in a heavy car, but Cora had seen that it was encumbered with sand that would act as a brake. "Where are you going?" gasped Eline, gripping the sides of the seat until her hands ached. "Down to rescue that girl!" explained Cora, pressing her lips tightly together. She was under a nervous tension, and she needed all her wits about her. "But in the car--the water----" faltered Eline. "Don't worry. I'm not going to run my car into the bay. There's a boat on shore--a rowboat--this was the quickest way to get down to it. Can you row?" "Yes, Cora, but----" "You may have to!" The auto plunged down the steep, sandy slope to the beach. The others in the motoring party had brought their machines to a stop, and were gazing in wonderment at Cora. "What are you going to do?" cried Jack. "Come back! We'll get her, Cora!" But Cora paid no attention. She had reached the beach, and quickly shut off the power. "Come on!" she exclaimed to Eline, leaping out. The two raced over the sand to where a light rowing craft was drawn up. There were oars in it, and Cora knew she and Eline could launch it. The girl on the overturned sailboat was making frantic gestures and calling: "Hurry! Hurry!" "Her boat must be sinking," gasped Eline, as she and Cora reached the rowboat. "It can't be that," answered the motormaid, with a quick and critical glance at the sailboat. "Probably there is some one else with her, who is in danger. She isn't in any particular trouble that I can see. She must swim!" By this time Cora and Eline had the boat in the water. The stern was still on the pebbly beach. "Jump in!" called Cora. "I'll shove off!" "But you'll get your feet wet!" "What of it? As if I cared!" Vigorously Cora pushed off the boat, and managed to get in, though not without getting rather wet. Then, seizing one pair of oars, while Eline took the others, they rowed hastily out to the capsized craft. Other boats were now hastening to the scene of the accident, but Cora Kimball was the first to reach it. Jack and the other boys and girls had left their cars on the main road, and were racing down the beach. "Oh, I'm so glad you came!" gasped the girl on the sail boat. "I'm holding him, but I can't seem to pull him up here. He's so heavy!" "Who is it?" gasped Cora. She was rather out of breath. "My little brother Dick. He got in the way of the boom, and the main sheet fouled. That's why I jibed. I'd never have done it by myself. We both went overboard, and I grabbed him. I got up here, but I can't pull him up. Oh, please help me!" "Of course I will," cried Cora. "Then pull around on the other side, and you can lift him into your boat. I can swim ashore." Directed by the girl on the sail boat, Cora and Eline sent their craft around so that they were opposite the half-submerged deck, which was now perpendicular in the water. There they saw the girl holding above the surface of the bay the head of a boy about seven years old. He seemed as self-possessed as though he were on shore, and calmly blinked at the rescuing girls. "He's so fat and heavy," cried the girl in the bathing suit. "I'm very fat," confessed the boy in the water, calmly. Indeed he did seem so, even though only his head and part of his shoulders showed. The wind was rising a little again, having subsided somewhat after capsizing the boat. The surface of the bay was broken into little waves, and they splashed into the face of the fat boy. But he did not seem to mind. It was easier than Cora and Eline had thought it would be to get him in the boat, for the buoyancy of the salt water aided them, as did the rather large bulk of the boy himself, it being a well known fact that stout persons float much more easily in the water than do thin ones. "Give yourself a boost, Dick!" directed the girl in the bathing suit, to her brother. He did so with a grunt that would have been laughable under other circumstances, and soon he was safe in the other boat, very wet, but otherwise not hurt. "Did you swallow much water?" asked Cora, anxiously. "Nope," was the sententious answer. "I guess he'll be all right," remarked his sister. "If you will kindly row him over there, I'll swim in," and she pointed to the lighthouse. "Do you live there?" asked Cora, gazing at the tall stone tower. With its high lantern, which glistened in the sun, it stood on a point extending out into the bay, just behind some menacing rocks that jutted far out into the water in a dangerous reef that the light warned mariners against. "Yes, Dick and I live there," answered the girl. "My father, James Haley, is keeper of the light. My name is Rosalie." "And you look it," said Cora, brightly, as she noted the damask cheeks of the bathing girl. "Oh, thank you!" came quickly. "Won't you get in this boat--I don't know whose it is--I just appropriated it," said Cora. "There is no need of your swimming." "Oh, I want to. I've gone clear across the bay, though Daddy had a boat follow me. I've won prizes swimming. No, I'll just swim over." "Will your brother be all right with us?" and Cora looked at the small dripping figure in the boat. "Oh, yes, Dick is as good as gold. He'll do just as you tell him. I guess he was rather scared when he went over. But he can swim, only I was rather afraid to let him try this time." "What about your boat?" asked Eline. "She will stay here. The anchor fell out when she went over, so she won't drift. I'll get one of the men to tow her ashore and right her. She's a good little old tub. She's capsized before." With that the lighthouse maid made a graceful dive and was soon swimming alongside Cora's boat. The latter and Eline now rowed to the lighthouse, the girl in the water following, and the autoists on shore breathing more freely. "Wasn't that splendid of Cora!" cried Belle. "Just fine!" declared Bess. "Sis was right on the mark!" exclaimed Jack, with pardonable pride. "I wonder who that girl in the red suit is?" "She's some swimmer; believe me!" declared Norton in admiration. "She is that," agreed Walter. "Say, it's going to be no joke to get Cora's car up that hill of sand," declared Ed, glancing back to it. "We can pull her up with ropes if we have to," said Jack. "I wonder where our bungles are, anyhow? Notice that 'bungles'--patent applied for!" "I fancy those over there," remarked Mrs. Fordam, pointing to two that stood somewhat removed from a group of cottages. "Yes," the chaperone went on, "I can see Aunt Susan in the door of one waving to us." "Me for Aunt Susan, then!" cried Jack. "I hope she has something to eat!" "Eat!" gasped Belle. "Do you boys think that Aunt Susan is going to cook for you?" "Yes, wasn't that the arrangement?" inquired Jack, blankly. "Indeed not!" was the quick answer. "You boys are to do your own providing." "Well, we can do it!" spoke Walter, quickly. "And, mind, don't ask us for some of our pie and cake." "Don't worry," remarked Bess, with a shrug of her shoulders. The little accident in the bay had not attracted much attention. Several who had run down to the water's edge, now that they saw the two rescued, strolled away again, while the boats that had started toward the capsized one veered off as the occupants saw the one containing Cora move away, and noted the girl swimming. Of course Cora and Eline could have reached the lighthouse much quicker than Rosalie Haley had they desired, but Cora was a bit diffident about rowing up to meet a strange man with his rescued son, leaving the daughter swimming out in the bay. "We'll just keep with her," whispered Cora to Eline, nodding toward the swimmer, "and let her do the explaining." "Yes," agreed Eline. They rowed on for a time in silence, the recently submerged boy saying nothing. Then Cora called to Rosalie: "Won't your father be worried?" "I don't believe so. He knows both of us can swim." She talked easily in the water for she progressed with her head well out, being, in fact, an excellent swimmer. "Besides," she went on, as she reached forward in her side stroke, "poor Daddy has other things to worry about. His sister has disappeared--our Aunt Margaret." "Disappeared!" echoed Cora. "Yes, gone completely. And not under the most pleasant circumstances, either; but Daddy believes that it's all a mistake and will be cleared up some day. But he is certainly worried about Aunt Margaret, and he's had the authorities looking all over, but they can't find her. So that's why I know he won't worry over a little thing like this. He's got a bigger one," and she swam on. Cora wondered where she had heard that name--Margaret--before. She was sure she had, and under peculiar circumstances, but so much had been crowded into the last few minutes that her brain did not act quickly. It was a puzzle that she reserved for future solution. CHAPTER XIV SETTLING DOWN When Cora, leading by the hand dripping Dick Haley, met his father, the keeper of the light, she exclaimed impulsively: "I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before!" It was rather a strange greeting under the circumstances, considering that Cora had just helped little Dick from the water. But the lighthouse keeper did not seem to mind it. "I'm sure I can't remember it, miss," he made answer, "and I'm counted on as having a pretty good memory. However, the loss is all mine, I do assure you. Now what mischief has my fat boy been getting into?" "It was not his fault, I'm sure," spoke Eline. "Indeed not," echoed Cora. "Your daughter's boat upset and we went out to help her. There she is!" Cora pointed to a dripping figure, in a red bathing suit climbing up on a little pier that led to the beacon. Following the disclosure made to Cora, as Rosalie swam beside the boat, they had reached the shore. Mr. Haley had been off getting some supplies for the lighthouse and so had not witnessed the accident. The first intimation he had of it was when he saw his dripping son being led up by Cora and Eline. "Upset; eh?" voiced the keeper of the light. "Well, it has happened before, and it'll happen again. I'm glad it was no worse, and I'm very much obliged to you, miss. But I don't ever remember seeing you before--either of you," and he glanced at Eline. "Oh, I'm sure you never saw _me_!" she laughed "I'm from Chicago." "Chicago!" he cried, quickly. "Why, I'm from there originally. I used to be a pilot on the lakes. But that's years ago. Me and my sister came from there. But Margaret--well, what's the use of talking of it?" and the worried frown on his face deepened, as he went down to meet his daughter, telling Dick to go up in the living quarters of the light to get on dry clothes. Cora was sure she had seen the light keeper before, but, puzzle her brain over the matter as she might, she could not recall where it was. And the name Margaret seemed to be impressed on her memory, too. It was quite annoying not to be able to recall matters when you wanted to, she thought. "But I'll just think no more about it," mused Cora. "Perhaps it will come to me when I least expect it." The lighthouse maid and her father met, and in a few words she told of the accident. He sent a man to tow in the overturned boat. "But you are wet, too!" he exclaimed to Cora, as he noted her damp skirts and soaked shoes. "Oh, that's nothing!" said she. "I pushed off the boat. I don't know whose it is, by the way." "It belongs to Hank Belton," said the keeper. "He won't mind you using it. Do you live around here?" Cora told how they were coming to the bungalows for the summer. "Ah, then I'll see you again, miss," spoke Mr. Haley. "I can't properly thank you now--I'm that flustered. This has upset me a little, though usually I don't worry about the children and the water, for they look after themselves. But I'm fair bothered about other matters." "I told her, Daddy," broke in Rosalie. "About Aunt Margaret, you know." "Did you? Well, I dare say it was all right. I can't see why she did it? I can't see! Going off that way, without notice, and those people to make such unkind insinuations. I can't understand it!" He walked up and down in front of the little dock. Rosalie looked as though she would enjoy another plunge in the bay. Cora glanced over to where her friends awaited her in a group on the beach. Eline was looking at dripping Dick going up to get on dry garments. "But there!" exclaimed Mr. Haley, "I mustn't bother you with my troubles. I dare say you have enough of your own. But do come over and see us; won't you?" "Yes, do!" urged Rosalie. "We will," said Cora. "But now I must get back to my friends." "You had best take the boat and row over," said the light keeper. "It's shorter that way. You can leave her just where you found her. Hank won't mind." "I'll row you over," offered Rosalie. "No, indeed, thank you, we can do it," spoke Cora. "We are anxious to get settled in our bungalows, so I think we had better go now. We will see you again," and with a smile and a nod, she and Eline went down to the boat, which had been left at the lighthouse float, and got in. A little later they were with their friends. "Well, Cora, you certainly did something that time!" remarked Jack. "And you didn't lose any time," added Ed. "Weren't you frightened?" Belle wanted to know. "Not a bit--not even I," answered Eline, "and I don't know much about the water." "Who was she? What happened? How did you get the boy out? Who keeps the light? Tell us all about it!" Cora held up her hands to ward off the avalanche of questions, and told as much as was necessary. She did not mention having spoken about thinking she had met the keeper of the light before, nor about the insistence of the name Margaret. Nor did it enter into Eline's brief added description of the events of that strenuously-filled half-hour. "Well, here comes Aunt Susan," remarked Mrs. Fordam. "I think she couldn't wait any longer to learn all about what happened, and I don't blame her. I'll soon turn you girls over to her charge." "Oh, but you'll stay with us to-night!" exclaimed Cora. "Yes, and I'll go back home in the morning on the train. Really I have enjoyed this trip very much, and I would like to stay longer, but I can't. Perhaps I may come down during the summer to see you." "Please do," invited Cora. Aunt Susan proved worthy of her name, a home-like lady, with an easy manner, that made one feel comfortable at once. She simply "oozed" good things to eat, as Jack said, and Jack ought to know. Some of the young people she knew, having met them at Cora's house. The others were presented to her. "Well, the bungalows are all ready for you," she went on, after explanations had been made. "I expect you're tired and hungry and----" "Wet," interrupted Jack, with a look at Cora. "But then you can't make rescues from the briny deep without getting at least damp." "I should like to change," spoke Cora, glancing at her soaked shoes. "Then come on," said Aunt Susan. "I guess you boys know where your quarters are," she added. "There is plenty to eat----" "Hurray!" cried Jack, swinging his hat, and clapping Walter on the shoulder. "Perhaps you'll all have supper together," suggested Mrs. Chester. "If the girls let us," added Ed. "Oh, I guess we will," assented Cora. "That is, if you get my car up. I didn't think, when I ran it down, that the sand was so deep." "We'll look after it--don't worry, Sis," said Jack. While the girls and the two ladies went on to the larger bungalow, the boys managed, not without some work, to get Cora's auto up to the road again. Then it was run along, with the others, to the big bungalow, where there was a shed that would serve as shelter for the machines. The boys carried in the girls' trunks and suit cases, and transported their own to their quarters. Then began a general "primping" time, as the supper hour approached. "Oh, girls, isn't this just delightful?" exclaimed Cora, as she and the others entered what was to be their home for the summer. "That window seat is a dear!" declared Belle, as she proceeded to "drape" herself in it. "And see the porch hammocks," called Bess, "slumping" into one. "What a fine view of the bay we can get from here," added Eline, as she stood in the bow window, a most graceful figure. Cora, in spite of her damp shoes, had made a hurried trip through the bungalow to arrange, tentatively at least, as hostess, the different sleeping apartments. "Oh, it's just the dearest place!" exclaimed Eline. "I know we will simply love it here." "Now just put off your things, get comfortable, wash and comb if you like, and then the boys will be over to supper," said Mrs. Chester, when the girls had made a tour of the place. "Gracious! Here they come now!" cried Belle, as she saw Jack and his friends tramping over the space that separated the two bungalows. The girls fled precipitately, for they had begun to lay aside their collars and loosen their hair. Then the two ladies took charge of matters, in the kitchen at least. The boys were bidden to remain out on the piazzas until invited in, and they sprawled in various attitudes in chairs or hammocks. Then the girls came down; there was noticed throughout the bungalow various savory odors, at which the boys grinned in delight. There was the clatter of plates, and the jingle of silver--more expansive smiles. There were looks of pleased anticipation. Then came the clanging of a bell. "Supper!" announced Mrs. Chester, appearing in the door wearing a huge apron. "That's us!" cried Jack. "Oh, I've just thought of it!" exclaimed Cora in a low voice to Eline, as she walked beside her to the dining room. "Thought of what?" "The name 'Margaret!'" CHAPTER XV LAUNCHING THE "PET" "Pass the olives again, please!" "Aren't the lobsters delicious?" "Are you referring to us?" Ed bristled up, and looked rather aggressively at Belle. "If the net fits----" she murmured. "Net being the sea-change from shoe," spoke Jack. "Please pass the olives," came again from Bess, waiting patiently. "I've only had----" "A dozen!" interrupted Ed. "I have not!" "Children!" rebuked Cora. They were all at the supper table--I prefer, since we are now at sea, which makes so many equal--to call the late meal supper, in preference to dinner. No fisherman ever eats a "dinner" except at noon, and it was now well on to six o'clock. And they were making merry, were the motor maids and boys. Mrs. Chester had made bountiful provision for the party and they were now enjoying it thoroughly. Over in the bungalow of the boys were ample supplies for days to come, though such as would not keep had been laid in sparingly. "You girls certainly look nice enough to----" "Eat, were you going to say?" asked Eline, who was particularly "fetching," to quote Norton, whereupon Jack wanted to know what it was she was expected to "fetch." "Well, at least nibble at," remarked Walter. "Some of you don't look as though you would stand more than a nibble," and he looked particularly at Bess. "Oh, but there is so much to do," sighed Cora, as she thought of the arrangements for the night. "We really must hurry through supper and straighten things out. Then we can rest to-morrow." "It doesn't take you long to straighten out," said Ed, with a jovial smile. "One minute you're rescuing fat boys from the salty ocean, and the next you look as charming as--er--as----" "As a mermaid," finished Walter. "How do you do it?" Norton wanted to know. "This is the first long motor trip I've taken, and I'm wearing the collar of your brother, with the necktie of Ed. I can't seem to find a thing of my own." "It is all done by system," said Cora. "Hear! Hear!" cried Jack, English fashion. "Sis will kindly elucidate the system." "Finish your supper!" ordered Cora. "We want you boys to help carry around some of our trunks. We're going to place them differently." "More work," groaned Ed. But the meal was finally over and the boys put the trunks in the rooms of the various girls. Mrs. Chester had engaged the wife of one of the Cove fishermen to come in to help with the house-work, so the two chaperones could leave the dishes to her while they helped the girls settle their apartments. The bungalow was of ample size, and they were sure to be comfortable. The boys did some "straightening-out," but it was more honored in the breach than in the observance. When they wanted a thing they "pawed" over their suit cases until they found it, letting the other articles settle where they might. They were all out on the porch, talking and laughing over the events of the day, Cora being called upon to recount her experiences in making the rescue. "Cora," spoke Eline softly, when some of the motor boys and girls had voted for a stroll down to the beach, "what was it you meant when you said you recalled the name Margaret?" "Oh, yes. I'm glad you spoke of that. Do you remember the name of the woman I found in the garage the night of the fire?" "Mrs.--Mrs.----" Eline paused. "Mrs. Margaret Raymond," supplied Cora. "Yes, that was it. What of her?" "Well, the light keeper has a sister who is missing. Her name is Margaret, too. She is the aunt of the girl in the red bathing suit." "Does anything follow from that?" "Suppose I told you that as soon as I saw Mr. Haley, the keeper of the light, I was sure I had seen his face before?" "Ah!" Eline was quick to grasp at a suggestion. "Of course I have never seen him before," went on Cora. "But his sister must bear some resemblance to him; don't you think, Eline?" "I should say so--yes." "Then take the name Margaret--the fact that his sister is named that--also that the strange woman who ran away from the office, and whom I found in our garage, was named the same--the fact that Mr. Haley's sister is strangely missing, and under some sort of a cloud--which would also cover Mrs. Raymond--and you see the coincidences; don't you?" "Indeed I do!" declared Eline. "Oh, Cora, if it should turn out that they are the same person!" "It would be remarkable. But even if it were so we could not help him. We could give him no clue as to his sister's whereabouts now." "Well, we must find out what his sister's last name is. He has invited us over there, and I think I can speak to him on the subject. It is worth trying, anyhow. Suppose we go and join the others." "Shall you tell them?" asked Eline. "Not yet." They found the rest of the party down on the shore of the cove. The moon was up and the picture presented was an attractive one. Two points, jutting out into the ocean, came near enough together to make a sort of strait that led into the bay. Opening out of the big bay was a smaller cove--called Sandy--from the fine extent of bathing beach it afforded. It was just back of this beach that several cottages had been put up, also the two bungalows occupied by our friends. The point on which the lighthouse was built was somewhat in the shape of a shoe, and on the farthermost extremity were black rocks, extending, as I have said, out in a dangerous reef from which the flashing light warned vessels. The point was built up with fishermen's cottages, or modest houses, and around the bay was located the village of Sandy Point, a small settlement, but one that was gradually growing as the summer colonists found out its beauty. "I hope the _Petrel_ is here, all right," remarked Jack, when they had talked of many other matters. "We'll have to see the first thing in the morning," declared Ed. "Yes, I am anxious to get her afloat," spoke Cora. "The water is lovely around here." "Well, you ought to know," came from Walter, "you were out on it to-day." "We'll have some fun bathing," said Norton. "You say that lighthouse girl has won swimming prizes, Cora?" "Yes." "Maybe we can get up some races," came from Bess. "Do you swim, Eline?" "Some. That's what everyone says, I believe." They talked and strolled, and strolled and talked, until the lateness of the hour sent them to their bungalows. There was some little excitement about getting settled for the night, for it developed that one of the trunks containing some garments of the girls had not arrived. But they "doubled up," and were fairly comfortable. As for the boys, the sounds of merriment came from their quarters even at a late hour. "I'm glad I don't have to chaperone them," remarked Aunt Susan. Morning came, as it generally does. Jack and his chums got their own breakfast--in a more or less haphazard fashion--and then set off to the railroad depot to see about the motor boat. It was safe in the freight office, and was eagerly inspected by the boys. For, while Cora and her motor girl chums really owned the dainty little craft, the young men felt that they had almost a proprietary interest in it. "How are we going to get it over to the Cove?" asked Ed. "On a truck, of course," replied Jack. "Then we'll knock off the cradle----" "Rocked in the cradle of the deep!" burst out Walter. "Where's your permit to sing?" demanded Jack. "Stop it. Your swan song will come in handy when we launch the _Pet_." "Well, I guess this part of the work is strictly up to us," remarked Norton, as he surveyed the boat. "And the sooner we get her into the water the sooner we can have a ride." "Right--oh!" exclaimed Jack. "I'll ask the freight agent about a truck." That official told the boys where they could hire one, a certain man at the Cove making a specialty of moving boats. A little later the boys were perched on a big wagon, containing the boat, and moving toward a boat-repair dock whence most of the launchings were made. The girls had word of the little ceremony that was to occur, and they gathered at the place while the boys, with the help of one or two men, arranged to slide the un-cradled boat into the water. All went well until toward the end. Then the boat seemed to stick on the rollers. "Shove her hard!" cried Jack. "You fellows aren't putting half enough beef into your shoves." "All together now, boys!" cried Walter. "Here she goes!" Just how it happened no one knew, but the _Pet_ suddenly shot down the ways, sliding over the rollers. Jack, who had hold of her amidships, kept his grip, and, as if not wanting to part company from the youth, or as if objecting to taking the plunge alone, the motor boat shot into deep water, carrying Jack with her. He clung to the gunwhale and shouted--not in alarm, for he could swim, but in startled surprise. "Hold her, Jack, hold her!" shouted Walter. "Or she'll smash into that other boat," for the _Pet_, under the momentum of the slide, was going stern foremost straight toward an anchored sloop. CHAPTER XVI SUSPICIONS STRENGTHENED The girls screamed. The boys looked on in startled amazement. The men who had been hired to help launch the boat stood with their hands hanging at their sides, as if unable to do anything. Finally Walter galvanized himself into action long enough to exclaim: "We should have had a rope fast to her." "That you had, my lad!" agreed a grizzled old fisherman. "A rope and a kedge anchor on shore. Howsomever----" "Can't something be done?" demanded Cora, clasping her hands impulsively. "It must be! Our boat!" The spectacle of the fine craft, in which so many of the hopes and expectations of the young people centered, about to be damaged, seemed to send a chill of apprehension to the hearts of the girls--more so than in the case of the boys. And it certainly looked as though a collision was unavoidable. "And Jack!" cried Belle. "He'll be smashed!" "Not on that end," remarked Ed, grimly. "If he sticks there he won't be hurt. He's as far away from the smashing-point as he can get." This was true, for Jack was now clinging to the stem of the boat, having edged his way along from amidships. He did not seem worried, and in fact was preparing to do the only thing possible to prevent a collision. While the boys--Ed, Walter and Norton--were racing about, looking for an available boat to launch, regardless of the fact that it would be too late for all practical purposes, and while the fishermen helpers were disputing as to whose fault it was that a retaining rope had not been provided, Jack was carrying out his plan of action. This was nothing more or less than to turn himself into a rudder. As a usual thing the rudder is on the stern of the boat--necessarily so--but in this case the stern of the _Pet_ was the bow, as far as motion was concerned, and Jack, clinging to the stem, was on the stern, so to speak. So, vigorously churning with his feet, as a swimmer might tread water, he threw himself to one side, as a rudder might have been turned. The effect was immediate. The _Pet_ veered to one side, and the startled owner of the sloop, toward which the motor boat was plunging, had small use for the hook he had caught up in his excitement. In another moment the _Pet_ shot alongside the other craft, sliding rather violently along the rub-streak, and careening the sloop and herself as well. But no real harm was done save the removal of considerable paint and varnish. Jack had succeeded in his design. "Well, what were you trying to do?" demanded the owner of the sloop, rather angrily. "Trying to save your boat from harm," answered Jack quickly. "Throw me a line, will you? and I'll come aboard. I don't want to get in the motor boat, all wet as I am." "Sure thing!" the man exclaimed. "That was a neat trick you worked. Mighty clever!" He flung Jack a rope's end, the two boats now having drifted apart. Jack pulled himself to the deck of the sloop, letting go his hold on the _Pet_, but Walter and Ed were now coming out to get her in a small boat. Soon she was tied safely at the float, and Jack returned to shore. "How--how did it all happen?" asked Eline. "Well," said Jack, rather pantingly, for his breath was somewhat spent, "I had an idea that I gave a fairly good imitation, a la the moving picture performance, of how it happened. But if you'd prefer to have me play a return engagement, I might----" "Don't you dare!" cried Cora, as Jack made a motion as though to plunge into the water again. "Was that man very mad, Jack?" "Oh, only so-so. Say, I am some wet!" "Yes, you'd better go up to the bung, and change," suggested Ed--"bung," I may explain, being a short cut for bungalow. "Guess I'd better," agreed the damp one. "Say, but she's leaking some!" and he looked into the cockpit of the motor craft. "It will stop when the seams swell," was Walter's opinion. "Come on, fellows, we'll look over the engine." "Yes, and please get some gasoline," suggested Cora. "We may be able to go for a spin this afternoon. Come on, girls. Now that the _Pet_ is in her element we'll take a stroll around, and look at--well, at whatever there is to look at," she concluded. "Let's go over to the lighthouse," suggested Belle. "Not now!" exclaimed Cora, quickly. "We'll go some other time. Come on," and leaving the boys to go over the intricacies of the motor boat, the girls strolled along the sand. Jack hurried on the bungalow. "Why didn't you want to go to the lighthouse?" asked Eline of Cora, as they walked on, arm in arm. "I think they are so romantic. And perhaps that mermaid's father might show us through it in return for our rescue." "Doubtless he would, and probably he will--later," said Cora. "But, Eline, I want to do some thinking first." "About what?" "About what that mermaid, as you call her, told me of her father's worries. She----" "Here she comes now," interrupted Belle, catching part of what Cora and Eline were saying. Walking along the strand, with the chubby little boy who had been pulled from the water, was Rosalie. "How do you do?" she called pleasantly to Cora. "Are you all settled? I think it must be lovely to live as you girls do, going about as you please." "And I think it must be so romantic to live in a lighthouse," interposed Belle. "Do you ever tend the light?" "Once in a while, when father is busy--that is, early in the evening. Father and the assistant, Harry Small, stand the night watches." "Do you ever have storms here?" asked Bess. "Oh, often, yes; and bad ones too." "And are ships wrecked?" Eline queried. "Occasionally." "Did your light ever save any?" asked Cora. "Oh, yes, it must have, for the light can be seen for a long distance. Of course, we can't say how many vessels have come in too close to the black rocks, and have veered off. But I know once or twice father has seen the lights too close in, and then, as the sailors saw the lantern flash, they would steer out. So you see they were warned in time." "That's splendid!" cried Bess. "Think of saving a whole shipload of people!" and her eyes sparkled. "How is your father?" asked Cora in a low voice, as she got a chance to walk with Rosalie, the other three girls going on ahead. "Oh, he is still worried--if that is what you mean," was the answer. "That is what I do mean, my dear," Cora went on. "I wonder if you would mind describing your aunt to us." "You mean the one who--disappeared?" "Yes." "Why?" It was a challenge, and Rosalie looked curiously at Cora. "Well, my dear, I fancy--no, I will say nothing until I learn more. But don't tell me about her unless you choose." "Oh, I'm sure I don't mind. Perhaps you would like to speak to father?" "Possibly--a little later. But was your aunt a delicate woman, with iron gray hair, and rather a nervous manner?" "Yes, that's Aunt Margaret! But why do you ask?" "I will tell you later, my dear. Please don't say anything about it until I see your father. Do you suppose he would show us through the light?" "Of course! I'll ask him; and that will give you the chance you want!" "Fine!" exclaimed Cora. "I'm afraid you will think this is rather a conspiracy," she went on, "but I have my reasons. It may amount to nothing, but I will not be satisfied until I have proved or disproved something I have suspected since I came here." CHAPTER XVII THE LIGHT KEEPER'S STORY "Hurray! She's going!" It was Jack who cried this. "'She starts, she moves, she seems to feel----'" "As though we'd catch a wiggling eel!" Thus Ed began the quotation, and thus Walter ended it. The boys had been working in the motor boat, and had only now, after several hours, succeeded in getting it to respond to their labors. The motor started with a sound that "meant business," as Jack expressed it. "Let's go for a run," suggested Norton. "Better wait for the girls--it's their boat," returned Walter. "And we'd better pump some of the water out of her," added Jack. "She leaks like a sieve." "Pump her out, and by the time the girls are here she'll be ready," spoke Walter. "It was that carbureter all the while," declared Ed. "I knew it was!" "I was sure it was in the secondary coil," came from Jack. "And you couldn't make me believe but what it was one of the spark plugs," was Norton's contribution. "But it was the carbureter, all right." "All wrong, you mean," half grumbled Walter, whose hands were covered with grease and gasoline. "Some one had opened the needle valve too far." "Well, let's get busy with the pump," Jack said. "It's too nice to be hanging around the float." The _Pet_ was soon in as good condition as hasty work could make her, and on the arrival of the girls the whole party went out for a spin, though they were a bit crowded. Cora was at the wheel, a position her right to which none disputed. "I don't know these waters around here," she admitted, "but Rosalie said there was a good depth nearly all over the Cove, even at low tide." "Rosalie being the mermaid?" asked Norton. "I should like to meet her." "I have asked her over to the bungalow," went on Cora. "But I warn you that she is a very _sensible_ girl." "Meaning that I am not?" challenged Norton. "Not a girl--certainly," observed Jack. "Not sensible!" exclaimed Norton. "Don't give them an opening, boy," cautioned Ed. "You don't know these girls as I do." "Don't flatter yourself," was the contribution from Bess. "Why don't you talk?" asked Jack of Belle. "She's too interested in how deep the water is, and wondering if she will float as well as dripping Dick," mocked Eline. "I am not!" promptly answered Belle. "And just to show you that I'm not afraid I'm going to try to swim as soon as we go in bathing." "Which will be to-morrow," said Cora. They motored about the bay, winding in and out among anchored and moving craft. Cora was as adept at the wheel of the _Pet_ as she was at that of the _Whirlwind_, and many admiring comments were made by other steersmen in the Cove, though Cora knew it not. "She stood her land journey well," remarked Bess, as she noted how well the engine was running. "But you should have seen the trouble we had," complained Walter. "We thought she'd never go!" The day was lovely, and it was a temptation to stay out, but Cora was wise enough not to remain too long on the water. Already the effect of the hot sun was evident on the hands and faces of all, and the girls were secretly wishing for some talcum powder. They went back to the float, arrangements having been made to dock the _Petrel_ there. Then came a hasty meal and another spin. They were getting matters down to a system in the bungalows now--at least the girls were. The boys lived haphazard, as they always did, and perhaps always would. Mrs. Chester--Aunt Susan--in the absence of Mrs. Fordam, who had returned home--assumed charge of Cora and her friends to the extent of seeing that meals were ready on time. It was their third day at the coast, the time having been well occupied--every hour of it almost--and the girls were out alone in the _Pet_--the boys having gone fishing--when Cora observed a figure in a red bathing suit near the lighthouse float waving to them. "Rosalie--the mermaid!" exclaimed Bess. "What can she want?" "Perhaps her little brother is in the water again," said Belle. "No, she doesn't seem excited enough for that," spoke Eline. "We'll go see," was Cora's decision. The _Pet_ circled up to the float and came to a stop at its side, not a jar marring the landing. "Well done!" said Rosalie to Cora. "There are not many girls who can run a motor boat like that." "I have had some practice," was the modest reply. "Father will be glad to see you," went on the mermaid, with a smile. "He has just been polishing the light, and I know he'll be glad to show you through." She glanced meaningly at Cora, who returned the look. "Welcome, ladies!" greeted Mr. Haley. "I'm real glad to see you. Visitors are always welcome. Are you good climbers?" "Why?" asked Eline. "Because we have no elevator, and it's quite a step to the top of the tower." "Oh, we can do it," Cora declared. They were shown through the light, and the keeper explained how, by means of clock-work, propelled by heavy weights, the great lens was revolved, making the flashing light. It turned every five seconds, sending out a signal that all the mariners knew, each lighthouse being in a different class, and the signals they gave, either fixed or stationary, being calculated to distinguish different parts of the coast where danger lies. On their return to the neat parlor, on the appearance of which the girls complimented Rosalie, who kept house for her father--his wife being dead--Cora saw a photograph lying on the centre table. At the sight of it she exclaimed: "That is she!" "Who? What do you mean?" cried Mr. Haley. "That is my sister!" "And it is the woman who was in our barn!" Cora said. "I have thought all along it was. Now I am sure of it. Mr. Haley, I am sure I do not want to pry into your family affairs, but your daughter said something about her aunt being missing, and how worried you were. I am sure we have met her since--since her trouble. Perhaps we can help you." "Oh, if you only could!" exclaimed the light keeper. "My poor sister! Where can she be?" "Suppose you tell me a little about her, and then I--and my friends--can decide whether the woman we met is the one pictured there," and Cora passed the photograph to Bess. "There isn't much to tell," said the keeper of the light, slowly. "My sister is a widow. After her husband died she went to Westport to work in an office. She had been a clerk before her marriage. Everything seemed to go well for a time and she occasionally wrote to me how much she liked it. A friend of hers was in the same building. "Then my sister's letters ceased suddenly. I got worried and wrote to her friend. I got an answer, saying there had been a robbery in the office where my sister worked, and that my sister had disappeared. A young girl left at the same time, and there was some doubt about the robbery, though two men were mentioned as being concerned in it. But my poor sister must have felt that they would suspect her--and she never would take a pin belonging to anyone else. But she went away, and I've tried all means to locate her, but I can't. It has me worried to death, nearly." "What was your sister's name?" asked Cora. "Margaret Raymond." "That is the same woman!" spoke Cora, firmly. "Oh, to think we didn't ask her more about herself!" By degrees she and the other girls told the story of the woman in the burning barn. They did not so much as hint of their first suspicions about the fire. "And what was the name of the girl who worked in the office with her?" asked Belle. "Nancy Ford," answered Mr. Haley. "There can be no doubt of it," declared Cora. "That settles it. What a coincidence! That we should find her brother here!" "Oh, can you tell me where my sister is?" asked the light keeper. "I am very sorry, but she went away in a hurry from my house," said Cora, "and we have not seen her since. We feel sure she was the woman the sheep herder met that same night," and she told about that incident. "Bless that kind man--he helped her some, anyhow, and bless you girls," said Mr. Haley, fervently. His eyes were moist, and those of the girls were not altogether dry. "How can we trace her?" asked Bess. "The only way I see," spoke Cora, "is to write to the town toward which she went after the sheep man saw her. The authorities there might give some information." "I'll do it!" cried the light keeper, as he made a note of the place. "I can't thank you enough." "Oh, we have done scarcely anything," answered Cora. "We wish it were much more." Further details and forgotten incidents were mentioned as bearing on the case, and then the girls departed in the boat. It was a little rough going back, and the spray flew over them. "Isn't it strange?" observed Belle. "Very queer how it all turned out," agreed Eline. "Poor woman," said Cora. "I feel so sorry for her!" The boys remained out fishing nearly all day, and when they returned, not having had exceptional luck, Cora took Jack to one side and asked: "What was the name of the girl you and Ed met on the road the time of our break-down?" "She didn't say." "Are you sure?" "Of course, Sis. If I knew I'd have sent her a souvenir postal. What's the answer?" "Oh, nothing, I thought perhaps she had mentioned it." "Nary a word. Did you have a nice ride?" "Yes, we went to the lighthouse. And, Jack, what do you think? That woman--the one in our garage--is Mr. Haley's sister!" Jack was properly astonished, and he and the other boys listened with interest to the story of the identification. "Say," drawled Norton, "if we find Nancy Ford and Mrs. Raymond we'll be doing a good thing." "If," observed Ed, significantly. CHAPTER XVIII BELLE SWIMS The tide was just right. In their newest bathing suits the motor girls had assembled on the beach in the hot sun. Their white arms and necks showed the winter of indoors, but their faces had already taken on the tan of the seaside. Soon arms and necks would be in accord. The boys were out on the float, splashing about, occasionally "shooting the chutes" and diving from the pier. "Is the water cold?" asked Cora, going down to where the waves splashed on the pebbles. Daintily she dipped in--just a toe. "How is it, Jack?" Jack was tumbling about near the beach like a porpoise. "Sw--swell!" he managed to gasp, the hesitancy being because a wave insisted on looking at his tongue, or trying to scrub his already white teeth--Cora could not decide which. "Is it really warm?" "Of course!" "It feels cold." "I know. That's because you stand there and stick one toe in. Get wet all over and--you'll feel----" Jack was suddenly plunged under water by Walter, who had come swimming up, so the sentence was not finished. But Cora could guess it. "I'm going in; come on, girls!" she cried. "Oh, wait a little," pleaded Belle. "And you said you were going to learn to swim to-day!" challenged Eline. She looked particularly well in her dainty bathing costume. "Well, I--I didn't know the water would be so deep!" "Deep!" echoed Cora. "It's getting shallower all the while. The tide is going out. Come on." She waded out a short distance, bravely repressing the spasmodic screams that sprang to her lips, and turning to the others said: "It--it's--fi--fine--co--come on--in!" "Listen to her!" cried Bess. "It must be like a refrigerator to make her stammer like that." "It is not," said Cora. "It--it's real--real warm--when you--you--get used to it." "I have heard said," remarked Eline with studied calmness, "that one can get used to anything--if one only makes up one's mind to it." "Come--come on----" Cora did not finish. A wave splashed up on her, taking her breath. Then, resolving to get it over with, she strode out, threw herself under water and a moment later was swimming beside Jack. "Cora's in!" exclaimed Bess. "I'm going too." "So am I," added Eline. "Come on, Belle!" Belle hesitated. "I can only swim a few strokes," she said. "I learned at Lake Dunkirk." "It's much easier in salt water than fresh," insisted Eline, taking hold of Belle's arm. "Do try!" Hesitatingly Belle waded out into the water. She gasped and choked as the chill struck through her, then, resolving to be brave, she plunged herself under. She gasped more than ever, but did not give up. "You are doing fine!" cried Eline, as she struck out toward the float. Suddenly Belle screamed. "Are you going down?" asked Eline in alarm, yet they were not out beyond their depth. "No, she's going up!" asserted Walter, who was swimming near by. "Don't make fun of her!" commanded Cora. "I'm not. She's making fun of herself." Again Belle screamed. "Oh! Oh!" she cried. "Something has me! I--I'm sure it's a lobster." "None of us boys missing!" joked Ed, as he splashed up. "Lobsters are worth forty cents a pound! Save that one! Save it!" commanded Norton, as he came alongside with strong, even strokes. "Oh dear!" screamed Belle. She really seemed in distress, but something nerved her to strike out as she never had before, and before she knew it she was swimming. A figure in red guided to her side--a veritable mermaid. It was the girl from the lighthouse--Rosalie. "Take it slowly--you are doing lovely!" she commended. "You are swimming!" "Oh--Oh--I--I'm so glad!" cried Belle. "I've always wanted to, but they said I--I would be afraid!" Rosalie was half supporting her, but really Belle was doing well, and gaining confidence every minute. As the lighthouse maid swam past Cora she managed to whisper: "Father wants to see you. Come over when you can. I think he has had some word from Aunt Margaret." CHAPTER IX GATHERING CLOUDS The word which the lighthouse keeper had received was rather indefinite. It was a letter from his sister, but it only confirmed that which he already knew. "And it doesn't give me any address where I can write to her!" he complained when Cora had paid him a visit, in response to the invitation given by Rosalie during the swim. "It's postmarked at--maybe you can see it, my eye-sight isn't what it used to be," and he held the envelope out to Cora. "Edmenton," she read. "That's in this State." "Yes, but what good would it do to write to her there?" he asked. "She evidently doesn't want me to know where she is. Just read the letter, Miss." It was not long and in effect said that Mrs. Raymond would not come back to her relatives until she had found Nancy Ford, and cleared her name of the suspicion on it. "Don't try to find me," wrote Mrs. Raymond, "as I am going from place to place, working where I can. I am seeking Nancy. I thought she might have gone back where she used to live, but I wrote there and she had not arrived. I must search farther. I am doing fairly well, so don't worry about me. Some folks have been very kind--especially some young ladies. I will tell you about them when I see you, brother--if I ever do." "She must mean you--the time of the fire," said the light keeper. "I'm sure I'm much obliged to you for befriending my sister." "Oh, it was nothing," protested Cora. "I wish we could have done more. I am sure we could have, had she not gone off in such a hurry. But we can't blame her, for she was very nervous and excited." "Poor Margaret," murmured Mr. Haley. "She was always that way. She tells me not to worry--but I can't help it." "I suppose not," agreed Cora. "You might try writing to Edmenton. The postmaster there might give you a clue, or tell you some one who could give information." "I'll do it!" exclaimed the keeper of the light. "It will give me something to do, anyhow," and he set to the task. Cora had called at the light alone, not knowing what the nature of the communication might be that the keeper wished to make to her. It was the day after Belle had bravely struck out for herself in the water. Cora said good-bye to Rosalie, who was busy about her household duties, and waved to little Dick, who was playing on the beach. Then, getting into the _Pet_ in which she had come to the lighthouse float, Cora turned the bow toward the little dock at the foot of the slope on which the bungalows were perched. "Well, you were gone long enough!" complained Jack when she got back. "I've been waiting for you." "What for?" she asked. "Has anything happened?" "Nothing except that we fellows have heard of a motor boat we can hire cheap for the season, and we want to run over and look at it. The fellow who has it is on the other side of the Cove. Can I take the _Pet_?" "Certainly, Jack. We girls are going to the life-saving station, anyhow. You'll be back before lunch; won't you?" "I should guess yes!" exclaimed Walter, who had come up. "We wouldn't miss our rations for anything." Jack and his chums were soon speeding across the bay. There was quite a sea on, for the wind was rising, and there seemed to be indications of a storm. But a number of boats were out on the water, and the _Pet_ was a staunch craft. Also, Jack and the other boys were able to manage her, and all were excellent swimmers. Cora and the girls went on to the life-saving station not far from their bungalow. They were much interested in the method of launching the boat, and the captain explained how it would right itself if capsized, and also bail out the water that entered in a storm. "What do you do when you can't launch a boat?" asked Belle. "Use the breeches buoy," answered the grizzled old salt. He showed how by means of a mortar a line was fired aboard the wreck, and how, by a sort of pulley arrangement, the persons in danger could, one at a time, be pulled ashore, sitting in the "breeches buoy." "It's just like some of those apartment house clothes lines on high poles," said Bess; "isn't it?" "I never heard it called that afore," remarked the captain of the coast guard, "but I s'pose you could call it that if you was a mind to. If you'll stay around a bit you'll see our drill." The girls were delighted, and eagerly watched while the mortar was fired, the cylindrical shot carrying the line out to an imaginary wreck. Then one man played the part of a shipwrecked mariner, and was hauled over the sand, while Cora took several photographs of him. "We've got her!" exclaimed Jack, as the girls returned to the bungalow. "She isn't much for looks, but she can beat the _Pet_!" "Who?" asked Cora, thinking of something else. "The motor boat we hired. Come on out and we'll give you a race." "Let's!" exclaimed Belle. "My, but you're getting brave!" observed Ed. "The time was when a race frightened you even if you read of it in the papers." "I did not!" "She can swim now," commented Bess. Motor maids and motor boys went out on the bay in the two motor boats. The craft Jack and his chums had hired was not very elegant, and she seemed to be rather uncertain about starting, and when she did the engine appeared to be protesting most of the while. But the boat made good time, and though it did not really beat the _Pet_ (much to the disappointment of boastful Jack) it kept well up with Cora's speedy craft. For a week or more the young people enjoyed to the utmost the life on the coast. More people came to the little summer resort, and several social affairs were arranged. There were swimming races, in which the girls and boys participated, even Belle entering in the novice class. But she won no prize, nor did she expect to. "I just wanted to show Jack Kimball that I didn't have to wear a life preserver nor be anchored to the shore!" she declared with spirit. "I humbly beg your pardon!" said Jack, with a bow. Then there were motor boat races, in which the _Pet_ did herself proud, coming in first in her class. The boys had great hopes of the _Duck_, as they had re-named the boat they hired, but when they were doing well, and not far from the finish line, with every prospect of winning, something went wrong with the ignition, and they were out of it. There were affairs on shore too, several dances to which the girls and boys went. Then there was a moving picture performance semi-occasionally, and some other plays. Altogether the summer was a happy one, thus far. Nothing was heard of Mrs. Raymond, though her brother wrote a number of letters, and of course the missing Nancy Ford was not located. Though Jack and the boys insisted on staring at all the pretty strangers they met, playfully insisting that Nancy might be one of them. "Of course she's bound to be good-looking," said Ed. "Naturally," agreed Jack. "How do you make that out?" Cora wanted to know. "Everybody named Nancy is good-looking," asserted Norton, with his lazy drawl. The girls laughed at this reasoning. "Let's go for a long run to-day, Sis!" proposed Jack one morning, when he called at the girls' bungalow. "We can take our lunch, run around the lighthouse point, into the Cove on the other side, and have a good time. There's said to be good fishing there, too." "I'll go if the others will," she agreed, and when she proposed it to them the girls were enthusiastic about it. Soon two merry boatloads of young people were speeding over the sun-lit waters of the Cove. "We have to go right out on the ocean; don't we?" asked Belle with a little shiver as she looked ahead at the expanse of blue water. "Only for a little way," said Cora. "Just round the lighthouse point. Then we're in another bay again." "Are you afraid?" asked Eline. "N--no," said Belle, bravely. As they went on the sky became overcast, and Cora looked anxiously at them. "I'm afraid it's going to storm, Jack," she said. "Not a bit of it!" he cried. "I'll ask this fisherman," and he did, getting an opinion that there would be no storm that day. Reassured, they went on. The sea was not a bit rough and even Belle's fears were quelled. They went past the light, close enough to see Rosalie waving at them. High up in the tower they could note Mr. Haley and his helper cleaning the great lantern and lens. They reached the other bay in due time, but the gathering clouds grew more menacing, and Cora was for putting back. "No," urged Jack. "Let's stay and eat our lunch. If it gets too rough we can leave our boats here and walk back over the point. It isn't far." So the girls consented. The clouds continued to gather. CHAPTER XX THE STORM "Jack Kimball, I knew we stayed too late! Now look over there!" and Cora pointed to the west, where a bank of dark and angry-looking vapor piled up in contrast to the lighter-hued clouds that had caused apprehension earlier in the day. "That's right--blame it all on me--even if it rains!" protested Jack. "You wanted to stay as much as we did, Sis." "Well, perhaps I did," admitted Cora. "But really we should not have stayed so long. I am afraid we will be caught in the storm." "Do you really think so, Cora?" asked Belle, and she could not keep a quaver out of her voice. "If I'm any judge we're in for a regular old----" "You're it, old man!" and Walter interrupted Ed, who was evidently on the verge of making a dire prophecy concerning the weather. "Don't scare 'em any more than you have to," went on Walter in a low voice, nodding at the girls in the _Pet_. "We may have our hands full as it is." "Do you think so?" "Look at those clouds!" It was enough. Indeed all were now anxiously scanning the heavens that seemed to grow blacker momentarily. The little party, after having had lunch on the beach of the smaller cove, around the lighthouse point, were now on their way back in the two motor boats, and Cora, with a look aloft, had made the observation to Jack that opened this chapter. "Well, turn on all the gas you can, Sis, and we'll scud for it," called Jack to his sister. "We may beat it out yet. If not, we can go ashore almost any place." "Except on the rocks," spoke Cora. "The worst part will be round the point, in the open sea." "Oh, we'll do it all right," asserted Norton, confidently. "The wind isn't rising much." The boats were close enough together so that talking from one to the other was easy. They were headed out toward the open sea, and as Cora guided her craft she could not help anticipating apprehensively the heavy rollers that would be encountered once they were out of the land-locked shelter. But the bow of the _Pet_ was high. She was a good craft in rough weather, and as for the hired _Duck_, she was built for those waters. "Let's be jolly!" proposed Jack, for a glance at the girls in their boat had showed him that they were on the verge of hysterics. "Strike up a song, Ed." "Give us Nancy Lee," suggested Walter. "Nancy!" exclaimed Cora. "I wonder where that other Nancy is?" "No telling," declared Eline. "Oh dear! I hope it doesn't rain. This dress spots so!" and she looked down at her rather light gown, which really she ought not to have worn on a water picnic. Cora had said as much, but Eline--well, it must be confessed that she was rather vain. She had good clothes and she liked to wear them, not always at appropriate times. "It won't rain!" asserted Jack. "Go ahead, Ed--sing!" "'Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep' would be most appropriate," voiced Norton. "We are rocking some." It was indeed getting rougher, and the motor boats bobbed up and down on the long swells. But as yet none had broken over the bows. Cora dreaded this, not because of any particular danger, but because of the effect it would have on her chums, particularly Belle, who, try as she might, could not conquer her nervous dread of the water. The boys started a song, and the girls joined in, but a sudden dash of spray over the _Pet's_ stem brought a scream from Belle that made a discord, and they all stopped. Jack, who was steering the _Duck_, stood up and looked ahead. They were approaching the point around which they must go to reach their own cove. "Can we do it, old man?" asked Walter, in a low voice. "We'll try," answered Jack, equally low. "If we give up now the girls will get scared. We'll keep on a bit longer, and see where we come out." "Can't you get a bit nearer in shore?" asked Norton. "It's risky," said Jack. "It's low tide now, and while this old tub doesn't draw much there are a lot of rocks here and there, sticking almost up at low water. If we hit on one of them we'll be in the pot for fair. The only thing to do is to stand out, and trust to luck. Once around the point we'll be all right." "They're coming in," said Walter, nodding toward Cora and the others. "Keep out! Keep out!" cried Jack. "It's dangerous." "But the girls want to land!" cried his sister. "You can't now. The shore is too rocky. You'd pound her hull to pieces. Keep on around the point. The storm won't break for half an hour yet." Rather reluctantly Cora put the wheel over. Yet she recognized the truth of what Jack had said. It would be dangerous to go ashore there. And to turn back was equally out of the question, since the wind was rising. It was at their backs, and to turn in the heavy sea now running might mean an upset. To face the waves, too, would be dangerous. The only chance lay in keeping on. Jack's prophecy about the storm was not borne out. With a sudden burst of wind, that whipped the salty spray of the waves over those in both boats, and a sprinkle of rain that soon became a downpour, the tempest broke. The girls screamed, and tried to get under some bits of canvas that Cora had brought along to cover the engine. But the wind was so strong, and the rain so penetrating that it was of little avail. "Head her up into the waves!" cried Jack. "Take 'em bow on, Cora!" "Of course!" she shouted back, and gripped the wheel with tense fingers. A little later they were out on the heaving ocean. Fortunately the point cut off some of the wind, and, having the gale at their backs helped some. But the two motor craft, separated by some distance now, had no easy time of it. "Oh--oh!" moaned Belle. "Be quiet!" commanded her sister. "Look at Eline!" Eline was calm--that is, comparatively so. "But--but she can swim better than I." "Swim! No one will have to swim!" said Cora, not turning around. "I wonder what's the matter with that man?" and she pointed to one in a dory, who seemed to be signalling for help. Then there came a further burst of the storm, and the rain came down harder than ever. CHAPTER XXI THE WRECK "There must certainly be something the matter with that man!" exclaimed Cora. She had fairly to shout to be heard above the noise of the wind and rain. "Well, we daren't stop to see what it is," said Belle. "Oh, do go faster, Cora! Get in quiet water! I am getting seasick!" "Don't you dare!" cried Bess. "Think of--lemons!" "I'm going to see what is the matter," declared Cora. "He's waving to us!" "What about the boys?" asked Eline. "They don't seem to see him. Besides, they're past him now, and it would be risky to turn back. I can easily pass near him." The man, who was in a power-driven dory, was waving and shouting now, but the wind carried his words away. He seemed to be in some difficulty. "Why doesn't he row in out of the storm?" asked Bess. "Perhaps he has lost his oars," suggested Eline. "Maybe that is the trouble," remarked Cora. "Well, we'll soon see." She changed the course of the _Pet_, though it was a bit risky for the seas were quartering now, and the spray came aboard in salty sheets. But the girls could not get much wetter. Cora slowed down her engine by means of a throttle control that extended up near the wheel. She veered in toward the tossing dory. "What is it?" she cried. "What's the matter?" "Out of gasoline! Can you lend me a bit so I can run in? I came out to lift my lobster pots, but it's too rough." "Gasoline? Yes, we have plenty," said Cora. "I'll give you some." "Don't come too close!" warned the fisherman. "Can you put it in a can and toss it to me? That's the best way." "I'll try," promised Cora, as she cut off all power. The _Pet_ was now drifting, rising and falling on the swells. Belle looked very pale, and Bess was holding her. "Find something, and run some gasoline into it from the carbureter drip," directed Cora, as she clung to the wheel. "What shall I find?" asked Bess. "Would an empty olive bottle do?" asked Eline. "The very thing!" cried Cora. "Has it a cork?" "Yes, and one olive in it." "Throw out the olive, and poke your handkerchief down in the bottle to dry it out before you put in the gasoline. Even a drop of the salt water the olives come in will make trouble in the gasoline. Hurry!" "Look out!" cried the fisherman. "Fend off!" "You'd better do it!" directed Cora. "We have no boat hook!" "All right, I'll attend to it." The two boats were drifting dangerously close together. The fisherman caught up an oar he carried for emergencies, and skillfully fended off the _Pet_, which was drifting down on him. In the meanwhile Bess, with the help of Eline, had dried out the olive bottle, and had filled it with gasoline. "What shall I do with it?" she asked Cora. "Throw it to the man." "I never can throw it." "Then give it to me," and, holding to the wheel with one hand, with the other Cora tossed over the bottle of gasoline. The lobsterman caught it, called his thanks and gave the _Pet_ a final shove that carried her past him. "Can you crank her?" asked Cora to Bess, nodding toward the engine. "I'll try!" It needed three tries, but finally the motor started, and the boat surged forward again. Cora, bringing her head up to the seas, noted that Jack had started to turn around to come back to her, but, seeing that the _Pet_ was under way again, had gone on his own course. The wind continued to blow, the rain never ceased and the storm increased apace. But finally, after a battle with the elements that made the hearts of the girls quail, they passed the lighthouse point, and shot around into the quiet and wind-protected waters of the bay. A little later they were chugging into the even calmer cove. "Oh Cora! So frightened as I have been!" exclaimed Aunt Susan, as the dripping girls trooped up the hill to the bungalow. "Oh, what a storm!" "But we weathered it!" laughed Cora, shaking back her damp hair. "It was a bit scary at first, but we came out all right. It was fun at the finish." "I'm never going out again when it's cloudy!" declared Belle. "Never!" "Oh, you'll get used to it," said Eline. Dry garments, hot tea, and supper coming in the order named restored in the girls their natural happy dispositions. But the storm continued. It grew worse as darkness advanced, and the wind rose to a gale. The rain came down in torrents, and the boys, in spite of rain coats and umbrellas, were drenched a second time in the short trip from their bungalow to that of the girls, when they came to pay a visit. "It's a wild night," declared Jack, as he and his chums got ready to go back, about ten o'clock. "There must be quite a sea on," said Ed. "I wouldn't want to be out in it," remarked Walter. "And I beg to be excused," came from Norton. "Think of the poor sailors," said Eline, softly. "I tell you what I'd like to do," observed Jack. "What?" Ed wanted to know. "Go over to the lighthouse. It must be great up in the lantern room in a storm like this." "Don't you dare to go!" cried Cora. "It might blow away." "No danger," said Jack with a laugh. "But I'm not going. Another thing we might do." "What?" demanded Norton. "Go out and find a beach patrol. We could walk up and down with him, and maybe sight a wreck." "Oh, don't speak of a wreck!" begged Bess. "A wreck on such a night would be dreadful." "This is just the kind of a night when they have wrecks," observed Ed, as a blast of wind and rain shook the bungalow. As the boys were going out into the storm there came a dull report, reverberating on the night air. "What was that?" gasped Cora. "Sounded like a gun," said Jack. "Maybe a ship at sea----" There was a flash in the sky. It was not lightning, for there was no thunder storm. "See!" exclaimed Eline. "The lighthouse," ventured Norton. "The light is over there," and Ed pointed to the flashing beacon in a different direction. "Then it's a rocket from some ship in danger," declared Walter. "There goes another!" It was unmistakably a rocket that went cleaving through the blackness. It came from off the lighthouse point. "Some ship is in danger, or maybe off her course," spoke Jack. "Well, we can't do anything, and there's no use getting any wetter. Come on to bed, fellows." "Oh, the poor people--if that is a wreck," murmured Bess. "If it was only daylight we might witness some rescues," said Cora. "But at least let us hope it is nothing serious." It was Rosalie who brought the news next morning. Through the driving rain she came to the girls' bungalow, her face peering out from beneath a sou'wester that was tied under her chin, her feet barely visible beneath the yellow oilskin coat. "There's a wreck ashore!" she cried. "I thought maybe you might like to see it! It's out in front of our light, and they're bringing the crew ashore!" "Can they save them?" asked Cora, clasping her hands. "Most of 'em, I guess. Want to come?" "Of course we'll go!" cried Eline. "The boys won't want to miss this!" CHAPTER XXII THE RESCUE Green masses of foam-capped water hurling themselves on the sand--thundering and pounding. A spray that whipped into your face with the sting of a lash. The wind howling overhead and picking up handfuls of wet sand, scattering them about to add to the bite of the salt water. The rain pelting down in torrents. A dull boom, repeated again and again. The hissing of the breakers. And, out in the midst, out in a smother of water, gripped on the sharp rocks that now and then could be seen raising their black teeth through the white foam was the ship--a wreck. It was this scene that Cora, the other girls, and the boys saw as they hurried out to the lighthouse point. And it was one they never forgot. They had hurried out when Rosalie brought the news that in the storm of the night a three-masted auxiliary schooner had come too far inshore despite the warning of the light. "Father was up all night tending the lantern, too!" she shouted--she had to shout to be heard above the roar. "I helped him," she added. "But in spite of it the schooner worked in. She couldn't seem to steer properly. We could see her red and green lights once in a while. Then the current caught her and nothing could save her. She went right on the rocks. Her back's broke, Captain Meeker of the life guards said." "Can they save the people?" Cora inquired, as she pulled her raincoat more tightly about her, for the wind seemed fairly to whip open the buttons. "They're going to try," answered the lighthouse maid. "They got some of 'em off in the motor life-boat early this morning, but it's too rough for that now." "What are they going to do, then?" asked Bess. "Use the breeches buoy. It's the only way now!" cried Rosalie. "They're going to fire a line over soon." "We don't want to miss that," declared Jack. The wreck had gone on the rocks nearly opposite the lighthouse that guarded them. In this case the guardianship had been in vain, and the sea was hastening to wreak further havoc on the gallant ship. The boys and girls trudged down to the beach through sand that clung to their feet. They could see the life-savers getting their apparatus in order, and near them were huddled some men--evidently sailors. "Those are the men who were rescued from the ship," said Rosalie. "There are more on board, and some passengers, I heard. Some women and children, too!" "How terrible!" gasped Belle. "Oh, I don't see how any one can take a long voyage. I am so afraid of the water." "I don't blame you--not when it acts this way," spoke Eline. "It makes me shudder!" The big green waves seemed to be reaching hungrily out for those on the strand, as though not satisfied with having wrecked the ship. The waters fairly flung themselves at the men whose seemingly puny efforts were being directed to save those yet remaining on board. "Is the ship's captain among them?" asked Walter, pointing to the group of sailors. "No, indeed!" exclaimed Rosalie. "He'll be the last one to leave. They're always like that. My father was a captain once," and she seemed proud of the fact, though now she was glad that her father was safe in the staunch lighthouse. "That's so, I forgot," remarked Walter. "The captain is always the last to leave." "But I thought women and children came first in a rescue at sea," suggested Ed. "The women and girls--I heard there were some girls," went on Rosalie, "wouldn't get in the boat. They were afraid. Of course the breeches buoy is safer, but look how they have to wait. She may go to pieces any time now." "It's dreadful," said Cora, in a low voice. She and her companions drew closer to where the life-savers were at work. The boys and girls were wet, for the rain penetrated through coats, and umbrellas were impossible. But they did not mind this, and Mrs. Chester had promised to have hot coffee for them when they got back to the bungalow. She had refused to go out to look at the wreck. "I just couldn't bear it!" she had exclaimed with a shudder. The guards were burying in the sand a heavy anchor to which the main rope of the breeches buoy would be fastened. The other end would be made fast to the highest part of the ship, so that the person being pulled ashore in the carrier would be as far above the waves as possible. The three masts had been broken off, but the jagged stump of one stuck up, and could be seen when there came a momentary lull in the rain. It was not very cold, though much of the heat of summer had been dissipated in the cool rain. "If it was winter, how terrible it would be," said Eline. "Sometimes I have seen lake steamers just a mass of ice." "Yes, there is something to be thankful for," Cora agreed. "Oh, they are going to fire, I think." She pointed to where some of the men were setting the mortar, or small cannon, which is discharged to send a line to stranded ships. The mortar fires a long, round piece of iron, to which is fastened a light, but strong, line. When this falls aboard the vessel a stronger rope is hauled from shore by means of it. "Yes, they're going to shoot!" agreed Jack. "They must have trouble keeping their powder dry." Bess covered her ears with her hands and cried: "Oh, if they're going to fire I'm going to run!" "Silly! It won't make much noise!" exclaimed Norton. "They don't use a heavy charge." "I don't care. I'm going to----" But Bess did not have time to do anything, for at that moment the captain pulled the lanyard that set off the mortar. The report was loud enough, though partly smothered by the storm. "It fell short!" exclaimed Rosalie, who was watching intently. "See, it fell into the water!" "Does that mean they can't make the rescue?" asked Belle, in an awed voice. "Oh, no, they'll fire again," answered Rosalie. A guard was hauling in on the line, which had the weight attached to it. Soon it was in the mortar again, the line coiled beside it in a box in a peculiar manner to prevent tangling. Once more the shot was fired. "There it goes! It's going to land this time!" shouted Rosalie in her excitement. A shout from the group of rescued seamen, in which the life guards joined, told that the shot had gone true. Then began a busy time--not that the men had not worked hard before. But there was need of much haste now, for it was feared the vessel would break up. Quickly the heavy line was sent out and made fast. Then the breeches buoy was rigged, and in a little while a woman was hauled in from the wreck. "Poor thing!" murmured Cora. "We must help her. She is drenched." "Yes, we must do something!" cried Belle. "We'll take her up to our kitchen," proposed Rosalie. "There's a good fire there, and I'll make coffee." The woman was helped out of the buoy, and the motor girls went to her assistance. She seemed very grateful. She was the wife of one of the mates, and he was not yet rescued. "I will stay here until Harry comes ashore!" she declared, firmly. "And you know he won't come, Mrs. Madden, until the rest of the women is saved," explained one of the seamen. "Go with the young ladies. That is best," and she finally consented. In a short time several other women and two girls came ashore, one much exhausted. But by this time a physician had arrived, and he attended to her in the lighthouse. Then the remainder of the sailors were brought from the wreck, the first one to get ashore reporting that no more women or girls remained aboard. "There was one girl," he said, "but she seems to have disappeared." "Washed overboard?" asked Cora, with a gasp. "I'm afraid so, miss. It's a terrible storm." Finally the captain himself was hauled off, and he landed amid cheers from the brave men who had helped save him. He said the vessel was now abandoned, and would not last another hour. In less than that time the wreck was observed to have changed its position. Then amid the upheaval of the mighty seas the ship broke in two and was soon pounded into shreds of wood by the terrible power of the storm-swept ocean. The shipwrecked ones were cared for among the different fishermen, some staying in the lighthouse and some in the quarters of the life-savers. The storm kept up harder than ever, and soon Cora and her friends decided that it would be unwise to stay out longer in it. So they sought their bungalows. CHAPTER XXIII THE FLOATING SPARS Calm followed after the storm. The sea was sullen, and great waves broke on the beach, but the rain had ceased, and the wind had almost died out. But the tide heaved and seemed to moan, as though in sorrow for what it had done. It was the morning after the wreck, and Cora and the girls had gone to the lighthouse to look out over the ocean. All vestige of the schooner had disappeared. The sea had eaten her up. "Where are the boys?" asked Eline, as she walked along beside Bess. The girls had on rather make-shift garments, for they had become so drenched in the rain that their clothes needed drying. "I guess they are--pressing their trousers," remarked Cora. "Jack said he was going to, anyhow." "Vain creatures!" mocked Bess. "I noticed you doing your hair up more elaborately than usual," remarked Belle, with a glance at her sister. "Oh, well, no wonder. It looked frightful--all wet as it was." "Vain creatures--all of us," murmured Cora. "Then the boys won't be out for some time," suggested Eline. "I think not," answered Jack's sister. "I wonder what has become of all the shipwrecked people?" "A good many of them went on to New York last night," said Belle. "I met Rosalie early this morning and she said only two of the women were over at her place now. How did so many women, and those girls, come to be on the schooner?" "It was a sort of excursion party," explained Cora. "The schooner had an auxiliary gasoline engine. The company that owns it does a small freight business, and also takes passengers who like to go for a cruise. It seems that a party was made up, and tickets sold. Quite a number of women and girls, as well as some men, went along." "I guess they are sorry they did," said Belle. "Oh, the dreadful sea. I'm never going in bathing again." "Oh, it's safe in Sandy Point Cove," exclaimed Eline. "I wonder what happened to the missing girl?" asked Bess. "Missing girl?" echoed Belle. "Yes. Didn't you hear one of the sailors say a girl was missing--perhaps swept overboard?" "Oh yes! Poor thing!" and Cora sighed. "She may be--out--there!" and she waved her hand to the heaving ocean. The girls were on the beach where the rescue had been made. The waves were still pounding away, but a life-guard who went past on his patrol remarked: "She'll be down a lot by night." "Were any of your friends hurt?" asked Belle. "Working yesterday, you mean, miss?" "Yes." "No. Bill Smith got his hand jammed a bit, but that was all. We get used to rough treatment." "I suppose so. The sea is very rough--it's cruel." "Not always, miss. If you could see it--as I often do--all blue under the sun, and shimmering like--like your hair, miss, if I may be so bold, and with the gulls wheeling about, and dipping down into it--why, miss, you'd say the sea was beautiful--that's it--just beautiful." "Oh, but it's so often the other way--terrible--hideous!" murmured Belle, who seemed strangely affected. "No, miss, begging your pardon. Even in a storm I love the sea. It it's just grand, miss!" "Well, I'm glad you can think so. I can't. It makes me--shiver!" and a fit of trembling seized her. The girls walked on. Some refuse--bits of wood and part of the cargo from the wreck--was coming ashore. The girls continued on down the strand, now and then venturing too close to the water, and being compelled to run back when a higher wave than usual rushed up the shingle. "I wonder if we couldn't go out in the boat?" spoke Cora at length. "Don't you dare suggest such a thing--to me!" cried Belle. "I'll never go out again--after that terrible wreck!" "But I don't mean out on the ocean," said Cora. "I mean just around the cove. It isn't at all rough there, and you won't mind it a bit." "Do come!" begged Eline. "There isn't a bit of danger," urged Bess. "Why, you've often been out when there was more sea than this." "But not so soon after a wreck." "What has that to do with it?" Cora wanted to know. "The wreck is over. It wasn't a bad one, except that the ship was lost. All the people were saved. I think it was wonderful." "All but that poor girl," murmured Belle. "Well, we can't even be sure there was such a person," remarked Eline. "It was only a rumor, and really, Rosalie said the captain could account for everyone." "You never can tell when there are a number of people," supplemented Cora. "Perhaps this girl had her name down on the list, and, after all, did not go. Then, when she was looked for, and not found, they jumped to the conclusion that she had gone overboard. I've often read of such cases." "So have I," declared Bess. "Come on, Belle. Let's go for a ride. It will do us all good." "Oh, well, I don't want to be a spoil-sport I'll go; but, Cora, dear, you must take along a couple of life preservers." "A dozen if you like, Belle." "And you'll promise not to go outside the bay--you'll stay where it's calm?" "I promise!" exclaimed Cora, raising her right hand. Rosalie came out of the lighthouse in her bathing suit. "That girl fairly lives in the water," said Eline. "If I could swim as she does I would too," spoke Bess. "Hello!" called Rosalie, genially. "Isn't it lovely after the storm?" "Yes," said Cora. "Have they heard anything more about the missing girl?" "No. And no one seems to know who she was. Are you going for a spin?" "We thought of it. Would you like to come?" "I'd just love it! Only I haven't time to change, perhaps, and I don't want to----" "Come just as you are--in your bathing suit," invited Cora, and Rosalie did. The boys must have finished pressing their trousers, or attending to whatever part of the personal attire needed attention, for when the girls got back to the float, and were getting the _Pet_ in shape for a spin, Jack and Ed hurried down to look over the _Duck_. Both boats needed pumping out, for the water had rained in, and Walter and Norton were good enough to attend to this tiresome work for the girls. Soon the two craft were moving over the sparkling waters of the Cove, which seemed to be trying to make up for what the sea had done the day before. The boats kept close together, and talk and gay laughter passed back and forth. Then Jack and his chums, declaring they were going to see how far out toward the sea they could venture with safety, speeded up and left Cora and the girls in the _Pet_ somewhat behind. But they did not mind--in fact, Belle insisted on keeping in safe waters. Nor was Cora averse to this. The girls had been cruising about for perhaps an hour when Eline called: "What is that over there?" She pointed to a dark mass on the surface of the bay. Rosalie stood up to look. "It's a lot of spars lashed together," she reported. "A sort of raft. Maybe it is from the wrecked vessel." "Then if it's a raft there is some one on it!" cried Eline. CHAPTER XXIV SAFE ASHORE "It's a girl!" It was Cora who said this as the motor boat drew close to the floating logs. "A girl!" echoed Belle. "Yes; can't you see her long hair?" All the girls were standing up--even Cora, who had to bend over to maintain her grip on the steering wheel. They all peered anxiously toward the floating object. Certainly that was a figure on it--a figure of a girl--sea-drenched and washed over by each succeeding wave. "She's tied fast to that raft!" cried Bess. "And her head is up on a sort of box--that keeps her mouth out of the water," added Eline. "Oh, but she looks----" "Don't say it!" commanded Cora, sharply, and Eline stopped. "Oh, if only the boys were here!" breathed Bess. "They could help us--help her," and she motioned to the limp figure on the raft. "We don't need the boys!" exclaimed Cora, sharply. "We can make the rescue ourselves. That is if----" "Don't say it!" commanded Eline, thus "getting back" at Cora. "Oh, do steer over there!" begged Bess, as Cora did not seem to be bringing the motor boat quickly enough toward the raft of spars. "We must get to her!" "I am going to," answered Cora. "Oh, do you suppose she can be from the wreck?" asked Belle. "I think very likely," spoke Cora. "Those spars--they are from the ship," declared Rosalie. "They are broken pieces of the masts, perhaps. Some one must have made a raft before the vessel broke up, and she lashed herself to it. I have often heard my father tell of such things." "Oh, do get her, Cora!" exclaimed Belle, clasping her hands. "Don't go too close," warned the lighthouse maid. "Some of those spars have jagged ends, and a bump would mean a hole in your boat, Miss Kimball." "Don't, for mercy's sake!" voiced Bess, clutching Cora's arm. "And don't you do that to my arm or I can't steer," came the retort. "I'll be careful." As the motor boat came nearer the girls could see more plainly the figure on the raft. It was that of a young girl, with light hair, that was now darkened by the sea water. She seemed to have wrapped herself in some blankets, or rugs, tying them about her waist, and then had lashed herself fast to the spars, or some seaman had done it for her. She sat with her head against a box, which seemed to be nailed to the raft, and several turns of rope were passed about this in such a manner as to maintain the girl in a half-reclining position. The waves broke over the lower part of her body, but her head was out of the water, though whether this had been the case when the raft was in the open sea was a question. Clearly much water must have washed over the raft, and perhaps the buffeting of the waves had rendered her unconscious. "Look out!" warned Rosalie, as Cora sent the boat in a graceful sweep toward the raft. "Don't go any nearer." "But we must save her!" "Then let me try. I'll dive overboard and swim to the raft. Then I can loosen the ropes and we'll see what can be done toward getting her aboard. But be careful of your boat." It was good advice and Cora followed it. Rosalie stood on the stern, poised for a moment as Cora cut down the speed, and then gracefully dived overboard. Up she came, shaking the water from her eyes, and struck out for the raft "She's alive--and--that's all!" called Rosalie to the girls in the motor boat, as she bent over the one on the raft. "We must get her to a doctor quick!" "How can we get her into the boat?" asked Cora. "I'll loosen the ropes, and then you can come up on this side. The spars are smooth here and your boat won't be damaged!" "Poor creature!" murmured Belle, as she watched Rosalie in her dripping bathing suit bending over the girl on the raft. The ropes were soon loosed, and then, with no small skill, Cora brought the _Pet_ alongside the raft. It was not an easy matter to get the limp and unconscious figure into the boat, but the girls managed it. "Now for shore and the doctor!" cried Eline. "Here is her valise," called Rosalie, casting loose a rope that held a small suit case to the raft. "May as well take that, but I guess the things in it are pretty well soaked. She must have been adrift ever since the wreck went to pieces." She tossed the bag into the boat, and clambered in herself. Then Cora steered away from the raft, as Belle started the motor. They covered the rescued girl with her own wet rugs--it was all they could do. She was breathing--that was all. Half an hour later they were safe ashore, and two fishermen on the beach had carried the girl up to the bungalow. A doctor was telephoned for in haste. CHAPTER XXV A SURPRISE "Poor, poor girl!" murmured Cora. She was bending over the unknown who had been rescued from the raft. The girl lay in a stupor on a couch in the living room, having been made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, the girls having ministered to her with the aid of Mrs. Chester. "I wonder who she can be?" said Belle. "We shall have to interview some of those who were saved from the wreck," spoke Bess. "One or two of the women, and two of the men are still here, staying with some of the fishermen, I think." "They might know," remarked Eline, "but if we could look at the passenger list that would tell." "Where could we get it?" asked Cora. "The captain may have saved it, but of course he is gone. Perhaps he took it with him." "I'll ask my father," said Rosalie. "The captain may have left it, or a copy of it, at the lighthouse. I'll ask Daddy." The lighthouse maid had gotten out of her bathing suit on the arrival of the motor boat in the cove, and, in her ordinary attire had come over to the bungalow where the rescued girl was still in a state of unconsciousness. "That will be a good idea," said Cora. "I wish you would. But I don't see why that doctor doesn't hurry. Perhaps we had better telephone again." "I'll do it," offered Belle. "But perhaps we ought to try and revive her ourselves--some ammonia--" and she looked at Cora questioningly. "I had rather not," was the answer. "We don't know what injury we might do her. She may have been struck on the head, or something like that. I had rather a doctor would examine her. Poor creature. Who can she be?" No one could tell. The strange girl was pretty, and her light brown hair, now drying out, clustered around her pale face that looked so much like death that the motor girls were greatly affected by it. "Her people must be terribly worried about her," said Eline, softly. "Just think of it! They will read of the wreck in the newspapers, and see the list of those saved. Her name will not be among them, and they will think her drowned." "That is so," agreed Cora. "Oh, why doesn't that doctor hurry? If we could revive her she would tell her name and we could notify her folks. I've a good notion----" Cora started for the telephone just as the bell rang. Cora snapped the receiver down from the hook. "Yes--yes!" the others heard her say eagerly. "Oh, that is too bad! Your car has broken down while you were coming here? Yes, of course we want you! We have a strange case here. Wait! I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll come for you in my own car!" Cora turned to her friends. "Just think of it!" she cried. "Dr. Brown's car broke down while he was on his way here. He's over at Siconset and I'll go over and get him." "Then take our car!" suggested Bess. "It's just been filled with oil and gasoline. Yours may not have any in." "I will, thank you. You come with me, Bess; Belle and Eline can look after things until we get back. It isn't far." "Oh dear!" exclaimed Belle. "What--what will I do if she wakes up?" "Oh, don't be nervous!" exclaimed Cora, vigorously. "If she comes to her senses so much the better. Get her something warm to drink. She may be starving." "Very likely she is," said Mrs. Chester. "Run along, Cora. We'll look after things here. Bring the doctor as soon as you can." Outside Cora found Jack and the other boys anxiously waiting news of what was going on. They cried: "Who is she?" "Has she come to yet?" "How did she happen to be on the raft?" "Has she told you her story?" "I can't stop to talk now!" she replied. "I've got to go for the doctor. Jack, be a good boy, and run the _Flyaway_ out for me. Bess and I are going in that for Dr. Brown. He----" "Didn't you telephone for him long ago?" "Yes, but his car broke down." "I see. I'll have the flyer here in a minute. Don't you want my car? It's lighter." "Or mine?" asked Norton eagerly, anxious to be of some service. "Thank you both--no. Bess and I will make out all right. We don't know who the girl is, nor what's the matter. Get the car, Jack, do." The boys, who had come back from their little trip shortly after the girls had made the strange rescue, talked about the happening, while Jack ran the _Flyaway_ out from the shed where it was kept with the other cars. Soon Cora and Bess were on their way to pick up the physician. "She must have received a blow on the head. That is the only way I can account for her long stupor. Or perhaps she has received some severe mental shock. Of course the exposure and the fright of the wreck would add to it." It was Dr. Brown who spoke this way after examining the girl from the raft. Cora and Bess had made good time to get the medical man and bring him back to the bungalow. "But she is coming around now," went on the physician. "We will have her opening her eyes in a moment." "Perhaps the sight of this may help her when she begins to come to her senses," suggested Rosalie, bringing in the suitcase that had been on the raft with the girl. "She seemed to value it very much, to take it with her in the time of the excitement of the wreck," she went on. The bag had been lost sight of in the confusion of bringing the strange girl to the bungalow and in sending for the doctor. In fact, the other girls had almost forgotten that such a thing existed. Rosalie now brought it in, sodden and damp from the sea water. She placed it on the floor near the couch on which the girl lay. Idly Cora glanced at the suitcase. Some letters on it caught her eyes. They were partly obliterated, either by abrasion, or the action of the sea water, but Cora could see that they formed a name. She leaned forward, and read half aloud: "Nancy Ford." "Girls! Girls!" Cora exclaimed. "Look--we have found her--the missing girl that Mrs. Raymond wanted so much to find. Nancy Ford! There she is!" and she pointed to the girl on the couch. "Nancy Ford!" repeated Belle. "Who----" "You don't mean to say you don't remember?" cried Cora. "The fire in our garage--the strange woman--the story she told--of the robbers--of Nancy Ford disappearing. There is Nancy Ford!" "Look! her name is on the valise!" Cora pointed a slightly-trembling finger at it. "She is our waif from the sea. Oh, if she will explain things--if only everything is all right--and we could find Mrs. Raymond!" "Perhaps--perhaps the missing money is in--that bag, girls!" whispered Belle. The doctor turned around. "Please keep a little quiet," he suggested. "She will revive in a few seconds, and I don't want her to have too much of a shock. She will be all right, I think." "To think that we have found Nancy Ford!" exclaimed Cora in a tense voice, but the room was so silent just then that it sounded louder than it otherwise would have done. "Who is calling me?" came suddenly from the girl on the sofa. She sat up, looked around with big, staring eyes, in which the wonder grew as she noted the room and those in it. "Who said Nancy Ford?" she demanded again. "Easy, my dear, easy," said Dr. Brown, softly. "You are with friends and you are all right. Drink this," and he held some medicine to her lips. The girl drank unresistingly and then lay back again on the pillows. CHAPTER XXVI THE STORY OF NANCY FORD "When do you think we can talk to her--question her?" asked Cora of Dr. Brown. It was some hours after Nancy had regained her senses. She had been fed some nourishing broth, and moved into a spare bedroom, where she was made comfortable. "Is it absolutely necessary to question her?" the physician asked in turn. "It seems to be important," returned Cora. "If she is really Nancy Ford a great deal depends on it. She may be able to clear the name of a woman who has suffered much. If we could question her, learn her story, we might be able to help both her and the woman in question, Mrs. Raymond, who is a sister of Mr. Haley." "Oh, yes, the light keeper. I understood there was some mystery about his sister." "She has disappeared, and is searching for this very girl we rescued from the sea," went on Cora. "I do not wish to make her ill, or disturb her, but if we could hear her story we might be able to act." "Hum, yes!" mused Dr. Brown. "Well, I think by evening she will be strong enough to talk. I want her to rest now. Yes, you may question her then. I shall leave some medicine for her, but principally she needs rest, and light but nourishing food. There is nothing serious the matter with her. She has received no injury that I can find. The shock and the fright caused her to lose her senses--that and being almost starved." "Poor girl! Out all alone--all night--on the ocean on that raft," remarked Cora. "I should have died!" sighed Belle. "Oh, human nature can stand more than we think," spoke the doctor. "Well, I must be going. I don't know how I am to get around without my car." "Use mine!" offered Jack, quickly. "I shan't need it. The old _Get There_ needs running to keep her in good humor." "Very well, I will, and thank you." Dr. Brown looked in on his patient. "She is sleeping," he said. "That is good," murmured Cora. "But, oh! I do wish we could hear her story." "The fellows are anxious, too," said Jack, he being alone allowed in his sister's bungalow at this time. There was a period of anxious waiting by Cora and her friends. Rosalie had gone back to the lighthouse to see if there was a duplicate list of the passengers on the wrecked schooner. She had come back to report that her father had none, and did not know where one could be obtained. The few members of the ship's company remaining in the village could throw no light on the waif of the sea who had been so strangely picked up. Undoubtedly she was the girl supposed to have been washed overboard. "She is asking for you," reported Mrs. Chester, coming from the room of the girl that evening after supper. "She wants you, Cora." "Are you sure she said me, Aunt Susan?" "Yes, she described you. She seems to be worried about something." "I will see her." Cora went into the room softly. The girl--Nancy Ford--to give her the name on her valise, which had not been opened, was propped up amid the pillows. She had some color in her cheeks now, and there was eager excitement in her eyes. "How are you--Nancy Ford?" greeted Cora, pleasantly. "I am not Nancy Ford--how--how--why do you call me that name?" "It is on your valise." The girl started. "My valise! Oh, yes! Was that saved? Oh, dear, I am so miserable! Yes, I am Nancy Ford. I don't know why I said I was not. But I have been in such trouble--I haven't a friend in the world, and--and----" She burst into tears. Instantly Cora was beside her, putting her arms around the frail figure in the bed. "I am your friend," said Cora, softly. "You may trust me--trust all of us. We are so glad we found you. Mrs. Raymond will be glad, also." "Mrs. Raymond!" It was a startled cry. "Yes." "Why--why, isn't she still in the office? When--when I ran away she was there, and, oh! I didn't dare go back. I--I was so afraid of those men. One of them----" "Wait, my dear," said Cora, gently. "Perhaps it will be too much for you to talk now." "No, that is why I sent for you. I wanted to tell you all. At first I decided that I would say nothing, but you have been so kind that I decided I must. Oh, that dreadful wreck! I shall never forget it. Poor Mrs. Raymond! And she is gone?" "Yes, and we do not know where. Suppose I tell you how I came to meet her, and what happened?" "Then I can tell you my story," answered Nancy. "Please do." "First drink this," and Cora gave some of the medicine that had been left by the doctor. As briefly as she could Cora related the incident of the fire, and story told by Mrs. Raymond. "That is just how it happened," said Nancy, with a sigh. "Oh, I little thought when I ran out of the office that I would cause such suffering to an innocent woman." "Then she is innocent?" asked Cora, eagerly. "Of course she is!" "Oh, I am so glad! I thought she was all the while. Now, dear, if it won't tire you too much, please tell me as much as you wish to. Then I will let the other girls know." "Well, I am Nancy Ford. I am sorry I denied it, but----" "That's all right, my dear. I understand." Nancy struggled with her emotion for a moment, and resumed slowly, with frequent pauses to compose herself. "My parents died some time ago, and left considerable property to me," said Nancy. "Not a big fortune, of course, but enough so that I had to have a guardian appointed by the court. And that made all the trouble. At first Mr. Rickford Cross, my guardian, was very nice. He helped me by advice, and suggested that I go to a boarding school. "I did so, and spent some years there. Then, as the securities papa had left me increased in value, I began to think that perhaps I ought to know more about my own affairs, and not leave everything to my guardian. So, without consulting him, I left the boarding school, and went to a business college. He did not find it out for some time, as he was abroad. "Perhaps I did wrong, but I wanted to know how to attend to my business when I had to. Oh, but Mr. Cross was very angry when he found it out. He wanted me to go back to boarding school, but I refused. I said I wanted some practical experience in an office, and, after some argument, he consented, and got me in the place where Mrs. Raymond worked. I liked her very much. "I think my guardian must have had some business dealings with the man who ran the office. They were often together and finally I began to suspect that all was not right. I think Mrs. Raymond did also. "Then my guardian and Mr. Hopwood, the man I worked for, had a violent quarrel. My guardian threatened to take me out of the place, and send me back to boarding school, for he was angry at me because I would not give him certain papers from my employer's desk. "Then my guardian insisted that I come to live with him and his wife. I did not want to, for I did not like either of them. But they made me go, and oh, the life I led!" "It must have been hard," said Cora. "It was, dreadfully so. I was virtually a prisoner. Finally I decided to run away, and do anything rather than submit to my guardian. I hated and feared him. I got together what money I could, and it was a good sum, for my quarterly allowance had just been paid. Usually after I got it my guardian would take it away from me and dole out small sums. But this time he had no chance. "So I ran away! It was hard to do, but it was harder to stay. I left the house one morning, taking my suitcase with me. I stopped in the office, intending to say good-bye to Mrs. Raymond, and when I had been there a little while my guardian suddenly came in with another man. I did not know him, but I feared my guardian had come to take me back. I screamed and ran out in fright before they could detain me. I have never been back, so of course I don't know what happened to poor Mrs. Raymond. I did not tell her my story, and she did not know that the man I so feared and ran away from was my guardian. Oh, I didn't know what to do!" "Of course not," agreed Cora, soothingly. "I can piece the story together now. "After you left Mrs. Raymond either fainted, or was made unconscious by one of the two men--your guardian or the other. She doesn't quite know what happened except that when she came to her senses you were gone, the money was missing and the men had vanished. She told all she knew, but her story was not believed, and her employer suspected her of taking the money. In great distress she hurried away, and, after some happenings she was found in our burning garage. I did not have a chance to ask all the particulars. But she did so want to find you, to know why you ran away, and who the men were you seemed to fear. She may still be searching for you." "But I don't want to meet her!" cried Nancy. "Why not?" "She may--she may be in league with my guardian." "No, indeed--impossible!" cried Cora. "We will see that you are fully protected. I will communicate with my mother's lawyer at once, if you will allow me. There is such a thing as having a guardian removed, you know. The courts will protect you." "And oh, I do seem to need protection!" sighed Nancy. "You poor girl!" and again Cora's arms went around her. "I will telegraph mother at once. We will have the lawyer come here!" "Oh, can you do that?" "Certainly I will, my dear. You need a new guardian most of all." "Oh, if I may only have one. Then I will be happy again. And I can clear the name of Mrs. Raymond, for I am sure either my guardian, or the other man, took that money." "They must have. But you have not told how you came to be in the wreck." "Oh, that was a mere accident. After I ran away I went from place to place, fearing my guardian might trace me, for I am sure his object was to get all my property into his hands. I heard of this sailing voyage, and I put my name down in the passenger list. I thought a sea trip would do me good, for I love the water. Then came the terrible storm--and they said the ship was sinking. Some of the sailors made a raft, but did not launch it. "I was afraid to go in the boats, and more afraid of being pulled in on the rope. So I got a little food together, took my suitcase, and tied myself to the raft. I knew it would float, and I hoped to be picked up. Then the storm grew worse. The vessel was all in confusion, for the rescue was going on. No one noticed me. Then the ship went to pieces, and I lost my senses. The raft must have launched itself, and I floated on it. That is all I know until I found myself here. Oh, I can never thank you enough for all you did!" "It was nothing," said Cora. "If we could only find Mrs. Raymond now we could complete the story; and she will be so glad to know that you can clear her name." "Oh, but I shudder when I think I have to meet my guardian to do it." "You will not have to," promised Cora. "I will see to that, Nancy dear!" "You are too good!" "Nonsense. Anyone would be good to you after all you have suffered. Now rest, dearie, and I will tell the others all about you." "They won't blame me; will they?" "Indeed not! They are all so interested in you, even the boys." "Have you boys here?" "Yes, my brother and his chums. I will tell you about them later. You will like them, I think." "I am sure I shall. Oh, but it is such a relief to tell this to you!" "I am glad it was, my dear. Now rest. I am sure you must be tired. The doctor will be here this evening." CHAPTER XXVII A BOLD ATTEMPT "Isn't it romantic?" "And to think of all that poor girl suffered!" "I'd like to get hold of that miserable guardian of hers." "She has pluck, all right, to get out and hustle for herself." "Isn't she pretty!" "I do hope she gets all over her exposure." "Oh, yes, she is coming on finely." Rather disjointed talk, I am afraid, but that is exactly the way it went on--the motor girls and the boys discussing the story of Nancy Ford. It was evening, and the boys had called to see the girls in the bungalow of the latter. Nancy had been visited by the doctor, who had reported her much improved. The telling of her story seemed to have taken an anxiety off her mind, and with food and medicine she was rapidly regaining her healthy young strength. There had been rather a dramatic scene when Jack and Ed were first allowed to see Nancy. They both started back, and Jack exclaimed: "It's the girl!" "And you are those nice boys--how odd," Nancy had said. "Please explain," begged Cora. "You know," said Jack. "The night Ed and I got lost. It was Nancy we met and gave a ride in my auto." "I suspected it all the while," said Cora, with a smile. "But I said nothing." "It was a mere accident," explained Nancy. "I was just on one of the little trips I took after I ran away from the office, and I miscalculated my distance. It was awfully nice of your brother to help me." "Oh, Jack is always nice," said Cora, smiling. "That means you buy the candy, old man," spoke Ed, with a laugh. "Well," drawled Jack, as he stretched out lazily on a sofa, later on, "now the only thing left to do is to find that Mrs. Raymond, and everything will be cleared up." "That, and putting that mean Mr. Cross in--in jail!" said Bess, with a vehement gesture. "Would you be so cruel?" asked Walter. "What else can you do with him?" demanded Belle. "He has certainly been mean enough to warrant being sent to prison." "'In a prison cell I sit!'" chanted Ed. "Stop!" commanded Cora. "Nancy may be sleeping, and the doctor said it was very important for her to sleep." "Then we'd better clear out of here," was Norton's opinion. "She'll never get any rest while this crowd holds forth. Come on, Eline, I'll take you to a moving picture show." "Not after what has happened to-day," declared Mrs. Chester. "You young people have had your own way all day, and now I want you to quiet down. Boys, you will have to go home soon. Girls, it's almost time you were in bed." "Aunt Susan is asserting herself," remarked Jack, _sotto voce_. "But don't count on me, Aunt Susan. I am immune." "You'll go with the rest," she told him. They sat about for some time longer, discussing the strange tale related by Nancy. Then came good-nights. Cora went to see Mr. Haley, the light keeper, next day. She told him what Nancy had related. "Lobsters and crawfish!" he exclaimed, clapping together his brown hands. "Begging your pardon, of course, for using that sort of language, miss, but my feelings sure did get the best of me. And so this Nancy Ford can clear my sister's name?" "She can and she will. I have wired for mamma's lawyer to come down, and he will arrange matters. There is only one difficulty." "What is that?" and the keeper of the light looked worried. "You mean that there is a possibility that my sister may even yet be guilty?" "No; but where are we to find her?" "That's so. Poor Margaret! Where can she be keeping herself? If she would only come to me--or write, I could let her know that it was all right. And so those men were the robbers, after all?" "It seems so, from what Nancy says." "Strange. I knew Margaret could not be guilty, but how to prove it was the hard part. When can we arrange it?" "As soon as we can find your sister." "Oh, dear! And I haven't the least idea where to look for her." "Don't worry," suggested Cora, gently. "We found our waif from the sea most unexpectedly, and I am sure we will find your sister the same way." "Not in a wreck, I hope," said the light keeper, with a smile. "We don't want any more wrecks on this coast. Which reminds me that I must see to the light." "It was no fault of your light that this wreck came," said Cora. "Everybody says that." "I'm glad of it. If I had thought that my light failed, I--I'd never want to live longer," and his voice trembled. "The steering gear got out of order," said Cora. "Nancy told me that. They could not control the vessel in the storm." "That's always bad. Well, if we can find my sister all will yet be well. I can't thank you enough for bringing me this good news." "I am glad I had it to bring," said Cora, brightly. Nancy Ford continued to gain in strength, and the day came when she could go out. There was a little celebration and the boys wanted to get up an auto or a motor boat party, but Cora drew the line. "Some other time," she said. Her mother's lawyer came to Sandy Point Cove, and looked over some papers that Nancy had brought away with her. His opinion was that the dishonest guardian could be removed by the court, and he promised to take charge of matters. Nancy was much relieved. "But where can we find Mrs. Raymond?" she asked. "It will take time," said the lawyer. "I will set some private detectives to work, and advertise, advising her that she can be proven innocent if she will come forward." Then came happy summer days. Nancy was adopted by the motor girls, and stayed with them in the bungalow. They went on long runs, or in trips in the boats on the beautiful bay. They were always welcome at the lighthouse, and Mr. Haley liked nothing better than to sit and talk with the boys and girls, telling them sea stories, or listening to their little adventures. But the search for Mrs. Raymond did not progress very rapidly. Nothing was heard from her. In the matter of removing Mr. Cross as Nancy's guardian, the procedure had to be slow, as there were complications. But the lawyer was attending to matters, and promised that soon all would be straightened out. By means of his representatives the lawyer, a Mr. Beacon, heard indirectly from Mr. Cross, but could not capture him. The latter was furious at the escapade of his ward, and threatened to have her brought back to him. In the matter of the robbery he insisted that Mrs. Raymond was guilty. It was one glorious summer day when Cora had taken the whole party out for a spin. In her auto were Eline and Nancy, the others distributing themselves in the various cars as suited their fancy. Several times, as they motored along the roads, they were passed, or passed themselves, a low, rakish motor car, of a dull dust color. Two men were in it, and once or twice they favored the occupants of Cora's car with rather bold stares. "I wonder who they can be?" asked Eline. "Well, if they keep up this monkey business much longer I'll find out," declared Jack. "Go easy, please," suggested his sister. The only incident, or, rather, accident that marred the trip, was when Cora's car suffered a puncture. It was on the run home. "You go on," she called to the others. "I can fix it." "No, I'll do it," offered Jack. Perhaps the presence of Nancy in the car induced him to linger, together with Ed, who rode with him. "All right," assented Cora, not sorry to be relieved of the task. As Jack was struggling with the tire irons, the rubber shoe being a most obstinate one, the low racing car that had several times passed them, again hove in sight. Cora was helping Jack, and Eline and Nancy had strolled down the road to gather a few wild flowers. The racing car stopped, one of the men leaped out, and made a dash toward the two girls. Eline, looking around, screamed, and Nancy, hearing her, added to the exclamation. "My guardian! My guardian!" she cried. "I won't go--I won't go!" "Quick, Jack!" cried Cora. "They're trying to take Nancy away. You must stop them!" Jack, holding a heavy tire iron in his hand, leaped forward toward the two girls. The man had almost reached them, when there was heard the loud honk of an auto horn coming around the bend of the road. CHAPTER XXVIII A STRANGE MESSAGE Nancy and Eline clung to each other. Nancy had started to run off into the woods, but found herself unequal to the task. A nervous tremor seized her. "Oh, Eline, Eline!" she begged. "Don't let him take me away! Don't!" But Nancy's guardian was not destined to get her into his control this time. No sooner had the honk-honk of the other car been heard and it had swung into sight around the bend of the road, than the man in the other auto--the man who had accompanied Mr. Cross--called out: "Look out, Rickford, this may be a trap!" "You'd better believe it's something to stop you!" cried Jack, still swinging forward on the run. Cora, too, had started toward Eline and Nancy. She saw that the big car probably had nothing to do with the attempted abduction of the shipwrecked girl, and that it was only coincidence that brought it there at that moment. But it was a fortunate coincidence, for it frightened away the two men. Like a flash Mr. Cross turned, sped back to his car, and in another instant he and his crony were speeding down the road. "Oh, he's gone--he's gone," sobbed Nancy on the shoulder of Eline. "Of course he's gone!" cried Jack. "If he hadn't--" and he glanced significantly at the tire iron in his hand. "Jack, dear," said Cora, gently, with a warning glance at Nancy. Cora did not want her disturbed any more than was necessary. "Well--" blustered Jack, and let it go at that. "Was that really your guardian, Nancy?" asked Cora, when her new friend had somewhat composed herself. "Yes, it was. Oh, has he gone?" "Far enough off by this time," declared Jack. "I didn't know him at first, for he has grown a beard," said Nancy, "but when he came toward me I could tell by the look in his eyes that it was he. Oh, what an escape!" "A very fortunate one," said Cora. The big car, the appearance of which had been instrumental, perhaps, in preventing the taking away of Nancy, drew near to the group of young people and stopped. There were two middle-aged men in it, and they looked at our friends curiously. "Has anything happened--can we do anything?" asked the one at the wheel. "Nothing but some tire trouble, thank you," said Cora, quickly. "And my brother can manage that; can't you, Jack?" "Sure, Sis," and he winked at her to show that he understood nothing was to be said about the affair that had so nearly been a real "happening." "If you want any help, don't hesitate to ask us," put in the other man. "We are in no hurry." "Oh, thank you, I can manage," Jack answered. "I had the repairs almost made when the girls--thought they saw something, and screamed." He winked at Cora again. "Oh, I see!" exclaimed the steersman with a laugh. "A snake. We heard your screams, and thought perhaps----" "It was just--nothing," Cora said with a smile. Eline and Nancy had turned and were walking back toward their car, so the tear-stained face of Nancy could not be observed. With renewed offers of aid, which were courteously declined, the two men proceeded, and Cora and the others were free to discuss the recent happening. "Do you really think he meant to take you away--your guardian?" asked Cora of Nancy. "I really do. Oh, he must be desperate! He must be trying to get my property away from me." "We'll soon have him attended to!" said Jack, fiercely. "Our lawyer says the case will come before the courts soon, and then good-bye to Mr. Cross!" "I wonder how he knew where you were?" asked Eline. "You forget that the rescue of Nancy was told of in the papers," spoke Cora. "Doubtless he read of it, and came on. He, or some of his men, may have been spying around and knew just when we went for a ride." "And they followed us, that's one sure thing," added Jack. "Their car passed us several times. They were just waiting for a good chance, and they took the first opportunity." "I should have known him at once, when they passed, but for his beard," said Nancy. "Oh, I feel so nervous and weak!" She was on the verge of tears again. "Come, we will go back to the bungalow," suggested Cora. "I must tell the lawyer about it. He may wish to take some action." A little later they were back in the summer cottage, where, to the wonderment of the others, the strange story was told with all the details, for when Cora's car developed the tire trouble the rest had continued on, Jack and Ed remaining behind. "Oh, I'm glad I was not along!" breathed Belle. "And I wish I had been!" exclaimed Walter. "Jack, you and Ed had all the fun." "I didn't do anything," said Ed. "Jack was the hero." "Only a near-hero," said Cora's brother. "I didn't get near enough to do any damage." Mr. Beacon, the lawyer, on hearing the account of what had happened, at once took steps to expedite the matter of the removal of Mr. Cross as guardian of Nancy Ford. He declared that the attempted abduction would operate against the unprincipled man. The matter of the loss of the money, for which Mrs. Raymond was once suspected, had been gone into, and the indications pointed in many ways to Mr. Cross and his crony. "But it doesn't seem as if Mrs. Raymond would ever be found," sighed Cora. "Poor woman!" "Yes, my sister must be having a hard time," said the keeper of the light. "I wish she would come to me. I could give her a good home now. The work is almost too much for Rosalie." "Oh, I don't mind, Daddy!" exclaimed the little "mermaid." Summer was wearing on. It had been a most glorious one and the bungalow residents had enjoyed it thoroughly. They went off on several motoring trips, but they were careful always to remain in one party, and even then Nancy could not forbear a nervous glance about whenever another auto approached. But Mr. Cross appeared to have taken himself to parts unknown. Private detectives who were looking for him, on an order of the court to which Mr. Beacon had appealed, reported that they could get no trace of him. Nor was the whereabouts of the missing Mrs. Raymond discovered. In their two motor boats the young people paid visits to many near-by resorts, occasionally, when the weather was fine, even venturing out on the ocean. But, save for Cora, the girls were always a little timid about this, and so the ocean trips were not numerous. One day Mr. Haley came hurrying over to the girls' bungalow from the lighthouse. He held a paper in his hand. "Where is Miss Kimball?" he asked of Belle, who answered his knock. "I must see her at once." "Why, has anything happened?" Belle asked in sudden alarm. She looked down on the beach, and was relieved to see Nancy safe there. "No, miss, nothing has happened--yet," replied the keeper. "But I received a strange message just now, and I want to tell Miss Kimball." "Cora!" called Belle, and Cora, who had been in an inner room, came out. "What is it?" she asked, and Mr. Haley handed her the piece of paper. "I just found that on my doorstep," he explained. "I was home all alone, my helper being in town buying supplies, and Rosalie and Dick being out in the boat. Read it." "But how did it get there?" asked Cora, as she stepped over to a window to see more plainly. "I don't know, except some boy must have brought it there, left it and run away. It was weighted with a stone." "Then that's probably how it was left," suggested Belle. "But what is so mysterious about it What does it say, Cora?" Cora read: "If you would have news of your sister come alone to Shark's Tooth at nine to-night." CHAPTER XXIX AT THE SHARK'S TOOTH "What a strange note!" "Isn't it? And the odd way it was delivered!" "What is the Shark's Tooth, Mr. Haley?" The boys and girls were all together in the bungalow of the latter--or, rather, were out on the broad porch, for, following the visit of the light keeper, with the strange letter, they had gathered to discuss the matter. "The Shark's Tooth," said Mr. Haley, "is a long, low ledge of rock, jutting out in the water about a mile above the light. It looks somewhat like a big tooth--the end of it does, I mean." "Will you go there?" asked Jack. "I sure will, my boy." "Maybe it's a trap," suggested Ed. "This fellow Cross may be trying to get hold of you, Mr. Haley." "I'm not afraid of him. I think I'll be his match," and certainly the sturdy keeper looked able to take care of himself. "But he may not be alone," suggested Walter. "However, we could go with you," he added hopefully. "The note says to come alone, my lad, and alone I'll go. I'd do more than that to get news of poor Margaret. I'm not afraid." "You boys might be within call," suggested Cora. "You need not be seen." "Well, I'd consent to that," agreed Mr. Haley. "And it might be a good thing. And yet, somehow, I'm not worried." "This is certainly a trap!" declared Norton. "They want you to go there, a lonely spot--after dark. Probably they'll take you off in a boat! Ha! I have it! Wreckers!" and he struck a dramatic posture. "Wreckers?" questioned Jack. "Yes, don't you see. They want to get Mr. Haley in their control. Then they'll carry him off, some of them will put out the light and lure vessels ashore by means of a false beacon. Then they'll get the booty!" "Say, what sort of a dime novel have you been reading lately?" asked Ed, with a laugh. "Wreckers!" "Sure!" maintained Norton, earnestly. "No, lad," said Mr. Haley, quietly, "it isn't wreckers, for the light would be well defended by my helper, even if they got me. Besides it's dead low water at nine to-night, and they couldn't get a boat within a mile of the Shark's Tooth without staving a hole in her. The only approach is from the beach. I'm not afraid." "Besides," added Cora, "this note was written by a woman. That's plain." "A trick!" declared Norton, who seemed to insist on the melodramatic theory. "Is this like your sister's writing?" asked Belle. "I really couldn't be sure. Margaret was never much of a writer, and I can hardly see to read print, let alone writing, even with my glasses. So I couldn't say as to that. However, I'll be there." "And so will we," added Jack, "out if sight, of course." "This is getting more and more complicated," declared Bess. "Oh, I do hope it won't turn out to be that horrid Mr. Cross, or any of his men." "Hush!" said Cora, in a low voice. "Don't make Nancy nervous. She is alarmed enough now." It seemed as if night would never come, and the boys and girls hardly had the heart for amusements to make the time pass more quickly. They remained near the bungalows, going in bathing when the tide was right. Belle was learning to swim with considerable confidence. "You are getting quite brave," Cora told her when she had gone out to the float and back all alone. Eline, who was rather daring in spite of her timid manner, made a half-suggestion that the girls go out in autos to see what happened at Shark's Tooth, but Mrs. Chester, exercising her authority, vetoed the scheme. Mr. Haley started off alone, and was followed later by the boys, who arranged to conceal themselves where they could have a view of the ledge of rock that was uncovered at low water. There was a half-moon that night and by the light of it Jack and his chums could see the long, black ledge extending out into the bay. They had a glimpse of Mr. Haley walking slowly up and down the beach, now and then looking at his watch to note the time. Jack and the others did likewise. "It's nine now," whispered Walter, after a long--a seemingly long--wait, though it was really only a few minutes. "And nothing seems to be happening," remarked Jack. "Look!" suddenly exclaimed Ed, pointing to the sandy stretch. A dark figure was seen gliding over it--a figure of a woman--alone! The light keeper heard the approaching footsteps, and turned quickly. He stood for a moment The woman had halted. Then Mr. Haley cried: "Margaret!" "Jim!" she responded, and they clasped each other close. "I guess it's all right--they don't need us," whispered Jack. "It's his sister. She wrote the note. It's all right, we'll go tell the girls the mystery is solved and the missing one found." "That's right," was the answer. "Say, this is great, isn't it?" "It sure is." "Now that they are together----" "Come on, they may hear us." "All right, I'm with you." But, as they started away, Mr. Haley called to them: "Boys, come here. I want----" "No, no, Jim dear! Don't call anyone!" interrupted Mrs. Raymond. "I dare not be seen. You don't know the stigma I am under. I even hesitated to come and see you in this secret way, but I am in need of help. It was the only way I could think of. I am so--so afraid of arrest." "Well, you needn't be!" cried her brother. "We can prove your innocence!" "Prove my innocence! How? Only Nancy Ford can do that, and she can't be found, I have been searching for her so long--so long!" Her sobs prevented her from talking. "But Nancy Ford is found!" cried the keeper of the light, "and the boys I called to--or rather their girl friends--found her. It's all right, Margaret. Your name will be cleared, and you will be happy with me. It's all right, Sister!" "Oh, thank the dear Lord for that!" she sobbed. CHAPTER XXX HAPPY DAYS The sun was shining on a shimmering sea. Little waves were breaking on the white sands. The gulls were wheeling about in big circles. Gathered in the old-fashioned living room of the lighthouse were the motor girls, and two other girls, Rosalie and Nancy Ford. Also the boys were there, Mrs. Raymond, her brother, and Mr. Beacon, the Kimballs' lawyer. He had just concluded some remarks. It was the day after the strange night scene at the Shark's Tooth. "And to think how it all came about," spoke Cora. "It is like a play, or a book." "It fits together like one of those Chinese puzzles," remarked Jack. "At first it seems as if it never will, but one little touch, and--there you are!" "And it was Cora who supplied the one little touch," said Belle. "Oh, I didn't do it all," remonstrated Cora. "Well, your finding Mrs. Raymond in the burning garage started the whole affair," insisted Ed. "But for that we never would have known of Nancy Ford, nor how important she was in this puzzle." "I don't want to be important," answered Nancy, with a smile. "I just want to go off somewhere quietly." "And you may," spoke Mr. Beacon, the lawyer, with a smile. "The court proceedings will not take long, now that your guardian is arrested. The judge will require no further proof than his commission of the crime to remove him from having charge of you and your property, and some one else will be named in his place." "I wish the judge would name you!" exclaimed Nancy impulsively. "Thank you!" laughed Mr. Beacon. Mrs. Raymond had told her story. On up to the time she had fled from the office, when the two men came in, and her wanderings until she went into the Kimball garage, my readers need no enlightenment. After leaving Cora's house so suddenly, for fear she might be suspected of having accidentally set the fire, the poor woman wandered from place to place, vainly seeking Nancy Ford. It was Mrs. Raymond whom the sheep herder had met that night when he spoke kindly to her. After that she kept moving about, getting work in various offices, for she was an expert in her line. But she could not find Nancy, for reasons very well known to my readers. "And oh, how kind one of you girls was to me!" exclaimed Mrs. Raymond. "Your money saved my life I believe," and she held out the little silver purse. Finally, she explained, matters reached a point where she could get no more work, and she had to appeal to her brother. She had refrained from doing that fearing she might be traced through him, for she still feared she would be arrested for the crime she had never committed. But, growing desperate, she made the night appointment with her brother, hiring a boy to leave the note at the lighthouse, intending to explain matters to Mr. Haley, get some money, and go away again. But it all ended happily. "And so they caught Cross?" remarked Jack. "Yes," said the lawyer, "one of the private detectives got a clue and followed it up. They got his crony, too, the other man who came in the office when you ran out, Nancy. And they both confessed, after pressure was brought to bear on them. It is not the first crime Cross has been guilty of. He has a bad record, I am told. I learned of his arrest after I started here this morning, following your telegram," he said to Cora, for, on learning of the arrival of Mrs. Raymond, Cora had wired to her mother's lawyer to come in haste. "Then my name is cleared?" asked Mrs. Raymond. "Absolutely," answered Mr. Beacon. "You will not even have to appear in court." "I wish _I_ didn't have to," said Nancy, nervously. "I can arrange to have a private hearing," went on the lawyer. "It will be no ordeal at all." Nor did Nancy find it so. A kindly judge in his chambers, several days later, listened to the story, and named Mr. Beacon as guardian of Nancy Ford, whose property was, in the main, saved from the clutches of Mr. Cross. He had embezzled some of it, and that crime, with others, brought him severe punishment. As for Mrs. Raymond, she went to live with her brother in the lighthouse. "And now for some good times!" exclaimed Cora when all the legal matters had been attended to. "We have had enough of mystery and wonderings. You can spend the rest of the summer here with us; can't you, Nancy?" "If you want me, and have room." "Of course we want you!" cried Jack. "Remember you promised to ride in my car when we go over to Stony Beach to-morrow." "I asked her first!" cried Norton. "But she promised me," cut in Walter. "Oh, what boys!" protested the blushing Nancy. "Don't mind them," suggested Cora, putting her arms around her new friend. "You'll soon get used to them." "I think I can get used to almost _anything_--after that shipwreck," said Nancy, with a smile. "Well, I like _that_!" cried Jack. "Comparing us to a shipwreck! Come on, fellows, let's go fishing. The tide is right for crabbing, too," and they went out, leaving the girls to themselves. "In spite of everything--the fire, the shipwreck and the many wonderings it has been a wonderful summer," said Cora softly, as they sat on the broad porch. "And I wonder what the winter will bring forth--and next summer?" remarked Belle. But the further adventures of the little band of friends must be reserved for another volume, which will be entitled "The Motor Girls on Crystal Bay; Or, The Secret of the Red Oar." The summer vacation was almost at an end. There was one last motor boat trip, and then the _Duck_ was returned to its owner, and the _Pet_ again made ready for the land journey back to Chelton. "Good-bye, bungalows, good-bye!" recited Cora on the day of their departure, as she got into her big maroon car. "Good-bye, my lighthouse, good-bye!" sang Bess. "And don't forget to write to us, little mermaid," called Jack to Rosalie. Blushingly she promised. "What will Nancy say?" asked Eline. "Oh, Nancy is coming to our house to stay--she won't have to write," said the bold Jack. There were more good-byes, to the light keeper and his sister, to many fishermen and life-savers, whose friendship the boys and girls had made, and then the autos started off on the long trip to Chelton. Gaily fluttered in the wind the flags they bore, the sea smiled under the yellow sun at the motor girls, seeming to beckon them to return, but they could not. And so, for a time, we will also say good-bye. THE END PEGGY STEWART SERIES By GABRIELLE E. JACKSON Peggy Stewart at Home Peggy Stewart at School Peggy, Polly, Rosalie, Marjorie, Natalie, Isabel, Stella and Juno--girls all of high spirits make this Peggy Stewart series one of entrancing interest. Their friendship, formed in a fashionable eastern school, they spend happy years crowded with gay social affairs. The background for these delightful stories is furnished by Annapolis with its naval academy and an aristocratic southern estate. The Goldsmith Publishing Co. CLEVELAND, O. 
50975	----	courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION NO. 23 JULY 31, 1909 FIVE CENTS MOTOR MATT'S PRIZE OR THE PLUCK THAT WINS _BY THE AUTHOR OF "MOTOR MATT"_ [Illustration: _Unaware of his narrow escape the king of the motor boys flung the Sprite onward to victory._] STREET & SMITH PUBLISHERS NEW YORK MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION _Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-80 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._ No. 23. NEW YORK, July 31, 1909. =Price Five Cents.= MOTOR MATT'S PRIZE OR, The Pluck that Wins. By the author of "MOTOR MATT." CONTENTS CHAPTER I. A CLASH IN BLACK AND YELLOW. CHAPTER II. PICKEREL PETE'S REVENGE. CHAPTER III. A "DARK HORSE." CHAPTER IV. PLANS. CHAPTER V. AN ORDER TO QUIT. CHAPTER VI. FACING THE MUSIC. CHAPTER VII. GATHERING CLOUDS. CHAPTER VIII. THE PLOTTERS. CHAPTER IX. FIREBUGS AT WORK. CHAPTER X. SAVING THE "SPRITE." CHAPTER XI. OUT OF A BLAZING FURNACE. CHAPTER XII. WHAT ABOUT THE RACE? CHAPTER XIII. MART RAWLINS WEAKENS. CHAPTER XIV. THE RACE--THE START. CHAPTER XV. THE FINISH. CHAPTER XVI. CONCLUSION. TRICKED BY TWO. HOMES ON THE RIO GRANDE. PIGEONS AS PHOTOGRAPHERS. CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY. =Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt. =Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive. =Ping Pong=, a Chinese boy who insists on working for Motor Matt, and who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable. =George Lorry=, who, befriended by Motor Matt at a critical time in his career, proves a credit to himself and to his friends. =Mr. Lorry=, George's father; a man who knows how to be generous. =Ethel Lorry=, George Lorry's sister; an admirer of Motor Matt. =Pickerel Pete=, whose elemental mind evolves a grievance against Motor Matt and is further worked upon by an unscrupulous enemy of Lorry and Matt. The result is almost a tragedy. =Ollie Merton=, a rich man's son with many failings, but rather deeper than he appears. CHAPTER I. A CLASH IN BLACK AND YELLOW. "Woosh!" "Fo' de lan' sakes!" Then followed a bump, a clatter of displaced stones, and sounds of a fall. When quiet once more ensued, two surprised youngsters were on hands and knees, peering at each other like a couple of hostile bantams. Between them lay a string of perch, and off to one side a hickory fishpole, and an old tomato can with a choice assortment of angleworms squirming out of it. One of the lads was a fifteen-year-old Chinese, in fluttering blouse, wide trousers, wooden sandals and straw hat; the other was a diminutive moke, black as the ace of spades, barefooted, and wearing a "hickory" shirt and ragged trousers. The bank of Fourth Lake, where they had come together so unexpectedly, was an admirable place for such collisions. In this place the bank was some thirty feet high, steep and rocky. A narrow path, thickly bordered with bushes, angled from top to bottom. At the foot of the path was a boathouse. Now, if a Chinese boy, in a good deal of a hurry, went slipping and sliding downward from the top of the path, it will be readily understood that he could not put on the brakes in time to avoid an obstruction appearing suddenly in front of him as he scrambled around a bushy angle. And if that obstruction happened to be a diminutive darky, sitting squarely in the path, sunning himself and half asleep, too drowsy to take notice of sounds above and behind him, it will also be understood that a collision was certain. It happened. The Chinese took a header over the darky, and when each flopped to his hands and knees, they were looking into each other's eyes with growing animosity. "By golly!" flared the negro, "is dem glass eyes en yo' haid? Ef dey ain't, why doan' yu use dem?" "Why blackee boy makee sit in China boy's load?" gurgled the other. "Yo' own dishyer lake?" taunted the little moke; "yo' gotter mo'galidge on dishyer bank? Go on wif yo' highfalutin' talk! Ah'll sot wherebber Ah wants, en ef yo' comes erlong en goes tuh shovin', by golly, yo'll fin' Ah kin do some shovin' mahse'f." "My gottee light comee down bank," asserted the Chinese boy, picking himself up. "My makee go allee same boathouse; you makee stay in load, you gettee shove. My plenty same choo-choo tlain, you makee sleep on tlack. Savvy? You makee some mo' shove, my makee some mo' shove, too." The Chinese boy stood his ground. The black-skinned youngster sat up and pulled his string of fish closer. "Ah nebber did lak Chinks," he grunted. "My no likee blackee boy, all same," averred the Celestial. "Ah reckons Ah kin lick yu' wif one han' tied behin' mah back. Go 'long, yaller trash! Ah's er hurriclone en a cynader, all rolled intuh one, when Ah gits sta'ted. Look out fo' a big blow en a Chink wreck, dat's all." "Woosh! Blackee boy makee plenty blow. Me allee same cannon. My makee go bang, you makee go top-side. No likee your piecee pidgin." Then a comical thing happened, and if any third person with a humorous vein in his make-up had been around, the proceeding would have been highly enjoyed. Both youngsters glared at each other. Each had his fists doubled, and each fiddled back and forth across the steep path. The black boy sniffed contemptuously. The Chinese lad was a good imitator, and he also sniffed--even more contemptuously. "By golly," fumed the little moke, "Ah dunno whut's er holdin' me back. Ef any one else had done tuh me whut yo' done, Ah'd hab tromped all ober him befo' now. Ah's gwine tuh dat boathouse mah'se'f. Git outen de way an' le'me pass, er Ah'll butt yo' wif mah haid!" "My makee go to boathouse, too." A little curiosity suddenly crept into the black boy's hostile brain. "Whut bizness yo' got at dat boathouse, huh?" he demanded. "Gottee plenty pidgin. My workee fo' Motol Matt." "Yo' workin' fo' Motor Matt?" grunted the other. "By golly, he's mah boss." "Him China boy's boss." "Naw, he ain't. Yo's talkin' froo yo' hat. Doan' yo' go er prowlin' erroun' dat 'ar boathouse. Ah ain't a-lettin' nobody git dat job away f'om me." "Motol Matt my boss, allee same," insisted the Chinese boy. "When you all git hiahed by Motor Matt?" demanded the darky. "Long time, allee same Flisco." "Den dat let's yo' out, yaller mug. Motor Matt done hiahed me fo' days ergo, at two dollahs er day. Skun out. Doan' yo' try cuttin' me loose from dat 'ar job." The darky took a step downward, but the Celestial planted himself firmly and put up his fists. Once more there was a hitch in proceedings, but the affair was growing more ominous. "Ah shuah hates tuh mangle yo' up," breathed the darky, "but de 'sponsibility fo' what's done gwine tuh happen b'longs on yo' had en not on mine." The Chinese lifted his yellow hands and crossed two fingers in front of his face, then, in a particularly irritating manner, he snorted at the black boy through his fingers. That was about as much as flesh and blood could stand. The colored lad was so full of talk that it just gurgled in his throat. "Dat's de mos' insulatin' thing what ebber happened tuh me!" he finally managed to gasp. "By golly, Ah doan' take dat f'om nobody. Dat snortin' talk Ah won't stan', dat's all." "Blackee boy makee heap talk," taunted the Chinese; "him 'flaid makee hit with hands." "'Fraid?" cried the darky. "Say, you, Pickerel Pete ain't afraid ob all de Chinks dat eber walked de erf. Chinks--waugh! Ah eat's 'em." "Mebby you tly eatee Ping Pong?" invited the Celestial. Pickerel Pete, watching his antagonist warily, stooped to pick up a small pebble. Very carefully he laid the pebble on his shoulder. "Knock dat off," he gritted, his hand closing on the string that held the perch. "Yo' all ain't got de nerve. Yo's got gas enough fo' er b'loon dissension, but dat's all dere is to yu. Knock de stone offen mah shoulder! Go on, now, you yaller trash." Ping leaned over and brushed the pebble away. That settled it. There was no retreat for either of the two after that. Pete gave a whoop and struck at Ping with the string of perch. The string broke, and Ping got a perch down the loose collar of his kimono, while another slapped him across the eyes. For an instant the air was full of fish, and under cover of the finny cloud the enraged Chinese rushed at his enemy and gave him a push. Pete sat down with a good deal of force, and, as it happened, he sat down on his fishhook. A fishhook was never known to lie any way but point up and ready for business, so Pete got up about as quick as he sat down. The next moment he rushed at Ping, trailing the line and the fishpole after him. This time the two boys clinched, and the noise they made as they rolled about among the perch and pummeled each other caused a commotion at the boathouse. Motor Matt and George Lorry rushed out of the building and looked up the path. "Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed Matt. "There's a fight going on up there, George." "It looks that way, that's a fact," answered Lorry. "Let's go up and put a stop to it." Matt was already bounding up the path. Before he had ascended more than fifteen feet he was met by two rolling, plunging, tumbling forms coming down. A tremendous clatter of sliding stones accompanied the descent, and a towed fishpole whacked and slammed in the rear. Bracing himself, Matt succeeded in laying hold of the two closely grappled forms, and in bringing them to a stop; then, when he recognized who the fighters were, his astonishment held him speechless. "Pickerel Pete!" exclaimed George Lorry. "And Ping Pong," added Matt, as soon as he had recovered a little from his amazement. "The sight of Ping pretty near gives me a short circuit." "My gottee job," whooped the breathless Ping; "Pickelel Pete no gottee!" "Hit's my job, en Ah ain't er quittin' fo' no yaller feller like you!" Thwack, thwack! "Here, now," cried Matt, "this won't do. Stop it, you fellows!" Pickerel Pete had a firm grip on Ping's pigtail--which is about the worst hold you can get on a Chinaman. Ping had one hand and arm around Pete's black neck, and the other hand was twisted in the fishline. Every time Pete would pull the queue a sharp wail would go up from Ping, and every time the fishline was jerked Pete would howl and squirm. "You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves," said Matt, masking his desire to laugh with all the severity he could muster. Lorry was leaning against a tree, his head bowed and his whole form in a quiver. "Leavee go China boy's pigtail!" chirped Ping. "Stop yo' pullin' on dat 'ar fishline!" howled Pete. "Let go, both of you!" ordered Matt; then forcibly he pulled the two lads apart. "Here, Lorry," he called, "you hang onto Ping and I'll take care of Pete." The youngsters were a disordered pair when separated and held at a distance from each other. "What's the meaning of this?" demanded Matt. CHAPTER II. PICKEREL PETE'S REVENGE. For several moments neither Pete nor Ping was able to reply to Matt's question. The darky was busy getting the fishhook out of his trousers, and the Chinese was hopping up and down on one foot, shaking the perch out of his flapping garments. Both the fish and the fishhook were extricated at about the same time. "Say, boss," cried Pete, "yo' all ain't done passed me up fo' dat yaller trash, has yu? Ah's workin' fo' yu yit, ain't Ah? Dat 'ar slant-eye hefun was er sayin' dat he had de job, but Ah 'lows yo' wouldn't go en cut me offen yo' pay-roll fo' de likes ob him." "My workee fo' Motol Matt," clamored Ping, "allee time. Blackee boy no workee. Me one piecee fine China boy. Lickee blackee boy allee same Sam Hill." "Yo' nebber!" whooped Pete. "Ah kin git yo' on de mat wif mah eyes shut, en----" "Stand right where you are, Pete!" cut in Matt sternly. "I'll not have any more rowdying. You and Ping ought to be ashamed of yourselves." "You ketchee boat my sendee by expless, Motol Matt?" inquired Ping. Matt had "caught" the boat, all right. Ping, without any instructions, had sent the eighteen-foot _Sprite_, with engine installed and various accessories in the lockers, from San Francisco to Madison, Wisconsin, by express, charges collect. At first the king of the motor boys had been considerably "put out" by this unauthorized move of Ping's, but later he had been glad that the _Sprite_ had come into his hands. "Yes, Ping," said Matt, "I received the boat, and we have now got her in the boathouse down there, making some changes in her to fit her for the motor-boat race next week. Where have you been, Ping?" "Makee come flom Flisco," answered the Chinese, hunting up his sandals and his hat. "My workee fo' you, so my come findee boss." "The boat got here quite a while ago. How long have you been in the town?" "Ketchee town yessulday. Makee ask chop-chop where my findee Motol Matt. Thisee molnin' 'Melican man say, so my come. Blackee boy allee same stone in China boy's load; China boy no see um, takee tumble; blackee boy velly mad, makee fight. Woosh!" Pete, with snapping eyes, had been standing back listening to this talk. Now he thought it about time that he put in his own oar. "Ah's brack, boss," said he to Matt, "but Ah ain't yaller. Cho'ly yo' ain't goin' tuh frow me down fo' dat 'ar no-'count hefun, is yo'? Ah's workin' fo' you fo' two dollahs er day. Ain't dat right?" "Peter," said Matt, "you're not to be depended on. I hired you for two dollars a day to pilot me around the lakes, and I paid you for a day in advance. You went with me through the canal to Fourth Lake, and then up the Catfish to Whisky Creek. I left you to watch the boat, and you deserted, and I haven't seen you since until this minute. Now you bob up, just as though nothing had happened, and want to keep right on working for me. I don't think I need you any longer, Pete. You didn't work for me more than three hours, but you got paid for a full day, so you ought to be satisfied." Ping puffed himself up delightedly. Pickerel Pete, on the other hand, seemed struck "all of a heap." "Yo' doan' mean dat, does yo', boss?" he pleaded. "Ah's er good li'l moke, en Ah got testimendations f'om de gobernor ob de State. Yo' ain't gwineter turn down dem testimendations, is yo'?" "I can't depend on you, Pete," said Matt. "I don't need a boy any more, anyhow; but I'm under obligations to Ping, so I'll have to take him on." "Den Ah's kicked out?" shouted Pete. "No, you're not kicked out. I don't need you, that's all." "We had er contrack, en yo's done busted hit!" flared Pete savagely. Matt could not restrain a laugh at the little darky's rage. "You got the best of our contract, Pete," said Matt. "You owe me about a dollar and a half, but I'm willing to call it square." "Ah owes yo' more'n dat," fumed Pete. "Yo's done kicked me out, en Ah ain't er gwine tur fo'git. Hit's dat yaller trash dat's 'sponsible"--he shook his black fist at Ping--"but Ah's gwine tuh play eben wif yo' all fo' whut yo's done. Jess watch mah smoke!" "You little rascal!" spoke up Lorry; "what do you mean by talking that way? Get out of here!" "Ah's gotter right tuh stay anywhere Ah please erround dishyer lake," cried Pete. "Yo' kain't drive me off, nuther. Yah! Dat ole boat you's fixin' up fo' de race ain't worf nuffin'. Ollie Merton he's gotter boat dat is er boat, en he's gwinter beat yo' outen yo' boots, dat's whut he is. Ah wouldn't 'sociate wif no sich fellers as you, en Ah wouldn't work fo' Motor Matt ef he paid me a millyun dollahs er day! Jess yo' watch mah smoke--Ah'll git eben, yassuh!" With that the angry little rascal turned and ran up the path. But he did not run far. As soon as a bend in the crooked course had hidden him from the eyes of Matt and Lorry, he plunged off along the side of the bank, hiding himself in the undergrowth, and working his way slowly down toward the boathouse. As soon as Pete had vanished, Lorry turned to Matt with a laugh. "There's another enemy for us to deal with, Matt," said he. "If he was bigger," returned Matt, "he might prove dangerous; but Pete's too small to count." "Blackee boy no good," put in the smirking Ping. "My knockee blame head off!" "Don't be so savage, Ping," said Matt humorously. "So this is the chap that sent the _Sprite_ to Madison by express, eh?" inquired Lorry, grinning as he gave the Celestial an up-and-down look. "He's the fellow. Why did you drop out so suddenly in San Francisco, Ping?" and Matt turned to the Chinese. "My waitee fo' you by Tiburon landing, you savvy?" said Ping. "Bumby, my see launly boss come down landing likee house afire. Woosh! No likee launly boss. My say 'goo'-by' and lun away. One, two, tlee day, my makee hunt fo' Motol Matt. Him gone. P'licee man say he gone Ma'son, Wiscon', so my gettee 'Melican man boxee boat, shippee Ma'son. You ketchee awri'. Velly fine. Now my workee fo' you. Hi-lee-lee, hi-lo-lo----" Ping was happy. He had found Matt, and he was back on the job again. Not only that, but the "blackee boy" was cut out for good. "Do you remember the three men who made us so much trouble in San Francisco, Ping?" asked Matt. "Allee same. Red-whiskels 'Melican----" "That's the fellow who's called Big John." "Sure; him Big John, awri', and big lascal, too. Woosh! My lecollect Kinky and Loss. All thlee makee Matt heap tlouble." "Big John, Kinky, and Ross, those are the men. Have you seen anything of them, Ping, since you left Frisco?" "No see um, Motol Matt. My punchee head, me see um. Where Joe McGloly, huh? Him big high boy, Joe." "McGlory's off around Picnic Point on a motor cycle, trying to find out how fast the boat is that the _Sprite_ has got to beat. As the _Wyandotte_ races through the lake, Joe was to race along the road on the lake shore, just keeping abreast of the boat. Then Joe's speedometer will tell him how fast the boat is going." "No savvy," murmured Ping, shaking his head. "Your talk is too deep for him, Matt," laughed Lorry. "Well, let's get back to the boathouse. You were just going to explain the changes you were making in the _Sprite_ in order to make her fast enough to beat the _Wyandotte_." "When Joe gets back," said Matt, "we'll know just how fast the _Wyandotte_ can go, and just how fast the _Sprite_ will have to travel." "Merton may try to fool us, Matt. If he knows Joe is timing him, he'll not let the _Wyandotte_ put in her best licks." "I told Joe to be careful and not let any one on the _Wyandotte_ see him. We've got to be just as careful. I'd hate to have Merton know what we were doing to the _Sprite_." "Sure," nodded Lorry, "it won't do to have our hand tipped at this stage of the game." Matt and Lorry started back toward the boathouse, Ping following them and looking back up the path on the chance of catching sight of Pickerel Pete. "All the changes I'm making in the _Sprite_," continued Matt, "are drawn on that roll of papers I left on the work-bench. We'll go over those diagrams, one at a time, George, and I think I can make everything clear to you." "Whatever you say, Matt, goes," returned Lorry. "You've got a head on you for such things. I know a good motor launch when I see it, and I can drive such a boat as well as anybody, but I'm no mechanic. All I want," and Lorry's eyes flashed and his words became sharp, "is to get a boat that will beat Merton's. You know how much that means to me." "I do," said Matt, "and we're going to make a fast boat out of the _Sprite_. We'll give Ollie Merton a run for that prize, and no two ways about it. When Joe gets back, if he has had any kind of luck, we'll know just what we're up against." The boathouse was large and roomy, and the doors were open, front and rear. Matt had transformed part of the interior into a workshop, and there was a bench, with a machinist's vise, under an open window at the side of the building. Tools and parts of the boat's machinery were scattered about, apparently in great disorder, but really with a methodical carelessness that left them handily in the spot where they would next be needed. As the boys entered the boathouse, Matt started directly for the bench to get the roll of drawings. They were not where he had left them, and he turned blankly to Lorry. "Did you do anything with that bundle of diagrams, George?" he asked. "Never touched 'em, Matt," replied Lorry, with some excitement, "but I saw where you laid them--and it was right there." Lorry dropped a hand on the work-bench, close to the open window. "They've been stolen!" exclaimed Matt aghast. "They were taken while we were up the bank! Who could have done it?" "Who but Merton and some of those rascally friends of his?" queried Lorry, his eyes flashing. Matt ran to the other end of the boathouse and stepped out upon the small platform above the water, but, strain his eyes as he would, he could see nothing of any boat on that part of the lake. CHAPTER III. A "DARK HORSE." Ollie Merton was the only son of a millionaire lumberman. The millionaire and his wife were making an extensive tour of Europe, and while they were away the son was in complete charge of the big Madison mansion, with a large fund in the bank subject to his personal check. Never before had such a chance to "spread himself" came young Merton's way, and he was making the most of it. The lad was commodore of the Winnequa Yacht Club, which had its headquarters near Winnequa, on Third Lake. Another institution, known as the Yahara Motor Boat Club, had its boathouse on Fourth Lake; and between the Winnequas and the Yaharas there was the most intense rivalry. Twice, in two years hand running, the Winnequas had contested against the Yaharas for power-boat honors. By winning the first race the Winnequas had secured a trophy known as the "De Lancey Cup," and by winning the second race they still retained possession of the cup. By winning a third time the cup would pass to them in perpetuity. The Yaharas, feeling that their very existence as a club was at stake, were bitterly determined to snatch the prize from their rivals. A vast amount of feeling was wrapped up in the approaching contest. George Lorry was vice commodore of the Yahara Club. In a secret session, months before, the Yaharas had commissioned Lorry to carry the honors of the club and secure a boat which would outrun any the Winnequas might put in the field. Lorry, no less than Merton, was the son of a rich man. Without consulting his father, Lorry ordered a five thousand-dollar hydroplane, and, at the last moment, parental authority stepped in and denied the young man such an extravagance. George Lorry at this time had rather more pride and conceit than were good for him. His father's action, in the matter of the hydroplane, stung him to the quick. He felt that he had been humiliated, and that his comrades, the Yaharas, were giving him the cold shoulder on account of his failure to "make good" with a winning boat. George had been wrong in this, but, nevertheless, he resigned from the boat club and went to the other extreme of making a friend and associate of Ollie Merton. Merton, recognizing in Lorry the only source of danger to the prestige of the Winnequas, had advised George to do certain things with the object of clearing a rival from the field during the forthcoming race. That Merton had advised unscrupulous acts, and that Lorry had tried to carry them out, matters little. Motor Matt met Lorry at just the right time to keep him from doing something which he would have regretted to the end of his days. Very recently Lorry had discovered the false friendship of Merton, and, coming to see the folly of what he had done in a misguided moment, had gone back to the Yaharas and requested a renewal of the commission to furnish a boat for the coming race that would regain the De Lancey cup for his club. Lorry had been received by his former comrades with open arms, and they had immediately acceded to his request. From this it will be understood how great a stake George Lorry had in the third contest with the Winnequas. Apart from the intense club spirit which prompted a winning boat at any cost, there was a personal side to the issue which meant everything to Lorry. Merton's specious counsel, given for the purpose of getting Lorry out of the race, had almost brought Lorry to ruin. Now, to best Merton in the contest had come to be regarded by Lorry as almost a personal justification. To Motor Matt young Lorry had turned, and the king of the motor boys had promised a boat that would regain the lost prize for the Yaharas. Matt felt that the _Sprite_, with certain changes, could beat anything on the lakes. Lorry shared his confidence, and Matt was working night and day to get the swift little eighteen-foot launch in shape for "warming up" on the water before the regatta. The theft of the drawings was the first backset Matt and Lorry had received. Well aware of Merton's questionable character, it was easy for the lads to believe that he had slipped into the boathouse while they were up the bank and had taken the plans; or he need only have come to the window and reach in in order to help himself to them. Lorry was terribly cut up. "Merton has got the better of us," he muttered disconsolately. "He'll know just what we're going to do with the _Sprite_ now, and will make changes in the _Wyandotte_, or else arrange for another boat to stack up against us. It's too late for us to order another boat, and we'll have to go on with the _Sprite_ and look at Merton's heels over the finish line. Oh, thunder! I wish this Chink and that Pickerel Pete were in the bottom of the lake!" Noticing the scowl Lorry gave him, Ping slunk away from his vicinity, and came closer to where Matt was walking thoughtfully back and forth across the floor of the boathouse. "Don't lose your nerve, Lorry," counseled Matt, coming to a halt and leaning against the work-bench. "No fellow ever won a fight unless he went into it with confidence." "It's all well enough to talk of confidence," grumbled Lorry, "but this is enough to undermine all the hopes we ever had." "Looked at in one way, yes. Those were my working drawings. They contained all the measurements of the _Sprite's_ hull, my plans for changing the gasoline tanks from the bow aft where they would not bring the boat down so much by the head, also my arrangement for a new reversing-gear, the dimensions of the motor, and the size and pitch of our new propeller." Lorry groaned. "Why, confound it!" he cried, "Merton will be able to figure out just what the _Sprite's_ speed should be--and he can plan accordingly for another boat. There's a way of getting those plans away from him, by Jupiter!" He started angrily to his feet. "How?" asked Matt quietly. "The police," returned Lorry. "No, not the police! We don't know that Merton has the plans; it's a pretty safe guess, all right, but we don't absolutely know. When you call in the law to help you, George, you've got to be pretty sure of your ground." Lorry dropped back in his chair dejectedly, and Matt resumed his thoughtful pace back and forth across the room. "I've thought for the last two days," Matt went on finally, "that Merton was rather free in showing off the _Wyandotte_. He has her over here in Fourth Lake when she belongs in Third, and he's trying her out on the other side of Picnic Point, almost under our noses. I'm not sure but that Merton wants us to see his boat's performances." "Then he's not running the _Wyandotte_ at her racing speed, Matt," averred Lorry. "He's only pretending to, hoping that we'll watch her work and get fooled." "He'll not fool us much. The _Wyandotte_ is a thirty-seven-footer, five-foot beam, semi-speed model. She has a two-cylinder, twenty-horse, two-cycle engine, five-and-three-quarter-inch bore by five-inch stroke. The propeller has elliptical blades, and is nineteen inches in diameter by twenty-eight-inch pitch----" Lorry looked up in startled wonder. Motor Matt had reeled off his figures off-hand as readily as though reading them from a written memorandum. "Where, in the name of glory, did you find out all that?" gasped Lorry. Matt smiled. "Why," said he, "I got them in a perfectly legitimate manner from the builder of the boat, who lives in Bay City. The name of the builder was easily learned, and a letter did the rest. The _Wyandotte_ can log fourteen or fifteen miles--no trouble to find that out with pencil and paper, since we have all those dimensions. Now, the _Sprite_, as she was, could do her mile in four-twelve--possibly in four--and Merton knows it. Why, then, is he showing off a boat that is not much better than the _Sprite_ has been all along? Take it from me, Lorry," and Matt spoke with supreme conviction, "the _Wyandotte_ is not the boat the Winnequas will have in the race. _There's another one_, and I've felt morally sure of it all along." "You're a wonder!" muttered Lorry. "Why, you never told me you'd written to Bay City about the _Wyandotte_." "I intended to tell you at the proper time." "Well, if Merton is going to spring a surprise boat on us the day of the race, that makes it so much the worse." "I have other plans for changing the _Sprite_, but I have been holding them back until I could make sure Merton was holding another speed boat in reserve. Those plans weren't in that roll that was stolen, George; as a matter of fact, they're not down on paper at all. From the drawings and memoranda Merton has secured he can figure the improved _Sprite's_ speed at a little less than sixteen miles an hour. Let him figure that way. The other plans I have will enable her to do twenty." Lorry bounded off his chair. "Twenty?" he cried. "Matt, you're crazy!" Before Matt could answer, Joe McGlory staggered into the boathouse, dragging a motor cycle after him. Both he and the wheel were splashed with mud, and bore other evidences of wear and tear, but the cowboy's eyes were bulging with excitement. "You've been gone two hours longer than I thought you'd be, Joe," said Matt, studying his chum with considerable curiosity. "What's happened?" "That's it!" exploded McGlory, breathlessly, leaning the motor cycle against the bench. "Speak to me about that! Sufferin' thunderbolts! but I've made a whale of a discovery." "What is it?" demanded George, wildly impatient. "Why," cried McGlory, "Merton's got another boat, and she's certainly a blue streak, if I know the brand. The fat's in the fire, pards. If the poor old _Sprite_ gets into a race with this new boat of Merton's, she'll be in the 'also ran' column." Lorry collapsed. "A dark horse!" exclaimed Matt. "I'd have bet a farm Merton was planning to spring something like that. Buck up, Lorry! Perhaps this isn't so bad, after all. Tell us about it, Joe." CHAPTER IV. PLANS. "When I got over the point, pards," said Joe, dropping into a chair and fanning himself with his hat, "the _Wyandotte_ was just comin' down the lake to pull off her usual race with herself. I hauled up in the road, with the bushes between me and the water, ready to jump into the saddle the minute the boat came opposite. I was keeping shady, you can bet your moccasins on that, and it was some sort of a jolt when I saw a galoot perched on a stone. He looked like a hobo, and the way he grinned got on my nerves. "'I'm funny, all right,' I says to him, 'but where I come from a feller gets shot if he looks that way at some one else.' "'I ain't laffin' at you,' says the tramp, 'but at the joke them other mugs is playin' on you an' your push.' "'Where does the joke come in?' I inquires. "'Why,' he comes back, 'that other club is foolin' you with a boat here on Fourth Lake when the real boat is over on Third. If what I'm a-sayin' is worth a dollar to you, just remember and cough up.' "Well, say, that hobo wasn't a holy minute grabbin' my attention. I fell off the chug wheel right there and proceeded to palaver. It turned out that Merton's gard'ner was sick for a few days, and that the tramp mowed the lawn and did a few other things around the place. There was an open window, Ollie and some of his pards were on the other side of it, and the noise of the lawnmower didn't prevent the tramp from hearing what was said. You can bet your last dollar it was hot news he got hold of. "Merton and the Winnequas were plannin' to fool us with the _Wyandotte_ on Fourth Lake while they were warming up the real boat on Third. The hobo said I could wait there at the Point till the _Wyandotte_ came closer, and that I'd see Merton wasn't aboard; then he allowed that if I'd sizzle over to the gun club on Third Lake I'd see the real prize winner doing stunts that would curl my hair. "The tramp was off for Waunakee, and had just dropped down on a stone to rest. My coming along was a happenchance, as he hadn't intended to peddle the news he'd got hold of, but he recognized me as being a pard of Motor Matt's, and a dollar looked pretty big to him. "I waited till the _Wyandotte_ was close, and then I saw that Merton wasn't aboard. Would I swallow the hobo's yarn or not? I decided that I would, so I threw him a dollar and burned the air in the direction of the gun club and Third Lake. "Well, t'other boat was there, sliding around like a streak of greased lightning. Half the time I couldn't see her for the foam she kicked up. I managed to pick up the label on her bow as she was making a turn, and it's the _Dart_. But go--speak to me about that! Say, she gets to a place pretty near before she starts. Merton was aboard, and so was that red-headed pard of his, Halloran. Halloran was working the machinery. I watched my chance and kept abreast of the _Dart_ for a mile. Twenty-one miles is what the speedometer registered, although the count may be shy a little one way or the other. I was too excited to be entirely accurate. Our hands are in the air, pards, and no mistake. The _Sprite_'ll look like a turtle wallowin' along in the wake of a swordfish." Matt and Lorry had listened to this recital with varying feelings. Matt was deeply interested, but Lorry was visibly cast down. "How big is the _Dart_, Joe?" inquired Matt. "Twenty-five or thirty feet, Matt." "You must be a little wrong in your estimate of the _Dart's_ speed. It doesn't seem possible that she could turn a mile in less than three minutes." "Well, look!" exclaimed McGlory, catching his first glimpse of Ping. "If there ain't little Washee-washee Slant-eyes I'm a Chink myself. When and how did he flash out in these parts?" Matt, by way of relieving the tension aroused by McGlory's exciting news, told of the scuffle in the path leading up the bank, and then allowed the Celestial to finish with an account of the way he had come from Frisco. "Let's get back to the boats," put in Lorry impatiently, when Ping had got through with his pidgin English. "Hadn't I better withdraw the _Sprite_, Matt, and let some other fellow meet Merton?" Matt stared. "I didn't believe you were that sort of a fellow, Lorry," he returned, "and I don't think so yet." "But if the _Sprite_ hasn't any chance----" "She has a chance, and a good one, after I get her ready. There'll have to be more extensive changes, that's all." "What other changes are you thinking about?" "Ping," said Matt, turning to the Chinese, "you go outside the boathouse and see that no one hangs around it while we're talking." "Can do," chirped Ping, and shuffled out. Matt pulled up a chair close to Lorry's and motioned for McGlory to join the inner circle. Then Matt explained about the loss of the roll of drawings. The cowboy was mad clear through in half a second. "It was Merton, all right," he scowled, "and you can bet a ten-dollar note against a last year's bird's nest on that. By this time he'll know what the improved _Sprite_ can do, and he'll also know that the _Dart_ can run circles around her. We're Jonahed, for fair." "No, we're not," said Matt. "As long as I thought we had only the _Wyandotte_ to beat, I was only planning to make the _Sprite_ fast enough for that purpose. But I can make the _Sprite_ the fastest thing on the lakes--it'll take a hustle, though, and I'll have to have a machinist helper." "I don't care how many men you have to have, Matt, nor how many extra supplies," returned Lorry, beginning to gather a little confidence from the quiet, determined air of the king of the motor boys. "Go ahead, and call on me for what money you need." "Over at the machine shop, where I've been getting some work done," proceeded Matt, "they have a double-opposed, four-cycle automobile engine, capable of developing from eighteen to twenty horse-power at eighteen hundred revolutions per minute. The cylinders are five by five. That's a pretty stiff engine for the _Sprite_, but the hull could be strengthened, and we could put it in and get about ninety or ninety-five per cent. of the horse-power by gearing down three to one. After the gears wear a little, the percentage of horse-power might drop to eighty. This motor will drive a three-bladed propeller twenty-six inches diameter, thirty-two inches pitch. If the vibration don't shake me out of the boat at eighteen hundred revolutions per minute, the speed we'll get will be astonishing." "Whoop!" exulted McGlory. "I don't know what it all means, but it listens good. I reckon there's a kick or two in the old _Sprite_ yet." "You can't run a boat engine like you run an automobile motor, Matt," said Lorry. "Of course not. A steady load and steady plugging in the water is a whole lot different from the give-and-take a motor gets in an auto; but we can keep up the eighteen hundred revolutions for ten minutes, anyhow--and the race only covers five miles. I'm fixing the _Sprite_ to win the race, that's all." "By George!" exclaimed Lorry, "it takes you to make a fellow feel good, Matt! You know what you're doing, every time and all the time. Go ahead with the work, and bank on me to hold you up with both hands." "Me, too, pard!" added McGlory. "What we're doing," said Matt, "we want to keep strictly to ourselves. Merton has our drawings, and probably thinks he knows just what we're about. Let him think so. If he springs a 'dark horse' on us, we'll get even by springing one on him." "But can you get the _Sprite_ ready in time?" asked Lorry anxiously. "Sure I can! I'll have to begin at once, though, and some of us will have to stay in this boathouse night and day to make sure that none of the Winnequas come prowling around. If you'll stay here with McGlory, George, I'll borrow your motor cycle to go over to the machine shop and dicker for that second-hand engine." "Go on," said Lorry. "While you're there you might get a man to help you." Matt got up and pulled the motor cycle away from the bench. "I'll be back in an hour, fellows," said he. Leaving the boathouse, he dragged the wheel to the top of the steep bank, then, getting into the saddle, he gave the pedals a turn and was off like a shot along the wooded road that led past the insane asylum and by the Waunakee Road and Sherman Avenue into town. If Motor Matt loved one thing more than another, it was a good, clean fight for supremacy, such as the one that now confronted him and his friends. There was a zest in such a struggle, and the pleasure of winning out against odds, in a good cause, was its own reward. As he whizzed along the wooded road, mechanically steering the wheel while his mind busied itself with other things, he was confronted suddenly by a rail held breast-high across his course. It was impossible to turn out at that point, and Matt had to shut off the power and jam down hard on the brake. He caught a glimpse of a silent form at each end of the rail, and then, as he halted, of half a dozen other forms rushing out at him from the bushes on each side of the road. In another moment he was caught and dragged from the motor cycle. CHAPTER V. AN ORDER TO QUIT. This unexpected attack, coming so suddenly, had taken Matt at a disadvantage. He fought as well as he could, in the circumstances, but there were too many against him. There were eight of his foes, all told, and Matt was carried into the timber at one side of the road and dropped unceremoniously in a small cleared space. Bounding to his feet, he stood staring about him. His eight enemies had formed a narrow circle, hemming him in. They were all young fellows, well dressed, and carried themselves with an air of firmness and determination. The face of each was covered with a handkerchief, which left only the eyes visible. "What are you trying to do?" demanded Matt angrily. "Don't lose your temper, Motor Matt," answered one of the eight, in a voice that was plainly disguised. "We're not going to hurt you--now. Do what we want you to and we'll remain good friends. All we've stopped you for is to have a little talk." "Did you have to head me off with a rail in order to have a little talk?" asked Matt sarcastically. "We wanted to make sure of you for about five minutes, and this was the only way we could think of. We were going over to your boathouse, but saw you coming down the hill from the point, and thought we'd better lay for you." "Well," said Matt, "here I am. Hurry up with your talk. I'm in a rush, and don't want to stop here long." "We want to ask you a question: You're a professional motorist, aren't you?" "I've driven a racing automobile, if that's what you mean." "They say you know gasoline motors forward, backward, and sideways." "I've studied them, and I've worked in a shop where they were made." "Then I guess we've got you dead to rights. Do you want to make a hundred dollars?" "That depends on how I'm to make it," answered the king of the motor boys, immediately suspicious. "You won't have much to do. We'll give you the money now if you promise to leave town to-night, and not come back to this section for a month." "Oh!" exclaimed Matt, a light suddenly dawning upon him. "You're representative members of the Winnequa Club, I take it, and you want to keep me from running Lorry's boat in that race." "We don't care how you take it," was the sharp retort. "The question is, will you accept that hundred and get out?" "Certainly not," said Matt promptly. There was a silence. One lad was doing all the talking, the others remaining silent and watchful. "Will you leave for two hundred?" went on the spokesman. "No," was Matt's indignant response, "nor for two thousand! What do you fellows take me for? I'm George Lorry's friend, and I'm going to see him through this racing contest." "I don't think you will," was the significant answer. "You probably have an idea you will, but you'll change your mind before you're many days older." "I understand," observed Matt quietly, "that your club is composed of pretty decent fellows. I'm pretty sure the rest of the members don't know what you eight are doing." "That's nothing to you. You're a professional racer." "There's nothing in the rules governing the race that bars out a professional driver," said Matt. "That may be, but it's hardly fair to stack up a professional driver against an amateur." "Halloran is not an amateur," returned Matt. "He has handled motor boats for two years. I happen to know this. If Halloran is going to drive Merton's boat, I don't think you fellows can complain if I drive Lorry's." Matt's knowledge regarding Halloran must have staggered the eight masked youths. Silence reigned again for a space, one set of eyes encountering another and the glance traveling around the circle. The king of the motor boys was studying those around him. One of the eight he believed to be Ollie Merton, although of that he could not be sure. Merton must have made good time from Third Lake, if he had left the _Dart_, crossed the city, and come around Fourth Lake to that point. "We're not here to discuss Halloran," went on the young fellow who was doing the talking for the rest of his party. "We don't want you backing up young Lorry. There are going to be some bets made on that race, and we want Merton's boat to have a cinch. If what we've heard of you is true, you're deep, and when you go into a thing you go in to win. If you won't take a couple of hundred and leave town, how much will you ask to throw the race?" Matt stiffened, and his eyes flashed dangerously. Once before, in the course of his career, an insult of that sort had been offered him. That was in Arizona, and a gambler had approached him and offered him money to "throw" a bicycle race on which the gambler and his friends had been doing some heavy betting. Matt had principles, hard and fast principles which he knew to be right and on which he would not turn his back. He had never seen any good come of betting, and he was against it. "I guess," said he sharply, "that if you know me better you wouldn't make such a proposition. I'm a friend of Lorry's, and I'm going to stand by him. Not only that, but if you fellows have been foolish enough to bet on Merton's boat, I'll do my best to see that you lose your money. I guess that finishes our talk. Break away and let me go on." "Don't be in a rush," growled the spokesman. "If you won't take our money and leave town, and if you won't throw the race for a share of the proceeds, then we'll hand you an order which you'll do well to obey. It's an order to quit. Understand? You're an outsider and we don't want you around here." "So is Halloran an outsider," said Matt caustically. "He comes from Milwaukee." "We're talking about you, now, and not about Halloran. Lorry has got to stand on his own pins. He's got money enough to see him through this race without any of your help." "You're a one-sided lot, you fellows," went on Matt. "All you say about Lorry applies equally well to Merton. Why don't Merton 'stand on his own pins,' as you call it? And why do you ask more of Lorry than you do of Merton?" "That's our business," snapped the other. Matt laughed. "The trouble with you fellows," said he, "is that you're scared. You think the _Wyandotte_ has got a little more than she can take care of in the _Sprite_. What kind of sportsmen are you, anyhow, when you try to load your dice before you go into this game?" Matt's mention of the _Wyandotte_ was made with the deliberate intention of hoodwinking the eight. By speaking as he did the masked youths would infer that Matt and Lorry knew nothing, as yet, about the _Dart_. That Matt's remark had gone home was evident from the quick looks that passed around the circle over the tops of the handkerchiefs. "We've got you down pretty fine, Motor Matt," pursued the spokesman, who could not bring himself to give up the attempt to influence Matt. "If it hadn't been for you, George Lorry would be in San Francisco now. You brought him back here, and you advised him to get back into the Yahara Club and go on with the programme the Yaharas had laid down for him. That was all your doing, and you know it." "I'm glad to think," said Matt, with spirit, "that I had something to do with that. But you're mistaken if you think I had _everything_ to do with it." "I suppose this McGlory helped a little." "He did; but the biggest help came from Lorry himself. Lorry has the right kind of stuff in him, and he'll show you, before long, that he's worth a dozen Mertons." This goaded one of the others into speech--and it was the one whom Matt suspected of being Ollie Merton. "Oh, splash! Lorry's a sissy and he always was." It was Merton's voice, Matt felt sure of that. But the king of the motor boys wanted to make assurance doubly sure. "_Now_ are you done?" he asked. "You refuse to meet us half way in an amicable arrangement?" "Your amicable arrangement," said Matt ironically, "is an insult to a fellow who tries to be square. I'll have nothing to do with it, and that's the last word." "We're going to have the last word, my gay motorist, and from now on up to the hour of the race you and Lorry are going to have your hands full of trouble. The _Sprite_ will never enter the contest, and you'll save yourself something, Motor Matt, if you obey our orders to quit. There----" Motor Matt, watching his opportunity, had made a sudden leap forward. It was toward the side of the circle opposite the place where the chap whom he believed to be Merton was standing. Instantly the eight made a concerted move in that direction, leaving a gap in the cordon behind Matt. Like lightning, the king of the motor boys whirled about and darted through the gap. As he raced past the fellow he supposed to be Merton he snatched the handkerchief from his face. The evidence, then, was plain enough. "Merton!" shouted Matt as he bounded toward the road. An angry yell went up behind him, followed by a crashing among the bushes as the eight began pursuit. But Matt had the lead, and he was fortunate enough to find the motor cycle leaning against the tree near the place where it had been halted. To mount, start the gasoline, switch on the spark and pedal off took but a few seconds. By the time Merton and his companions reached the road Matt was sliding around a wooded bend like a shot from a gun. Around the turn Matt was compelled to sheer off to avoid a big touring car which, deserted and at a standstill, filled the road. He noted, as he passed, that it was the Merton touring car. Matt had seen the car before, and in circumstances almost as dramatic. CHAPTER VI. FACING THE MUSIC. The automobile repair shop which Matt had started for was in Sherman Avenue, not far from the park that skirted the shore of Fourth Lake. He did not make for the shop at once, however, but kept out of sight until Ollie Merton had passed with the big, seven-passenger car loaded to the limit. As soon as the car had vanished Matt went into the shop. He was not long in transacting his business there. Before beginning he placed the proprietor under seal of secrecy. The second-hand motor was secured at a bargain, Matt paying spot cash for it. The engine was to be loaded aboard a launch and taken across the lake, in the afternoon, to the boathouse by Picnic Point. With the engine was to come a young machinist, a son of the proprietor of the shop, who was to be well paid for his services, and who promised to use his hands and eyes and not his tongue. Matt's final request was that the engine, when carried down to the landing and while aboard the launch, should be covered with canvas. This was to prevent curious eyes from securing information which might be carried to some of the Winnequas, and so to Merton. From the machine shop Matt rushed on into town for the purpose of sending a message. The telegram was to a supply house in Milwaukee and requested immediate shipment of a new propeller. The sudden change in plans for the _Sprite_ made quick work necessary. It was long after noon when Matt got back to the boathouse, where Lorry and McGlory were impatiently awaiting him. "You were longer than we thought you'd be," remarked Lorry, a look of relief crossing his face as Matt trundled the motor cycle through the open door. "Did you get what you wanted, pard?" inquired McGlory. "Yes," laughed Matt, leaning the wheel against the wall, "and a little more than I was expecting. I was stopped by Merton and seven of his friends, just this side of the asylum and----" "By Merton!" cried Lorry. "Sufferin' brain-twisters!" exclaimed the cowboy. "How could that be? Why, pard, I left Merton on Third Lake, in the _Dart_." "Merton must have come ashore, Joe, pretty soon after you left. He picked up seven of his friends somewhere and started around Fourth Lake to have a talk with me at the boathouse. They saw me coming down the hill from the point, stopped the automobile around a bend, tied handkerchiefs over their faces and stopped me with a fence rail. Before I fairly realized what was going on, the eight of them had me off the wheel and into the timber." "What an outrage!" growled Lorry. "You're getting more than your share of rough work, Matt, seems to me. What did those fellows want?" Matt pulled out a lunch box of generous size, opened it on the workbench and invited his two companions to help themselves. "I went into town to send a telegram for a new propeller," he observed, "but I didn't even take time to stop at a restaurant for a meal." "No matter what happens," said Lorry admiringly, "you never forget anything. But go on and tell us what Merton and those other chaps stopped you for." "They were trying to run in a rhinecaboo of some sort. I'll be bound," averred McGlory. "The plain truth of the matter is, fellows," declared Matt, "Merton and his crowd are scared. They offered me two hundred dollars to leave town at once and never come back." "Tell me about that!" chuckled the cowboy. "Scared? You bet they are! Motor Matt has put a crimp in the confidence they had about the outcome of the race." "And that leads me to believe," went on Matt, "that, in spite of the fact that Merton has that roll of drawings and knows what we were doing to the _Sprite_, he's still afraid of us. The _Dart_ can't be such a phenomenally fast boat as you imagined, Joe. If it was, why should Merton fear the _Sprite_? He's judging her, you understand, according to our first plans for changing her. He doesn't know a thing about the automobile engine and the other propeller we're going to install." "Listen, once," said McGlory; "it's not the plans that's making Merton sidestep, but Motor Matt. He and his bunch will feel a heap easier if they can know the king of the motor boys is cut out of Lorry's herd." "Another thing," continued Matt. "Merton and his friends are doing some betting on the race." "I've heard about that," put in Lorry. "Merton is plunging with his father's bankroll, and going the limit. His friends are in the pool with him, and they're offering all sorts of fancy odds." "If I could rake together a stake," said McGlory, "I'd take a little of that Winnequa money myself." "No, you wouldn't, Joe," returned Matt. "I'm out with a club for that sort of thing. Good, clean sport is all right, but when you tangle it up with a lot of bookmakers it goes to the dogs." "Mebby you're right, pard," grinned Joe, "but any kind of a chance, with money in sight, is excitin'." "Merton and the rest wanted me, if I wouldn't agree to pull out, to throw the race." "The scoundrels!" cried Lorry. "They didn't know our pard very well, George," observed the cowboy. "What did they say when you turned 'em down, Matt?" "Ordered me to quit. Said if I didn't the lot of us, over here, would have to face all kinds of music." "I always did like music," said the cowboy. "Right this minute I'm feelin' like a brass band and I've got to toot." McGlory's "toot" was more like a steam calliope than a brass band, and it was so hilarious that Ping, who was still acting as outside guard, pushed his yellow face in at the window over the workbench. "Who makee low?" he inquired. "There's no row, you heathen," answered the cowboy, tossing him a sandwich. "There, take that and stop your face. I'm jubilatin', that's all." Ping disappeared with a grin and the sandwich. "What are you jubilating about, Joe?" inquired Lorry. "Don't you savvy, George? Why, Motor Matt's on his mettle! All that talk that Merton and his pards gave him just cinched him up for the 'go' of his life. You'll see things at that race. As for facing the music--there's nothing to it. Why, the _Sprite's_ as good as passed the stake boat and over the finish line right now." There was little doubt but that McGlory's jovial mood and confident forecast of coming events heartened Lorry wonderfully. Matt went more into the details of his experience with Merton and his friends. "That's a nice way for the commodore of a rival boat club to act," remarked Lorry sarcastically. "How did Merton ever get to be commodore?" said McGlory. "That's what sticks in my crop." "Money," was Lorry's brief but significant response. "Money cuts a pretty wide swath, and that's a fact. That work of Merton's and his friends, though, was a pretty raw blazer. Wonder what Merton's thinking of himself, now that Matt's found out he was in the gang?" "It won't bother him much," said Lorry. "Between you and me and the gatepost, I'll bet Merton has been flying too high. When his father gets back from Europe and finds out what's been going on, there'll be doings. Like enough, Merton is plunging on the boat race in the hope of getting back some of the money he has squandered. That would ease the tension somewhat when he makes an accounting to his father." "Too bad if he's got himself into money difficulties," observed Matt. "A little money has made many a good fellow go wrong, Matt," returned Lorry, with a flush. George was talking from experience, and it was an experience which he would never forget. "There's nothing to do, I reckon," said McGlory, changing the subject, "but to plug right along and hustle the changes in the _Sprite_." "That's all, Joe," responded Matt. "We'll have to do some quick work, and do it well. The engine will be delivered this afternoon, and a young fellow is coming along with it to help me. We'll have to do more or less traveling between here and the machine shop, and I suppose it would be well if we had a boat. Going around the lake takes too long." "I'll get a motor boat for you, Matt," said Lorry. "I'll bring her over before night." "Bring a supply of gasoline and oil, too, Lorry." "It will all come with the boat. If you can think of anything else you want, just let me know. Some one ought to stay here all the time, don't you think? The _Sprite_ ought to be watched every minute, night and day. It was no empty threat Merton made when he said he'd make us trouble." "He and his friends," said Matt gravely, "will do what they can to bother us. But I don't think they'll dare go too far. Joe and I and Ping will stay at the boathouse all the time. That will make quite a respectable force. Then, too, the machinist will be with us during the day. Whenever I have to cross the lake to the shop, he and Joe can look after things here." "I want to do my share, you know," protested Lorry; "I can't let you fellows do it all." "You'll have plenty to do, George," laughed Matt. "There's a telephone at the asylum, and we can always get word to you if it's necessary. As for----" Matt was interrupted by a shrill yell. It came from outside the boathouse and had plainly been raised by Ping. On the instant, all three of the boys jumped for the door. CHAPTER VII. GATHERING CLOUDS. Much to the relief of Matt, McGlory and Lorry, the Chinese boy had not encountered intruders. His trouble was of quite another sort. In order to watch all sides of the boathouse, he had been tramping around three of its walls, from the waterfront on one side to the waterfront on the other. The day was hot and the exertion tiring. Ping, after some reflection, conceived the brilliant idea of climbing to the roof and watching from the ridgepole. An elevated position of that kind would enable him to rest and keep eyes on the vicinity in every direction. Some empty boxes, piled one on the other, lifted him high enough to reach the eaves. Kicking off his sandals, he took the slope of the roof in his stocking feet and was soon by the flagstaff that arose from one end of the peak on the waterside of the building. A timber, equipped with rope and tackle, projected outward from the peak. For no particular reason, other than to test his agility, Ping lowered himself astride the projecting timber and hitched outward to the end. Here a sudden gust of wind struck him. Lifting both hands to save his hat, he lost his balance and rolled sidewise off the timber. But he did not fall. His trousers caught in the stout iron hook by which the pulley was suspended; and, when Matt, McGlory and Lorry finally located him, he was sprawling in midair, badly scared, but as yet unhurt. "Motol Matt," howled the youngster, "savee Ping! No lettee fall! Woosh!" "Sufferin' heathens!" gasped McGlory. "How in the name of Bob did the Chink ever get in that fix?" That was no time to guess about the cause. If Ping's clothing was to give way he would suffer a bad fall on the planks of the boathouse pier. Pulling the tackle rope from the cleat to which it was fastened, Matt climbed hand over hand to the projecting timber. "Catch hold of my shoulders, Ping," he ordered. Ping's arms went around him in a life-and-death grip. Then, supporting himself with one hand, Matt detached the Chinaman from the hook with the other and both slid to the pier in safety. "You gave us a scare, Ping," said Matt. "We didn't know but you had found some one sneaking around the boathouse. How did you get in that fix?" Ping explained, and the boys had a good laugh. Shortly afterward Lorry dragged his motor cycle to the top of the bank and chugged away home. It was about two o'clock when Newt Higgins, the young machinist, arrived with the new motor. His father had brought him across. The engine was unloaded by means of the block and tackle and carried inside. While Higgins was taking the old motor out of the _Sprite_, Matt connected up the new one with gasoline tank and battery and got it to going. It ran perfectly. From that time on there were several days of feverish activity in the boathouse. The hull of the _Sprite_ had to be strengthened. The original motor had been installed on short bearers, which, according to Matt's view, was entirely wrong. The motor bed, he held, must be rigid and the vibration distributed over as great an area as possible. A heavy bed was put down, and on this two girders were laid, shaped up to take the rake of the motor and tapering off at the ends. These girders extended as far forward and aft as the curve of the hull would allow. Lining up the shaft was an operation which Matt attended to himself. This job gave some trouble, but was finally finished to his satisfaction. The new engine was set farther aft than the old one had been. This enabled Matt to bring the gasoline tanks farther aft, as well. The hood had to be made longer, and a stout bulkhead was built between the engine space and the cockpit. All controls were to be on the bulkhead. The electric outfit was placed close to the motor, where it would be protected from wet and dampness by the hood. In addition to this, the eight cells of the battery were inclosed in a box and filled around with paraffine. The hull had already been covered with canvas, given two coats of lead and oil and rubbed down. The last thing would be a coat of spar varnish. Saturday night Matt dismissed the machinist. "I wish I knew as much about motors as you do," the machinist had said as he pocketed his pay. "You're Class A, Motor Matt, and you've given Lorry a boat that'll win. I'm goin' to see that race. The Yahara boys are on our lake, you know, and this part o' town is with 'em to a man. It's surprisin' how this section of town is set on havin' the Yahara club get back the cup." "We're going to do our best, Newt," Matt had answered, "and you'll see a pretty race, no matter how it comes out." "You bet you!" averred Newt. "Good-by and good luck, Matt. I'd be tickled if we could work together all the time." During the work McGlory had made himself generally useful. He could run the small launch which Lorry had brought to the boathouse for Matt's use, and whenever there were any errands across the lake not requiring Matt's attention at the machine shop McGlory attended to them. Ping proved to be a good cook, and prepared the meals on a gasoline stove. When he was not busy in the culinary department he was guarding the boathouse against prowlers. The boathouse was nicely situated for the work Matt and his friends were doing. There were no other boathouses for half a mile or more on either side of it, and the steep banks by which it was surrounded on every side but toward the water gave it an isolation which had commended it to Matt and Lorry. It had not been used for some time when Lorry had leased it from the owner, but was in a very good state of repair for all that. It contained a well which opened directly into a protected cove. An incline fitted with rollers made it easy to launch a boat or to haul it out upon the floor. The water door came down to the lake level, and both door and well were wide enough to admit a craft of eight-feet beam. During all these days of work Ping had not detected a single person skulking around in the boathouse's vicinity. Matt worked until late every night, and there was always some one on guard on the outside from sunset till sunrise. Generally it was McGlory, but occasionally Lorry would come over and insist that the cowboy should sleep while he did the sentry duty. It was nine o'clock Saturday night when Matt finished with the varnish coat and, dropping his brush, stood back to look at the trim, shadowy lines of the boat. "She's a beauty, Matt, and no mistake," called some one from the door. "Hello, George!" answered Matt, turning to place the lamp on the workbench and scrubbing his hands with a bunch of waste. "She'll do, I think. Anyhow, the _Dart_ won't run any rings around us." "You must be about fagged," said Lorry as Matt dropped down on his cot by the wall. "You've worked like a galley slave, and if we win the prize it will be all owing to you." "I'm tired, and that's a fact," Matt answered, "but I've got some good feelings in me, as my old Dutch pard used to say. If a fellow's mind is easy it doesn't matter so much about his body." "I came over to see if you'd heard anything from our friends the enemy yet," said Lorry. "They haven't peeped," Matt laughed. "I guess they've decided to let us alone." "Don't you think that for a minute," returned Lorry earnestly. "Merton and his pals have been lying low, but the clouds have been gathering. The storm will break before Tuesday, and I'm wondering and worrying as to how it is going to hit us." "We'll weather it," said Matt lightly, "no matter what shape it takes. It's a cinch that Merton hasn't been able to find out a thing about what we've been doing. That roll of drawings is all he has to base an opinion on, and the _Sprite_ is as different from those plans as you can well imagine. We've fooled Merton to the queen's taste." "And probably he thinks he has fooled us," smiled Lorry. "Have you been able to discover anything about the _Dart_?" "Not a thing. The Winnequas are guarding her as though she was a lump of gold. But there are hair-raising tales, all over town, of the tremendous speed a new boat on Third Lake is showing." "The _Wyandotte_ hasn't been kicking up the water around the point for a couple of days now." "I guess Merton thinks we're so busy here we won't pay any attention to her. Ever since he stopped sending the _Wyandotte_ to Fourth Lake he has been speeding the _Dart_ in the evening on Third." "Well, Merton's consistent, anyhow, no matter what else you can say about him." "I've got orders from dad and sis to take you over to Yankee Hill to spend to-night and Sunday," said Lorry, after a slight pause. "Will you go?" "Sorry, old chap, but I can't," Matt answered regretfully. "I'm going to be Johnny-on-the-spot right here in this boathouse till the _Sprite_ leaves to enter the race. I'm not taking any chances with her." "But can't McGlory and Ping look after the boat?" "They can, yes, and there isn't anybody I'd trust quicker than I would McGlory; but, if anything should happen to the _Sprite_ between now and Tuesday, I want to be the one who's to blame." "I guess I know how you stack up," observed Lorry, with a touch of genuine feeling. "You're doing a whole lot for me, Matt, and my folks know it and appreciate it just as much as I do. I hope I can pay you back some time." "Nonsense, George!" deprecated Matt. "Do you think there isn't any fun in this thing for me? I've enjoyed myself every minute I've been tinkering with the _Sprite_, and the best part of it all will come when I show the _Dart_ the way across the finish line next Tuesday." Half an hour later Lorry got into his hired launch and started for home. All was quiet and peaceable in the boathouse, but, even then, a storm of trouble was preparing to break--a storm that was to try the three friends to the uttermost and to come within a hair's breadth of ruining their prospects in the power-boat contest. CHAPTER VIII. THE PLOTTERS. Merton and his seven companions were a disgruntled lot when they returned to Madison after forcing an interview with Motor Matt, having their propositions rejected and then watching him get away after unmasking the "commodore." Merton drove the touring car straight for home, turned it over to the gardener--who was also something of a chauffeur--and then ushered his friends into his father's study, in the house. The butler and the _chef_ had been left to look after Merton's comfort. Merton immediately sent the butler to the ice box for several bottles of beer, and the lads proceeded to drown their disgust and disappointment in drink. The idea that any human emotion can be blotted out with an intoxicating beverage is a fallacy. The mind can be drugged, for a time, but when it regains its normal state all its impressions are revived even more harrowingly than they were before. As soon as the glasses had been emptied Merton produced several packages of cigarettes, and the air grew thick with the odor of burning "doctored" tobacco. "What're we going to do with Motor Matt?" demanded Jimmie Hess. "Take it from me, you fellows, something has got to be done with him or the cup goes back to the Yaharas. He's a chap that does things, all right." "And game as a hornet," struck in Andy Meigs. "Wish we could find out what he's doing to the _Sprite_." "That's what's worryin' me," said Perry Jenkins. "If he can coax twenty miles an hour out of the _Sprite_ he's got the cup nailed down." "He don't know anything about the _Dart_," spoke up Rush Partington. "As long as he thinks he's only got the _Wyandotte_ to beat, I guess we can hold him." "Hold nothing!" growled Martin Rawlins. "You don't understand how much that chap knows. Where did he grab all that about Halloran? He gets to the bottom of things, he does, and it's a fool notion to try and pull the wool over his eyes by sending the _Wyandotte_ over to Fourth Lake every day. If I----" "Mr. Ollie," announced the butler, looking in at the door, "there's a little negro boy downstairs and he says he won't leave till he sees you." "Kick him off the front steps, Peters," scowled Merton. Peters would probably have carried out his orders had not the little negro quietly followed him up the stairs. As the butler turned away, the darky pushed past him and jumped into the study. "Pickerel Pete!" went up a chorus of voices. The colored boy was one of the town "characters," and was known by sight to everybody. "Come here, you!" cried the exasperated Peters, pushing into the room and reaching for Pete's collar. "Drag him out," ordered Merton. "I haven't got any time to bother with him." "You all better bothah wif me," cried Pete, squirming in the butler's grip. "Ah kin tell yo' about dat Motor Matt, en Ah got some papahs dat yo'd lak tuh have----" "Come along, now, and stop your howlin'," grunted the butler, making for the door. A clamor arose from those in the room. "Wait, Peters!" "Hear what he's got to say about Motor Matt!" "Maybe he can give us a pointer that will be useful. Let's talk with him, Ollie." "Leave him here, Peters," said Merton. The butler let go his hold on Pickerel Pete and went out of the study, shaking his head in disapproval of Mr. Ollie's orders. "Now, then, you little rascal," went on Merton sternly, as soon as the door had closed behind the butler, "if you're trying to fool us you'll get a thrashing." "En ef Ah ain't tryin' tuh fool yu," returned Pete, "is Ah gwine tuh git two dollahs?" "You say," asked Merton cautiously, "that you've got a roll of papers?" "Dat's whut Ah has, boss. Ah stole dem f'om de boathouse ovah by the p'int where Motor Matt is workin' on de _Sprite_." "Why did you steal them?" "Tuh git even wif Motor Matt, dat's why," snorted Pete, glaring. "He done hiahed me fo' two dollahs er day, en den he turned me down fo' er no-count yaller Chink. When er man gits tuh be 'leben yeahs old, lak me, he ain't goin' tuh stand fo' dat sort o' work, no, suh. Ah jess sneaked up on de boathouse en Ah swiped de papahs." It was plain to Merton that Pickerel Pete believed he had a grievance against Motor Matt. This might make him valuable. "Let's see the papers, Pete," said Merton. "If they're worth anything to me I'll pay you for them." "Dar dey is, boss," and Pete triumphantly drew the roll from the breast of his ragged "hickory" shirt. Merton grabbed the roll eagerly, slipped off the rubber band and began examining every sheet. While his friends breathlessly watched, Merton jammed the papers into his pocket, sprang to his feet and paced back and forth across the room. "What is it, Ollie?" "Found out anything important?" "Do those papers really belong to Motor Matt?" "Tell us about it, can't you?" "Shut up a minute," growled Merton. "I'm framing up a plan." For a little while longer Merton continued to pace the floor; then, at last, he halted in front of Pete. "There's five dollars for you, Pete," said Merton, taking a banknote from his pocket and handing it to the boy. "Oh, by golly!" sputtered the overwhelmed Pete, grabbing at the bill as a drowning man grabs at a straw. "Ah's rich, dat's whut Ah is. Say, boss, is all dis heah money fo' me? Ah ain't got no change." "It's all yours, Pete," went on Merton; "what's more, if you'll come here and see me Sunday afternoon at four o'clock, I'll give you a chance to earn another five-dollar bill. Will you be here?" "Will er duck swim, boss?" fluttered Pete, kissing the crumpled banknote and tucking it carefully away in a trousers pocket. "Sunday aftehnoon at fo' erclock. Ah'll be heah fo' suah, boss." "Then get out." Pickerel Pete effaced himself--one hand in his trousers pocket to make sure the banknote was still there, and that he was not dreaming. "Now, then, Ollie," said Martin Rawlins, "tell us what your game is." "Yes, confound it," grumbled Meigs. "We're all on tenterhooks." "These papers, fellows," answered Merton, drawing the crumpled sheets from his pocket, "contain Motor Matt's plans for changing the _Sprite_. Looking over them hastily, I gather the idea that he's making the _Sprite_ just fast enough to beat the _Wyandotte_." A snicker went up from the others. "We've got him fooled, all right," was the general comment. "Don't be too sure you've got that Motor Matt fooled," counseled Rawlins. "Maybe he put that roll where the negro could get it, and expected he _would_ get it. This king of the motor boys is deep--don't let that get past your guard for a minute. I've put all the money I could rake and scrape into the betting pool, and I don't want to lose it by any snap judgments." That was the way with the rest of them. They had all clubbed their funds together and the result was a big purse for betting purposes. "I guess it means as much to the rest of us as it does to you, Martin, to have the _Dart_ win," said Merton dryly. "Motor Matt's deep, as you say, but don't make the mistake of crediting him with too much knowledge. He's only human, like the rest of us. From the way matters look now, we've got him and Lorry beaten, hands down. Motor Matt isn't sharp enough to steer those papers into my hands by way of Pete. Now, in all this betting of ours, the money is being placed with the understanding that if there is _no race_ we take the cash; in other words, if the Yaharas back down and fail to send a boat to the starting line, we take the money." "They won't back down," said Jimmie Hess. "Great Scott, Ollie, you don't think for a second that Lorry will back down, do you?" "He may have to," was Merton's vague reply. "Anyhow, if you fellows make any bets outside of the pool, just make 'em in that way--that the stakes are yours if the Yaharas back down and there's no race." "What's back of that, Ollie?" said Perry Jenkins. "You've got something up your sleeve, I know blamed well." "And it's going to stay up my sleeve, so far as you fellows are concerned," returned Merton. "If I evolve a plan, I don't believe in advertising it. This Motor Matt _may_ have steered those papers into our hands, and he _may_ be deep enough to make the _Sprite_ a better boat than the _Dart_ while not knowing anything about the _Dart_, but I don't think so. However, I intend to be on the safe side. It means a whole lot to me to win--personally, and apart from my desire to see the Winnequas keep the De Lancey cup. Just how much it means"--and Merton winced--"you fellows are not going to know, any more than you're going to know what I've got at the back of my head for Sunday night. Put your trust in the commodore--that's all you've got to do. Open up some of that beer, Perry. I'm as dry as gunpowder's great-grandfather." The glasses were filled again. "To our success in the race," said Merton, lifting his glass and sweeping his keen eyes over the faces of his friends; "may the _Dart_ win, by fair means"--he paused--"or otherwise." Four or five peered at Merton distrustfully over their glasses; but, in the end, they drank the toast. The success of the _Dart_ meant dollars and cents to them; and money, for those eight plotters, stood for more than club honors and the De Lancey cup. CHAPTER IX. FIREBUGS AT WORK. Sunday was a beautiful and a quiet day at the boathouse by the Point. Mendota, otherwise "Fourth," Lake was never fairer. Across the ripples, glimmering in the sun, the city of Madison lifted itself out of a mass of green foliage like a piece of fairyland. The lake was alive with motor boats, sailboats and rowboats. Matt and McGlory, sitting in the shade on the little pier in front of their temporary home, idled and dreamed away the afternoon until, about four o'clock, a snappy little launch, equipped with canopy and wicker chairs, untangled itself from the maze of boats out in the lake and pushed toward the cove. "Visitors!" exclaimed Matt, jumping out of his chair. "Speak to me about that!" grumbled McGlory. "Now we've got to get into our collars and coats and spruce up. Oh, hang it! I like a boiled shirt about as well as I like the measles." Mr. Lorry, his daughter, Ethel Lorry, and George were occupying the wicker chairs under the canopy, while Gus, the Lorry chauffeur, was at the bulkhead controls. George waved his hand. Matt returned the salutation and darted incontinently into the boathouse to fix himself up. Ethel Lorry was a fine girl and a great admirer of the king of the motor boys, and Matt felt it a duty to look his best. By the time the boat drew up in front of the boathouse Matt and McGlory, in full regalia, were out to welcome their guests. Lorry, senior, and his daughter were firm friends of Motor Matt. They realized fully how much the young motorist had done for George. "A surprise party, Matt!" cried George. "I'll bet you weren't expecting the Lorrys, eh?" "Always glad to receive callers," smiled Matt, grabbing the rope Gus threw to him and making it fast to a post. "We've got to see the _Sprite_, Matt," said Ethel. "All our hopes are wrapped up in the _Sprite_, you know." "And in Motor Matt," chuckled the millionaire, beside her. A vivid flush suffused Ethel's cheeks, though just why her emotions should express themselves was something of a mystery. The party debarked and was conducted into the boathouse. Matt opened the doors at the other end of the building and admitted a good light for inspecting the boat. All three of the boys were intensely proud of the _Sprite_. In her fresh coat of varnish she looked as spick and span as a new dollar. McGlory was a nephew of Mr. Lorry's, and, while he was explaining things at one end of the boat to "Uncle Dan," Matt was performing the same service for Ethel at the other end of the craft. When Mr. Lorry and Ethel had expressed their admiration for the _Sprite_, and their confidence in her ability to "lift" the cup, chairs were carried out on the pier. McGlory went across the lake for ice cream, and the party visited gayly until sunset. When the launch departed, George remained behind, having expressed his intention of staying with his friends at the boathouse that night. Ping was engaged in clearing up the dishes--part of the camp equipment--on which the ice cream had been served, and McGlory was making the doors at the other end of the boathouse secure. Dusk was falling gently, and overhead the stars were beginning to glimmer in a cloudless sky, soft as velvet. It was a time for optimism, and a lulling sense of security had taken possession of all the boys. "The clouds don't seem to be gathering very much, after all, George," remarked Matt. "I must have been mistaken about Merton," returned George. "That roll of drawings, I suppose, has convinced him that the changes we were making in the _Sprite_ were not of enough account to worry him." McGlory came from the boathouse in time to hear the words. "We've got Merton fooled," he chuckled, dropping down in a chair, "and I ain't sure but that it's the best thing that ever happened to us, the theft of those drawings." "That's the way it may turn out, Joe," agreed Matt. "Still, even if Merton knew exactly what we had done to the _Sprite_ I don't see how he could help matters any. The _Dart_, from what I can hear, is supposed to be by long odds the fastest boat on the lakes. How could he improve on her, even if Merton knew the _Sprite_ was a dangerous rival?" "Merton wouldn't try to improve on the _Dart_," returned Lorry. "What he'd do would be to make an attempt to make the _Sprite_ less speedy than she is." "I'd like to catch him at that!" exclaimed McGlory. "That tinhorn would have to hip lock with me some if he ever tried to tamper with the _Sprite_ while Joe McGlory was around." "He'd make sure there wasn't anybody around, George," said Lorry, "before he tried any of his underhand games. I've been thinking over the loss of those drawings, Matt," he went on, after a pause, "and it strikes me that they weren't stolen by Merton, after all, but by Pickerel Pete." "What!" cried the cowboy, "that sawed-off moke?" "I've thought a little on that line myself," observed Matt. "Pete was mad, when he left us up there in the path, and he could have circled around through the bushes and reached the boathouse before we got down to it with Ping." "That's it!" assented George. "He hadn't any idea what sort of papers were in the roll, but they were handy to him as he looked through the window, and so he gathered them in. Of course, Pete knew that the papers would be valuable to Merton, if to anybody. It's a dead open-and-shut that he carried them at once to the commodore." "Which may account for the commodore layin' back on his oars and not botherin' us any while we've been jugglin' with the _Sprite_," deduced McGlory. "We're all to the good, pards, and your Uncle Joe is as happy over the outlook as a Piute squaw with a string of glass beads. I'm feelin' like a brass band again, and----" "Don't toot, Joe, for Heaven's sake," implored George. "You've got about as much music in you as a bluejay." "Some fellows," returned McGlory gloomily, "don't know music when they hear it. It takes a cultivated ear to appreciate me when I warble." "I don't know about that," laughed George, "but I do know that it takes some one with a club to stop you after the warbling begins. When are you going to 'warm up' the _Sprite_, Matt?" he asked, turning to the king of the motor boys. "Every ship has got to 'find herself,' you know. We've Kipling's word for that." "Then," smiled Matt, "the _Sprite_ is going to begin finding herself in the gray dawn of to-morrow morning. Glad you made up your mind to stay with us to-night, Lorry. I was going to suggest it, if you hadn't. I want you and Joe to hold a stop-watch on the boat." "I wish we had one of those patent logs," muttered Lorry. "They go on the bulkhead, and work hydrostatically--no trailing lines behind." "Too expensive, George," said Matt. "Besides, we didn't have time to bother installing one." "You're the most economical chap I ever heard of, Matt," said Lorry jestingly, "especially when you're using another fellow's money." "Sufferin' bankrolls!" mourned McGlory, "I wish some one would be kind enough to ask me to spend his money." "Dad told me, when we began fixing up the _Sprite_," went on Lorry, "that he wanted me to be sure and let Motor Matt have free play, no matter what it cost. That's the way the governor feels. There has been a big change in him, Matt, and you're the cause of it." "That's all the more reason, George," answered Matt, "why I should not abuse his confidence." "I guess dad knows that, and that it has a lot to do with the way you stack up in his estimation. He'd trust you with a million." "I'm glad he feels that way. There isn't any sign of a storm, Joe," Matt added to the cowboy, "but we must keep up our guard duty just the same." "Keno! We're not going to let Merton and his outfit catch us napping, if that's their plan. I'll stand guard to-night." "I'll divide the duty with you, Joe," put in Lorry. "I'll take the first watch, and will call you at midnight." "That hits me plumb. I can snooze in good shape for half the night. We'll let Matt put in full time--he needs it." "Matt ought not to do a thing between now and Tuesday but rest," asserted George. "He's got to be fit as a fiddle for that race." "I'm generally in shape for whatever comes my way," laughed Matt, getting up and yawning. "Right now's when I'm going to turn in, and you can bank on it that I'll sleep like Rip Van Winkle up in the Catskills. You'll see something surprising in the morning, fellows! If the _Sprite_, after she gets warmed up, can't do her mile in better than three minutes, I'm no prophet." "If she does that," jubilated McGlory, "we're apt to have the _Dart_ lashed to the mast." "Good night," said Matt. The parting word was returned, and the king of the motor boys followed the wall of the dark boathouse past the well and on by the workbench to his cot. Inside of two minutes he had turned in, and inside of three he was in dreamless slumber. How long Matt slept he did not know, but it must have been well beyond midnight when he was awakened. He was half stifled, and he sat up in his cot struggling for breath. A yellowish gloom was all around him, and a vague snap and crackle came to his ears. Suddenly, like a blow in the face, the realization came that the smothering fog was _smoke_, and that the flickering yellow that played through it was _flame_. "Fire!" he yelled, springing from the cot. "Lorry! McGlory! Where are you?" Matt's only answer was the whirring rush of the fire and the weird snapping as the flames licked at the wood. For a moment the heat and the smoke almost overcame him, and he reeled backward against the wall. CHAPTER X. SAVING THE "SPRITE." After a moment of inaction, Matt realized something else besides the fact that there was a fire. Ping and either McGlory or Lorry should be in the boathouse with him; also either McGlory or Lorry ought to be on guard outside. Why had no answer been returned to his startled shout? What had happened to the guard outside, and what had happened to those inside the boathouse? In that terrifying moment, when so many dangers threatened him and his friends, Motor Matt had no time to think of the _Sprite_. First he must get fresh air, and then he must find out about his friends. The landward end of the boathouse seemed to be completely wrapped in flames. A breeze had come up during the night, and it was driving the fire onward toward the waterfront of the building. Drawing upon all his reserve strength, Matt staggered to the window over the workbench. Picking up a wrench, he smashed the glass, and a draft of cool night air rushed in. For a moment he hung over the workbench filling his lungs with the clear air; and then, at the top of his voice, he repeated his call for McGlory and George. Still there was no response. Bewildered by his failure to hear an answering shout from his friends, and dazed by the suddenness of the catastrophe which threatened the boathouse, Matt whirled away from the window and groped through the blinding smoke toward the other cot. Some one was lying on the cot, breathing heavily. It was impossible to tell whether it was Lorry or the cowboy, but, whichever it was, the form was unconscious from the effects of the foul air. Making his way to the door, Matt unfastened it and flung it open. The breeze which swept through the building caused the roar of the fire to increase, giving an added impetus to the flames. Darting back to the cot, Matt picked up the form and staggered with it out into the night, falling heavily when a few yards from the blazing building. In the glare that lighted up the vicinity of the boathouse Matt discovered that it was Lorry whom he had carried to safety. Lorry! That meant that it was after midnight, and that McGlory had been outside of the boathouse, on guard. The fire was not accidental--it could not have been accidental. Firebugs must have been at work. What had become of McGlory that he had not interfered? It was impossible that the cowboy was in the burning building. Ping, however, should be there. The Chinese usually bunked under the workbench. Whirling away, Matt started again for the burning building; but, before he reached the door, Ping, coughing and spluttering, his arms filled with clothes, reeled out and fell in a sprawling heap on the ground. Rushing up to him, and thankful to find that he was safe, Matt grabbed him by the shoulders and drew him farther from the boathouse. "Where's McGlory?" shouted Matt. It was necessary for him to talk at the top of his voice in order to make himself heard above the roar of the wind and the flames. "No savvy," panted Ping, lifting himself to his knees, his terror-stricken face showing weirdly in the glare. "My no makee yell when you makee yell," he added, digging his knuckles into his smarting eyes. "My heap full smoke. My blingee clothes----" "Never mind the clothes," cut in Matt, wildly alarmed on McGlory's account. "You---- Here, stop that, Ping! Where you going?" The Chinese had abruptly gained his feet and plunged toward the open door. At that moment, the door looked like the opening into a raging furnace. "My savee _Splite_!" blubbered Ping. "No lettee _Splite_ go top-side! Woosh!" The yellow boy was as fond of the boat as were Matt, McGlory and Lorry. He had watched her rebuilding, in his curious, heathen way, and every step toward completion lifted his pride and admiration higher and higher. Matt had grabbed Ping and was holding him back. His mind, dealing with McGlory, worked quickly. The cowboy, he reasoned, had been on guard outside. Those who had fired the boathouse must have had to take care of McGlory before they could carry out their nefarious plans. This being true, it could not be possible that the cowboy was in any danger from the fire. It was the _Sprite_, therefore, that should now claim Matt's attention. McGlory could be looked for afterwards. "We'll save her together, Ping," cried Matt, "but we can't go into the boathouse that way. We'd be overcome before we got anywhere near the well. We must get into the building by the other end." The _Sprite_ was in imminent danger, there could not be the least doubt about that. After Mr. Lorry and Ethel had left for home, during the afternoon, the boat had been placed upright on the rollers leading to the incline of the well. This, bringing her nearer the landward end of the boathouse made the boat's danger greater than if she had been left on the skids which had supported her while the work inside her hulk was going on. Not only that, but, preparatory to the morning's trial, her tanks had been filled with gasoline. If the flames should reach the tanks---- "We'll have to hurry!" yelled Matt. Picking up a coat from the heap of clothing on the ground, Matt ran to the edge of the lake and plunged the coat into the water; the next moment he had darted back to the open window, hoping to reach in and get an ax or hammer from the workbench for use in battering down the water-door. This door was secured on the inside, and would have to be broken if entrance was effected from the pier. Ping, frantically eager to help, but hardly knowing what to do, rushed around after Matt, copying every move he made. When Matt picked up a coat and submerged it in the lake, Ping followed suit; and when Matt, with the dripping garment in his hand, rushed for the broken window, the Chinese boy was close behind. As ill-luck would have it, there was nothing in the shape of an ax or hammer lying on the bench within reach of Matt's groping fingers. The window was perhaps a dozen feet along the wall from the landward end of the building. The fire, apparently, had been started at the extreme end, and, although the flames were driving fiercely through the building, the blaze was not so formidable near the window as it was by the door. Matt changed his plans about entering the boathouse by the water door. He would make an essay through the window, push the _Sprite_ along the rollers and down into the well, unlock the water door from the inside, and then, under her own power, take her out into the cove. Not a second was to be lost if this plan was to be carried to a successful conclusion. There was danger, plenty of it, in making the attempt to save the _Sprite_. Blazing timbers were already falling from the roof of the doomed building, and if one of those dropped on the barrel containing the gasoline supply, an explosion would result and the flaming oil would be hurled everywhere. But the king of the motor boys did not hesitate. Hurriedly throwing the coat over his head and shoulders, he climbed through the window and rolled off the bench to the smoking floor of the boathouse. To see anything between the confining walls was now impossible. The smoke was thick, and the glare that shot through it rendered it opaque and blinding. Matt, however, knew every foot of the building's interior as he knew his two hands. Holding the coat closely around his head to protect his face, he hurried through the blistering fog and finally stumbled against the _Sprite_. Laying hold of the boat, he pushed with all his strength. In spite of his fiercest efforts, she stuck and hung to the rollers. It was not a time to hunt for what was wrong, but to force the _Sprite_ into the well at any cost. While Matt tugged and strained, the end of the building fell outward with a crash, and a flurry of sparks and firebrands leaping skyward. This released a section of the roof, which dropped inward. One blazing beam landed on Matt's right arm, pinning it against the rubstreak. A sickening pain rushed through his whole body, and when he had hurled the timber away with his left hand, the injured arm dropped numb and helpless at his side. "Matt! Motol Matt!" The shrill, frightened cry came from Ping. He had followed through the window and had been feeling his way about the interior of the boathouse. The crash of the wall and the roof had frightened him, and he would have bolted had not the knowledge that Matt was somewhere in that blazing inferno chained him to the place. "Here, Ping!" cried Matt, hoarsely. "Lay hold of the boat and help me get her into the water. Lively, now--for your life!" Their united strength, even through Matt had only his left hand, was sufficient. The _Sprite_ started slowly over the rollers, reached the head of the incline, and her own impetus carried her downward. Matt and Ping sprang into her blindly as she leaped away. Across the well ran the _Sprite_, her nose striking the water door and causing her to recoil backward until her stern brushed the incline. Matt, dizzy and weak, pawed and floundered toward the bulkhead. Overhead the roof was all in flames. Any moment it might fall bodily, sinking the _Sprite_ and those aboard her under the water of the well--holding them like rats in a blazing trap. Matt's eyes were of no use to him. They were smarting from the smoke and heat. But he did not need his eyes. He knew the place of every lever on the bulkhead. A pull started the gasoline, another started the oil, and another switched on the spark. A third lever was connected with the starting device. Two pulls at this and the boat took the push of the propeller. _Boom!_ The fire had found the gasoline supply, and shafts of lighter fire shot through the yellower blaze of burning wood. There was no time to unlock the water door. Already the fire-eaten wreck was swaying. The _Sprite_, urged by the automobile engine, must ram the door and break it down. Grabbing his companion, Matt dragged him down under the protection of the bulkhead, while the _Sprite_ flung herself toward the door, toward the cove--and toward safety. CHAPTER XI. OUT OF A BLAZING FURNACE. The cool night air quickly wrought its work, so far as George was concerned. Sitting up on the ground, confused and unable to understand what had happened, he stared at the conflagration at the edge of the cove. Rubbing his eyes and muttering to himself, he stared again. He remembered calling McGlory, and dropping down into the bunk after McGlory had got out of it. After that he knew nothing until he sat up there on the ground, with the fire dancing in front of his eyes. The fog was slower getting out of his brain than out of his lungs. Rising to his feet, he started for the path leading up the bank, animated by the hazy idea that he ought to get word to the fire department. He stumbled over something. Being none too steady, he fell headlong, only to lift himself again as the object over which he had fallen gave vent to a rumbling, inarticulate sound. "Is that you, Matt?" he asked. The answer was a desperate gurgle. By that time Lorry had, in a great measure, recovered the use of his wits. Creeping to the side of the person who was trying so hard to speak, he saw by the glare of the fire that it was McGlory. "Great Scott!" he murmured, his hands passing over the form. "It's cousin Joe, and he's tied and gagged!" Lorry was only a moment in freeing the cowboy's jaws of the twisted handkerchief. "Tell me about this!" fumed McGlory. "I thought I'd never be found. What are you kneeling there for, George, gawping like you were locoed? Get these ropes off me, and see how quick you can do it. Don't you know that Matt's in that boathouse, and that he and Ping are trying to save the _Sprite_? We've got to lend a hand. Sufferin' blockheads, but you're slow! Cut the ropes with a knife if you can't untie 'em." "I'm in my underclothes," answered George. "I don't know where my knife is." "I've got a knife in my pocket. Take it out, but hustle, for Heaven's sake, _hustle_!" George was shaking like a man with a chill. The terrors of the moment were dawning upon his bewildered mind. His hands trembled while groping through McGlory's pockets, and they trembled worse when he opened the knife and tried to use it. "Who--who set the fire?" he mumbled. "Do you think I'm a mind reader?" stormed McGlory. "I was to blame, for I was on guard and ought to have seen those negroes before they downed me and trussed me up in this fashion. If anything happens to Matt, I'll be to blame for it, and if the _Sprite_ is burned I'll be to blame for that, too. Oh, I've got a lot to think of, I have!" The cowboy's self-reproach was keen. "Did some one steal up on you, Joe?" asked Lorry. "What do you take me for, George? Do you think I laid down and put my hands behind me so the blacks could tie 'em? They got me, right there at the corner of the boathouse, just as I was coming around. A blow dazed me, and before I could let out a yip, they had ropes on my wrists and ankles and that thing between my jaws. I heard Matt calling, and, sufferin' jailbirds! here I lay without bein' able to say a word. Oh, _can't_ you cut those ropes? Take a brace--your nerves are in rags." George managed finally to saw the blade through one coil of the cord that secured McGlory's hands. With a swift tug from the shoulders the cowboy released himself, then caught the knife from his cousin's hand and slashed it through the ropes at his feet. The next instant he was up and bounding toward the boathouse. "Where are you going?" shouted George. McGlory, rendered desperate by the knowledge that Matt was in the boathouse facing death in a fierce effort to save the _Sprite_, was heading straight for the door of the building. The door was merely a riffle in a wall of flame. Before McGlory could reach it, the whole end of the boathouse crashed outward. He sprang backward, just in time to avoid the blazing timbers, and turned to Lorry with a groan. "We can't help him!" he cried hoarsely. "Motor Matt's done for, the _Sprite's_ done for--everybody's done for, George. And it was all on my account." Here it was that Lorry came to the front with a little common sense. "You were not to blame, Joe," he asserted. "You were set on by some negroes, and you could no more help what happened than Matt or I. Pull yourself together and don't be a fool. Motor Matt knows what he's about. If he's in that boathouse he'll get out of it again. Anyhow, we can't help him from this side. We'll go around by the pier and get the launch. If we can get the launch through the water door, maybe we can hitch on to the _Sprite_ and tow her out." This talk had a salutary effect on McGlory. "The _Sprite_ isn't in the water," he answered. "How could we tow her out?" "Matt will get her in the water," said Lorry confidently. "What do you suppose he's doing in there if he isn't getting the _Sprite_ into the well? We left her on rollers at the top of the incline, and Matt could launch her alone without any trouble. Let's get the launch and be ready to help." The launch referred to by Lorry was the one he had hired and brought across the lake for Matt's use during the work on the _Sprite_. The boat was kept at one end of the pier. While the _Sprite_ was on the skids, the other boat was housed in the well at night, but this night she had been left outside so as not to interfere with the launching of the _Sprite_ in the early morning. Hoping against hope that they could yet do something that would help Motor Matt, the two boys ran alongside the boathouse, jumped to the pier and unfastened the painter of the launch. Just as they tumbled into it and McGlory was turning the flywheel, a loud explosion came from inside the boathouse. A cloud of firebrands and sparks geysered up from the roof. "What was that?" gasped Lorry. "The gasoline," answered McGlory, dropping down on the thwartships seat in front of the motor. "I don't know what we can do now, George." "We'll get into the boathouse," flung back Lorry. "If----" Lorry was interrupted by another crash. Under the startled eyes of the two in the launch, the water door was ripped and splintered, and through the ragged gap as out of a blazing furnace sped the _Sprite_. For a moment she reeled as though undecided which way to turn; then, suddenly, she shot off into the lake. Neither Lorry nor McGlory could see any one aboard her. "Where's Matt?" cried the cowboy. The echoes of his voice were taken up by another crash, and the remaining walls of the boathouse flattened themselves with a great hissing as the burning timbers dropped into the well, and off the pier into the lake. "If he was in there," added the cowboy huskily, pointing to the wrecked building, "then there's----" "He wasn't in there," cut in Lorry. "He couldn't have been. Do you suppose the _Sprite_ started herself?" While speaking, Lorry was "turning over" the engine. The motor took up its cycle, and Lorry steered into the lake after the _Sprite_. The _Sprite_ was darting this way and that at terrific speed, following a course so erratic that it would be easily inferred there was no guiding hand on the steering wheel. Away the boat would rush, directly into the gloom that hovered over the lake; then, before she could vanish, she would describe a hair-raising turn and jump to starboard or port. "But where's Matt if he is in the boat?" demanded McGlory. "On the bottom, perhaps," replied Lorry. "He started her, and that's all he was able to do. We've got to lay the _Sprite_ aboard, somehow." "That's easier said than done," said McGlory. "She's jumping around like a pea on a hot griddle, and is just as likely to slam into us and cut us down as to do anything else. Sufferin' sidewinders, look at that!" The _Sprite_ had made a complete turn and was now headed shoreward and streaking straight towards the boys. "Here's our chance!" said Lorry. "If the _Sprite_ hangs on as she's coming she'll pass close to us. Will you jump aboard her, Joe, or shall I?" "I'll do it," answered the cowboy. "Can't you turn the launch and follow the _Sprite_, side by side with her? She'll travel faster than we will, but it'll make it easier to jump without going into the lake." This manoeuvre was carried out, and Lorry, who could handle a boat tolerably well for an amateur, brought the launch about and picked up the _Sprite_ as she dashed onward. McGlory cleared a foot of water at a flying leap and dropped into the _Sprite's_ cockpit. In a few minutes he had checked the boat's aimless racing and had brought her to a halt. "Is Matt there?" queried Lorry anxiously, working the launch close to the _Sprite_. "He's here," answered McGlory, "but he's unconscious. Ping's here, too, and his wits are wool-gathering, same as Matt's. They're both alive, though, and I reckon they'll be all right with a little care." "Follow me across the lake," said Lorry. "We'll go to the clubhouse. The quicker we can get a doctor, the better." The first gray of dawn was just glimmering along the eastern edge of the sky as the two boats stood away for Madison. CHAPTER XII. WHAT ABOUT THE RACE? Matt opened his eyes in surroundings that were not familiar to him. The room was big and lofty, and the bed he was lying in was a huge affair of brass and had a mosquito canopy. He tried to lift his right arm. The movement was attended with so much pain that he gave it up. He saw that the arm was swathed in bandages. A sound of whispering came to him from the bedside. Turning his head on the pillow, he saw two figures that had escaped him up to that moment. One was Lorry and the other was McGlory. "The doctor says he'll have to stay in bed for a week," Lorry was saying. "Sufferin' speed boats!" muttered McGlory. "Let's kiss our chances good-by. It's glory enough, anyhow, just to know Matt got clear of the burnin' boathouse with his life." "Don't be in a rush about bidding good-by to our chances," said Matt. McGlory jumped around in his chair, and Lorry started up and hurried to the bedside with a glowing face. "Jupiter, but it's good to hear your voice again, Matt," said Lorry. "We were expectin' you to wake up any minute, pard," added McGlory. "How're you feeling?" "A one, except for my arm. What's the matter with it?" "A sprain and a bad burn," replied Lorry. "I remember, now," muttered Matt. "A blazing timber fell from the roof and pinned my arm against the gunwale of the _Sprite_. It isn't a fracture?" "Nary, pard," said McGlory. "You were in a heap of luck to get out of that blaze as well as you did." "I guess that's right. Where am I?" "In the Lorry home on Fourth Lake Ridge," smiled George. "We took you across the lake to the Yahara Club, and when I called up dad on the phone, and told him what had happened, he insisted on sending the carriage after you. The doctor was here when we arrived. He has patched you up so you'll be as good as new in a week." "Is Ping all right?" McGlory chuckled. "You can't kill a Chink, pard," he answered. "Ping was unconscious, same as you, when we picked up the _Sprite_, but he drifted back to earth while we were crossing the lake." "And the _Sprite_--did she suffer any damage?" "She's blistered here and there, but otherwise she's just as good as she was when you hit her the last tap." "What about the race?" A glum expression settled over the faces of George and Joe. "Well," said George, "this is Monday morning, and the race is to-morrow afternoon. The doctor says you ought to keep quiet for a week. Of course, the race can't be postponed, and if the _Sprite_ doesn't come to the line to-morrow, why, the Winnequas keep the cup. Also, Merton and his clique keep the money they wagered. That has been their game all along, and every bet they made was with the understanding that if the Yahara Club failed to furnish a starter in the race the Winnequa fellows were to pull down all the stakes." A glimmer came into Matt's gray eyes. "It looks to me," he remarked, "as though Merton and his friends had a feeling all along that something was going to happen to the _Sprite_." McGlory scowled, and Lorry looked grave. "Have you heard anything about who started that fire?" went on Matt. "The latest comes from Merton indirectly," said Lorry. "We hear that he's spreading a report that we were careless with matches, and that we kept our gasoline in the boathouse." "Sufferin' boomerangs!" snapped McGlory. "I reckon, if we figure it down to a fine point, people will find that Merton was careless in hiring niggers to do his crooked work." "Negroes?" echoed Matt. "That reminds me, Joe, that I couldn't find you when I woke up and found the boathouse in flames. Where were you?" "Speak to me about that!" gurgled McGlory. "Why, pard, I was lashed hand and foot and smothered with a gag. I could hear you callin', but it wasn't possible for me to answer you. That was torture, and don't you forget it. What's more, I could hear you and Ping talking, and by turning my head I could see you getting into the boathouse through the window. It was only when George, half-dazed, stumbled over me, that I was able to let any one know where I was. George got the ropes off me, and I'd have gone into the boathouse after you, only the front of it tumbled and blocked the attempt. Then we went around and got in the launch, thinking we'd get in by the water door and give the _Sprite_ a lift into the cove. Before we could do that the buildin' began to cave in, and the gasoline to let go, and then the _Sprite_ came smashing through the door and began dancing a hornpipe out in the lake. Lorry and I manoeuvred around until we managed to catch her, and then we brought you across to the clubhouse. That's where the _Sprite_ is now, and she'll be well taken care of by the Yahara boys." "But the negroes!" exclaimed Matt. "You haven't told me anything about them." "Keno!" grinned McGlory. "I told the last end of my yarn. I reckon the first end was left out because it don't reflect any credit on your Uncle Joe. Lorry called me at midnight to go on guard duty. I slid out, and hadn't been watching the boathouse more than three hours when a couple of black villains nailed me as I was going around a corner. I was dazed with an upper-cut, and before I could get into shape to do any fighting, they had me on the mat. Then I had to lay there and listen to 'em setting fire to the boathouse, with you, and Lorry, and Ping inside, never dreaming of what was going on. I reckon I'm a back number, pard. It was my fault." "You can't shoulder the responsibility, Joe," answered Matt. "You couldn't help being knocked down, and tied, and gagged." "Nary, I couldn't," was McGlory's gloomy rejoinder; "but I might have stepped high, wide, and handsome when I went around that corner. If I'd had as much sense as the law allows I'd have seen that black fist before it landed, either ducked or side-stepped, and then let off a yell. All you fellows inside needed was the right sort of a yell. But I didn't give it. When it came to a showdown, pard, I couldn't deliver the goods." "I still maintain that you have no cause to blame yourself," persisted Matt. "If George or I had been in your place, Joe, the same thing would have happened." McGlory bent his head reflectively. "It's mighty good of you, pard, to put it that way," said he finally. "Would you know those negroes again if you were to see them?" asked Matt. McGlory shook his head. "It was plumb dark there in the shadow of the boathouse," he answered. "I could just make out that they were negroes, and that's all. I reckon, though, that Ollie Merton could tell us who those fellows were--if he would." "I'd be a little careful, Joe," cautioned Matt, "about involving Merton in that fire. If it could be proved against him it would be a mighty serious business--just as serious as for the fellows who set the fire." "Well, pard, why was Merton and his friends making their bets in that queer way? In case there isn't any race because of the failure of the Yahara Club to produce a starter, the Winnequas take the stakes. That looks as though Merton and his pals knew what was going to happen. If the _Sprite_ was burned, there'd be no boat for the Yaharas to produce." "Joe's right," declared Lorry. "Well, keep your suspicions to yourselves," said Matt. "In a case of this kind it's positive proof that's needed, not bare suspicion. Wasn't the fire seen from the city? Didn't any one go across the lake to help fight it?" "We met a couple of boats going over as we were coming across with you and Ping," replied Lorry. "By that time, though, the boathouse was no more than a heap of embers. It went quick after it got started. But what about the race to-morrow? That's the point that's bothering me. I could take the _Sprite_ over the course, and so could Joe, at a pinch, but we wouldn't get the speed out of her that you would." "I'll drive her myself," said Matt. "Speak to me about that!" gasped McGlory. "Why, pard, you've only got one hand--and that's the left." "A man who's any good at automobile driving has a pretty good left hand. In an automobile race, Joe, the driver's left hand has to do a big share of the work. The racer steers with the left hand, holding the right hand free for the emergency brake. The left hand has to be trained to take full charge at all corners, and in a thousand and one other places as the need arises. I can do the racing well enough." "But the doctor says----" began Lorry. "I know what I can do better than the doctor, George," laughed Matt. "I'll be in that race every minute--watch me." Both Lorry and McGlory studied Matt's face carefully. "Pluck, that's what it is," muttered McGlory. "It's the sort of pluck that wins. But I don't know whether the doctor will let you----" Just at that moment a servant stepped into the room. "What is it, James?" asked Lorry. "Mr. Martin Rawlins to see Mr. King," was the answer. Lorry looked bewildered. "Mart Rawlins!" he exclaimed. "Why, he's one of the Winnequa fellows, and a crony of Merton's!" "He's here to pump Matt," growled McGlory, "or else to find out what his chances are for being in that race to-morrow. Sufferin' tinhorns, what a nerve!" "Have him come up, Lorry," said Matt. "It won't do any harm to talk with him. If he's here to pump me, he's welcome to try." Lorry nodded to the servant, and a few moments later Mart Rawlins entered the room. CHAPTER XIII. MART RAWLINS WEAKENS. "Hello, Lorry!" said Rawlins, hesitating, just over the threshold, as though a little undecided as to how he would be received. "Hello, Rawlins!" answered Lorry coldly. "You want to see Motor Matt?" "That's why I came. I hope he isn't hurt very much?" "There he is," said Lorry, pushing a chair up to the bed; "you can ask him about that for yourself." McGlory, feeling sure that Merton was guiltily concerned in the fire, was far from amiably disposed toward such a close friend of Merton's as Rawlins. As Rawlins advanced to the bed the cowboy got up, turned his back, and looked out of a window. "I'm sorry you had such a rough time of it, Motor Matt," said Rawlins, visibly embarrassed. "I was in luck to get out of the scrape as well as I did," returned Matt. "You're a friend of Merton's?" "I was. Early this morning we had a quarrel, so we're not quite so friendly. Have you any idea what caused the fire?" "Yes," said Matt bluntly; "firebugs." "You're positive of that?" "My friend McGlory, there, was watching outside the boathouse. He was set upon by two negroes, knocked down, tied hand and foot, gagged and dragged off where he would not be in the way. Then the two scoundrels set fire to the building while Lorry, the Chinese boy, and I were sound asleep inside." Something like trepidation crossed Mart Rawlins' face. "McGlory is sure that the men were negroes who assaulted him?" queried Rawlins in a shaking voice. "He's positive." "Then," breathed Rawlins, as though to himself, "there's no doubt about it." "No doubt about what?" demanded McGlory sharply, whirling away from the window. "Why," was the answer, "that there was a conspiracy to destroy the boathouse and the _Sprite_, and that Ollie Merton was back of it." Rawlins had paled, and he was nervous, but he spoke deliberately. Matt, Lorry, and McGlory were surprised at the trend Rawlins' talk was taking. They were still a little bit suspicious of him, especially McGlory. "What makes you think that?" asked Matt, eying his caller keenly. "Did you lose a roll of drawings a few days ago?" "Yes." "And did you have a disagreement with the little negro called Pickerel Pete?" "Yes." "Well, Pete stole those drawings and took them to Merton. It was just after"--Rawlins flushed--"just after you were stopped in the woods by Merton and the rest of us, and ordered to quit helping Lorry. We had got back to Merton's house, and Pete came there with the roll of papers. Merton bought them from Pete, gave Pete five dollars, and asked him to come to see him Sunday afternoon at four o'clock--yesterday afternoon. Merton said he had a plan he was going to carry out that would make success sure for the Winnequa boat in the race. He wouldn't tell us what the plan was, but when I heard that the boathouse had been burned I went over to Merton's and had a talk with him. It wasn't a pleasant talk, and there was a coldness between Merton and me when I left." "You think, then," said Matt, "that Merton hired Pete to get those negroes to set fire to the boathouse?" "That's the way it looks to me. As a member of the Winnequa club, and a representative member, I won't stand for any such work. It's--it's unsportsman-like, to say the least." "It's worse than that, Mart," frowned Lorry. "It was unsportsman-like to stop Matt, drag him off into the woods, and try to bribe him to leave town, or to 'throw' the race, wasn't it?" cried McGlory scornfully. Rawlins stirred uncomfortably. "Certainly it was," he admitted. "And yet you helped Merton in that!" "Merton fooled me. He said Motor Matt was an unscrupulous adventurer, and a professional motorist, and that the good of the sport made it necessary for us to get him out of that race. He didn't say he was going to bribe him to 'throw' the race. I didn't know that offer was going to be made, and I think there were some others who didn't know it. If we could have hired Motor Matt to leave town, I'd have been willing. I've got up all the money I can spare on the race, and naturally I want our boat to win--but I won't stand for any unfair practices. Nor will the Winnequa Club, as a whole. We're game to let our boat face the start on its own merits. If we can't win by fair means, I want to lose my money." Rawlins got up. "That's all I came here for--to find out how you are, Motor Matt, and to let you know how I stand, and how the rest of the club stands. I have come out flat-footed, and for the good of motor boating in this section I hope you will not press this matter to its conclusion. We all know what that conclusion would mean. It would go hard with Merton, and there would be a scandal. In order to avoid the scandal, it may be necessary to spare Merton." "Sufferin' hoodlums!" cried McGlory. "That's a nice way to tune up. Here's Merton, pulling off a raw deal, and coming within one of killing my two pards, say nothing of the way I was treated, and now you want him spared for the sake of avoiding a scandal!" A silence followed this outburst. When Rawlins continued, he turned and addressed himself to Matt. "I think I know your calibre pretty well, Motor Matt," said he. "The way you turned down that bribe in the woods and declared that you'd stand by Lorry at all costs, showed us all you were the right sort. Of course, I can't presume to influence you; but, if you won't spare Merton on account of the scandal and the good of the sport, or on his own account, then think of his father and mother. They'll get back from abroad to-morrow morning in time for the race. That's all. I'd like to shake hands with you, if you don't mind." Rawlins stepped closer to the bed. "You'll have to take my left hand," laughed Matt. "The right's temporarily out of business. You're the clear quill, Rawlins," he added, as they shook hands, "and I'll take no steps against Merton, providing he acts on the square from now on. You can tell your club members that." "Thank you. I half expected you'd say that." "Will Merton be allowed to race the boat in the contest?" inquired Lorry. "We can't very well avoid it. It's his boat, and it's the only entry on our side. He'll have to race her, with Halloran. The club will make that concession. After that--well, Merton will cease to act as commodore, and will no longer be a member of the club. Good-by, Motor Matt, and may the best boat win, no matter who's at the motor!" As Rawlins went out, Ethel Lorry and her father stepped into the room. They had heard the loud voices, and inferring that Matt was able to receive company, had come upstairs. "You'd hardly think there was a sick person up here," said Mr. Lorry, "from the talk that's been going on. How are you, my lad?" and he stepped toward Matt. "Doing finely," said Matt. "I'm glad," said Ethel, drawing close to the bed and slipping her arm through her father's. "He's going to race the _Sprite_ to-morrow, Uncle Dan," chirped McGlory. "No!" exclaimed the astounded Mr. Lorry. "Fact. You can't down him. He's in that race with only one hand--and the left, at that." "It will be the death of you!" cried Ethel. "You mustn't think of it." "You know, my boy," added Mr. Lorry gravely, "it won't do to take chances." "I know that, sir," returned Matt, "but I'm as well as ever, barring my arm. I can't lie here and let the _Sprite_ get beaten for lack of a man at the motor who understands her. I'd be in a bad way, for sure, if I had to do that." "I think he's a bit flighty," grinned McGlory. "I reckon I can prove that by telling you what just happened." "What happened?" and Mr. Lorry turned to face McGlory. The cowboy repeated all that Rawlins had said, winding up with the promise Matt had made to spare Merton. A soft light crept into Ethel's eyes. "What else could you expect from Motor Matt?" she asked. "I shall have to shake hands with you myself, Matt," said Mr. Lorry, taking Matt's left hand and pressing it cordially. "That was fine of you, but, as Ethel says, no more than we ought to expect. I hope you'll be able to drive the _Sprite_ to victory, but you'll have to have less talk in the room and more rest if you're going to be able to take your place in the boat to-morrow. Come on, Ethel." Mr. Lorry and his daughter left the room and Lorry and McGlory resumed their chairs, but gave over their conversation. An hour later Matt called for something to eat, and a substantial meal was served to him, piping hot. The doctor came while he was eating. "Well," laughed the doctor, "I guess you'll do. Don't eat too much, that's all." "He's got to corral enough ginger to get into that race to-morrow afternoon, doc," sang out the cowboy. "He don't intend to try that, does he?" asked the doctor aghast. "I've got to, doctor," said Matt. "It may be," remarked the doctor, "that action is the sort of tonic you need. But, whatever you do, don't attempt to use that arm. That'll be about all. If you do get into the race, though, be sure and win. You see," he added whimsically, "I live on the Fourth Lake side of the town." CHAPTER XIV. THE RACE--THE START. The Winnequa-Yahara race was open to all boats of the respective clubs under forty feet, each boat with a beam one-fifth the water-line length. It was to be a five-mile contest, each end of the course marked by a stake boat anchored at each end of Fourth Lake. The stake boat, with the judges, was to be moored off Maple Bluff. From this boat the racers would start, round the other stake boat, and finish at the starting point. Furthermore, although the race was open to all members of the two respective clubs with boats under the extreme length, there was a mutual agreement, from the beginning, that one member of each club should be commissioned to provide the boat to be entered in the contest. Inasmuch as a speed boat costs money, it was natural that the sons of rich men should be told off to carry the honors. Mr. Merton and Mr. Lorry were both millionaires. They were known to be indulgent fathers, and it had not been foreseen that Mr. Lorry would rebel, at first, against George's extravagance. But George had gone too far. Mr. Lorry, even at that, might have paid for George's $5,000 hydroplane had he understood that his son was bearing the Yahara honors on his own shoulders and had been lured into extravagance by a misguided notion of his responsibility. However, this initial misunderstanding, with all its disastrous entanglements, was a thing of the past. Both Mr. Lorry and George had buried it deep, and were meeting each other in a closer relationship than they had ever known before. The struggle for the De Lancey cup had become, to Madison, what the fight for the America Cup had become to the United States. Only, in the case of the De Lancey cup, the city was divided against itself. The entire population had ranged itself on one side or the other. The gun that started the race was to be fired at 2 o'clock, but early in the forenoon launches began passing through the chain of lakes, and through the canal and locks that led to the scene of the contest. The distance had already been measured and the stake boats placed. All along the course buoys marked the boundaries. Later there were to be police boats, darting here and there to see that the boundary line was respected and the course kept clear. Through this lane of water, hemmed in by craft of every description, the two boats were to speed to victory or defeat. Observers, however, did not confine themselves to the boats. The cottages on Maple Bluff, and the surrounding heights, offered splendid vantage ground for sightseers. Early in the forenoon automobiles began moving out toward Maple Bluff, loaded with passengers. And each automobile carried a hamper with lunch for those who traveled with it. Most of the citizens made of the event a picnic affair. The asylum grounds also held their quota of sightseers with opera glasses or more powerful binoculars; and Governor's Island, and the shore all the way around to Picnic Point. The day was perfect. Fortunately for the many craft assembled, the wind was light, and what little there was was not from the west. Fourth Lake was to be as calm as a pond. Steadily, up to 1 o'clock, the throng of sightseers afloat and ashore was added to. The sixty-five-foot motor yacht, serving as stake boat at the starting and finishing point, was boarded by Mr. Lorry and Ethel. The judges were from both clubs, and so the boat was given over to the use of a limited number of Winnequas and Yaharas and their partisans. As Mr. Lorry and Ethel came over the side of the yacht they were greeted by a tall, gray-haired man and a stout, middle-aged lady. "Why, Merton!" exclaimed Mr. Lorry. "You had to get back in time for the race, eh? Madam," and he doffed his hat to the lady at Merton's side, "I trust I find you well?" "Very well, thank you, Mr. Lorry," replied Mrs. Merton. "How are you, my dear?" and the lady turned and gave her hand to Ethel. "There's where they start and finish, Lorry," said Mr. Merton, pointing to the port side of the boat. "Bring up chairs and we'll preëmpt our places now." When the four were all comfortably seated, a certain embarrassment born of the fact that each man was there to watch the performance of his son's boat crept into their talk. "Will George be in his boat?" inquired Mr. Merton, taking a glance around at the gay bunting with which the assembled craft were dressed. "No," said Mr. Lorry. "Ollie will be in _his_ launch," and there was ever so small a taunt in the words. "Ollie's boat is bigger than George's, Merton," answered the other mildly. "George's driver figured that an extra hundred-and-forty pounds had better stay out of the _Sprite_." "Who drives for George?" "Motor Matt." Mr. Merton was startled. "Why," said he, "I thought he was hurt in that boathouse fire and couldn't be out of bed?" "He's hurt, and only one-handed, but he's too plucky to stay out of the race." "Probably," said Mr. Merton coolly, "the pay he receives is quite an item. I understand Motor Matt is poor, and out for all the money he can get." "You have been wrongly informed, Merton. Not a word as to what he shall receive has passed between George and Motor Matt. The boys are friends." "I'd be a little careful, if I were you, how I allowed my son to pick up with a needy adventurer." "Motor Matt is neither needy nor an adventurer," said Mr. Lorry warmly. "I'm proud to have George on intimate terms with him." "Oh, well," laughed Mr. Merton; "have a cigar." Ethel was having a conversation along similar lines with Mrs. Merton, and she was as staunchly upholding Motor Matt as was her father. So earnestly did the girl speak that the elder lady drew back and eyed her through a lorgnette. "Careful, my dear," said she. Ethel knew what she meant, and flushed with temper. But both Ethel and her father, deep down in their hearts, pitied Mr. and Mrs. Merton. If they had known of the unscrupulous attack their son had caused to be made on Motor Matt, they would perhaps have spoken differently--or not at all. Fortunately, it may be, for the four comprising the little party, a band on a near-by cruising boat began to play. Then, a moment later, a din of cheers rolled over the lake. "There's Ollie!" cried Mrs. Merton, starting up excitedly to flutter her handkerchief. Yes, the _Dart_ was coming down the open lane, having entered the course from the boathouse, where she had been lying ever since early morning. She was a 25-foot boat, with trim racing lines, and she shot through the water in a way that left no doubt of her speed. "How's that?" cried Mr. Merton, nudging Mr. Lorry with his elbow. "Nearly everybody was expecting the _Wyandotte_, and just look what we're springing on you!" "She looks pretty good," acknowledged Mr. Lorry. "Well, I should say so!" "But not good enough," went on Mr. Lorry. "Have you got five thousand that thinks the same way?" "No, Merton. I quit betting a good many years ago." The _Dart_ raced up and down the course, showing what she could do in short stretches, but not going over the line for a record. Halloran, the red-haired driver of the _Dart_, and Ollie Merton were fine-looking young fellows in their white yachting caps, white flannel shirts, and white duck trousers. From time to time Mr. Lorry consulted his watch, checking off the quarter hours impatiently and wondering why Motor Matt and the _Sprite_ did not put in an appearance. Could it be possible that Matt had not been able to leave the house on Yankee Hill, after all? If he was able to be out, then why didn't he come along and give the _Sprite_ a little warming up? The boat had not had an actual try-out since the changes had been made in her. Mr. Lorry did not realize that it was too late, then, for a try-out; nor did he know that Matt was saving himself for the contest, and not intending to reach the course much before the time arrived for the starting gun to be fired. Five minutes before two a little saluting gun barked sharply from the forward deck of the stake boat. "I guess your boat isn't coming, Lorry," said Mr. Merton. "There's only five minutes left for----" The words were taken out of his mouth by a roaring cheer from down the line of boats. The cheer was caught up and repeated from boat to boat until the whole surface of the lake seemed to echo back the frantic yells. Mr. Lorry leaped to his feet and waved his hat, while Ethel sprang up in her chair and excitedly shook her veil. For the _Sprite_ was coming! Motor Matt, a little pale and carrying his right arm in a sling, came jogging down the wide lane toward the stake boat. There was a resolute light in his keen, gray eyes, and his trained left hand performed its many duties unerringly. The danger from which Matt had plucked the _Sprite_ at the burning boathouse was known far and wide, and it was his gameness in entering the race handicapped as he was that called forth the tremendous ovation. Dexterously he passed the stake boat and brought the _Sprite_ slowly around for the start. The _Sprite_ was charred and blistered, and, as McGlory had humorously put it, the "skin was barked all off her nose," because of her collision with the water door; but there she was, fit and ready for the race of her life. She did not compare favorably with the handsome _Dart_; but then, beauty is only skin deep. It's what's inside of a boat, as well as of a man, that counts. Slowly the boats manoeuvred, waiting for the gun. The silence was intense, breathless. Then---- Bang! The little saluting gun puffed out its vapory breath. Matt could be seen leaning against the wheel, holding it firm with his body while his left hand played over the levers. It was a pretty start. Both the _Sprite_ and the _Dart_ passed the stake boat neck and neck. "They're off," muttered Lorry, with a wheeze, drawing a handkerchief over his forehead. It is nothing to his discredit that his hand shook a little. "Oh, dad," whispered Ethel, clasping her father's arm, "didn't he look fine and--and determined? I know he'll win, I just _know_ it." "Say, Lorry," asked Mr. Merton, "who's that youngster over there on that launch--the one that's making such a fool of himself." "That?" asked Mr. Lorry, squinting in the direction indicated. "Oh, that's my nephew, McGlory. But don't blame him for acting the fool--I feel a little inclined that way myself." CHAPTER XV. THE FINISH. The doctor's guess was a good one. The excitement of that race was exactly what Motor Matt needed. It was a tonic, and from the moment he had entered the _Sprite_ in the Yahara Club boathouse, he was the Mile-a-Minute Matt of motor cycle and automobile days. His nerves were like steel wires, his brain was steady, and his eye keen and true. There was a good deal of vibration--much more, in fact, than Matt had really thought there would be. The more power used up in vibration, the less power delivered at the wheel. But what would the vibration have been if he had not exercised so much care in preparing the engine's bed? Perfectly oblivious of the spectators, and with eyes only for his course, Matt saw nothing and no one apart from the boundary buoys, until he turned the _Sprite_ for the start. Then, while waiting for the starting gun, he caught a glimpse of the taunting face of Ollie Merton. "Fooled you, eh?" called Merton. "You'll do sixteen miles, at your best, and we'll go over twenty." Motor Matt did not reply. If Merton had only known what was under the hood of the _Sprite_, his gibe would never have been uttered. As they passed the stake boat side by side, Merton and Halloran began to suspect something. The _Sprite_ hung to them too persistently for a sixteen-mile-an-hour boat. "He's got something in that boat of his," breathed Halloran, "that we don't know anything about." "Confound him!" snorted Merton, enraged at the very suspicion. "If he fools us with any of his low-down tricks, I'll fix him before he leaves that made-over catamaran of his." "You'll treat him white, Merton, win or lose," scowled Halloran. "Then you see to it that you win!" said Merton. Along the double line of boats rushed the racers. The waves tossed up from the bows rose high, creamed into froth, and the spray drifted and eddied around Matt, Halloran, and Merton. At the edge of the lane, the craft of the sightseers rocked with the heave the flying boats kicked up. Halfway between the stake boats the _Dart_ began to draw ahead. A shout of exultation went up from Merton. "Good boy, Halloran! In another minute we'll show him our heels." But what Matt lost on the outward stretch of the course he more than made up at the turn around the stake boat. The shorter length of the _Sprite_ enabled her to be brought around with more facility, and she came to on the inner side and was reaching for the home-stretch when the _Dart_ got pointed for the straight-away. The hum of the engine was like a crooning song of victory in Matt's ears. He _knew_ he was going to win; he felt it in his bones. Halloran's juggling with gasoline and spark brought the _Dart_ slowly alongside and gave her the lead by half a length. But still Matt did not waver. He could juggle a little with the make-and-break ignition and the fuel supply himself. His brain was full of calculations. He knew where he was at every minute of the race, and he knew just when to begin making the throbbing motor spin the wheel at its maximum. The rack of the hull was tremendous. It seemed to grow instead of to lessen. Would the hull stand the strain with the engine urging the wheel at its best? It _must_ stand the strain! The crisis was at hand and there was nothing else for it. Hugging the steering wheel with his body, Matt's left hand toyed with switch and lever. The yacht at the finish line was in plain view. Matt did not see the waving hats or fluttering handkerchiefs, nor did he hear the bedlam of yells that went up on every side. All he saw was the _Dart_, his eye marking the gain of the _Sprite_. It was already apparent to Ollie Merton and Halloran that the race was lost--_unless something unexpected happened to Motor Matt or the Sprite_. Halloran was getting the last particle of speed out of the _Dart's_ engine, and steadily, relentlessly, the _Sprite_ was creeping ahead. Deep down in Merton's soul a desperate purpose was fighting with his better nature. Suddenly the evil got the upper hand. Merton waited, his sinister face full of relentless determination. "When the _Sprite_ takes the lead," he said to himself, "something is going to happen." In one minute more Matt forged ahead. The finish line was close now, and Merton was already stung with the bitterness of defeat. His hand reached inside his sweater. When it was withdrawn, a revolver came with it. Why Merton had brought that revolver with him, he alone could tell. It may have been for some such purpose as this. Matt's back was toward Merton, and Matt's eyes were peering steadily ahead. If that left hand could be touched--just scratched--the king of the motor boys would be powerless to manage the _Sprite_. Many of the spectators saw the leveling of the weapon. Cries of "Coward!" and "Shame!" and "Stop him!" went up from a hundred throats. Mr. Merton, watching breathlessly, saw the glimmering revolver, and something very like a sob rushed through his lips as he bowed his head. What those who saw felt for his son, _he_ felt for him--and for himself. Before Merton could press the trigger, Halloran turned partly around. "You're mad!" shouted Halloran, gripping Merton's wrist with a deft hand and shoving the point of the revolver high in the air. Unaware of his narrow escape, the king of the motor boys flung the _Sprite_ onward to victory. A good half-length ahead of the _Dart_, Matt and his boat crossed the finish line--regaining the De Lancey cup for the Yahara Club, winning the race for George Lorry and gaining untold honors for himself. The lake went wild; and the enthusiasm spilled over its edges and ran riot along the shores. Steam launches tooted their sirens, and motor boats emptied their compressed air tanks through their toy whistles; the band played, but there was so much other noise that it was not heard. The Yaharas and their partisans went wild. Somewhere in that jumble of humanity was Newt Higgins, adding his joyful clamor to the roar of delight; and somewhere, also, was the doctor, letting off the steam of his pent-up excitement. But there was one man on the stake boat whose heart was heavy, who had no word for any one but his wife. To her he offered his arm. "Come," said he, in a stifled voice, "this is no place for us. Let us go." Matt, as soon as he had checked the speed of the _Sprite_ and pointed her the other way, jogged back along the line of boats and picked Lorry and McGlory off one of the launches. Lorry was radiant. "You've done it, old boy!" he cried. "By Jupiter! you've done it. You sit down and take it easy--I'll look after the _Sprite_!" "Speak to me about this!" whooped McGlory, throwing his arms around Matt in a bear's hug. "Oh, recite this to me, in years to come, and the blood will bound through my veins with all the--er--the---- Hang it, pard, you know what I mean! I've gone off the jump entirely. Hooray for Motor Matt!" As Lorry laid the _Sprite_ alongside the stake boat, somebody tossed her a line. "Come aboard, all of you," called a voice. It was Spicer, commodore of the Yahara Club. While Matt, Lorry, and McGlory were going up one side of the yacht, Mr. and Mrs. Merton were descending the other, getting into the boat that was to take them ashore to their waiting automobile. Mr. Lorry, red as a beet, his collar wilted, his high hat on the back of his head, and his necktie around under his ear, met the victors, giving one hand to Matt and the other to George. "Jove!" he said huskily, "I've yelled myself hoarse. Oh, but it was fine!" Ethel threw her arms around Matt's neck and gave him a hearty kiss. "Nice way to treat a one-armed fellow that can't defend himself," whooped McGlory; "and sick, at that. He ought to be in bed, this minute--the doctor said so!" "I--I thought it was George," faltered Ethel. "Oh, bang!" howled McGlory. "It's a wonder you didn't think it was me." The vice commodore of the Winnequa Club came forward, carrying the silver cup in both hands. He looked sad enough, but he was game. In a neat little speech, during which he emphasized the sportsman-like conduct which should prevail at all such events as the one that had just passed, he tendered the cup to Lorry. Lorry, blushing with pleasure, in turn tendered it to the commodore of the Yahara Club. One of the judges, coming forward with an oblong slip of paper in his hands, waved it to command silence. When a measure of quiet prevailed, he eased himself of a few pertinent remarks. "Gentlemen, there was another supplementary prize offered in this contest. Unlike the De Lancey cup, which may be fought for again next year, this additional prize inheres to the victor for so long as he can keep it by him. It is not for the owner of the boat, but to the gallant youth who presided at the steering wheel and bore the brunt of the battle. Had the _Dart_ won, this extra prize would have gone to Halloran, just as surely as it now goes to Motor Matt. It consists of a check for two thousand dollars, place for the name blank, and signed by Mr. Daniel Lorry. There you are, son," and the judge pushed the check into the hand of the astounded Matt. "Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed Matt. "I--I---- Well, I hardly know what to say. I was in the game for the love of it, and--and I was not expecting this!" "That was dad's idea," said Ethel happily. "Bully for the governor!" cried George, grabbing his father's hand. "Why, I didn't know anything about this, myself." "It was a 'dark horse,'" chuckled Mr. Lorry. "Come on, now, and let's go home and get out of this hubbub. Matt, you and McGlory will come with us. We're going to have a spread." CHAPTER XVI. CONCLUSION. All that happened, after Matt received that check for $2,000, was a good deal like a dream to him. He remembered descending into the _Sprite_ for a return to the clubhouse, and finding Ping Pong in the boat. Where Ping Pong had come from no one seemed to know. Not much attention had been paid to him after Matt boarded the _Sprite_ and started for the stake boat. Yet there the little Chinaman was, kneeling at the bulkhead of the boat, fondling the steering wheel, patting the levers, laying his yellow cheek against the gunwale, and all the while crooning a lot of heathen gibberish. "What's the blooming idiot trying to do?" McGlory shouted. It seemed impossible for the cowboy to do anything but yell. His exultation suggested noise, and he talked at the top of his lungs. "Don't you understand, Joe?" said Lorry. "He's trying to thank the _Sprite_ for winning the race." "Sufferin' Hottentots! Why don't he thank the king of the motor boys?" The next moment Ping was alongside of Matt, sitting in the bottom of the boat and looking up at him with soulful admiration. "Him allee same my boss," pattered Ping, catching his breath. "He one-piecee scoot." "Oh, tell me about that!" guffawed McGlory. "One-piecee scoot! Say, Ping's not so far wide of his trail, after all." The next thing Matt remembered was standing in the clubhouse, in the locker room, receiving the vociferous congratulations of the Yaharas. Before he realized what was going on, he and Lorry had been picked up on the members' shoulders. "Three times three and a tiger for Motor Matt and Lorry!" went up a shout. Well, the Yaharas didn't exactly raise the roof, but they came pretty near it. Matt was voted an honorary member of the club on the spot, and given free and perpetual use of all the clubhouse privileges. "There isn't any one going around handing me ninety-nine-year leases on a bunch of boats and a lot of bathing suits," caroled McGlory. "But then, I don't count. I'm only carrying the banner in this procession. Matt's the big high boy; but he's my pard, don't forget that." McGlory's wail caused the Yaharas to vote him an honorary membership; and then, in order not to slight anybody, or make a misdeal while felicitations were being handed around, Ping was likewise voted in. After that there was a ride to Yankee Hill in the Lorry motor car, with Gus at the steering wheel; then a spread, the like of which Motor Matt had never sat down to before. A good deal was eaten, and a great many things were said, but Matt was still in a daze. Every time he made a move he seemed to feel the vibration of the twenty-horse-power motor sending queer little shivers through his body. What was the matter with him? he asked himself. Could it be possible that he was going to be on the sick list? He remembered crawling into the same big brass bed with the mosquito-bar canopy, and then he dropped off into dreamless sleep. When he came to himself he was pleased to find that his brain was clear, and that he could move around without feeling the vibrations of the motor. His health was first class, after all, and he never had felt brighter in his life. While he was dressing, McGlory and Lorry came into the room. "What you going to do with that check, pard?" asked McGlory. "I'm going to cash it, divide the money into three piles, give one pile to you, one to Ping, and keep the other for myself," said Matt. "Don't be foolish, Matt," implored the cowboy. "A third of two thousand is more'n six hundred and fifty dollars. What do you suppose would happen to me if all that wealth was shoved into my face?" "Give it up," laughed Matt; "but I'm going to find out." "And Ping! Say, the Chink will be crazy." "I can't help that, Joe. He's entitled to the money. I wonder if you fellows realize that we've never yet paid Ping for the _Sprite_? Here's where he gets what's coming to him. He's full of grit, that Ping. You ought to have seen how he helped me at the burning boathouse." "What are you going to do with Ping, Matt?" queried Lorry. "I haven't given that a thought," said Matt, a little blankly. "Well," suggested McGlory, "you'd better hurry up and think it over. He's walking around the servants' quarters lording it like a mandarin. He says he's working for Motor Matt, and that you're the High Mucky-muck of everything between Waunakee and the Forbidden City. Better find something for him to do." "We'll talk that over later," said Matt. "What about Ollie Merton?" "You can hear all sorts of things, Matt," answered Lorry. "They say he had a violent scene with his father, that he has squandered fifteen thousand dollars while his parents were in Europe, and that he is to be sent to a military school where there are men who will know how to handle him." There was a silence between the boys for a moment, broken, at last, by Matt. "That's pretty tough!" "Tough?" echoed McGlory. "If Merton had what's coming to him he'd be in the reform school. Don't waste any sympathy on him." "Why," spoke up George, with feeling, "he's just the fellow that needs sympathy. It's too bad he hasn't a Motor Matt to stand by him and help him over the rough places he has made for himself." George Lorry was speaking from the heart. He knew what he was talking about, for he had "been through the mill" himself. THE END. THE NEXT NUMBER (24) WILL CONTAIN Motor Matt On the Wing; OR, Fighting for Fame and Fortune Wanted: A Man of Nerve--Foiling a Scoundrel--Matt Makes an Investment--Matt Explains to McGlory--Ping and the Bear--A New Venture--A Partner in Villainy--Matt Shifts His Plans--Dodging Trouble--Blanked--Siwash Shows His Teeth; and His Heels--"Uncle Sam" Takes Hold--On the Wing--Dastardly Work--The Government Trial--Fame; and a Little Fortune. MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION NEW YORK, July 31, 1909. TERMS TO MOTOR STORIES MAIL SUBSCRIBERS. (_Postage Free._) Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each. 3 months 65c. 4 months 85c. 6 months $1.25 One year 2.50 2 copies one year 4.00 1 copy two years 4.00 =How to Send Money=--By post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =Receipts=--Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. If not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ORMOND G. SMITH, } GEORGE C. SMITH, } _Proprietors_. STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. TRICKED BY TWO. "This is a public path," said Guy Hereford quietly. "Ay, but you can't use it," returned the man he faced, with an ugly glint in his eyes. "All the same, I'm going to," said Guy coolly. "I'll trouble you to move out of my way, Mr. Harvey Blissett." For a moment the two faced one another on the narrow sandy road between the bare, barbed-wire fences over which hung the fragrantly blooming orange branches. Both were mounted, Hereford on a well-groomed Florida pony, Blissett on a big, rough Montana, an ugly beast with a nose like a camel and a savage eye. "I'll give you one more chance," growled Blissett. "Turn and make tracks." "This is my road," said Hereford, as serenely as ever. "Then 'twill be your road to kingdom come," roared Blissett, and flashed his pistol from his hip pocket. But Hereford's steady eyes had never wavered. He was no tenderfoot. With the bully's movement he ducked, and at the same moment drove spurs into his pony's flanks. As Blissett's bullet whistled harmlessly into the opposite trees the chest of Hereford's pony met the shoulder of the Montana with a shock that staggered it, and before Blissett could pull trigger a second time the loaded end of the other's quirt crashed across his head. Blissett dropped like a shot rabbit. At the same time the Montana gave a vicious squeal, lashed out violently, and bolted. Hereford was off his pony in a moment, and, with an exclamation of horror ran to Blissett and stooped over him. But a single glance was enough. One of the Montana's heels had caught the unfortunate man exactly on the same spot where Hereford's blow had fallen and crushed his skull like an eggshell. He was dead as a log. "This is a rough deal!" said Hereford slowly, as he rose to his feet. "Wonder what I'd better do." The trouble was that every one for miles round knew the bad blood which existed between the young orange grower and his neighbor. Blissett was a cattleman who had bitterly resented the fencing of the land which Hereford had bought. He had deliberately cut the wires and let his scrub cattle in among the young trees, doing endless damage. Hereford had retaliated by pounding the whole bunch so that Blissett had to pay heavily to regain them. Then Blissett had brought a law suit to force Hereford to give a public road through his place. He had won his suit, but done more than he intended, for the authorities extended the road through Blissett's own land and forced him to fence it. It was on this extension of the road that the tragedy had taken place. "If I go to the sheriff there's sure to be trouble," said Hereford aloud. "Ten to one they'll bring it in manslaughter." "Murder, more likely," came a voice from behind, and Hereford, starting round, found himself face to face with his cousin, Oliver Deacon, who, hoe in hand, had just come through the fence from among the orange trees. "Why murder?" asked Hereford sharply. The other, a sallow-faced man some years older than Hereford, gave a disagreeable chuckle. "My dear Guy, every one knows the terms you and Blissett were on. There'll be a jury of crackers, all pals of the late unlamented, and they'll be only too glad to have a chance of taking it out of a man they think an aristocrat." "What's the good of talking rot?" exclaimed Hereford impatiently. "If you were working in the grove I suppose you saw the whole thing?" "Yes, I saw it," replied Deacon slowly. "That's all right then. You know he brought it on himself." There was a very peculiar look in Deacon's close-set eyes as he glanced at his cousin. "I saw you hit Blissett over the head with the lead end of your quirt," he said in the same measured tones. "What in thunder do you mean, Oliver? Didn't you see his pony kick him on the head?" "I'm not so sure about that," was Deacon's reply. Guy Hereford stared at his cousin in blank amazement. "Will you kindly tell me what you do mean?" he asked icily. "Yes, I'll tell you," said Deacon harshly. "Look here, Guy, I'm full up with playing bottle washer, and it seems to me this gives me just the chance I've been looking for. Need I explain?" "I think you'd better," said Guy Hereford grimly. "All right. I'll give you straight goods. I want to be paid, and well paid, for my evidence. Here are you with a place of your own and a good allowance from your father, you've a decent house and a first-class pony. And as for me, I haven't a red cent, and am forced to do grove work like an infernal nigger. As I said before, I'm sick of it, and it's going to stop right here." Hereford looked his cousin up and down. Then he said, "I knew you'd sunk pretty low, Oliver, but I didn't quite realize the depths you've dropped to. Whose fault is it you are hard up? Your own. You had more than I ever had, and chucked it all away. People were decent to you down here until you were caught cheating at poker. And now you want to force me to pay you hush money under threats of false evidence. May I ask how much you consider your evidence worth?" Guy's tone of icy contempt brought a dull red flush to the other's sallow cheeks. But he answered brazenly, "I'll take a thousand dollars." Guy laughed. "I wouldn't give you a thousand cents." "Then you'll hang," retorted Oliver viciously. "Well, that won't do you any good." "Oh, won't it? Plainly, you don't know much about Florida law, my good Guy. I'm your cousin. Don't forget that. And by the law of this State I'm your next heir. See? When you've left this vale of tears I come in for the whole outfit--your grove and everything. Now, perhaps, you'll sing another song." Guy's face went white. Not with fear, but anger. And his gray eyes blazed with a sudden fury that made the other step hastily backward. "You mean, skulking hound!" he cried. "You're worse--a thousand times worse--than that fellow who lies dead there. Get out of my sight before I kill you." Oliver's eyes had the look of a vicious cur. "All right," he snarled. "You'll change your tune before I'm done with you. If you don't fork up the cash by this time to-morrow I'll go and give the sheriff a full and particular account of how you murdered Harvey Blissett." * * * * * "What's de matter, boss. Warn't dat supper cooked to suit you?" "Supper was first-rate, Rufe. Only I've got no appetite," replied Guy. "You done seem plumb disgruntled 'bout something ebber since you come in dis evening," said Rufus, Guy's faithful negro retainer. Guy looked at the man's sympathetic face. He felt a longing to talk over the black business with somebody, and Rufe, he knew, would never repeat a word to any one else. "Heard about Harvey Blissett?" he asked. "No, sah. What he been doing?" "He won't do anything more, Rufe. He's dead." "You doan' mean tell me dat man dead?" "It's quite true." "How dat come about?" inquired Rufus, his eyes fairly goggling with eager interest. Guy explained how Blissett had come by his end. "Well, boss, I doan' see nuffin to worry about. 'Twaren't your fault as dat Montanny animile kick him on de head. An' anyways, we's mighty well rid ob him. Dat's my 'pinion." "But suppose I'm accused of killing him, Rufe?" "Dere ain't nobody as would believe dat, sah," stoutly declared Rufus. "But if some one who hated me had seen it and gave evidence against me?" Rufus started. "I bet five dollar dat's dat low-down white man, Mistah Deacon!" he exclaimed. "You're perfectly right, Rufus. That's who it is." "And he see you, and sw'ar dat it wasn't de hawse, but your quirt done it?" "That's about the size of it." "Hab you done told de sheriff, sah?" "Yes, I did that at once. Rode straight into Pine Lake." "And what he say?" "Told me I must come into the inquest the day after to-morrow." "Den seem to me, sah, you done took de wind out of dat Deacon's sail. He ain't seen de sheriff befoah you." "That's all right, Rufe, as far as it goes. Trouble is that he'll be in at the inquest to-morrow and he'll swear that it was my quirt did the trick. That is, unless I give him a thousand dollars to keep his mouth shut." The negro's face changed suddenly from its usual smiling expression. "Den I tell you what, Massa Guy," he exclaimed with sudden ferocity. "You gib me your gun, an' I sw'ar dat man nebber go to dat inquest to-morrow." Guy knew well that Rufe meant what he said. He was touched. "You're a good chap, Rufe, but I'm afraid your plan is hardly workable. You see you'd be hung, too." "Not dis nigger! I nebber be found out!" cried Rufe. "Still we won't try it," said Guy in his quiet way. Rufe stood silent for some moments. Then he turned to go back to the kitchen. His silence was ominous. "Mind, Rufe," said Guy sharply. "No violence. You're not to lay a hand on my cousin." "All right, sah," said Rufe reluctantly. "I try t'ink ob some odder plan." The time dragged by slowly. Guy tried to write letters, but found he could not settle to anything. The fact was that he was desperately anxious. He knew Deacon's callous, revengeful nature, and was perfectly certain that he would carry out his threat if the money to bribe him was not forthcoming. It was all true what his cousin had said. A jury of cattle owners, "crackers," as they are called in Florida, would certainly find him guilty on his cousin's evidence, and even if he escaped hanging his fate would be the awful one of twenty years' penitentiary. For a moment he weakened and thought of paying the price. But to do so meant selling his place. He could not otherwise raise the money. Sell the place on which he had spent four years of steady, hard work! No, by Jove; anything rather than that. And even if he did so, what guarantee had he that this would be the full extent of his cousin's demands? Absolutely none. No, he laid himself open to be blackmailed for the rest of his life. He hardened his heart, and resolved that, come what would, he would stick it out and let the beggar do his worst. Presently he got up and went out of his tiny living room onto the veranda. The house was only a little bit of a two-roomed shack with a penthouse veranda in front. He had built it when he first came, and had been intending for some time past to put up a bigger place. Now that dream was over. Sick at heart, Guy flung himself into a long cane chair, and presently, worn out by worry, fell asleep. He was wakened by the pad pad of a trotting horse, and looking up sharply saw in the faint light of a late-risen moon a figure mounted on one horse and leading another passing rapidly along the sandy track outside his boundary fence. The something familiar about the figure of the man struck him like a blow. "By thunder, it's Deacon! What mischief is the skunk up to?" he muttered. And on the impulse of the moment he sprang from the veranda, and, slipping round the dark end of the house, made for the stable. In a minute he had saddle and bridle on Dandy, and, leading the animal out through the bars at the far end of the grove, was riding cautiously on his cousin's track. At first he made sure Deacon was going to Pine Lake. To his great surprise the man presently turned off the main road and took a cut across a creek ford, and round the end of a long cypress swamp. "Must be going to Orange Port," he muttered. "There's something very odd about this. And what in thunder is he doing with that second horse?" They came to a bit of open savanna dotted with great islands of live oak. The moon was higher now, and the grassy plain was bathed in soft, silver light. As Deacon passed out of the deep shadow of the pine forest Guy gave a gasp. The horse that Deacon was leading was Blissett's Montana pony. Guy actually chuckled. "I'll bet a farm he's picked it up and means to sell it in Orange Port," he said to himself. "Well, it mayn't save me, but at any rate I'll be able to make things hot for him." It was sixteen miles to Orange Port. Deacon, with Guy still at his heels, reached the place about six in the morning, and took the animal straight to a small livery stable, the owner of which was Sebastian Gomez, a mulatto of anything but good repute. Guy dogged him cautiously, and when he had left the stable and ridden off, went in himself, put Dandy up, and had him fed. Then he went to work cautiously, and by dint of a tip to one of the colored men about the place, found that his precious cousin had indeed sold the Montana to the owner of the stable, and had got fifty dollars for the animal. "Not such a bad night's work," said Guy to himself as, after breakfast and a bath, he rode home again. He reached his place about nine to find Rufus much disturbed at his long absence. Merely telling the negro that he had been away on business, he lay down and had a much-needed sleep. At four he woke and rode off to Pine Lake. He meant to find a lawyer to whom he could intrust his case on the following day, but to his deep disappointment Vanbuten, a clever young Bostonian and a great pal of his, was away at Ormond for a week's sea bathing. There was nothing for it but to send him an urgent telegram, begging him to return at once, and then ride home through the warm tropic starlight. "Wonder if I shall ever ride back to the dear little old shop again," thought Guy sadly, as he opened the gate and led his pony in and up the neat path through the palmetto scrub. He loved every inch of his place, as a man can only love a property which by the sweat of his own brow he has carved out of the primeval forest. Arrived at the house, he stabled Dandy and fed him, a job which he never trusted to any one else, not even the faithful Rufe. As he entered the house he could hear Rufe busy with pots and pans in the kitchen. "He'll miss me, if no one else does," muttered Guy; and, feeling desperately depressed, he went into his bedroom to change his boots and coat. Hereford, being a Boston-bred man, was one of those who, even when baching it alone in the wilds, still try to keep up something of their old home customs. He struck a match and lighted the lamp, then, as the glow fell upon his cot, he started back with a cry of horror. TO BE CONCLUDED. HOMES ON THE RIO GRANDE. The Mexican Indian huts in the villages and upon the ranches of the lower Rio Grande border region of Texas have a style of architecture and construction that is distinctly their own. This type of primitive buildings is rapidly passing out of existence. Modern structures are taking their places. At many places on the border families of Mexicans have abandoned their jacals and moved into more pretentious homes. One thing that recommended the old style of residence to the poorer Mexicans was its cheapness of construction. No money outlay is necessary in erecting the picturesque structures, neither is a knowledge of carpentry needed. A double row of upright poles firmly set or driven into the ground forms the framework for the walls. Between these two rows of poles are placed other poles or sticks of shorter length, forming a thick and compact wall. At each of the four corners of the building posts are set, reaching to a height of about eight feet. Roughly hewn stringers are laid from one post to another and to these stringers are tied the other poles that form the framework of the walls. The strong fibre from the maguey plant or strips of buckskin are used to tie the poles into position. The rafters are tied to the ridgepole and stringers in the same manner. At one end of the building is built the opening through which the smoke of the inside fire may ascend. Stoves are unknown among these Mexicans and the cooking is all done upon the ground. When the rafters are in position the thatched roof is put on. Palm leaves form the most satisfactory roof, both as to durability and effectiveness in shedding the rain, but owing to the scarcity of this material on the Texas side of the international boundary stream, grasses and the leaves of plants are used for the purpose. The roofing material is tied to the rafters in layers. Some of the Mexican house builders exercise great ingenuity in putting on the thatched roofs. The only opening in most of these Mexican jacals is the door which extends from the ground to the roof. The floor is the bare earth. The ventilation is obtained through the crude chimney opening. The door itself is seldom closed. The Mexican Indian is usually a man of large family. A one-room house accommodates all. Perhaps several dogs and a pig or two may share the comforts of the room with them on cool or disagreeable nights. PIGEONS AS PHOTOGRAPHERS. Many wonderful feats have been credited to the instinct of the homing or carrier pigeon, but "the limit," to quote the phrase of the moment, seems to have been reached by Herr Neubronner, a Kronberg chemist, who has actually trained pigeons to take photographs. For some time Herr Neubronner has been utilizing pigeons, not only for the transmission of messages to doctors in the neighborhood, but also to carry small quantities of medicine. The latter are inclosed in glove fingers slung about the birds' wings. The method has proved entirely successful, experiments showing that the pigeon can carry a properly distributed load of 2-1/2 ounces a distance of 100 miles. Toward the end of last year one of the birds lost its way and did not arrive at its cote until after the expiration of four weeks. There was, of course, no means of ascertaining where and how the bird had got lost. It then occurred to Herr Neubronner that a pigeon, equipped with a self-acting camera, would bring in a photographic record of its journey. He thereupon constructed a camera, weighing less than 3 ounces, which he fixed to the bird's breast by an elastic strap, leaving the wings completely free. The process of snapshotting is, of course, automatic. At regular intervals the machine operates by a clockwork arrangement, and registers pictures of the various places covered by the bird in its flight. The German government has taken a keen interest in Herr Neubronner's notion of utilizing pigeons as photographers, and there certainly seem great possibilities in the idea. The carrier-pigeon photographer would prove extremely valuable for obtaining information in times of war of the country, position, and strength of the enemy. The carrier pigeon flies at a height of between 150 feet and 300 feet, safe from small shot and very difficult to hit with bullets. Pigeons might be released from air ships at any height within the enemy's lines, and they would carry home with them pictures of great value. The carrier pigeon is peculiarly well suited to service of this character, because when set free in a strange place it commences its flight by describing a spiral curve, in the course of which several pictures could be taken from various points of view. Then, when the pigeon has determined the position of its goal, it flies thither in a straight line at a uniform speed of about 40 miles an hour. As the moment of exposure can be regulated with a fair amount of precision, the object which it is desired to photograph can generally be caught. In besieged fortresses information concerning the besiegers can be obtained by tumbler pigeons, which, when released at their home, fly in circles for a time and then return to their cotes. LATEST ISSUES MOTOR STORIES The latest and best five-cent weekly. We won't say how interesting it is. See for yourself. =High art colored covers. Thirty-two big pages. Price, 5 cents.= 11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady. 12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Castaway in the Bahamas. 13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest. 14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the _Hawk_. 15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the _Grampus_. 16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters. 17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos. 18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon. 19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn. 20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys. 21--Motor Matt's Launch; or, A Friend in Need. 22--Motor Matt's Enemies; or, A Struggle for the Right. 23--Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins. 24--Motor Matt on the Wing; or, Flying for Fame and Fortune. TIP TOP WEEKLY The most popular publication for boys. 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Fill out the following Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the Weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY.= ________________________ _190_ _STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City._ _Dear Sirs: Enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: TIP TOP WEEKLY, Nos. ________________________________ NICK CARTER WEEKLY, " ________________________________ DIAMOND DICK WEEKLY, " ________________________________ BUFFALO BILL STORIES, " ________________________________ BRAVE AND BOLD WEEKLY, " ________________________________ MOTOR STORIES, " ________________________________ _Name_ ________________ _Street_ ________________ _City_ ________________ _State_ ________________ A GREAT SUCCESS!! MOTOR STORIES Every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of Motor Matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. Surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the Tip Top Weekly. Matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _HERE ARE THE TITLES NOW READY AND THOSE TO BE PUBLISHED_: 1--Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel. 2--Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends. 3--Motor Matt's Century Run; or, The Governor's Courier. 4--Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the "Comet." 5--Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot. 6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On the High Gear. 7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto. 8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward. 9--Motor Matt's Air Ship; or, The Rival Inventors. 10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot. 11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady. 12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Cast Away in the Bahamas. 13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest. 14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the "Hawk." 15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the "Grampus." 16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters. 17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos. 18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon. 19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn. 20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys. To be Published on July 12th. 21--Motor Matt's Launch; or, A Friend in Need. To be Published on July 19th. 22--Motor Matt's Enemies; or, A Struggle for the Right. To be Published on July 26th. 23--Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins. To be Published on August 2nd. 24--Motor Matt on the Wing; or, Flying for Fame and Fortune. PRICE, FIVE CENTS At all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_, NEW YORK Transcriber's Notes: Added table of contents. Retained some inconsistent hyphenation ("work-bench" vs. "workbench") from the original. For this text edition, oe ligatures have been replaced with the letters "oe." Bold text is represented with =equal signs=, italics with _underscores_. Page 2, changed "inisted" to "insisted" after "Motol Matt my boss, alle same," and "cred" to "cried" after "Here, now." Page 3, changed "out" to "ought" in "You and Ping ought to be ashamed." Page 4, changed "instiution" to "institution" ("Another institution, known as..."). Page 9, changed "sprit" to "spirit" ("said Matt, with spirit"). Page 10, corrected "stakeboak" to "stake boat" ("As good as passed the stake boat"). Page 12, changed "wth" to "with" ("forcing an interview with"). Page 19, corrected "Larry" to "Lorry" ("While speaking, Lorry..."). Page 23, added missing close quote after "prove that by telling you what just happened." Page 27, corrected "red as a beat" to "red as a beet." Page 28, corrected "Villiany" to "Villainy" in "next number" table of contents. 
38450	----	produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) [Illustration: The wave caught the _Rambler_ broadside, and in an instant she was beached high and dry on the bar.] THE SIX RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS ON THE ST. LAWRENCE OR THE LOST CHANNEL By HARRY GORDON Author of "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Mississippi" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Colorado" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Amazon" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Columbia" "The River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio" A. L. BURT COMPANY NEW YORK Copyright, 1913 By A. L. Burt Company THE SIX RIVER MOTOR BOYS ON THE ST. LAWRENCE CONTENTS I--A Mysterious Visitor II--A Treacherous Guest III--Arrested for Piracy IV--Concerning a Lost Channel V--Teddy Gives an Exhibition VI--Captain Joe Takes a Prisoner VII--Case Has His Doubts VIII--The Discovery of Max IX--A Busy Night in Quebec X--The Menagerie in Action XI--The Crew Takes a Tumble XII--Rivermen With a Thirst XIII--A Meeting at Montreal XIV--An Old Friend Appears XV--Through the Famous Rapids XVI--A Call from Wreckers XVII--Captain Joe's Night Visit XVIII--It Is Now Clay's Turn XIX--A Splash of Water XX--Lifting a Sunken Launch XXI--Down in the Whirlpool XXII--What the Eddy Brought Up XXIII--The Lost Charter Is Found THE SIX RIVER MOTOR BOYS ON THE ST. LAWRENCE. CHAPTER I A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR It was dark on the St. Lawrence River at nine o'clock that August night. There would be a moon later, but the clouds drifting in from the bay might or might not hold the landscape in darkness until morning. The tide was running in, and with it came a faint fog from the distant coast of Newfoundland. Only one light showed on the dark surface of the river in the vicinity of St. Luce, and this came from the deck of a motor boat, anchored well out from the landing on the south side of the stream, fifty miles or more from Point des Montes, which is where the St. Lawrence widens out to the north to form the upper part of the bay of the same name. The light on the motor boat came from an electric lamp set at the prow, six feet above the deck. It showed as trim and powerful a craft as ever pushed her nose into those waters. Those who have followed the adventures of the Six River Motor Boat Boys will not need to be told here of the strength, speed and perfect equipment of the _Rambler_. The motors were suitable for a sea-going tug, and the boat had all the conveniences known to modern shipbuilders. She had carried her present crew in safety up the Amazon to its source, down the Columbia from its headwaters, through the Colorado to the Grand Canyon, and down the Mississippi from its source to the Gulf of Mexico. All these trips had been crowded with adventure, but both the boys and the boat had proved equal to every emergency. At the conclusion of the Mississippi journey, the boys of the Six River Motor Boat Club had decided to explore the St. Lawrence river from the Gulf to Lake Ontario. The _Rambler_ had been shipped by rail to a point on the coast of New Brunswick, and the remainder of the journey to St. Luce had been made by water along the treacherous coasts of New Brunswick and Quebec. A fresh supply of gasoline had been taken on just before night fell, and on the approach of daylight the boys would be on their way up the stream. Although it was early August, the night was decidedly cold, and Clayton Emmett, Alex Smithwick, Julian Shafer, and Cornelius Witters, the four boys who had embarked on the trip, were sitting snugly around a coal fire in the cabin. They were sturdy, healthy, merry-hearted lads of about sixteen, all from Chicago, and all without family ties of any kind so far as they knew. They had been reared in the streets of the big city, and had become possessed of the _Rambler_ by a series of adventures which the readers of the previous volumes of this series will readily recall. The night grew darker as it grew older, and a strong wind came up from the bay, bobbing the _Rambler_ about drunkenly. Clayton Emmett--always just "Clay" to his chums--arose from his chair after a particularly fierce blast from the wind and approached the cabin door. "Don't open that door!" shouted Alex Smithwick. "We'll be sent smashing through the back wall if you do. This night makes me think of a smiling summer day in Chicago harbor,--it's so different!" "Company!" Clay answered, excitedly, "We're going to have company. Listen!" "Yes," laughed Jule Shafer, "I've got a flashlight of any one rowing out to us to-night. The river is too rough for a rowboat." "Now you look here, Captain Joe," Clay went on, "don't you go start anything!" This last remark was made to a white bulldog of sinister aspect which had arisen from a rug in a corner of the cabin and now stood at Clay's side, growling threateningly. Joe wagged a stumpy tail in acknowledgment of the advice, but dashed out, snarling, as Clay opened the door and gained the deck. "All right; go to it!" Alex laughed, as the door closed behind the two. "Stick out on deck a spell and the wind will do the rest." Case Witters--he was never anything but "Case" to his friends--went to the door and looked out through the blurred glass, wiping the inside of the panel with his sleeve in order to get a clearer view. "What's coming off?" demanded Jule. "I hope we'll be able to get away on one trip without some one butting in," suggested Case. "Say, now, look at Teddy," cried Jule, springing to his feet. "Teddy" was a quarter-grown grizzly bear. He had been captured on the Columbia river, and had been a great pet of the boys ever since. He now rose from the rug which he had occupied in company with Captain Joe, the white bulldog, and shambled over to the door, against which he lifted a pair of capable paws in an effort to get a view of the deck. "Rubberneck!" called Alex, digging the cub in the ribs. "You know what you'll come to if you talk slang!" Jule grinned. "You'll have to wash dishes for a week. We all agreed to that, you know," he added as Alex wrinkled a freckled nose and pointed to the bear cub still trying to look out. "Why don't you let him out?" he asked. "If the wind blows his hide off, we'll make a rug of it. What is Clay doing?" Case did not reply to the question. Instead, he opened the door, swinging it back with a bang, and both boy and bear ran out on deck. The first thing Teddy did was to sit up on his hind legs and box at the wind, which rumpled his fur and brought moisture to his little round eyes. Boxing was one of the accomplishments taught him by the boys, and he took great pride in it. Alex closed the door and, with Jule at his side, stood looking out on deck. Clay, Case and the two pets stood at the prow, gazing down on the river. Directly the top of a worn fur cap made its appearance above the gunwale of the boat, followed almost immediately by the head and shoulders of a man. Then Alex and Jule both rushed out of the cabin. "He must be a peach, whoever he is, to come off to us in a canoe over that rough water to-night!" Alex cried. "I want to see that boat of his." The boat in which the stranger had put off was rocking viciously in the stream, and it was some seconds before he could secure a footing which promised a successful leap for the deck. When at last he came over the rail, the boys saw a heavily-built man with thin whiskers growing out of a dark face. His eyes were keen and black, and the hair hanging low down on his wide shoulders, was black, too, and straight. Holding his boat line in one hand, in order that the craft might not drift away, he searched with the other hand in the interior pockets of a rough Jersey jacket for a second, and then brought forth a sealed package which he handed to Clay. As the boy took the package, the man who had delivered it sprang, without speaking a word, to the railing, hung for a moment with his feet in the air above the bobbing canoe, dropped, and was almost instantly lost in the darkness. Leaning over the railing of the boat, wide-eyed and amazed, the four boys stood for a moment trying to pierce the line of darkness beyond the round circle of the prow light. Nothing was to be seen. The boat had come and gone in the darkness. The packet in Clay's hands was the only evidence that it had ever existed. Alex was the first to speak. "What do you know about that?" he shouted. "They must have fine mail facilities on the St. Lawrence!" commented Case. "That was only a ghost!" Jule asserted, with a wink at Alex. "That letter will go sailing up in the air in a minute." Clay opened the packet so strangely delivered and unfolded a crude map of a country enclosed between two rivers. These rivers, after running close together for a long distance, spread apart, like the two arms of a pair of tongs, at their mouths, making an egg-shaped peninsula which extended far into the main river. Back from the river shore, on this rude drawing, a narrow creek cut through the territory between the two rivers, making the peninsula an island. Below this rude drawing of the rivers and the peninsula was another of an old-fashioned safe resting high up in a niche in a rocky wall. The face of the wall was cross-hatched, to show that it was in the shadows. Below the drawing of the safe, were these words: "At last! Follow instructions. Success is certain. Map enclosed. Point straight to the north." The boys gathered closely around Clay, standing under the brilliant prow light, and examined the paper, passing it from one to another with questioning glances. "I guess," Alex said, "that we are drawing somebody else's cards." "Well," Case suggested, "that's a queer kind of a hand to come out of the night." "Perhaps," Jule observed, "they present travelers on the St. Lawrence with these little souvenirs just to excite interest." "Point straight to the north," repeated Clay. "I wonder what that means." "I'd like to know what any of it means," Alex asserted. "It looks to me like some one was butting in." "Well," Case remarked, "we have started out on every trip with a mystery to unravel, and here we go again, loaded up with another." "You bet we have!" laughed Alex. "We harvested gold on the Amazon, caught murderers on the Columbia, found a secret treasure in the Grand Canyon, and chased pirates on the Mississippi, but this is the only real Captain Kidd mystery we have struck yet." "What shall we do with it?" asked Clay, rattling the paper. "Throw it in the river and be on our way," proposed Case. "Suppose," Alex grinned, "there should be a barrel of money in that safe they've made a drawing of. If there is, we want to get it." "I think we'd better be going on, just the same," Case said. "I'm for dumping this map thing into the river and forgetting all about it." "Aw," Alex cut in, "that would be throwing away all the fun. I want to go to this 'North,' wherever it is. There may be something funny doing there." Captain Joe, who had been sitting at the prow, watching the boys with an intelligent interest, now passed back to the cabin, leaped upon the low roof, and bounded to the after deck. The boys heard him growling threateningly for a moment, and then he came back. Teddy, the cub, arose from the place where he had been lying, sniffed at the gunwale of the boat for an instant, and walked into the cabin. "What's the matter with our menagerie to-night," demanded Alex. "There seems to be something in the air." "What do you see, Captain Joe?" asked Clay. "If it's a man, and he's got a letter, you go get it. Some other fellow may be wanting us to go South, or East, or West." As Clay ceased speaking, the splash of a paddle came faintly from the darkness to the West. "Here comes R. F. D. postman number two," shouted Alex. As the boys listened, the splashings of the paddle came louder for a moment, then ceased entirely. "Hello, the boat!" Alex cried. "Have you got a letter for us?" No answer came back. There was now a break in the clouds, and the moon shone sharply down upon the swirling river, but only for an instant. "There he comes!" cried Jule. But the moonlight was gone, and the sound of the paddle was gone, and just at the edge of the circle of light which came from the prow, an Indian canoe glided, phantom-like, down the stream and disappeared. CHAPTER II A TREACHEROUS GUEST "Do you suppose that is the fellow Captain Joe caught prowling around the stem of the boat?" asked Jule as the canoe disappeared down the river. Captain Joe answered the question by trotting up to the prow and snarling at the disappearing canoe. "Now, what do you think he wanted here, anyway?" asked Alex. "Possibly he just dropped down to see if we were ready to start north," Case observed with a yawn. "It looks to me," Alex said, "that we have struck a storm center of some kind, and I'm going to bed and think it over. "I'm glad you're going to bed," Clay laughed, "for you get lost whenever we leave you on watch." "But I always find myself!" answered Alex, with a provoking grin. It was finally arranged that Case should stand guard that night, and the others prepared for sleep. The bunks were let down in the cabin, the prow light was switched off, and directly all was dark, save when the moon broke out from a bank of wandering clouds. Sitting well wrapped at the door of the cabin, shortly before midnight, Clay once more heard the sweep of a paddle or an oar. He arose and went to the prow. Off to the right, on a point of land below St. Luce, a column of flame was beckoning in the gale from the gulf. Only the flame was to be seen. There was neither habitation nor human figure in sight under its light. While the boy watched, a signal shot came from the east. Then an answering light came from the north, and a ship's boat, four-oared and sturdy, passed for an instant under the light of the moon and was lost in the darkness. The rowboat had passed so close to the _Rambler_ that the watching boy could have seen the faces of the occupants if they had not been turned away. For a moment he had feared that it was the intention of the rowers to board the _Rambler_, but they had passed on apparently without noticing the boat at all. After following the boat with his eyes for an instant, he switched on the prow light and turned to the cabin to awaken his chums. Here was a new feature of the night which must be considered. As he turned toward the cabin, a white package lying upon the deck caught his eye. It had not been there a moment before, so the boy naturally concluded that it had been thrown from the row boat. He lifted it and, going back under the prow light, opened the envelope and read. "Don't interfere with what doesn't concern you. Go on about your business, if you have any. Life is sweet to the young. Do you understand? Be warned. Others have tried and lost." The puzzled boy dashed into the cabin with the paper in his hand. "Look here, fellows!" he shouted, pulling away at the first sleeping figure he came upon, "R. F. D. postman number two has arrived. Here's the letter he brought." He read the message aloud to the three wondering boys, sitting wide-eyed on their bunks, and handed the paper to Clay. "What about it?" he asked. "I reckon," Alex observed with a grin, "that we're going to be arrested for opening some one else's mail." "Don't you ever think this letter wasn't intended for us," Jule declared. "And now," Case said, "I suppose we'll have to give up following the orders given in the first letter. We're ordered off the premises. See?" "Not for mine," Alex cried. "You can't win me on any sawed-off mystery! I want to know what this means." After a time the boys switched off the prow light, turned on the small lamp in the cabin, and sat down to consider seriously the events of the night. While they talked, the clouds drifted away, and the whole surface of the river was flooded with moonlight. The flame on the south bank was seen no more. It had evidently been built as a beacon for the men in the ship's boat. After a time, Captain Joe, who had been sitting in the middle of the deliberative circle in the cabin, raced out to the deck. The boys heard him growling, heard a conciliatory human voice, and then a quick fall. When the boys switched on the prow light and gained the deck, they found Captain Joe standing guard over a slender youth who had evidently fallen to the deck to escape being tumbled down by the dog. They gathered about waiting for him to speak--waiting for some explanation of his sudden appearance on the motor boat. Captain Joe seemed proud of his capture, and remained with threatening teeth within an inch of the boy's throat. "Say, you!" shouted Alex. "Did you come by parcel post? We've been getting letters all right, but no such packages as this." "Looks to me like he must have come in a parachute," Jule suggested. "Where's your boat, kid?" he added. The visitor smiled brightly and sprang alertly to his feet. He looked from face to face for a moment, smiling at each in turn, and then pointed to a light canoe bumping against the hull of the _Rambler_. He was a lad of, perhaps, eighteen, slender, lithe, dark. His clothing was rough and not too clean. His manner was intended to be ingratiating, but was only insincere. "What about you?" demanded Alex. "Do you think this is a passenger boat?" "A long time ago," replied the visitor, speaking excellent English, "I read of the _Rambler_ and her boy crew in the Quebec newspapers. When I saw the boat here to-night, I ran away from my employer and came out to you. I want to go with you wherever you are going." "You've got your nerve!" Alex cried. "Oh, let him alone," Case interposed. "We've had a stranger with us on every trip, so why not take him along?" Alex took the speaker by the arm and walked with him back to the cabin. "Say," he said then, "this fellow may be all right, but I don't like the looks of his map." "You'll wash dishes a week for that," Case announced. "You're getting so you talk too much slang. Anyway, you shouldn't say 'map'--that's common. Say you don't like his dial." "Oh, I guess I'll have plenty of help washing dishes," Alex grunted. "But what are we going to do with this boy?" he added. Clay now joined the two boys in the cabin and asked the same question. "It is my idea," he said, "that the appearance of this lad is in some way connected with the other events of the night." "What did you find out about him?" asked Clay. "He says his name is Max Michel, and that he lives at St. Luce," was the reply. "Well," Clay decided, "we can't send him away to-night, so we'll give him a bunk and settle the matter to-morrow." "I just believe," Alex interposed, "that this boy Max could tell us something about those two boats if he wanted to." "I notice," Case put in, "that he's paying a good deal of attention to what is going on in the cabin just now. He may be all right, but he doesn't look good to me." Clay beckoned to Jule, and the two boys entered the cabin together, closely followed by Captain Joe, who seemed determined to keep close watch on the strange visitor. "How long ago did you leave St. Luce?" asked Clay of the boy. "An hour ago," was the answer. "I rowed up the river near the shore where the current is not so strong and then drifted down to the motor boat. I called out to you before I landed, but I guess you did not hear." Alex, standing at the boy's back and looking over his head, wrinkled a freckled nose at Clay and said by his expression that he did not believe what the boy was saying. "Did you see a light on the point below St. Luce not long ago?" continued Clay. The boy shook his head. "There are often lights there at night," he said. "Wreckers and fishermen build them for signals. But I saw none there to-night." "What about the four-oared boat that left St. Luce not long ago?" Clay asked. "Do you know the men who were in it?" "I didn't see any such boat," was the reply. "Well, crawl into a bunk here," Clay finally said, "and we'll tell you in the morning what we are going to do." The boy did as instructed, and was, apparently, soon sound asleep. Then the boys went out to the deck again and sat in the brilliant moonlight watching the settlement on the right bank. There is a railway station at St. Luce, and while they watched and talked, the shrill challenge of a locomotive came to their ears, followed by the low rumbling of a heavy train. The prow light was out, and the cabin light was out, and the cabin was dark now, because when the boys had sought their bunks, a heavy curtain had been drawn across the glass panel of the door. From where the boys sat, therefore, they could see nothing of the interior of the cabin. Five minutes after the door closed on the stranger, he left his bunk and moved toward the rear of the cabin. Against the back wall, stood a square wooden table, and upon this table stood an electric coil used for cooking. Above the table, was a small window opening on the after deck. The catch which held the sash in place was on the inside and was easily released. The boy opened it, drew the swinging sash in, passed through the opening, and sprang down to the deck. Reaching the deck, the visitor, as though familiar with the situation, ran his hand carefully about his feet feeling for a closed hatch. He found it at last and, lifting it, peered into the space set aside for the electric batteries and the extra gasoline tanks. Reaching far under the planking, he found what he sought--the wire connecting the electric batteries with the motors. Listening for a moment to make sure that his motions were not being observed, he drew a pair of wire clippers from a pocket and cut the supply wire. Only for the fact that the lights on the boat were all out, this villainous act would at once have been discovered. As it was, the boys remained at the prow believing the visitor was still asleep in his bunk. This act of vandalism accomplished, the boy dropped softly over the stern into his canoe, still trailing in the rear of the motor boat. Once in the canoe, he laid the paddle within easy reach and propelled the boat along the hull of the _Rambler_, toward the prow with his hands. Once or twice discovery seemed to the boy to be certain, for Captain Joe came to the gunwale of the boat and sniffed suspiciously over the rail. Once, Clay left his place at the prow and looked over into the stream, but the moon was in the south and a heavy shadow lay over the water on the north side, so the dark object slipping like a snake to do an act of mischief reached the prow unseen. At that moment the boys left the prow and moved toward the cabin door. In another instant they would have entered and noted the absence of their guest, but Alex paused and pointed to lights moving in the village of St. Luce. "There's something going on over there," he said "and I believe it has something to do with what we've been bumping against. There's the letter from the canoe, and the warning from the boat, and the boy dropping out of the darkness on deck, and the signal lights, and now the stir in the village. Some one who wishes us ill is running the scenes to-night, all right." While the boys stood watching the lights of St. Luce, Max caught the manila cable which held the motor boat and drew his canoe up to it. Cutting the cable, strand by strand, so as to cause no jar or sudden lurching of the boat, he left it slashed nearly through and, leaving the strain of the current to do the rest, worked back through the shadow and struck out up stream. Standing in the door of the cabin, the boys felt the boat sway violently under their feet, then they knew from the shifting lights in the village that they were drifting swiftly down with the current. Clay sprang to the motors, but they refused to turn. Case hastened to the prow and lifted the end of the cable. There was no doubt that it had been cut. Clay made a quick examination of the motors and saw that the electrical connection had been broken. Then Jule called out in alarm that they were drifting directly upon a rocky island. CHAPTER III ARRESTED FOR PIRACY The _Rambler_, drifting broadside to the current, threatened to strike full upon a rocky promontory projecting from the island which lay in the course of the boat. In vain Case tugged at the tiller ropes. There was no steerage way, and the boat was beyond control. "It looks like the last of the _Rambler_!" Case cried as the boat drifted down. "The rock ahead will cut her in two if we strike it." But there was a current crossing the rocky point from north to south, and the boat, catching it, was drawn away, so that in time, she came, stern first, to the curve of a little channel into which the waters drew. For a moment, the prow swung out, and the possibility of a continuation of the vagrant journey was imminent. However, before the sweep of water turned the prow fairly around, Alex was over the gunwale, clinging with all his might to the broken cable. Clay and Jule were at his side in a moment and, half swimming, half stumbling, quite up to their chins in the cold water, they held the boat until the current swept it farther over on the sandy beach that bordered the cove. "There you are!" shouted Alex, wading, dripping, from the river. "The next time I take a trip on the _Rambler_, I'm going to wear a diving suit. I'm dead tired of getting wet." "You're lucky not to be at the bottom of the river!" Clay announced. The rowboat, which lay upon the roof of the cabin, was now brought down, a cable was taken out of the store room, and the _Rambler_ firmly secured to a great rock which towered above the slope of the cove. The boys stood for a moment looking over the surface of the river, still bathed in moonlight, then Alex rushed into the cabin and brought out a field glass. "What I want to know just now, is who cut that cable," he said. "That's easy," Jule replied. "It was the innocent little boy who had read all about the _Rambler_ in the Quebec newspaper." Alex swept the river with the glass for a time and then passed it to Clay. "There he goes," he said, "away up the river, heading for St. Luce! That's the boy who disconnected the electricity and cut the cable. That's the boy who we will even up with when we catch him, too." "And you're the boy who'll wash dishes for a week for talking slang!" Jule taunted. "I'd wash dishes for a month if I could get hold of that rat," answered Alex, angrily. "He came near wrecking the _Rambler_!" "Well," Clay said, "we may as well be getting the motors into shape. We can't stay on this island long." "If we do, there's no knowing what will happen," Jule suggested. "We've had two letters and a runaway to-night and the next thing is likely to be a stick of dynamite." "Say, suppose we repair the electric apparatus and get away from this vicinity right now," suggested Case, "I don't like the looks of things." "Now, look here," Alex cut in, "I'm ready to get out of this section, but do you mind what the first letter said about going north? Now that means something. If the first letter hadn't told us to go north, and the men who threw the second letter hadn't believed that we were obeying instructions, we wouldn't have been interfered with. Now, there's a friendly force here, and a hostile force. The friendly people may be mistaken in our identity, but that doesn't alter the fact that the hostile element is out to do us a mischief. "I'd like to find out what it is the friendly force expects us to do. If we can learn that, we'll know why the hostile force is opposing us. And so, it looks to me that instead of running away, we would better find out what is wanted of us. How does that strike you, fellows? Isn't that deduction worthy of Sherlock Holmes?" "All right," Clay declared, "I'm willing to investigate, but we mustn't spend all our time looking into one mystery, for if we have the same luck we had on other trips, we are likely to come across several more before we go back to Chicago." "I'd like to know," Case said, as they brought up an extra anchor and a new cable, "why we were dumped on this island." "To get us out of the way, probably," Jule commented. "They undoubtedly expected to steal or wreck the _Rambler_." "But the _Rambler_," Alex laughed, "has the luck of the Irish, so she's still able to travel." The island upon which the boat had been cast, lay only a short distance from the south shore of the river. In fact, at low water, when the tide was out, it might have been possible to pass to the mainland on dry ground. Its location was not more than two miles below the little landing at St. Luce. In fact, as the boys afterwards decided, it must have been from this island that the signal flame had burned early in the evening. Working busily on the repairs, the boys did not notice the arrival upon the island of two roughly dressed fellows, who landed from a small boat and who took great pains to keep rocky elevations between themselves and the cove where the boat lay. "I wonder," Jule asked, sitting down on the prow after a struggle with the new cable, "whether the stories I have read about wreckers along the St. Lawrence are true." While the boys discussed the possibility of wreckers working along the stream, one of the two men clambered to an elevation which was in turn hidden from the cove by a higher one and waved a red and blue handkerchief toward the shore. The tide was now running out, and the channel between the island and the mainland swirled like a mill-race. This, however, did not prevent the launching of a boat from the shore, the same being manned by four men. They edged along the shore and then, passing boldly into the current, landed on the island at a point east of the cove. There they secreted their boat and moved on toward the place where the boys, all unconscious of their presence, were repairing the damages wrought by their treacherous guest. It was Captain Joe who gave the first intimation of the presence of others on the island. He sprang from the boat, paddled through the shallow water between the hull and the shore, and set out for the elevation where the man who had signaled had been standing. The boys heard a cry of pain, a shout of anger and a pistol shot, and then Captain Joe came running back to where the _Rambler_ lay. "What was it you said about wreckers?" Case asked with a startled look. "No beast or bird fired that shot!" "I was only wondering," Jule answered, "whether there are really wreckers at work along the river. That's the answer!" "Well," Clay said, "we'll get on the boat to talk it over! In the meantime, we'll be putting space between the _Rambler_ and this island. If ever a wrecker's beacon told where to lure a boat to be plundered, that flame we saw on the island told our sneaking guest when to cut the _Rambler_ loose!" The boys hastened on board and Clay ran to the motors. At that instant, four men made their appearance on the ledge above the cove, beckoning with their hands and calling out to the boys that they had something of importance to say to them. "They look to me like triple-plated thieves," Alex commented, "and I wouldn't be caught on an island with them for a farm." Captain Joe seemed to approve of this decision, for he stood with his feet braced, growling furiously at the beckoning men. "Boat ahoy!" one of the men cried. "We have a message for you." "All right," Case answered, "you may send it by wireless." "But it is important!" came from the man. During this brief conversation, the motors were slowly drawing the _Rambler_ out of the sandy cove, the electric connection having been made, and the men were rapidly approaching the shore. The boat moved slowly, for the keel was dragging slightly in the sand, and the wreckers, if such they were, stood at the water's edge before the craft was more than a dozen yards away. Directly, all appearance of friendship ceased, and the men stood threatening the boys with automatic guns. "Run back!" one of the men cried, "or we'll pick you off like pigeons!" The boys had already taken their automatic revolvers from the cabin, and now, instead of obeying the command of the outlaws, they dropped down behind the gunwale and sent forth a volley not intended to injure, but only to frighten. Apparently undismayed by the shots, the outlaws passed boldly down the shore line seeking to keep pace with the motor boat as she drew out of the cove. Every moment the motors were gaining speed. In another minute, the _Rambler_ would be entirely beyond the reach of the outlaws. Apparently hopeless of coercing the boys into a return, the outlaws now began shooting. Bullets pinged against the gunwale and imbedded themselves in the walls of the cabin but did no damage. A tinge of color was now showing in the east. Birds were astir in the moving currents of the air, and lights flashed dimly forth from the distant houses of St. Luce. Against the ruddy glow of the sky, a river steamer lifted its column of smoke. Observing the approach of the vessel, the outlaws redoubled their efforts to frighten the boys into instant submission. However, the _Rambler_ was gaining speed, and the incident would have been closed in a moment if the connection made between the batteries and the motors had not become disarranged. In the haste of making the repairs, the work had not been properly done. The propeller ceased its revolutions and the boat dropped back toward the cove. Evidently guessing what had taken place on board, the outlaws gathered at the point where it seemed certain that she would become beached. Understanding what would take place if the motor boat dropped back, the boys fired volley after volley in order to attract the attention of those on the steamer. There came a jangling of bells from the advancing craft, and she slowed down and headed for the point. The outlaws fired a parting volley and disappeared among the rocks. The steamer continued on her course toward the little island, but paused a few yards away and the boys saw a rowboat dropped to the river. The _Rambler_ continued to drift toward the beach she had so recently left and the rowboat headed for that point. Fearful that the boat would again come within reach of the outlaws, Clay and Case now rushed to the prow, and threw the supply anchor over just in time to prevent a collision between a nest of rocks and the stern of the boat. The outlaws were now out of sight, and the boys felt secure in the protection of the steamer, but directly the situation was changed, for a show of arms was seen on board the rowboat, and the boys were suddenly ordered to throw up their hands. "You fellows are nicely rigged out--fine motor boat, and all that," one of the men in the boat shouted, "but the days of river pirates on the St. Lawrence are over. You are all under arrest." "Gee whiz!" shouted Alex. "Is this what you call a pinch?" "It is what we call a clean-up," replied one of the men in the boat, rowing up to the _Rambler_. "We've been watching for you fellows, and now we've got you." "And what are you going to do with us?" asked Clay restraining his anger and indignation with difficulty. "We're going to take you up to Quebec and put you on trial for piracy!" "That'll be fine!" Jule commented. The boys tried to smile and make light of the situation as the four men from the steamer boarded the _Rambler_, but they all understood that it was a very serious proposition that they were facing. CHAPTER IV CONCERNING A LOST CHANNEL The men from the steamer took possession of the _Rambler_ impudently, acting like ignorant men clothed with small authority. The boys were ordered to the cabin and the door locked. "We left our manacles on board the Sybil," one of the men announced, "or we'd rig you out with some of the King's jewelry." "We'll overlook the slight for the present," Case flared back, "but you be sure and bring the jewels at the first opportunity." "You'll get them quick enough," snarled one of the men. "Three days ago we received notice that you were coming, and we've been watching for you ever since. You came along just in time to be nicely trapped." "Do you mean that you were watching for the _Rambler_?" asked Clay, lifting his voice in order that he might be heard through the glass panel of the door. "I'd like to have you tell me about that." "No one knew the shape you would come in," was the gruff reply. "We only knew that a band of pirates and wreckers who had been luring vessels on the rocks along the bay was preparing to visit the St. Lawrence. Perhaps you will tell me where you stole this fine boat?" "They must have a big foolish house in this province," Alex taunted, "if all the King's officers are as crazy in the cupola as you are." "Let them alone," urged Clay. "No use in talking to men of their stripe. Wait until we get to the captain of the steamer." The sailors continued to question the boys, resorting now and then to insulting epithets, but the lads sat dumbly in the cabin until the arrival of Captain Morgan, in charge of the steamer Sybil. To express it mildly, they were all very much elated at the appearance of Captain Morgan, who unlocked the cabin door, called them out on deck and greeted them pleasantly. They all wanted to shake hands with him. "It seems," Clay said to the captain, as the latter motioned to the sailors to move up to the prow, "that your men have captured a band of bold, bad men. It was a daring thing for them to do!" The captain laughed until his sides shook, and the men, gathered on the forward part of the deck, scowled fiercely, to which the captain paid no attention at all. "Perhaps there is an excuse for the men," Captain Morgan finally said, suppressing his laughter. "We heard firing as we came up the river, and wreckers are known to be about." "If you have any doubt as to the presence of wreckers," Clay explained, "just send your ruffians over on the island. The men who did most of the shooting are there. They may also be able to find the ashes of the signal fire the outlaws lighted." "That will be good exercise for them," Jule cut in, "and perhaps they won't be so brave when they find they haven't boys to deal with." "Do you mean to tell me that the wreckers are now on the island?" asked the captain. "If they are, we may yet be able to make a capture." "They were on the island just before you came up," Clay answered, "and I presume they are there yet. We'll help you take them." The captain laughed and looked critically at the slender, well-dressed youngsters, then his eyes turned to the white bulldog and the bear, now sniffing suspiciously at his legs. "It seems to me," he said, "that I have heard of this outfit before! When I came aboard I thought I recognized the name of the _Rambler_. This menagerie of yours settles the point. You brought Captain Joe, the dog, from Para, on the Amazon and Teddy, the cub, from British Columbia." "You've got it," Alex cried, "but how did you come to know so much about us? We rather expected to get away from our damaged reputations up here," he added with a wink and a grin. "You have long been famous in these parts," the captain answered, "Ever since the _Rambler_ came riding up to the Newfoundland coast on a flat car. It is a wonder that my men did not recognize you." "I don't believe they can read," laughed Alex. "Suppose you send them over on the island to see if they can recognize some of the outlaws." One of the sailors approached Captain Morgan, saluted, and pointed to the narrow channel between the island and the mainland. The sun was now shining brightly in the sky, and the whole landscape lay bright under its strong and rosy light. Half way across the channel, its rays glinted on splashing oars, and from the shore came hoarse commands. "There are men leaving the island, sir," the sailor said. "Perhaps we did get hold of the wrong fellows." "I should think you did," laughed the captain, "but there may be time to correct the error. Signal to the steamer for more men, and drift down in your boats. You may be able to capture some of those outlaws, and," he added with a smile as the sailor turned away, "don't forget that there is a reward offered for every one of them." "Perhaps we'd better go with the men," suggested Case. "We aren't anxious to get where there's shooting going on, but we need the money." "I prefer," the captain replied, "that you come on board the Sybil with me. I'll have the cook get up a fine breakfast, and you boys can tell me all about your river trips. I have always been interested in such journeys and have long planned to take one myself." The boys readily agreed to this arrangement, Alex declaring that it would save the washing of at least one mess of dishes, and all were soon seated in the captain's cosy room. "I'll wait here an hour," Captain Morgan said, "to give my men a chance to gather in some of the rewards, but after that I must be on my way. We shall be late now, on account of this delay." The boys briefly described their river trips on the Amazon, the Columbia, the Colorado and the Mississippi, and were rewarded with a breakfast which Alex admitted was almost as good as he could cook himself. "And now," Clay said, as they all stood on the deck, watching the sailors returning empty-handed from their quest of the outlaws, "I wish you would tell me what all this rural free delivery business we've encountered means. We've been puzzling over it all night." As he spoke he handed the first letter--the one delivered by the mysterious canoeist--to the captain, who smiled as he looked at it. "I'll tell you about that," he said. "There is a man over in Quebec who claims that he owns about half of the province under a grant of land made to Jacques Cartier in 1541 by Francis I. of France. This grant, or charter, he claims, was confirmed to his family, the Fontenelles, in 1603 by Samuel de Champlain, who was sent to Canada by de Chaste, upon whom King Louis XIII. had generously bestowed about half of the new world. "Fontenelle claims that all the kings and presidents of France from 1541 down to the present time have confirmed this grant so far as certain mineral and timber properties are concerned. For years Fontenelle has been trying to gain possession of the original charter brought to this country by Cartier, but has never succeeded." "Would he secure a large amount of property if he found it?" asked Alex. "How did it ever become lost?" "It disappeared from Cartier's hands," was the reply. "It is believed that the recovery of the original charter would make the Fontenelles very wealthy, especially as the family jewels, worth millions of francs, are said to have been lost with the important document." "I think they had their nerve to send family jewels to America in 1541," Case cut in. "Might have known they would be lost." "You must remember," Captain Morgan replied, "that for years during and following the reign of Francis I. the protestant persecutions kept France in a turmoil. It was hinted that the Fontenelles did not favor these persecutions and that the jewels were shipped to the new world for greater safety. What I am telling you now, remember, is only tradition, and not history. To be frank with you, I will say that I don't believe it myself. It is too misty." "It is interesting, anyway," Clay declared, "and I'd like to hear more about it, but tell me this--why should the Fontenelles, or their agents, send this letter to us? And why should they send it, if at all, in so mysterious a manner?" "I have heard," Captain Morgan replied, "that an expedition for the recovery of this original charter was being fitted out at Quebec. Your boat may have been mistaken for the one carrying the searchers." "Searching in this wild country?" questioned Alex. "Where do they think this blooming charter is, I'd like to know?" Captain Morgan took the crude map into his hands and pointed to an egg-shaped peninsula reaching out into the St. Lawrence between the mouths of two rivers. "There is said to be a lost channel somewhere in that vicinity," he said, "and tradition has it that the papers and the jewels were hidden on its shore. The searchers, for years, have been in the hope of finding this lost channel. They have never succeeded." "Then we're almost on the ground," cried Jule. "Where do we go to reach this peninsula? We might be lucky enough to find this channel." "It doesn't exist," smiled Captain Morgan. "Every inch of that country has been gone over with a microscope, almost, and there is no lost channel there. At least, it can't be found." "There is one on the map, anyway," Alex observed. "Well," Clay laughed, "we have been mixed up with some one else's affairs on every one of our river trips, and we may as well keep up the record, so I propose that we spend a few days looking for this lost charter and these family jewels." The boys all agreed to the proposition, and even Captain Morgan seemed to gain enthusiasm as they talked over their plans. "I wouldn't mind being with you," the captain said, "but of course, I can't go. However, if you keep on across the river, straight to the north, you'll come to the egg-shaped peninsula. Keep to the right of it, and you'll enter a broad river. This map shows you where the lost channel is claimed to have existed. Go to it, kids, and good luck go with you!" "Now then that point is settled," Clay smiled, taking the second letter from his pocket, "tell us what this means." Captain Morgan looked over the paper carefully before making any reply. His face clouded and an expression of anger came to his eyes. "The fact of the matter is," he said, "that for two hundred years the Fontenelles have met with opposition in their search for the lost channel. Some of the land claimed under the charter is now held by innocent purchasers who believe their title to be perfect. "There is no doubt that such might come to a fair understanding with the Fontenelles if the charter should ever be found, but it is alleged that an association has been formed by the wealthier persons who are interested to defeat any attempt made to discover the charter. They claim, of course, that with the charter in their possession the Fontenelles would be able to make their own exorbitant terms." "I knew it!" Alex cried. "We are in between two hostile interests again! It always happens that way. But we like it!" "I have been thinking," Captain Morgan went on, "that the men who attempted to wreck the _Rambler_ are not river pirates at all, but men sent here to obstruct, as far as possible, those in search of the lost channel. It certainly looks that way." "Well," Clay remarked, "they haven't got any motor boat, and we've got one that can almost beat the sun around the earth, so we'll just run away from them. In an hour after you leave here, we'll be in the east river looking for the channel which is said to have connected it in past years with the one paralleling it on the west." The sailors who had been searching now reported to the captain that no strangers had been seen by them on the island, and it was agreed that the outlaws, whether wreckers or men employed to obstruct the search for the lost channel, had taken to the south shore. Captain Morgan shook the boys warmly by the hand as they parted. "If you say any more about your plans," he said, "I'll be going with you. Already I can sense the smoke of your campfire, and smell the odor of the summer woods. There are fine fish up in those rivers, boys, great shiny, gamy things that fight like the dickens in the stream and melt like butter in the mouth." "We'll send you out some," promised Clay, and the steamer's boat carried the boys back to the _Rambler_. The needed repairs were soon accomplished, and when night fell the motor boat lay under a roof of leaves in a deep cove on one of the rivers behind the egg-shaped peninsula. Just above the anchorage the water tumbled, from a high ledge. The boys had no idea of remaining on board that night, so they built a roaring campfire on shore and stretched hammocks from the trees. "Right here," Clay said as the moon rose, "right about where we are sitting, there may be a lost channel!" "That's all right," grinned Alex, "but I don't see myself getting very wet sitting on it." "I don't blame any old channel for getting lost in this wild country," Case contributed. "We'll be lucky if we don't get lost ourselves. Hear the owls laughing at us!" "I've been listening to the owls," Clay said, "and I have concluded that they are fake owls. If you'll listen, you will hear signals." The boys listened for a long time, and then above the rush of the river and the murmur of the leaves in the wind, came a long, low call which seemed to them to be a very bad imitation of owl talk. CHAPTER V TEDDY GIVES AN EXHIBITION "There is one sure thing," Clay said, as the boys listened, "and that is that we have got to watch the _Rambler_ to-night. I propose that we take down the hammocks and go back to our bunks." "It's a shame to sleep in that little cabin," Alex protested, "when we've got the whole wide world to snore in. Suppose you boys remain here on shore, and let me stand guard on the boat." "That will be nice!" Jule laughed. "Alex always gets his soundest sleep when he's on guard." "Don't you worry about me," Alex said, "I'll keep awake, all right. Besides, I want to hear the owls talk." "I think we would better all go back to the _Rambler_," Clay advised. "We can anchor her farther out in the stream, leave one on guard, and so pass a quiet night. It looks risky to leave the boat where she is." "Perhaps that's what we ought to do," Alex agreed, giving Jule a nudge in the ribs with his elbow. "Who's going to stand watch?" "I will," Case offered. "I'll sit up until daylight, and then you boys can get up and catch fish for breakfast." "I want a fish for breakfast two feet long," Alex declared. "I'll catch it and cook it in Indian style. That will be fine!" "How do you cook fish a la Indian?" asked Case. "Aw, you know," Alex replied. "First, you get your fish; then you dig a deep hole in the ground and fill it full of stones. Then you build a roaring fire on the stones. Then you wrap your fish up in leaves and put it on the hot stones and cover it up. Then, if you want it to cook quick, you must build a fire on top. They sell fish cooked in that way at two dollars an order in Chicago." "Cook it any way you want to," Clay said, "only don't muff it the way Case does when he tries to make biscuits. We'll be hungry." Taking down the hammocks, the boys moved back to the _Rambler_. Clay, Alex, and Jule, after listening in vain for a time for more signals from the woods, finally went to their bunks, leaving Case sitting on the deck, across which a great tree on the east bank threw a long blur of shade. Clay and Jule were soon sound asleep, but Alex lay awake listening. There was a notion at the back of his brain that the signals heard had been treated too lightly. He knew that Clay, always active and ready for any emergency, considered the party secure in midstream, but he was by no means satisfied that the best steps for the protection of the boat had been taken. After a time he arose, dressed himself, and softly slipped out on deck, leaving the rest sleeping in the cabin. "It isn't morning yet," Case said, speaking out of the shadow. "Why don't you go back to bed? You'll be sleepy to-morrow." "Have you heard any more owl talk?" asked Alex. "Not a line," replied Case. "Go on back to bed." Alex did go back to bed, but could not sleep. Presently the long-expected owl-call came from the north, and then Teddy rubbed his soft nose against the boy's hand. "What do you want, old man?" whispered Alex. "Does that hooting warn you of danger, too?" The cub put his paws upon the edge of the bunk and tried to answer in bear talk that it did. "All right," Alex said, "I'll just go out and see about it." When he reached the deck for the second time, Case stood at the gunwale listening. The call came again from the woods. "Now you hear it, don't you?" asked Alex, scornfully. "I reckon you fellows would sit around here and let those wops carry off the boat." "Well, haven't they got to show up before we can do anything to them?" asked Case reproachfully. "I guess they have." "I'd like to know what they are doing," Alex wondered, "and I just believe I could sneak out and learn something about it. It makes me nervous, waiting here for them to get in the first blow." "If I had a house and lot for every time you've been lost on our river trips," Case grinned, "I'd own the biggest city in the world. You go back to bed, or I'll get Clay out here to tie you up." Teddy now came sniffing where the two boys stood, and, lifting his paws to the gunwale, looked over in the forest. "See that!" Alex exclaimed. "Even the bear knows there is something wrong on! If you'll keep that twirler of yours still for a little while, I'll go and see what it is." "You're the wise little sleuth!" Case declared. "Go on back to bed and dream that you're Nick of the Woods." "Tell you what," Alex said, "we'll tie a line to the rowboat, and I'll row ashore, then you pull the boat back, and I'll creep out in the thicket and see what I can discover. I believe those outlaws will gather around the campfire. Anyway, they're foolish if they don't." "If you take my advice," Case said, "you won't go, but if you insist on it, I'll draw the boat back, for our own protection." Very reluctantly, then, Case assisted in getting the boat into the river, found a long line to attach to the prow, and helped the boy away on his journey. He felt guilty for aiding in the adventure. Alex landed in a thicket almost straight west of the _Rambler_, and at once secreted himself. No signals had been heard for some moments, and the boy believed that he had reached the shore without attracting attention. Case drew the boat back and sat waiting. Alex remained perfectly still in his hiding-place for some moments. There was only the noises of river and forest. To the west, the embers of the campfire made a faint red glow in the moonlight. Just as the boy was about to move out of the thicket, he heard a heavy splash in the river, followed by words of command and entreaty from Case. The splashing continued, and presently the bushes at the edge of the stream were moved by an entering body. "That's Captain Joe!" thought Alex. "He's always ready for a run in the woods. I suppose I ought to send him back." But it was not Captain Joe that thrust a wet nose into Alex's hand. It was Teddy, the bear cub, and his greeting was so friendly and sincere that all thoughts of sending him back to the boat vanished from the boy's mind. Teddy shook the water from his coat like a great dog, and cuddled up to the boy as if thanking him. "You're a runaway bear," Alex whispered to the cub, "and I ought to send you back, but I'll just see if you know how to behave in the kind of society I am going to mix with. Will you be good?" Teddy declared in his best bear talk that he would be good, and the boy and the cub lay in the thicket, still listening, for a long time before moving. Then Alex crept toward the campfire. When he came to a considerable rise in the center of the ground between the two streams, he found that the ground was broken and rocky. It seemed to him that a great crag had formerly risen where he stood, and that some distant convulsion of nature had shattered it. To the south, between the rivers and at no great distance from the egg-shaped peninsula, ran a long, rocky ridge. Making his way to this, he secreted himself in the shadow of a boulder and settled down to watch and listen. After a time Teddy grew impatient at the inactivity thus forced upon him, and began moving restlessly about. "Bear!" warned Alex, "if you make any more racket here, I'll send you back to the boat. We're supposed to be sleuthing!" Teddy evidently did not like the idea of being sent back to the boat, or of keeping still either, so he almost immediately disappeared, notwithstanding Alex's efforts to detain him by main force. The boy called to him in vain. "Now," thought Alex, "the cub has gone and done it! He'll thrash around in the woods and scare my outlaws away. I wish I had tied him up on the boat. I might have known he would make trouble." The boy waited a long time, but the cub did not return. Now and then he could hear him moving about in the thicket. "He's just laughing in his sleeve at me!" complained the boy. "I wish I had hold of him!" Directly a sound other than that made by the bear came to the ears of the listening boy. Some one was creeping towards his shelter. He could see no one, for the shadows were thick at the point from which the sounds proceeded, but presently, he heard a voice. "They went back to the boat," some one said gruffly. "That's all the better for us," another spoke. "I don't know about that," the first speaker said. "Why, we'll just cut her out and take boys and boat and all." "That's easier said than done," was the reply. "Those boys are no spring chickens. They have guns and they know how to use them." "Well," the other chided, "it isn't my fault that they went back to the boat. If you hadn't been giving your confounded signals, they would have slept by the fire and everything would have been easy." Alex listened with his heart beating anxiously. There was no longer any doubt that the right construction had been placed on the signals which had been heard. The outlaws who had attacked them in the cove were now on the peninsula, ready to make trouble. While the boy listened for further conversation, a rustling in the thicket at the base of the cliff told him that Teddy, the cub, was still in that vicinity. He chuckled at the thought which came to him. "I wish I had the little rascal here," he mused. "I think he might be able to do something in the line of giving those fellows exercise! I wish I could get over to him." The boy started in the direction of the sound, but paused when he heard one of the men saying: "Where are the others?" "Down on the river shore," was the reply. "Then what is all that noise?" demanded the other. "I don't hear any noise," was the surly reply. "There is some one moving in the bushes." "Then it must be one of the boys," Alex heard, "and I think we had better investigate. It would be luck to catch one of them." "It wouldn't be any luck for me to be caught," thought Alex, "and so I'll just make a sneak back to the boat. I've learned all I wanted to know, anyway." He started away, but almost at his first motion a stone became detached from the ledge at his side and went thundering down toward the spot from which the voices had proceeded. "There!" one of the men cried, "I told you there was some one here." Together the men immediately rushed to the spot where Alex lay hidden. They rustled through the bushes without any attempt at concealment, scrambling up the acclivity with the use of both hands and feet. As they advanced another rustling came from the left, and Alex saw Teddy on the way back to his side. The moon, creeping farther to the south, found an opening in the dense foliage above the ledge, and threw a long shaft of light upon the exact spot where Alex lay, revolver in hand, waiting for the expected attack. He moved out of this natural limelight hastily, but as he did so another figure entered it. Advancing swiftly, the men who had discovered the location of the boy, saw him disappear and saw the new figure which came upon the scene. They stopped instantly. To their excited imaginations Teddy, standing somewhat above their heads, seemed to be at least nine feet high! Evidently trying to propitiate Alex for running away from him, the cub set about practicing all the stunts the boys had been teaching him for months. Standing upon his hind legs, he extended his paws in a boxing attitude and pranced about, as he had been taught to do, in all the attitudes of the prize ring. The hair on his neck and back seemed to bristle with anger. His little round eyes, bright in the moonlight, twinkled viciously! The men who were watching this trained exhibition, held their breaths in terror. They expected to be attacked by the animal immediately. Directly, they began backing slowly away. Then Teddy broke into his pet amusement, a whirling half-dance and they turned and ran, stumbling down the declivity, brushing through the briars and clinging vines of the thicket, and finally disappearing in the shadows farther upstream! It did not take Alex long to find his way to the cub. "You certainly are enough to scare the life out of a stranger," he said, addressing the bear. "If you don't mind, now, we'll go back to the boat. We've got news for the boys, at any rate." But Teddy was not inclined to go back to the close cabin. He wanted a longer run in the woods. Before Alex could seize the collar which had been placed about his neck, he was away again. Alex pursued him for some distance, and then turned back toward the boat. When he reached the shore and called softly to Case to row the boat over to him, there was no answer from the craft, as the rush of the river drowned his voice, but a most unexpected one came from the shore back of him. He turned quickly to see the barrel of a gun shining in the moonlight. He reached for his own weapon, but a hand caught his wrist and held it, as if in a grasp of iron. "All right, kid," a harsh voice said, "if they don't want you on your boat, we'll give you a home on ours. We've got the snuggest little craft upstream you ever saw. You're welcome to it, only it may be dangerous for you to try to get away or make any noise!" CHAPTER VI CAPTAIN JOE TAKES A PRISONER Case waited patiently a long time for the return of his chum. When it came near midnight he decided to awaken Clay and inform him of the situation. The latter was out of his bed instantly. "He shouldn't have gone," the boy said, anxiously. "There is no doubt that he is in trouble of some kind. I'm sorry for this!" "Well, he would go," Case urged, "and he promised to go only to the shore and look around. Just after he left, Teddy splashed off the boat and ran into the thicket. I presume the two are together." "Of course they're together," said Clay, "That is, if Teddy hasn't been discovered and shot. That is likely to happen." "What shall we do?" asked Case anxiously. "It isn't much use to go into the thicket after him," Clay decided. "There is plenty of moonlight here, it is true, but the foliage must make it very dark in the forest. It would be like looking for a special pebble on the beach to try to find him now. We'll have to wait." "Perhaps Teddy will come and bring us news," suggested Case. "I have known him to do such things. He's a wise little bear." There was no more sleep on board the _Rambler_ that night. With the first flush of dawn Clay and Jule were abroad in the forest, leaving Case on watch. Although they searched patiently for a long time, no trace of the missing boy could be discovered. Here and there were tracks which must have been made by Teddy, but it was not certain that the two had been together. After a time the boys returned to the bank of the river just above the location of the _Rambler_. There they found where a boat had been drawn up to the bank. "I don't see how they ever got a boat by us," Clay argued, "but they certainly did, for they couldn't have got here first. They must have sneaked up the east shore in the shadows and landed above the _Rambler_. Are you sure that no boat passed down after Alex left?" he asked of Case. "One might have drifted down without making much noise." "I was awake every minute of the time," Case insisted, "and no boat passed down. When the moon swung around to the south, the whole river was illuminated. I would have seen any craft that passed." "Then it is certain that the intruders are still up river, perhaps above the falls, and I am afraid that Alex is where they are. That little rascal is always getting lost! He should have remained on board." "Yes, he gets lost," admitted Case, loyally, "but he always comes out on top in the end. There wouldn't be any fun if Alex and Teddy were not always getting into trouble. It sort of keeps things moving!" "Well," Clay concluded, "the place to look for the boy is, as I said before, upstream. Now, the question is, shall we take the _Rambler_ up?" "I am afraid the motors would declare our presence," Case observed, speaking from the deck of the boat, "and, besides, we couldn't go very far on account of the falls, so, perhaps, we would better go up as far as we can in the rowboat, making as little noise as possible." "And what's the matter with putting Captain Joe on shore?" asked Jule. "He may be able to point out the spot where the men left the river. Anyhow, it won't do any harm to try." "That's a good idea," declared Clay, "and I'll go along with him." "I'm afraid you'll find it pretty rough walking along that bank," Case suggested, "for the country is rocky and leads up to the plateau above the falls, and small streams may run in from the peninsula. You might have to swim when you wasn't climbing hills." "I'll try it a short distance, anyway," Clay answered, "and you, Case, remain on board and let Jule row up in the boat." This arrangement was carried out, and in a short time, the little boat was moving upstream, with Jule pulling cautiously at the oars. Clay found the bank a difficult one to ascend. He was obliged to wade through small creeks and climb rocky heights, but he kept steadily on his way, with Captain Joe at his heels. At last, they came to a creek which ran into the river at the foot of the falls. On the south side of this creek, for some distance in, was a level, grassy plateau, and here Captain Joe picked up the scent they were looking for. The south bank showed that a boat had recently been drawn up there. Disregarding, for the time being, all commands from the boy, the dog raced up the small stream, and finally disappeared in a thicket. Clay hesitated, undecided as to whether he ought to follow the dog at once or return to notify Jule of his discovery and secure his assistance. He had already lost sight of the dog, so he concluded that he might as well return to Jule. This he did, and in a short time, the boat was anchored at the mouth of the creek, and the boys were pressing on into the thicket. Captain Joe was nowhere in sight. "They certainly are on this side of the creek," Clay reasoned, "for they couldn't very well make progress on the other side unless they traveled in an aeroplane." There were no tracks to follow, no indications of any one having passed that way recently, but the boys kept pluckily on, listening now and then for some sign from the dog. "If he finds Alex," Jule declared, "he'll make a note of it, and we'll hear a racket fit to wake the dead." "And that will warn the outlaws of our approach," said Clay in a discouraged tone of voice. "Perhaps we did wrong to bring the dog." "You may be sure Captain Joe will give a good account of himself," Jule said confidently. "He may make a racket, but it's dollars to apples that they won't catch him." In a short time the clamor the boys had been expecting came from the forest beyond. Captain Joe was barking and growling and, judging from the commotion in the copse, was evidently threshing about. "That's a scrap," Jule declared. "Perhaps he has caught one of the men. If he has, I hope he's got him by the throat." Pressing into the interior of the forest, the level grassy plateau having long since disappeared, the boys finally came to a small cleared glade and discovered the cause of Captain Joe's enthusiasm. Teddy, the cub, was standing with his back to the hole of a giant tree inviting the dog to a boxing match. Captain Joe's clamor indicated only delight at the meeting with his friend. Before showing themselves in the glade, the boys looked in every direction for some indication of the outlaws, but there was no sign of human life anywhere near them. No noise, save the cries of the creatures of the air and the jungle. "You're a fine old scout, Captain Joe," whispered Clay as he finally advanced into the glade. "You notify everybody within a mile of us as to our location, but you don't do a thing to help us find Alex." At mention of the lost boy's name, Teddy dropped down from his antagonistic attitude, and, thrusting a soft muzzle against Clay's hand, moved away to the west. "The cub has more sense than the dog," Jule exclaimed. "Captain Joe makes a noise, and Teddy does the piloting. Do you suppose he knows where Alex is?" he added. "It seems to me that he is trying to tell us something," Clay replied. "Anyway, we may as well follow him." Teddy, who was an especial favorite of Alex's, and never lost an opportunity of following him about, appeared to know exactly where he was going, for he maintained a steady pace for half an hour or more, keeping to the south shore of the creek for a time and then crossing on a fallen tree to the opposite bank. "Now," said Clay, "we ought not to follow close behind the cub. He makes as much noise as a freight train going up a steep grade, and we'll be sure to be seen if the outlaws are anywhere about." "Perhaps he will go on alone," Jule suggested. "In that case, we can skirt his track and remain hidden. That ought not to be very difficult in this broken country." Teddy turned about with an inquiring glance as the boys left his side, but soon proceeded on his course. Fearful that Captain Joe would indulge in another demonstration of some kind, the boys kept him with them, Jule keeping a close hold on his collar. "This doesn't seem much like a river trip to me," Jule grinned as they passed over rocks, sneaked through miniature canyons and threaded thickets alive with briers and clinging vines. "Seems more like an overland expedition to the north star." "There is one compensation," Clay added humorously. "Alex will get good and hungry--and serve him right at that." "Huh!" Jule declared, "Alex is always hungry anyway." Teddy now quickened his pace so that the boys had great difficulty in following him. He ran with his nose to the rough ground, his short ears tipped forward, for all the world like a hound on a scent. "Look at the beast!" Jule laughed. "Acts like he was a hound after foxes. That's some bear, Clay." "So far as I know," Clay answered, "he's the only cub that ever did a stunt like that. Still, he's only exhibiting the advantages of an early education, for he has long been trained to follow us." After a short time the boys, advancing up a ledge and then into a little gully, came upon Teddy lying flat on the ground, his nose pointing straight ahead. When they came to him Captain Joe pulled fiercely to get away, his nose pointing straight to the north. "I guess," Jule panted, holding to the dog with all his strength, "that they have located Alex. If you'll take charge of this obstreperous animal for a while, I'll sneak ahead and have a look." Clay finally succeeded in quieting the dog, and Jule pushed on up the gully. At the very end, where the depression terminated in a wall of rock, he saw a faint column of smoke. A closer approach revealed a small fire of dry sticks with something cooking in a tin pail over the coals. Jule stopped and considered the situation seriously. "Now, I wonder," he thought, "why Teddy didn't make a fool of himself by rushing right up to Alex. I don't believe he's scared of the men, and, to tell the truth, I don't see any men to be frightened at. Alex seems to be there alone. Wonder why he doesn't run." The reason why Alex didn't run was disclosed in a moment. The boy's hands were tightly bound across his breast and a strong rope encircled his ankles. For a moment there was no one in sight save the boy, then a roughly dressed man came into view carrying an armful of dry wood for the fire. Jule heard both the dog and the cub protesting at being kept away from the fellow, and saw the man turn sharply about. Then there came another revelation. With bound arms swinging out, and bound feet kicking violently, Alex was ordering the two animals away. Well trained as they were, they protested while they obeyed. "Is that that bear of yours, again?" Jule heard the man asking. "If I wasn't afraid of attracting attention, I'd put a bullet into him. Call him up here and keep him quiet while I gather more dry wood. The boys will be here in an hour or so and will want breakfast." "That settles it," whispered Jule. "If the boys are so far away that they won't be back in an hour or more, they won't find any cook when they return. If I have my way, the cook will be tied up." "All right," Alex said in reply to the fellow's order, "I'll call him up and keep him quiet after you go away. He's been used to polite society and doesn't like you!" The man snarled out some surly reply and disappeared. Jule was at his chum's side in a moment. The ropes were cut, and the two boys were speeding back to where Clay had been left. There was a little scene of congratulation, and then Captain Joe, growling fiercely, leaped forward. The man who had gone in search of wood must have heard the noisy greetings of the boys, for he came running back to the fire. The boys saw him throw a hand back for a weapon, heard an exclamation of anger, and knew that the dog was springing at his throat. The struggle was a short one, for the man who had been attacked had not succeeded in reaching his revolver. When the boys reached the scene the man was black in the face and the dog was shaking him viciously by the neck. "Captain Joe seems to know who his friends are!" Alex shouted. "If we don't break his hold in a minute, the man will be dead," Jule exclaimed, dancing excitedly about, "and we're not out to commit murder." When the clutch of the dog was finally released, the man lay back, panting, on the ground. An examination of his injury showed that it was not serious, his throat having been compressed rather than torn. In a moment the man sat up and glared about with murder in his protruding eyes. Seeing the dog still watching him, he gave him a vicious kick and came near inviting a repetition of the attack. "I'll kill that dog!" he shouted. "No, you won't!" laughed Alex. "We're going to take that dog out of this blooming country. We're going to tie you up so you won't over-exert yourself while in your present weakened condition, and streak it for the motor boat. We've had enough of this blooming election precinct." This program was carried out so far as moving back toward the motor boat was concerned, but when, after a long, hard journey, they came to the place in the river where the _Rambler_ had been left, it was nowhere to be seen. Satisfied that Case had not proceeded up the river--the falls would have prevented a long run up--they all entered the rowboat and passed on down toward the St. Lawrence. "Talk about getting lost!" grinned Alex. "Case has gone and lost the boat!" CHAPTER VII CASE HAS HIS DOUBTS As may well be imagined, Case was waiting impatiently on board the _Rambler_ while the events described in the last chapter were taking place in the forest. It is one thing to face a desperate situation in the company of helpful friends. It is quite another to consider a grave peril alone, especially when chums are in danger. Several hours passed, and Case heard nothing from the wanderers in the forest. Then an unexpected visitor arrived. The boy saw an Indian canoe paddled swiftly up the river. He had not had a good chance to observe the visitor who had cut the cable, thus bring about the meeting with the steamer people, but it was his opinion that the canoeist was none other than the boy who had given his name as Max Michel. He anxiously awaited the arrival of the craft. "If that is Max," he thought, "he certainly has a well-developed nerve to come back to the _Rambler_ after doing what he did." In a short time the canoe, coming steadily upstream, touched the hull of the motor boat, and its occupant clambered alertly to the deck. Case stood for a moment regarding him with disapproval, no welcome at all in his face. The boy approached with a confident smile. "What are you doing here?" demanded Case. "I came," was the quick reply, "because I have news which may interest you. I know you have good reason to doubt my friendship, but I hope you will listen to me. It will be in your interest to do so." "News of my friends?" asked Case quickly, forgetting in the impulse of the moment that the boy's information was more than likely to be misleading. "Have you seen any of the boys to-day?" "No," was the slow reply, "but I have heard from them. They crossed the peninsula early this morning, were lured into a boat passing down a parallel stream, and must now be somewhere on or near the St. Lawrence." "How do you know all this?" demanded Case half-angrily. "Ever since the night I cut your cable," Max began, "I have been more than ashamed of myself. I was ordered to do the work, and believed that there was nothing else for me to do except to obey. I was not far from St. Luce yesterday when you boys went aboard the _Sybil_. The steamer touched at St. Luce and I afterwards heard the captain telling a friend of meeting you. Then I decided to return to you, if you were still in this vicinity." "And so you come here and tell me a fairy tale about my chums?" Case exclaimed. "You don't expect me to believe a word you say, do you?" "And yet it is the truth," Max insisted. "I was up this morning early, paddling across the St. Lawrence, for I knew from the Captain's conversation that you were over here. Not long ago I came upon a boat leaving the river to the west. From the man who was rowing, I learned that your friends had been attacked and captured." Case still doubted. He did not like the look in the eyes of the boy. He remembered the treacherous act which had sent the disabled _Rambler_ drifting down the St. Lawrence. He thought fast for a moment and then asked abruptly: "Will you tell me what your interest is in this matter?" "What do you mean by that?" "Why did you cut our cable?" The boy hesitated a moment, glanced casually over the west bank of the stream and then lowered his eyes to the deck. "I was ordered to do so," he said in a moment. "Ordered to disable our motors and cut our cable?" demanded Case indignantly. "Don't you know that you might have been the cause of our death? Is everything you have told me to-day just as true as the fairy tales you told us that night? You may as well be frank." Again the boy hesitated. To Case it seemed that he was listening for some sound or signal from the shore. "Will you tell me," continued Case, "who it was that ordered you to cut our cable and disable our motors?" The boy shook his head. His manner was now anxious and uneasy, and Case turned his own eyes toward the shore which was being watched so closely. "I can't give you the name of my employers," the boy finally said. "Then tell me this," insisted Case. "Why did the men who ordered you to do the work want it done?" "I don't know," was the brief reply. "I presume," Case went on, "that you would have destroyed the _Rambler_ with a stick of dynamite if you had been told to do so." "I wouldn't have committed murder," was the quick reply. "Now let us get back to your story of to-day," Case said. "Who was it that told you of the capture of my chums?" "I can't tell you that." "Was it one of your employers?" "It was not." "Was it a man with whom you are acquainted?" asked Case. "I never saw him until to-day," he replied. "How did he come to speak to you of the boys at all?" "He mentioned that he had seen three boys evidently under a restraint in a boat with three men farther up the stream." "So the boat held three men and three boys? Anyone else?" "He did not mention any one else." "And the six people were the sole occupants of the boat, were they?" "That is what the man told me." "Before you concocted this story," Case declared scornfully, "you ought to have jogged your memory a trifle. You saw Captain Joe and Teddy on board the _Rambler_ the night you cut our cable. Why didn't you add to your story and say that the dog and the bear were with the three boys?" "The man I saw said nothing to me about the dog and the bear," Max insisted stubbornly. "I had only a moment's talk with him." "And then you came directly to the _Rambler_ to tell me of the incident?" "I came directly to the spot where I believed the _Rambler_ would be," was the answer. "Of course, I didn't know exactly where you were, but Captain Morgan said that when you left him it was your intention to ascend this stream. I was lucky in finding you." "And now," Case asked, with a scornful smile on his lips, "what do you expect me to do under the circumstances? What would you advise?" "I thought," replied Max, "that you would go down the river, and make your way to the mouth of the other stream." "Why do your employers want me to leave my present location?" asked Case. "Do they want the boys to come out of the forest and find the _Rambler_ gone? Is that what you were sent here for?" "Oh, well," Max exclaimed, "if you don't believe what I say, and won't take advantage of the honest information I have given you, I may as well be on my way." He moved toward the gunwale of the boat, as he spoke and began untying the line which held his canoe to the _Rambler_. Case stepped forward and laid a detaining hand on his shoulder. "Just a moment," the boy said. "You are not going to leave the _Rambler_ until my chums return, and perhaps not then." "Do you mean that you intend to keep me prisoner?" flashed Max. "That is just exactly what I mean to do," Case responded. "I don't know what your object in coming here really is, for I believe that as a prevaricator, you have Ananias backed off the board. I dislike to use the shorter and uglier word, Max, but you certainly are the greatest liar I ever came across. You'll stay here until we know more about you." "You'd better do a little thinking before you keep me here," Max threatened. "You are making a lot of trouble for yourself." "I'll have to risk that," Case replied. "Have you got any weapons about your person? If you have, give them up." Max shook his head angrily. "If I had had a weapon," he declared, "you would have known all about it the minute you laid a hand on my shoulder." "Will you promise to remain on the boat without attempting to escape if I leave you your liberty?" Case asked. "I will promise nothing!" was the ugly reply. "All right," Case said. There was a rush and a little struggle, but in the end, Max was overcome and stowed away bound hand and foot in the cabin. Leaving his prisoner there, foaming with rage and searching a limited vocabulary for words to express his feelings, Case went out to the prow of the _Rambler_ and sat down to think over the situation. "That boy," he mused, "was sent here to induce me to take the _Rambler_ out of this place. Why?" The boy considered the problem for a long time. He was hoping that some of his chums would make their appearance. He disliked very much to take the _Rambler_ away from the place where they had left it, and still there might be a grain of truth in what Max had said. The day was bright and still. The deep green foliage of the forest shone and shimmered in the sun. There were birds in the air, and here and there timid creatures of the jungle came out to the stream to drink and peer with questioning eyes at the stranger who had invaded their leafy retreat. There were no signs of human life anywhere except on board the _Rambler_. The continued absence of the boys seemed unaccountable. "Well," the boy decided, presently, "I'll take a chance on a visit to the St. Lawrence. It won't take long to run down, swing up to the other end of the peninsula and investigate the west stream. If the boys come back while I am gone, they'll probably hear the motors clamoring and know that I am not far away. Still, I don't think they'll come." Case was slowly reaching the uncomfortable conclusion that the boys had, indeed, been overcome by the outlaws. In that case, his first act ought to be to secure help. If he returned to the St. Lawrence, he might meet a friendly captain who would be willing to assist him in the rescue. So, with this idea in his mind, the boy drew up the anchor, started the motors to popping and headed the _Rambler_ down stream. The boat proceeded at full speed, and soon the arm of the bay which closed in behind the peninsula came in view. Anchored there, in a sheltered cove on the north shore of the river, was a trim little launch. Case could see four men moving about in the cockpit at the rear of the little trunk cabin. He immediately directed the _Rambler_ toward the craft and hailed across the water. He was answered promptly. "Is that the _Rambler_?" was asked. "The _Rambler_ it is," answered Case. "Are you looking for her?" "Not especially," was the reply. "We were told that you were here by Captain Morgan, whom we saw up the river." "Come aboard," invited Case, and in a few moments two bright-looking young men ascended from a small boat to the deck of the _Rambler_. "I am Joseph Fontenelle," one of the young men said, "and this is my friend, Sam Howard. We were just going up the river when we saw you coming down. Are you alone on board?" "My friends are somewhere back in the forest," Case explained, certain that it was safe to trust the visitors. "I seem to have lost them." "Then we have probably arrived just in time," Fontenelle went on. "As you probably know from my name, we are here on the old search for the charter. Captain Morgan, I am told, related the story to you. For myself, I have little faith in the quest, but father insists that I make a try to solve the mystery every summer. This is my third visit to what we call Cartier island. I expect to make them annually as long as father lives." "You have no faith in the story of the lost charter and the missing family jewels?" asked Case. "Oh, they were lost, without doubt, and possibly in this country, but there is no clew whatever to their whereabouts." Case was wondering if the Fontenelles had a copy of the crude map which had been so mysteriously brought to the _Rambler_. He was wondering, too, if it would be safe for him to tell this youthful representative of the French family all that he knew of the two communications and the attacks which had been made on the _Rambler_. The question was virtually settled by Fontenelle himself. "I am told," the young man said, "that you boys were placed in peril by being mistaken for us." "We had a scrap with river pirates, if that is what you mean," Case replied, "and Captain Morgan helped us to get away from them." "I'm afraid," Fontenelle went on, "that the men you term 'river pirates' are pirates only for the purpose of this occasion. We have always been opposed in our quest for what father calls the lost channel." "Opposed everywhere in your searches?" Case asked, "or opposed only when you come to this section?" "Opposed only in this vicinity," answered Fontenelle, gazing keenly at the boy. "I see what you mean," he added. "At least, your inference is that those who are opposing us really know more about the location of the charter and the jewels than we know ourselves, and that they believe them to be here." "That is the way it seems to me," Case answered, "still if they think they know that the property sought for is in this vicinity, their knowledge fails when they try to put their hand upon it. They can only hope for success in case of your failure, and so they oppose your every effort." "That is the way in which we look at it," Fontenelle replied. "In fact, father is positive that the search for the charter goes steadily on in this vicinity throughout most of the year. "Last year, we had quite a merry picnic with a scout sent up to obstruct our search, and one of our men was seriously wounded. Our enemies are certainly becoming desperate, and if, as you say, your chums appear to be lost in the forest, we ought to be getting up there to look after them. They may be sorely in need of help." "I thank you for your offer of assistance," Case replied, "and it is my opinion that we can't get back there too quickly. Come over here and look through the cabin window," he continued, "pointing through the glass panel to where he had left Max lying bound on the bunk." Then the look of amusement vanished from the boy's face, and he opened the door and passed quickly into the cabin. Max was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared as completely as if the hull of the _Rambler_ had opened and dropped him into the stream. The ropes with which he had been tied lay on the floor, but the boy was gone. The open window at the rear of the motor boat, told the story. In answer to Fontenelle's looks of inquiry, Case briefly told the story of Max's visit and capture. The young man pondered a moment and then said: "I don't believe the boys have been captured at all. The chances are that they are still in the forest, probably looking for the boy who disappeared last night. "This boy Max, if your description tallies with my recollection, has appeared in the game before to-day. He is a wharf rat at Quebec, and is being used by these outlaws to further their treacherous ends. I wish we had found him here." As the boys passed out on deck, the barking of a dog came from up the river. There was no mistaking the voice. It was Captain Joe, and he was deploring the absence of his floating home. Case smiled happily at the sound, and then his face grew serious, for gunshots followed the echo of the dog's voice. CHAPTER VIII THE DISCOVERY OF MAX Case hastened to put the _Rambler_ under motion, and, with Fontenelle and Howard still on board, headed her into the current. At a signal from Fontenelle, the launch _Cartier_ drew up her anchor and followed. To Captain Joe's vicious barking was now added the surly voice of the bear cub, so the boys knew that the animals were not far away. In fact, as they paused to investigate the ugly nose of the bulldog was pushed through the curtain of shrubbery at the edge of the stream, and Teddy leaped snarling into the water. Fontenelle greeted the approach of the animals to the boat with shouts of laughter. Even in their haste to reach the boat, the animals could not avoid snapping and striking at each other, playfully. No more shots were heard, but presently a great tramping in the undergrowth came at the point where Joe and Teddy had made their appearance, indicating human presence there. All on board the _Rambler_ anxiously awaited the appearance of those who were struggling in the jungle. "Would the menagerie run away and leave the boys in captivity?" asked Fontenelle, as the bulldog and the bear cub were assisted, streaming, to the deck. "They seem to have had a long run." "Indeed, they would not," replied Case. "If Clay and the others were tied up in the woods, Captain Joe and Teddy would be there with them. No, it is my opinion that it is Alex making all that racket in the brush. He's a noisy little chap, and particularly troublesome when hungry." The next moment proved Case's reasoning to be correct, for the undergrowth parted again and the three boys appeared on the bank. "Ship ahoy!" Alex shouted, wrinkling his freckled nose. "Do you want to take on passengers?" "I hope," Case called back, "that you fellows haven't gone and lost the rowboat. And where is the two-foot fish you were going to bring for breakfast? I don't see it anywhere." "Well," Jule called out, as the _Rambler_ edged toward the bank, "if we have lost a boat, you seem to have found one." "What do you mean by that?" asked Case. Jule pointed, and Case went to the gunwale of the _Rambler_ and looked down upon the fragile canoe in which Max had paddled up the river. "I didn't know that we were towing it," he said, "but its presence here accounts for Max getting away without being seen or heard. He never stopped to get his boat, and may be swimming under water yet, for all I know. I hope he's clear down at the bottom." "No danger of one of those wharf rats getting drowned," Fontenelle laughed. "I have seen them remain under water for what seemed to me to be five minutes, and Max is some riverside boy." "Shoot the canoe over," cried Clay, "and we'll come aboard." "Where's your boat?" demanded Case. "Well, you see," explained Clay, "when we missed the _Rambler_, we started for the St. Lawrence by the water route, but when ruffians on the bank began shooting, we tied up the boat and took to the thicket." Case released the line and sent the light canoe spinning over the surface of the river. Clay caught the rope deftly and one by one the boys paddled over to the motor boat. Alex threw himself down on the deck and gazed imploringly up at Case. "I expected," he said whimsically, "that you'd welcome me on the bank of the river with a pie!" "The next time you get us into trouble," Case laughed, "I'll meet you on the bank of the river with a club." The three boys were presented to Fontenelle and Howard and then preparations for breakfast were begun. "Alex got taken prisoner up in the woods," Jule grinned. "We cut him loose and tied up the cook. We were thinking of getting breakfast there, but we preferred fish and pancakes to lead and gunpowder, so we made a run for the boat." "Is the cook tied up yet?" asked Case. "I reckon they cut him loose in about ten minutes," Alex replied, "for they seemed to be about three steps behind us all the way to the river, but they didn't catch us." "Do you think we would better go back after the rowboat?" Case asked, as the boys sat down to a breakfast of bacon, eggs, pancakes, beans and hot coffee. "We ought not to loose it." "Look here," Jule said. "We've been sowing rowboats over the world for a year or two. We lost two on the Amazon, one on the Columbia, two on the Colorado and had three smashed on the Mississippi. Now, I think we'd better go back and get this boat." "All right," Alex grinned. "You go on back and get it." "Well, don't you ever think I can't," Jule replied. "I can sneak up there and swipe that boat from under their noses. But you needn't think I'm going to set out as long as there is anything here to eat." While the boys took breakfast, the situation as explained to Case by Fontenelle was described to them, and after a time Case beckoned Clay away to a corner of the cabin and asked him a question over which he had been puzzling ever since the arrival of Fontenelle. "Now you understand the situation," Case said, "and I want you to answer this question right off the handle. I've decided it half a dozen ways, but I have been fortunate enough so far to keep my mouth shut." "What is the question?" asked Clay. "Wait," Case said. "I'll make a little explanation first. These Fontenelle people have only the legend of the lost channel and the loss of the charter and the family jewels in this section. They haven't a single clew which tells them to look in any special spot first. "So far as I can make out, young Fontenelle and his friends come down here every summer, in answer to the demands of the elder Fontenelle, for a sort of a vacation. So far as I can make out, they have never honestly searched for the lost channel. In fact, the young man has doubts of its existence. Now, what I want to know is this." "Why didn't you say so before?" asked Clay with a smile. "I know what your question is. You want to know if we ought to show Fontenelle the map which was brought to the _Rambler_ so mysteriously." "Aw, of course, you could guess it after I had stated the case fully," Case declared. "But you haven't told me what you think about it. Ought we to give Fontenelle the map?" "Well," Clay answered, cautiously, "the map doesn't belong to us. It wasn't intended for us. It was handed to us by a man who evidently believed that he was turning it over to Fontenelle." "Yes," Case said, "it does look as if the map belongs to Fontenelle, but look here! He doesn't believe in this search. It is my idea that he doesn't even care whether he secures the lost property or not. He won't consider the matter seriously if we give it to him. He'll just laugh and poke it away among a lot of old papers and that will be the end of it." "You are undoubtedly right," Clay answered. "Now," Case went on, "we've had enough trouble with these outlaws to arouse my fighting blood. Besides, I'd like to have a look at that lost channel. Lost channels appeal to me, you know! I'd give a lot to find it. Why not keep the map and go on with the search?" "But the other fellows would be searching, too, and the whole event would deteriorate into a big summer outing," Clay insisted. "All right, then," Case suggested. "Suppose we go on up the river to Quebec, and Montreal, and the Thousand Islands, and then come back after these fellows have gone home, and find that channel." "That listens pretty good to me," Clay answered. "I am willing to go on at once if it is a sure thing that we come back, but I don't want to sneak away from these fellows after they have started the fight." "That shows courage, all right enough," Case added, "but I'd rather hunt for this lost channel with these toughs on the wharf at Quebec, and," he added, more seriously, "that's where I think they'll be by the time we get back here. They won't stay here long after Fontenelle goes away." "Very well," Clay replied, "if Jule and Alex are willing, we'll be on our way this afternoon." This understanding having been reached, the two boys went back to their guests, while Jule went ashore in the canoe. "Now, watch the little rat," Alex laughed. "He'll tie that boat up and blunder through the briers, when he might paddle up the stream close to the bank without taking any chances." But Jule did nothing of the kind. He kept on up the stream in the canoe. Presently he rounded a bend and disappeared from sight. In a short time Fontenelle and his friend left the _Rambler_ with the understanding that the two crews were to meet in the evening if the boys did not sail away in the afternoon. As a matter of fact, as the reader already knows, the boys had decided to leave before the parting took place, but they did not care to be urged to remain and join in the summer vacation picnic which was sure to follow. They had started out for a trip covering the whole length of the St. Lawrence river from the Gulf to Lake Ontario, and were determined to cover the course before shipping their boat back to Chicago. In less than an hour Jule was back with the rowboat, having seen nothing of the outlaws. "They probably thought the whole Canadian navy was coming after them," Alex said, pointing from the _Rambler_ to the _Cartier_ and back again. "Looks like we were coming out in force." In the middle of the afternoon the boys notified Fontenelle of their intention to proceed on their journey, and the _Rambler_ passed on up the St. Lawrence. It was a golden day in summer, the waters sparkled and danced in the sunlight, and the shipping passing to and fro on the river made a pleasant picture of marine life. The boys enjoyed the situation thoroughly. "I have always had a longing to visit Quebec," Clay said as the boat headed for a little cove to avoid the wash of a giant steamer, "and I propose that we spend two or three days there looking over things." "That suits me," Alex cut in. "When we get there, I'll go down on the docks and find that boy Max. And when I find him, there'll be one wharf rat less on the docks." "You better keep away from the docks," warned Case. "You'd get lost on South Clark street between any two blocks you could name." "Well, I always find myself again," Alex declared. "Yes, you do," Case jeered. "The last time you got lost, it took two boys and a bear and a bulldog to find you. And I don't think you are worth the trouble at that!" The boys immediately had a friendly struggle on the deck, in which Teddy and Captain Joe promptly mixed. That night the boys arranged for another campfire on the north bank of the St. Lawrence. They put up their hammocks, anchored the boat close inshore, and prepared for a long sleep. "If there isn't any lost channels or charters from French kings or strayed family jewels hiding about here," Jule commented, "we'll certainly enjoy ourselves in this camp." Nothing came to disturb them during the night. They watched the procession of craft of all descriptions on the river until nine o'clock, then went to sleep with a danger signal swinging from the prow of the _Rambler_. They were early astir in the morning and on their way upstream. There was no need of haste, yet the boys seemed to enjoy themselves most when the boat was in motion, so they plowed slowly up the river until night, enjoying the wild scenery and stopping now and then at a little settlement. That was the first of many days of uninterrupted pleasure on the most extensive water system of the North American continent. On the second night, they made another camp with only Captain Joe and Teddy standing guard. Alex was out after fish early in the morning, and at six o'clock he served one of his long-wished for fish a la Indian breakfasts. Just before nightfall, they came within sight of Quebec and moored at a pier a short distance down the river. "Now," laughed Case, "if any treasure seekers or outlaws or river pirates appear to us during the night, we'll call the police. We've had trouble enough for one trip." "I'm going to sleep ten hours every night until we get to the Thousand Islands," declared Jule. "I'm hungry and sleepy most of the time." "And we'll come back down the rapids, won't we?" asked Alex. "You bet we will," replied Clay. "We'll come down like a shot." "We'll need to," Jule suggested, "because we'll lose time in the canal going up." There was no open campfire or swinging hammocks for the boys that night. The city of Quebec twinkled its myriad lights from plateau and cliff, and the boys were not sure of whom they might meet during the dark hours. They cooked their supper early in order to make an evening trip in the lower part of the city. "I wonder," Case said, as, leaving Jule and Clay on board, he started away with Alex, "what the man who delivered the map to us is thinking about concerning his mistake now. He might have been paid to deliver that document to Fontenelle, and the error may make him trouble." "And I was just thinking," Alex put in, "what the fellows who delivered the warning to us are thinking concerning themselves. They wasted a lot of ammunition and lost a good many hours' sleep on our account." "Perhaps we'll find out all about it when we go back to find the lost channel," Case suggested. "Do you know," he added, "I'm looking forward to that lost channel stunt with a good deal of enthusiasm." "Do you really think there's a lost channel there?" asked Alex. "There is something in it," Case asserted. "Men don't draw maps entirely on imagination." "Then why don't the men who drew the map go and tell Fontenelle all about it?" "He tried to tell him all about it when he delivered the map to us, but as you know, the map reached the wrong hands." The boys walked the streets, comparing them unfavorably with those of Chicago, until nearly ten o'clock and then turned to go to the boat. When they came to the river front again, Alex stopped suddenly and caught Case by the arm. "Look there," he whispered, "What do you know about that?" "About what?" asked Case, puzzled. "Don't you see him down there at the head of the pier?" asked Alex, nodding his head in that direction. "I guess you're the boy that's got loose packing in his head to-night," laughed Case. "What do you see?" "What do I see?" repeated Alex. "That's Max, the wharf rat, the cable cutter, the motor destroyer. Shall we go and get him?" "Go and get him?" repeated Case. "He'd have a flock of wharf rats around us in about two minutes." "Well," Alex insisted, "we'd better stay here and see where he goes, anyway. If we can locate the fellow now, we can go after him any time." "Then I guess we can go after him any time," Case chuckled, "because he's heading for that eating house with the tin fish sign in front of it." "Then here we go for the tin fish," Alex declared, and in five minutes, they were seated at a little table in an alcove separated only by a heavy cloth curtain from the main room of a third-rate French restaurant. When a waiter appeared they gave their orders and sat watching the main room through the folds of the curtain. "There!" Alex finally said in a whisper. "He's coming in." "Yes," grunted Case, "and he's got a dozen wharf rats with him. I guess they've got us in as neat a trap as one boy ever set for another!" CHAPTER IX A BUSY NIGHT IN QUEBEC "I don't understand," Alex said, peering through the curtain, "why he should want to do anything to us. Perhaps he won't notice us at all." "Don't you ever think he won't," grinned Case. "Didn't I truss him up like a hen in the cabin and threaten to arrest him, and didn't he declare that he would shoot me if he ever got a chance? Don't you believe he'll let us get out of here without trouble!" "Oh, well," Alex replied, "if he starts anything we'll get out all right in spite of him, and in spite of his wharf rats." "I've got an idea," Case said, watching the collection of roughly-dressed boys sitting about a table in the other room, "that that kid has been waiting in Quebec for us." "What shall we do, then," Alex asked still in a whisper. "Shall we make a break and get out right now?" "We may as well wait and see what takes place," Case answered. "This is a pretty tough joint, I guess, and some one may start something. In that case, we can get out while they are beating each other up." The lunches ordered were now brought by the waiter, and the boys fell to, although, as may well be imagined, without much appetite. Max sat with his face turned toward the curtain, evidently trying to discover whether his enemies were using the alcove. He had seen the boys enter the restaurant, but was not quite certain as to which room they had seated themselves in. His face was watchful and vicious. Half an hour passed and the situation did not change, then Alex plucked Case by the sleeve, motioning toward the outer door. "We may as well move," he said. "It is getting late, and the streets are now growing more unsafe every minute because of such night prowlers as you see out there. It we've got to fight, we may as well begin." But it was not necessary for them to start the engagement, as Max came to the alcove directly and drew the curtain roughly aside. The boys remained in their seats, grinning up at him, but their hands under the cover of the table grasped their automatics. "Hello!" Alex said presently. "We never expected to meet you here." "Oh, I had an idea you'd be along," Max said with an ugly frown. "Come on in and set down," Case urged with a chuckle. "I'd like to have you tell me why you disappeared so suddenly." "That's a nice question to ask!" Max snarled. "You tie me up like a pig in the cabin and then wonder why I get out of your clutches!" "You had a little swim for it, didn't you?" asked Case. "Yes," was the reply, "and I'll make you sweat for every drop of water I swallowed during that long dive. I'll show you a thing or two!" "What was there in that job for you, anyway?" asked Alex. "We've got a new manila cable charged up to you." "Mark the bill down on ice," snorted Max, "and lay the ice on the stove. You did me dirt there and I'm going to get even!" "Go as far as you like," said Case. "We are here to answer all questions." Max, who had been standing in the entrance to the alcove, with the curtain half over his shoulder, now turned and beckoned to the rough-looking boys gathered about the table he had just left. "Friends of yours?" asked Alex as the others gathered about the alcove. "They look as if they might be." The boys outside now began jostling each other roughly, as if preparing to start a fake fight among themselves. That, as Alex and Case well knew, is an old, old trick in the underworld. Whenever an enemy is to be attacked, it is common practice for the assailants to start a fight among themselves, being certain that their enemies are dealt most of the blows. Many an apparently innocent bystander has been murdered in that way. The proprietor of the place came rushing out of an inner room as the toughs hustled each other back and forth and timidly remonstrated with them. It was evident that he stood in fear of the gang. The boys saw that no help might be expected from him. At last one of the toughs received a blow which, apparently, forced him inside the alcove, then the whole crowd rushed in, swarming over Alex and Case like the wharf rats they were. The boys drew their revolvers, but did not fire. Instead they sprang to the top of the table and used the handles of their weapons to good purpose. In the meantime the proprietor was running back and forth from the alcove to the door and from the door to the alcove, urging the boys to act "like little gentlemen," and at the same time shouting for the police. But no officers made their appearance. The weight of humanity on the table upon which the boys were standing now brought it down with a crash to the floor. The situation was becoming serious, and the boys were preparing to use their guns when an unexpected event occurred. The night being warm, the street door was wide open, but a little crowd had gathered about it. Disturbances were frequent in that place, however, and none of the onlookers seemed inclined to interfere. As they stood looking, a heavy body catapulted against their shoulders, and the next moment the heavy body of a white bulldog leaped over their heads into the room. The toughs in the alcove, who had just settled down to a steady pommeling of the boys with their bare fists, turned for an instant as sharp claws clattered over the floor, and some of them stepped aside. Then Captain Joe leaped atop of the struggling mass and began a vigorous exercise of his very capable teeth. In a second the whole place was in confusion. Patrons rushed out from other rooms, the proprietor appeared from behind the desk bearing a revolver. There was an inrush from the street, and then two pistol shots sounded. As the acrid smell of powder smoke seeped into the air, there was a rattle of glass and the two ceiling lights were extinguished. Save for the uncertain light from incandescents in the other alcoves, the place was now in darkness, except for the illumination which came in from the street. Cries, shouts and epithets of the vilest character rang through the place. Long before the light of the gas jets could be turned on, the boys and the dog were out on the pavement, making good progress toward a policeman in uniform, who appeared under an arc light not far away. The officer held up his heavy night stick as the boys approached him. The sound of running feet came out and in a moment the officer and the two boys were surrounded by the wharf rats who had been in the restaurant. The officer promptly drew a revolver. "What's doing here!" he demanded. "Who did that shooting back there?" "These two boys did it!" Max promptly explained, pointing at Alex and Case. "They shot out the lights and robbed the till!" The officer put up his revolver and his night stick, seized Alex and Case by the shoulders, and started off up the street, the toughs following at his heels. There was a patrol box on the next corner and the boys attempted no defence of their conduct until this was reached. As the policeman turned the key he glanced quickly from one face to the other. "What have you boys got to say for yourselves?" he asked. "We'll tell that to the judge," replied Alex. "Come, now, don't get gay!" the officer said. "You don't look like boys who would be apt to get into a scrape like that." The boys were so pleased at having escaped from the restaurant with whole heads that they did not much mind the arrest. In fact, just at that moment the officer was about the most welcome person who could have made his appearance, with the exception of Captain Joe, of course. The dog now stood close by the patrol box showing his teeth and asking Alex for permission to take the officer by the leg. "We haven't robbed any tills lately!" Alex said, wrinkling his freckled nose at the officer. "Lookout!" one of the boys shouted from the crowd. "That bulldog will get you, officer. He chewed up two boys back in the restaurant. "Good old Captain Joe," exclaimed Alex, patting the dog on the head. The dog did not for a moment lose sight of a spot on the officer's thigh, which seemed to invite attack. "Is that your dog?" asked the policeman. "Sure, that's our dog," answered Alex. "And what did you say his name was?" "Captain Joe." The officer released his hold on the boys and leaned against the patrol box. The police wagon was now in sight, racing down the street with a great jangling of bells, and the crowd around the officer began to thin. They had evidently seen that wagon before. "Say, Mr. Officer," Alex said, "why don't you grab a couple of those boys? They are going to be witnesses against us, you know." The officer made no reply, but reached down and patted Captain Joe on the head, an action which the dog strongly resented. "Did you say the dog ate a couple of wharf rats back there?" asked the officer, turning to the diminishing crowd. "You bet he did!" half a dozen voices cried in chorus. "He's a holy terror." "I've got a hole in my leg you could push a chair through," one of them shouted. "Arrest him!" The police wagon now backed up to the curb and the boys stepped inside followed by Captain Joe. "Here!" questioned the man in charge of the wagon, "are you going in with us, off your beat, and are you going to arrest the dog? He looks like a hard citizen!" "Not a bit of it!" answered the officer. "He chewed up two wharf rats back there, according to all accounts, and I'm going in to tell the sergeant, and to ask the captain to give him a medal. If he had only killed them, I'd try to get him on the pension list." "Say," Case remarked, "you seem to be an all-right policeman. I guess you know that bunch back there." "Every officer in the city knows that bunch," replied the policeman. "When they're not in the penitentiary, they're making trouble for the force. They ought to get a hundred years apiece." "What will we get for shooting out the lights?" asked Alex. "So you did shoot out the lights!" "We didn't do anything else," declared Alex. "Say, Mr. Cop, you've seen terriers go after a rat in a pit, haven't you?" asked Case. "Well, that's just the way that gang went after us. We'd be dead now if Captain Joe hadn't run away from the _Rambler_ and followed us." "There!" cried the officer clapping Alex on the back, "I've been trying to think of that name ever since I saw the dog. We've got pictures of this dog and the _Rambler_ and a grizzly bear called Teddy pasted up in the squad room. We cut them out of newspapers six months ago when you boys were somewhere out on the Columbia river." "On the Colorado river," corrected Case. "We found Teddy Bear in a a timber wreck on the Columbia, and he never had his picture taken until we got to San Francisco." "Is the _Rambler_ down on the river now?" asked the officer, and Case nodded. "Because, if it is," the policeman went on, "some one had better be getting down there! The wharf rats will eat it up before morning, plank by plank!" "How are we going to get down there if you lock us up?" asked Case. "You may not be locked up," was the reply. CHAPTER X THE MENAGERIE IN ACTION After the departure of Alex and Case from the _Rambler_, Clay and Jule drew out the two mysterious messages they had received and studied them over carefully. "What do you think about this lost channel proposition?" asked Jule. "If a channel ever went through the neck of land as shown by the map, that section must have been visited by an earthquake," Clay laughed. "There isn't a sign of a channel there. Instead, there's a great high ledge of rock crossing the peninsula, just where the line shows the channel ought to be. It is my private opinion that no water ever crossed that peninsula. There must be some mistake in location." "The men who made the map might have drawn the line indicating the channel in the wrong place," Jule suggested. "Well," Clay concluded, "we'll have a look at it when we go back, but what I can't understand is why the map should have been given to the wrong party. If a man had such a map in any way accurate, he would have presented it to Fontenelle in person and demanded a stiff price for it." "It looks that way to me!" Jule agreed. There was a volume in the cabin of the _Rambler_ descriptive of the St. Lawrence river from the gulf to Lake Ontario. This the boys brought out and studied diligently until a late hour. At last Clay arose, yawned, and looked at his watch. "I wonder why Alex and Case don't return!" he asked. "It can't be possible that that little scamp has gone and lost himself again, can it?" "Just like him!" snickered Jule. "If I had a dollar for every time he's been lost I'd have all the money I will ever need." "That's pretty near the truth!" Clay agreed. "However, we've got Captain Joe and Teddy left with us to help look him up." He leaned back in his chair and whistled to the dog, but no Captain Joe made his appearance. Teddy came shambling into the cabin and held out a paw, suggesting sugar. Clay glanced up at Jule with puzzled eyes. "Isn't the dog out on deck?" he asked. The boy hastened out and returned in a moment with the information that the bulldog was nowhere in sight. "Have you seen him since Alex and Case left?" Clay asked. "He was here quite a spell after they went away, but he didn't seem contented. All the time I was on deck he was walking back and forth looking longingly over into the city." "Then he's followed the boys," Clay agreed. "We won't see him again until they return. The only wonder is that Teddy didn't go with him." "We'll have to get steel cages made for our menagerie," Jule proposed. "We can't keep a single member of our happy family on the boat when Alex is away. No one else seems to count with them." The boys were not inclined to sleep, so they sat watchfully in the cabin with the electricity off. Spears of light came from warehouse offices on the pier, and far up the street a great arc light made the thoroughfare almost plain to the eye as day. The roar of night traffic in the city and the wash of the river drowned all individual sounds, and the boys sat in what amounted to silence so far as any noises directly on the boat were concerned. Somewhere along toward midnight, when they had about given up hope of the immediate return of the boys, there came a quick jar, and the boat swayed as if under the foot of a person mounting the deck. "There they are, I reckon!" Jule shouted, passing to the cabin door which was open to admit the cool breeze of the night. Clay stepped forward, too, but paused in a moment and drew Alex back. A crouching figure was now discernible on the prow, and Clay reached for the switch which controlled the lamp there. With his hand almost to the switch Clay stopped and turned back to where Jule stood, searching his bunk for an automatic which had been placed there. Then the boat swayed again, and there were three figures on the deck instead of one. The light from the street showed only bare outlines. The whole scene was uncanny. "I don't know what to make of this," Clay whispered. "Shall we turn on the light, or shall we begin shooting right now?" "If we turn on the light," Jule whispered back, "they'll see us. At present, they undoubtedly believe the boat to be deserted." "I think they'll run if we turn on the lights," Clay suggested, softly. "They're probably river thieves looking for plunder." The men on the deck now grouped together, evidently whispering, and trying to decide upon some course of action. In the faint light, they seemed to be hulking, heavily-built men, and the boys were not anxious to come into close contact with them. "It may be just as well," Clay finally decided, "to remain quiet for a short time and see what they intend to do." "That's easy," Jule whispered, "they intend to steal the boat." "A good many other people have tried to steal this boat," Clay responded, "but we still seem to be in possession of it!" After standing for a minute or two near the prow, the intruders moved stealthily toward the cabin. The door was open, but all was dark inside. As they slouched forward, their footsteps made no sound upon the deck. "Shall we shoot to kill?" whispered Jule. "I'm tired of having the scum of the earth always attempting to rob us." "I'd never get over it if I should kill some one," Clay replied. "We'd better frighten them away and see that no more get on board to-night." As he spoke, the boy reached for the switch and turned it. Greatly to his amazement, the prow lamp remained dark. In some strange manner the intruders had disconnected the wires or broken the globe. The click of the switch seemed to have reached their ears, informing them that some one was on board. They rushed toward the cabin and came solidly against the door which was quickly shut, almost in their faces. The lock rattled sharply under the assault of a muscular hand, and the whole front of the cabin quivered and creaked under the weight of a burly body. "Open up here!" shouted a gruff voice. "Open up, or we'll break the door down. We knew you were here all the time!" "This begins to look serious," whispered Clay. "We may have to shoot." "Say the word," Jule suggested, "and I'll make the front of the cabin look like a sieve, and every bullet will count, too." "I'd like to aid in the capture of a couple of those fellows," Clay said, "and I wonder if one of us couldn't get out of the rear window, jump over on the pier, and call the police. Such ruffians ought not to be at liberty." "All right," Jule whispered. "You go, and I'll stay here and talk to them until you get out. I can keep them amused all right." While this short conversation had been in progress the pounding at the door had continued, and now something heavy, like a timber or a very heavy foot, came banging against the panels. "Just a minute more," one of the midnight prowlers shouted, "and we'll break this door down and get you boys good!" Clay moved to the rear of the cabin, drew in the swinging sash, and stepped lightly out on the after deck. The lights along the river front were fewer now, and the windows of the warehouses, illuminated an hour before, were dark. A roaring wind was blowing up the river, and the wash of the waves was rocking the _Rambler_ unpleasantly. In all the long street in sight from the pier there was no sign of a uniformed officer. Clay did not know how far he would have to run to find one, so he decided to remain where he was for a time and, if necessary, perhaps attack the intruders from the rear. Crouching low on the after deck, he could hear Jule talking to the outlaws, and smiled as he listened to the boy's attempts to interest them. "If you break down that door," he heard Jule say, "you'll have to pay for it! That door cost money." A volley of oaths and river billingsgate followed the remark, and blows which fairly shook the cabin came upon the sturdy panels. While Clay sat listening, half resolved to make his way over to the pier and fire a few shots over the heads of the ruffians, a figure dropped lightly on the deck at his side and Teddy's soft muzzle was pressed against his face. He stroked the bear gently. "I don't blame you for getting out of there, Teddy," he said. "They'll wreck the boat if we don't do something pretty soon. What would you advise, old chap?" he added whimsically. Teddy sniffed the air in the direction of the pier and clambered clumsily up to the top of the cabin. "I wouldn't go up there if I were you," Clay advised. Teddy continued his way over the roof and finally came to the forward edge. Clay raised his head to the level of the roof and watched him. As he did so a round circle of light sprang up at the head of the pier, flashed toward the river for a moment, and died out. The next moment a sound of some one stumbling over a bale of goods reached his ears. Then the light flashed out again, and the pounding on the cabin door ceased. "Now I wonder," Clay pondered, "if that isn't Alex and Case! They usually have their searchlights with them, and Case is always stumbling over something. It would be fine to have them appear now!" Directly a finger of light shot down the pier, and under it a white body swung toward the boat. Clay crawled back through the window and approached the door, where Jule was still standing with his automatic in his hand. The pounding had now ceased entirely, the men evidently having been warned by the light. It seemed to Clay that the unwelcome visitors were now crouching in the darkness ready to attack any one who might attempt to come on board. "Just wait a minute," whispered Clay in Jule's ear. "Just you wait a minute, and there'll be something pulled off here! If I'm not mistaken, this drama is going to shift to a comedy in about one minute." "I don't understand what you mean by that," Jule declared. "What new deviltry are those fellows planning?" he added. "In just about a second you'll see," Clay repeated. "The only wonder is that Captain Joe hasn't pulled off his stunt before this." "Captain Joe isn't here," replied Jule doubtfully. Then the boat swayed frightfully, tipping toward the pier. There was a heavy thud on deck, and cries of fright and pain, followed by another thud. "Captain Joe isn't here, eh?" shouted Clay unlocking and opening the door. "Just look at that mess out there." The white bulldog was mixing freely with the intruders, who seemed to be devoting their best energy to getting off the boat. There was a struggling, cursing, growling mass in the middle of the deck, and then from the roof of the cabin leaped another combatant! Seeing the dog mixing with the pirates, and evidently believing that some new game was in progress, the cub leaped fairly into the midst of the struggling mass! If the men had been frightened before, they were now wild with terror. It seemed to them as if the bear had dropped from the clouds. They felt his teeth and claws, and the rough hair of him appeared to bristle like the quills of a porcupine. Frightened beyond all measure, rendered more desperate still by the onrush of the boys from the cabin, the outlaws finally succeeded in breaking away and springing to the pier. As they did so, they nearly fell over Alex and Case who were making all haste to ascertain the cause of the excitement on the _Rambler_. In a moment, however, they were up and away, clattering like race-horses up the pier. CHAPTER XI THE CREW TAKES A TUMBLE When Alex and Case reached the deck of the _Rambler_, they found Clay and Jule leaning against the gunwale laughing hard enough to split their sides. A searchlight in the latter's hand revealed Captain Joe and Teddy standing by the cabin door, looking around as if inquiring what it all meant. "Well," Alex said, producing his own searchlight, "if there's anything funny going on here, you'd better be passing it round." "Where have you been?" demanded Clay the next moment. "Been?" repeated Alex. "We've been up in the air!" "That's no fairy tale, either," Case cut in. "We've been arrested, and released, and attacked, and pommeled, and now we strike some kind of a minstrel show. What's been going on?" "You've been arrested, have you?" laughed Jule, paying no attention to the question. "Any old time you go away from this boat and don't get into trouble, I'll wire the news back to Chicago. What did you get pinched for, and how did you get away?" "We got pinched because of Max," replied Alex, "and we got out of it because we came upon a white policeman. We escaped from Max's cronies because Captain Joe butted in and chewed up a few. That's some dog, that is." "And he came back here and helped you out, too, it seems," Case said. "I should think he was some dog!" "And Teddy helped, too," Clay laughed. "We had a show here for a little while that was worth the price of admission." "It didn't look funny to me," Jule protested. "I was scared stiff most of the time." After Alex and Case had replaced a broken globe on the prow light, told the story of their adventures, and explained that the chief of police had requested the privilege of looking over the boat in the morning, the boys moved the _Rambler_ to a slip farther down the river and went to bed, Jule remaining on watch for the remainder of the night. The day had been a busy one and they were all tired. Alex was out first in the morning, poking along the water front in the canoe which Max had deserted. After a time Clay came out of the cabin of the _Rambler_ and called to him. "Got a fish, Alex?" Alex shook his head. "The fish won't bite my hook this morning!" he shouted back. "Well," Clay returned, "there's a gudgeon up on shore that evidently wants to get hold of your hook, and you with it." Alex turned quickly and looked up the slip at the foot of which the canoe lay. He was just in time to see Max and another boy about his size disappearing behind a collection of goods' boxes. "Why didn't you shoot him?" Alex called out to Clay. "You saw him first. He ought to be shot for what he did last night." Captain Joe now came out on the deck, yawning and stretching, and elevated his fore feet to the gunwale of the boat. Clay patted him on the head and pointed to the goods' boxes behind which Max had disappeared. "Do you think, Captain Joe," he said to the dog, "that you could go and get a wharf rat this morning? I think there's one behind that pile of boxes. You better go and see, anyway." Of course the dog did not understand all that was said to him--although the boys sometimes insisted that he did--but he did know what the pointing finger meant. He was over the gunwale in an instant, tearing up the side of the slip, barking and growling as he went. "You'll get that dog killed yet," Alex called out to Clay. "That wharf rat of a Max is just like a snake. You don't want to get near him unless you step squarely on his head." Both boys whistled return orders to the dog, but he would not come back. He seemed to remember that an old enemy was near at hand and turned the corner of the heap of boxes with a vicious snarl. The next moment, Max appeared at the top of the heap, fending off the dog with a board he had ripped from a box. "Call off your dog!" he shouted. "I want to get my canoe. You get out of it, kid, and leave it tied to the slip." "If you live long enough to see me give you this canoe," Alex laughed, "you'll be older than Noah before you die, and have whiskers forty feet long." "I'll set the police on you!" threatened Max. "You tried that last night," grinned Alex. "Come on down here," urged Clay. "I'd like to know what kind of a penitentiary you received your early education in." "You'd like to have me come down there, wouldn't you?" sneered Max. "You think you've got the police on your side, don't you? But I know a couple of detectives that will fix you, all right. You needn't think I'm going to let you run away with my canoe." "How'd you get up the river so quickly?" asked Clay. "Did you dive in east of the peninsula and swim under water to Quebec?" "Oh, I got up on a steamer, all right," was the reply, "and I've been here waiting for you ever since." "Do you happen to have a sore head this morning?" taunted Alex. "You must have got a bump or two last night." "You'll get two for every one I got," Max shouted, angrily. "Are you going to give me that canoe? I'm going to have it, you know." Alex deliberately paddled the canoe over to the _Rambler_, secured it with a light line, climbed to the deck, and set the motors in motion. Max yelled out a few threatening sentences and disappeared. "We may as well be going up to the old pier," he said, "for this dandy chief of police I discovered last night will be down to see us before long. He's a right good fellow, that chief is." "You better hold up a minute," Jule announced, "Captain Joe is still behind those boxes. If Max could capture him, he'd have him in all the dog fights in Quebec." But Max was at this time taking to his heels up the street which ran down to the slip; and Captain Joe soon made his appearance, looking very much discouraged. He was taken on board, dripping with water, and Teddy received quite a bath by approaching him too suddenly. The bulldog enjoyed that. The chief of police made his appearance soon after the boys had partaken of breakfast, and sat down to talk over the events of the preceding night. "This boy, Max," he explained, "is one of the queerest customers we have anything to do with. He lives in the streets, apparently without money or friends, and yet he frequently appears at a swell hotel handsomely dressed and with plenty of money in his pockets. He seems to have been well educated, as you have probably noticed from his conversation." "He talks like a graduate," admitted Clay. "Yes, and he's one of the sharpest little chaps in the city. We are certain that he has had a hand in several bold robberies, yet it has up to this time been impossible to convict him. He is usually defended by first-class criminal lawyers, and his wharf rat companions seem to be very desirable witnesses for him." "Isn't it possible," asked Clay, "that the boy lives along the river front for some well defined, perhaps criminal, purpose of his own?" "I've often thought of that," answered the chief, "for he always takes great pains to make friends of the creatures of the underworld. Now and then he disappears from the city for a few days, or weeks, but always comes back to his old haunts." "Of course," Clay said, "you are familiar with the Fontenelle land claim and the story of the lost charter and the missing family jewels?" "Oh, yes," answered the chief, smiling tolerantly, "every man, woman and child in Quebec knows all about the Fontenelle case. Old man Fontenelle is almost a monomaniac on the subject of the lost charter. He has spent thousands of dollars searching for it and claims that he would have discovered it long ago only for the active and criminal opposition of men who might lose heavily if it came again into his possession." "And the story of the lost channel?" asked Clay. "There is a queer story of a lost channel," the chief laughed, "but I'm afraid that it will always be a lost channel." "But Fontenelle is continually trying to locate it," suggested Clay. "Yes, but he has no more idea where to look for it than a child in a cradle. There is a place down the river where he thinks it might once have existed, but he has no clews of any kind." "Hasn't even a map?" asked Clay, resolved to know exactly, as far as possible, what knowledge the Fontenelles had of the lost channel. "No, not even a map," answered the chief. "I tell you that the family has absolutely nothing to go by. Young Fontenelle, who is making most of the searches now, only goes out to please his father and to give his friends a pleasant summer vacation." And so the crude map which had been so mysteriously delivered to the boys was an entirely new element in the case! Who had drawn it, who had connived at its delivery, who had supplied the information buried in the legends of more than three hundred years! Clay puzzled over the matter while the chief chatted with the other boys, but could reach no conclusion. Again he was tempted to reveal to an outsider the existence of the map, and again he forced himself to silence when the words were almost on his lips. "I shall be laughed at if I say anything about the map," he mused. "The chief will tell me that many a joke has been played on the Fontenelles, and that this was intended to be another. He will tell me that the _Rambler_ was mistaken for the _Cartier_, and that there is no mystery, but only fraud, connected with either one of the messages we received that night." "You spoke of the Fontenelle claim in connection with the strange conduct of this boy Max," the chief finally said to Clay. "Why did you do that? Can you see any possible connection between the two?" Then Clay told of the boy's appearance on the _Rambler_, referring also to the fact that he had been accompanied, apparently, by men who sought to seize the _Rambler_ after it had been beached. "And Fontenelle claims that these men were not river pirates at all," Clay went on, "but says they are ruffians sent out to prevent his making a thorough search of the district where his father believes the lost channel to have been. In that case, this boy Max might in some way be connected with the enemies of the Fontenelles." "That is very true," answered the chief, "and I'll keep my eye on him after this, although I don't take much stock in this lost charter business, at all." After a pleasant hour the chief shook hands with the boys and departed. Then the _Rambler_ was headed upstream again. The boys had had enough of Quebec during that one night. Thirty miles or more up the St. Lawrence from Quebec, the Jacques Cartier river enters the St. Lawrence from the north. The boys sighted the mouth of the stream just before twelve o'clock. At the same moment they saw a river steamer coming down toward them. The steamer was large for one plying above Quebec, and, fearing that the wash from her propeller would make trouble for the _Rambler_, they edged over to the mouth of the entering stream, in front of which lay a great, partly submerged sand bar. The steamer came down, whistling and ringing, and the boys signaled for her to pass off to the right. Apparently scornful of so small a craft, the pilot kept her headed directly down stream in a course which would have brought about a collision with the motor boat. The boys swung away toward the sand bar, trusting to good luck to keep them clear of it. Just as she came opposite the bar, the helmsman of the steamer did what he should have done before, turned the prow sharply to the south. A wall of water from the stern of the boat came sweeping down upon the _Rambler_. It caught her broadside, and in an instant she was beached high and dry on the bar, lying with her keel exposed and the furniture and fixtures in the cabin and store rooms rattling about like hailstones in a blizzard. Tumbling heels over head, catching at the gunwale, scrambling away so as to be beyond reach of the boat if she should go over farther, the four boys, the bulldog and the bear brought up on the hot, dry sand. Alex sat up, brushed the sand from his eyes, felt tenderly of a peeled nose, and shook his fist at the departing steamer. "You might come back here and pull us off," he shouted. The people on the steamer gathered at the rail for a moment to laugh and joke at the plight in which they had left the boys, and then evidently forgot all about it. "Now, what do you think of that?" cried Jule. "We're thrown out of water for the first time in the history of the _Rambler_. Do you suppose she's busted up much, Clay?" "Aw, you couldn't bust her up with a cannon," shouted Alex. "We've probably lost some provisions, but this river will feed us all right." As for Teddy and Captain Joe, they turned astonished eyes at the boat which they had never seen in exactly that position before and started to clamber back on board. Teddy shambled clumsily up on deck, but Captain Joe, evidently changing his mind, returned to the hot sand and lay down. In a moment a great crash came from on board the motor boat. Then Teddy came rolling down the incline of the deck hugging close to his breast with two capable paws, and taking many a bump in order that he might save his burden, a two quart can of strained honey. "That stream," Alex said, "will be just about large enough to clean up the bear after he has finished with that stolen honey." "That ain't no stream," said Jule, "That's the lost channel." Teddy ran away to a distant part of the bar to eat his honey in peace, and the boys ruefully watched the river in hope of rescue. CHAPTER XII RIVERMEN WITH A THIRST "A lost channel and a lost boat! Still if we didn't have adventures just like this, we'd be contented to remain on the South Branch in Chicago," said Case. "It wouldn't have been any fun if we had passed up the St. Lawrence without getting dumped on the sand." "Say, kid," Jule said, pointing to Alex, "do you think you can swim over to the shore?" "Swim over yourself!" advised Alex. "What do you want me to swim over for?" "To get timber to block up this boat so you can cook dinner," laughed Jule. "We can't live on the sand which is here--that's a pun, eh?" "What have we got for dinner?" Clay asked, ignoring the pun. "Perhaps I'd better go aboard and look over our larder." "If you want to know where I'm going to get my dinner," Alex observed, "just look down into the river. Those fish look pretty good to me, and I'm hungry enough to eat a whale." "If the time ever comes when you're not hungry," Case cut in, "the sun will rise in the west. You're empty to your heels." "And I'm glad of it, too," Alex shouted back. "But what I want to know," he continued, "is how we're ever going to get off this bar." "If we stay right here," Case advised, "some boat will come along and pull us off. You don't have to do anything unless you want to." But at that moment there were no boats in sight. Instead, a great raft of hewn timbers with a rough shanty in the middle of it came drifting down. Half a dozen river men ran to the edge of the float and eyed the _Rambler_ keenly. They seemed amused at what had happened. "Ship ahoy!" one of them called. "Give us a rope," Jule shouted. "Got anything on board?" the man called back. "What do you mean by anything?" Jule asked. "Oh, anything under a cork!" answered the other. "Row over here with a couple of cases and we'll pay you for them," said another voice. "What do you take this for, a floating saloon?" asked Alex. "That's what!" came back over the water. "If you don't send over something, we'll come and get it." "Now that's a nice proposition," Case said to Clay. "Here we get turned almost bottom-side up on a sand bar, and a lot of wops think we're bartenders and have whiskey to sell." "We ought not to let them on the bar at all," Alex advised. "If they get here and can't find what they want, they're liable to take anything they can get their hands on. I'm for pulling out the guns and spattering a little lead over the water." "Are you going to send it over?" called the man from the raft. "Go take a drink out of the river!" advised Jule. "I'll show you whether we will or not!" All this time the raft had been drifting down stream, and the _Rambler_ had, of course, remained stationary. As the man uttered this implied threat, he cast off the line of a boat, motioned to two men who stood near, and the three entered and began rowing toward the sand bar. "We'll overtake you in a half an hour," the man who had done most of the talking from the raft called out to his companions, "and we'll bring back something cheering if it is to be had on that boat." "About the only thing you'll get on this boat," Case shouted, "will be bullets. If you don't sheer away, you'll get a volley right now." The men stopped rowing and backed water as the boys drew their automatics and stood in a row at the edge of the bar. "Aw, come on kids, give us a couple of cases and we'll go on our way. We're going to get it anyhow." "There isn't a drop of intoxicating liquor on board," Clay assured the man. "This is not a bumboat. We're just boys out on a pleasure trip." "That's what they all say!" roared a husky brute from the fast disappearing raft. "Go on, Steve, and get the goods." "You bet I will!" answered the raftsman, and again the men bent to their oars. Clay fired a warning shot and the boat paused again for a moment. "Will you send us a case?" shouted the leader of the boat party. "Send you a case of cartridges!" laughed Alex. Two of the men now turned to the oars in order to keep the boat from drifting farther down, while the leader sat close to their seat, saying something to them in a low tone. The two oarsmen were shaking their heads, but the other was beating one hand against the other vigorously. "I know," the boys heard him say, raising his voice as he became excited "that that is the same boat, and that these are the same boys. You remember what I told you when I came up the river on a fast boat and hired out on the raft!" The boys could not hear the reply, but presently the leader's voice sounded again above the wash of the river. He was evidently under great excitement, and was speaking rapidly and vehemently. "There is more value in that motor boat," he said, "than there is in the whole raft. What does it matter if the timber does float down without us? We've got a boat and can put up any old yarn that comes to mind." The rowers still seemed to object to the plan the leader seemed to be urging, and finally the boat was allowed to drift down with the current. "This old world is a pretty small place after all," Clay remarked as the stern of the rowboat disappeared around a little bend. "If you don't believe it, just consider the events of this trip. We meet Max on the river and he laps over on us at Quebec. We meet outlaws on a rocky island three hundred miles away, and they show themselves at the mouth of the Jacques Cartier river." "And we're likely to meet them again, unless I'm very much mistaken," Case warned. "I don't believe they went down after the raft at all." "What was that you said about swimming over to the shore?" asked Alex. "To get a fish for dinner," Jule cried. Alex dashed into the cabin, tumbled about in the wreckage for a short time, and came out clad only in a bathing suit. "I'm going to swim to shore all right," he said, "but I'm not going over there to get a fish for dinner." "If you see one, catch him by the tail," Case shouted as the boy entered the water. Alex wrinkled a bruised nose in the direction of the sand bar and dived under, to reappear on the shore line a couple of seconds later. "Now, what do you think that little monkey is after?" asked Jule. Captain Joe and Teddy seemed to be asking themselves the same question. At any rate, they decided to go and see, and both were soon in the water. The boys saw Alex race up a sandy bluff and disappear in a thicket. Here and there on the other side of the river were scattered houses, but he seemed to pay no attention to these. The animals trotted after him and soon all were out of sight. The boy was gone only a short time and when he returned on board and dressed his face looked anxious. "Do you know," he said, "those fellows never went down the river at all. They dropped down under the bend and landed. If we don't get off this sand bar this afternoon, we'll have to sit up all night waiting for trouble." "Then we'll get off this afternoon," Case observed. "I'm so constituted that I have to have my sleep regularly." "Keep me awake nights if you want to," laughed Alex, "but don't let me go hungry! I was reared a pet and can't stand it." There were now various crafts in sight on the river, but none came near the bar. Signals made by the boys met with no response. "They are a suspicious lot of fellows," Clay decided. After several vessels had passed without paying any attention to the shouts and signals of the boys, they gave up trying to secure immediate assistance and devoted themselves to the preparation of dinner--to the great joy of Captain and the eminent disgust of Teddy, the cub, who had certainly eaten too much honey. The cabin was indeed in bad shape, standing at an angle of about thirty degrees. Many of the dishes were broken, and some of the food which had been cooked in the morning lay in a messy heap on the floor. However, the boys managed to boil coffee and cook eggs, and so, with bread and butter and canned food, they made a very good meal. "Now, what are we going to do?" asked Jule. "We can never get this boat off alone, and the vessels on the river won't help us." "I wonder if the tide doesn't come up here?" asked Clay. "If it does, it was not far from high tide when we struck the sand bar," Jule replied, "and the situation will grow worse instead of better." "Let's get out our shovels and dig a canal to the river," Case suggested. "We can't play any Robinson Crusoe stunt here very long." "And the bold, bad men from the raft will be down on us to-night if we stay," Alex added, "so I'm for doing anything to get off the bar." The boys were actually preparing to dig a trench across the bar when a steamer to which they called more as a matter of form than with any expectation of receiving assistance, turned toward their side of the river and slowed down. "Hello, there, boys," came a voice from the bridge. "You must have been having a head-on collision with a sand bar." "Why," Clay exclaimed, "that's Captain Morgan! What was it I was saying about this being a pretty small world?" "Right you are, Captain," called Case. "We're up against it all right. Can you send us a line?" "Certainly," answered the captain. "I'll have you out of that in no time." And he did! The line was sent in a rowboat, attached to the prow of the _Rambler_ and slowly, steadily, so as not to strain the timbers or produce cracks in the hull, the motor boat was drawn from her uncomfortable position, practically uninjured. Clay was soon grasping the captain by the hand. The other boys shouted their greetings and remained on board to tidy up the _Rambler_. "Young man," Captain Morgan said, "if I had a hundred boys, and the whole mess of them, combined and individual, got into as many scrapes as you four kids do, I'd keep them under lock and key!" "You'd miss a lot of fun if you did," said Clay. "When you get a hold of a nice, choice mess of boys, like the _Rambler_ crew, you want to give them plenty of room and fresh air. They'll come out all right!" "You do, at any rate," admitted the captain. "Let's see," he added, "what was it you were going to find when I left you? A lost channel or something like that? You didn't find it, did you?" "We found a scrap, and a lot of ruffians, and a friend," Clay replied, "and that's all we did find, but we haven't given it up." "And that's all you ever will find," declared the captain. "There may be a lost channel somewhere in the world. In fact, there is one on the New York side up near the big lake, but I'm afraid you are wasting your time. Why don't you come on down the river with me?" "That would never do," Clay replied. "When we left the delta of the Mississippi, we promised ourselves that we would look over every inch of the St. Lawrence, and we're going to do it. We're going to Lake Ontario and then back to find the lost channel. And after that, we're going to return to Ogdensburg and ship the _Rambler_ to little old Chicago. That is, unless we decide to sail up the lakes." "Well, good luck to you," said Captain Morgan, as Clay passed down the side of the _Sybil_. "If I get tangled up with a lost channel anywhere, I'll send it to you by parcel post. Why, you boys can make a lost channel easier than you can find one." "But it wouldn't be half so much fun," Clay said, stepping into the rowboat. "We're having lots of sport on the St. Lawrence all the same!" CHAPTER XIII A MEETING AT MONTREAL As Clay was being rowed back to the _Rambler_, one of the sailors called his attention to three men standing on the shore of the river not far away from the intersecting stream. They stood looking down at the _Rambler_ for a short time, and then disappeared around the angle of a bluff. "Perhaps those men want to be taken off," suggested the sailor. "They need their heads taken off," Clay observed. "I am certain from what I overheard that one of the men was with the outlaws down the stream. They left a timber raft here, as I believe, for the sole purpose of attacking us in the night and trying to get our motor boat away from us." "I should imagine from the build of the boat," the other observed, "that they would have to do some pretty fast traveling if they caught the _Rambler_ now that she is free. She must be a speedy boat." "She certainly is," Clay replied. "She's built like an ocean-going tug." After Clay landed on deck the boys held what they called a council of war. They were not exactly looking for trouble, still they did not like the idea of sailing off upstream and leaving the outlaws unpunished. "They bunted into us," Alex insisted, "and we ought to do something to them. If they take their boat and row down after the timber raft, I'd like to follow them in the _Rambler_ and tip them over." The others felt in about the same way, but it was finally decided to go on up the river to Montreal, remain there for a couple of days, and so pass on to the great lakes. "If we can keep Alex in the boat at Montreal, we'll be doing a good job," Jule said. "He's been lost in about every city we've come to, and I think he ought to be locked in the cabin just as soon as we touch the pier. It isn't safe to turn him loose at night." "All right," Alex agreed, "you may lock me up any old night when I want to sleep. That will keep me from standing guard." The boys anchored in a cove that night, well out of the wash of passing steamers, and in the middle of the following afternoon, saw the spires of Montreal. They gazed at the great mountainous bluff which lies above and beyond the city with wondering eyes. There battles had been lost and won. The flags of France and Great Britain had in turn floated over the city from the heights they saw. The boys decided that night to spend the whole of the following day in the historic city. They came to anchor in a slip some distance from the town itself, and, for a wonder, passed an undisturbed night. Early the following morning Clay and Jule set out to view the sights, it being understood that Alex and Case were to have their freedom in the afternoon. At first the two boys kept to the river front, examining the vessels they saw, and wondering if their fate would ever lead them to all the countries the craft represented. As they turned away from the water front, Jule lifted his face and sniffed the air enjoyably. "Do you know," he said, "this is the first place I've struck for several days where the scent of the lost channel hasn't been in my nostrils." "You've got so you can smell the lost channel now, have you?" grinned Clay. "That may be a good thing for our future use." "I can't smell the channel," Jule replied, "but I can scent the danger of it. Say, boy," he added, "We're going to have trouble when we go back to dig up the Fontenelle charter." "We came out for adventure, didn't we?" asked Clay. "Oh, I'm not kicking," Jule exclaimed. "If I get mine, you'll get yours, too. The only way to have any fun in this world is to go where the fun is. You can't meet with adventures by staying in bed at home." As the boys proceeded up the street, an officer in uniform standing on the corner beckoned to them. "Say, boys," he said, "do you know those two men just behind you?" The boys turned and looked back. There were many moving figures and faces in the street, but none which attracted the especial attention of the lads. They looked inquiringly at the policeman, who stood with a puzzled expression on his face. "Which two men?" asked Jule. "Why," replied the officer, "the two men who have followed you for the last four blocks, stopping when you stopped and going on when you advanced. I came up the street on the other side just behind you, and couldn't help observing what was going on." "Now," said Clay, turning to Jule, "what do you think about having lost the scent of the lost channel?" "I begin to smell it in the air right now," was the reply. The policeman looked at the two boys inquiringly. "What do you know about the lost channel?" he asked. "Not a thing!" replied Jule. "There isn't any lost channel." "Then I've been hearing a lot about nothing lately," smiled the officer. "Somehow, the newspapers have been full of it lately." "Did they say anything about that scrap we had on an island below Quebec?" asked Case. "We haven't seen a paper lately." "They said something about four boys being attacked, down the river, and a great deal about a quest for a lost channel," replied the policeman. "And about a scrap in Quebec?" asked Jule. "Sure," said the officer. "That made half a column. Are you boys from the _Rambler_? If so, where is the boat?" "We're from the _Rambler_ all right," Clay replied, "and it looks as if some of our friends from down stream are still after us. Can you describe the men you saw following us? What do they look like?" "Just tough riverside characters," answered the officer. "That is how I came to notice them closely. Such people are rarely seen as far up in the city as this. They prefer the lower dives." "We had trouble with some men from a raft back here a little ways," Jule explained, "and these may be the fellows. Anyway, we're going to look out for ourselves and thank you very much for having called our attention to the incident. We'll be careful." The policeman went down the street, swinging his club, and the boys turned and faced each other with questions in their eyes. "What's coming off here?" Jule asked. "Seems to me like a game of tag," Clay replied. "From the moment we left the deck of the _Sybil_, across the river from the egg-shaped peninsula near St. Luce, we have been It. Some one has been after us night and day. Now, what are we going to do about it?" "I could tell you better if we knew whether the men referred to by the officers are the enemies of the Fontenelles or just plain river pirates seeking to seize the _Rambler_. What do you think?" "So far as that is concerned," Clay replied, "it makes but little difference. They all give us trouble, and I propose for once that we run away from them. I'm more in love with the river than the men we're likely to meet on it, so we'll get to the quiet spots." "Do you mean that we ought to go back to the _Rambler_ right now and cut Montreal off our visiting list?" asked Jule. "In my judgment, that is what we ought to do." Jule faced about instantly and started toward the river. "Come on then!" he said. "I'm game for it!" The boy had turned under the impulse of the moment without sensing that he was on a crowded pavement in the heart of a big city. As he swung about, he almost bumped noses with a pedestrian who, in company with another, had been walking only a couple of yards behind him. The man was clothed in the garb of a waterside character, but it was very plain to the boy that the costume had been assumed for the purpose of disguise. His complexion was smooth and clear, his eyes keen and penetrating, and his whole manner and attitude proclaimed education and native refinement. For an instant Jule and the man stood looking each other squarely in the eyes. "Step aside, lad, step aside," said the disguised man, in a voice far from unpleasant. "Don't be blocking the way." "Is this your street?" demanded Jule willing to continue the conversation in order that he might have a more prolonged view of the man opposite him. "If it is, you better take it with you when you go on." The man Jule was watching so closely seemed to understand that he was under suspicion, and, seizing his companion by the arm, the two passed on together, turning their heads now and then to watch the progress of the boys down the street. "Did you see that?" asked Jule as the boys stepped along. "Did I see what?" asked Clay. "I heard a voice, that's all!" "That was Sherlock Holmes in disguise. Did you catch on?" "Not than I am aware of!" laughed Clay. "What about it?" Jule explained what he had observed in the man against whom the pressure of the crowd had brought him, and Clay agreed that the man he had heard speak in a remarkably pleasant tone had not been following them by accident. "Those two men," he said, "are the fellows the policeman referred to." "But why should men like those be following us?" asked Jule. "Why, he looked like a banker, or a lawyer, or a preacher. And what did he have that kind of a rig on for? It's mighty funny." "You may search me," Clay answered. "The incident only confirms the opinion expressed not long ago that we ought to get out of this city immediately. Alex and Case can take their outing in some other town." The boys walked swiftly down the street for a couple of blocks, turned into a side thoroughfare, called a taxi, and were driven swiftly back along a parallel street for two blocks. There they dismissed the cab, at the corner of the main street, and walked along looking for the two men they suspected of hostile intentions. In the middle of the first block they came upon them, walking slowly, and peering to right and left, as if anxiously searching for some one. "That settles it!" Clay said. "We'll go back to the _Rambler_ and disappear. Once we get started, there isn't a boat on the river that can catch us. We'll fool these fellows for once." When the story of the morning had been told to Alex and Case, they rather wanted to remain in the city, just "to get a line on the fellows," as Alex explained, but they finally consented to an immediate departure. That night the _Rambler_ lay at anchor at the mouth of a small creek on the south side of the St. Lawrence river. Just above them lay a wooded island, occupied at this time by a colony of vacationists. The _Rambler_ had fought her way through the canal, and now lay only a short distance below the border of Lake St. Frances. The boys built a roaring fire on shore and cooked supper there, but made no arrangements for sleeping out of doors. The blaze brought several people from a little settlement not far away, and the boys rather enjoyed their company. After a time Clay whispered to Jule: "Stick your nose up in the air, kid, and see if you can get a scent of the lost channel in this crowd!" "Nothing doing!" Jule answered with a grin. "Now we'll see whether there is or not," Clay said. He turned to an elderly gentleman who sat by his side and asked: "I have heard that there is a lost channel on the American side just this side of Lake Ontario. Is that true?" "Yes," said the man with a smile, "and I have heard that there is a lost channel down below Quebec, too. And I read in the newspaper that you boys were in search of it. Is that so?" Clay faced Jule with a smile on his face. "Whatever we do," he said, "we can't escape the lost channel." CHAPTER XIV AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS "How did this channel get lost?" Alex asked with a whimsical smile. "Well," replied the other, "I don't believe there is a lost channel. You may go down the St. Lawrence river, up one side and down the other--and I've been over every inch of it--and you can't find any place for a lost channel, unless you locate it at a headland which was once an island. In that case, there might be a lost channel. But the charts of the river for two hundred years show no such change in conformation." "That seems to be conclusive," Clay suggested. "Conclusive? Of course it is, but you can't make this man Fontenelle believe it. Now, look here, stranger," he went on, "I've read what the newspapers say about you, and I know that you intend to go back there and look for that lost channel. Is that right?" "It seems to me that the newspapers are advertising us pretty thoroughly," Clay observed. "Every one seems to know all about us." "Of course!" assented the older man. "You boys and your boat are about as well known on this river, by reputation at least, as Lawyer Martin, and he's been doing a heap of traveling up and down lately. Why, Lawyer Martin was right here the very day the Quebec newspapers printed the story that you boys were going to find the lost channel. He read the story and jumped. "Yes, sir! He jumped like a man going to locate an oil claim. I rowed him out to the first steamer that came along, and heard him offer the captain a big wad of money if he would gain time on the trip to Quebec." "Do you think the story about the lost channel had anything to do with his sudden departure?" asked Clay. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir," was the reply. "He didn't tell me what he suspected or feared, but he hurried away to find out what was going on just the same. And he hurried away right soon." "Is he in any way interested in the Fontenelle charter?" asked Clay. "Interested?" repeated the other. "I should say he was! Why, he's the lawyer for all of us fellows who will be turned off our farms if the charter should be found and sustained." "I see," said Clay, "I see!" "Now," whispered Jule, giving Clay a nudge in the side, "we'll find out who the disguised man was. It might have been this Lawyer Martin." "What kind of a looking man is Mr. Martin?" asked Clay. "Mighty nice looking fellow," was the reply. "Shows breeding and culture all the way through, just like a thoroughbred horse shows what he's got in him. His face is as white as a woman's and his eyes are as clear as a girl's! "He neither drinks nor smokes, and he is about the best play actor you ever saw on the stage. Put a river man's rig on him and he looks like a river man. "Dress him up like a preacher, and you'd think he had the bible by heart. He's been in our schoolhouse many a time on his trips here, showing the boys and girls how to conduct a commencement exhibition. Oh, he's mighty popular all along the river!" Another nudge and whisper from Jule. "Blonde or black?" the boy suggested. "I think I know the man," Clay went on, following the lead again. "He has very black eyes, hasn't he? And a nose with a little hump on it, and a wide, straight mouth and thin lips." "No, sir. No, sir," was the reply. "He's got light hair and blue eyes, and a straight nose, and a mouth that isn't wide nor straight. Mighty handsome man, is Lawyer Martin. We all like him up here!" "And you will lose your farm if this charter is found and sustained?" asked Clay. "You and many of your neighbors?" "That's what they say," replied the other, "though, of course, it will depend upon what young Fontenelle says about it." "The courts might not sustain the charter," suggested Clay. "Oh well, we're not worrying about it," was the reply. "We're leaving the whole case to Lawyer Martin." As the night advanced the residents left the campfire and returned to their homes, while the boys sought their bunks on board the _Rambler_. "What was it some one said about a small world?" asked Clay. "Who was it that said that a face once seen was sure to cross our paths in future years? Was it the same man who said that a note of music once struck revolves around the earth for countless millions of years, never ceasing, never reaching mortal ears, but making its way through space forever?" "Hold on!" Alex cried. "Come down from the stars if you want to talk to us." "Well," Clay went on, "every person we have met at our stopping-places has been seen or heard of at the next stopping-place. We meet a disguised man on the street at Montreal. We come to a campfire by the riverside, miles above the city, to learn why he was disguised, and why he was following us. As we have said several times lately, this is a pretty small world. The man you meet to-day may walk in your path forever!" The boys were astir early in the morning. They cooked breakfast on the shore, watched by inquisitive boys and girls, and then proceeded upstream. They passed beautiful Lake St. Frances long before noon, and just as night fell tied up at a lower pier at Ogdensburg. As soon as supper had been eaten, Alex and Captain Joe started away together. "Here, where are you boys going?" asked Clay. "I say boys because Captain Joe has more sense than Alex," he added, turning to the others. "At least Captain Joe doesn't get lost very often." "Right over here on the river front," Alex replied, "is where the Rutland Transit Company boats dock. Those boats are fresh from Chicago, and I'm going over to see if I can get a drink of Lake Michigan water!" "If you go over there with that dog," Case declared, "the sailors will steal him. That dog is about as well known in Chicago as Carter H. Harrison. He's had his picture in every one of the Chicago newspapers." "All right," replied Alex. "If they catch him and take him back to Chicago, they'll have to take me with him." The boy took his departure, accompanied by the dog, and the others sat down to a quiet evening in the cabin. They had had several pleasant days and many thrilling adventures on the St. Lawrence river. There remained now only about a hundred miles of travel, Lake Ontario being only that distance away. But included in that hundred miles were all the beautiful islands, great and small, which have made the St. Lawrence river famous. The pleasantest part of their trip was yet to come. While the boys lay in the cabin, with the lights all out as usual, a heavy step sounded on the deck, and there came a sharp rap at the cabin door. The boys sprang out of their bunks instantly. "What's coming off now?" whispered Jule. "Anyway, this fellow has more manners than our other night visitors." Clay stepped to the door, searchlight in hand, and turned a circle of flame on the face of the newcomer. Then he dropped the electric and sprang forward. The boys were getting ready with their automatics when they heard his voice speaking in great excitement. "Captain Joe!" he cried. "Captain Joe! Where the dickens did you come from? What are you doing at Ogdensburg?" "I might ask the same question of you," replied the hearty old ex-captain. "To tell you the truth, lad," he went on, "I've been so lonesome ever since you boys left the South Branch that I've done quite a lot of traveling, for an old man. Several times I've been almost up with you but you always got away." "You never came all the way up here to visit us?" asked Case. "To be honest about it, boys," the ex-captain replied, "I just did that very thing. I've got a friend who is captain of the Rutland boat which arrived this evening, and I came on with him. Mighty fine trip we had, too. And how are you all, and where is Alex and my namesake?" "You wouldn't know Captain Joe," laughed Clay. "He's got to be the biggest, fiercest, wisest, pluckiest bulldog in the world." "And Teddy bear! You remember him of course," Jule put in. "He ate up two pirates down the river, body and bones, and is so fat that we have to help him out of bed. Great bear, that!" "Boys, boys," warned Captain Joe. "Don't exaggerate. I've always told you not to exaggerate. Do you think Captain Joe will know me?" "Of course he will," said Case. "Captain Joe never forgets a friend." "And now that you are here," Clay put in, "you are going to remain with us while we go back down the St. Lawrence to St. Luce and return here. Then we'll either ship the boat to Chicago or take her slowly up the lakes. Won't that be a fine old trip?" "It listens pretty good to me," Captain Joe answered. "To be honest with you, boys," he continued, "I've been wanting a trip on the _Rambler_, but I never felt like getting away until now." "You sailed on the St. Lawrence once a good many years ago, didn't you, Captain Joe?" asked Jule. "Did I?" asked Captain Joe extending his stubby forefinger by way of emphasis. "Did I sail on the St. Lawrence river? Boys, I know every inch of it, up one side and down the other and through the middle." "Then you'll be a great help to us," Clay suggested. "Oh, you boys don't need any help navigating a boat on any river," Captain Joe asserted. "You boys are all right! But I was going to tell you about the St. Lawrence river." "A few years ago, there wasn't an eddy, nor a swirl, nor an island, nor a channel, on the whole stream from Wolfe island to the waters of the Atlantic that I didn't know all about. I've sailed her night and day and I could take a ship down the rapids now. Only the government won't give me a license because I can read and write," he added in a sarcastic tone. "Well, Captain Joe, you're just the identical man we've been looking for," cried Clay. "Several hundred years ago an old Frenchman by the name of Cartier mislaid a channel down the river. Now we want you to help us find that channel!" "Oh, you want to find a channel, do you?" laughed Captain Joe. "Well, now, I'll tell you, boys, if that channel has been open at any time within the past hundred years, I can find it. Of course I wasn't on the river as long ago as that, but my old dad was, and he taught me to read the St. Lawrence like a boy reads the stories of Captain Kidd." "That is fine!" the boys exclaimed in a breath. Then Clay laughed and nudged his companions and said: "Captain Joe, did you ever hear anybody say that this is a mighty small world? If so, do you think it's true?" "It is bigger than I have ever been able to get over," replied Captain Joe, not understanding. "I've seen quite a lot of it, but not all." Then Clay told the captain of their adventures on the St. Lawrence, showing him the two mysterious communications, with the understanding that he was never to mention their existence to any one. "And so there really is a lost channel?" asked Captain Joe. "You bet there is! There is more than one lost channel. Go bite him doggie!" The voice came from the doorway, and the next moment, Alex and Captain Joe, the bulldog, came tumbling into the room. "Say, my namesake is getting to be some dog," shouted the Captain, after the greetings were over. "He's big enough to find a lost channel anywhere. And he looks fierce enough, too." "He's always perfectly willing to do his share of the looking," Alex grinned. "And we're perfectly willing to give him a chance to help." "Then I'll take him into partnership," Captain Joe, the man, said, "and we'll go out hunting for what you seek. If there is a lost channel anywhere it will go hard if we don't find it!" CHAPTER XV THROUGH THE FAMOUS RAPIDS A special bunk, the softest and springiest that could be made, was fitted up for Captain Joe in the cabin that night. The old fellow so enjoyed visiting with the boys that it was late before they went to sleep, and so the sun was well up when they left their beds in the morning. "Now," Clay said, after all had indulged in a short swim in the river, "we're going to celebrate the arrival of Captain Joe by one of Alex's beefsteak breakfasts at a restaurant. Captain Joe has traveled so far to see us that we're not going to take any chances on having him poisoned by Case's cooking." "Now look here, boys," Captain Joe remonstrated, "I've had a good many restaurant meals along the South Branch since you boys deserted me, and a chef has been cooking for me on the Rutland boat, so I propose that we get breakfast right here, on the _Rambler_. It will be a novelty for me, anyway." "What would you like, Captain?" asked Alex. "Well," said Captain Joe almost smacking his lips, "you know the kind of pancakes they serve at the Bismark, Chicago? They're half an inch thick, you know, and as large as the bottom of a milk pan. Cost a quarter apiece, and a fellow doesn't want anything more to eat all day! Now, you go ahead and make pancakes like we used to get at the Bismark." "And eggs, and ham, and beans, and coffee, and fried potatoes, and canned peaches?" asked Case. "We're sure going to celebrate, Captain Joe." "Well boys," said the old captain, "if you want to go and make provision tanks of yourselves, you can do it, but for my part, I'm going to be careful in my eating, as I'm getting old! Just rig me up a simple little meal consisting of eight or ten of those twenty-five cent pancakes and half a dozen eggs and three or four cups of coffee, and I'll try to worry through the day." "I don't see how you can get along with anything less than a dozen pancakes and a gallon of coffee," laughed Clay, "and I'll go on shore and buy a box of the finest cigars to be had in Ogdensburg." Captain Joe held up a warning finger. "Now look here, boys," he said, "you know how I used to pull away at that dirty old pipe on the South Branch. I used to be ashamed of myself, smoking up your quarters, so after you left I quit the weed entirely. I haven't smoked a pipe or cigar for a long time," he added, proudly. And so the breakfast was prepared as Captain Joe directed. The boys set out what little honey Teddy hadn't succeeded in getting hold of, and the pancakes were greatly enjoyed. But the Captain didn't finish his stunt. "You boys are mighty good to an old man like me," he said. "Mighty good!" repeated Clay. "Don't you remember when some sneak stole all the money we had been saving for a year to take us on the Amazon trip? Don't you remember how we hustled and got a little more together, and how you were afraid we wouldn't have enough, and might go broke in the Andes, and you took two hundred dollars and put it in a packet and told us to open it when we got into trouble? There is nothing on this boat you can't have, Captain Joe." "Well," said the old man, "I didn't need the money, and, besides, I got it back. It didn't cost me anything to lend it." "We needed it, though," grinned Alex, "and we might have been back there yet if we hadn't had it. You're the luckiest man I know of or it would never have been returned. And we were lucky, too." "And now, if you don't mind," said Captain Joe, "we'll cut all this talk out. I'm going to stay with you boys just as long as you'll let me, and I don't want to hear any more talk about that consarned two hundred dollars. I've heard too much already." "We think of it every time we see the white bulldog," laughed Case. "By the way," said the Captain, "I've got that two hundred dollars in my jeans this minute, and if you should happen to want any of it just let me know. I really don't know what to do with it." "Pigs will be flying when we use any more of your money, Captain Joe," Alex smiled. "We've got plenty of our own." After breakfast, with Captain Joe at the helm, the boat was turned toward the Great Lakes. It was seven o'clock when they left Ogdensburg and at ten they were at Alexandria Bay. "Suppose we keep on the Canadian side going up," Captain Joe suggested, "and then, when we come back, we can take the American side." "Can you take the boat up and back without knocking off any of these headlands?" asked Alex with a wink at the Captain. "Look here, young man," replied the Captain not at all offended, "I was dipping the water into this river before you were born. I can take this boat within an inch of every island and crag and headland between here and Lake Ontario and never scrape off an ounce of paint. I've sailed on the ocean, too, and all up and down the Great Lakes. This St. Lawrence river was always like a little pet kitten to me." According to this suggestion, the captain left Alexandria Bay to the south and proceeded over to the Canadian side. The boat was now just starting in on its run through the famous Thousand Islands. Many times it seemed to the boys as if Captain Joe intended to run the craft directly through some of the magnificent cottages located high above the river, but always the boat turned just in time to keep in foot-clear water. The boys stood leaning on the gunwale for hours watching the splendid panorama of the river. There were islands rich with verdure; there were islets brown and rocky, there were great level places hemmed in by the river where magnificent summer residences showed against the beauty of the landscape. Now and then summer tourists hailed the _Rambler_ from the river, and occasionally girls and boys ran down the island piers to greet her with the waving of flags. It was a glorious trip. Captain Joe explained many features of the stream as they passed up, and as long as the boys lived they remembered the shimmer of the sun on the island foliage, the white-fringed waves rumpled by the light wind, and the voice of the kind old man telling them the experiences of a life time. Just before sundown, after one of the pleasantest days they ever experienced, the boys reached Kingston. Captain Joe seemed disinclined to leave the boat that night, and so the boys spent three hours wandering up and down the streets of the historic old city. Off to the west lay the famous Bay of Quinte. Farther south was Sackett's Harbor, while between the two lay Wolfe island, stuck into the mouth of the St. Lawrence river like a great plug. The boys enjoyed the night ramble immensely. "Now, Captain Joe," Clay said in the morning, "suppose we circle Wolfe island, inspect the light house at Cape Vincent, and spend part of a day at Sackett's Harbor? I don't know of any better way to spend the next twelve hours than in making a trip like that." "Sackett's Harbor was a military point during the last war with Great Britain," Jule said, "and I'd like to look over the town." "Nothing much doing there now in the way of guns and soldiers," Captain Joe said, "but, as you say, it would pay you well to spend a day on the waters in this vicinity. You may never have the chance again." So the _Rambler_ headed for Cape Vincent, where they stopped long enough to inspect the big light, first taking a view of Sackett's Harbor. About noon, they came to Clayton, where they paused long enough to inspect several groups of islands on the American side. Then, with Captain Joe still at the helm, the boat passed down to Alexandria Bay where they tied up for the night. "To-morrow," Captain Joe said, as the boys made great inroads on the Bismark pancakes stacked up on the table, "I'll take you through the Lachine rapids. You'll find we'll have to go some." "You haven't got any government license!" laughed Alex. "No," said the old Captain, "I'm not an ignorant Indian. I can read and write, and so I can't get a government license, but I'll tell you what I can do. I can take this boat down the Lachine without getting a drop of water on the deck." The Captain was a little bit inclined to tell what he had done and what he could do, but his stories were all truthful and interesting, so the boys rather enjoyed them, and the captain enjoyed talking. "You needn't think we're going to fly through the air on this trip," Jule said winking at the Captain. "We're going to take about two days to get down to the Lachine. We'll loaf along the river to-morrow, making about one hundred miles, tie up for the night, and reach Lachine in the afternoon of the day after. What do you think of that for a program, boys?" he added, turning to Clay. "That's the way I figured it out," Clay answered. "There is no use in being in a hurry. We've got all the time there is." Every person on the boat, except perhaps the dog and the bear, slept soundly that night. There was no wind, and the little bay they were in protected them from the wash of the steamers. When they awoke in the morning the sun was rising round and red out of the river. That day was another one long to be remembered by every member of the _Rambler_ party. They drifted, using the motors just enough to give headway, fished in the clear water, and told stories of old days on the South Branch--days long to be remembered by them all. That night partook of the character of the last one so far as sleep and rest were concerned. The boat lay at a little pier not far from a rural settlement. Early in the evening villagers came down attracted by the clamor of the motors but soon returned to their homes. It was on that evening that Alex made his famous attempt to cook a river fish a la Indian. There was something the matter with the fish, or with the hot stones, or with the soil! At any rate, the white bulldog and the bear cub got the supper the boy had sweated over for an hour or more. Shortly after noon on the following day, the _Rambler_ came to the head of the Lachine rapids, six miles above Montreal. Although the boys had every confidence in Captain Joe as a pilot, some of them were inclined to think that his memory of the rapids might not be as good as his skill. Many a time during that passage the grand and lofty tumbling of the waters as they broke upon projecting rocks seemed about to engulf the frail craft. Many a time the nose of the _Rambler_ seemed pointing directly at a hidden rock which sent the river spouting into the air like the "blow" of a great whale. Many a time the wayward current caught the prow and twisted it about until it seemed as if the boat would never respond to her rudder again. But the eyes of the captain were true, the arms of the old sailing man were strong, and so the boat always came back to the course he had mapped out for her. When at last the rapids were passed, the boys were greatly relieved. During the excitement of the trip, little fear had been felt after the first plunge, but now that it was over, they realized that they had been in absolute peril. Almost with the momentum which had carried the _Rambler_ down the Lachine, the boat came to a pier on the river front at Montreal. Looking about, the boys saw that they were almost in the location where they had tied up before. Clay sprang ashore, hastened to a telephone, talked eagerly for a few moments and then returned to the _Rambler_. Captain Joe sat out on the prow and the boy took a deck stool beside him. "Captain Joe," the boy asked, "what would have taken place if we had run out of gasoline while navigating the rapids?" The captain eyed the boy with surprise showing on his weather-beaten face. He poked Clay in the ribs before answering. "Why do you ask an old captain a foolish question like that?" he said. "I'm asking for information," was the reply. "Tell me what would have happened. I really want to know." "Well," Captain Joe replied, scratching his chin meditatively, "if the gasoline had given out in the rapids, just about this time there would be a lot of boards bumping against the rocks, and a motor rusting in the bottom of the river, and five human beings, a bulldog and a bear floating out toward the Gulf of St. Lawrence." "That's just what I thought," Clay exclaimed. "That's just why I was scared stiff when I found out that we were just about out of gasoline as we struck the head of the rapids." "And you never said a word about it," asked the captain, "to any of the boys? You kept it all to yourself?" "Huh," replied Clay, "where was the use in scaring the fellows out of a year's growth. Didn't you notice my cap walking straight up into the air? That was because my hair lifted it." "Boy, boy," expostulated Captain Joe, "don't lie to the old man. I don't believe you were scared at all." "Well, anyway," replied Clay, "the tanks are empty, and there will be a wagon down here pretty quick to fill them up. Now mind you, I'm not going to say a word to the other boys about this. If I do, they'll never get over roasting me. We should have taken on gasoline at Kingston, but I forgot all about it." "Do you remember what you told me about this Lawyer Martin?" asked Captain Joe. "He seems to be the lawyer leading the band of ruffians who are trying to keep the lost channel lost forever!" "Yes," replied Clay, "and I was just going to speak about that. It was in Montreal that we met him, disguised as a riverside character, and I was wondering if it might not be well to go ashore and look him up." "Don't you ever think of doing that," Captain Joe replied. "You get your gasoline and lay in additional pancake material and we'll go on down the river to Cartier island. That's what they call that peninsula, isn't it? Let me tell you this," the old man added, "if you have anything more to do with this man Martin, you let him be the one to do the looking up." "That's good sense, too," agreed Clay. "He might discover that we were on our way back if we went up into the city. So we'll remain quiet to-night and set out for Cartier island and the lost channel early to-morrow morning." CHAPTER XVI A CALL FROM WRECKERS Nothing occurred to disturb the slumbers of the _Rambler's_ crew that night. The cool wind made the cabin of the boat comfortable, and the street lights of Montreal winked down upon the craft with friendly eyes. The afternoon of the following day found them at Quebec. "I've been thinking," Clay said as the boat tied up at the pier they had occupied on the occasion of their former visit, "that we ought not to keep this stolen canoe. Of course Max stole it." "Perhaps he'll come down here and claim it again," suggested Jule. "If he does," Alex exclaimed, "I'm going on shore to find him and get even with him. He'd no business to bring that gang of wharf rats onto us. I hope he's under arrest somewhere." "There's an idea!" suggested Case. "Suppose we telephone to the chief of police and find out. We can leave the canoe in the care of the chief, too, if we want to. He might be able to find the owner." "It seems to me," Captain Joe interrupted, "that you boys may as well keep that canoe until we return to Quebec, on our way to the Great Lakes. It will come in mighty handy when we're prowling around those two rivers you've been talking about. The owner won't miss it for a few days." "That's another good notion," Clay agreed. "We'll use the canoe and return it when we get back. And now I'll go and telephone to the chief of police and see if he has discovered anything additional about Max." Clay was gone only a short time. When he returned, he looked a trifle anxious. When he spoke, it was in an excited tone. "Look here, boys," he said, "the chief of police advises to us to give up that hunt for the lost channel. He says that Fontenelle has just returned from Cartier island leaving a wrecked launch and a lot of perfectly good stores stacked on the bottom of the river." "I had an idea," Captain Joe suggested, "that things would be moving about the time we got down here. Why, do you know, boys," he went on, "that this lost channel matter is creating about as much excitement in Quebec province as the coronation of a new king ought to?" "The procession seemed to start about the time we struck the river," Alex grinned, "and there's been music ever since we left St. Luce." "Yes," Clay went on, "and the newspapers have been printing feature stories and describing the family jewels, and the lost channel, and telling how many land-holders would be made homeless if the charter should ever be found and sustained. The newspapers are always meddling with our affairs." "You let the newspapers alone," advised Captain Joe. "They have advertised you boys, and the _Rambler_, and the bulldog, and the bear, from one end of this river to the other." "Well, what do you think about this advice given by the chief?" asked Clay. "We ought to reach some conclusion immediately." "You came down here to find that lost channel, didn't you?" asked Uncle Joe with a twinkle in his eyes. "We came down here to look for it," answered the boy. "Well, then," continued Captain Joe, "we'll go and look for it." "That's what I thought!" cried Case. "I wouldn't turn back now for a million!" yelled Alex. "Boys," smiled Captain Joe, "I never knew any one to get rich by changing plans every time some fool friend advanced a contrary opinion. When you make up your mind to do a thing, you go right on and do it. Did you ever notice the bulldog when he gets into a scrap?" "I've seen him in several scraps," answered Clay. "Well," went on the captain, "when the bulldog gets into a fight, the harder they chew him the tighter he hangs on, and that's about the way all the money and reputations have been made in this combative world." "Oh, we hadn't any idea of turning back," Clay hastened to say. "I only wanted to know what the others thought about it." "Well you found out pretty quick," laughed Jule. "Why, we've had four or five days that we haven't had a fight, or seen a midnight prowler, or been dumped on a sand bar, or experienced any other pleasant little incident of that description. I was actually beginning to fear that our river trip from this time on would be one long sweet dream." The boys passed another restful night and were up with the sun. The first thing Alex did after bathing and dressing was to spring to the pier and start off into the city. "Here, here!" cried Captain Joe. "We don't allow little boys to go wandering off alone! If you've got to go, I'm going with you." "That's fine!" shouted Alex, capering about on his toes. "Come along, and we'll take the old town to pieces to see what makes it tick." "I'm going uptown," Alex explained as they mounted one of the sidling streets which led up from the river, "to buy a porterhouse steak that weighs ten pounds. This will be our last chance." "Now," said Captain Joe mildly, "don't you think a porterhouse steak weighing nine pounds and a half would be enough for our breakfast?" "But we ain't going to have this steak for breakfast," Alex protested. "I'm going to put this steak in that cute little cold air refrigerator of ours and when wet get down to Cartier island, I'm going to cook a beefsteak a la brigand. If you eat a steak cooked in that way once, you'll never want one cooked any other way. It's simply great!" "It's a new one on me," replied Captain Joe. "Oh, well," Alex said, "I'll show you all about cooking it when the time comes. When we get back to the South Branch, you can have one every day if you want it. We can get pretty good porterhouse in Chicago." The two strolled through the city for a couple of hours, buying vegetables, condensed milk, tinned goods, fresh fruit and meats. Later, when the provisions were delivered to the _Rambler_ at the foot of the pier, Case declared that Alex had spent money enough to take them all over Europe. Alex was somewhat disappointed to think that he had not encountered Max in the city, but did not inform his chums how keenly he had watched for him. "What did the chief of police say about Max?" asked the boy as they returned to the boat. "You forgot to say anything about that." "Sure I did," answered Clay. "Well, he said that Max had blossomed out in a suit that must have cost a hundred, with a big roll of money in his pocket. He said, too, that he had strutted around the city for a few days and then suddenly disappeared. It is the opinion of the chief that the boy, who is by no means as young as he looks, went down the river to Cartier island." "I really hope he has," Alex blurted out, "I'll crack that boy's crust if I ever come across him." "And you'll wash dishes, too," laughed Captain Joe. "Oh, I remember how you boys used to fight against slang up on the South Branch." That night the boys anchored the _Rambler_ in a cove of good size just south of Rivere du Loup. They were well away from the wash of the steamers, and yet not near enough to the houses of the little railway station to attract general attention. The night closed down cloudy and dark. The passing vessels on the river seemed to burn holes in the darkness for only an instant and then disappear. The sounds which came from the water rang loudly in the heavy atmosphere and sounded mysterious and uncanny. There were plenty of vessels on the river now, as the channel between the gulf and Quebec is navigable for the largest ocean steamers. While the boys lay in the cabin, sheltered from the gulf wind which had been so grateful the night before, the heavy rumbling of a freight train and sharp call of an engine whistle came to their ears. "That listens good to me," Alex cried. "Say, fellows, how would you like to know, just for a couple of hours, that the noise of that train came from the Union station in little old Chicago?" "Yes," Jule exclaimed, "I like to look into the river and think I'm standing on Madison street bridge! Do you remember the stories the newspapers used to print about the water in the Chicago river, before the drainage canal was put through? Pretty good fiction, eh?" Captain Joe chuckled until his shoulders shook like jelly. "Every reporter on the Chicago papers in those days," the captain said, "was turning out works of fiction. They used to print pieces about men falling off Madison street bridge and off Clark street bridge and dashing out their brains on the solid water below. And then they used to tell stories about the river being so black the typists used to color their ribbons in it. There's something about Chicago that seems to me to stir the imagination! It's a great old town!" The boys discussed their home city until something like ten o'clock. They were just going to bed when a call came from the shore at the end of the cove. All were on deck instantly. "Perhaps that's Max," suggested Jule, "or one of those river pirates." "Or it may be a detachment of ruffians looking for the lost channel," Case put in. Captain Joe sat back and laughed heartily. "Boys," he said, "I believe that lost channel has turned your heads. You talk about it, and drink it, and sleep it, and I believe you would eat it if there was anything tangible about it. I'm interested in it, too, kids, but I don't spread it on my bread instead of butter." "Hello, the boat," came the hail from the shore. "What do you want?" asked Clay. "I want to come on board." "Beds all full," answered Alex. "But I want to talk with you," insisted the strange voice. "All right," Clay said, "proceed with your conversation." "I'm not here to confide to the whole countryside what I want to say to you," was the angry reply. Clay was considering a sarcastic rejoinder but Case laid a warning hand on his shoulder. "There may be something in this," the boy said. "Suppose two of us get into the boat and go over and see." "Don't you think of such a thing," Captain Joe advised. "That fellow may not have a boat of his own, but if he is of any account at all, he can get one long enough to row out to the _Rambler_. The place for him to talk to us is right on this deck. It may be a trap." "That's good sense, too," Clay agreed. "He can go away if he doesn't want to comply with our requirements. He may be only a tramp seeking a ride on the river. There are plenty of such characters here." "I wish he would come aboard," Clay suggested, "and I'll see if I can't coax him," he added, turning toward the shore and making a trumpet of his hands. "Perhaps he already has a boat." "Hello, the shore," he called, "we're going away directly, so if you want to talk with us, you'd better row out." "You always was the boy with a little prevarication on the end of your tongue!" suggested Alex. "We're not going away directly." "Morning is directly," laughed Clay turning toward the shore again. "Are you coming on board?" he asked. "I haven't got any boat," was the reply. "Why can't you send one over?" Clay's reply elicited a volley of epithets from the shore, and directly a great blaze sprang up not many feet distant from the water. "Wreckers!" cried Captain Joe. "Surest thing you know!" answered Clay. "The only wonder is that they didn't set their beacon going before." "And this," Jule suggested, "seems to be more like real life. Things are livening up. They'll be going good by the time we get to St. Luce." "They may be going too fast!" warned the old captain. CHAPTER XVII CAPTAIN JOE'S NIGHT VISIT "I really would like to know," Case observed, "whether those fellows are real wreckers, or whether they have been waiting there for the _Rambler_ to come back down the river. You know the story was printed that we were coming back to look up the lost channel." "I don't know of any way of finding out unless we go to shore," Alex suggested, looking very much as if he would like to pay a visit to the blaze. "We might learn something of importance," he added rather coaxingly. "Suppose we do go and see." "If you try to leave this boat to-night," Clay declared, "I'll tie you up with one of the anchor cables. We haven't got any time to waste hunting for you. So you stay on board the boat." Alex did not exactly like the idea of going quietly to bed, but he was finally induced to do so. "Now," said Captain Joe, as he stood alone on deck with Clay, "suppose we shove over to the other shore. Those fellows are wreckers, there is no doubt of that, and there is no sense in our mixing with them. If we stay here, they'll prowl around the _Rambler_ all night, and the bulldog will bark and the bear will growl, and it will be like sleeping in a boiler shop. What do you say to that?" "That suits me exactly," Clay answered. "Then I'll tell you what we'll do. From the point where we tie to-night, we'll pass down the river on the north side. That will bring us in behind Cartier island, and we can push up the west river instead of the east one, which seemed to be the center of activity when you were there." "That's another good suggestion," Clay agreed. "The west river," the old captain went on, "is a small stream in comparison with the other. There's a funny thing about it that I never could understand. I was in there once, landing supplies for a surveying party and it seemed to me then that that stream never grew to any size until it came within a mile or so of the isthmus which connects the peninsula with the main shore." "Then there must be some tributary of good size there," said Clay. "That's just the point," the captain went on. "There isn't any tributary of good size there. The peninsula is very narrow and slopes steeply to the west. In fact, the river to the east is several feet higher than the one on the west. That's one reason why I think there never was any channel through there." "That is true," Clay answered. "You see, a channel through there, running at the rate the incline would naturally call for, would cut a hole through that neck of land about as wide as one of the main rivers. Why, it would drain the big river and turn all the water into the small stream. At least, it looks that way to me." "Oh, I don't know about that," the captain answered, "there's a lot of water in that east river. Still, there's no channel there and never was so far as I can understand. Now, what I can't understand is, how this west river gets so big all at once. There may be a creek running in at the other side, but if there is, I never found it." "You seem to understand that district pretty well," Clay laughed. "Didn't I tell you I knew the whole St. Lawrence river south, north, and bottom?" demanded the captain. "Why, when I took that load of provisions in for the surveyors, there were Indians enough along the shore to give a city a population as large as Chicago's. And there were bears, and wolves, and deer, and beaver, and all sorts of wild creatures in the woods--thick as berries in a swamp." During this conversation the two had been watching the shore where the light had sprung up. With a night glass they could see figures passing in front of the blaze, but the beacon, if such it was, soon died down to embers, and nothing more was heard from the shore. They both listened for the sound of oars in the river, but none came. The tide was running in and the current was running out, with the result that great ranks of waves lay across the wide river like winnows in a field of grain. The wind blew sweeping up from the gulf, opposing the current, and, taken altogether, it was as dangerous and uncertain a night on the river as one could well imagine. The _Rambler_ danced and bobbed about frightfully, drawing at her anchor and seeming to lunge forward in the waste of water. However, she was a staunch little craft, and the boys were used to her capers on the waves, and so paid little attention. "They wouldn't dare to venture out in a boat to-night," was Clay's comment. "Besides," he added, "they know now that we are suspicious and watchful, and, unless I am greatly in error, we will hear no more of them." "Shall we go across now?" asked the captain. "I'm ready if you think we can make it." The captain chuckled again and his shoulders shook. "Make it?" he repeated. "Of course we can make it." "The tide and the wind are fighting the current," Clay suggested, "and all we'll have to do will be to fight the waves." It was rather rough getting to the north shore, but the trip was made without accident, except that Jule was thrown from his bunk and Captain Joe, the dog, and Teddy protested against the storm in ways best known to bulldogs and bears. Jule merely rubbed his eyes and crawled back into his bunk. They found a place to anchor where the _Rambler_ would be protected during the night by a finger of rock running out into the river. All along the shore to the north was a heavy forest. The trees swayed and creaked in the wind, and now and then a crash from the interior told of the falling of some monarch of the forest which had doubtless withstood the storms of the St. Lawrence valley for hundreds of years. It was a wild night on the river and on the land, but the boys slept peacefully until morning. As for Captain Joe, he declared that it reminded him so much of old nights on the banks of Newfoundland that he wanted to sit up and refresh his recollection of those adventurous times. Clay rather suspected that the old captain was too apprehensive of evil from the wreckers, or accidents from the storm, to go to bed, but he let him have his way, and the hardy old fellow seemed as bright and active as ever in the morning. He even declined to go to the cabin for rest when the boys insisted that he ought to do so. "We'll get rest enough when we get down to the west river," the captain smiled. "I can sleep in the woods." "That's just where we won't get any rest," Jule urged. "Huh," murmured Alex. "That's where I get my rest! The natives were so afraid that I'd tire myself walking around that they trussed me up like a hen. I'd just like to get a hold of some of those outlaws. They're the limit--the worst I ever encountered." "What did they do to you?" asked Captain Joe. "Do to me?" repeated Alex. "Why, they had a stew, or a boiled dinner, or something, cooking in a tin pail over a fire, and they wouldn't give me a thing to eat. And that is the height of meanness!" As if repenting of the violence of the day before, and trying to make restitution for the many blows at the sad old world, the weather that morning was all that could have been desired. The air was clear and sweet after its bath of rain, and the leaves of the forest sparkled and rustled like jewels as the sun shone upon their moist surfaces. The boys made good time that day, although they did not feel inclined to hurry. Alex took the canoe out in the forenoon and caught half a dozen fish which he cleaned for dinner. The boy wanted to go ashore and prepare the dinner a la Indian again, but the others insisted that they really wanted a fish dinner, so the catch was baked in the oven of the coal stove. The boys claim to this day that Alex consumed half of the fish that he caught, but of course Alex disputes this. At sundown they anchored the _Rambler_ within four or five miles of the west river, in a little bay which ran into the mainland almost behind the westward extension of Cartier island. No lights were shown on the boat, supper having been prepared in the dark, and the boys sat along the deck fighting mosquitoes and listening to the calls of the wild creatures in the woods. The point they had selected for their anchorage was directly west of Point aux Outardes, and when the moon rose the boys naturally turned their eyes in that direction. Although the point was fully four miles away, a rocky promontory could be seen standing sharply out against the dark line of the forest. "Captain," Alex said, as they sat back of the gunwale on the prow, "I wish you'd take this glass and see what you can discover on that point." Captain Joe took the glass into his hand and held it for a long time, swinging it back and forth over the shore to the north, and over the river line of Cartier island. Then he handed it back to Alex. "I'll tell you," he said slowly, "there's a campfire over on the point, and there are many people around it. At least I see figures moving back and forth." "Perhaps that is a base of supplies for the fellows who are trying to find the lost channel in order to beat Fontenelle to the charter and the family jewels," Clay suggested. "It doesn't seem as if they would camp in so conspicuous a place." "Oh, I don't know about that," Case said, "they have nothing to fear from officers or wreckers. They are only hunting for a lost treasure, which any one may find who is lucky enough to get to it." "Let's go and call on them," suggested Alex. "I prefer to live a little longer," Case laughed. "Aw, come on, they won't hurt us," Alex argued, "I'm going." The boys laughed at the idea and Alex said no more about the proposed excursion, but Clay suggested to Captain Joe after the others were in their bunks: "We must watch that little rascal, or he'll get up in the night and run over there. He's always doing tricks of that kind, and some time he'll get into serious trouble." Captain Joe pretended to regard the situation as very serious, and said that he would see that Alex didn't get away from the boat that night. With this Clay seemed contented. The old captain insisted on keeping watch again that night, but if the boys had been about the deck they would have seen very little of him, for all that. As soon as the others were asleep, the captain untied the tow line of the canoe, stepped softly into it, and paddled away in the direction of the north shore. So far as possible he kept the bulk of the _Rambler_ between himself and the point where the light had been seen. Reaching the margin of the bay, he turned to the east and paddled straight to the mouth of the west river. After an hour of steady work, he reached a point a little east and directly north of Point aux Outardes. Nothing could be seen of the fire or the figures about it from the north, and the captain boldly crossed the arm of the bay stretching in behind Cartier island. In half an hour he was on the island itself, and separated only by a few rods of mingled rocks and bushes from the point. Advancing cautiously to the south he came within view of the blaze and within hearing of much of the conversation going on there. The night hours passed slowly. The moon swung to the south and off to the west, and the shadows lay long in the forest before the old captain moved from his point of observation. Then with a chuckle he crept back to his canoe, and long before the boys were out of their bunks he was fishing over the gunwale of the _Rambler_ in the most innocent manner imaginable. The old fellow chuckled as he dropped his line. "That bay stretching in behind the peninsula," he mused, "looks to me just as it did a good many years ago. No improvements seem to have been made there notwithstanding the work of the surveyors, and the country is just as desolate as it was then. If I had had a little more time I might have paddled up to the mouth of the west river and looked over the situation there, but daylight showed too soon." "What's that you're muttering about?" asked Alex clapping a hand on the old captain's arm. "You must be talking in your sleep." "Not that any one knows of," chuckled the old captain. "I was only saying that from here the country looks exactly as it used to." "And my stomach feels exactly as it used to," Alex declared. "You catch the fish, and I'll cook 'em, and we'll tumble the boys out for breakfast. They're sleeping too long, anyway." This program was followed to the letter, and before noon the _Rambler_ lay up the west river about a mile from the bay creeping in behind Cartier island. At first no one left the boat, however. "Do you remember what the chief of police said about Fontenelle's boat and a lot of perfectly good provisions lying on the bottom of the river?" asked Clay as the boys lounged on deck. "Indeed I do," replied Case. "I've been thinking it would be a fine thing if we could find that boat." "I have found it!" Clay exclaimed. "Yes, you have!" Case said, doubtfully. "Sure, I have," Clay went on. "When we swung in past Point aux Outarde, you were all watching the point to see what had become of the men who camped there last night, while I was searching the bay on the north side looking for some signs of the wreck of the _Cartier_." "And you found it, did you?" Case cried excitedly. "Sure, I found it," Clay declared. "It lays bottom down in about fifteen feet of water, with the top of the cabin showing plainly." CHAPTER XVIII IT IS NOW CLAY'S TURN "Do you think we can raise her?" asked Case. "We can if she has any bottom left," declared Clay. "If they only cut a few holes in her and sunk her that way, we can get her out." "Aw, what's the good of taking up time with the old wreck!" demanded Alex, who had listened to the conversation. "It isn't our boat, anyway." "But the _Cartier_ is a splendid launch, and worth a lot of money," Clay suggested, "and we might pay the expenses of the trip by getting her out for the Fontenelles. It won't do any harm to try." "All right!" Alex cried. "Just remember I'm the champion long distance diver, when you get ready to go down and look her over." After breakfast the _Rambler_ was taken still farther upstream, as far up, in fact, as the depth of the water would permit. "There!" Captain Joe observed, pointing to a bend just above the prow of the boat. "This is the strange thing that I called your attention to. The river widens here in the most mysterious manner." "It may be just back water," Clay ventured. "No sir!" answered the captain. "There is no back water here. See how steadily the current runs? And there's no creek running in, either." "Then there must be a subterranean stream running--" Clay checked himself with the sentence half finished. "Suppose," he mused, "just suppose, there should be a subterranean stream running in from under the hills--let us say from the north. That would be a channel, wouldn't it? And it might be a lost channel at that! Why didn't I think of that before." The boy was so full of the thought, so enthusiastic over the thing it might mean, that he concluded to make a quiet investigation on his own hook, saying nothing to the others regarding the matter. "What was it you said about some underground stream?" asked Captain Joe. "You started in to say something about it and then stopped abruptly." "Oh, it just occurred to me that there might be an underground river somewhere around here, but I guess that's just a dream. There couldn't be any river, you see, for the ground is rocky, and there seems to be no place for an underground stream to get its supply." "No," the old captain agreed, "there can't be any underground stream that's a sure thing. If there are caverns they are dry." Clay chuckled to himself, and went into the cabin after Alex. "Come on, Redhead!" he cried catching the boy by the arm. "We are now going ashore to dig up the lost channel." "That's a nice pleasant little job, too!" Alex declared. "Well, come on," Clay insisted. "We'll go over and make a start, anyway. We may be able to find out if the outlaws are really here." Explaining to Captain Joe and the others that they were going only a short distance from the shore, the boys launched the canoe and were soon on the sloping shore of the peninsula. Once across they hid their canoe in a thicket which overhung the stream and disappeared in the interior. "Now, look here," Clay said as he stopped and sat deliberately down in the shade of a great tree, "I've got an idea." Alex stared hard in pretended wonder and amazement. "Where did you get it?" he asked. "Brain cell opened and gave it to me," Clay answered. "Well, come across with it," Alex urged. "Captain Joe wants to know where the water comes from to make the west river so large at its mouth," Clay went on. "I started in to tell him that there might be a subterranean stream somewhere hereabouts, but I thought he would laugh at me and so kept my mouth shut." Alex sprang to his feet and swung round and round on his heels, chuckling and shaking hands with himself. "That's the idea!" he cried. "That's just the idea! There is a subterranean stream here somewhere! Look at the way the rocks are piled up, and look at the long slope from the top of the ridges to the level of the river. There are catch basins here somewhere, and water pouring into the river that no one knows anything about." "Now go a little farther," Clay suggested. "Figure that at some time, say two or three hundred years ago, this subterranean channel lay open to the sun. Now what do you make of it?" "Holy smoke!" almost shouted Alex. "I make a lost channel!" "There you are!" Clay began, "and all we've got to do is to just look around and find it. We've got plenty of time." "That will be some cheerful job, too," Alex commented. "We've only got about forty thousand square miles of territory to look over." "I think," Clay said, "that we have the idea, and that is the main thing. The rest is only a matter of detail." As the boys sat under the tree, Alex having dropped down to the turf again, a rustling of bushes was heard to the east and they turned in that direction, scanning the thicket closely. Then Alex seized Clay by the arm and pointed away through the underbrush. "Did you ever see that figure before?" he asked. "Looks to me to be about the size of Max," Clay answered. "I wonder if he is watching us, or whether he is only looking in the direction of the _Rambler_. Anyway, we'd better move." The boys shifted their position some yards to the north and crouched down again. The bushes showed motion once more, and they saw the figure they had observed moving toward the bank of the west river. "He never saw us!" cried Alex. "He is sneaking down on the _Rambler_." "Yes," Clay replied, "and there are two or three just behind him." "I had an idea," Alex chuckled, "that things would begin to liven up as soon as we got into this country. This will please Captain Joe!" "Captain Joe," Clay replied, "seems inclined to take things rather seriously. The chances are that he is wondering now, night and day, how four rattleheaded boys ever got so far over the world without being murdered or sent to the penitentiary. Still, he isn't always passing out advice." From their new shelter, the boys now saw Max and three men pass to the west and stand under a screen of boughs looking down toward the _Rambler_. "The war is on, I guess," Clay said. "Those fellows were here waiting for us to come back. Did it ever occur to you that they know about our having that mysterious map?" "Now you've said something," Alex exclaimed. "That map was intended for those opposing the Fontenelles. It was given to us by mistake, and the people who should have had it know that we've got it. That's why they're watching us so. Wonder we never thought of that before." "It seems to me that you've struck it right," Clay answered. "They've been waiting here all this time for us to come back it seems." "Then I should think they'd keep out of sight until we get busy looking for the channel. They surely won't want to drive us away before we demonstrate what we know about it." "I presume they think they are keeping out of sight," Clay decided. "Well, they're not keeping very close watch, for they don't seem to know that we're on shore." "Don't be too sure of that," Clay answered. "They may be watching us this minute. Perhaps we'd better move." As the boys spoke, Max and his three companions started at a swift pace up the bank of the stream keeping always out of view of the boat. They passed the place where the boys lay in hiding and for a moment the lads heard them pushing through the underbrush. "They've probably gone to their tent now," Alex suggested, "and I'm going to follow on and see if I can locate them." "All right," Clay said, "only be careful. I'll go back to the boat and tell the boys what's going on. Be sure you don't get captured, now," he added as Alex turned to the thicket to the north. "No danger of that," the boy grinned and the next moment he was out of sight, pushing through the thicket in the direction taken by Max. Clay stood for an instant longer where the boy had left him and then moved in the direction of the river. But his progress toward the stream came to an abrupt termination in a minute. He tripped over what he at first believed to be a running vine and fell to the ground. Then, as he lifted himself to a sitting position, he saw the obstacle over which he had fallen was a rope and that it was held in the hands of two evil looking men. The men, bearded and dirty, broke into a laugh over Clay's look of amazement. They sprang toward him and in a moment he was relieved of his weapons. The boy sat perfectly still, for the attack had come so suddenly that he could hardly comprehend the situation. "Ain't it the cute little child?" guffawed one of the men, slapping his knees and bending down to look the boy in the face. "He's all of that," replied the other. "This is the little boy that's come out here to find a hidden channel that no one else can find. He used to be a real cute little newsboy in Chicago, and directly he'll wish he was back selling newspapers on Clark street! "Are these all the poppers you have, kid?" he asked pointing to the revolvers which had been taken from the boy. "You might injure yourself by carrying them." Clay glanced at the fellow steadily. He had now in a measure recovered his equilibrium. His impulse was to smash a blow into the grinning face bent over him. He didn't like the black, matted beard. He objected to the greasy, frayed jacket. The man's snaky, near-set eyes offended him. More than once he drew back a clenched fist to strike the evil face. "It seems to me," the boy said, restraining himself with a great effort, "that I walked right into a den and found the snakes at home." "Yes, little one," the man replied, "We sort of dipped you up in a bottle. I bet my chum, here, a dollar that he wouldn't get you the first time he tried. I lose, so you'd better pass out the dough and I'll pay up. I always pay my sporting debts." "Perhaps you'd better take the whole roll," Clay said, producing a small handful of change and passing it over. "You'll get it in time, anyway." The man took the money, counted it slowly with clumsy fingers and thrust it into a pocket. "As long as you have money, you know," Clay said sneeringly, "you won't have to be taking pennies away from children or stealing from blind men. You're quite welcome to what I have." "You just cut that stuff quick," snarled the man rising to his feet, his face blotching red. "Cut that quick!" He might have struck the boy only his companion drew him away. "Keep back, you fool," the cooler man said, "Do you want him to bring all the others here with his yelping? Why, we can't even shoot him till sundown, so we'd better gag him to keep him from squealing." "You needn't worry about me squealing," Clay said. "I learned how to keep my mouth shut when you ruffians were serving your last sentence in the penitentiary." One of the men drew out a knife and flashed it angrily before the boy's face. "Keep a civil tongue in your head," he said, "and you, Ben, chase up to the north and get the kid that followed Max. We'll tie 'em up together." Clay was now drawn to his feet and his hands tied tightly behind his back. In this condition, he was marched swiftly through the brush, vines and boughs striking his unprotected face. He paid little attention, however, to his physical discomforts. He was listening for some indication of the capture of Alex. CHAPTER XIX A SPLASH OF WATER Much to Clay's amazement, his captor kept to the east following a ridge of rocks from which both rivers might be seen in the distance whenever the foliage did not intervene. After walking half a mile or more, the fellow turned his steps into a narrow gully and soon entered a natural cavern before which a campfire had been built. "Now, you pretty little creature," he said, addressing Clay, "you're going to be tied up here and left until you return the map which was given to you by mistake." "A map of what?" asked Clay instantly. "A map of this country," was the short reply. "I'm not giving out maps at present," the boy answered. "Perhaps you will be, after you get good and hungry," snarled the other. "In the first place," Clay said, "I haven't got the map. I couldn't get it for you if I wanted to. The boys wouldn't give it up." "So you admit that you've got it?" "I did have a rough drawing of this country," was the reply, "but it didn't seem to mean much to me." "That's the document we want," the outlaw said, "and the quicker you give it up and get out of this district, the safer your hide will be." Before Clay could make any response the man who had set off in pursuit of Alex came wrathfully into the cave. One hand was bleeding profusely, and there was a long cut on his left cheek. His clothing was disarranged, showing every evidence of a physical struggle. "Where's the kid, Ben?" was asked. The man's reply was a volley of epithets and profanity. "You never let him get away from you, did you?" asked the other angrily. "You might bring him in in your pocket." "You couldn't bring him in in a dray," answered Ben. "You might as well try to wrestle with a bumble bee. I got a grip on the little imp's collar, but before I could do a thing, he had a knife out. And then I got this," laying a dirty finger on a dirtier hand, "and this," pointing to the bleeding cheek. "And the next I knew, he was out of sight in the jungle." "You're the brave boy!" snarled the other. "Look here, Steve," Ben said, "if you think it's such a fine stunt to seize a Chicago newsboy, you just go and try it yourself. I've had enough of it. And that's no fairy tale." Ben threw himself angrily on the floor of the cave, took a bottle of liquor and a roll of white cloth from under a fur robe which lay in a corner and proceeded to cleanse and bind up his wound. Clay watched him with a smile on his face. Steve was scowling frightfully. "You needn't look so pleased over it, young feller," the outlaw said. "We'll get that little imp, yet. And we'll get your boat and your whole crew. And if we have much more trouble, we'll start a cemetery right here." Clay made no reply at the time. He was wondering just how much the outlaws knew of the map. It seemed to him that the person who had drawn the first one might easily draw a second upon the loss of the first. He could not understand why the outlaws were making such strenuous efforts to secure the document when they might have procured a copy. "What was it you said about a map?" the boy finally asked of Steve who sat now scowling at Ben. "Where did the map come from?" "It came from a blooming Indian," was the sullen reply. The fellow answered the question so promptly that Clay decided that he was merely a cheap tool in the employ of some master mind. "Well," the boy went on, "why are you bothering us about it? Why don't you go and get him to make another?" Steve hesitated and Clay listened very impatiently indeed for his answer. Finally the outlaw spoke: "Blest if I know," he said. "We were told to get the map and that's all we know about it." "And if you can't get it?" asked Clay. "Then all we've got to do is to start a graveyard. If we can't get it, no one else shall use it. Mind that!" "How long have you been waiting here for the _Rambler_ to come back down the river?" asked the boy. "Look here," replied Steve, apparently regretting his previous loquacity. "I've known a whole lot of boys to get along in the world without asking so many questions." As he spoke he arose, went to the mouth of the cavern and glanced out. Ben followed him with the one eye which was free of the bandage, but did not arise. Directly a stone broke loose from a side of the gully and went pounding down to the rocky bottom. Then a low whistle was heard. "Come on in," shouted Steve. "We did our part. What about you?" The man who entered was roughly dressed. His face was covered by a week's growth of beard. His long black hair hung straggly about his ears. Yet, after all, the carriage of the head and body was not that of a riverman. Clay sat looking at him for a long time wondering where he had seen him before. He was certain that he had seen him before. Strive as he might, however, the boy could not associate the figure and pose with any scene in his past life. The man advanced into the cave and looked about. "Where is the other boy?" he asked sharply. Steve threw out a hand to indicate flight and snapped his fingers significantly. The newcomer frowned. "And so you let him get away, did you?" "Ask Ben about that," Steve replied, pointing to the bandaged face. In spite of the newcomer's evident disappointment, a smile came to his face as he looked toward the wounded man. "He's a bloomin' bumble bee!" growled Ben. "And it seems that he stung you with steel," said the newcomer. "Brave men you are, to let a kindergarten kid get away with you!" "What I say is," Ben answered, angrily, "that you can go and get him yourself. This here beauty mark I've got is enough for me." "Don't get excited," smiled the newcomer. "It will all come out right in the wash. We'll get them all, in time." Clay began to remember the voice. "I have heard it before somewhere," he mused. "This man is not an outlaw in the common acceptance of the word. He is probably the man having this very delectable enterprise in charge." Then he remembered the scene on the street in Montreal, and the story which had been told him by the campfire up the St. Lawrence came back to his mind. This man might be the Lawyer Martin who had been referred to by the farmer. The lawyer, it had been stated, was apt in private theatricals and of pleasing personality. This man was disguised so far as clothing went, and his conversation showed that he was tactful and understood how to keep on the right side of the men with whom he mingled. The more the boy studied over the problem, the more certain he became that the man who was handling the unlawful enterprise, designing to keep the Fontenelles out of their rights stood before him. Presently Lawyer Martin, if it was he, turned a pair of keen yet half-humorous eyes in the direction of the boy. "Did you have a pleasant trip up the river?" he asked. "Fine!" replied Clay. "Plenty of good sport." "If you had asked my advice," the other said, "you would have proceeded straight up the lakes from Ogdensburg. It would have been safer." "If safety was the only thing we figured on when we started away," the boy answered, "we wouldn't have started at all. We would have remained at home and gone to bed." "You seem to be quite a bright boy," the other suggested. "Why don't you give up the map turned over to you by mistake, and go on about your business? That's what you ought to do." "Why don't you get another map?" asked Clay. "Because," was the reply, "the old Indian who made the one you have was drowned on the night he turned it over to you." "I'll tell you what I'll do," Clay said, "you come on board the _Rambler_ with me and we'll give the map to Captain Joe, and then we'll all go together and deliver it to Fontenelle. It seems to belong to him." "I think you'll change your mind," replied the other. After a short whispered conversation with Steve and Ben, the man left the cavern. Clay would have given a good deal for some knowledge as to his objective point. He believed that the outlaws had a base of supplies other than the cavern on the peninsula, and he was wondering if the boys on the _Rambler_ would be able to discover it. After a time Ben began drinking from the bottle of liquor he had drawn from under the rug, and Steve, seeing that the fellow was drinking himself into insensibility, left the cave, first seeing that Clay was tied hand and foot and gagged with one of his own handkerchiefs. The boy's position was an uncomfortable one. He moved restlessly about, rolling toward the entrance as if in quest of fresh air. Ben arose and stood watching him drunkenly. "You're not so worse," the fellow cried. "If I had my way, I'd get out of this mix mighty quick. I'm a kind-hearted man, kid! The drunker I get, the kinder I am." Clay was on the point of suggesting that he drink the remainder of the liquor in the bottle, so that he might be kind enough to untie him, but did not do so for obvious reasons. The boy was in hopes that Ben would become too intoxicated to pay any attention to his movements, but he did not do so. Instead, he filled a cob pipe with villainous tobacco and sat down at the entrance to the cavern within a few feet of where the boy lay. During all this time, the boy was wondering if Alex had gone back to the _Rambler_ or whether he had trailed on after the men who had attempted his capture. In the latter case, the boy was evidently not very far away. He listened intently for some indication of the boy's presence, but none came. He wondered if the boys on the _Rambler_ would make an effort to find him before night set in. And so, gagged and bound, he spent a long, painful day. No one came to the cave, and Ben was his sole guardian. The man became talkative after a while and discussed the streets of Chicago, which he seemed to know well, but became silent whenever an incautious word regarding the present situation came to his lips. When darkness came, Steve and two more burly ruffians made their appearance. They uncovered a box at the back of the cavern and, reaching in, drew out bread and canned fruit and vegetables. As the four sat feeding like a drove of swine, Ben observed Clay's eyes fixed hungrily on the food. "Why don't you give the boy some of the chuck?" he asked, angrily. "Here, kid," he added, taking the handkerchief from Clay's mouth, releasing his hands, and passing him a loaf of bread and tin of beef, "just help yourself to this table d'hôte dinner." Steve and the others snarled out their objections to this procedure, but Clay was finally left to eat his scanty supper in peace. After the men had finished eating, they arose and threw their cans and bottles into a shallow annex to the cave on the south. "I'm great for keeping things in order," grinned Ben, giving a tin tomato can a particularly vigorous kick. "I always like to see things kept decent." The can bounded against the wall, fell to the floor and rolled down a dark incline, and Clay's heart beat into his throat as he heard the splash of water. CHAPTER XX LIFTING A SUNKEN LAUNCH After the departure from the _Rambler_ of Clay and Alex, Captain Joe began exploring the little store rooms of the craft in search of cables and grappling hooks. He soon had quite a collection laying on the deck. "What's the idea, Captain Joe?" asked Case. "Well, boys," the captain replied, "you remember what the Quebec chief of police said regarding the _Cartier_ and the perfectly good assortment of supplies lying at the bottom of the St. Lawrence river?" "Sure, we remember that," Case replied. "And you remember what Clay said about having discovered the boat as we came in? Why, he told us right where it is." "Yes, he said he saw it on the bottom," Jule interrupted. "Now, I have an idea," Captain Joe smiled, winking at the two boys, "that it would be all right for us to lift the launch while Clay is away. What do you say to that?" "Great idea!" shouted Case. "Then let's get at it," Jule suggested. "The first thing to do," Captain Joe said, "is to find out exactly where the _Cartier_ lies." "Aw, I know that," Jule said, "Clay told me about that. It's right over there in about fifteen feet of water just below that submerged bar." "Fifteen feet with or without the tide?" asked Captain Joe. "Fifteen feet with the tide out," was the reply, "and the tide is out now, so we'd better be getting busy." They swung the _Rambler_ over to the north side of the bar and anchored. From this new position, across the white surface of the bottom, they could see the trunk cabin of the _Cartier_ sitting squarely up in the water. The boat had evidently dropped straight down when scuttled, and she now lay on an almost even keel with her nose pointing upstream. "Now, I tell you, boys," Captain Joe observed, "one of you must go down and attach a line to her forward towing bitts. I'd go down myself, understand, only I'm so big and clumsy that I might displace too much water in the stream. Who'll go?" "I'm the champion diver of the South Branch," Jule cried, "and I'll go down and have that line fast in about a second." "It's a long dive," warned Captain Joe. "I've stood on my head in deeper water than that," said the boy. Case got out the rowboat and Jule was taken over to the place from which he was to dive. The end of the cable was passed to him and he dropped down. In a moment, he came climbing up the rope like a young monkey, shaking water over Case as he tumbled into the boat. "Now get a-going," he said, "and we'll have this boat out of the mud before Clay and Alex return. I wonder what we'll find on board of her." "You don't expect to find a lost channel, do you? Or a casket of family jewels?" asked Case, with a wink. "I was thinking," Jule replied, "that we might find something to eat." The boys rowed back to the _Rambler_, clambered on board, and the motor boat was started forward, one end of the cable attached to her after deck cleats. She pulled steadily for a moment under full power, but the launch refused to move. She was evidently deeply imbedded in the bottom. "I reckon we'll have to go down and push," Case grinned. "You just wait, boys, and I'll try it once more," Captain Joe said. The second attempt was successful, and the _Cartier_ was drawn slowly, carefully, to the bar. When she left her original position on the bottom of the river, she listed to one side and so came in almost on her beam ends. "I guess we've spilled some of her crockery," Jule laughed as the boat showed one side of her hull. "Fontenelle may kick on our wearing out his furniture." "Oh, he'll be glad enough to get his boat back," Captain Joe remarked. "Now, we'll see if we can pump her out." The launch now lay tipping only slightly on the bar, her keel having cut into the soft sand, with her gunwales two or three inches above the surface of the river. The cabin stood well out of the river, of course, but the great body of water in the cockpit and over the cabin floor held her down. "Now we'll see if we can't pump her out," Captain Joe said. "I don't understand what sent her to the bottom. She looks to be as fit as a fiddle." "Perhaps we can tell that when we get the water out of her," Case suggested. "There may be a big hole in her bottom." The _Rambler's_ pump was now put in operation, but the interior of the launch remained full of water. The river rushed in as fast as the pumps removed it, so the craft did not rise to the surface. "You'll have to get your feet wet again, Jule," Case said. "Just drop over into the cockpit and see if you can see any hole in the bottom." Jule did as requested, floundering and splashing about in the water as though he considered the enterprise only a bit of fun. "Nothing doing here!" he shouted back. "There's no hole in the bottom that I can see. There may be one under the double floor in the cabin but I don't believe it." "Look for the sea-cock," cried Captain Joe, leaning over the gunwale of the _Rambler_. "It may have been opened. It ought to be right there in the cockpit close to the wall of the cabin." Jule felt around in the water for a time, ducked his head under in order to get closer to the bottom now and then and finally raised his dripping face with a shout. "I've found it!" he cried. "The sea-cock was wide open and that's what sunk the launch." "Wonder Fontenelle wouldn't have investigated," said Case. "The launch was probably sunk in the night," Captain Joe suggested, "when the members of the party were away. When they returned to the boat, of course, they had no grappling apparatus or anything to help raise her, and so they just went away and left her in the mud." "That's probably it," Case said, turning on the pump. "Hold on," Jule cried. "You wait till I get something to plug this sea-cock with. I can't turn the valve. It's rusty." The boy was given a basket of waste which had been used in cleaning the motors, and in a short time the sea-cock was securely plugged. Then the pumps were set in motion again and in a very short time the _Cartier_ was virtually free of water. "That's a mighty handsome boat," Captain Joe observed as the launch lay on the surface. "If I had her down on the South Branch, I could have the time of my life every day in the week." The boys worked over the boat for some time drying off the woodwork and fixing the valve of the sea-cock so it would close. "Of course, she won't run now," Captain Joe explained, "because the batteries and the magneto are soaked with water. We can transfer new apparatus from the _Rambler_ and, as she has plenty of gasoline, she will go like a duck on a mill-pond." "I guess Clay will think we have been going some to get that boat off the bottom," laughed Case. Captain Joe looked at his watch, his face clouding as he did so. "Why, look here," he said. "We've been a long time on this job. It is after one o'clock." "We might have known that by the tide coming in," Case said. "I wasn't thinking about the water," the captain laughed. "I was thinking about Clay and Alex. Now, where do you suppose those two scamps are? They ought to have been here long ago." "Perhaps they've found the lost channel!" Jule put in. "It is more likely they found a nest of outlaws they couldn't get away from," was Case's idea of the situation. "I think we ought to do something about it right now," he added. "I am afraid," Captain Joe said, poking a stubby finger into Case's side, "that it takes you boys about half your time to find each other when you go off on these river trips. First one gets lost and then the other." "That's all right," Case replied, "but every time a fellow gets lost he butts into valuable information. Clay may pick up those Fontenelle diamonds while he's gone, or find the lost charter." "It's up to us to do something," Jule insisted. "After dinner, we'll go out on the peninsula and see what we can discover if Captain Joe will remain on the boat. We won't be gone long." Dinner was hastily prepared and hastily eaten, and then Case and Jule rowed to the shore in the _Rambler's_ boat, the canoe having been left on the bank by Clay. The captain saw them disappear in the thicket and then sat down in the cabin to watch and wait. In less than half an hour, he heard shouts on the shore, and then two figures came plunging down the high bank into the river some distance above the location of the _Rambler_. The captain reached for his gun and stood waiting, fearful at first that a bold attempt to board the _Rambler_ was being made, but as the two figures in the water came closer, he saw Case and Jule alternately swimming on the surface and diving. The reason for this apparently strange conduct on the part of the boys was soon discovered, for bullets began whistling about their heads and about the deck of the _Rambler_. However, the swimmers reached the deck of the boat unharmed and dropped down behind the gunwales. "Use your gun, Captain Joe!" Case panted. "Alex is back there in the woods trying to get to the river." CHAPTER XXI DOWN IN THE WHIRLPOOL When Clay heard the splash of water as the tin can disappeared from sight, he began wondering if what he had heard had reached the ears of the others. The lost channel was always in his mind, and he was wondering if the presence of a subterranean body of water there could have any connection with the channel which had disappeared as if by magic two or three hundred years before. In order to settle the question as to what the outlaws knew concerning the water which must lie directly under their cave, he asked: "Will some of you men give me a drink of water?" "Aw, go take a drink out of the river," was the reply he received. "Gladly!" cried Clay. "Just untie my feet and I'll show you how quickly I can get to the river." The men laughed heartily at what they considered a good joke and continued their preparations for leaving the cavern. In a short time the man believed by Clay to be Lawyer Martin made his appearance, and then the party started up the gully turning to the east and walking over the roughest territory Clay had yet seen in that vicinity. The leader of the party paused now and then to inspect the landscape and to listen for sounds from the west river. "What were your friends doing this afternoon," he asked presently. "They have dug up a new boat somewhere." "I don't know," replied Clay, stumbling over the ground with two husky guards close to his sides. "Was it my friends who were doing the shooting?" he added. "Shooting?" the leader repeated in apparent amazement. "Did you hear any shooting? Which way did it come from?" "From the west," was the brief reply. Clay's escorts glanced at each other significantly, but said nothing. The boy was satisfied from the attitude of those about him that his chums had been attacked, but, as a matter of fact, he had heard no shooting, being at the time it took place in the cavern opening from the gully. After what seemed to Clay to be an endless journey, the party came to the west shore of the east river. Here, in the glade to the north of the rocky ledge which they had followed, was a fairly comfortable camp with tents and bunks and plenty of cooking appurtenances. Clay was pushed into a tent and his hands and feet bound again. "We can't take any chances on your jumping us in the night," the leader said as he saw the ropes adjusted around the boy's ankles and wrists. "If you only had a little sense, we might make you more comfortable." Time and again Clay had the name of Lawyer Martin on his lips. He was almost positive that the leader of the outlaws was the disguised man he had met in Montreal, the man of whom the farmer had spoken at the campfire. However, he conquered the inclination to address the fellow by the title which he believed to belong to him. "If he really is Lawyer Martin," the boy reasoned, "and I let him know that I know the truth, he'll take good care that I never get out into the world again to tell of his connection with these outlaws." That night was a long one for the boy. One of the outlaws walked watchfully about the camp all night and another sat close by his bunk watching with unwearying eyes. It was plain that they considered his capture of great importance. He reasoned that it was because they had failed in any attack that might have been made on his chums, and had not succeeded in securing the map they sought. He did not know whether Alex had escaped the clutches of the ruffians or not, but he believed that if the boy really had been taken prisoner he would have been brought to the camp he himself occupied. The camp was astir at daybreak, when most of the outlaws disappeared from view, going in every direction except across the river. Clay would have given a good deal for exact information regarding their plans for the day, but he could only surmise that all their energies would be directed toward the destruction of the _Rambler_ and the driving away of his chums. While he lay pondering over the possibilities of the day, the leader of the party came to his side. "How do you feel this morning, my boy?" he asked lightly. "I feel like I'd like to stretch my legs a little," was the reply. "If I gave you the privilege," asked the other, "will you promise to make no attempt to escape?" "I'm not making any promises," Clay replied, "so I suppose I'll have to remain where I am." "But you can't get away," the leader insisted. "How do you know I can't get away?" replied Clay, laughing up into the man's face. "Because we've got you tied hard and fast," was the reply. "I've read in the papers," the leader went on, "about this Captain Joe bulldog of yours and this Teddy bear cub doing wonderful things in the way of helping you boys out of trouble, but they are up against the impossible here." "I'm sorry," Clay said with a shrug of the shoulders, "but you know just as well as I do that no game is ever played out as it should be until the last card is on the table." The leader smiled whimsically and turned away. After talking for some moments with the only man present in the camp, he turned to the west and disappeared. Then the man he had last talked with approached the boy. "What do you want for breakfast?" he asked. "Pie!" roared Clay. "Green apple pie, red apple pie, dried apple pie, and pie pie. And if you've got any chicken pie, that will come in all right later on." "Your troubles don't seem to affect your appetite, kid," laughed the man whom Clay discovered to be the cook of the camp. "You're a jolly kind of a fellow, anyway, and I'm going to give you the best there is in the larder." In half an hour a really good breakfast of ham and eggs, potatoes, bread and butter, and coffee was served to the boy. He ate heartily, of course, as most boys will under any circumstances, talking with the cook as the meal proceeded. Directly the leader came to the edge of the little glade and beckoned to the cook. The latter looked from his employer to the boy and back again. The leader beckoned imperatively, and the cook left the tent and approached him. Together they stepped away into the edge of the thicket and engaged in an animated conversation. Clay heard the leader ask if the ropes which held his hands and feet were still in place, and heard the cook reply that he supposed they were as he had not examined them. "Just for the fun of the thing, now," Clay mused, "I'll find out whether that chap is right." He pulled away at the cords on his wrist, but for a long time was unable to move them beyond the limit of the motion which had enabled him to use a fork at his breakfast. "I wonder," he thought, "why they didn't give me a knife to eat that ham with. Never mind, I can make a knife of my own." He set his elbow against an earthen plate which lay on the ground, breaking it into several pieces. The largest fragment, he got into his mouth and began to saw his wrist ropes against it. The strands of the rope soon gave way and the boy's hands were free. It took him but a moment to untie the cords which held his ankles. Thus released, he listened for a moment to make sure that the two men in the edge of the thicket were not observing him. All was still in that direction and he finally ventured to the opening of the tent and looked out. The two men were nowhere in sight. "Now or never," thought the boy. "While those fellows are cooking up some scheme for the destruction of the _Rambler_, I'll make a quiet sneak. The peninsula must be crowded with outlaws, all in search of a lost channel, and so I'll have to take to the river." The boy was out of the glade in an instant, crouching low, of course, but making good time until he reached the margin of the river. Hoping to see a boat, he paused there a moment and looked about. As he did so, the roar of the falls which had obstructed the progress of the _Rambler_ on her first trip to that vicinity, reached his ears and he knew that a boat would be practically useless, as it would never live through the falling water. The only thing for him to do, seemed to be to take to the water and keep as much out of sight as possible under the bank. He sprang in and struck out down stream wondering if he could pass the falls without returning to the shore. After swimming a few strokes, he heard a shout from the bank and saw the leader and the cook hastening toward the river. The current was strong there just above the falls and the boy was an excellent swimmer, so the men did not decrease the distance between themselves and their quarry. "If you don't stop, we'll shoot!" the cook cried. "And shoot to kill!" came the voice of the leader. For a moment Clay swam on blindly under a rain of bullets but he had no idea whatever of voluntarily returning to the shore. The leaden pellets splashed into the water all about him for a time but presently as the men got better range, they began making closer acquaintance. The roar of the falls was now almost deafening. The boy could hear a torrent of water pouring down upon broken rocks. He knew now that it would be impossible for him to negotiate the falls by way of the river. He must swim to the shore and pass around the danger point. This would subject him to the direct fire of his pursuers. At last, almost hopeless, he dived into the water to escape the rain of bullets. To his surprise, he did not come to the surface again when he used his strength in that direction. Either his body had lost its buoyancy or the water was pulling him down. He seemed to be in a whirlpool. The force of the water drew at his arms and his legs and clutched him about the chest. Around and around he whirled, until he grew dizzy with the motion and his lungs seemed bursting for want of air. Then, almost unconscious, he knew that he was being drawn through an opening into which the water poured with awful force. He knew that he was being tossed to and fro in something like a basin or pool a moment later, and felt the fresh air creeping into his lungs. The water where he lay did not seem to be more than three or four feet deep but the current was swift and steady. There was no light anywhere. The boy groped forward with his hands outstretched until he came to what seemed to be a ledge of rock. There, exhausted and almost unconscious from his exertions, he dropped down and his mind became a blank. When he returned to consciousness, a single shaft of light penetrating the darkness of the place showed him to be in a cavern the dimensions of which he had no means of knowing. The ledge upon which he had fallen lay a yard or so above the surface of an underground stream. He could see the light glancing on the water and hear the roar of the whirlpool which had brought him into this subterranean place. "I've found the lost channel, I guess," he thought bitterly, "and I guess there'll be two of us lost--a lost river and a lost boy." After a time, he felt his way along the ledge only to find that it came to an abrupt termination against a shoulder of rock. CHAPTER XXII WHAT THE EDDY BROUGHT UP When Case and Jule gained the deck of the _Rambler_, crying that Alex was back in the forest pursued by the outlaws, Captain Joe laid out a choice assortment of automatic revolvers along the deck behind the starboard gunwale. The dripping boys crouched down and waited. "He wasn't very far behind us," Case said directly. "Yes," Jule put in. "He ought to be here before long." Captain Joe, watching the boys whimsically, pushed the revolvers around so they would be within easy reach. The deck looked like an armory. "You outrun him, did you, lads?" the old captain asked. "We wanted to stay back and come in with him," Case explained, "but he wouldn't have it. He said that if we separated and ran in different directions, one party would be pretty sure to get in, while we might all be captured if we stuck together. He was right, of course, but we hated to leave him. He ought to be here in a minute or two." "Did he say where Clay was?" asked Captain Joe. "We didn't have much chance to talk with him," Case answered. "The outlaws were swarming over the peninsula, and kept us ducking and dodging most of the time. There must be a dozen or more toughs in there." There was no more firing from the shore for a time, and those on board the _Rambler_ hoped that Alex had succeeded in eluding his pursuers. Presently the bushes at the margin of the stream parted and a face looked out--a heavy bearded face with fierce eyes. "Good evening, pard!" Jule called out. "Come aboard!" The fellow disappeared without making any reply. "That settles it!" Case exclaimed. "We won't see Alex right away. The outlaws haven't caught him, and so they are watching along the shore in the hopes of picking him up when he leaves the thicket. I'd like to throw a stick of dynamite in there and blow up the whole outfit." The supposition that Alex would not be seen at that time proved to be incorrect, however, for a shout was now heard from the launch, and Alex was seen waving a cap from the cockpit. The cap soon disappeared from sight, however, for bullets began dropping down from the shore. On the _Rambler_, the boys were behind the heavy gunwales, and Alex was hidden by the cockpit walls so, beyond splintering the railings and making havoc in the finely-decorated cabin of the launch, the bullets did no damage. "Now, how do you think that little customer got out to the launch without getting perforated?" asked Case. "He swam out, of course," replied Jule, "--he just ducked under and swam out. I wish we could get him on board the _Rambler_." "Now, that tow-line," Case said, "is too long. The boy can't swim under water all that distance. Can't we pull the launch up?" "Nothing in the world to prevent it," said Captain Joe. "If we can get the end of the line into the cabin, the launch will come up like a duck. Then Alex can come aboard without much danger." This plan was adopted. The _Cartier_ was easily drawn up to the stern of the _Rambler_ and Alex stepped aboard. In a moment he was lying behind the gunwale with the others. "Where did you say Clay was?" asked Captain Joe. "I haven't seen him for a long time," was the reply. "We saw that wharf rat, Max, in the forest and I started away to follow him. At that time Clay was coming toward the boat. I thought he might be here." "And so Max has shown up again, has he?" cried Case. "We'll have to land that boy where he won't be so active." While the boys were discussing the situation a grating, flopping sound was heard in the cabin, and Jule rushed in just in time to see the cable which had held the _Cartier_ to the _Rambler_ drawing through the open window. In the excitement of getting Alex on board, the boys had neglected to secure the line and the launch was now dropping down stream. Jule sprang for the end of the line, but did not reach it. It dropped down to the after deck and was drawn into the water. "That's a nice thing!" shouted the boy, rushing to the motors. "Now we've got to go down and catch that boat!" It was some moments before the anchor could be lifted and the _Rambler_ turned and sent down stream, so the _Cartier_ was halfway to the little bay running in behind the Peninsula before the boys caught up with her. "She won't get away again," Captain Joe declared shortening up the line and making it fast to the after deck cleats of the motor boat. "We haven't got any time to go chasing runaway launches!" As the old captain spoke, Case laid a hand on his arm and pointed to the projection on the peninsula behind which Captain Joe had listened on the night he had left the _Rambler_ during his watch. "There's a blaze over there," the boy said. "They must have a lot of men here to keep a force over there and another one between the two rivers." "Young man," Captain Joe replied, "the man who is responsible for this whole mix-up is over there on the point, with a band of cutthroats." "Why don't they go up and help the others?" asked Jule. "It's just this way," Captain Joe replied, "we disappointed them very much when we got the _Cartier_ out of the water. That rascal on the point wanted to have the pleasure of raising the boat himself." "Then why didn't he do it?" asked Alex. "He had time enough before we got here." "I don't know why he didn't," answered the captain, "but he didn't, and now he's sore because we got to it first. It seems to me that he might have ordered his wrecking apparatus here and got the boat out before we arrived." "What do you think he wants of the launch?" Case asked. "According to all accounts, he's rich enough to buy a dozen." "I can tell you about that," Captain Joe replied with a grin. "You remember when I stood watch one night, and you all said I looked sleepy the next day. Well, that night, I paddled over to the point and heard what those people were talking about. There is something on board the _Cartier_ they want. I couldn't understand exactly what they said about it, but it is something in some way connected with a safe." "The safe on the wall in the lost channel!" laughed Alex. "They think Fontenelle knows how to get to the safe if he can only get to the lost channel first." "Well, we got to the launch first, anyway," Jule suggested. "And it strikes me that we'd better go aboard and look her over. Did you see anything remarkable when you were there, Alex?" he added. "Didn't see a thing," was the reply. "I flopped out of the water into the cockpit and never even looked inside the cabin. I wish now that I had." "Come on, then, let's you and I take a look through the cabin while Captain Joe and Case run the _Rambler_ back to her old position," Jule suggested. The two boys sprang down into the cockpit, paused a moment to get their balance and opened the cabin door. As they did so, a scrambling noise was heard inside, and both were knocked nearly off their feet as a body launched against them, turned to the railing and shot over into the river. From his position on the deck where he had been thrown by the impact of the collision, Alex looked up at Jule with a whimsical smile on his face. "Did you see that?" he asked. "I felt it," Jule replied, rubbing his head. "What did it feel like?" asked Alex "Like a battering ram," was the reply. "Well," Alex said, "it might have been a battering ram, but it looked to me like Max, and it's dollars to apples that he caused the _Cartier_ to start downstream. A few pulls from the water would have started the line running out." "That's just it!" Jule exclaimed. "That's exactly the idea!" Captain Joe now leaned over the gunwale of the _Rambler_ and cried out: "Which one of you boys fell overboard?" "That was Max," Alex replied. "He's been here in the cabin of the launch for nobody knows how long, ransacking the lockers and destroying papers. He must have come aboard about as soon as it was lifted out of the water. The scamp certainly keeps busy, anyway." Captain Joe passed over to the launch, and a long search was made through the owner's secretary and the drawers and boxes containing documents. The papers were wet, of course, and many of them were badly torn, but the purport of each was by no means doubtful. The great mass consisted of bills, newspaper clippings, personal letters and the hundred and one memoranda made by the captain and owner of a pleasure launch. "I guess we'll have to give it up," the captain said, after a time. "There's one good thing about it, and that is that Max didn't meet with any more success than we did." "How do you know?" asked Case. "Because," answered the Captain, "he would have been off the boat before we ever got to it." "Perhaps he wasn't here as long as you think he was," Alex put in. "Clay and I saw him up in the woods when we first went ashore." The papers were spread out neatly and left to dry, and everything in the drenched cabin placed in as good shape as possible. Then the boys all returned to the _Rambler_, now nearing her old position in the west river. Much to the surprise of all on board, there were no signs of the outlaws when the boat came to her old anchorage. Night was falling and there were no indications of hostile influences anywhere. Before darkness settled down over the scene, the boys drew the _Rambler_ a little farther up the stream and prepared to pass a watchful and anxious night. Alex proposed that he go ashore with the bulldog and make an effort to find Clay, but the proposition was instantly vetoed by the others. "You'll get lost yourself," Case declared, "and we'd have two boys to look up instead of one. I think we'd better all stay on the boat." "And that's good sense, too," Captain Joe put in. "Clay knows where we are, and he'll come to us if he can get away. If he doesn't come during the night, we'll get out after him in the morning." "He may be waiting for darkness," Case suggested. "In that case, he ought to be here soon. He must be hungry." "He surely will, and we'll keep supper waiting for him in this cabin all night," said Alex "When the outlaws had me pinched, they didn't give me anything to eat. I'll get even for that!" The night passed slowly, drearily, and Clay did not come. As the reader understands, all through the dark hours, the boy lay bound in a tent not far from the west shore of the east river. Shortly after daylight, breakfast being over, the boys began planning for a visit to the shore. The canoe and the rowboat were both on the bank still in plain sight. "You swim over and get the boats, Jule," Case said. "You haven't had as many open air baths as we have since we started on this trip." "Now, boys," interposed Captain Joe, "I wouldn't touch those boats if I were you. If there are any outlaws in those woods at all, they're watching those boats. The first boy that swims up to one of them will be captured." "Then we've all got to swim," declared Case ruefully. "We're getting used to it this time," cried Alex "I don't believe there's any one over there," Jule said. "They wouldn't keep still so long." "I notice that you don't get your head up above the gunwale very often," Alex laughed. "Look here, boys," Captain Joe said, pointing out of the cabin window. "Here's a place where the river widens without any good excuse for doing so. I talked to Clay about that, and his idea was that an underground stream runs in in this vicinity. Now, your eyes are better than mine. Look upstream and see if you can observe any current which might be made by the flowing in of a subterranean river." "You're all right, Captain Joe," Case exclaimed. "You can't forget that lost channel any more than we can." "I don't know whether there's a lost channel or not," the captain replied, "but I do know that there's a fresh supply of water coming into this stream right about here." Case took a field glass and looked up the stream. "There surely is a current starting in close to that bank," he finally said. "I can see sticks and bubbles popping up from the bottom. There's a spring there, all right." Alex took the glass and studied the river for a long time. Then he seized Captain Joe by the shoulder and pointed. "Say," he said, "there's a nude body coming up out of that eddy Case saw. You can see it under the water, drifting down this way." The boy dropped the glass clattering on the deck and sprang into the water. "Here, here, boy! Come back!" cried Captain Joe. "It's Clay!" shouted Jule. "Can't you see it's Clay!" In a moment, Jule was in the water, too, and both boys were diving after the figure they had seen in the eddy. They caught it in a moment, and managed to get it to the boat. Captain Joe and Case supplied ropes, and in an incredibly short space of time, Clay lay stretched out on the deck. "He's dead!" cried Alex "I just know he's dead!" "They stripped him of his clothes and threw him in!" wailed Jule. CHAPTER XXIII THE LOST CHARTER IS FOUND An instant after being laid on the deck, however, Clay opened his eyes and smiled up into the faces of his friends. "He'll be saying, 'Where am I?' in a minute!" Alex cried, dancing joyfully about the prostrate figure. "That is the usual thing in stories, you know. He'll have to say, 'Where am I?' and I'll have to tell him that he mustn't talk. Look at him grin." "What gets me," Captain Joe said, lifting the boy into a sitting position, "is how you came up from the bottom of the river without ever diving down to it. It looks uncanny." "The lost channel!" answered Clay weakly. "You found it, did you?" asked Alex. "Boys, boys," said Captain Joe, "never mind the lost channel until we get this boy dressed and fed up." The processes suggested by the captain were quickly accomplished, and in a short time, Clay sat in the cabin telling of the adventures of the morning. The boys listened wide-eyed. "Now let me get this thing right," Captain Joe said. "You went into a whirlpool above the falls and came out into a cavern?" "That's just it, exactly," Clay replied, still weak from his exertions. "I landed on a ledge, where I lay unconscious for a few moments and then followed down the channel of the underground river. There is plenty of room in the cavern," he continued, "and plenty of fresh air, but the place is shy on light. I fell many times in the darkness." "I thought it wasn't safe for me to be in there!" grinned Alex. "I thought it wasn't safe for me be in there!" Clay replied with a wink, "and so I made my way out as swiftly as I could. At this end of the channel, the water runs out just below the surface of the west river, and I thought I'd better reduce my weight as much as possible before going through the opening, so I took off my clothes and was pushed out by the current." "Looked mighty funny to see you come floating out of the river without ever having gone in!" laughed Jule. "Now, boys," said Captain Joe, after the boys had discussed all phases of the situation, "let's size this thing up together. In the first place, Clay has undoubtedly discovered the lost channel." "It might have been found years ago," Clay said, "if the men who tried to describe it had only said that it was a subterranean stream." "And now, the question is," went on the captain, "whether the charter and the family jewels are anywhere in the cavern through which the lost stream runs." "It seemed to me," Clay broke in, "that the cavern was big enough to hold a small sized city. It is just the kind of a place where one would naturally hide valuables." "It seems to me," Alex complained, "that the hardest part of our job is still to come, even if we have discovered the lost channel. We can't go up there and dive through the whirlpool, as Clay did, because the outlaws would perforate us before we got anywhere near the falls." "I've been thinking of that," Clay said, "and I believe there is a way to get into the cavern without getting wet. When I lay in the cavern, high up on the ridge, before being taken to the shore, the men with me emptied several tin cans of food and pitched them into a corner of the cavern. One of the cans was sent along with a kick, and I heard a splash of water when it fell." "Je-rusalem!" cried Alex. "Show me where that cavern is, and I'll take a rope and go through the opening where the can fell!" "What would these fellows on shore be doing all the time you were reaching the cavern?" asked Case. "I am certain," Clay went on, "that there is an opening from the floor of the cavern to the chamber in which the lost river runs, for when I came down, I saw a blur of light about halfway through the journey." "That settles that part of it, then," Captain Joe said. "We'll have to wait for a suitable opportunity and get into the chamber by way of the cave. And now," he continued, "I propose that we move out to the bay or the St. Lawrence, where we won't be under the guns of the enemy, and cook several square meals. Honest, boys," he went on, "I've been so worried lately, that I've almost lost my appetite." "Yes," Case laughed, "I notice you consumed only half a dozen of those Bismark pancakes for breakfast." The _Rambler_ was dropped down to the bay with the launch still by her side, and, once out of rifle shot, the boys enjoyed the freedom of the deck. "Now, we'll stay here until night," Captain Joe said, "and then we'll see what we can do towards finding that cavern and dropping down into the lost channel. We ought to explore it in one night with the help of our searchlights." The plan mapped out by the captain was successfully carried out. Leaving Jule on board the _Rambler_, the other members of the party crept cautiously ashore that night, and were led directly to the cavern by Clay. They were not disturbed during the journey. Off to the east, they saw the reflection of a campfire and the sound of many voices showed the boys that the outlaws were not at all anxious to conceal their presence. The opening leading from the cavern to the channel of the stream was large enough for even Captain Joe to pass through with comfort. Directly under the opening was a ledge of rock and here the boys landed. Almost at the point of entry they saw marks on the wall which indicated that at some distant time an inscription had been carved there. "We can't read the words," Clay said, flashing his searchlight over the wall, "but at least it tells us that this is somewhere near the scene of the old-time operations." Alex, who had been poking about around an angle of rock, now gave a great shout of delight which called the boys to his side. "There's your old safe!" he cried, pointing up to a niche in the wall, "and it's dollars to doughnuts that the lost charter and the jewels are inside of it!" It was the work of only a few moments to bring the safe down from the ledge of rock to where the boys stood. It was merely a box of steel, not more than a foot in diameter each way, and was evidently constructed with thin walls for its weight was not great. However, it was tightly closed and the boys could see no means by which it might be opened. There was not even a keyhole or a button. "We'll take it back to the _Rambler_," Captain Joe said. "Perhaps we can find a way to open it there." "We'll find a way to open it," Alex exclaimed, "when we get hold of the document Max was looking for in the cabin of the _Cartier_." "Good idea!" Captain Joe replied. "If you wait long enough, you'll always find something like intelligence in the head of a boy!" When the party returned to the cabin, daylight was just showing in the east and the noisy revel of those at the campfire had ceased. "I tell you what it is," Captain Joe exclaimed, "those fellows have given up chasing us for the reason that they have arrived at the conclusion that we don't know any more about the lost channel than they do. At first, they doubtless thought the map might direct us to it, but now they have given up that idea, and are satisfied to let us hunt for the lost charter if we want to." "Yes, but they are still watching us, all the same," Clay replied, "expecting to take the proceeds of the discovery away from us if we are lucky enough to find what both parties are seeking for." This explanation of Captain Joe's seemed to be the correct one, for the boys were not molested while on their way to the _Rambler_ with the steel box. Having secured the box, the question now was how to get it open, so nearly all that day, they searched among the papers in the cabin of the _Cartier_ for some clue to the mystery. Before night it was found in a bundle of old papers stowed away in a secret draw at the bottom of the owner's secretary, where it had lain for a long time. "This is easy," Clay said holding the paper up between his thumb and fingers. "The box is only an old French puzzle box. Press on the upper right hand front corner and a button will show. Press the button and the box will open, and there you are." "What the dickens do you think the Fontenelles left this paper laying around in a place like this for?" asked Case. "Do you suppose they knew what it was?" "Of course they knew," Clay answered, "and the paper was brought along so that the box might be opened as soon as found." Although the hinges and lock of the steel box were rusted, it was opened with little difficulty and there were the family jewels and the lost charter! In spite of difficulties, the boys had succeeded in their quest. The search of more than three hundred years was ended! When the _Rambler_ and the _Cartier_ started away toward Quebec, they left the men who had opposed them still on the peninsula. Reaching the city, they lost no time in communicating the result of their expedition to the Fontenelles. It is needless to say that the latter were overjoyed at the recovery of the charter and the jewels. At the close of the interview between the elder Fontenelle and Clay, the former wrote a check for ten thousand dollars and passed it over to the boy. Clay smiled as he passed it back. "You remember," he said, "that we recovered the _Cartier_, and that we searched her papers pretty thoroughly to discover the secret of the steel box. Well, Captain Joe, our old friend from Chicago, has conceived a great liking for the boat, and if you can induce your son to give us the launch, and also to make no trouble for the poor people who will suffer under this charter, we shall consider ourselves amply repaid for all our trouble. It has been a pleasant excursion, anyway." "So far as the boat is concerned," the old man Fontenelle replied, "you are entitled to it as salvage. Besides, now that the charter and the jewels have been discovered, through your agency, the _Cartier_ will no longer be elaborate enough for my son. He will have a handsome yacht built, anyway, so you may as well take the launch. So far as making trouble for those who have occupied our lands for years goes, no one shall suffer except those who combined their wealth to obstruct us. "And so you see," he continued, "that the check is yours after all." And the old gentleman would not accept "No." for an answer. "One thing I should like to know," Clay said, before leaving Mr. Fontenelle, "and that concerns the mysterious map we received and the manner in which it came into our possession." "I can set you right on that point," the old man said. "The man who gave you the map and who was drowned that same night was long in our employ. He finally became angry at some fancied slight and disappeared taking with him valuable papers. It is believed that the crude map delivered to you was among the papers he took. At any rate, on the day before you saw him, he expressed to a relative remorse at what he had done and promised to restore the papers. How he came to deliver the map to you, knowing the _Cartier_ as well as he did, is something which will never be known." The boys left Quebec the next morning without waiting for the return of the men who were still looking for the lost channel on Cartier island. Therefore they never saw either Lawyer Martin or Max again, but they read later in the news dispatches of Max being sentenced to the penitentiary for highway robbery. The boys went over the old ground on the river again to Ogdensburg, where the _Cartier_ was fully equipped with new electrical apparatus and then the two started away on their long journey up the lakes. Captain Joe, was, of course, overjoyed at becoming the owner of the launch, which is now one of the show vessels on the South Branch. Captain Joe, the bulldog, and Teddy when in Chicago alternate between the _Rambler_ and the _Cartier_, having a welcome on either boat. The boys were not content to remain long on the South Branch. In fact, within a few days, they fitted the _Rambler_ out for a trip down the Ohio river. What occurred during this trip will be related in the next volume of this series entitled: The Six River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio; or, the Three Blue Lights. 
41536	----	[Illustration: "He's got something, for a fact!" exclaimed Herb.] Motor Boat Boys Among the Florida Keys Or _The Struggle for the Leadership_ By LOUIS ARUNDEL Author of "Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence," "Motor Boat Boys' Cruise Down the Mississippi," "Motor Boat Boys on the Great Lakes," "Motor Boat Boys Down the Coast." [Illustration] Chicago M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY COPYRIGHT 1913. M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by M. A. Donohue & Co. CONTENTS Chapter Page I--AT ANCHOR, INSIDE THE BAR 7 II--THE WARNING RATTLE 18 III--DOWN THE INDIAN RIVER 29 IV--THAT SAME OLD UNLUCKY WIRELESS 40 V--THE MYSTERIOUS POWER BOAT 54 VI--NICK TRIES AGAIN 63 VII--THE LOST CHUM 74 VIII--TRACKED TO THE BAYOU 85 IX--FOR THE SAKE OF CHUM JOSH 97 X--ABOARD THE STRANGE POWER BOAT 106 XI--IN HONOR BOUND 115 XII--AN INVASION OF THE CAMP 124 XIII--JIMMY REFUSES TO GIVE UP THE GAME 133 XIV--WHEN THE COMFORT WAS HUNG UP 142 XV--THE BIRD ROOST 151 XVI--A SCREECHER FROM THE NORTH 160 XVII--THE SHELTER BACK OF THE KEY 169 XVIII--JIMMY FORGES TO THE FRONT 178 XIX--FROM TAMPA, NORTH 187 XX--THE SHARK FISHERMAN 196 XXI--VICTORY COMES TO NICK 205 XXII--WHERE AMBITION LED 214 XXIII--WINDING UP THE VOYAGE--CONCLUSION 223 THE MOTOR BOAT BOYS AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS or A Struggle For the Leadership CHAPTER I. AT ANCHOR, INSIDE THE BAR. "Get busy here, Nick; now's your chance to make a big score for a starter!" "It's awful kind of you, George, to let me out of my part of the work this afternoon, and that's a fact. I appreciate it, too; because I just want to beat Jimmy out in this thing the worst kind." "Oh! shucks! don't mention it, Nick. We're all interested in your game, and you know it. Besides, there goes your rival, Jimmy, right now, in his little dinky boat, and with a wide grin on his face. Jack's given him a holiday, to celebrate the opening of the great fishing contest. Get a move on, you slow-poke!" "Gee! then he'll get a start on me. I _must_ hurry. Now, where in the dickens is that other oar, George? Oh! here she is, tucked away under the thwart. And can you tell me what I did with that mullet the cracker gentleman gave me, to use for bait? Please help me get started, George. Seems like everything wants to go wrong at once!" "Here you are, Nick. Got your tackle all right, have you; and sure that life preserver is in the boat? All ready? Then away you go; but keep clear of the inlet, if the tide changes, or you might get carried out to sea in that eight-foot dinky." Three minutes later, and Nick Longfellow--who belied his name dreadfully, in that he was short, and fat, and built pretty much after the style of a full meal bag--was rowing clumsily toward a likely spot, where he believed he might do some successful fishing. A trio of motor boats were anchored just inside Mosquito Inlet, not far from the town of New Smyrna on the east coast of Florida, having come in that very afternoon, after making the outside passage from the mouth of the St. Johns River. They might have entered at St. Augustine, and taken the inside passage down to this place, only that something was wrong with the connecting canal that led to the Halifax River, and it seemed unwise to take the chances of being held up. The boat from which Nick had put out on his fishing excursion was a slender looking craft, and evidently capable of making high speed; but from the way she rolled whenever any one aboard moved, it could be seen that she must prove rather an uncomfortable home on which to spend very much time. The name painted in letters of gold on her bow was _Wireless_; and her skipper, George Rollins, took more or less pride in her accomplishments; although, truth to tell, he spent much of his time tinkering with her high-power engine, that had a way of betraying his trust when conditions made it most exasperating. The boat from which the said Jimmy had started was called the _Tramp_. Her lines were not so fine as those of the hurry boat; but, nevertheless, an experienced cruiser would have picked her out as an ideal craft for combined business and pleasure. Her skipper was Jack Stormways, really the commodore of the little fleet; and his crew consisted of Jimmy Brannigan, a boy who sported many freckles, a happy-go-lucky disposition, and a little of the Irish brogue whenever he happened to remember his descent from the old kings of Erin. As to the third motor boat, it was a broad beamed affair, that really looked like a pumpkin seed on a large scale; or, as some of the boys often called it, a "tub." It was well named the _Comfort_, and its owner, Herbert Dickson, content to take things easy and let others do the hustling, never denied the claim George was fond of making, that he could draw circles around the "Ark" with his fast one. The engine of the _Comfort_ had never failed to do its level best, which was limited to some nine miles an hour. Herb also had an assistant, a tall, lanky lad, by name Josh Purdue. By rights he and Nick should have exchanged places; but Josh had had one experience on the dizzy speed boat, and absolutely refused to try it again. These lads belonged in a town far up toward the sources of the mighty Mississippi River. They would have been attending high school, only that a fire had almost demolished the buildings, and vacation season was enforced until after New Year's. Owning these boats, and having had considerable experience in making long trips, the boys had, with the consent of their parents, shipped the craft east to Philadelphia, and some five weeks previously started down the coast by the inside route. And now they were starting on the second half of the remarkable voyage, which they intended would take them around the end of the peninsula of Florida, among the keys that make this region the small boat cruiser's paradise, and finally land them at New Orleans in time to ship their boats north by steamboat. Spending several days in Jacksonville, and taking aboard supplies, before making a start, Nick and Jimmy had fallen into quite a heated dispute as to which of them could be called the more expert fisherman. Now, truth to tell, neither of the boys had had very much experience in this line; but, egged on by Josh and Herb, they had finally entered upon a contest which was to last until they reached New Orleans. Jack had solemnly entered the conditions in his log book; and the one who, during the duration of the cruise, could catch and land unassisted the heaviest fish of any description, was to be declared the champion. Eager to accomplish wonderful "stunts," the two boys naturally seized upon this very first chance to get their lines overboard, in the hope of starting things moving by a weighty capture. And the others, anticipating more or less fun out of the bitter rivalry, lost no opportunity to "sic" the contestants on. Just as a breeze fans a flame, so their frequent allusions as to the budding qualities of the rivals as fishermen kept Nick and Jimmy eager for the fray. As might have been expected, when George secured a tender for his speed boat, while in Jacksonville, as they were told they would need such things right along, in order to make landings where the water was too shoal for the larger craft to get close to the shore, he selected a dumpy little flat-bottomed "dinky," just about on a par with the _Wireless_ when it came to eccentric qualities. An expert with the oars or a paddle might manage the affair fairly well; but as Nick was as clumsy as he was fat, it seemed as though he would never get the hang of the squatty tender. When he sat in the middle, one dip of an oar would cause the boat to spin wildly around as if on a pivot; and as to rowing in a straight course, the thing was utterly beyond Nick's abilities. So, when he was aiming for a certain spot, he was wont to approach his intended goal by a series of eccentric angles. The flood tide was still coming in lazily, for they had managed to hit the inlet when the bar was well covered, wishing to take no chances. So Nick, after managing to propel the "punkin seed" over to the spot near a bunch of mangroves, that he had selected as most promising, set to work. He tied the boat, first of all, by a piece of cord, so that it would not float away while he fished. Then he laboriously got his tackle in readiness. Those on the motor boats had kept an eye on the actions of the two rivals, as if anticipating that sooner or later they might have something to laugh over; for Nick was forever tumbling into difficulties of some sort. "I don't believe Nick will ever get the hang of that dinky, George," remarked Jack, as he leaned over the side of the _Tramp_, peeling some potatoes which they intended having for supper; and, as there did not seem to be any decent chance to cook this ashore, the voyagers would have to do as they had often done before, use their little kerosene gas stoves aboard the several boats. "It takes an expert to run that cut-off runt properly," said Herb, who was also engaged, wiping his engine, while Josh started operations looking to the evening meal, the lanky boy being by all odds the best cook in the party. "Thank you for the compliment, Herb," laughed George. "It happens that I've always been at home in small boats. And there was something about that stumpy little affair that made me take a fancy to her. Nick will do better after he learns the ropes. And he generally manages to get there, even if he does cover twice as much distance as I might. Look at Jimmy, fellows!" "He's got something, for a fact!" exclaimed Herb; "and Nick is excited over it. See him wiggle around to watch, just as if he feared the game was going to be settled right in the start. Hi! sit down, Nick! Want to upset that cranky thing, do you? Well, it's good you've got your air bag fastened on; for without a life preserver you'd drown in this tideway, if ever you fell over." "Watch Jimmy, will you, boys?" chuckled Jack. "Look at the grin on his face as he pulls his line in. You can see that half his fun is in keeping an eye on Nick, to enjoy his confusion and disappointment." "Wow! why, the fish is pulling his boat around, do you notice?" demanded George. "That looks as if it might be a good one. There, I thought Jimmy couldn't keep still much longer. Listen to him yap, would you?" Herb called out. Jimmy had started to crow over his rival, as any ordinary boy would be apt to do under similar conditions. "Don't be after gettin' downhearted too soon, Nick, me bhoy!" he shouted. "Sure, this is only a little one for a stharter, so it is. Wait till I get going, and I'll open your eyes good and sthrong. Och! how he pulls! If only ye were a bit closer now, I'd let ye fale of the line, to know the sensation. Come in, ye darlint, and let's have a look at ye. Whirra! but he's bigger than I thought; and it's me as hopes he won't upset the boat when I pull him over the side!" Of course much of this talk was for the purpose of making his rival squirm with envy; though the captive did show signs of being a strong fighter. After about five minutes of apparently strenuous effort, Jimmy concluded that it would be unwise to risk losing his prisoner by playing it longer; so he dragged the hooked fish over the side. There was a flash of bronze and white that told Jack the story. "A channel bass, and something like fifteen pounds in weight, too. We're sure of fish on this trip, anyway, with the two of them bending every energy to the winning of the medal!" he exclaimed. "There goes Nick back to his work," said George. "If there are fish here, he hopes to get his share. But ten to one he's nearly choking with envy right now, because Jimmy drew the first blood. It's an uphill game for poor old Nick." "Well," Herb went on to remark, "the game will last a whole month, and more; so nobody can tell how the finish may turn out. Nick might get hold of a bigger fish any minute. But it's up to us to encourage 'em right along. We'll never want for a fish diet if we do, for they'll stay up nights to keep at it." "There, I declare, if Nick didn't have a jerk at his line then; but he failed to hook the rascal!" Jack exclaimed. "And came near upsetting the boat in his excitement, too," complained George. "If he does, I can see the finish of my oars, which will go out of the inlet with the ebb tide." "But what about Nick; you don't seem to worry about how he'll act?" laughed Herb. "Oh! he'll just float around, with that life preserver holding him up, till one of us pushes out and tows him ashore. Whatever is he doing now, do you suppose?" George demanded. "Throwing out that shark hook of his, with the clothes line attached," Jack explained. "You see, Nick has evidently made up his mind to go in for something worth while. He wants to knock the spots out of Jimmy's hopes right in the start." "But, my stars! if he hooks a big shark while he's sitting in that punkin seed of a boat, there's bound to be a warm old circus!" Herb declared. Some little time passed, and those aboard the anchored motor boats, busily engaged in their various occupations, had almost forgotten about the bitter rivalry going on so near by, when suddenly they were startled by a great shout. "It's Nick, this time!" exclaimed Jack, as he jumped to the side of the _Tramp_ to observe what was taking place. "And say, he's fast to a whopper, as sure as you live!" cried Herb. George added his contribution on the heels of the rest. "That string's broke away, just as I expected, and there goes Nick and the punkin seed, full tilt for the inlet! By all that's out, fellows, he must have caught a whale that time, fresh run from the sea. Hi! hold on there, Nick, that's my boat!" CHAPTER II. THE WARNING RATTLE. Jack Stormways was a quick-witted lad. He had proved this fact on numerous occasions in the past, within the memory of his chums. When anything sudden happened, while others might appear to be spellbound, and waste precious seconds in staring, Jack was very apt to be on the jump, and _doing_. So in the present instance, while it might appear more or less comical, seeing the fat boy crouched in that silly little boat belonging to the _Wireless_, and being dragged through the water at a most rapid rate by the shark he had hooked, there was always an element of danger connected with the affair. And so Jack, after taking that one look out over the water, sprang forward, and started dragging his anchor aboard with all possible speed. That done, he next applied himself to getting power on the boat, which fortunately could be done with a simple turning over of the engine. "Hello! are you going to chase the runaway with the _Tramp_?" cried Herb, who was in the act of climbing over the side into his tender, as though meaning to put out in pursuit himself. "Yes; jump aboard here, Herb; I might need help!" came the answer; and, accustomed to respecting Jack's judgment, the one addressed managed to clamber over the side of the _Tramp_ just as that craft started off. Meanwhile Nick was going at a great rate, not in a direct line for the inlet, but following jerky, eccentric angles, as though the shark hardly knew what to do, on feeling the contact with the point of the big hook at the end of the chain. Several times the fat boy seemed on the point of creeping forward to get at the rope that was fastened to a cleat in the bow of the dinky. It was George who roared at him on such occasions. "Keep still, Nick; sit down, can't you? You'll upset sure, if you don't lie flat! Jack's coming out after you on the jump! Hey, look out there, Jimmy, or you'll get foul, too! Whew! what a race horse you've got fast to, Nick. If only you could land him, Jimmy's name would be Mud. There he goes again, heading for the bar! Look at the water shooting up on either side of that dandy little boat, would you? And ain't Nick having the ride of his life, though? There he goes, crawling along up to the bow again. Perhaps he wants to cut loose; small blame to him if he does!" Everybody was either laughing, or shouting advice to Nick, while this exciting little drama was taking place. Indeed, Nick himself seemed to be the only one who was not getting some measure of fun out of the affair. His usually red face looked pale, as he managed to reach the squatty bow of the little boat. But when he found that it was dragged down by the action of the fish, as well as his own weight, he drew back again in alarm, for water had come rushing aboard. Once the motor boat got started, of course it speedily came up with the runaway. Jack had given the wheel into the charge of Herb, who was fully competent to run things. This allowed the other an opportunity to do anything that offered, looking to the rescue of poor frightened Nick. "Get me out of this, won't you, Jack? I don't like it one little bit," pleaded the fat boy; and then, as some new freak on the part of the shark caused the dinky to lunge sideways in a fearful manner, he shouted in new alarm: "Quit it, you ugly beast! Who wants to nab you now? I pass, I tell you! Let go, and get out of this! Wow! look at him splash the water, Jack, would you?" "He wanted to take a look at you, that's all," Jack called out. "Don't you think you'd better cut loose, and let your hook go, Nick?" "I ain't got any knife; it went overboard the first thing. Besides," added the occupant of the dinky, who was now once more crouching in the stern, "if I go up there, the water just pours in. I'm sitting in it right now. Jack, can't you think of some way to make him leave me alone?" "Perhaps I might," came the reply, as the skipper of the _Tramp_ dodged back into the hunting cabin of his boat. He almost immediately reappeared again, holding a rope in his hands. This he made fast to a cleat at the bow; and then, turning to Herb, asked him to bring the motor boat as close to the fleeing dinky as possible. Leaning down, Jack managed to get a peculiar sort of hitch around the taut line; and a quick jerk seemed to secure his own rope, so that it would not slip. His next action was to take a keen knife, and lay its edge upon the line, close to the spot where it was fastened to the wobbling dinky. Of course it instantly parted. "Oh! that's too bad! Now I've lost my tackle!" cried Nick; although he looked vastly relieved at finding that he was no longer fast to the queer sea horse. Jack paid no further attention to the rescued chum. The fight was now to be all between himself and the shark. Quickly the line paid out, until there came a heavy jerk, and then once more it became taut. "Bully! it's holding fine, Jack!" shouted Herb, who had watched to see the result; for he doubted whether the connection, brought about under such difficulties, would be maintained. "Now, gradually bring the boat to a full stop," said Jack, as he again reached back into the cabin, and drew out a rifle. "As soon as you've got him halted, begin to back up. That will drag him to the top, you understand; and I'll have a chance to pot the rascal." "That's right," declared Herb, who could grasp a thing readily enough, even if slow to originate clever schemes himself. Just as Jack had said, when the pull was being exerted in the other direction, the struggling monster was presently seen splashing at a tremendous rate, though unable to resist the drawing powers of the ten-horsepower engine. Jack, crouching there, with one elbow resting on his knee, took as good an aim as the conditions allowed. Then came the sharp report of the gun. "Whoop! you hit him all right, that time, Jack!" shouted Herb; as there ensued a tremendous floundering at the end of the rope. "But he ain't knocked out yet. Give him another dose of the same sort!" Across the water came the cries of the others who were watching this exciting scene. And loudest of all could be heard the voice of Nick, now once more in possession of his nerve. "Give it to him, Jack! Pound the measly old pirate good and hard! He won't try that game again in a hurry, I tell you! Hey! Jimmy, you ain't in it this time, with that little minnow of yours. Hurrah! that's the time you poked him in the slats, Jack! Trust you for knowing how! I guess he's a sure goner after that meal of cold lead." Jack had fired a second time; and, just as the wildly excited Nick said, he seemed to have met with better success than on the former occasion. The trapped sea monster threshed the water still, but not in the same violent manner as before; and his fury seemed to be rapidly diminishing as the result of his wounds began to be felt. "Now, stop her, Herb, and start ahead slowly!" Jack called out, hovering over the spot where the line was fast to the cleat. The boy at the wheel did as he was directed; and as the line became slack Jack took it in, ready to hastily secure the same about another cleat in case the dying shark developed a disposition to make a last mad dash. But evidently the big fish was "all in," and when they reached a point nearly over where he lay, there were seen only a few spasmodic movements to his body. "Let's drag him near the other boats, so we can pull the old fellow up on that little beach," Jack suggested. Ten minutes later, and the six boys were all ashore, laying hold of the rope in order to drag the captured fish out. "Say, he's some whopper, let me tell you!" exclaimed George, as, having drawn the shark high and dry, they all hastened to examine the capture. Nick was dancing with joy, and his eyes fairly beamed as he stood beside the great bulk, putting one foot up on it after the manner in which he had seen noted hunters do, in pictures that told of their exploits when hunting big game. "Now, how about it, Jimmy?" he demanded, as Jack was cutting the stout hook from the jaw of the monster. "Think this is some punkins, don't you, now. Three hundred pounds, if it weighs an ounce. Have to hustle some, let me tell you, my boy, if you ever expect to go a notch higher than this." "Arrah, come off, would you!" indignantly cried Jimmy. "Sure, ye wouldn't be claiming that ye took this same ould sea wolf, and inter it in the competition. I do be laving it to Jack here, if that's fair?" "But I hooked it, you all saw that?" expostulated Nick. "I don't know," remarked Herb, looking very serious; "I was under the impression that the shark had got you, up to the time Jack came along with his little gun, and tapped him on the head. How about it, Commodore? Can Nick enter any claim to having caught this prize?" "Wait," said Jack, smiling; "let me read out the exact words of the wager. I've got a copy right here in my note book. Listen now, both of you. It reads like this: 'Each contestant shall have the liberty of fishing as often as he pleases, and the fish may be taken in any sort of manner; the one stipulation being that the capture shall be undertaken by the contestant, _alone and unaided_; and that he must have possession of the fish long enough to show the same, and have its weight either estimated or proven.'" "That settles your goose, me bhoy!" croaked Jimmy, gleefully; "and I'm top notch in the game up to the prisent moment. Do we get busy again, Nick, I say; or are ye satisfied to lit me claim first blood?" "Well, it seems mighty small, that after grabbing that nice fellow, I've got to let the honors go for the day," remarked the fat boy. "And I guess I've had quite enough excitement for once. I'm all soaked in the bargain; and it feels kind of cool, you see. So I won't fish any more right now. But next time, just you look out for yourself, Jimmy. I'm after you like hot cakes. Say, ain't we going to have that fish for supper, boys?" Nick was a voracious eater. He liked nothing in the world so much as to enjoy a glorious meal; and long after his chums were through, he often sat there, finishing the dishes. On the other hand, lean, lanky Josh, while possessed of a knack for cooking all sorts of good things, had a poor appetite, and often merely nibbled at his food, to the wonderment and disgust of the fat boy. "If you get to work and clean it," said Jack, "I think there ought to be plenty to go around. But you'll find that one-third of a channel bass is the head. As we had one before, we know it's worth eating, so pitch in, Nick. Since you lost your knife overboard, take mine here, and get busy." It pleased Jimmy to strut around near where his rival was occupied with his menial task, and make occasional remarks about "his prize," calculated to rub salt in Nick's wounds. But after all, the fat boy was good-natured, and took things in a matter-of-fact way. Besides, he was grimly resolved that sooner or later, by hook or by crook, even if it were a fish-hook, he would overcome this strong lead of his rival in the race for high honors. As more or less fuel had been found ashore, and Josh expressed his desire to manage the supper, as head chef, it was found advisable to change their plans. And so, assisted by many willing workers, the lanky wonder started operations. He was soon bustling around, looking very consequential. Nick had made him a _chef's_ cap out of a piece of white muslin, which he was requested to wear on all such occasions as this, when in charge of affairs about the cooking fire. Nick himself was busy trying to mend some little contraption, purchased on the street in Jacksonville, and which he had broken before he could have any fun with the same as originally intended. Jack, stepping off from the _Tramp_, where he had gone to get some of the tinware needed for coffee and substantial food, was electrified to hear Josh give a whoop; and at the same instant his ears were assailed by a dreadful rattling noise that sounded for all the world like the angry buzz of a diamond-back rattlesnake. "Thunder and Mars! Great Jerusalem! I'm struck in the leg!" bellowed the lengthy Josh, as he came tumbling back from the edge of the bushes, grabbing at his shin in a frantic manner. CHAPTER III. DOWN THE INDIAN RIVER. "Now, what d'ye know about that?" exclaimed Nick, scrambling to his feet after his usual clumsy way; for when the fat boy happened to become excited he generally "fell all over himself," as Josh put it. "What ails you, Josh?" demanded Herb. No sooner had the lengthy one reached a spot near the fire than he threw himself down, and commenced frantically to pull up the left leg of his trousers. "Gosh! looky there, will you, fellers?" he bellowed, as if in a panic. "He sure got me that time; I guess I'm a goner. Won't one of you get down and suck the poison out for me? You know, I'd do it in your case. Oh! please hurry up. My leg's beginning to swell right now, and in a few minutes it'll be too late!" "Poison!" echoed Herb, who seemed to be in utter ignorance of the entire matter, and could only stare at the little speck of blood showing on the white skin as if horribly fascinated. "Yes, oh! didn't you hear the terrible buzz he gave when he stuck his fangs in me?" groaned poor Josh. Jack had thrown himself down alongside the wounded one, and was minutely examining the hurt. He looked up at this juncture, and to the astonishment of Herb and George, was apparently grinning. "Brace up, Josh," he said, cheerfully; "you're not going to kick the bucket yet awhile, I reckon." "Oh! how kind of you to tell me so, Jack; but how do you know? Please tell me why you say that," pleaded the cook, beginning to look relieved; for he had fallen long ago into placing the utmost confidence in whatever Jack believed. "Well, in the first place, there's only one tiny puncture, you see; and if this was a snake bite there'd be the plain marks of _two_ fangs," Jack announced. "Sounds all right, Jack; but perhaps this critter only had one fang. Didn't you hear the angry shake of his old rattle-box when he struck? It gave me a cold chill, because, right at the same second, I felt something stick me. I'll never forget the awful sensation, even if I do live through it," and Josh rubbed his leg vigorously, as though hoping that by inducing a circulation he might avert the threatened dire catastrophe. "Well, if you only look around right now, perhaps you'll discover the source of that same buzz," Jack went on, soberly. "Why, whatever can you mean?" Josh stammered, staring his amazement. "Notice how Nick, for instance, is trying the best he knows how to keep his face straight, even while he's just shaking all over with the laugh that's in him. Stand up, Nick; and hold out that hand you've got behind your back." Jack pointed rather sternly at the culprit while speaking. "Oh, well, I s'pose I'll have to 'fess," mumbled the fat boy, as he whipped the hand in question around, so that all could see what he was holding. "Why, it's that boozy little rattle he picked up in Jacksonville, and broke on the first trial!" exclaimed George. "He's been dabbling at it ever since, trying to mend the old thing." "Yes," said Jack, "and just succeeded in getting it to working. Here, give it to me, Nick, and I'll show them how it whirrs when you turn it around rapidly." Taking the little wooden contrivance, Jack gave it a series of quick turns, with the result that a loud angry buzzing was produced, not unlike the warning rattle of an enraged snake. "Oh! that was it, Jack!" cried the relieved Josh. "Thank you for showing me, too. It sure takes a big load off my mind, because you'll never know what a nasty feeling I had at the time. It was a mean dodge, Nick, and I can't forget it in a hurry, either. But Jack, that don't explain everything." "Now you're thinking of that sudden little pain you had in the leg?" suggested the other, nodding his head understandingly. "You bet I am!" Josh declared. "It took me at the identical second I heard that whirr. If it wasn't a snake bit me, what did, Jack?" "Let's find out right away, so's to relieve your mind," Jack went on. "Lead the way to the very spot where you were when you heard the sound, and felt that sudden pain." "That's dead easy," remarked the tall boy; and as he said this he scrambled to his feet, his trousers still rolled up to his knee, and limped across the camp. Jack noticed, however, that he approached the place cautiously, as though not yet wholly convinced that there might not be a dreadful diamond-back rattler lying in ambush, waiting for another chance to puncture him. "There it is, right in front of you, Jack!" Josh cried, pointing; "I happened to want a handful of dry timber to hurry up the fire, and stepped over here, because I'd noticed just the thing under this lone palmetto. Just as I banged into that little bunch of brush it happened." Jack laughed. "Look here, fellows, and you'll see what he ran against!" he announced, taking hold of the long, narrow, dark green leaf of a plant that was growing there. "What is it?" asked George. "A plant they call Spanish Bayonet," replied Jack, seriously now. "You see, like lots of semi-tropical plants, such as the yucca, century plant or Mexican aloe, and others, it's got a sharp point, almost like a needle. Well, just as luck would have it, Josh banged into one of these leaves at the very second Nick began to rattle his alarm box. No wonder he got a shock! It was enough to stagger the bravest." "Then it was what you might call a coincidence?" suggested Herb. "Huh! a mighty tough one, too," grunted Josh, as he rubbed his injured limb ere turning down his trouser leg. "But see here, fellows, are we going to let our funny man try that stunt every little while?" demanded George, frowning at his shipmate. "I vote for one against such a thing," declared Herb. "That nasty little box has too suggestive a rattle to please me. If I was going through the saw palmetto scrub, and he happened to amuse himself with it, I just know I'd jump ten feet. It would make life miserable for me right along." "Jimmy, what do you say?" demanded Jack. "Me too!" piped up the Irish lad. "Sure it do be giving me the crapes just to listen to that thing go whirring around." "You hear the verdict, Nick?" said Jack, pretending to assume the air of a judge addressing the prisoner in the dock. "Oh! I ain't saying a word," Nick replied, with a shrug of his fat shoulders. "I c'n see myself that it would be a mean trick to play. Never thought much about it that way. Give her a toss, Jack. And Josh, I hope you won't hold it against me too hard. You know, you're top-notch yet in that bully contest of ours." In this way did the contrite joker attempt to buy peace in the camp; and that he was fairly successful might be judged from the grin that slowly began to spread over the thin face of the cook. "That's all right, Nick; so long as it don't happen again I ain't goin' to think too much about it. Fact is, it's goin' to give me a cold shiver every time I hear anything like that rattle. And now I'll be getting back to my work." "Then you don't want anybody to suck the poison out?" asked Nick. "Let up on that, now, will you? I guess I'm able to hobble around yet," and bending down, Josh gathered some of the dry trash that he wanted, to hurry the fire on with. Jack had tossed the little rattle-box contrivance into the fire, where it was soon entirely consumed. Although they ate supper ashore, it was considered wise to sleep aboard. The only one who grumbled at this decision was poor Nick. He had a hard lot to follow, for the narrow speed boat offered but poor sleeping accommodations for two, and many a time the stout youth was wont to bemoan his sad fate as he rubbed his aching sides in the morning. They left the camp at Mosquito Inlet an hour after sunrise on the following morning, and started down past New Smyrna, heading for the Haulover Canal that connects Mosquito Lagoon with the famous Indian River. Under Jack's wise guidance they found little trouble in navigating the broad or narrow waters of the various channels. As steamboats passed through daily in the season, there were plenty of "targets" pointing out the deeper waters; and where the lagoon happened to be very shallow, canals had been dredged. Taking it leisurely, they arrived at Titusville about two in the afternoon. Here one of the boys went for the mail, and also to pick up the few things they had on the list of "necessities wanted." As the western shore of the river is pretty thickly settled now, it was decided to cross over, and skirt along Merritt's Island until near its foot, where they could probably find a spot free from civilization's touch; and this was what appealed to the motor boat boys at all times--wild solitude. Long before evening overtook them they had come to a halt, and anchored the boats close to the eastern shore, just beyond a point that would protect them from any wild norther that might chance to spring up. All of them had heard so much about these dreaded storms that swoop down upon the pilgrims in small boats when navigating Florida waters that they were always on the watch for their coming. "I say, Jack!" exclaimed George, as they landed in their small dinkies, intending to again have a fire, and be congenial; "look out yonder on the river, and tell me if that ain't the same strange launch we saw twice before above." "You're right, George, that's what," replied the other, as he whirled around, to shade his eyes with one hand in order to see the better; for the sun was just going down beyond the wide river, Rockledge way, and shone fiercely. "If I had the glasses now, I'd like to see who they are," George went on. "Seems to me the parties on that boat act queer. They dodge out of sight whenever they think we're watching. I don't just like the way they act, Jack, do you?" "Oh! I don't know," replied the other. "That may be only imagination with you, George. The only thing that strikes me as queer is that the boat seems to be as near a ringer for the _Tramp_ as anything I ever struck." "Wow! you're on the job now, when you say that, and funny I hadn't noticed it before, Jack," George declared. "Now that you mention it, I declare if it isn't just remarkable. I suppose all of our boats have doubles, somewhere in the country; for the makers have a model they follow out heaps of times in a season; but all the same, it strikes a fellow as queer to run across a duplicate of the boat he's kind of looked on as his own especial property." "Well," grunted Nick, who had been near enough to overhear this talk, "I'm right sorry for somebody then, if there's a ringer for the _Wireless_. They have my sympathy, I tell you that right now." But George only sniffed, and disdained to notice the slur cast upon his pet. It seemed that the more the others found fault with the actions of the _Wireless_, the greater became his attachment for the erratic boat. "Well, they're ahead of us again, for one thing," he remarked. "It looks like a game of tag, right along; now we're leading, and then they forge ahead. I'm just going to keep tabs on that boat, for fun; and some fine day perhaps I'll have my curiosity satisfied. I'd give something to know who they are, and why they act like they do." "Oh! they won't keep me awake much, I tell you that," said Nick, loftily. "When I bother my head it's going to be about something worth while--understand?" "Sure," remarked George, quickly. "Something that threatens a calamity in the feeding line, for instance; a running short of supplies. That's the subject Nick worries about most." "Well, is there any more important business known than supplying the human engine with plenty of fuel?" demanded the other, sturdily. "Perhaps the engineer may be the more important fellow of the two; but the stoker is just as necessary, if the machine is to be kept going. But there's Josh calling me to help him. I'm always Johnny-on-the-spot when it comes to helping Josh get grub ready"--and he waddled off serenely; for Nick was so happily constituted that no matter what jabs he received from his chums, they seemed to roll from him like water from a duck's back. "Hear the mullet jump?" remarked Jack, as they ate supper after night had set in. "D'ye know, fellows, this ought to be a good time to try that fish spear?--for we'll have an hour of dark before the old moon peeps up, and there isn't a breath of wind to ruffle the water. Jimmy, I appoint you to push me around a bit, and see what we can do, though I wouldn't count too much on any big score." "I'm on, Jack, darlint," Jimmy immediately responded; "and it's ready I am now." CHAPTER IV. THAT SAME OLD UNLUCKY WIRELESS. Moving about in the steadiest of the little tenders, with a flare in the bow, and Jimmy to gently push in the stern, Jack sought to strike some game fish. His success was not very flattering, though he certainly did enjoy the experience. It was really worth while to peer down into the shallow depths, and see what lay there. Several times he caught glimpses of channel bass, sheepshead, or sea trout, which last is only another name for the weak fish of the North; but as a rule they flashed away before he could strike. He did succeed in spearing one trout of about three pounds, much to Jimmy's delight. And later on, he struck a nasty creature with what seemed to be a barb on the top of his tail, which he thrust around in a savage manner as Jack held him up on the end of his pole. "Look out, and don't get too close to him, Jimmy," Jack warned. "Sure now and I won't," replied the other, "for, to till the truth, it's me as don't like the looks of that little fixin' on the ind of his tail." "It must be what they call a stingaree or stingray," Jack went on. "I never saw one before, but I've read a lot about 'em. They say he can poison you, if ever he hits with that barb. You know what a mudcat can do, out on the Mississippi; well, this is the same thing, only a whole lot worse." "Drop the squirmin' bog-trotter back into the wather, Jack, me bhoy; for 'tis us as don't want too close an acquaintance with him. He'd make it too warrm for us, by the same token," Jimmy declared; and Jack complied only too willingly. "I guess we've had about enough of this, so let's go ashore," he suggested. Nick awaited them, eager to ascertain the amount of their captures. He whiffed on discovering only one fish aboard the dinky. "Huh! could eat that all by myself, and then not half try," he remarked. "All right, then; if you do the needful to it, you're welcome, Nick," laughed the one who had captured the sea trout. Of course, Nick became suddenly suspicious. "You wouldn't play any trick on me, now, I hope, Jack, and get me to eat a fish that wasn't fit for the human stomach?" he questioned, uneasily. "That's what they call a sea trout down here; but up North it's the weakfish, and said to be as toothsome as almost anything that swims," Jack remarked. "Oh! all right, then I accept your kind offer. I'll get busy right now, and have him ready for the morning. Wish you had got one apiece, I hate to seem greedy, you know, fellows," he went on to say, as if thinking he ought to excuse himself. When the morning came Nick was astir before anybody else, for he had a duty on his mind. He bothered Josh so much that finally the cook made him start a blaze of his own, over which he could prepare his breakfast; and Nick managed pretty well, considering that he had never made a study of the art of cookery. They started off at a booming pace. The run down Indian River that day would always remain a pleasant memory with the young cruisers. Fort Pierce was reached on schedule time, after passing through the Narrows, and securing a mess of oysters from a boat engaged in dredging there. Again one of the voyagers went after mail and supplies. There was always something lacking, besides the necessary gasoline. Six growing boys can develop enormous appetites when living a life in the open, and upon salt water. Besides, there was Nick, capable of downing any two of his chums when it came to devouring stuff. No wonder, then, that the question of supplies was always uppermost on their minds. Once more they headed across to the eastern shore, where they would be more apt to find a quiet nook for the next night's camp. One more day's run, if all went well, would take them to Lake Worth; and after serious consultation it had been decided that they would, when the right chance came, put to sea through that inlet, to make the run south to Miami. Once again had both Nick and Jimmy been seized with the fever of rivalry. During the day they had been busily engaged preparing set lines, which they expected to put out over night, in the hope of making a big haul. Nick had bought a lot of material in Jacksonville. This in the main consisted of large hooks, with snells made of brass wire, which latter he manufactured himself, Jack having shown him how; and a large swivel at the end of the foot length. Then he had secured a large quantity of very strong cotton cord, made waterproof by some tarring process, after the manner of the rigging aboard sailing vessels. One thing Jack had bought in Fort Pierce, which they understood would be pretty much of a necessity during the many weeks they expected to spend among the keys that dotted the whole coast line of Florida. This was called a cast-net, and was some eight feet in length, though when fully extended it would cover a circle twice that in diameter. There were leads along the outer edges, and a series of drawing strings running up through a ring in the center. "You see," said Jack, that evening, when they were ashore, "I watched a fellow use one up above, and even took a few lessons, so I've kind of got the hang on it." "Then please show us?" asked Nick, eagerly. "Listen to him, would you?" exclaimed Herb; "to hear him talk you'd think Nick had a sneaking idea he might some day haul in a big giant of a fish in this flimsy net." "No, but it's good to get mullet for bait," the fat boy remonstrated; "and as I expect to do lots of fishing on this trip--and it may not always be convenient for Jack to haul the net--why, I thought I had ought to know the ropes." "Good boy, Nick!" laughed Jack; "and I'll be only too glad to show every fellow all I know, which isn't any too much. Now, here's the way you gather up the line, so as to let go suddenly. Then you hold the net like this." "Sure do ye ate some of the leads?" questioned Jimmy, seeing Jack take several between his teeth. "Oh! not any! but this is one of the times when a fellow wishes he had been born with three hands. As I haven't, I must hold these leads by my teeth. The next thing is to swing the whole net around this way, and let fly with a rotary motion, at the same time letting go with your teeth. That is a very important thing to remember, for you might stand to lose a few out of your jaw if you held on." "Oh, I see!" remarked George; "and the net flings open as it whirls through the air, falling on the water that way?" "Just so, with the leads taking the outer edge rapidly down. Then, by pulling at the line, which is tied, you see, to all these strings, the net is drawn shut like a big purse, enclosing anything that was under it when it struck the water." One by one they made trials with the net, but all of them proved pretty clumsy. Jimmy was nearly dragged into the shallow water when he made his first attempt. "Glory be!" he howled, as he put his hand quickly to his mouth; "if I didn't have the teeth of a horse I do belave I'd have lost the whole set thin. But once bit, twict shy. Nixt toime I'll let go, rest easy on that. And I'm going to get the hang of that Spanish cast-net, if it takes ivery tooth in me head, so I am." "And you'll do it, Jimmy, never fear," laughed Jack. "That do-or-die spirit is going to win the day. Here, Nick, try it again. You seem to have got the knack of it pretty well, only you want to throw harder, or the mullet will get away before the net falls on the water." Finally the boys tired of the strenuous exertion, and as Josh announced supper ready, they turned their attention to more pleasant duties. "This is something in which I can shine, anyhow," chuckled Nick, as he sat there, with a pannikin cram-full of various good things, and a cup of steaming coffee on the ground close beside him. No one disputed the assertion; in fact, there was a general grin, and a series of nods around the circle, to prove that for once their opinions were unanimous. Frolicsome 'coons seemed numerous at this camp on Hutchinson's Island. They attempted to pillage, after the boys had settled down to sleep. Twice was the quiet of the camp disturbed by the rattle of tin pans, and upon investigation it was found that some prowling little animal had endeavored to devour the hominy Josh had cooked, intending to fry slices of the same for breakfast. Nick made out to believe that it might have been a wildcat, or possibly a bear, until Jack showed him the plain tracks of long slender feet close to the receptacle of the hominy, and explained that only a raccoon could have made these. When the morning came, an early start was made, for they had quite a little run down the river, through Jupiter Narrows, and then by means of the canal into Lake Worth. Arriving at this latter place early in the afternoon, they spent some time looking about--although it was out of the season for the fashionable crowd that flock to Palm Beach during February and March. Jack had studied his coast charts most carefully. He knew they would have a dangerous outside passage to Miami, that must consume some seven hours, because of the _Comfort's_ slowness; and as they could not afford to take any chances, it became absolutely necessary that they wait until the weather gave positive signs of remaining fairly decent during the day. As this meant a combination of favoring breezes and calm waters, it was impossible to tell how long they might have to wait. It might mean one day, and then again they could be kept here at Lake Worth a week. "You're wondering why I'm so particular, fellows," Jack had remarked, when they talked over the matter among themselves, "especially when we made a heap of outside runs coming down the coast. But this is really the worst of the bunch, and I reckon much more dangerous than any we've got ahead of us. For seventy miles here there isn't really a decent harbor where a small boat could put in to escape a sudden change in weather. And when things do go crooked down here they beat the band. The nearer you get to the tropics the harder the winds can howl when they want to show their teeth." "That's all right, Jack," remarked Herb; "we depend on you to use good judgment in all such matters. And you can see how much we rely on what you decide, when we're ready to follow you like sheep do the bellwether." "I wonder, now," remarked George, "if that bally little boat that's a ringer for the _Tramp_ has gone further south?" "What makes you ask that?" Jack inquired. "Well, ever since she passed us that evening across from Rockledge I haven't seen hide nor hair of the mystery. So somehow I reckon she must either be further down the lake, or else gone to Miami by the outside route, like we intend to do." "That don't necessarily follow," Jack laughed, for he saw that George actually had the subject on his mind, and was deeply interested. "The boat might have been in any one of twenty little coves we passed on the way down. Or, again, she could have been prowling in some of the many passages about the Narrows." "All right," George declared, stubbornly, as though his mind were set, and nothing could move him; "you mark my word, Jack, we'll set eyes on that sneaker again, before we're done with this trip." "Oh, perhaps!" said Jack, turning away, as though the subject did not interest him to any great extent; for he did not happen to be built on the same lines as his chum, who had a little more than his share both of suspicion and also curiosity. The next day they anxiously waited for Jack's decision; but the wind was much too strong, and from a quarter that caused whitecaps to appear out on the ocean. So the start had to be postponed, much to the regret of the entire six, all of whom wished to get the dangerous run over with as speedily as possible. "Better luck tomorrow, fellows," said Jack, who had made it a point to look at things in the light that it was foolish to worry over what could not be altered. "Then here's to put in a whole day, fishing over on that pier at the beach," declared Nick, making a run for the place where the three motor boats were at anchor. "Whirra! now, if ye do be afther thinking ye're going to get me goat, it's another guess ye do be having, I'm telling ye, Nick, me bhoy!" remarked Jimmy, as he also hastened away. And they kept diligently at it through the better part of the entire day, though with indifferent success. Either the fish were shy, knowing the grim determination of the two patient anglers, or else it was a poor day for the sport. When they mutually agreed to give it up, while they had a mess that would do for supper, neither of them had added any notch to his record for big fish. As October is possibly the best time of the year to expect quiet weather along the South Atlantic coast, Jack had high hopes that the morrow would see them on their way toward Miami. Nor were his expectations doomed to disappointment, for in the morning there seemed to be not the slightest reason for further postponing the run. Accordingly hurried preparations for breakfast were made, in order to take full advantage of the opportunity. All of them were glad when they made the dash over the Lake Worth bar in good order, and found themselves on the heaving bosom of the mighty sea, with their motor boats pointing to the south. Steadily they kept on, as the hours passed, and the sun mounted in the sky. Jack was ever on the watch for any sign of a change, knowing what such might mean to cruisers in small boats caught far from a harbor. Jimmy was watching his face, under the belief that he could tell in that way if any trouble threatened. When he saw how the skipper of the _Tramp_ turned his glasses frequently toward the southwest, he took a look in that quarter himself. "And is it the clouds that do be paping up along beyant the shore line giving ye concern, Jack?" he asked, a bit anxiously. "Well, I don't know as they mean much, but all the same I think I'd feel better if we were swinging to our mudhooks back of Key Biscayne," Jack replied. "About how far do we chanst to be away, this minute?" the other continued. "All of ten miles, which would mean an hour's run for the _Comfort_. This is the time when she drags us back. George and myself could have made shelter an hour ago, if we had wanted to put on all speed. And I just know George is growling to himself right now, because he has to check his love for racing along." Jack had hardly said these words when Jimmy broke out into a laugh. "Now, that do be a toime when ye are away off, me bhoy," he remarked. "In what way, Jimmy?" demanded the skipper, laying his glasses aside, and taking the wheel from the hands of his helper. "If so ye take a look over to the blissed ould _Wireless_, upon me worrd ye'll discover that the bally boat has stopped short. Like enough that ingine has gone back on poor George again, just as it always does when we get in a place where it counts. Yes, he's beckoning for us to come close. That's what it must mean, Jack." "Whew! that would be tough luck!" muttered Jack, as he changed the course of the little _Tramp_, and again cast an uneasy look in the direction where those suspicious and dark clouds were shoving their heads above the horizon. A storm, and the _Wireless_ helpless--the prospect was surely anything but pleasant. CHAPTER V. THE MYSTERIOUS POWER BOAT. "Jerusalem! if I owned that engine, George, do you know what I'd do with it?" Nick was heard to say, as the others drew near. "Why, I'd take the first chance, when in touch with a town, and sink her miles deep. Hang it, I'd be willing to contribute half the money I've got saved, to help get a new engine for the old shaker." "All right, I take you up on that offer, Nick," George made answer, as quick as a flash; "because, to tell the honest truth, I'm getting weary of the cranky thing myself. But that isn't going to help us any now. Lend a hand here, and let's see what we can do to mend matters." "Hold on there, fellows," called out Jack. "Hello! here's the commodore arrived," George sang out, with a nervous little laugh. "Same old story, Jack; and blessed if I can say how long it'll take to fix her up again, so she'll do business. Might be ten minutes; and again I'm afraid it may be something serious this time, that will keep me busy hours." "Well, we can't stay out here all that time, with a storm in prospect," said Jack. "Thunder! what's that you say?" broke from the perspiring skipper of the stalled _Wireless_, as his head again bobbed up into view, and he swept an anxious look in all quarters. "There's a bank of clouds poking up over yonder that may mean trouble," Jack went on to say. "So just get your stoutest cable hitched to a cleat forward, and pass me the other end." "What for?" asked George. "I'm going to tow you, that's all," Jack replied. "Shucks! is that necessary?" demanded the proud George, with a slight frown. "It sure is, for every furlong we cover now brings us that much nearer a safe harbor; and if those clouds are out for business, we'll need all we can gain," Jack went on to insist. "Then I suppose I'll just have to," the other continued; "here, Nick, get out the hawser, and I'll clamp it on to this cleat. But see here, Jack, after you get started, Nick can keep watch while I work at the engine, can't he?" "Nothing for him to do but hold the wheel and keep straight after me. Perhaps when the little _Tramp_ does her prettiest, the two of us can keep going as fast as the _Comfort_ goes; and so nothing will have been lost after all, George." "That's true; only I don't like it one little bit," grunted George, as he commenced to fasten one end of the hawser to the stout little cleat--for, to tell the truth, George was a mighty poor loser. Once Jack had the other end of the line, he made it secure to the stern of his own staunch boat. "Here goes now; look out!" he warned, as he started forward once more. The three boats had been wallowing on the heaving seas while power was shut off; but no sooner did they pick up their course again, than this sickening motion gave way to that of progress. George took off his coat, and got busy. He was considerable of a mechanic, and at least possessed the commendable trait of persistence. Once he had started to do a thing he never rested satisfied until it was accomplished. "Seems like you're doing just as well pulling that wreck as we are alone!" called Herb from the _Comfort_, which was not more than fifty feet away. George's head came into view above the gunwale of the speed boat, but somehow this time he was feeling quite too bad to take up cudgels in defense of his craft. Besides, there was truth in calling her a wreck just then. So he ducked down once more and pretended not to have heard the sarcastic allusion. "Just what I expected when I proposed to tow George," Jack answered; and then he turned the glasses ahead to a point that seemed to interest him considerably. "Think that can be the place?" asked Herb, still watching him closely. "I believe it is, yes, and hope so, too," came the reply, together with a significant glance upward to where the clouds were beginning to shut out the sun, now on its way down the western sky. "I see you're edging in more?" Herb continued. "That's right," answered Jack; "we'd better be as near land as we dare go. It may mean a heap to us sooner or later." They went on for some time, with things seeming to be no different, only the clouds kept covering the sky, making the water look dark and forbidding. Indeed, all of the boys were now considerably alarmed. The storm seemed to be getting closer, and their haven had not as yet hove in sight. "That's because we're coming down from the north," explained Jack, when Nick called out to mention this distressing fact. "You see, the trees all run together, and it's next to impossible to tell where the mainland ends off and the key begins. But I think I get the dividing line through the glasses. Anyhow, I'm heading straight for it right now." Ten minutes later and Josh called out, to say that he could see the opening all right; and the others added their evidence to what he said. "There's the new breeze coming, Jack!" called Herb. "Yes, and the harbor is so close too," George put in, as he arose from his lowly position. "But I reckon my engine will go now, Jack. If you hear her crackle, please cast off that hawser, will you?" "Sure!" sang out Jimmy, as he climbed forward, Jack having taken the wheel himself some little time previous, so as to be prepared for any emergency that might arise. A moment later and there was a merry popping from the mended motor of the _Wireless_, and immediately Jimmy heard this he cast the rope loose. "Better make a plunge for it, George; I'll stand by Herb!" sang out Jack. "But that wouldn't look right," objected George, though doubtless he would feel better satisfied if given a chance to make use of the great speed his boat could show under special conditions, in order to get in a harbor before the blow struck them. "Rats! get along with you. We understand what your feelings are; but we also know what a cranky boat you've got. Hit her up now, and skedaddle!" called Jack. "Are you saying that as a chum, or as the commodore of the fleet?" asked George. "As the commodore; and see to it that you obey orders," answered the other. Accordingly, George did put his motor to its best speed, and rapidly left them in the lurch. Jack would never desert the steady going old _Comfort_, and that wide-beamed craft was already working her full limit of nine miles to the hour, so nothing could be done but keep moving, and hope for the best. The wind increased. Luckily it was dead ahead; and while it might retard their progress to some extent, at the same time it did not kick up half the tremendous sea that would have been the case had it come from the wide ocean at their back, or the port side. "Do ye be thinking we can make it?" asked Jimmy, who looked a little peaked as he squatted there, watching the tumbling waves, and eying wistfully the shores now close at hand, where houses were to be seen. "I don't doubt it for a minute," answered the resolute skipper of the _Tramp_, who always refused to be downcast when face to face with danger. "We're hitting up a pretty fair pace, and if nothing happens to prevent, in ten minutes we'll begin to get the benefit of the shelter of the land." "Anyhow, George has gone through the opening," declared Jimmy, hopefully. "Why, yes, there he is beyant, and in calm water; I do believe he's waiting for us right now. Bully for George! And we ought to be with him soon." Although the storm increased, they were by now so well in that it had little terror for them. And presently they ran into calmer waters, where the other boat waited for their coming. After that it did not take the boys long to pick out a nook where they could be sheltered to a great extent from the blow. And here they anchored, very thankful because of their safe arrival near Miami, after making such a record run outside, where their boats looked like tiny chips on the wide, heaving sea. All of them were tired, and welcomed the coming of night, when they could partake of supper, and perhaps gather around a camp-fire ashore. Jack had seen that there were quite a number of other boats of all kinds scattered around the bay. Some were anchored off cottages, while others scudded for the home port before the storm increased to violent proportions. Although the time for West India hurricanes was long since past, any blow along the coast may mean peril to small craft, and they considered it safer to get into shelter before the worst came. Jack was doing some little work aboard the _Tramp_ when a boat scraped alongside. "Hello!" he exclaimed, as George climbed aboard; "what brings you over here?" "Let me have your glasses, won't you, Jack?" asked the other, mysteriously. "That sounds mighty like you thought you had made some discovery, George. Say, three to one it's about that power boat that is a ringer for the _Tramp_?" "Go up head, Jack, because you've guessed it the first clat out of the box. Good for you! Now I'll satisfy my mind about one thing, and find out whether they are watching us every time we happen to run together." "So that's the boat anchored away over yonder, is it?" Jack mused. "For all we know it may belong to the Biscayne Bay Yacht Club, and be at home right now." "Huh! just as I thought," grunted George. "What's that?" demanded the other. "There's a feller sitting on deck right now, and I'll be hanged if he hasn't got a pair of marine glasses in his hands, leveled straight at us. Didn't I tell you, Jack, there's something mysterious about that boat? They are keeping tabs on us right along. Perhaps they're down here to follow us, though what for I declare if I can guess. There, I guess he saw I had a pair of glasses leveled at him, for he dodged inside the cabin like a flash. Jack, whatever can it mean?" "You've got me guessing, George, and I'll have to pass," laughed the other, although admitting to himself that the circumstances were beginning to savor more of mystery than up to now he had been willing to acknowledge. CHAPTER VI. NICK TRIES AGAIN. "Jimmy, strike up a bar of 'Nancy Lee,' or the 'Larboard Watch,' while we're moving at this snail's pace along this shallow shore, looking for some nice place to camp." "That's right, Jimmy, just as Jack says; it would sound right to hear music, for this is by a long shot the dreariest place we've struck yet. Tune up your lyre, then, or your banjo--I don't care which--and give us a song." Accordingly, when thus pressed by the skipper, not only of his own boat but Herb as well, Jimmy reached in the cabin, and taking hold of his never far distant banjo, commenced to plunk away. He had a fine mellow voice, and the rest of the boys never tired of hearing him sing. All of them joined in the chorus, though Josh squeaked so that he would have killed the whole melody, only that the volume of sound was so great the discordant vein could not easily be detected. The three motor boats were almost drifting along among the many keys bordering the extreme southern shore of Florida; and the time was just three days after we saw them reach the vicinity of Miami. They had passed from Cards Sound into Barnes Sound, and marveled at the wonderful construction of the concrete railway arches, by means of which the East Coast Line expected in the near future to reach far distant Key West, passing from key to key the entire distance, often over wide stretches of open sea. Cape Sable lay not a great distance ahead. Once the little flotilla had rounded this tip end of the peninsula, they would begin their northward voyage. The prospect for a camp ashore did not look any too brilliant, and as the afternoon waned, even sanguine Jack began to despair of finding any solid ground. In all directions could be seen the interminable mangrove islands, where swamp abounded, and landing was next to absurd. When the wash of the sea proved too heavy they had managed to keep some key between, and thus far had come on without any accident. Even George's eccentric motor had been upon its best behavior, but none of them placed much reliance upon it any longer. "The tricky thing just seems to know when to lay down and quit," grumbled Nick, when George mustered up faith enough to actually say a good word for the engine again. "It bides its time, and when we need it most of all, it flunks. I'm going to hold you to your word, George, when we get to Tampa, where there's a chance to pick up another machine to put in here." "Oh, all right!" declared the other, "since you agreed to stand for half the expense, why should I have any kick coming? Only I hope the new engine can walk her along as good as this one, when she feels like it." "Hang the speed part!" cried Nick, again rubbing himself as though his muscles were becoming sore in a chronic way; "if only the plagued thing won't prove a quitter. I hate anything that lies down on you, when you've gone and soaked your trust in it, that's what." "I think I see a place ahead that looks fairly promising, mates," sang out Jack, at this point in the discussion. "Good for you, Jack; take us to it right away. I'd give a heap just for a chance to get out and just stand, without feeling my foundation heave and wabble under me. Oh! if only I had money enough to coax George to buy a boat that would let a poor feller part his hair on the side, like he used to do." A short time later, and they ran in as near the shore as was deemed advisable. Here they anchored, with a friendly key protecting them from any heavy sea that might come up from the south. "Here's where the homely little dinky is worth its weight in gold," remarked Jack, as he prepared to go ashore to look around. "Yes, only for that we'd have to do the great wading act right along; and it ain't always convenient to get wet up to your waist," Herb observed, in a satisfied tone. Having taken in the prospect ashore, Jack came back again. "It's all right, fellows," he announced. "High ground for half a mile inland, and if the bugs allow, we can even sleep ashore tonight." "Hurrah! that's grand news you're bringing us, Commodore!" cried Nick, looking happy again. "Now won't I get the kinks out of my system, though? Last night aboard nearly did for me, and that's no lie, either." "Huh!" George gave vent to one of his odd grunts, adding: "I reckon it was nearly the end of me, for you kicked like a steer, and came within an ace of smothering me the time you rolled over, crowding me to the wall." While they were thus joshing each other, all hands were busily engaged getting such things aboard the little tenders as they knew they would need for cooking supper ashore. If it were later on decided to remain there during the night, they could come out again to the anchored motor boats, and secure blankets, mosquito nets, and what other things were required. As usual, they commenced doing various things, each according to his taste. George had gone back again to his beloved boat, doubtless to tinker with her eccentric engine, which he always found a puzzle. Nick wandered off along the shore, as though looking for shells. Jimmy was pottering with some of his strong fishing tackle as though he had designs on the scaly denizens of Barnes Sound, and intended putting out several night set lines, if Jack could secure any mullet for bait. Herb was stretching himself on the sand, while Jack and Josh built a little fireplace for cooking, making good use of some blocks of coquina rock, a mixture of shells and what looked like cement, and which underlies much of the eastern shore of Florida. Presently Jack saw Nick come breathlessly back. He did not say a word to any one, but, putting off in one of the dinkies, went aboard the _Wireless_. Two minutes later he appeared again, and Jack saw to his surprise that he was trying to hide a piece of stout rope under his coat. Of course, his curiosity was aroused, but he did not say anything either to Nick or the others. The fat boy, casting a suspicious glance around, and with a wide grin on his face when he looked at Jimmy in particular, again sauntered off. Jack noticed that when he thought he had passed beyond their range of vision, Nick actually started on a run. No wonder he had seemed breathless when he came in, if that was what he had been doing. "What can the sly fellow be up to?" Jack said to himself. "I believe I'd better keep an eye open, for he's always so ready to tumble into trouble." So as he worked alongside Jimmy, he kept his eyes and ears on the alert. Perhaps fifteen minutes passed. Then those in camp heard a husky call that caused them to look up the shore. It chanced that there was a clump of mangroves at the nearby point, and around this Nick hove in sight. He seemed to have harnessed himself in some fashion with the rope, and was tugging with might and main. "Now, what under the sun can he be doing?" ejaculated the surprised Herb. "He's got something along, and seems to be dragging it through the shallow water!" Josh declared. "And look at it splash, would you?" Herb went on. "Say, d'ye suppose, now, Nick's gone and caught a turtle, one of those big loggerheads they were telling us about?" "Turtle nothing!" laughed Jack; "that's a fish!" "A fish!" cried Jimmy, turning pale; "do ye mane to till me he's gone and caught a _whale_?" Evidently Jimmy feared for his laurels; he had held the position of top-notch in the competition almost from the start, and was beginning to believe that he might never be ousted by the slow-moving fat boy. And hence the sight of Nick deliberately dragging that immense bulk behind him gave Jimmy a bad sensation. As the puffing Nick arrived alongside, it was seen that he had indeed been dragging a tremendous fish after him. The rope was twisted under its gills in such a way that it could not come loose. "What in the dickens is it?" demanded Herb. "Blest if I know; but it's a _fish_, and that's enough for me!" announced the red-faced captor. "Be afther listening to him, now, bhoys," observed Jimmy, looking dismayed; "by the pipers if he doesn't mane to claim he caught it!" "Of course, I do!" exclaimed Nick, instantly; "and I'd like to know how you're going to knock me out of this, like you did that shark. Here I go fastening on to all sorts of big game, and you always want to question my right." "What kind of a fish is it, Jack?" called George, who was coming ashore to take a closer look at the squirming victim. "It looks squatty, like a big sea bass, the kind we caught several times along the coast. I rather think it's what they call a jewfish down here," Jack replied, after looking the prisoner over. "Good to eat?" asked Nick, hungrily. "Oh, yes; they say so; and we'll take a chunk out of him to try," was Jack's answer. "Where did you get him, Nick?" "Up the shore a little ways. Do I have to tell just how, Jack?" "See him try to back out," jeered the envious Jimmy, as his eyes took in the enormous bulk of the prize, and he mentally figured that it must weigh all of two hundred pounds, against which his bass of fifteen must look like a baby. "Yes, we want to know everything, so begin," declared George. "Well, when I was walking along, I discovered this silly thing splashing like Sam Hill close to the shore. He must have been left by the tide, and was half stranded between two bunches of coquina rock. I had a sudden wild idea, and hurried back here to get a rope." "So that's why you wanted it, was it?" cried George. "I was a little afraid you might be thinking of hanging yourself; but then I expected the rope would break if you tried that. But go on, Nick." "Oh, there ain't much to tell, for I just harnessed the old chap up like you see, worked him loose from the rocky wedge, and dragged him to camp. But I hope now, after all my hard work, you ain't going to say I didn't catch that fish. Anyway, our rules read so long as a feller gets the game by fair means, and without help. Here he is, and you can rig up some sort of scales to weigh him. What's a few pounds, more or less, among friends? But what do you say, Jack, Herb, Josh and George?" "Why, according to the letter of the rules, you win," Jack remarked. "That's correct," ventured Josh. "He lost one whopper because he had to have help; but that can't be said about this prize. Nick, you certainly take the cake," Herb chuckled. "I agree with the rest; he deserves all he gets," said George. Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, and made a grimace, as he observed: "Sure, I do belave the lot of ye are set agin me; but, honest to Injun, in me own hearrt I do be thinkin' the same. Which laves me a bad second in the race. But I do not despair of batin' him out yet. Just give me toime, bhoys, give me toime to get me wits together." Jack busied himself rigging up a crude scales, whereby two of them could stand out against the big fish; and in this way it was finally estimated that Nick's latest capture weighed about two hundred and thirty pounds. The fat boy was in high glee over his adventure, and burst out into frequent boasts. He took especial pains to let Jimmy know that the one who laughed last always laughed hardest. "Just wait, and say how that same turns out," declared the Irish lad, seemingly only the more determined to exceed Nick's big score. So the afternoon passed away, and it came on toward evening. "Hello! how's this?" remarked Jack, who had been out with George for some time, taking a look at his motor, and consulting as to the wisdom of making a radical change when they reached the city of Tampa; "it's coming on night, and I don't see any signs of supper in sight. And by the way, where is Josh; I don't happen to set eyes on him around?" The others stared at each other. "Why, I remember now, that he asked me for the loan of my gun some little while back, and said he'd like to take a stroll down the beach, thinking there might be a bunch of those nice little shore birds on some mud flat, that he could bring back with him," Herb said, looking perplexed. "How long ago was that?" Jack demanded. "I guess all of an hour; just after you went out when George called." "Has anybody heard a shot?" asked Jack. But nobody had; and, as the night came on, the five boys began to realize that something must surely have happened to their lengthy chum. CHAPTER VII. THE LOST CHUM. Uneasiness increased as the shadows of night began to fall around them; and the motor boat boys cast many anxious glances toward the gloomy patches of mangroves along the shore, as well as the denser sawgrass, dwarf palmetto and trees that covered the mainland. "I don't like this at all," Jack finally declared. "We've shouted enough for any one with ears, within half a mile, to have heard us." "And never had a peep from Josh, that's a fact," declared Nick, whose cheeks had lost some of their customary color, in the face of this mystery; for he was very fond of the absent chum. "Whatever could have happened to the lad?" asked Jimmy. "It seems hard to believe that he could have lost himself, and wandered so far away that he couldn't fire his gun, or hear us yell," Herb observed, frowning. George plucked at the sleeve of Jack, as he remarked in a low, nervous tone: "Now, you don't believe _they_ could have had anything to do with our chum's disappearance, do you?" "What in the wide world are you speaking about?" demanded the other, startled for the moment by the grave way in which George said this. "Why, you know, that queer lot in the boat that was a ringer for the _Tramp_," was what George added, quickly. "Oh! come now, what put that silly notion in your head?" asked Jack; though at the same time he could not but weigh the startling proposition advanced by George in his mind, and find himself impressed more or less by its possibility. "I suppose," George went on, "because, for the life of me, I just can't imagine any other reason why the fellow wouldn't do _something_ to let us know he was alive. If he discovered that he was lost, I'm dead sure Josh would have sense enough to holler, and fire his gun several times in succession." "And we never heard the first sign," declared Herb. "Well, I've just stood it as long as I mean to," declared Jack. "Yes; let's get busy and do something," George burst out with, for he was ever an impetuous fellow, eager to be accomplishing things, and getting to his intended goal by a short-cut, if possible. "Jack, say what, and we'll stand by you," Herb spoke up, with a look of grim determination on his face. "Them's my sentiments!" affirmed Jimmy. "Say the word, and we'll all back you up, Commodore!" Nick put in, puffing his cheeks out, and looking very fierce--for him. "Well, there's an old saying, you remember," Jack remarked, "to the effect that if the mountain won't come to you, the next best thing is to go to the mountain. And if Josh hangs fire about returning to camp, why, some of us have got to get a hustle on, and look him up. That's plain enough, I hope." "It sure is; and we expect you to be the one to lead the rescue party, Jack," George declared. "All right; and as there's no time to be lost, let's get busy. Somebody has to stay here, and guard the camp; and I appoint Nick as the fellow to take that duty on his shoulders." When Jack made this declaration, Nick started, and seemed to shiver a little; but, realizing that all eyes were turned toward him, he braced up again. "Oh! all right, Jack, just as you say," he expressed himself. "Understand," Jack explained, seeing that the fat boy felt hurt; "it isn't because there's any doubt about your courage and all that; but none of us can say how far we may have to tramp, or what swamps we'll have to wade through; and you admit, Nick, that you're not fitted for campaigning in that line as well as some of the rest of us." "Sure, I know that," said Nick, heaving a sigh. "But," continued Jack, as though he had had a second thought, "as three of us ought to be enough, I guess I'll leave a second guard behind. Herb, would you mind staying, to keep Nick company? It's just as much a post of honor as going with George, Jimmy and myself. And you'll have to keep watch all the time." "Oh! I'm ready to do just what you say, Jack. I believe you know best; and while of course I'd rather be with the hunting party, count on me holding up the other end with Nick here," Herb hastened to declare. "Then that's settled," Jack went on, relieved to find that his plans were meeting with next to no opposition. "Of course you'll have your gun, while each of us will go armed; for there's no telling what we may meet up with. I'll take the rifle, while George and Jimmy have the scatter-guns." "Yes, and if you find Josh, how will you let us know?" Herb asked. "I'll fire six shots at regular intervals of about two seconds apart. Be sure to count them carefully if you hear any firing, because in case we meet up with a prowling panther, or anything like that, the shooting would be more rapid." When Jack mentioned that one word "panther," it might have been observed that Nick's mouth opened, as if sudden dismay had seized hold upon him. However, once more he summoned his nerve to the fore, and shut his teeth hard together. It was Herb, fortunately, who advanced the proposition that must have been buzzing in the brain of the more timid Nick. "After you've gone, Jack, perhaps it would be just as well for Nick and myself to go aboard the boats, and hold the fort there. We'll make sure to keep the fire burning all the while, so you'll have a signal on the shore, to tell where we are. Is that right, fellows?" he remarked. "Best thing you could do; and I was just going to say something like that," was the way Jack put it. George had made haste to secure the guns, and each of the three now held a weapon in his hands. They looked very warlike and grim, as the camp-fire shone on the polished steel; and Nick could, after all, be pardoned for showing signs of excitement as they prepared to start off. For Nick was in the main a peaceable lad, who liked not strife under any conditions. "Perhaps we'd better give one more halloo before we go?" suggested George; for the idea of tramping into that mysterious wilderness, with its swamps and unknown perils, was not to be treated lightly as a picnic, by any means. So they all raised their voices, and sent out a series of whoops that might have made any Indian warrior envious. "Listen!" cried Jack, after this had gone on for a full minute. The last echo had died away, and complete silence followed. "Never a thing!" exclaimed George. "Oh! hark! what is that?" cried Nick, eagerly. "Only an owl far away, answering us," Jack declared, promptly. "Must think we're trying to give him the laugh," Herb remarked; although he was feeling in anything but a joking mood, with the strange disappearance of Josh weighing on his mind so heavily. "Come on, boys," Jack called out. "I've got the lantern lighted, and we'll try our luck following his trail as long as we are able to see it. Oh! and Herb, if you and Nick want, you might as well eat something while we're gone." "Nixy for me," Herb made answer. "My appetite seems to have gone up the flue. But we could be cooking something, in case you found Josh, and all came in hungry." "Sure, that's right," Nick hastened to add. "It'll give us something to keep our minds busy, and that means a whole lot. Good-bye, boys; and the best of luck!" "We sure hope you find our chum, safe and sound," Herb added, feelingly. "One thing more," Jack went on to say; "If Josh should happen in while we're gone, you'll want to let us know." "That's right; I hadn't thought of that," said Herb. "Then listen. Fire both barrels of your gun, about two seconds apart. Then repeat the volley twice more, making six shots in all. We'll understand what you want to tell us, and that we're needed here. That's all. Come on, George and Jimmy." Nick watched them pass away, and the face of the fat boy told that his soul was troubled. Yet it was not so much of himself he thought, but the strange mystery hovering over this vanishing of Josh. Jack knew where the long-legged would-be hunter had last been seen, and accordingly he made direct for that spot. Evidently he had no especial trouble in discovering the tracks left by the heels of Josh's shoes, for those left behind saw the trio move directly away. Soon the flitting glimmer of the moving lantern vanished entirely among the thickets covering the land in places. Josh had headed down the shore when he went forth to try and add to the camp larder by knocking down a bunch of the tasty little snipe and other shore birds, flocks of which were seen whenever the tide changed, and the mud flats became partly bare. That meant he had gone west, for the boys had fallen into the habit of saying "down" as long as they were headed south; and until they turned up the coast it would continue that way. Jack led with his lantern, and carrying the rifle in his other hand. For some little time the three boys kept on this way. When the tracks became harder to see, Jack used his judgment, and managed to pick up the trail again every time. All the while George and Jimmy were casting uneasy looks ahead. The moon being past its prime, would not rise for some time; and as a consequence all was pitch darkness around them. It was easy to imagine all sorts of perils lurking in that gloom beyond. Every simple little sound, such as a stray 'coon scampering away at the coming of the swinging light, caused them a new quiver. George could not get that strange motor boat out of his mind. He believed that it had left Miami ahead of them, for it was gone on the morning after their arrival. And the chances were that it had come down here ahead of them. Having more or less of a vivid imagination, George was picturing all sorts of strange things as happening. He even looked back along the career of their chum, Josh, trying to figure out some romantic reason for these people on the strange craft to want to kidnap the long-legged youth. Despite his best efforts, however, this was pretty much a failure. There never was a fellow with more of an ordinary every-day past than the said Josh. George had known him since they were kids together, first starting in to school. His father was one of the substantial men of the town; and, so far as George knew, there had never been even the faintest rumor of anything singular attaching to the Purdue family. So George, baffled in this respect, had to give it up, and confess himself altogether at sea. But if Josh had simply gone and lost himself, then why had he not answered their shouts? They had now been following the trail of the missing chum quite some time, and found themselves at a considerable distance from camp. Every now and then, apparently, Josh had made his way to the shore, to find out whether there were any flocks of birds in sight; but as he still kept moving on, he evidently met with disappointment. That he continued to wander on was evidence of a determination to find some sort of game. Josh was not much of a hunter, and he did hate to be unmercifully guyed by Jimmy and Nick, whenever he came back empty handed. "It can't be long now, before we make some sort of discovery," George finally remarked. "I agree with you," Jack said, over his shoulder. "How far are we from camp now, Jack?" continued the skipper of the _Wireless_. "Perhaps a mile, more or less," answered the pilot of the expedition. "But not so far as to be beyond the sound of the yell we put up, eh?" continued George. "Unless Josh suddenly became stone deaf, he must have heard us," replied the other. "See here; you've got something on your mind; why not share it with us, Jack? You're bothered about something, too. If it don't take in those queer acting fellows on the power boat, what does ail you?" and George caught hold of his chum as the other arose from examining the trail once more. "Oh! I don't know as there could be anything in it," Jack admitted, slowly, as if loth to air his secret fears. "But tell us what you do think, even if it does seem impossible, Jack." "Only this, that if our chum chanced to slip into some muck bed, he might have been sucked down in the slimy stuff before he could even shout for help," was the gruesome remark to which Jack gave utterance. CHAPTER VIII. TRACKED TO THE BAYOU. "Oh! I hope it won't turn out as bad as that, Jack!" gasped George. "The poor spalpeen!" whimpered Jimmy, apparently shocked by what their leader had just remarked. "Now," Jack hastened to say, "don't make up your minds, boys, that Josh has run against that sort of a hard deal, just because it flashed into my mind. You wanted to know why I was in such a sweat, and I told you. But, honest Injun, after I've spoken my mind, I just can't bring myself to believe it. We'll find our chum, sooner or later. Perhaps, after all, it'll turn out that he had a bad tumble, and hurt himself so he wasn't able to let us know." "Well, as long as we're able to follow his trail, we hadn't ought to give up in despair," George asserted, very sensibly. "Sure, we've shown in the past that we're not built that way," Jimmy thought fit to remark, firmly. "Then let's be going on," Jack wound up the conference by saying. For the fifth time the trail approached the water again. Josh evidently hated to give up the idea that had been in his mind when he left camp. If there were any of those dainty little shore birds to be had, he wanted to get a crack at the same; though by this time he must have become aware of the fact that he was wandering much farther away than he had intended doing in the start. This time there happened to be quite a deep-seated cove, with a point of land running out that would completely shut out all sight of the spot where the three motor boats were anchored, with the camp-fire ashore. Jack noted this fact; somehow it was impressed on his mind, though he could not have exactly explained why this should be so, had he been asked. The tracks grew fainter, so that it was only by pushing the glowing and useful lantern down close to the sand that Jack was able to follow the line by which Josh had pushed his way along. "Here is where he dropped on his knees, the better to crawl forward," whispered the guide; and both George and Jimmy could make out the deeper impressions that undoubtedly must have been made by a pair of knees pressing down. There was a screen of saw palmetto in front of them, hiding the water. Perhaps Josh had discovered a flock of the coveted birds on a bar, and was making his way to a point he had in mind, where he might suddenly rise, and fire. But something must have prevented his carrying out this plan, then, for certainly the sound of a heavy shotgun charge could have been heard at the camp, had he pulled trigger. "Wait here for me, and keep quiet," whispered Jack, as, leaving the lantern on the ground, he started away. His two companions were rendered almost speechless by his strange action. They could only stare at each other, and nod their heads, as though striving in this way to communicate their fears. In two minutes Jack came back. He looked disappointed as he stooped to pick up the lantern again. "Nothing doing, boys," he said, quietly. "They don't seem to be, and that's a fact," mumbled Jimmy, much depressed. "See here, what did you expect to find when you went on there?" demanded George, immediately suspicious. "Was it anything about that bally old boat, the one that's been dogging us all the way down from Jacksonville? Tell me that, Jack, old top!" "H'm! perhaps it may be the people aboard that same boat have come to the conclusion _we're_ doing the dogging. They run across us in all sorts of unexpected places. And if you stop to remember, George, it's the other boat that has always slipped away secretly, not us!" "You're right, it was," George flashed up; "but you didn't answer my question, Jack." "Well, I did have your pet hobby in mind when I went on just now, to take a look at this fine little lagoon; because, with that point of land standing in a half-moon curve, it looks like a splendid harbor for small boats. And, to tell you the truth, I picked up the butt end of a cigarette just back there five feet, one that was thrown away recently, because no rain or dew had fallen on it!" "Whew! now, that does look suspicious, I must say," George exclaimed, in a low and cautious voice. "But there isn't a sign of any boat in the bayou, as far as I could see," Jack went on. "Of course, it's so dark now that I wasn't able to take in the whole bay; but, anyhow, there isn't a light visible." "And now, what nixt?" asked Jimmy, eager to get at the solution of this perplexing problem, which was thrilling their nerves more and more as they made progress. For answer, Jack moved forward, this time using the friendly lantern as before. Brushing through the screen of saw palmettos, they could see the water lapping the shore of the lagoon, though there were still bushes and tall grass between. "Hello!" Uttering this exclamation half under his breath, the leader of the trio suddenly came to a halt. Jimmy half raised the gun he was carrying, as though under the impression that they were about to be confronted by something, either a human enemy or one in the way of a wild beast, that would bar their further progress. Then he saw that Jack, instead of showing signs of preparing for battle, was on his knees, eagerly examining certain marks in the sand. "What have you found?" asked George, in an awed tone. "As near as I can make out, there are tracks that seem to tell of a scuffle!" was the ready reply, as Jack pointed here and there. "By the great horn spoon, but I believe you're right!" gasped George. "It's either that, now, or else the gossoon's been and had a fit," Jimmy declared, though he could not remember that Josh had ever been addicted to such things. "No; there have been two men here," said Jack. "Glory be!" ejaculated the Irish lad. "Tell us how you know that, Jack?" asked George, his face struggling between a grin and a look of alarm. "Why, it's as plain as print; and if you look here, you'll see the marks of their shoes. Both seem much larger than Josh ever made, and yet they are different, for one had heels, and the other must have been wearing some sort of moccasin, perhaps the kind I've got, to be used aboard a small, varnished decked boat, so as to avoid scratching." "Didn't I say so?" burst out George, unable to hold in any longer. "After this you won't think I'm off my base when I mention my suspicions about fellows who run away in the night, peek through marine glasses at us every chance they get, and just act like a parcel of sneaks. Jack, that fly-up-the-creek power boat must have been in this bayou when our chum came crawling through these bushes, and took a look out." "That's about what I'm thinking, now," admitted the other. "Some of the men happened to be ashore, and saw him spying on the boat? Is that in line with what you think, Jack?" "It looks that way. Two unknown parties certainly dropped down on Josh while he was lying here. He put up as good a fight as he could, but they were too much for the poor fellow," Jack went on, looking as though he might be reading all these things from the marks upon the sand. "But you don't say any signs of blood, do ye, Jack darlint?" asked Jimmy, with a plain vein of horror in his quavering voice. "No, I'm glad to say I don't," replied the other. "So, on that account it would seem that the fellows haven't actually hurt Josh, only made him a prisoner." Jimmy gave a bleat, not unlike the pitiful sound a distressed goat might emit. "Och! thin the bally rascals have carried him away wid them, and we'll niver set eyes on our chum agin. Whirra! whativer will Nick do about his rations, if the cook of the bunch be lost, strayed or stolen?" he whimpered. "Nick be hanged!" said George, vehemently, though in a low tone; "never fear but he'll get all he wants to eat. What we have to find out is where they've gone, and why they dared carry Josh Purdue away with them. And we'll just do that same, if it takes the whole of the winter. You hear me speaking, don't you? Oh! what did you do that for, Jack?" This last sentence was caused by a sudden action on the part of Jack. He had raised the lantern, and with a quick, downward motion caused the light to go out--a trick readily learned by any one who will take the trouble to experiment. And thus they were left standing there in the dark. "How under the sun did it happen that none of us saw it before?" Jack was softly saying, in a vexed tone, as though he had made a discovery that agitated him. "Saw what?" asked George. "Bend your head this way, and look yonder through the bushes," Jack told him. "Great governor!" whispered the _Wireless_ skipper, hoarsely; "it _is_ a light, as sure as shooting! And on the water, too, Jack. Say, that power boat must be over there, in another bayou just beyond. There's a neck of land runs out, and it's covered with trees and scrub. That's why we didn't glimpse that light before." "You've hit the nail on the head, George, for that's just the way the land lies," Jack went on, trying to control his voice, which would tremble a little despite his utmost endeavors. "But perhaps that light wasn't shining a bit ago. There, look! it's disappeared again." "That's what it has," Jimmy observed, having been an interested observer all the while; "just for all the worrld loike a windy had been opened, and shut again. I do be thinking mesilf that somebody was afther coming out of the cabin to take a look around, and lift the door open the while, that's all. Now he's gone in again, by the same token." "I hope, then, he didn't just catch a glimpse of our light moving, before I doused the glim," was the fervent wish expressed by Jack. "I hardly think he did, Jack," George said, nervously. "You see, it was standing on the ground up to the time you grabbed it up again. But what ought we do now?" "Make our way around that tongue of land the best way we can, and see how things are there," Jack replied, without the slightest hesitation. "Why not follow the beach around?" George suggested. "Now, that wouldn't be a bad scheme. It's so dark that if we kept low, they couldn't see us moving. And, besides, it'll save a lot of scrambling through that brush, without the help of the lantern. All right; come along then, boys. And let's remember to keep as quiet as an owl in the daytime." Saying this in a whisper, Jack led the way, the others following along in Indian file at his heels. Whenever he halted for any reason, both George and Jimmy would also draw up instantly. And no doubt, on every occasion of this sort, their excited pulses would cause their hearts to beat like trip-hammers. Just as they had guessed, there was a point of land running out all of seventy feet into the water, and hiding the next bayou. Sometimes these extend from the main Florida shore around Barnes Sound like the fingers of a human hand. Again they will be in the form of reefs, composed of small, sharp-edged 'coon oysters, that stick up out of the salt water at low tide, but are entirely submerged when the flood comes on. Before reaching the extreme point, Jack concluded that it would be wise for them to pass over here, rather than risk discovery by going to the limit of the cape; where, with the white sand to serve as a background to their darker bodies, some one on the watch might discover their approach, and give warning. "Jack, I see it!" whispered George, presently. "The boat, you mean," replied the other, in the same guarded tone. "Yes, I've caught her, too. But everything seems to be dark around." "I wonder now, have they deserted the ould craft," suggested Jimmy. "Not so loud, Jimmy; we've got to find that out for ourselves," Jack went on. "By going aboard, you mean, don't you, Jack?" from eager George. "There's no other way; and if these people are holding our chum a prisoner, we've just got to let them know we object to such a high-handed business. Are you both willing to stand back of me, George, Jimmy?" "Every time," George replied; and Jack could easily imagine how his excitable chum must be nerved up to the highest tension. "Ye c'n count on me, through thick and thin, sink or shwim, survive or perish," Jimmy put in, as solemnly as though he might be holding up his hand, and subscribing to the oath before the court. "Then come on, and we'll take the bull by the horns," said Jack, moving forward through the thin growth that marked the spit of land near its terminus. "And don't let's forget, fellows, that we're armed to the teeth," whispered George, as he set out to trail close behind his leader. In this manner, then, the three motor boat boys crawled across to the shore of the other little bayou, bent upon making a bold move looking to rescuing their comrade, if so be Josh were found to be a prisoner in the hands of the strangers. CHAPTER IX. FOR THE SAKE OF CHUM JOSH. It seemed to Jack Stormways that all his senses must be on the alert as never before. Even the slightest sound caught his attention--the rustling of a prowling 'coon through the saw palmetto scrub; the splash of some fish jumping out of the water of the lagoon; and from a distance came strange, querulous noises which he guessed must proceed from some bird roost, situated in the depths of a swamp, although Jack knew very little about such places from actual experience. Having passed partly over the point of land, they could just begin to make out the boat that lay in the next bayou. And George's imagination worked overtime, so that he was positive he could recognize the familiar outlines of the craft that looked like the _Tramp_. Once Jack came to a stop. Possibly he only meant to take an observation, in order to make sure that the coast was clear; but the other boys at once jumped to the conclusion that he had seen some sign of trouble ahead. "What is it?" whispered George, making a nervous forward thrust with his gun, as though eager to mix up, if so be one came along; while Jimmy edged up on the other side, quivering with anxiety, too. Jack bent his head lower before making a reply; for he knew the danger of allowing his voice to rise above the faintest murmur. The lapping of the waves on the sandy beach close by, together with those strange sounds from the interior, might go far toward muffling speech, but if suspicious ears were on the alert it were folly to take unnecessary chances. "Nothing. I was only looking. All seems quiet, boys, so come on," he said; and no doubt the throbbing hearts of the other lads eased down in the strain. So once more they started to advance, with the border of the lagoon now close at hand. All of them could by this time make out the fact that the boat must be anchored in shallow water near the shore. Perhaps those aboard had neglected to provide themselves with a dinky; and in consequence had to rely upon finding some place where they could push the power boat in, by loosening the anchor cable. The light breeze that caused the waves to gently roll up on the sand was coming from the southwest. Hence it was that the boat lay almost stern on, showing part of her starboard quarter. When they had reached a point close to the water's edge, the three boys again instinctively came to a halt, to once more scrutinize the craft. No lantern hung there to serve as a riding light; it was not needed, as would have been the case in a crowded harbor. Faint, indeed, the chance of any other boat running them down here in this secluded spot. George had unconsciously laid a hand on the arm of Jack as they thus crouched and gazed. His fingers suddenly tightened their hold. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "did you see that?" "'Sh!" breathed Jack, hastily. "Yes, I was watching. Some one brushed aside the curtain that covers the cabin bullseye, and light shone through. That settles one thing, George." "That they're aboard!" echoed the other. "Yes." "But, we go on, don't we, Jack?" begged the impetuous George. "I should say, yes; for we believe our chum is being held a prisoner on that same boat. Make your mind easy, both of you; it isn't going to get away from us now. We've gone too far to hold back." "That's the stuff!" whispered the delighted George; while Jimmy muttered his assent, which was none the less fervent because the words were inaudible. Once before, on a cruise the motor boys were making on the waters of the faraway North, they had had a stirring encounter with some lawless men who were fleeing from officers sent to apprehend them. On that occasion Jack and his chums had managed to give considerable assistance to the legal authorities; and it was largely through their work that the fugitives were finally apprehended. No doubt this circumstance must have loomed up large in the memory of George right then and there. He had long ago made up his mind that the mysterious persons on board the boat that looked like the _Tramp_ were a couple of rascals, who felt afraid of the cruisers for some reason or other. And now, that it seemed they had set upon poor Josh, making him prisoner, and carrying him aboard, the conditions became darker than ever. It was the greatest mystery the boys had ever struck. Even Jack, with his usual keen intellect, was utterly unable to determine what these men could want with the missing crew of the _Comfort_; Josh, a fellow who seldom made enemies among his companions, and simply devoid of evil intent. Perhaps they had discovered him creeping through the scrub, either to get a shot at some shore birds or to examine the anchored power boat, in which he knew George at least was deeply interested. If they were men fleeing from the sheriff, his actions might have looked so suspicious to them that they were impelled to pounce on him without giving warning. Many were the explanations that surged through the excited brains of the three lads in the brief space of time occupied in reaching the shore of the second lagoon. As they stood there, George and Jimmy content to follow the lead of Jack, no matter what that might mean, a low murmur came to them. It was as if those inside the cabin of the boat might be conversing among themselves. Jack listened intently. Perhaps he even entertained a faint hope that he might hear the high-pitched voice of Josh above the rest; for the tall boy had a way of using the rising inflection when in the least excited. But the fact of the cabin being closed prevented his discovering any marked difference between the tones of those who were speaking. George and Jimmy were waiting to see what means their leader would adopt, in order to gain the deck of the little craft. The boat lay at a distance of perhaps twenty feet from the edge of the water. Judging from the fact that the beach was sandy there could be no question but what, if they picked their way, they might be able to wade out, without getting in any deeper than hip-high at most. When Jack hesitated for that half minute, with the little waves crawling up to his feet, it was because he wished to make sure that there was no one upon the stern of the swinging power boat, to discover their advance. Having made sure of this fact, he would boldly push forward, entering the water, regardless of the fact that their shoes must suffer in consequence. When he took the first step, the others were alongside. They fancied that the time had gone by for them to follow _after_ Jack; if a battle were imminent, their place must be on the firing line, where numbers would count for something. For did they not grip weapons as well as Jack; and were they not just as anxious to effect the rescue of their missing chum? Once Jimmy stumbled, and made quite a little splash ere he recovered his footing. It may have been a jellyfish upon which he placed his foot, and which caused him to slide; or some obstacle in the shape of a clump of 'coon oysters. The cause was immaterial; but what splash he made gave them all a thrill, since they fully expected that it would bring about discovery. At the time it chanced that they had passed over more than half the distance separating them from the boat, and were standing up to their knees in the water. Jack noted that the murmurous sound which they had decided must be the mingling of voices, had suddenly stopped. From this he imagined that those within the closed cabin of the power boat had heard the splash and were waiting for a repetition of the same, in order to gauge its meaning. Would they come out to investigate? If so, what should be the programme of the three who stood there in the water? None of them had ever fired a shot at a human being in all their lives; and the mere thought of such a thing was distasteful to them. At the same time, if their comrade were in the hands of unscrupulous men, and heroic measures had to be adopted in order to effect his release, not one of them would hesitate. Jack often looked back to that strained moment, when he and his comrades stood there, knee deep in the lagoon, within a dozen feet of the mysterious little power boat, keyed up to a condition when their nerves were all on edge, and waiting for whatever might happen. He could feel a sense of amusement over it, too, at some future time; but it was certainly no laughing matter then. Then there suddenly flashed out a broad beam of light. The door of the cabin had been opened; and, as those standing there in the water were directly behind the stern, the light fell full upon them. Jack saw a figure push into view. Outlined against the lighted interior of the boat it stood up in plain sight, and they could even make out the fact that the unknown party wore knickerbockers, as though dressed for an outing. Of course he must have discovered the threatening trio there just as soon as he thus partly emerged from the cabin. They could tell this from the way in which he stood as if riveted to the spot, making no motion either to advance further, or retreat back into the recesses of the boat's interior. Jack did not mean to give him a chance to take the initiative. He raised his gun, and immediately covered the unknown party; which action was accepted as proof by his two chums that they were to follow suit, and they proceeded to do so. If astonishment had held the man motionless up to this moment, a due sense of caution kept him so after he discovered those three menacing guns turned full in his direction. Apparently he must be either stunned by the situation that had burst upon him without warning; or else he kept his head, and knew there was only one thing to do in order to avoid trouble, which was to submit to the inevitable. "Don't think of trying to drop back into that cabin," said Jack, in a voice that was quite stern, even if it did quiver a little; "we've got you covered all right, and you might as well surrender!" "That's the ticket!" rasped George, trying to seem very formidable, in order to hide the fact that his knees were knocking together just a trifle, with excitement of course, not fear! CHAPTER X. ABOARD THE STRANGE POWER BOAT. "Well, this _is_ a rich joke!" laughed the man. "Just keep your fingers from pressing those triggers, please, boys. No danger of my trying the disappearing act. Fact is, we've been expecting you to come along for some time now." Jack was not going to allow himself to be deceived. "Soft words buttered no parsnips," he had often heard his mother say; and because this unknown fellow chose to talk smoothly, was no sign that he should be trusted. And so he continued to keep his gun raised, seeing which the others did likewise. "That's nice, to hear you say such fine things; but what we want to know is, what have you done with our chum?" he demanded. "Yes, tell us that!" said George, menacingly. "Sure, we want to know, by the same token!" observed the Irish lad. "Oh! he's aboard our boat, just now, and will be glad to welcome you," the other party remarked, coolly. "And I hereby invite you one and all to come along to see for yourselves. It's a mistake all around, I guess. Please accept my invitation in the same friendly spirit in which it is given, and honor us with your company, boys. Josh is getting back to his old self, but he had a nasty tumble, I give you my word." "What's that?" asked Jack. "He tripped over a root," said the man, earnestly, "and struck his head on a lump of coquina rock. It made a bad cut on the side of his head, and he bled quite a little. Besides, the blow must have knocked him senseless. My friend Carpenter and myself were just coming back to the boat, after a little side hunt for a deer, when we discovered him lying there, and took him aboard. After he came to, he told us who he was, and all about the rest of you. And am I right in believing that you are Jack Stormways?" Of course the three boys were more or less thunderstruck by what they had just heard. It knocked all their theories "into flinders," as Jimmy would have said. Here they had been concocting all manner of wonderful stories in connection with the two parties aboard the little power boat. They had even gone so far as to believe the men must be some desperate characters, fleeing from the sheriff, who might turn up at any hour in full pursuit. And now, from what the other had just declared, it would seem that the shoe was exactly on the other foot. Instead of proving to be lawless men, criminals in fact, they gave evidence of turning out to be Good Samaritans. Why, Josh might have been in a bad way, only for them, according to what the man had just said. But could he be believed? Might it not all be a part of some clever trap? George, always inclined toward suspicion, would have held back, had the decision been left to him; Jack was inclined to take the man's word, for he had a frank way about him; while Jimmy was hanging in the balance, hardly knowing what to believe. Just then there came a shout from within the cabin of the little boat. "Hello, Jack; it's all right!" All of them readily recognized the well known voice of Josh; and his assurance went far toward alleviating the fear George entertained, that danger lurked in their putting themselves in the power of the unknown parties. "You hear what your mate says, Jack?" remarked the man whose figure was outlined against the glow of the cabin's interior. "Tell them to come aboard, and see what we did for you, Josh." "That's just what, fellers. Nobody could have been kinder. Don't stop there, but push your way aboard. Cabin's small; but you can all get your heads in," Josh went on to say. Of course, after that even suspicious George saw no reason for holding back longer. So the three splashed along until they stood hip-deep in the lagoon. The man even stretched out a hand and assisted Jack aboard, as though he bore them not the least bit of malice for having held him up at the muzzle of their guns. As Jack clambered aboard, the first thing he saw through the opening was Josh, with a bandage around his head, which showed signs of gore, telling that he must have received something of a bad cut when he tripped and fell. Then all those signs around the spot, which they supposed meant a struggle between the boy and his two captors, had in reality been made when the men attempted to lift Josh, and carry his senseless form to their boat near by. Well, one thing was apparently explained. There was no longer any mystery as to why Josh had failed to respond when they shouted, and fired their guns. If at the time, he was lying there senseless, he could not very well be expected to give an answering halloo. But then, why had not these two men done something to let his companions know what had befallen him? That was what puzzled Jack. He should have thought that the very first thing to occur to them would be to send word to the camp of the motor boat boys--unless, now, there was some good reason for holding back until they could question Josh, and make sure that he did not have any connection with the sheriff and his posse! "This is my friend, and cruising partner, Mr. Bryce Carpenter," said the one who had thus far been conducting the conversation from their side. "My own name is Sidney Bliss. How about your friends, Jack?" "George Rollins, the first one, and Jimmy Brannigan the other," Jack immediately spoke. "We've left two more in camp, while we hunted for our lost chum. Hello! Josh; awful glad to find you alive and kicking; but don't like the looks of that bloody pack around your head." "Huh! I guess I got a pretty hard knock on my coco, all right," grinned Josh; and he did look so comical, with that turban-like bandage, and his face flecked with little specks of dried blood, that Jimmy burst out into a merry laugh. "Sure, ye did, Josh, ye spalpeen!" he declared, thrusting one arm into the cabin, so as to clutch the hand of the discovered comrade; "but 'tis a tough nut ye're afther having, I do declare, which is a fortunate thing for ye this night." "All that he told you is square as a die, fellers," Josh went on. "And they've been mighty kind to me, I give you my word. I didn't know where I was when I came out of the doze; but they asked me a lot of questions, and in that way we got to be right well acquainted." "H'm! you see," the man who had called himself Sidney Bliss hastened to say, "we had some good reasons for feeling suspicious toward your party, Jack." "I don't know why," returned the boy, instantly. "We've come all the way down the coast from Philadelphia, and never once bothering ourselves about anybody else's business. George, here, got into rather a little fever because he said you seemed to be watching us through the glasses whenever we happened to come near each other, but it was none of our business, and I wouldn't let it bother me." That was as plain an invitation for an explanation as could be imagined; and apparently so the other looked at it. "Well, after learning just who you were, and that you couldn't have the least connection with Lenox and his crowd, we had to laugh at our suspicions," Bliss went on to say. "We don't happen to know anybody by the name of Lenox, do we, boys?" Jack took occasion to remark. "Nixy, not," Jimmy asserted, after his usual manner, while George, too, shook his head in the negative. "Only Lenox I ever knew was a sickly little chap who went to the same boarding school I did about six years ago," he remarked. "Well, Josh says you're all from out Mississippi way," the man continued, glibly; "and this Lenox is a New Yorker. Besides, he's a man of about forty, and not a boy at all. Belongs to the same club Carpenter and myself do; and thereby hangs the tale that sent us away down here, and made us eye your crowd with suspicion." "Yes?" Jack said, feeling that he was expected to make some sort of remark. "They told me all about it, fellers," spoke up Josh; "and after you hear, I guess you'll understand just why they've been playing the hold-off game they did. It's all as square as you'd want it, take my affidavy on it." "Good for you, Josh," laughed Bliss, good-naturedly, as he glanced quickly toward his companion; and Jack plainly saw him wink his eye suggestively. "After what we did for you, it's evident that you have perfect faith in our record. But, as I was saying, Jack, at the club one evening, we got to disputing, and Lenox, who pretends to be something of a dashing small boat sailor, dared Bryce and myself to enter into a competition with himself and some of his friends. That's what took us down here right now, you see." "What sort of competition, sir?" asked George, quickly. "To prove which party might turn out to be the better sailors, we agreed to make the complete circuit of the coast of Florida in boats no longer than twenty-three feet; and the ones who reached Pensacola first were to be declared winners. Neither of us were to accept the least outside aid, on penalty of being declared losers." It sounded very nice, and yet Jack could not forget that suggestive look which had passed between the men. And he wondered if there might not be something back of the story Bliss was telling, something perhaps much nearer the truth. "Oh!" he remarked, "I see now what you mean. You kept watching us, then, because you suspected we might be your rivals in the race?" "That's it, Jack," the man immediately burst out with, seemingly pleased; "you see, my boy, our friend Lenox is known to be rather a tricky chap. Carpenter and myself came to the conclusion that he might resort to some scheme to hold us back, and somehow we got to look at your three boats with suspicion. Of course it was all a silly mistake, as we know now. But we're glad to have been of some assistance to your mate, Josh, knowing full well that you'd have done as well by us if the occasion offered. And, by Jove! you boys beat us all hollow, when it comes to bold cruising; for Josh has been telling us something of what you've done. I take off my cap to you, Jack Stormways, as a Corinthian sailor!" CHAPTER XI. IN HONOR BOUND. "Thank you for the compliment," Jack said; "but there are just six of us, all told; and each one is as much entitled to your praise as I am." "I object," George broke in. "Lots of times the pack of us would have been in a bally lot of hot water only for the clever way you had of handling things." "And that's no lie, either!" burst out Jimmy. "Whin there's any credit flyin' around loose, sure Jack desarves the lion's share, so he does now." "Better and better!" cried the man who had given his name as Bliss. "Why, you're as loyal a bunch of chums as I ever ran across. It's a rare treat for my friend Carpenter here and myself to meet up with such fellows, eh, Bryce?" The way he laid particular emphasis on that name every time he used it somehow gave Jack the impression that he did not wish the other to forget who he was! It was of course a queer feeling to have, but the boy could not get it out of his head. "How about going back with us, Josh; feel equal to a little walk; or shall I come around after you in a small boat?" Jack asked. "Rats! what d'ye take me for?" demanded Josh, indignantly. "Just because I've got a little puncture in my noggin is no sign I'm out of the running. Why, course I'll go back with you, and right away, too." "What's the hurry, boys?" asked Mr. Bliss, quickly. "Well, for one thing," Jack remarked, "we've got a couple of anxious chums in camp, who'll be eating their heads off with curiosity to know what's become of Josh." "That's right," declared the tall lad, chuckling; "and it's a shame to keep poor old Nick away from his feed so long. Ten to one he's as hungry as a bear right now, waiting for grub time to come around." "But won't you stay and have a bite with us?" asked Mr. Carpenter. "We're not extra fine cooks, but we've got lots of good stuff aboard." "That's right kind of you," George thought he ought to say; "but, considering the circumstances, I reckon we'd better be going, if Josh says he's fit." "Well, I'll show you I'm feeling just like myself, and not a bit weak, after bleeding like a stuck pig," and the long-legged boy started to climb out of the cabin as he spoke. "Please wait a minute," Mr. Bliss interrupted. "If you must go, there's no need of Josh getting himself all wet. You see, we've got it fixed so we can push ashore by a very little effort on our part, right alongside the roots of that tree; and where the water chances to be fairly deep. We had the boat in there when we brought your friend along, and it'll be easy to get back again. Then a jump lands you, safe and sound." He snatched up a setting pole, the most useful thing that can be carried on a cruise along the shallow waters of the keys, and with very little effort managed to send the anchored boat into the tiny cove, his companion having loosened the anchor cable meanwhile. Jack was the first to spring ashore, and the others followed quickly at his heels, with Josh bringing up the rear, and anxious to prove his words true about being in first rate condition. "Glad to have made your acquaintance, boys," said Mr. Bliss; "and if we happen to cross each others' path again, there's no reason why we shouldn't be friends, is there?" "Well, I should say our chum here is under heavy obligations to you, sir; and on his account, if no other, we'd feel inclined that way," returned Jack. "Shake hands on that, Jack," Mr. Bliss remarked; and each of the four boys in turn did so, even carrying the friendly act out with the other skipper of the little power boat. "The best of luck go with you all!" called out Mr. Bliss, waving his hand after them. "Same to you, sir!" replied George, who had apparently quite gotten over the suspicions by which he had been almost overpowered earlier in the evening. And presently, after they had pushed their way across the tongue of land lying between the two lagoons, they could only tell where the boat which they had just left lay, by the glowing light flooding out of her cabin. Jack placed himself at one side of Josh, while George lined up on the other. But the lanky boy observed these movements with suspicion. "Hey, what's this mean?" he demanded. "Got an idea I'm apt to keel over any old minute, have you? Just because I did that silly thing once, now don't you think she's goin' to get to be a habit with me. That's a mistake, fellers. I'm tougher'n you reckon on, now. Come along, buck up, George, and hit up a faster pace." "Hold on, now," said George, as he struggled with a vine that had caught him under the chin, and almost lifted him off his feet; "there ain't any such hurry as all that, you know. It's bad walking here, and I don't feel like being strangled just yet awhile." "Yes, pull in your horses, Josh," Jack remarked. "We'll believe you're all right without you being in such a rush about getting back to camp." Three minutes later Jack spoke again. "None of you noticed that either of those gentlemen came ashore after we left, did you?" he asked, quietly. "Why, no, of course they didn't," George remarked. "For what are you askin' that same question?" demanded Jimmy. "P'raps I might give a guess," remarked Josh, quietly. "Well, I only wanted to make sure that anything we might say to each other wasn't likely to get to their ears," Jack went on. "Say, now you've gone and got me guessing good and hard again," remonstrated George. "You seem to just love to say things that sound so mysterious. Tell a fellow, Jack, there's a good chap, why you don't want them to hear us talking. Why, we hadn't ought to have anything but good words to say about those gentlemen after the fine way they acted toward our chum here." "That's true enough, George," Jack went on to say; "and make up your mind I'm the last one to look a gift horse in the mouth to find out his age; but there were a few things about our two new friends that somehow made me sit up and take notice; and I wanted to ask Josh here what he thought." "I just expected you'd be up to that dodge," the party in question observed, with a little chuckle, as of amusement. "I knew that if anybody could get on to their curves, Jack would." "Curves!" repeated George, wonderingly. "Sure, he do be thinkin' he's playing baseball again," laughed Jimmy. "And from the way you talk, Josh," Jack went on, paying no attention to these side remarks on the part of his other chums, "I can give a guess that you must have made some little discovery on your own hook that has told you our two friends might be playing a little game of blindman's buff with us right now. How is that, Josh?" "Jack, you're the greatest feller I ever struck, to get on to anything," replied the long-legged one, admiringly. "That isn't answering my question," the other continued. "Then I'll say, yes," Josh went on. "Tell us what it was you heard," George asked, once more fairly boiling with a desire to know everything connected with the mysterious passengers of the little power boat that had acted so strangely on the trip down the east coast. "Hold on a minute," said Josh. "This bandage is slipping down, so I'll have to get you to fix it for me, boys. Hope the hole's leaked all it's going to, because I can't afford to lose as much fluid as some fellers, Nick for instance. There, that feels all right. Now, what was you saying to me? Oh! yes, about how I happened to get onto the fact that the two gentlemen that took me aboard their boat might be somethin' else besides what they said. Was that it?" "Just what it was!" George came back, knowing how Josh always liked to beat about the bush more or less before telling anything he knew. "Well, here's the way it stands, fellers," went on Josh. "You see, after they carried me on board the boat, I laid there like a mummy in a trance. But by slow degrees I began to come back again. And all the while my eyes must have been shut, I could hear some mumbling voices, though for the life of me I couldn't make out who it was talkin'." "Oh! hurry up, old ice-wagon; get a move on you, and tell us!" exclaimed George, almost biting his tongue with impatience. "I heard one man that I afterwards knew was Mr. Bliss say, as plain as anything: 'I tell you, they're nothin' but boys, and they ain't goin' to give us away.' And then the other one, he says, says he: 'If I thought this one knew anything, I'd be tempted to let him lie there where we picked him up, that's what. We can't afford to take any chances, and you know it, Sam!'" Jack gave a low whistle. "And yet Mr. Bliss said his friend's name was Bryce Carpenter," he observed. "I had an idea all along, from the way he called that name, he wasn't used to saying it. Sam came easier to his tongue. Now, we don't know who Sam is, or what he's done, but seems to me there's something crooked about that yarn they set up, of a wager made with that Lenox fellow." "They never made such a wager," declared Josh, stubbornly; "and right now the only thing they want to do is to get around to Tampa, where they expect to slip aboard a boat bound for Cuba. I heard some more talk before I opened my eyes and spoiled it all. If the one who calls himself Carpenter hadn't got cold feet, their plan was to drop down the keys to Key West, and get across to Havana from there." "Well, what's that to us?" remarked Jack. "They treated you white, Josh, didn't they?" "They sure did," answered the other, warmly. "All right," Jack went on; "then it's no business of ours who and what they are; and we'll just have to forget them. But, listen, wasn't that a shout ahead, there?" CHAPTER XII. AN INVASION OF THE CAMP. "I heard it, too, Jack!" exclaimed George; but neither of the others seemed to have noticed anything, though in the case of Josh, with his head tied up, this was really not to be wondered at. "What sort of a sound was it, boys?" demanded the tall one. "I thought it was a shout of some kind; how about it, George?" Jack replied. "Same here. But then, perhaps it's only Herb and Nick skylarking. Once in so often Nick gets a streak, and thinks he has to work off his high humor. But see here, Jack, I hope you don't imagine some sort of trouble has dropped in on the two boys we left in camp less than an hour back?" "Well, I don't know," Jack made answer, in a half-hesitating way. "But somehow it struck me that yell was more along the line of anger or fright than the result of high spirits or kidding." "But Jack, we don't hear any more of the same sort?" George remonstrated. "How's that, then?" asked the other, as a plain whoop came faintly to their ears. "Say, that's Nick, all right," Josh declared, stoutly. "I could tell his shout among a thousand. There never was one like it. I always said a wild Injun from the Crow reservation couldn't begin to hold a candle to Nick, when it came to letting out a whoop." "But what would make him give tongue that way?" asked George, as he pushed on at the heels of the leader; for they were now following what seemed to be a trail through the undergrowth, where the trees grew sparingly. "Troth, and I hope now, nothing has happened to Herb," Jimmy remarked. "Oh! let up guessing that way. Whatever could happen to either of them, tell me that?" George demanded. "We left the boys safe in camp; and they even said they believed they'd go aboard one of the boats, although making sure to keep the fire going, so we would see it, if we got mixed in our bearings, while skirting the short line. Maybe you'd expect an alligator to crawl in from the swamp, and try to make a meal off our chums?" "Well, why not?" demanded Josh. "I reckon, now, they have just such reptiles in this region, don't they, great big fellers, too, some call them crocodiles, I'm told. But there, Nick tunes up again, like a good feller." "There must be something wrong, or he wouldn't show so much excitement. Make all the hurry you can, boys. We're getting closer all the time; yes, and it seems to me I can almost make out what he's shouting." "You're right, Jack, for I'd take my affidavy I heard him say just then: 'Get out, you robber! skedaddle, now!'" "That sounds like some one had found the camp, and was trying to steal our belongings!" George exclaimed. "Well, I hope they lave the boats, that's all; for the walkin' do be harrd, I'm tould, between here and Meyers," Jimmy up and said, in his whimsical way. "Good gracious! you don't think, now, that anybody would be so mean as to try and crib our bully boats?" gasped George; and no matter what oceans of trouble his _Wireless_ may have given him in the past, all was forgiven now, when danger lurked over the motor boat flotilla. "Come along!" called Jack, over his shoulder; "the quickest way to find out what it all means, is to get there. Hit it up a little swifter, all of you! Put your best foot forward, and run!" They accordingly did so. What mattered it if occasionally one of them did happen to trip, and come down with a hard thump; it was only a question of a few seconds for the unlucky one to scramble to his feet, and a few bruises more or less surely did not count. In this fashion, then, they covered the remainder of the ground that lay between the camp and themselves. Jack, being in the lead, was the first to glimpse what was going on. He held up a warning arm to head off the impetuous rush of his mates; and as they could plainly see his figure outlined against the bright background of the fire-lighted zone, George and Josh and Jimmy all drew up alongside the leader. No one said anything. They were too busily engaged taking it all in, to express themselves in any way. And, indeed, it was a sight well worth observing, one that would return to them many a time, and always cause a smile to creep across each boy's face. For it was more humorous than tragical, though possibly one of the actors in the affair looked upon it in the light of a serious proposition. First, there was Herb aboard the good old _Comfort_, and engaged in waving the ax, upon which he seemed to lay considerable dependence. He appeared to be defying some enemy, and promising all sorts of dire things if so be the boat was boarded. But Nick's clarion voice was proceeding from a higher place; in fact, it seemed to ooze forth from the branches of a small tree that happened to grow not far from where the camp-fire had been started. A look upward disclosed the fat boy, perched among the branches of the said tree. He varied his outcries by waving the shotgun, which seemed to be utterly useless in so far as discharging it was concerned. There was a black bunch of hair busily engaged in trying to tear open some of the provisions that the fat boy had "toted" ashore, in his desire to get supper started. It was, in truth, a bear, a hungry animal that had declined to gorge himself upon the remains of the jewfish, when other and greater delicacies were within reach. It was breaking the heart of poor Nick to see this vandal threatening to dispose of all their precious food, so that they must go on scant rations the rest of the way to Naples or Meyers. No wonder that the hungry Nick whooped and yelled, calling the black pirate by all the hard names he could think up. Now and then the animal would appear to be disturbed by all this racket. On such occasions he would shuffle over to the sapling in which the fat boy was perched, raising his snout to sniff the air, as though half tempted to make the climb, and punish his detractor as seemed most fitting. Nick evidently became fearful each time that he was going to be in for it. He would howl worse than ever, and make all sorts of dreadful threats as to what he might do in case such a thing happened. "Oh! ain't you the lucky thing, though?" he bellowed, just as the others ranged up to take the whole picture in. "If I hadn't been silly enough to go ashore, carrying Herb's old gun, and forget to put any shells in the same, I guess you'd be a dead bear right now, old top! Here, quit shaking this tree, won't you? Think you own the whole ranch? Reckon other people got some right to live. Just go back to your jewfish dinner, and all may be forgiven; but you let our crackers and cheese and bacon and hominy alone, hear that? Wow! there, he's gone and busted the hominy sack! Look at the gump wasting all that fine food, would you? Herb, can't you _please_ get some of those bully old shells over to me somehow? I'd give a heap to tickle him between the sixth and seventh ribs, sure I would!" Just then Jack gave a peculiar little whistle. Nick heard it, and immediately "perked up his ears," as Josh called it. He could be seen to twist his head around, and try to locate the one who had given the well known signal. "Hey, Jack! wherever are you?" he called, in perplexity. Jack did not dare make any reply. He had seen the bear start at the sound of the signal whistle, just as if the sly beast understood that it must surely spell danger for one of his type. "Get ready to back me up, George, Jimmy!" Jack whispered. They understood that since Jack carried the repeating rifle, it ought to be his duty to fire first. Should he make a failure, then they could come in, to try and load the marauding bear with all the lead possible. If, after all, the beast managed to get away, he would at least surely carry the marks of the warm engagement with him the rest of his natural life. By this time both Herb and Nick had discovered what was going on, and, naturally enough, they were deeply interested. "Give him Hail Columbia, Jack!" called Herb, waving his ax above his head, as he stood there on the deck of the gallant old _Comfort_, looking as though ready to hurl defiance at all the bears in South Florida. "Oh! be sure and pot him, Jack!" cried Nick, entreatingly. "I always wanted to see what real bear steak tasted like. And honest now, I reckon it'll be sweeter because the old villain ran me up this tree. Get a bead on him, and make dead sure of your aim. Don't I wish I had some buckshot shells up here? Wouldn't I have enjoyed peppering him, though. Wow! give him another for his mother, Jack!" Jack had waited until the bear turned, so as to expose his side. It was his desire to send the bullet so that it would strike just back of the foreleg, because he had always been told that that was the most vulnerable spot in which to hit any large animal. When the opportunity came he sent in his card. Instantly there arose a tremendous commotion. The bear sent out a series of roars and whirled around, to fall down, and then struggle to its feet again, while Nick shouted in his excitement, and the other fellows added their voices to his chorus. Jack coolly pumped another cartridge into the firing chamber of his repeating rifle, and stood ready to make a second try, if he found reason to believe such action were needed. It was quickly proven to his satisfaction that nothing of the kind was required. The bear soon toppled over again, and from the way in which the poor animal kicked it was plain to be seen that the last stage had come. "Bully! we're going to have bear steaks all right!" laughed the pleased Nick; and then he added: "Say, Jack, do you really believe the old sinner's kicked the bucket, or is he playing a little game to coax me down? I'm sore from hanging up here so long. Give him a punch and see if he moves, George. My gracious! what ails Josh, and where'd he get that nightcap he's wearing?"--and, overcome by curiosity, the fat boy came sliding down the bending sapling, to land in a heap at its foot. Herb too came ashore, filled with wonder, and eager to hear the story, which was told as they stood around the body of the bear that had invaded the camp, and sent Nick in hot haste "shinning" up a tree. CHAPTER XIII. JIMMY REFUSES TO GIVE UP THE GAME. They were now fully in the great Gulf of Mexico, and headed for Tampa. Nick had been able to enjoy bear steak to his heart's content. The others pronounced the meat pretty dry, and poor eating; but when served in the shape of a stew, or hash, it answered the purpose. There was a whole lot, they decided, in knowing that it _was_ the genuine article. Otherwise most of them would have declined to eat it, just as they would tough beef. "Jack, is it true that there are ten thousand of these mangrove islands?" "Well, you've got me there, Josh," laughed the leader of the little expedition, as, several days after the adventure with the bear, the three motor boats glided in and out among the queer collection of islets that marks the southwestern coast of Florida. "But that's what they're called on the map," insisted Josh. "Oh! you don't suppose for a minute anybody in the wide world could ever count these mud flats, covered with the everlasting mangrove, do you?" Jack went on. "A few hundred, or even thousand more or less, wouldn't matter." "For my part," spoke up George, "there are just nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine too many. I could be satisfied with one island. Why, for two days now, we've been going in and out of these bally old bunches of mangroves, dodging storms, and fighting skeeters to beat the band." "You'd better be thankful," declared Herb, "that after you led us in a trap, Jack took us out again, George. Only for him we might be lost right now, miles deep in these everlasting tangles. You notice that now we never get far away from a sight of the big water, don't you? It seems a dangerous business for a small boat cruiser to wander into this nest down here. He's apt to lose his head, and never come out again." "Do we pull up soon, Jack?" asked Jimmy, beseechingly. "Why, yes, as the afternoon is going," Jack replied; and then, as if noticing the eagerness plainly marked upon his shipmate's freckled face, he went on: "But what's in the wind with you, Jimmy? I can see that you're thinking of some stunt." Jimmy laughed at that. The three boats were moving slowly on, close together, and he could easily send a significant look toward the complacent Nick. "Oh, I know what ails him, all right!" cried the fat boy. "Then suppose you tell us, Nick?" George demanded. "Jimmy's got an idea in his head that he's going to knock my record for big fish all hollow, and this place strikes him as likely to pan out well. Haven't I seen him watching those big tarpon jumping this very afternoon? I just bet you he means to make a try for one of them, as soon as we anchor for the night," and Nick completed his assertion with a chuckle. "And have ye any objection to my makin' a thry, tell me that?" Jimmy demanded. "Sure not," Nick immediately replied; "only you're bound to have all the trouble for your pains, Jimmy boy." "Ye think that way?" asked the other, suspiciously. "Oh, for a lot of reasons!" came from the complacent Nick, ready to rest upon his honors. "First off, you'd have to fish in one of our little dinkies; and a tarpon is such a powerful fish, it'd drag you miles and miles before giving up. Remember, you're not allowed the least help to land the game." Jimmy shook his head, and watched his rival from under his heavy eyebrows. "Secondly," continued the fat boy, airily, "the biggest tarpon ever captured never weighed as much as two hundred pounds, remember that, Jimmy. Jack, would you mind stating what we decided the weight of my jewfish was?" "We agreed on two hundred and thirty as about the right thing," came the reply. "There you are, Jimmy," mocked Nick. "Better forget all about tarpon, and turn your attention to, say, whales." "But, by the same token, they towld me whales never come this far south, and so I'll never get square with ye that way," grumbled Jimmy. "But never mind, me bhoy, sooner or later you'll meet up with defate. I'm still studying the way I'm bound to bring ye to a Waterloo. The Brannigans never gave up, rimimber. When ye laste expect it ye'll be overwhelmed." "Oh, I'm not going to lose any sleep over it. And while you're worrying that poor head of yours, Jimmy, about the ways and means of capturing a three hundred pounder, I'm just going to keep on feasting on these fine oysters we've been picking up right along. Yum! yum! how I do love 'em, though!" "Yes, we happen to know that," remarked Josh. "Fact is, we've heard you make the same remark ever since we set out from Philadelphia on this cruise." "And if a fellow could see the piles of oysters Nick's gobbled since that day, he'd be just staggered, that's what!" George put in, sarcastically; for, as the fat boy sailed in his company, the skipper of the _Wireless_ doubtless grew very weary of hearing constant reminders concerning feasts, past and to come. "Well," sang out Jack just then, "I don't see any reason why we shouldn't pull up here as well as anywhere. Good anchorage, with a chance for a breath of wind off the gulf tonight, that may keep the savage little key mosquitoes fairly quiet. What say, fellows?" As they were all of a mind, the halt was quickly brought about. They anchored in the open; but in case of a sudden high wind arising that threatened to make things unpleasant for the small craft, it would be the easiest thing in the world to push around in the lee of the nearest mangrove island, which would serve as a barrier against the storm. Jimmy was soon seen paddling away in the dinky belonging to the speed boat. "Now what did he take your rifle for, Jack, if he expects to go fishing?" asked George, while Nick cocked up his ears, and listened as though interested. "I asked him, and he only grinned at me," Jack replied. "But I made him promise not to go beyond that big island you can see up the channel a ways." A short time later they heard a shot, followed by several others, that made them sit up and take notice. "Say, he got a crack at something!" Nick remarked, uneasily, for he remembered how Jimmy had looked so queerly at him when departing, as though he had something in his mind. "Well, we'll soon know; and I can see him moving around in his boat up yonder right now. Seems to me he's trying to get at something in among the mangroves. He must have made a kill of it," Herb declared. Ten minutes later and Jimmy was seen approaching, rowing steadily. "Look at him, would you?" called out the anxious Nick; "he's dragging something behind the boat, as sure as anything!" Jack watched the performance for a minute or so, and then remarked: "Looks to me like a big 'gator; and that's what it is, boys." "Oh, my!" exclaimed Nick, bouncing up; "I wonder now does the silly believe an alligator would count against my fish? Jack, I appeal to you to give him the law as she's written in our compact." But Jack refused to say anything prematurely. "Wait till he makes his claim," he replied, with a laugh, as he watched the sturdy labors of the Irish lad to rejoin them. When Jimmy did arrive they saw that he had indeed managed to shoot an unusually large mossback 'gator, which he had possibly discovered sunning itself among the mangroves. As a rule the creatures prefer the fresh water, but may on occasion be found where there is a commingling of salt and fresh. The exultant captor was grinning, as if hugely pleased. He nodded his head in the direction of the staring Nick, as he finally came alongside. Then they saw that he had been wise enough to take a rope along with him, which had been hitched around the body of the slain monster, just back of the short forelegs. Nevertheless, it had taken considerable of an effort to drag the saurian all the way from the place of the tragedy to where the three motor boats were anchored. Jimmy wiped the perspiration from his red face, as he exultantly cried out: "By the powers, can ye bate that, I'd loike to know, so I would? Two hundred and thirty, did ye till me; sure this one must weight all of twict that. I lave it to the umpire here to decide, contint to rest on me laurels." Nick began to show signs of tremendous excitement at once. "How about that, Jack?" he pleaded. "He went and shot it with the rifle, don't you know? I don't call that fishing, now, do you?" "I've heard of people who shoot fish with a rifle, lots of times," commented Herb, just to excite Nick a little more. "Yes, but don't tell me an alligator is a fish!" exclaimed Nick, in great disgust. "Why, when I was in the lower grade in school they taught us to call it just a _rep-tile_!" At that a shout went up from the balance of the voyagers. "You'll have to settle this right on the spot, Jack," declared George. "Get out the articles of war and read what it says; that's the only fair way," remarked Herb. So Jack deliberately took out his notebook, and in a sing-song tone, assumed for the purpose, read as he had done once before at Jimmy's request: "'Each contestant shall have the liberty of fishing as often as he pleases, and the fish may be taken in any sort of manner--the one stipulation being that the capture shall be undertaken by the contestant alone and unaided; and that he must have possession of the fish long enough to show the same, and have its weight either estimated or proven.'" "Well, here it is before ye, and riddy to be weighed!" said Jimmy, stoutly. "But Jack, what do you say, _is_ an alligator a fish in the true sense of the word?" demanded Nick, stubbornly. "As the umpire in this dispute," said Jack, solemnly, "I am forced to disallow the claim Jimmy makes. No matter how he got his prize, we can't swallow what he says about an alligator being a fish, even if it does swim under water; for it couldn't live there at all, but has to come up on shore. So Jimmy, you'll have to try again; and better luck to you next time!" CHAPTER XIV. WHEN THE COMFORT WAS HUNG UP. Evidently Jimmy was not at all dismayed by his present setback. As he said, he sprang from stock that would never acknowledge defeat. "Just wait, me laddybuck," he declared, as he shook his finger at the grinning Nick; "the day is long yit, and by the powers, they be other ways of beating that record ye've hung up. I'll kape me eyes about me, to say if another jewfish wouldn't be afther stranding himself for me 'special benefit. And who knows but what this toime it may be a three hundred pounder I'll be lugging into camp." "Oh, that's all right, Jimmy," remarked the fat boy, apparently not very much worried over the possibility of losing his laurels; "but make sure of one thing before you claim the earth." "And what moight that be?" demanded Jimmy, innocently. "Why, don't shout till you see whether it's a fish--_or a log_!" and Nick lay back on the soft cushions he had brought on deck for his own comfort, to laugh uproariously at his remark. Jimmy turned a bit red, but joined in the general hilarity; for he was able to enjoy a joke, even at his own expense. Some days before, while Jimmy was fishing very industriously, he had given a yell, and was seen to be pulling at a tremendous rate at something to which his hook had evidently become attached. Of course his rival had shown great interest in his actions, for it looked as if the Irish lad must have hooked a monster of a fish. But when finally Jimmy was able, alone and unaided, to bring the thing to the surface, he discovered, much to his chagrin, that it was only a sunken and waterlogged log. His own frantic labor had given it all the wonderful movements which he believed were the struggles of a captured fish. "But I say, Jack, darlint," went on the Irish boy, "before I make another thry, plase tell me this: Suppose now, ye should say me comin' back, and ridin' on a manatee that they do be havin' around here--would ye call that a fish, becase it lives, so they tell me, under the wather all the toime?" He glared triumphantly at Nick, whose mouth opened in sheer amazement upon hearing the audacious proposition. "If he don't take the cake for trying to do the queerest things, now!" the fat boy exclaimed. "Why, it's just silly to think of him capturing a manatee, and harnessing it, like they say Father Neptune does the dolphins. And Jack, looky here, a manatee can't be a fish at all, any more than an alligator is." "Tell me why?" demanded Jimmy, pugnaciously. "Sure, it's amphibious it do be, and lives under the water all the toime. I think I've got ye there, Nick, me bhoy." "But listen," Nick continued, with conviction in his manner, "haven't you heard it called a sea cow; and can a cow be a fish, Jack?" with which he turned triumphantly toward the laughing umpire. "Now, what's the matter with a cow-whale?" asked Jimmy; "and yet deny that a whale is a fish if ye dare?" "Jack, settle that, won't you, before he goes and brings in every old varmint to be found in this region?" pleaded Nick. But Jack was too wise. He did not want to shut out the possibility of their having the time of their lives, should the energetic and ambitious Jimmy attempt to carry his plans into effect. "No, I'm not going to bother my head over things that may never happen," he declared; and with that Jimmy paddled away in the little dinky, grinning broadly at the uneasy Nick. "Nobody just knows what that fellow _will_ do next," muttered the fat boy, as he followed his retreating rival with his eyes. Meanwhile Jack was taking a look around with his glasses. "Somehow I don't altogether like this place after we've anchored," he remarked. "And why?" inquired Herb. "For one thing," Jack continued, "it's more exposed than would be pleasant, if one of those Northers we've been hearing so much about should spring up in the night. And I've been watching those ibis and cranes flying over for some time now. They all head in one quarter, and from that I reckon there's a bird roost over yonder." Herb pricked up his ears, for he had long since expressed a desire to look in on a real roosting place, where all kinds of birds came together each night. "I tell you, Jack," he remarked, eagerly, "let's change our anchorage, and head that way. It can't be more than a mile or so further in, d'ye think?" "Not more than that," was the reply. "But we don't want to get lost among these blooming islands!" said George. "We could make some sort of mark as we go, to leave a trail, and it would be easy to come out the same way," was Jack's sensible suggestion. "But how about Jimmy; if he came back here, and found us gone, there would be a howl, believe me?" Nick observed. "It happens by good luck that he's headed in just the right direction, so I could pick him up on the way," Jack declared. "And that would wind up his fishing for today, wouldn't it?" asked Nick. "It surely would," was the reply of the _Tramp's_ skipper; whereupon the fat boy heaved an audible sigh of gratification. "Then I vote in favor of doing what Jack says, and having a peep in at the bird colony tonight, if we can," he remarked. "We might as well, I suppose," Josh put in, being somewhat curious himself with regard to what such a roost looked like. "I say this," continued Jack, who thought his sudden desire to change their anchorage needed further explanation, "because I understand that these roosts, once so plentiful in Southern Florida, are hard to find nowadays; and we might not have another chance to see the sight." "What happens to make 'em scarce?" asked Josh. "Oh, well! the main thing has been that plume hunters have found them out, and murdered the birds by the thousands. It's worse when they hunt out the nesting places of the herons, and kill the mother birds, just to get the aigrette, which, it happens, is always at its best about the time the birds have young." "Say, I've read a lot about that," mentioned George; "and they tell us that it's the most dreadful thing to visit one of those nesting places in the swamp after the plume hunters have been at their bloody work. Thousands of young birds are starving in the nests, and the sounds they put up just haunt a fellow forever." "None of that in mine," declared tender-hearted Nick, firmly. "I guess we all say the same," Jack added; "but when our intention is only to see what such a place looks like, nobody can blame us for going." "I should hope not," said George. "But do we get up our mudhooks right now, Jack, and mosey out of this nook?" "That's the programme, and here goes for my anchor. Whew! it's stuck fast in the mud, all right. Give me a lift, Josh, after you and Herb have pulled yours up on deck," and inside of five minutes all of them had washed the mud from the forked anchors, which were then placed conveniently on the forward deck, where they could be dropped overboard with a push. Then the boats moved off. This time it was the steady going old _Comfort_ that took the lead--Jack being in no particular hurry and George, as usual, being compelled to tamper with his eccentric motor, before he could get it to going right. Of course Herb meant to fall back presently, and let the _Tramp_ take the lead; but it was really so seldom that he had a chance to leave the others in the lurch that he and Josh seemed to enjoy running away. Jack, of course, was on the lookout for the first sign of his teammate. Jimmy was discovered rowing frantically around one end of the big island, as though, upon hearing the popping of exhausts, he had been seized with a sudden fear lest he was in danger of being abandoned there in that terrible region, with not a foot of high land within many miles. "Hi! howld on there, Jack darlint!" he called out, stopping to wave a hand toward the advancing _Tramp_. When alongside he of course demanded to know what it all meant; and upon learning that they were about to go a mile or so further in, Jimmy shook his head in a discouraged manner, saying: "Arrah! now, as if I couldn't say through a stone that has a hole in the same. I do be belaving that it's all the fault of that same sly one, Nick. He's that fearful of me accomplishin' me threat, and securin' a whopper of a fish, that he invents all sorts of rasons for being on the jump. But I'll get the better of him yet, say if I don't, Jack, me bhoy!" He climbed aboard, still grumbling, as though unable to convince himself that this was not all some smart scheme, engineered by his rival, in order to keep him from securing a prize catch. Herb was still far ahead, and skirting some of the many islands. When he reached a certain point he had marked out for himself, he intended to lie to, and wait for the coming of Jack. George had started on at a fast gait, and doubtless was determined to head off the clumsy _Comfort_, which fact may have urged Herb to do his best and cut corners sharply. All of which led up to a sequel. Jack suddenly missed the loud noise that usually accompanied the progress of the broad-beamed boat. As he looked up he discovered that George was heading straight for the _Comfort_, which hung near the point of an island; also that both Herb and Josh were jumping wildly about, as though greatly excited. "What do be the matter with the gossoons?" asked Jimmy. "I don't know for certain," replied Jack; "but I've got my suspicions. Herb was running in a careless way and just as like as not he managed to snag his boat. If that's what happened, we're in for a peck of trouble; for there's no boat builder within many miles of this place, and we'd be lucky to find even a piece of shore to pull her up on." CHAPTER XV. THE BIRD ROOST. "Sure, it's just like ye say, Jack!" exclaimed Jimmy, while they were hurrying toward the imperiled boat at full speed. "They do be throwin' wather out to beat bannigher. Josh has got a bucket and Herb handles a basin. Glory be! but this is a bad job all around!" Jack was looking beyond the sinking boat. "I think I can see a little bit of a shore just over there," he declared, "if only now we can drag the _Comfort_ there before she goes down. You jump aboard with this bucket as soon as we get there. She looks lower in the water already, but one more hand to toss it out may keep her afloat long enough." Jimmy was more than eager to lend all the assistance in his power. No sooner had the _Tramp_ run alongside the other boat than he was over the side. Nick, too, had been given the same instructions by George, for he was already laboring with might and main to reduce the amount of water that persisted in entering the big boat through the hole knocked in her bottom by a stump or a submerged log. "Here, George, lay close alongside, and let's get fast to her!" Jack called out, realizing that heroic measures were all that would save the imperiled craft now. Quickly they carried out the plan. Ropes were passed back and forth, so that the _Comfort_ could not really sink, with two such staunch boats buoying her up. "Now," continued Jack, when this had been accomplished, "start your engine slowly and we'll try and beach her over yonder. By the greatest of good luck there's a small patch of ground in sight, different from these mud banks. Ready, George?" "Yes," came the reply. "Then go ahead!" Jack held back until he heard the puttering of the _Wireless_ exhaust; then he also started his engine, and the three boats moved slowly and majestically off, the _Comfort_ looking, as Josh expressed it, like a wounded duck sustained by the wings of two companions. Those aboard the sinking craft had to keep up their work in a frantic manner, if they did not want the boat to go down under them in midstream. Now and then one would make a bad shot, and spill the contents of bucket or basin over the forms of his fellow laborers. But although this might have seemed comical to Nick or Josh or Jimmy at another time, they failed to laugh now, even when struck full in the face by a deluge, and half choked. Fortunately the other island, where the little patch of rising ground had been discovered by Jack, was close at hand, so that in less than ten minutes they had arrived as near as they dared go. "Now, I'm going to break loose and get behind," said Jack. "If I can shove her further in, it'll be all right, for then she won't sink any lower. In the morning we can get the block and tackle, and drag her out on skids." The workers were encouraged to keep at it furiously for another minute or two, while the _Tramp_ did the shoving part. Knowing just how to go about it, Jack made a success of his part of the business. "Hurrah!" gasped Nick, when the keel grated on the bottom, and the weary water-casters could rest from their labors. But there was a lot more to do. The bedding and stores that were aboard had to be rescued, and placed where they might have a chance to dry. It took some little time to get all the stuff out; and then Jack had another idea. "Perhaps I might shove her up still further, if you fellows went ashore," he suggested; which they declared to be a good thing. "After all," said Jack, when he had actually succeeded in pushing the stranded _Comfort_ a foot or so further in, "what does it matter? We'll have to make a couple of skids tomorrow, and get a purchase on some of the mangroves yonder; when we can yank her up, no matter where she is. And now I vote that we get ashore, and see about starting supper. I'm as hungry as a bear." "Hear! hear!" applauded Nick. "And while I'm about it, I guess I had ought to change my shoes and socks, because I'm wet to the knees; fact is, I'm pretty well soaked all over. Josh kept emptying his old pail over me right along. I guess I swallowed as much of the salt stuff as he got over the side." However, by the time night had set in, the boys were all feeling in a better humor. Those who were wet had changed some of their things, and dried the rest beside the fire that was burning cheerily. "What do you think of it, Jack?" asked Herbert, after the other had made as good an examination of the hole in the bottom of the wrecked motor boat as the circumstances permitted. "It's a clean hole, all right," was the response, "but I don't see any reason why we can't patch it up to last until we get to a boat builder's yard." "I'm right glad to hear you say that," continued the anxious skipper, "because, as you all know, I'm mighty fond of my boat, and would hate like everything to have to abandon the poor old thing in this place. So now I can eat some supper with a touch of appetite." At any rate it was pleasant to again stretch their legs, after being confined to the boats for several days. And Josh seemed to have enjoyed cooking a full meal once more for the crowd. "Now, how about that roost; do you suppose we can find it from here?" George asked, when they were about through. "If you still feel like going, I think it won't be a hard thing," Jack declared. "Count me out, please," Nick remarked. "I don't believe I care enough about it; and, besides, somebody ought to stay here, to keep the fire going, so you can tell where to come back." "Huh! he's clean filled up to the top, that's what," remarked Josh; "and when Nick gets that way, you just can't coax him to budge an inch. But I'm with you, boys." It was presently decided that all the others would go in the three tenders. As Nick was given a shotgun, this time fully loaded, and ready for business, he expressed himself as willing to stand guard. "Anyhow," he observed, with a wide smile, "I don't reckon on having any bear for a visitor this time. He couldn't get on this island, could he, Jack?" "Not in a thousand years," was the reassuring reply. "And you can stay aboard the _Tramp_ until we come back," George went on to say. "Only don't let that fire go out a minute, or perhaps you'll be minus all your chums. A nice time you'd have here, all alone, wouldn't you? Why, you'd starve to death before long with that appetite of yours, Nick." "Shucks! there ain't much danger of your getting lost while Jack's along. If it depended on you, George, I'd be scared right bad now," the fat boy got back at him as the party moved away. They took the lighted lantern with them, and expected to be very cautious how they managed, not wanting to lose their bearings in the darkness. Jack had made a mental map of the vicinity, and behind that he could find his way back to where the fire showed. He led off, paddling with one of the oars, for when the little dinky held two these could not be used in the ordinary fashion. And it was not very long before the others knew that again Jack had shown more than ordinary skill, for they reached an island where, from the sounds, it was evident that the roost of the birds could be found. Landing, they made their way over the exposed roots of mangroves and cypress trees, gradually drawing near the middle of the island. And here they found what they sought. Jack made several torches out of some wood he found, and when these were lighted they saw a sight that none of them would soon forget. Thousands of birds were in the trees, many of them herons, ibis, cranes and water turkeys. For some time the boys looked at the spectacle. Then, tiring of it, as well as objecting to the anything but pleasant odor of the roost, which had long been in use they imagined, they retreated again to the boats, after which the return trip was begun. Nick had kept the fire going, and little trouble was experienced getting back to where the larger craft awaited them. The night passed quietly and with the morning they began to make preparations looking to the repairing of the snagged _Comfort_. Breakfast over, Jack set out with the ax, and Josh to help him, taking two of the small boats. When he found a couple of cypress trees that he thought would answer the purpose, over on Bird Island, as they had named the place of the roost, he cut them down, and by hard work they towed the intended skids to camp. Here they were shaped, and placed in position. Then the block and tackle, which had been carried on board the roomy _Comfort_, were brought into play. Jack selected the strongest mangrove within line of the boat that was to be hauled out, when fastening the tackle. "Here you are, now, fellows!" he declared, when all was ready. "Come along, everybody, and take a grip on the rope," invited Herb, who was more than anxious to get busy at the job of patching the smashed sheathing of his boat, so they could continue their voyage. Even Nick was made to lend the power of his muscles to the good work. "If we could only get the full force of his weight, she'd come with a rush," Josh had declared, though the fat boy only noticed the slur with a smile and a nod. "Are you all ready to pull?" asked Jack, who, being master of ceremonies, had the leading position on the line. "Sure we are; get busy, Jack, darlint!" sang out Jimmy. "Then altogether now, and away we go!--one, two, three! She moved that time, fellows, I tell you. Once more now, yo-heave-o! That was worth talking about, and she jumped six inches. Again, and put every ounce of muscle into it! Now, then, up with her! Another turn! That's the way to do it, boys!" And Jack continued to encourage his mates to do their level best until they had dragged the _Comfort_ up the skids to a point where one could crawl underneath her exposed keel. CHAPTER XVI. A SCREECHER FROM THE NORTH. All of them awaited the verdict with bated breath. Jack was down on his back under the boat, and carefully examining the fracture made by the snag. "We can mend it, all right," he announced, as he finally snaked his way out. A chorus of approval greeted the announcement. "How long will it take us, do you think?" asked Herb, who looked relieved to know that, after all, his boat would not be lost. "Oh! that depends. Perhaps by tonight it may be in apple-pie shape, good enough to hold out till we get to Tampa," Jack replied. "Say, looks like we might have the whole bally armada in the hands of the ship joiners at the same time," chuckled Nick. "Because, you know, George and me want to get a new engine installed the worst kind, don't we, George?" The skipper of the _Wireless_ grunted in reply; Nick was evidently running things now with regard to that change in motive power, and did not mean to let his mate draw back from his word. "But first of all, we've got to drag the boat up further," continued Jack. "You see, if I've got to work at that broken place for hours, I'm bound to have it more comfortable than now. Lying on my back would knock me out." Accordingly they all took hold again, after the tackle had been shifted. It was not so difficult a thing to do, with six sturdy fellows to pull a rope; and presently the _Comfort_ was elevated at a point that would allow one to kneel under her keel. Jack made his preparations, and set to work. With the willing Herb to assist in any way necessary, the others of course were not needed. Josh amused himself after his favorite manner, studying up some new dishes with which he figured surprising his chums some fine day. George could always find plenty to do pottering with his engine, and trying to cure its faults; for hope dies hard in the young and sanguine heart. Jimmy and Nick took to fishing, because that employment seemed to engross their every waking thought. When Jimmy started out, the fat boy grew uneasy; and before long he, too, paddled away in one of the small tenders. "Be sure and don't go out of sight of the smoke from the fire," Jack had cautioned them both; and Josh agreed to make use of some pine wood he had picked up, in order to create a black smoke; for Florida pine is full of the resinous sap that burns fiercely, and makes a dense smudge. Jimmy did not remain long in one place. He seemed very restless, as though he wanted to move about, in order to be on the lookout for a chance to make a grand haul. Nick followed from time to time, meaning to be an eyewitness to any remarkable event that took place. "He's hoping to get fast to one of them tarpon, that's what," was the conviction of the fat youth, who had discovered that the king fish of the coast was in evidence in those warm waters. "I just wish he would right now," he went on, chuckling; "I'd give a whole heap to see Jimmy pulled around by one of them high skippers of tarpon. It'd curb that ambition of his, some, I guess now." And, singular to say, Nick's wish was fated to be realized. Jimmy's mullet bait was gorged by a tarpon about the middle of the morning. At the time the Irish boy chanced to be either half asleep or else thinking of something else. At any rate, the first thing he knew of the circumstance, and that he was fast to a streak of polished silver, was when the rod he was holding was almost jerked from his hands. "Whoa, there, ye omadhaun!" shouted Jimmy, immediately bracing his feet so that he might not be pulled from the dinky outright. Then something sprang from the water not fifty feet away. It was a lordly tarpon, shaking its head, as if hoping to get rid of the barbed hook. A shriek from Jimmy, echoed by one from Nick, drew the attention of all the others. Even Jack came crawling out from under the motor boat to watch the sport. It was certainly a great time Jimmy had. That little dinky was dragged around at a furious pace, now darting to the right, and presently whirled about to head toward the left, as some new whim seized upon the captive fish. Pretty soon Jimmy seemed to be getting dizzy from the rapid evolutions. "He'll never tire that monster out!" cried Herb. "And perhaps it might carry him out to sea, and lose him there!" suggested the cautious Josh. "Well, even if he tired the fish out, it wouldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds; so I think he'd better cut loose," was Jack's dictum. Accordingly he made a megaphone out of his hands, and shouted: "Better let him go free, Jimmy; he'll upset you, and perhaps bite you after he gets you in the water!" "Faith, what shall I be afther doing, then?" came back faintly. "Cut loose! you've got a knife, haven't you?" called George. "But I'll lose me line that way, and the hook in the bargain!" remonstrated the reluctant Irish boy. "Well, better that than your life, or my boat," George told him. So poor Jimmy found himself compelled to creep forward, when the chance offered, and push the blade of the knife against the taut line. Of course it parted instantly; and he came near capsizing when the little dinky sprang up again, freed from the drag of the big fish. The tarpon went speeding away toward the gulf, leaping madly out of the water now and then, as though still trying to shake that jewelry from its jaw, or else making sport of disconsolate Jimmy, who sat there casting yearning looks after his escaped prize. He always maintained that it was a two hundred-and-thirty-five-pound fish, though just why he hit upon that odd figure Nick alone could guess. The jewfish he remembered had been calculated to tip the scales at two hundred and thirty pounds. And it is always the largest fish that gets away. Well, after that disappointment Jimmy might have been pardoned had he given up for the day; but that was not his way. He kept at it all the blessed afternoon. Several bites rewarded his diligence, but he did not succeed in getting fast to another of the silver kings. And, greatly to his disappointment, the evening came on with the grinning Nick still holding high record in the contest. Jack had been quite as successful as he had ventured to hope. George and Herb both declared that he had patched the fracture in the ribs and planks of the _Comfort_ in a truly shipshape manner; and that there could be no question about the repair holding, up to the time they expected reaching Tampa. "Then we go on tomorrow, do we?" asked Nick, anxious to get Jimmy away from the tarpon temptation; for he feared the lucky Irish lad might sooner or later get hold of some monster, which would put his prize out of the running. Jack said there was nothing to hinder; and with all of them, save perhaps Jimmy, feeling quite happy and contented, the night came on. In the morning they were off again, and that day they saw the last of that weird region charted as the Ten Thousand Islands. None of them were sorry; indeed, the very monotony of those mangrove covered mud flats had begun to pall upon every member of the expedition. When they began to see plumed palmetto trees along the shore, the sight brought forth cheers from several of the more joyous among the voyagers. And it certainly looked more like life to note the buzzards floating overhead again, with pelicans skimming the waves out on the gulf, in search of their fish dinner. There were also many water turkeys, with their snake-like necks, and black cormorants swimming in the lagoons behind the keys. Jack, who had read up on the subject, related how the Chinese fishermen make use of such birds as these latter, trained for the purpose, to do their fishing for them: a band being fastened around each creature's neck, so that it can never swallow its capture, which is, of course taken possession of by the master. "We want to make sure to get a good anchorage tonight," Jack remarked to Herb; for the two boats were moving along close together, late that afternoon. "Why so particular tonight; is it going to be any different from others?" asked the skipper of the _Comfort_. "Well, I don't just like the looks of that sky over yonder"--and Jack pointed to the southwest as he spoke. "We've been told that in nearly every case these Northers swoop down after the clouds roll up there, the wind changing to nor'west, and the cold increasing. There's something in the air that makes me think we're due right now for our first Norther." "But to Northern fellows that oughtn't strike a wave of dread," declared Herb. "We're used to winter ice and snow. The thermometer down below zero never bothered me. Why should it down here, when it don't even touch freezing?" "Let's wait and see," laughed Jack. "After it comes, we'll know more than we do now. But a harbor we must have. Keep your eye peeled for what looks like a good landing place, Herb." They found this presently, though the key was not so heavily wooded as Jack had hoped to find; and he did not think it would wholly break the force of the wind, should a gale come roaring down upon them during the night. When they crawled under their blankets about ten, the sky was clouded over, but nothing else had come to pass. This condition of affairs puzzled Jack, who did not know what to think of it. But when he was awakened later on by a dull roaring sound, not unlike the noise of a heavy freight train passing over a long trestle, he sprang up, understanding full well what it meant. "Wake up, everybody; here comes your first Norther!" he shouted at the top of his young and healthy voice. CHAPTER XVII. THE SHELTER BACK OF THE KEY. "Oh! what happened?" Nick was heard to call out, in a tremulous voice. "Get up and hustle! Show a leg here, or you'll be frozen in your blanket!" George shouted, excitedly, for his canvas tent was wabbling in the wind like a thing possessed. Of course, those in the other boats had little need to worry, since their hunting cabins protected them in a great measure from the violence of the gale. The neglect of George to have the same sort of contrivance placed on the _Wireless_, for fear lest it might reduce the great speed of the boat, always cost him dear when night came, or a storm howled about their ears. One has to pay in some way or other for his whistle; and George was a "speed crank" without any doubt. For a short time it was feared that the tent on the _Wireless_ would actually blow away. Half dressed, the pair aboard hung on with might and main to save the canvas, Nick's teeth chattering tremendously as he shivered in the rapidly falling temperature. It certainly did get cold in a hurry, too. Jack would never more smile when he heard old "crackers" tell about the terrors of a Norther. Why, in spite of the protection of the cabin walls, the bitter wind seemed to penetrate to their very marrow. "Say, Jimmy, this is mighty tough on George and Nick," he remarked to his boatmate, when the wind had passed its worst stage, but the cold seemed to be on the increase. "It do be the same; and 'tis myself that feels bad for thim this blissed minute," the warm-hearted Irish lad answered, as he swung his arms back and forth to induce circulation, and bring a bit more comfort. "Just as I feared, the growth ashore is too thin to fend off all the wind; and if this keeps up we'll have the meanest night we ever struck," Jack continued. Jimmy knew from the signs that the skipper had an idea. He was used to reading Jack by now. "What can we be afther doing, I dunno, Jack darlint?" he remarked, or rather shouted; for it was simply impossible to hold a conversation in ordinary tones as long as that howling wind kept shrieking through the mangroves and cypress trees near by. "Get ashore, and throw up some sort of protection, behind which we can make our fire," Jack answered, readily enough. "Hurroo! that's the ticket! Let's be afther getting to worrk right away. Sure, annything is betther than howldin' the fort aboard, and shakin' enough to loosen ivery timber in the hull of the dandy little _Tramp_." Jimmy was always enthusiastic about everything he went about doing. Consequently, he started ashore immediately, with Jack trailing behind. When George realized what his chums were doing, he made haste to join them, for he could not but understand that it was mostly on account of the unfortunates aboard the exposed _Wireless_ that the effort to build a fire was attempted. Many hands make light work; and as there happened to be plenty of wood available near by, a fire was soon blazing. Then Nick, unable to hold aloof any longer, came waddling ashore, to offer his services, when nearly everything had been completed. Jack had found a means of building a wind shield out of various things, and in the shelter of this they hovered, keeping the fire going at top-notch speed. That night seemed endless to several in the party. They huddled around, swathed in blankets like Esquimaux, and trying to sleep, though Nick was about the only fellow who managed to accomplish much in that line. Fortunately it did not rain, which was rather an unusual thing, since these cold storms generally start out with a downpour, until the wind shifts into the northwest, when it clears, and turns bitterly severe. But morning came at last, when they could see to improve the situation. After Josh had cooked the breakfast--and he had plenty of help on this occasion, since every one wanted to cling to the fire as close as possible--all felt better able to meet the situation. "Nothing like a full stomach to make things look brighter," commented Nick, sighing, as he scraped the frying pan for the last remnant of fried hominy. The wind kept up all that day, so that the pilgrims found themselves actually stormbound. Jack would have made a try for another harbor of refuge, only it was so very rough between their key and the main shore that he doubted the ability of the speed-boat to make the passage without a spill; and surely a bird in the hand was better than two in the bush. They could not be sure about improving on their quarters by going further. Another thing influenced him to remain where they were. Gradually but surely the wind was going down. The cold remained, but with a dying breeze it did not penetrate so much. It was decided that all of them but the crew of the _Wireless_ should sleep aboard their boats on this night. George and Nick were made fairly comfortable by the fire back of the wind shield. And as Jack had expected, during the night there came another shift of the wind. Following the natural course of the compass, it was in the northeast when dawn arrived, and would soon work around to the east. For, strange to say, down in this country, during the winter season at least, the southeast wind is the very finest that blows; whereas in most other places it has a reputation for being just the meanest known. All of them were so dead for sleep that the next night passed very quickly. And when morning came the change in the temperature pleased them greatly. "Let's get a move on, fellows," Jack said, after the customary attention had been given to taking care of the inner man. "We ought to make a big dent in the distance separating us from Meyers today." "And by the same token," piped up Jimmy, eagerly, "I'm afther hearin' that the fishing is mighty foine around this section." "Huh!" grunted Nick, scornfully; "when you beat that record I've hung up, just wake me, and let me know. Time enough then to get a hustle on. Just now it's up to you, Jimmy, to do all the worrying. I'm going to take things easy after this." "All right, me bhoy, just do that same, and by the pipers it's ye that will be hearin' a cowld, dull thud, which will be that record droppin' to the earth. Sure, it do be a long lane that has no turnin'; and sooner or later, belave me, 'twill be me day." They made a brave start. George was quite elated with the splendid way his engine worked, and frowned whenever Nick made out to mention that his word had been pledged about that change of motive power at Tampa. Two hours later the inevitable came to pass. "George has hauled up short, Jack!" Herb called out; for the _Comfort_ was not a great distance behind the _Tramp_ at the time, with the other boat, as usual, ahead. "Perhaps waiting for us?" suggested Jack; but the smile on his face declared that he entertained different ideas about the stoppage. "That may be," replied Herb, skeptically; "but the chances are he's bucking up against trouble again. Won't we all be pleased as Punch when he does get a motor that can motor without eternally breaking down? There, Nick's waving his red bandana, which I take it means they've broken down." And so it proved. A weak place had developed as usual, so that George would be compelled to spend an hour or two mending the same. Herb generously offered to give him a tow; but this the proud spirit of George would not brook. It was bad enough having to suffer that ignominy when threatened with a storm, but when the gulf was smooth nothing could induce him to accept. "You fellows go right along," George called out; "and I'll overtake you later." But neither Jack nor Herb would think of such a thing. If a heavy wind chanced to come up while the _Wireless_ lay there, positively helpless, she would roll frightfully, and stand a chance of capsizing. And so they simply hung around until the makeshift repairs had been completed, so that the speed boat could again proceed under her own power. This lost them so much time that it was no longer possible to think of reaching the mouth of the Caloosahatchee River, and ascending as far as Meyers, that day. So they kept an eye out for a snug harbor, where they might pass the night. The coast was not so desolate here as below. They had passed the settlement of Naples; and here and there could see where shacks, or more pretentious buildings, told of the presence of fruit or truck growers. Finally, toward the middle of the afternoon, coming upon just the place that would afford them a good camping ground, the three boats pulled in. Jack had noticed that Jimmy was showing signs of growing excitement as they proceeded to anchor. The Irish boy had been using the marine glasses with more or less eagerness; and no sooner was the boat made secure than he broke out with: "Excuse me, if ye plase, Jack darlint, but I've a most pressin' engagement this minute. I do be sayin' me chanct to get aven with me rival." He was even at the time throwing a number of things into the little dinky, among others a section of rope. Nick, while not overhearing what was said, must have noticed the active preparations for a sudden campaign. His round, red face appeared over the side of the _Wireless_, as Jimmy pushed off and rowed furiously away. "Now, what in the dickens does all that mean, Jack?" he asked. "Is Jimmy going to make the trip to Meyers in that dinky, or has he got an idea in his head he can bag something that will make me look like thirty cents?" "I rather guess that's just the sort of bee he's got in his bonnet, Nick," laughed Jack, "and if you look out yonder, where that reef lies in shallow water, with the little waves breaking over it, you'll see what's started him going." Nick hunted around until he found George's glasses, which he clapped to his eyes, to burst out with a cry of astonishment and chagrin. "Say, it must be a big porpoise that's got stranded out there! My eye! look at it kick up the water, would you? Oh! if Jimmy ever gets a rope around that thing, and tries to ride it ashore, won't he be in a peck of trouble, though? But when Jimmy sets out to do anything, you just can't frighten him off; and, honest now, I believe he's bent on doing that same mad caper!" CHAPTER XVIII. JIMMY FORGES TO THE FRONT. None of them could have any doubt about it; for was not the excited Jimmy making toward that same reef with all speed? Determined to wrest the laurels from his rival, if it could possibly be done, he had only too eagerly seized upon this fine chance to get in some strenuous work. Looking beyond, they could see that the stranded porpoise, if the object out yonder really proved to be such a creature, still threshed the water and strove to break away from its place of captivity. "What ails the bally thing?" grumbled the anxious Nick. "Why don't it back off, the same way it came on? That's the only way it could get into deep water. Did you ever see such a looney, trying to keep on shoving ahead, when all the while it gets in more shallow water?" "Huh! seems to me there are others!" chuckled Josh; "jewfish, for instance, don't seem to have one bit more sense. Sometimes they get left on a shallow place, and kick like fun, while waiting for the tide to rise and help 'em off." "Ah! let up on that, Josh; 'taint fair to take his side all the time," complained the fat boy, straining his eyes to follow the movement of his rival, now more than half way out to the reef. "Well, we always stand up for the under dog; and just now Jimmy's in that position," continued Josh. "Yes," spoke up George, encouragingly, "and when you get there, Nick, as you may sooner or later, you'll see how gladly we'll all give you our sympathy, eh, boys?" Nick refused to be comforted by the prospect. "Hey! Jack," he said, turning to the skipper of the _Tramp_, who seemed to be bending over his motor, as if about to turn his engine; for a sudden idea had come into his head, "is a porpoise a _real_ fish, now?" "Whatever makes you ask that?" demanded Herb. "Oh! I want to know, that's all," replied Nick, coolly. "That Jimmy tries to just throw his old net over anything that creeps, swims or walks, and call it a fish. He tried it on us with his blessed old alligator, you remember, fellers; then, when we wouldn't stand for that, don't you know how he tried to hook up one of the sea cows they call a manatee, and make us take that? Now he's after a porpoise; and if he keeps on he'd grab a hippopotamus, and try to bluff us at that. Anything that goes in water answers for Jimmy." "Well, if he gets a porpoise, he's got a fish without any reason to kick over the traces, Nick, and don't you forget that," George declared. "Say, where you going, Jack?" demanded Nick, suspiciously. "Why, I thought I'd better take a little spin out there, to keep an eye on Jimmy," replied the other. "What for? You don't think of lending him a hand, I hope? Remember, the rules of the game knocks all that sort of thing on the head," Nick protested, vigorously. "No danger of my forgetting," laughed Jack. "But I happened to think how bold Jimmy can be, and wondered if he mightn't get in trouble somehow." "That's right, Jack," spoke up George, himself a very rash fellow on occasion; "it'd be just like him to hitch on to that porpoise, and help work him loose. Then we'd see our poor chum going out to sea like a railroad limited express. And Jack, if you'll allow me, I guess I'll drop in, and keep you company." "Same here," declared Herb, crawling aboard, as he pulled the _Tramp_ close to the starboard quarter of the _Comfort_. "Hey! wait for me, can't you!" exclaimed Nick, all excitement now. "Who's got as much interest in this business as me, tell me that? I ought to be along to judge if he takes his fish in fair play, you know." "Fair play!" jeered Josh, as he too slid into the other boat after Nick; "well, I like that, now, after the way you lugged that poor old weakened jewfish to camp. Any way Jimmy can grab his game will count; and you might as well make up your mind to it first as last, my boy." "Oh! don't you get to bothering your head about me, Josh Purdue," Nick went on to say, stoutly; "I'm a true sport, and can take my medicine when I have to, as good as the next one. And I guess I don't give up easy, do I? But it ain't time for the shoutin' yet. Jimmy hasn't got his porpoise; and it mebbe don't weigh more'n two hundred and thirty pounds, either." Leaving the other two boats anchored in quiet water, Jack headed the _Tramp_ for the reef, where the water was breaking softly over the submerged rocks; with the unfortunate porpoise floundering in a helpless manner, for the tide was almost at its lowest level. Jimmy had by now arrived on the spot. He must have arranged his plan of campaign as he was rowing frantically out, for he lost no time in getting down to business. Those who looked saw him push his way up to the reef after his usual bold fashion. If some water came aboard the little dinky, Jimmy gave the circumstance no heed. All he could see was that struggling monster of the deep, and the happy opportunity that had been thrown in his way whereby he might cut his rival out of the lead he had held so long. For that joyous conclusion Jimmy was ready to take all sorts of chances. "Look at him, getting right up alongside the kicker!" exclaimed Nick, with an expression of amazement on his rosy face; for he could not help admiring the nerve exhibited by his rival, even though deep down in his heart he hoped the other might fail to land the prize. "Sure he is!" laughed Josh. "Why, just keep your eye peeled, Nick, old boy, and my word for it, you'll see our little chum climb right on the back of that bucking broncho of the gulf, put a bridle in his mouth, and ride him home!" "Oh! rats! you can't get me to believe that!" Nick flashed back; and yet, despite his brave words, he watched the actions of the Irish lad with deep anxiety, as if believing that no one could tell what wonderful things Jimmy might not attempt. "Look there, would you!" he exclaimed, a few seconds later; "what under the sun has Jimmy got now!" "Seems to me like it's our ax!" declared George, with a harsh laugh. "Ax!" snorted the indignant Nick; "d'ye mean to tell me he expects to knock that poor porpoise on the head, just like they do steers at the stockyards; and then claim he _caught_ him? Well, I like that, now!" "It's all in the game, Nick," declared Herb, consolingly. "Remember, you didn't use a fish hook and line to bag your big jewfish; just slung a rope around his gills, and walked away with him through the shallow water near the shore. I reckon even an ax might count, so long as he keeps the fish, and brings him in!" "Sho!" Nick went on, as though disgusted; "but just think of getting a fish with such a tool, as if you were just chopping a tree!" "Watch him, now, if you want to see how Jimmy goes at it; perhaps you may be only too glad to do the same thing later on, when you want to climb up and throw him off the first rung of the ladder," Herb remarked. "Yes," said wise Josh, "it makes all the difference in the world what position you hold when condemning practices. What looks bad to you, seems fair and square to Jimmy right now." "Wow! what a crack that was!" George exclaimed, as Jimmy brought down the ax on the struggling fish. "But he hasn't got him yet, anyway," muttered Nick, as they saw the water whipped into foam around the little, wabbling dinky boat occupied by Jimmy. "He nearly took a header that time, let me tell you!" cried Herb. "But he sticks to his job, all right!" laughed Jack. "See, he's aiming to get in another crack, and there it goes. Whew! that was a stunner, though!" "A regular sockdolager!" avowed Josh, who was apparently enjoying the circus first-rate. "And it looks like it knocked the poor old porpoise out of the running," commented Herb. "That's what it did!" George declared; "and there's Jimmy trying to get a hitch with his rope around the thing's tail. He's gone and done it, as sure as you live! See him stop to wave his hand at us; and he's got the widest grin on his face you ever saw. Victory comes sweet after having it rubbed in so long." "Huh! how d'ye know the bally old porpoise is goin' to stand for more than my jewfish?" Nick grumbled; though his face began to wear a look that comes with chagrin and defeat; "and even if it does, that don't wind things up. Ain't I got just as much chance to bag something bigger before we haul up at New Orleans, tell me that, Josh Purdue?" "Course you have, Nick, old top," declared Josh, who hoped to see the rivalry kept up to the very last, since it was affording them all so much fun; "and we'll back you for the boy who can do big stunts, once you wake up to it; eh, fellers?" Jimmy was now starting to row back toward where the two other motor boats were at anchor. He made but slow progress of it, towing that now quiet captured porpoise; but the rules of the game prevented the others from giving him any sort of a lift. Now and then the porpoise would get stranded in the shallow water, and at such times Jimmy was put to his wits' ends to manage. But by slow degrees he succeeded in accomplishing the object he had in view. Of course the others did not wait for him, but ran back to where the camp was to be made for the night. Josh was anxious to get ashore, and start a fire; for all of them confessed to being hungry. Nick only made one more remark on the way back, and that gave them an inkling of his ruling passion. "I say, Jack, do you know whether a porpoise is good to eat?" he asked. Jack replied that he had never heard of any one eating one, though perhaps the meat might appeal to certain appetites, like those of Esquimaux, or the Indians of Alaska. "I don't think we'll bother about it, however," Josh remarked, "because we've got plenty besides." Supper was well on the way when finally Jimmy landed, his beaming face wet with honest perspiration, and filled with the pride that followed his recent exploit. They all came down to view his capture, and estimate the weight of the porpoise. The opinion seemed to be that, while a small one, it must weigh something close on to two hundred and fifty pounds; but Nick declared he would have to demand the proof before giving in. CHAPTER XIX. FROM TAMPA, NORTH. Everybody was merry that night at supper but Nick. He tried not to show that he felt his sudden and unexpected drop from the top of the ladder to the lower rung; but it was hard work. His laughter was only a hollow mockery, so Josh declared; for the lean boy certainly did like to rub it into his fat chum when he had a chance. Jimmy did not sleep well that night, though everything combined to make it a pleasant occasion for most of the others. Half a dozen times he would creep out of his blankets to see if the porpoise was still where he had tied it, and lying in shallow water. Evidently he feared lest some adventurous and hungry shark come nosing around, and attempt to run away with his prize, before its weight had been positively settled. Once Jack heard him poking vigorously in the water with a pole, and muttering to himself. "Want to take a lunch off me porpoise, is it ye'd be afther doin', ye sly ould thafe of the worrld?" Jimmy was saying, as he punched vigorously. "What is it?" asked Jack, looking over the side of the _Tramp_; as he happened to be up just then, to find out what his shipmate meant by getting out long before the first streak of daylight was due. "Sure, it's the bally ould crabs; they do be tryin' to nibble at me fish; and it kapes me busy shooing the same away," Jimmy answered back. "But what's the use bothering, since we don't expect to eat the thing?" asked the other. "Yes," said Jimmy, quickly; "but they say ivery little bit helps; and wouldn't I be the sad gossoon, now, if me fish weighed just the same as Nick's, with some missing where thim sassy big crabs had had a breakfast. Sure, I want all I got, till we weigh the beauty. Afther that they can have it all, for what I care." "Oh! that's where the shoe pinches, does it?" chuckled Jack. "Well, perhaps you'd better sit up, and keep watch, Jimmy. But please don't shake the boat so much, and wake me again. It's only three o'clock, with the old moon near the eastern horizon. Me to bed again for another snooze." When morning came Jimmy blandly informed Jack that he had actually spent the balance of the night with that pole in his hands, every now and then stirring the water in the vicinity of his prize. "And I do be thinkin'," he added, triumphantly, "that the crabs niver got aven a teenty bit of me bully ould fish. Now to rig up that balance once more, and settle the question once for all." "Now, just you hold your horses, there," spoke up Nick, shaking his head grimly. "You're wrong, that's what. Even if your old porpoise does happen to be a little heavier than my splendid jewfish, don't you think for a minute I'm going to give up the ship. I'll be warm on your trail, old chap, to the last gasp!" "Hear! hear!" cried Josh, clapping his hands in a manner which was calculated to encourage both stubborn contestants. "I'm backing Nick for a game one. He's got the real bulldog grit, and don't you forget it, boys! And even if Jimmy wins this time, he'll have to watch out, or he'll find himself left in the lurch." The rude balances were constructed as before, and after getting the porpoise ashore, it was duly weighed. Had it happened to be a close thing, Nick of a certainty would have entered a protest, and demanded that they tow the prize to the next town, where it could be tested on the dock with some capable scales. But it was quickly discovered that the porpoise was many pounds heavier than Nick's record; indeed, they decided finally, after making all due allowances, to put it down positively at two hundred and seventy-five pounds. Even Nick concurred in this, although with a wry face, for he had clung tenaciously to hope up to the very last moment. And so the crabs had a chance to feast on the bulky object after all; though Jack declared that if they had had the time he would have liked to try and render the porpoise for its oil, just to say he had secured a supply that way. "And think of the numberless fine shoe laces we're throwing away," sighed Josh, after they had abandoned Jimmy's prize. After a fine run they made Miami, and spent a day in the enterprising little town; but all of them were anxious to be getting on, since they expected the next mail to be awaiting them at Tampa; and it had been a long time now since they had heard from the dear ones at home. Tampa was reached without any further adventures, though Nick proved that his words had been no idle boast when saying that if Jimmy went up head in the little game of fish rivalry, he would leave no stone unturned in the effort to regain his lost laurels. He never let a chance pass to put out one or more lines. And since size was now his one object in life, he no longer bothered with a rod and line. If the fellows wanted fish for eating purposes, somebody else must take the trouble to capture them, because he was too busy to bother with small fry. So every night he would get out his shark hook, and set it in the best place he could find, where he believed he would have a chance to make a capture. The tables had turned, and it was now Jimmy's turn to strut around with that look of superiority on his face. He would watch Nick's feverish labors, and just grin in a way that gave the rest of the boys great amusement. But, although several sharks were caught, they seemed to be in league with Jimmy; for it was only the small fellows who took the hook. Nick's excitement, when he was working his catch in by the aid of a snubbing post which Jack showed him how to make, was always succeeded by bitter disappointment, after he had discovered the disgusting size of the caught sea tiger. Not one of them up to now had weighed anything near the required weight. But all the time the sanguine fat boy lived in hopes of some fine day making a record strike. The others hoped he would, seeing how much his heart was set on proving himself true game. This rivalry would prove to be a great thing for Nick. It had started him into doing things that otherwise he would never have dreamed of attempting, being somewhat given to laziness, as so many boys built after his stout fashion seem to be. And it had made him think, too, which was a fine thing; throwing him on his own resources, as it were, and bringing out many hidden attributes which the others had never dreamed he possessed. At Tampa Nick insisted that George keep his word. So, as the three boats had been laid up in the yard of a boat builder, a new motor was installed aboard the _Wireless_. George was so devoted to his boat and its speed record, that he refused to be away from the scene of operations for any length of time. "One day around Tampa is enough for me, boys," he had declared, when they tried to tempt him to accompany them on the second day. "I want to be around, and watch how they do this job. It would give me a bad jolt, you know, if I had to sacrifice speed for steadiness after all, when I'm hoping to combine both." "Yes," laughed Josh, "it'd sure break George's heart if he couldn't just shoot through the water like an arrow. If he had his way he'd go at about the rate of ninety miles an hour." "Make it an even hundred, Josh, while you're about it," George remarked, calmly; and meant it, too. A number of days were passed in the hustling city on Tampa Bay. Jack had always been anxious to see the place; and during the time of their enforced stay they certainly took in every point of interest worth observing. And of course the _Comfort_ was duly repaired in a proper manner while the opportunity offered. The boat builder complimented Jack on having done such a reliable job under such difficult conditions. He declared that the chances were, the repairs would have held out through the whole cruise, though it was best that they have the hole obliterated in shipshape style once for all. But all of them were really glad when, one fine morning, after another Norther had blown itself out, and the big bay calmed down, the little flotilla of three motor boats started away from Tampa, headed south, so as to get around the end of the Pinellas Peninsula. Nick especially was sighing for new chances to show what he could do in the fishing line. "There must be sharks upwards of three hundred pounds and more that will take my hook," he declared, stoutly, to George, as they boomed along down the bay; "and in good time I'm going to show you something that will make you sit up and take notice, see if I don't." "Say, she runs like oiled silk!" exclaimed the skipper of the new _Wireless_; and from this remark Nick realized that, according to George, all his affairs were as a mere dot compared with the great question as to what the new motor would do. After trying the boat in various ways, George expressed himself as satisfied that he had made a good thing when he decided to have the engine changed. And all the others began to hope that the troubles of the speed boat skipper might now be in the past. Tampa Bay is so big that the motor boats felt the swell almost as much as though they were upon the gulf itself. And that afternoon, when, after passing sharply to the right, they placed Long Key between themselves and the sea, all expressed themselves as pleased at the change. Here they made out to pass the night. Nick could hardly wait until the anchors had been dropped before he was begging Jack to go off with the castnet, and get him a supply of mullet for bait, so he could begin his fishing operations. And as Jack was feeling that a supper of mullet would taste rather good, if so be the jumping fish proved to be plentiful, he did not have to be coaxed long. Consequently the shark line was soon doing business at the old stand; and as usual there arose a wordy war between the two rivals concerning the finish of the game; each feeling stoutly confident that in the end he would be in a condition to carry off the prize. CHAPTER XX. THE SHARK FISHERMAN. "How long have we got before we ought to be home?" asked Herb, that night, as they prepared to camp ashore. "Nearly three weeks left of our time," remarked Josh, sadly; for, much as they wanted to see the dear ones, they would all be sorry when the vacation had reached its end, and once more they must take up school duties at home. "But looky here," piped up Nick, "my dad wrote me that they'd had a bad hitch about building the high school again. Seems like there was a labor strike that tied up everything. It ain't settled yet, he says, and if it ain't done soon, why, the chances are there won't be any session at all this Spring, because they don't know just where to house us!" "Glory be!" cried Jimmy; "oh! what an illegant toime we could be afther having, down in this cruiser's paradise, if so be thim laborin' men only hold the fort a little longer!" He voiced the sentiment that filled every heart, although no one else had spoken a word as yet. "That would be too good to be true," Jack laughed, shaking his head. "Yes, and we mustn't let the idea get hold of us, because we'd only be disappointed all the more," Herb remarked. "But we'll know by the time we get to New Orleans, won't we?" demanded Nick, with set jaws, and a flash to his blue eyes; "because, you see, I'm interested more'n the rest of you." "Say ye so?" burst out Jimmy, wickedly, and chuckling under his breath. "Because it would give me plenty of time to burst bubbles that are floating around here, and establish a new record," Nick went on, pugnaciously. "Then, by the powers," Jimmy declared, "I do be hopin' that we spind the whole bally winter down here. It amuses me to see ye worrk, Nick. An', by the same token, it's doin' ye a hape of good in the bargain, so it is." They had reached Cedar Keys, and everything was going well. George still found more or less reason to congratulate himself on his wisdom in making that change in his motive power. Now and then Jack saw him pondering, and understood that there was a fly in the ointment somewhere; but George had said nothing, and they could only hazard a guess as to whether it might be a diminution of speed, or the old haunting fear of a breakdown still gripping his heart. "Where do we strike next for mail?" asked Herb, the night after leaving the city on the key, when, after passing the mouth of the famous Suwannee River, they had pulled up back of a friendly key. "Pensacola is our next port; and I hope we find more letters waiting for us than there were here," George replied. "Now, that's quare," remarked Jimmy, with a twinkle in his eye; "when ivery one of us got a letter from the folks back home. But I do be fearin' the little girlie with the rosy cheeks, and the dimple in her chin forgot to write that toime." "Well, what's that to anybody but me?" said George, facing them all boldly. The conversation immediately switched to another subject, for George was rather touchy about having his private affairs talked about by his chums. Had it been Nick, now, or even Jimmy, they would have answered back in the same humor, and the fun waxed fast and furious. But at the time Nick was busy with that shark line of his. He fancied that as the tide came in and went out through what might be called an inlet, always with more or less confusion, there was a pretty good chance to hook one of the sea tigers, if only he took pains. "We've changed our course again, haven't we, Jack?" Herb asked. "That's so," came the reply; "you see, the coast no longer runs nearly north and south here, but turns to the west. And if one of those old Northers bursts on us now, why, we'll get it from land side instead of the gulf; unless it whirls around, something these winter blows seldom do; because, you see, they don't happen to be of the tornado, or hurricane type, just straight wind storms." Jack was always a fund of information to his mates. He studied things at every opportunity, and never forgot a fact he had learned. And it was surprising how the others had come by degrees to depend on him in all sorts of emergencies. "I do be glad, Jack, darlint," remarked Jimmy, just then, "that ye make Nick put on a loife preserver ivery toime he do be going in that cranky dinky, to carry out his baited shark hook. It's him that is so clumsy, the boat looks like 'twould turrn over at any minute, so it does. And he so fat and juicy, how do we know some hungry shark mightn't loike to take a bite out of him? Look now at the gossoon, would ye, and how he worrks? In all me experience I niver yit saw such a change as there has been in our Nick." "Yes, that's so," laughed Herb. "You know, they say competition is the life of trade; and it seems to be putting a good lot of life in Nick Longfellow. Why, he jumps around now like nobody ever saw him do before. If this keeps up long, he'll be able to play on our baseball team next season. Wow! just imagine the Ice Wagon galloping across centre to grab a long fly!" Meanwhile, the object of all this talk was paying strict attention to business. He had been shark fishing so many times now that he seemed to have the whole thing down to a fine science. After baiting his bog hook, with its attendant chain, he dropped it in a promising place. Then he made for the shore, paying out the stout line as he went most carefully. Once on the sandy strip of beach, Nick fastened the rope to the nearest tree he could find, first taking a couple of hitches around a stake he had driven in deeply, not far from the water's edge, and which was to serve as a snubbing post, in case he were lucky enough to make a strike. "It's very pat," remarked Jack, when the stout youth rejoined the group about the fire, "that if any of us want to know about sharks, their habits, and how best to get the pirates of the sea ashore, we've got to go to Nick here." "Yes," spoke up George, "he ought to be a walking dictionary of terms; because he's always asking questions of every cracker and sponger we meet. I honestly believe, boys, he keeps a shark book, and that he's got an idea of writing the family tree up some day." "Oh! come off," grinned Nick; "after I've hauled a dandy weighing about half a ton on shore, and showed you what I can do, I guess the whole business can go hang, for all of me. What use are they, anyhow? You can't eat 'em." "That's the way Nick always judges things," declared George. "If they don't happen to be good for food, he's got mighty little use for the same." "I ain't denying it, am I?" queried the other, good-naturedly. "What are we here for, anyway, but to eat our way through this dreary old world? Of course, don't go and think I believe eating's the _only_ thing worth living for; but it cuts a big figure with me. Guess I was born half starved, and I've been tryin' all I knew how ever since to make it up." "And by the powers, ye look that happy now, I be afther thinkin' ye must expect to pull in the champion fish this same night," Jimmy commented. "Well, I've got a hunch that something is about due," Nick replied, confidently. "There's a fishy smell about this place, seems to me; and I just reckon that in times past many a dandy old shark has been yanked up on this same beach. That tideway looked good to me, too; and by now, as Jack said, I ought to know something about the hungry crew. Just wait and see what happens, that's all." Jimmy became a little uneasy. Perhaps it was in the air that his day to fall had come around in due time. He cast frequent glances over toward the snubbing post as the evening drew on, with twilight succeeding the setting of the sun. Nick had heard Jack telling how he went pickerel fishing on the ice one winter, and the methods of telling when a fish took the hook appealed to him. Consequently he employed the same sort of tactics when in pursuit of nobler game. "For, you see, they call a pickerel or a pike a fresh-water shark," he had explained, when first testing the plan; "and what is good for one, ought to work with the other." At the top of the snubbing post he had fastened an iron ring. The rope passed through this, being secured by a staple that could be easily dislodged, as it was intended for only temporary use. Back of the post the line was coiled up several times, and a white rag fastened to it at a certain point. When a shark carried off the baited hook, this slack would quickly pass through the ring at the top of the stout post, so that the flag must mount upward, and signal to the alert fisherman that he had made a strike; when he could hasten to attend to his captive. They were eating supper, as the night closed in. Nick had seated himself in a comfortable position, where he might occasionally raise his eyes, and by a turn of the head look off in the direction where his trap was laid. During the earlier part of the meal he had paid strict attention to business, and glanced that way about once a minute faithfully. But as the spirit of feasting took a firmer clutch upon his soul, the fat boy began to forget. Not so Jimmy. He had taken up his quarters so that he might observe the goings on at the snubbing post without even turning his head. And as he munched away at what he had on his tin platter, the Irish lad kept a close watch for the flaunting of the tell-tale signal. Jack saw this, and he knew that all he had to do in order to keep fully posted as to the way things were working, was to watch Jimmy, whose freckled face would serve as a thermometer. And after a while, when it was almost pitch-dark around the camp on the edge of the water, he discovered that Jimmy was staring at the snubbing post as though fascinated. His lips were working, too, though apparently he was having a hard time trying to speak, and tell his rival that the trap was working. But Jimmy was clean-cut and generous, even to one with whom he had entered into a contest for supremacy; and presently he burst forth. "Would ye be afther getting a move on, Nick?" he exclaimed. "There's the flag a flutterin' on the top of the post like a signal man wigwaggin' in the Boy Scouts troop! And by the powers, it's gone now, pulled clane out of the socket. Be off with ye; for, by the same token, ye've cotched the granddaddy of all the sharrks, I do belave!" CHAPTER XXI. VICTORY COMES TO NICK. "Whoop! here I go, fellers!" shouted Nick, as, scrambling awkwardly to his feet, he hurried along the beach toward the spot where he had left his shark line. Of course the rest hastened to follow after him. They found the fat boy bending down and feeling of the taut rope. "Gee whittaker! but I've caught the biggest ever, I do believe!" Nick was crying. "Just feel that line, would you? Acts like it had hold of a house, with the tide running out. Say, it'll take me all night to get that monster ashore; but I'll do it; you hear me warble, Jimmy, I'll do it!" "Good for you, Nick!" laughed Jack. "We'll back you up to win out, if you only keep everlastingly at it," remarked Herb. "And don't be afther forgettin' the rules of the game, all of ye," warned Jimmy. "Nobody must put a finger on the loine to hilp Nick. I want to see him have fair play, so I do. And, by the same token, if he bates me by three hundred pounds, I'll be the firrst gossoon to congratulate him on his success. You know that, boys." "Sure we do, Jimmy," spoke up George. "It wouldn't be like you not to do the same," declared Josh. "You know what you've just got to do, Nick," remarked Jack. "Guess I do," chuckled the owner of the outfit, as he looked eagerly out over the darkening water to that point toward which the taut line seemed to extend; but if he entertained a faint hope that the prisoner would leap into view while trying to get rid of the steel barb, he mistook the nature of the shark, which bores deep, and tries to do by main strength what a tarpon, a trout, a salmon or a black bass attempts by that upward fling, and shake of the head. "He's going it pretty furious right now," Josh observed. "Yes, and the harder he pulls the better," Nick said. "That'll help to tire the old chap out, and make it easier for poor me to get him ashore, foot by foot, by making use of my snubbing post here. But let's go back and finish our supper, boys. If the hook holds, and the rope is as good as I think, he'll be here tugging away an hour from now, just as much as he is now." "That's where your head's level, Nick," commented Jack. And so the whole party wended their way back to where the camp-fire blazed on the shore. Here the pleasant task of finishing their meal was once more resumed. Some of them thought Nick was really devouring even more than usual, though that might be hard to believe. "He wants to get his strength up to top-notch!" laughed Herb. "Well," observed Nick, calmly, as he reached deliberately over, and took the last helping of Boston baked beans from the tin kettle in which they had been heated for the meal; "I hate to see things go to waste; and there are some fellers around who don't seem to know what's good." "I've noticed," Josh remarked, drily, "that you don't mind how much goes to _your_ waist, all right." Nick only groaned at the pun, and went on cleaning out his platter, as though he believed in always laying in a healthy supply of food, since nobody could tell when another chance might come around. Afterwards they lay about the camp and told stories, joked and even sang school songs. Nick seemed in no great hurry to take up the task that awaited him. He knew from former experiences just what it meant. But that the subject was on his mind all the while was made manifest from what he said. "Jack, I want to ask you a question!" he began. "Well, fire away, then," suggested the other, with a nod of invitation. "If, now, this fellow at the end of my line turns out to be so heavy that I just can't budge him, when I get the chump at the edge of the water, would it be breaking the rules if I borrowed that block and tackle to help yank him out, so you can all see him, and estimate his weight?" "How about that, fellows?" asked Jack, looking around with a wink toward the other chums. "Why, of course he can make use of any means, so long as no other person lends a hand to assist him," George gave as his opinion. "That's what!" Josh added. "If he goes and gets the falls and fixes the whole blooming business himself, of course he's got the right to do it," declared Herb. "And I do be saying that it's a clever schame, that does Nick credit," was the verdict of Jimmy. "That settles it, then, Nick," Jack decided. "It's unanimous, you hear; and if you want, you can go and get the block and tackle arranged right now." "Oh! do you think, then, I'll surely need it, Jack?" asked the fat boy, trembling with joyous anticipations; for from the tenor of Jack's words he expected that they all believed he had caught the biggest of sharks, one that would make that little porpoise of Jimmy's look like a baby. "I wouldn't be surprised if you did," Jack replied, with a reassuring nod. Accordingly, after he had cleaned off his pannikin, and not a second sooner, Nick hunted up the rope and blocks with which they had hauled the _Comfort_ out on skids at the time of her accident. By a skillful use of such an apparatus, one man's strength is made equal to that of several; and the boys had learned this fact through actual experience. "Let us know when you expect to get busy," called out Herb, as Nick went off with the falls. "Yes, because we want to enjoy it all, you know, Nick," sang out George. Perhaps half an hour passed, with the fat boy busily engaged getting his apparatus ready. Then they heard him give a call. "Hi! hello, there! fellers; suppose somebody starts a fire agoing for me here; that's allowable, ain't it, Jack?" he demanded. "Why, of course, since it hasn't anything to do with getting the shark ashore," the one addressed responded, as all of them jumped up. "I'm ready to begin yanking him in now; but it's so pesky gloomy I ain't able to see just right," Nick continued. "It'd be a shame now if I lost this dandy chap just because I didn't see how to work him." Some of the boys gathered dead leaf stalks from under a nearby palmetto, and in next to no time they had a fine, ruddy blaze crackling close by the spot where Nick was standing, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and an air of grim determination about his whole person. The first thing he did was to make sure the rope went twice around the snubbing post, so that he might always have a hitch. Then he fastened the end of the rope belonging to the falls to the strained fish line, a dozen feet beyond the snubbing post. His operations were watched with considerable interest by his mates, who realized that quite a transformation was rapidly taking place in the character of the once placid and indolent fat boy. "Here goes, then!" exclaimed Nick, as he threw his full weight on the rope that went through the several blocks. They could hear him grunting at a great rate, which indicated what an effort it was to get the shark started shoreward against his will. "Bully! he's beginning to make it!" whooped George, greatly excited. "Hurrah for Nick!" shouted Josh. "Walk away with it, me bhoy!" cried Jimmy, as though quite forgetting that success for Nick meant defeat for him. The stout fisherman was indeed doing just what Jimmy advised, and walking away with things. When he had gone as far as he could, he managed to whip the rope around some object. Then, returning to the now slack fishing line, above the spot where he had fastened the falls, he drew it taut around the snubbing post. "He gained at least ten feet that time," declared Jack. "But, oh! my! ain't the old terror mad, though?" exclaimed George. "Just see how he pulls, would you, boys?" "Give him another turn, Nick," advised Jack. Unfastening the falls, Nick took the second hitch, and as before this was some distance below the snubbing post. Again he bent his stout back, and, aided by the tackle, he succeeded in bringing the struggling sea monster closer in to the shore. Everything was working smoothly, and by the time he had repeated his effort a good many times they could see from the terrific splashing that the prisoner was already in shoal water. "Do you think I'm going to get him?" gasped poor, winded Nick, as he wiped his streaming forehead, and tried to get ready for the hardest tug of all; for, with a dead weight on the sand to haul, he could no longer count on the buoyancy of the water. "Well, I should smile, yes," declared George. "At him again, Ginger; never say die! Set 'em up in the other alley! This is a great treat to us, Nick, I tell you!" But Nick was already busy. With the rope over his shoulder, and his toes digging in the sand, he tugged away like a good fellow, gaining inch by inch. This time he succeeded in dragging the shark all the way out of the water, so that it lay exposed to their view. "Hurroo! he done it!" shouted Jimmy, with an utter disregard for the rules of grammar, that would have horrified his teachers, had any of them heard him; but Jimmy had one set of rules to mark his vacation manners, and another covering his connection with the seats of learning; and when he wished could talk just as correctly as the next one. They gathered around, full of wonder at the size and ferocity of the monster, that even then lay there on the sand, snapping savagely at everything. "Will it beat Jimmy's porpoise?" asked Nick, proudly. "Half again as heavy!" declared Jack; "for I reckon it must weigh all of four hundred pounds." CHAPTER XXII. WHERE AMBITION LED. True to his word, the generous Irish lad was the very first to grasp Nick's blistered hand and congratulate him on his wonderful success. "That's what comes of stick-at-it-tiveness," declared Herb, ponderously, as he, too, gripped the fingers of the successful shark fisherman. Nick was allowed to get the rifle, and wind up the career of the savage sea monster. In the morning they estimated his weight, just as they had done with others in the past. Everybody was satisfied to agree with that first guess which Jack made, and call it four hundred. And they declared that Nick was a wonder, in that with only the assistance of the falls, he had dragged such a monster up on the beach. The voyage was resumed that day, and for the better part of a week they were put to it dodging storms, making outside runs when the fair weather allowed of their braving the open gulf, and extricating themselves from various unpleasant predicaments, when they managed to lose themselves in what had promised to be a convenient cut-off, but which proved a trap in the shape of shallow water, with many chances of the boats sticking in the mud. After Pensacola would come Mobile; and then the next place they expected to reach would be their destination, New Orleans. Each night as they figured on the time that still remained, a sense of gloom would descend upon the camp, though Jack or else Jimmy soon dissipated it by some joking remark, or it might be by bursting out into ragtime song. But they had had such a glorious time since starting out on this remarkable voyage that they viewed its approaching finish with a feeling bordering on dismay. Jimmy had now taken to being haunted by a desire to eclipse the great feat of his stout rival. Though it did not seem that there might be one chance in fifty of his succeeding in capturing a fish that would exceed the weight of that monster shark, Jimmy had developed an industrious trait. Early and late his mind was set upon the game. Nick had generously turned over his shark tackle to the other. He guaranteed that it was sound, and capable of sustaining any strain. So Jimmy would each night do just what the other had been engaged in until recently; and the way he attended to that line was worthy of all praise. But, although hardly a night went by that he did not make some sort of capture, his best effort fell far short of the necessary heft, and Nick began to feel that the wager was as good as won. Nevertheless, he watched all that Jimmy did with a certain amount of interest, not to say anxiety, knowing that there is, according to the old saying, "many a slip between the cup and the lip." All of them were in the very best of health, and in this the voyage down the coast, and around the end of Florida among the keys had done them good. Even Josh seemed to have recovered from his spell of indigestion, and was able to do his share of the eating. How could it be otherwise, when they were living in the open air day and night, drinking in the pure ozone all the while; with contented minds, and plenty to appease the healthy demands of the inner man? So one fine afternoon they headed up the wide bay leading to Pensacola, expecting to get more home letters here. George had a wrinkle between his eyes at times, but this was not on account of any anxiety in connection with a girl he had left behind him, as some of the others jokingly declared. The fact was, his new engine was giving him a little trouble. "Tell you what, George," Herb had said, when they had to stop an hour for the other to do some work, in order to induce the motor to carry on its part; "your old _Wireless_ is just a hoodoo, and that's what ails you." "Huh!" grunted George, in disgust, "I'm beginning to believe that way myself, to be honest now. I've done everything a fellow could do, even to installing a new and guaranteed motor; yet here the measly thing goes back on me, just like the old one used to. Huh! it's just sickening, that's what!" "But you see, George," Josh remarked, with a wide grin, "the bally boat wouldn't feel right at all if it went too smooth. Ever since you first got her she's been accustomed to playing you tricks. Expect her to reform all at once, and be as meek as Moses? Well, I guess not. Give her time, George, plenty of time." "Oh! she's got to see me through this cruise," declared the owner of the cranky speed boat; "because I haven't got the money to buy another right now. And no matter what the rest of you say, I've somehow always loved this boat." "Of course," observed Herb; "they always say that the bad child is loved most by its parents, because they feel the greatest anxiety for that one. But give me the steady old _Comfort_, that never keeps me awake guessing what sort of trick it'll play next." "Oh! that's all right," remarked George, indifferently; "everybody to their taste. But I'd die in that tub, watching all the rest run circles around me." "Oh! hardly that," laughed Herb; "because, you see, once in a while there's a little ripple of excitement comes breezing along, when some fellow asks to be taken in tow!" Of course, after that George had nothing further to say; for he could look back to several instances that were full of humiliation to his proud spirit, when necessity had forced him to accept of this friendly aid on the part of his chums. But they reached Pensacola finally in good shape. George hoped that after all, as the others said, that one little trick on the part of his engine might have only been a slip that would never occur again; though his confidence was shaken, and he watched its working suspiciously after that. Letters from home greeted them at Pensacola; but no new developments were contained in them, at least nothing positive. The strike had not been settled, and there was warm talk of the town putting men to work regardless of labor unions. "And so little has been done," Jack remarked, after getting the consensus of opinions from all the letters that had been read, "that I can't see, for the life of me, how they're ever going to complete the building this season. I understand that it was proposed to use the biggest church in a pinch; but just as luck would have it, the heating plant in that has gone all to pieces, so that the scholars would be apt to freeze." The boys looked at each other, and smiled. Perhaps they were, deep down in their hearts, secretly hoping that the workers up there would keep on quarreling, and the completion of the high school building be postponed until the next summer. For boys give little thought concerning lost opportunities in the way of learning. Besides, were they not getting the finest lessons possible in the line of self reliance; and was not this long cruise the best sort of education, when they had learned a thousand things that could never be forgotten? When they left Pensacola the weather appeared favorable; but at this season of the year nothing can be taken for granted; so that the experienced cruiser is accustomed to keeping a strict watch for signs of storms. They had need of caution about this time, since there arose a necessity for considerable outside work, always dangerous in small boats, because of shallow water near the shore, and an absence of suitable harbors in which to seek shelter, should a sudden gale arise. If all went well, they anticipated making it a one-night stop between Pensacola and Mobile; and Jack thought he had the place for this camp picked out on his coast chart, which he studied faithfully. So, as this day moved along, they were putting the miles behind them at a steady rate. George had no new trouble with his engine, though it was noticed that he cut out some of his racing ahead of the others. Constant friction from water will wear away granite in time; and the numerous and long-continued troubles of George must be making an impression on his usually buoyant spirits. "Alabama, here we rest!" sang out Jack, about five in the afternoon, as he pointed ahead to where a friendly island or key offered them the shelter they craved. "Oh! I'm so glad!" Nick was heard to say, and they could easily guess why; for of course Nick must be ravenously hungry--he nearly always was. Accordingly they headed in, meaning to pass behind the end of the key that jutted out like a human finger, offering an asylum to all small craft that could gain the sheltered water behind. It was just while they were slowing up, since caution had to be exercised whenever they neared shoal waters, that Herb called out excitedly: "Oh! Jack, look out yonder; what in the dickens is that coming along, and sticking out of the water?" Of course every eye was instantly turned in the direction Herb was pointing. "It's a whale!" shouted Nick, almost falling overboard in his excitement, as he discovered some dreadful looking black object rushing through the water amid a sparkling mass of foam. "A whale!" echoed Jimmy, dancing up and down excitedly; "Och! if I only had a harpoon now, wouldn't it be just grand? A whale would knock the spots out of the biggest shark that iver grew, so it would." Jack had snatched up his marine glasses, and was leveling them at the monster, back of which trailed that line of foam and bubbles. The others, watching, saw him stare as though hardly able to believe his eyes, and then laugh outright. "Oh! there goes Jimmy in the dinky; and, would you believe it, he's got a gun!" exclaimed Nick. "Nothing is too big to scare that boy, I do believe. He'd just as soon tackle a whale as a sunfish. Call him back, Jack, or he'll be drowned!" Jack laid down the glasses, which had occupied his attention so much that he had not observed the actions of his cruising mate. "Here, you, Jimmy, come right back!" he called, though he could hardly talk because of the desire to laugh. "But howld on, Jack, darlint, didn't ye be afther sayin' anything that swum was a fish; and if I get a whale ain't it fair play?" the other replied, pausing in his labor of using the short oars belonging to the _Tramp's_ tender. "Sure, I did," answered Jack; "but that didn't mean you could go around banging away at one of your Uncle Sam's submarines, out for a trial spin from the Pensacola navy-yard. I guess you'd better come back now, before you get in trouble; don't you?" CHAPTER XXIII. WINDING UP THE VOYAGE--CONCLUSION. Ambitious Jimmy evidently came to the conclusion that a Government submarine was rather larger game than he cared to tackle. Besides, from the riotous way in which his five chums were laughing, he must have become convinced that there would be sustained objections to allowing him to count his prize, even did he bag such prey. At any rate, he ceased rowing, and backed water, returning to the _Tramp_, with one of his characteristic wide grins decorating his freckled face. So the others never knew whether the wild Irish lad might have been playing a joke upon them, or really thought it was a whale, which he might as well try to take in. The submarine had by this time vanished from sight, evidently testing her ability to remain under the surface of the water for a length of time; as well as proceeding at a rapid clip when partly submerged. But the boys did not see anything of the strange craft again. They made their camp that night, just as Jack had figured upon doing. And on the following day, by cleverly getting an early start, they passed around grim Fort Morgan, sailing up Mobile Bay, where gallant Farragut earned his lasting laurels many years ago. But, besides securing their letters, if there were any, they did not mean to remain long here. One day sufficed to show them all they cared to see of the quaint little city that has had such a history. Truth to tell, all the boys were anxious as to what news might await them when they reached New Orleans. That, of course, was to be the deciding point. If nothing new developed, it was of course their intention to hold to their original plan. This had been to ship the three motor boats up the Mississippi by some packet, themselves taking passage on a train, headed for home. As they had previously made a voyage down the Father of Waters; and heading up against the fierce current was never to be thought of on the part of such small craft, this was really the only thing they could do. Apparently they had plenty of time to reach their destination on schedule, and yet none knew better than did Jack Stormways how exasperating delays often occur to hold motor boats up. There was George, for instance, with his unlucky speed boat, which might become disabled at a time when they would lose days towing him along; or it might be storms would follow each other so fast that a necessary outside passage could not be attempted. And so they decided, that first night out from Mobile, that if there was any loafing to be done, they had better defer it until within a single day's run of the Crescent City. When their minds were perfectly free, and they knew nothing was apt to interfere with their carefully laid plans, that would be the time to hang around, and rest up. So day succeeded day, and they drew gradually closer to their destination. Jimmy began to look very doleful, or at least pretended to be in the "dumps," as Josh called it. The wager would come to an end when they made the city on the lower Mississippi, no matter what their future course was to be. And if he had not beaten that wonderful shark record by then, the game was up. Nick puffed himself out, and assumed airs. He felt that he had really done himself proud in bringing such a remarkable fish to land, alone and unaided. He even made out solemnly worded vouchers, which every one of the others was compelled to sign; and which in so many sentences told the actual story of his feat. "You see," Nick explained, "a lot of people up in our town would call it just a fish story, and let it go at that. And I want to prove it to my dad as well. He never dreams what a wonderful boy he's got. Guess they won't laugh so much after this, because I happen to have a little extra flesh on my bones. That don't mean I'm lacking in muscle, does it? I think not. Haven't we got a shining example of the same in our great and noble President today? Huh! a fellow can be stout, and yet some punkins, after all." "And that little kodak picture I took will go a good way toward proving your story, Nick," remarked Josh. "When they see you standing so nobly, with one foot on that _tre_menjous shark, it'd have to be a mighty suspicious feller that would doubt your word. And even Jimmy, here, your worsted competitor, has signed your affidavy." "Sure if I'm worsted, I'm wool, and a yarrd wide!" grinned the said Jimmy. "By the way, I notice that Jimmy doesn't get busy any longer with that shark line," remarked Herb, turning to the Irish lad with a questioning look. "Then he must have given it up as a bad job," said George. "How about that, Jimmy; are you ready to crown Nick as the king pin of the bunch when it comes to bagging big fish? Shall we get the laurel wreath, and put it on his brow? Will you admit that you're cleanly beaten at the game?" Jack put the question direct, for he privately knew that Jimmy had yielded the palm. The other jumped up, snatched his banjo from the ground, and began to strum something that set the boys in a roar, and made Nick blush with pleasure. For the tune was, "Lo, the Conquering Hero Comes." "How long have we been in making this splendid run from Philadelphia?" Herb asked a little later, as Jack was jotting down some notes of the day's run in his logbook. "Nearly three months, all told, counting our numerous stops," was the reply; "or it will be that when we get to New Orleans. December is nearly over now; Christmas has gone by, and the New Year only a few days away." "Well, I haven't kept exact track, to tell the truth," Herb went on; "but I guessed it must be about that. Do you want to know how? Why, you remember that on our very first night out, the moon was just four days old?" "That's a fact," spoke up George; "for I can recollect noticing it up in the western heavens, and wishing it would hurry along, so as to give us more light nights." "Well, this is about the dark of the moon now," added Herb, triumphantly. "No use for Herb to ever own a watch again," laughed Josh. "He just prides himself on being able to tell the time of day by the sun; and now he's shown us how he can find out what day of the month it is by the moon. Pretty soon he'll be using the stars to tell his age, and when he cut his first tooth. Once you start in along that line, there's just no limit to what you can do, I reckon, eh, Herb?" "Well, all I can say, fellows," quoth Jack, as he slapped his logbook shut, and glanced around at the sunburned and healthy looking faces of his five good camp-mates, "is that we've surely had the time of our lives on this dandy voyage; and no matter what happens next, we're never going to forget the glorious runs our little fleet of motor boats have made outside, and in, along the whole coast, from the frozen North to the Sunny South!" "Hear! hear!" shouted Josh, enthusiastically waving his hat above his head. "You never spoke truer words, Jack," remarked George, with deep feeling. "It's sure been the happiest time of my whole life; or would have been," he hastily added, while a slight frown broke over his face, "only for the trouble that blessed old motor gave me every little while." "But you're all right now, George, with the new engine aboard," condoled Nick. "Perhaps I am," replied the skeptical George; "but the proof of the pudding is in the eating of it. The new machine may go back on me yet." "But, my goodness! you've had it, going on three weeks, and in all that time she only shied once! What better do you want than that?" demanded Herb. "Oh! well, you never can tell," replied the skipper of the _Wireless_. "Fact is, fellers," Nick declared, "George has become so used to looking for sudden trouble to spring on him, that he can't think of anything else. He's all the time watching for a breakdown to happen." "Three weeks ought to satisfy him that his new engine is all to the good," remarked Josh, "but seems like it don't. Say, George makes me think of that Irishman who was always looking for trouble. He had been employed by the same railroad company forty-three years; but, getting too old for the work, he was let go. When some of his friends, seeing him look so doleful, took him to task, he shook his head and said, says he: 'It's not surprised at all I am; for ever since I began work here I've known it wouldn't be a permanent job!'" And so they laughed and joked as the time slipped away. Of course they did not intend passing around to the delta of the mighty Mississippi, when there was a much more convenient way of reaching the Crescent City by passing through the straits called the Rigolets, and thus entering Lake Ponchartrain; from whence, by means of the canal, the city could be gained. It was on New Year's day, at about three in the afternoon, with a piping cold wind streaming down from the frozen North, that the little motor boat flotilla came to a last stop in a quiet boatyard near the great city on the river, which had seen the windup of a previous voyage of the club. And, anxious as they were to hear from home, the six chums did not neglect to shake hands all around over the remarkably successful termination of their long and adventurous trip down the Eastern coast, and among the keys of Florida. If the news they received was what they expected it would be, they intended to load the three boats on the first packet bound up the river, and then wend their way home by train. Whether this plan was fated to be carried out or not, must be left to another book. Having attained the goal for which they had striven so splendidly; and with the bitter rivalry between Jimmy and Nick settled for all time, we can safely leave our young friends at this point, wishing them all good luck in other voyages which they may undertake in the near future. THE END. BOYS' COPYRIGHTED BOOKS The most attractive and highest class list of copyrighted books for boys ever printed. In this list will be found the works of W. Bert Foster, Capt. Ralph Bonehill, Arthur M. Winfield, etc. Printed from large clear type, illustrated, bound in a superior quality of cloth. THE CLINT WEBB SERIES By W. Bert Foster 1.--Swept Out to Sea; or, Clint Webb Among the Whalers. 2.--The Frozen Ship; or, Clint Webb Among the Sealers. 3.--From Sea to Sea; or, Clint Webb on the Windjammer. 4.--The Sea Express; or, Clint Webb and the Sea Tramp. THE YOUNG SPORTSMAN'S SERIES By Capt. Ralph Bonehill Rival Cyclists; or, Fun and Adventures on the Wheel. 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5004	----	This eBook was produced by Jim Weiler, xooqi.com THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE PACIFIC or The Young Derelict Hunters by CLARENCE YOUNG PREFACE DEAR BOYS: I believe it is not necessary to introduce the Motor Boys to most of my readers, as they have made their acquaintance in the previous books of this series. To those, however, who take up this volume without having previously read the ones that go before, I take pleasure in presenting my friends, Jerry, Ned and Bob. They are booked for quite a long trip, this time; across the continent to the Pacific coast, where they are destined to have some stirring adventures, searching for a mysterious derelict. Those of you who know the Motor Boys from their past performances know that they will meet emergencies in the right spirit, and that they will do their level best to accomplish what they set out to do. Whether they did so in this case I leave it for you to determine by reading the book. Though their own motor boat, the Dartaway, was destroyed in a train wreck, they managed to get the use of a powerful craft, in which they made a cruise on the Pacific ocean. Their old friend, Professor Snodgrass was with them, and, if you care to learn of his search for a horned toad, you will find the details set down here. Yours very truly, CLARENCE YOUNG. _________________________________________________________________ CHAPTER I SOME BAD NEWS "WELL, she is smashed this time, sure!" exclaimed Jerry Hopkins, to his chums, Ned Slade and Bob Baker. "What's smashed?" asked Ned. "Who's the letter from'?" for Jerry had a slip of paper in his hand. "It isn't a letter. It's a telegram." "A telegram!" exclaimed Bob. "What's up, Jerry?" "She's smashed, I tell you. Busted, wrecked, demolished, destroyed, slivered to pieces, all gone!" "Who?" "Our motor boat, the Dartaway!" "Not the Dartaway!" and Ned and Bob crowded closer to Jerry. "That's what she is. There's no mistake about it this time, I'm afraid. You know we thought once before she had gone to flinders, but it wasn't so. This time it is." "How did it happen?" asked Ned. "Yes, tell us, can't you?" cried Bob. "What are you so slow about?" "Say, Chunky," remarked Jerry, looking at his fat chum, "if you'll give me a chance I'll tell you all I know. I just got this telegram from the Florida Coast Railway Company. It says: "'Jerry Hopkins. Motor boat Dartaway, shipped by you from. St. Augustine in freight wreck just outside Jacksonville. Boat total loss, buried under several freight cars. Will write further particulars. J. H. Maxon, General Freight Agent." "That's all there is to it," added Jerry, folding up the telegram. "All there is to it! I guess not much!" exclaimed Bob. "Aren't you going to sue 'em for damages, Jerry?" "Well, there's no use being in such a rush," observed Jerry. "Maybe they'll pay the claim without a suit. I'll have to make some inquiries." "Let's go down to the freight once here and see Mr. Hitter," suggested Ned. "He can tell us what to do. The poor Dartaway! Smashed!" "And in a land wreck, too!" put in Jerry. "It wouldn't be so bad if she had gone down on the Atlantic, chasing after a whale, or in pursuit of a shark--" "Or with the flag flying, out in a storm, with Salt Water Sam," interrupted Ned. "But to think of her being buried under a lot of freight cars! It's tough, that's what it is!" "That's right," agreed Bob. "Just think of it! No more rides in her! Say, we ought to get heavy damages! She was a fine boat!" "Come on then," cried Ned. "Don't let's stand here chinning all day. Let's go see Mr. Hitter. He has charge of all the freight that comes to Cresville, and he can tell us how to proceed to collect damages." "Yes, I guess that's all that's left for us to do," decided Jerry, and the three lads started for the railroad depot. They lived in the town of Cresville, Mass., a thriving community, and had been chums and inseparable companions ever since they could remember. Bob Baker was the son of a wealthy banker, while Jerry Hopkins's mother was a widow, who had been left considerable property, and Ned Slade's father owned a large department store. You boys who have read the previous volumes of this "Motor Boys Series" do not need to be reminded of the adventures the three chums had together. To those of you who read this book first, I will say that, in the first volume, called "The Motor Boys," there was related a series of happenings that followed the winning of a certain bicycle race in Cresville. After their victory in this contest the boys got motorcycles, and, by winning a race on them, won a touring car. In this automobile they had many adventures, and several narrow escapes. They incurred the enmity of Noddy Nixon, a town bully, and his crony, Bill Berry. The three chums then took a long trip overland in their automobile, as related in the second book of this series and, incidentally, managed to locate a rich mine belonging to a prospector, who, to reward them, gave them a number of shares. While out west the boys met a very learned gentleman, Professor Uriah Snodgrass, who was traveling in the interests of science. He persuaded the boys to go with him in their automobile to search for a certain ancient, buried city, and this they found in Mexico, where they had a number of surprising adventures. Returning from that journey, they made a trip across the plains, on which they discovered the hermit of Lost Lake. Arriving home they decided, some time later, to get a motor boat, and, in the fifth volume of the series, entitled, "The Motor Boys Afloat," there was set down what happened to them on their first cruise on the river, during which they solved a robbery mystery. Finding they were well able to manage the boat they took a trip on the Atlantic ocean, and, after weathering some heavy storms they reached home, only to start out again on a longer voyage, this time to strange waters amid the everglades of Florida. They had recently returned from that queer region, and, as they had done on their journey to that locality, they shipped their boat by rail from St. Augustine to Cresville. Or, rather, they saw it safely boxed at the freight station in St. Augustine, and came on up north, trusting that the Dartaway would arrive in due season, and in good condition. They had been home a week now, and as there was no news of their boat, Jerry had become rather anxious and had written to the railroad officials in St. Augustine. In response he got the telegram which brought consternation to the hearts of the motor boys. "It doesn't seem possible," remarked Bob, as the three lads hurried on toward the freight office. "I guess it's good-bye to the Dartaway this trip," said Jerry. "Too bad! she was a fine boat." "Well, we'll make the railroad pay for it, and we'll get a better boat," spoke up Bob. "We couldn't get any better boat than the Dartaway, Chunky," said Ned. "We might get a larger one, and a more powerful one, but never a better one, She served us well. To think of her being crushed under a lot of freight cars! It makes me mad!" "No use feeling that way," suggested Jerry. "Just think of the good times we had in her, not only on this last trip, but on the previous cruises." "This last was the best," remarked Bob, with something like a sigh. "It was lovely down there in Florida." "I guess he's thinking of the Seabury girls," put in Ned, with a wink at Jerry. "No more than you are!" exclaimed Bob. "I guess you were rather sweet on Olivia, yourself." "Or was it Rose or Nellie?" asked Jerry with a laugh. "They were all three nice-- very nice." "That's right," said Ned, fervently. The three young ladies the boys referred to were daughters of a Mr. Nathan Seabury, whom the boys met while cruising about the everglades and adjacent rivers and lakes. He was in his houseboat Wanderer, traveling for his health. Mr. Seabury owned a large hotel in Florida and his meeting with the boys, especially with Jerry, was a source of profit to Mrs. Hopkins. She owned some land in Florida; but did not consider it of any value. It developed that it adjoined Mr. Seabury's hotel property and, as he wished it to enlarge his building, he purchased the lot for a goodly sum. The three boys, after the return of the Dartaway and Wanderer from the strange waters, had stopped for a week at Mr. Seabury's hotel, before journeying north. "I'd like to see them again," said Bob, after a pause, during which the boys turned into the street leading to the depot. "Who?" asked Ned. "The Seabury family." "Mr. Seabury-- or-- er-- the girls?" asked Jerry. "All of 'em," replied Bob quickly. "I had a letter the other day," remarked Jerry quietly. "You did!" exclaimed Ned. "From them?" asked Bob eagerly. "Well, it wasn't exactly a family letter," answered Jerry, with just the suspicion of a blush. "It was from Nellie, and she said she, her sisters and father were going to lower California." "To California?" exclaimed Bob and Ned. "Yes; for Mr. Seabury's health. You know they said they expected to when we parted from them. The climate of Florida did not do him any good, and they are going to try what California will do. She asked us to call and see them, if we were ever in that neighborhood." "I guess our chances of going to California are pretty slim," remarked Bob. "Our motor boat's gone now, and we can't make any more cruises." "I don't see what that's got to do with it," declared Ned. "We couldn't very well cross the continent in her, even if we had the Dartaway, and she was rather too small to make the trip by water, even if the Panama Canal was finished." "Oh, well, you know what I mean," retorted Bob, who did not exactly know himself. "We can't go anywhere right away. School opens soon, and it's buckle down and study all winter I suppose. But--" Bob's remarks were interrupted by the arrival of the Boston Express, which rumbled into the Cresville station, where the boys now were and, after a momentary stop, steamed on again. A man leaped from the steps of a parlor car and ran into the freight office, first, however, looking up and down the length of the train to see if any other passengers got off. "He seems in a hurry," observed Ned. "Yes, and he must have some pull with the railroad, for the Boston Express never stops here," said Jerry. "Maybe he's the president of the road." The boys kept on to the freight office. When they reached it they found the stranger in conversation with Mr. Hitter, the agent. The chums could not help overhearing the talk. "Have you several packages here, addressed to X. Y. Z., to he held until called for?" the stranger asked. "There they be," replied the agent, pointing to several small boxes, piled near the door. "That's good," and the man seemed much relieved. "Now I want them shipped by fast freight to San Francisco, and I want to prepay them so there will be no delay. How much is it?" and he pulled out a pocketbook, disclosing a roll of bills. As he did so he hurried to the door and looked up and down the depot platform, as if afraid of being observed. He saw the three boys, and, for a moment, seemed as if he was about to hurry away. Then, with an obvious effort, he remained, but turned into the freight office and shut the door. "He acts as if he was afraid we would steal something from him," said Bob. "Or as if he didn't want us to hear any more about those boxes," supplemented Jerry. "He's a queer customer, he is." "Well, it's none of our affair," remarked Ned, but neither he nor his chums realized how, a little later, they were to take part in an adventure in which the mysterious man and the queer boxes were to figure importantly. In a short time the man came out of the freight office. He did not look at the boys, but hurried off down the street, putting some papers into his pocket book, which, the boys could not help noticing as he passed them, was not so full of money as it had been. "Let's go in and ask Mr. Hitter what to do about our boat," suggested Ned. They found the agent counting over a roll of bills. "Been robbing a bank?" asked Bob cheerfully. "Guess I'd better tell dad to look out for his money." "That was paid by the man who was just in in here," replied the agent. "Queer chap. Seemed as if he didn't want to be found out. First he was going to ship his stuff by fast freight, and then he concluded it would be better by express, though it cost a lot more. But he had plenty of money." "Who was he?" asked Jerry. "That's another funny part of it. He didn't tell me his name, though I hinted I'd have to have it to give him a receipt. He said to make it out X. Y. Z., and I done it. That's the way them boxes come, several days ago, from Boston. They arrived by express, consigned to X. Y. Z., and was to be called for. I thought of everybody in town, but there ain't nobody with them initials. I was just wondering what to do with 'em when in be comes an' claims 'em." "What's in em?" asked Jerry. "Blessed if I know," responded Mr. Hitter. "I couldn't git that out of him, either, though I hinted that I ought to know if it was dynamite, or anything dangerous." "What did he say?" inquired Ned. "He said it wasn't dynamite, but that's all he would say, an' I didn't have no right to open 'em. He paid me the expressage, and seemed quite anxious to know just when I could ship the boxes, and when they'd arrive in San Francisco. I could tell him the first, but not the last, for there's no tellin' what delays there'll be on the road. "He was a queer man-- a very queer man. I couldn't make him out. An' he went off in a hurry, as if he was afraid some one would see him. An' he shut the door, jest as if you boys would bother him,-- Well, it takes all sorts of people to make a world. I don't s'pose you or I will ever meet him again." Mr. Hitter was not destined to, but the boys had not seen the last of the strangely acting man, who soon afterward played a strange part in their lives. "What you chaps after, anyhow?" went on the freight agent, when he had put the money in the safe. "Our motor boat's smashed!" exclaimed Bob. "We want damages for her! How are we going to get 'em?" "Not guilty, boys!" exclaimed the agent holding up his hands, as if he thought wild-west robbers were confronting him. "You can search me. Nary a boat have I got, an' you can turn my pockets inside out!" and he turned slowly around, like an exhibition figure in a store show window. CHAPTER II A DESPERATE RACE "WELL," remarked Mr. Hitter, after a pause, during which the boys, rather surprised at his conduct, stood staring at him, "well, why don't you look in my hip pocket. Maybe I've got a boat concealed there." "I didn't mean to go at you with such a rush," apologized Jerry. "But you see--" "That's all right," interrupted the freight agent. "Can I put my hands down now? The blood's all runnin' out of 'em, an' they feel as if they was goin' to sleep. That'll never do, as I've got a lot of way-bills to make out," and he lowered his arms. "Do you know anything about this?" asked Jerry, handing Mr. Hitter the telegram. "What's that? The Dartaway smashed!" the agent exclaimed, reading the message. "Come now, that's too bad! How did it happen?" The boys explained how they had shipped the craft north. "Of course the accident didn't happen on the line of railroad I am agent for," said Mr. Hitter, after reading the telegram again. "If it had, we'd be responsible." "What can we do?" asked Bob. "We want to get damages." "An' I guess you're entitled to 'em," replied the agent. "Come on inside, and I'll tell you what to do. You'll have to make a claim, submit affidavits, go before a notary public and a whole lot of rig-ma-role, but I guess, in the end you'll get damages. They can't blame you because the boat was smashed. It's too bad! I feel like I'd lost an old friend." Mr. Hitter had had several rides in the Dartaway for he had done the boys many favors and they wished to return them, so he was given a chance to get intimately acquainted with the speedy craft. Taking the boys into his office, Mr. Hitter instructed them how to write a letter to the claim department of the Florida Coast Railway, demanding damages for the smashing of the boat. "Be respectful, but put it good and strong," he said. "I'll write on my own account to the general freight agent. He's a friend of mine, and we have business dealings together-- that is his road and my road," and Mr. Hitter spoke as though he owned the line of which he was the Cresville agent. "That'll be good," said Bob. "Maybe it will hurry matters up. We're much obliged to you, Mr. Hitter." "That's what we are," chimed in Jerry and Ned. The boys lost no time in sending in their claim. Then there was nothing to do but to wait. They knew it would take some days, and they did not expect an answer in less than a week, while Mr. Hitter told them that if they got money in payment for the destroyed boat within three months they would be lucky. "Well, since the Dartaway's gone, I guess we'll have to go back to the automobile for a change," suggested Jerry one afternoon, early in September, about a week before school was to open. "Let's take a little jaunt out in the country, stay a couple of days, and come back, all ready to pitch in and study." "Fine!" cried Bob. "We'll stay at a hotel where they have good dinners--" "Of course!" retorted Ned. "That's Chunky's first idea-- something to eat. I've been waiting for him to say something like that." The boys were at Jerry's house, talking over various matters. The auto was kept in an unused barn back of his home, but, since the advent of the motor boat, had not seen much service, though occasionally the boys went out in it. Now, it was likely to come into active use again. "Let's look the machine over," proposed Jerry. "It may need some repairs. It got pretty hard usage, especially in our trips to Mexico and across the plains." The boys soon found that, beyond two tires which needed repairs, and some minor adjustments to the engine, the car was in good shape. It was in running order and, at Bob's suggestion, they got in it and made a trip to the town garage, where they intended to leave it to be overhauled. As they were turning a corner, near the automobile shop, they heard a sudden "Honk-honk!" that startled them. Jerry, who was at the steering wheel, shut off the power and applied the emergency brake. And it was only just in time for, a moment later, from a cross street, there shot out a big green touring car, very powerful, as they could tell by the throbbing of the engine. It almost grazed the mudguards of the machine in which the three boys were, and, skidded dangerously. Then, with what seemed an impudent, warning toot of the horn, it swung around and sped off down the road. "That was a close shave!" remarked Jerry, as he released the brake. "I should say yes," agreed Bob. "That was a six-cylinder car. Bur-r-r-r! If she'd hit us--" He did not finish, but the boys knew what he meant. They proceeded to the garage, leaving their machine to be repaired. It would be ready for them the next day, the man said, and they arranged to call for it, and go for a trip in the country. "Let's go to Riverton," suggested Bob, naming a summer resort about a hundred miles away. "The season is just about to close there, and, as it isn't crowded, we can get better attention and--" "Better meals, he means," finished Ned. "All right, Chunky, we'll go." "It wouldn't be a bad idea," agreed Jerry. "We could make it in one day easily, and wouldn't have to hurry. We could stay there a couple of days, making little side strips, and come back Saturday. That would put us in good shape for Monday, when school opens." There was no dissension from this plan, and, having secured the consent of their parents, the boys, early the next day, started off on their journey. It was a short one, compared to those they had been in the habit of taking, but they did not have time for a longer jaunt. They arrived at Riverton in the afternoon, having stopped on the road for dinner. They found the place rather livelier than they expected, for there had been an automobile meet the day previous, including a big race, and several lovers of the sport still remained, for the weather was very pleasant. The sheds about the hotel were filled with all sorts of cars, so that the boys had hardly room to store their machine. "This is a little more exciting than we counted on," remarked Jerry, as he and his chums entered the hotel to register. "I'm afraid we'll not get such good attention as Bob thought." "Oh, it's all the better," was the answer of the stout youth. "They'll have all the more to eat, with this crowd here." "Chunky can argue it any way he likes," declared Ned. "No use trying to corner him, Jerry." "No, I guess not. But I'm hungry enough to eat almost anything." As they were turning away from the clerk's desk, having been assigned to rooms, the boys saw a youth, about their own age, standing near a bulletin board fastened on the side wall. The youth was tacking up a notice and, as he turned, having finished, Jerry exclaimed in a whisper: "Noddy Nixon! What's he doing here?" At the same moment, Noddy, the long-time enemy of the motor boys, saw them. His face got red, and he swung quickly aside to avoid speaking to the three chums. The last they had seen of the bully was when he started to accompany them back to Cresville, after his disastrous attempt to make money from a Florida cocoanut grove. Noddy was wanted as a witness by the government authorities, in connection with the attempted wreck of a vessel, in which Bill Berry was concerned; but, after the motor boys had rescued Noddy from an unpleasant position in Florida, and he had agreed to return to Cresville, he suddenly disappeared in the night. This was the first they had seen of him since. They had learned that the government no longer desired his testimony. "Let's see what notice he put up," suggested Ned. "Maybe he has lost something." They walked over to the bulletin board. There, in Noddy's rather poor handwriting, was a challenge. It was to the effect that he would race, on the track near the hotel, any automobilist who would choose to compete with him, for money, up to five hundred dollars, or merely for fun. "Noddy must have a new car," remarked Ned. "His old one couldn't go for a cent. We beat it several times." "What's the matter with trying again?" asked Jerry, a light of excitement coming into his eyes. "I'd like to have a race. Maybe several cars will enter, and we can have some fun out of it. Our machine has a lot of 'go' left in it yet." "That's the stuff!" exclaimed Bob. "I'm with you. But let's get supper first, maybe--" "I guess he's afraid there won't be any left," remarked Jerry. "But come on, I can eat a bit myself." As the boys left the office of the hotel, they saw several men reading the notice Noddy had tacked up. "A race on this circular track here!" exclaimed one man to a friend as the boys passed him. "It's very risky! The turns are not banked enough. I wouldn't do it, but I suppose some will take the chance." "Yes, it will be a dangerous race," responded the other. "Who is this Noddy Nixon?" "A son of that rich Nixon over in Cresville, I believe. His father made a lot of money in stocks lately, and, I guess the son is helping spend it. He has a powerful car." The motor boys did not stay to hear more, but went to their rooms to change their clothes, and were soon eating supper. There was talk of nothing but automobile topics in the hotel corridors and office that evening. Many motorists were planning to leave the next day, but some said they would stay and see if the Nixon race would amount to anything. "Let's accept the challenge," suggested Jerry. "I don't want to have anything to do with Noddy," objected Ned. "We don't have to," replied Bob, "I was talking to the clerk about it. All we have to do is register our names, and the name of the car. It's an informal affair, only for fun. They won't race for money. Come on, let's go in it." Hearing this, Ned agreed, and the boys put their names down. As Noddy had stipulated there must be four passengers in each car it would necessitate the motor boys getting some one else to ride with them. This the clerk agreed to arrange. There were six entries in the race, which was to take place the next day. Early in the morning, before breakfast, Ned, Jerry and Bob went out in their car to try the course. When they were half way around it they heard a car coming behind them. In a moment it had passed them, and they recognized it as the same machine that had nearly collided with them in Cresville. "Look who's in it!" cried Bob. "Who?" asked Ned. "Noddy Nixon. If that's his car, we haven't any show." "Humph! I'm afraid not," answered Jerry rather ruefully. "Still, I'm not going to give up now. He's got a new car, but maybe we can beat him. He's a poor driver." Several other autos soon appeared on the track to have a "tryout," and, though none of them seemed as speedy as Noddy's new machine, there was no talk of dropping out on the part of those who had entered. That gave the boys more courage, and they decided to stick, even though their chances were not good. Noddy did not speak to them, though he passed them several times. Nor did he appear very popular with the other autoists. He had several young men with him, and they made things rather lively about the hotel, occasionally giving what seemed to be college yells. "They're regular 'rah-rah' boys," said Bob, in contempt. Early that afternoon just before the race Bob, Jerry and Ned spent an hour in going over their car, making some adjustments, and seeing that the tires were in good shape. Almost at the last minute Jerry decided to put the non-skidding chains on the rear wheels. "Those turns, which are not banked much, are dangerous," he said, "I'm not going to take any chances. We don't want to turn turtle." There was much activity about the hotel as the hour for the contest arrived. Noddy's car seemed the finest of the six that lined up at the starting tape. The motor boys had drawn a position next to the bully and his cronies. Noddy glanced contemptuously at them. "You must think it's winter, putting chains on," he remarked to Jerry, who had been chosen to steer. "It may be a cold day for somebody before we get through," was all Jerry replied. "You haven't the ghost of a show," called one of Noddy's companions. "You'll think you're standing still when we start." The others laughed at this joke, and Noddy seemed pleased. There was a short consultation among the judges and other officials, and, a moment later, a white puff of smoke was seen hovering above the uplifted revolver of the starter. Then came a sharp crack, and the panting machines, the engines of which had been put in motion some time previous, started off together, as the drivers threw in the high speed gears. The race, which was truly a dangerous contest, was on, and, with eager eyes the motor boys looked ahead on the course. CHAPTER III NEWS FROM THE WEST THE track was a half-mile one, and, as the length of the race was five miles it would be necessary to make ten laps or circuits. The course was in the shape of an ellipse, with rather sharp turns at either end, where the contestants, if they did not want a spill, or a bad skid, must slacken their pace. It was on the two straight stretches that speed could be made. At the report of the pistol Noddy's car shot off as an arrow from a bow, the explosions of the cylinders sounding like a small battery of quick-firing guns in action. But the others were after him, the five cars bunched together, that of the motor boys a little behind the other four. "We've got to catch him, Jerry," whispered Bob. "Easier said than done," replied Jerry, as he shoved the gasolene lever over a trifle, and advanced the spark, thereby increasing the speed of the car. "Noddy's got a powerful machine." "They should have had a handicap on this race," said Tom Jennings, the young man whom the hotel clerk had asked to be a fourth passenger in the motor boys' car, so that the conditions of the contest would be met. "It's not fair to have a high power auto race one of two cylinders." "Ours has four," spoke Ned. "Of course its not as up-to-date as Noddy's is, but--" "We'll beat him!" exclaimed Bob. "We've done it before and we can do it again." "I'm afraid not," went on Tom. "That big green car of his will go ahead of anything on this track." And so it seemed, for Noddy was spinning around the course at fearful speed, his car looking like a green streak. "Let's see how he takes the turn," suggested Bob. "He'll have to slow up if he doesn't want a spill." Noddy was wise enough to do this, though even at the reduced speed at which he went around the bank, his rear wheels skidded rather alarmingly. But Jerry was not idle during this time. As he found his car responding to the increase of gasolene and the advanced spark, he shoved the levers still further over. The auto shot forward, distancing the yellow car immediately in front of it, passing one with an aluminum body and closely approaching a purple auto which was behind Noddy. Suddenly a loud explosion sounded back of the motor boys. "There goes a tire!" exclaimed Bob. "Hope it isn't one of yours," said Tom. "If it was you'd be sliding along the track on your face instead of sitting here," responded Bob. "No, it's one on the aluminum car. She's out of the race," he added as he gave a quick glance back. A few minutes later there was another noise-- a crashing sound-- and the motor boys, by a quick glance, saw that the rearmost car in the race had, by injudicious steering, been sent through a frail fence which surrounded the track. The radiator was broken and, though no one was hurt the car was put out of business. That left but four cars-- Noddy's green one, the yellow, the red one of the motor boys', and a purple affair. They were speeding along in that order, and, a few seconds later something went wrong with one of the cylinders of the purple machine, leaving but three contestants. Then the yellow car shot ahead of the red one containing the motor boys. By this time one circuit of the track had been completed, and a start made on the second lap. "Think we're catching up?" asked Bob, as Jerry cautiously fed the engine a little more gasolene. "Well, we're holding our own," was the answer of the steersman, "and I think we're catching up to the yellow car again. If we pass that I'm not so sure but what we can come in a close second to Noddy." "I don't want to come in second," spoke up Ned. "I want to beat him." "So do I," replied Jerry, "but it's not going to be so easy. Our car's doing well, but we can't expect wonders of it." "The race isn't over until you're at the finish tape," said Tom Jennings. "Keep on, boys, I'd like to see that Nixon chap beaten. He thinks he owns the earth." For two miles there was no change in the position of the cars. Then slowly, very slowly, Jerry saw that his red machine was overtaking the yellow car. Inch by inch it crept up, the steersman of the rival car doing his best but failing to get more speed out of the engine. "Too bad we have to pass you!" cried Jerry, as he careened past the yellow machine. "That's all right," sung out the steersman good-naturedly. "Beat that other one, if you can." "We're going to try!" yelled Ned, above the noise of the exploding cylinders. They were on a straight stretch then and, as Noddy looked back and saw the red car closer to him than it had been before, he put on more speed. His green auto shot forward but Jerry still had something in reserve, and he let his machine out another notch. "He's got to slow up for the turn!" cried Ned. "Maybe we can pass him!" "Yes, but we've got to slacken up too, if we don't want a spill," replied Bob. "That's so," admitted Ned. Noddy did slow up, but not much, and his car skidded worse than at any time yet. It looked as if it was going over, and a cry from the spectators showed that they, too, anticipated this disaster. But, with a sharp wrench of the steering wheel, Noddy brought the car back toward the center of the track. Jerry swung around the turn at reduced speed, and, because of the chains, his machine did not skid more than a few inches. "Good thing you have those chains on," commented Tom. "They may come in handy at the finish." "That's what I put them there for," answered Jerry. For another mile there was little change in the relative position of the cars of Noddy and the motor boys. Jerry thought he had cut the bully's lead somewhat, but he still felt that he was far from having a good chance to win the race. Still, he was not going to give up. "Two laps more and it's all over," said Bob, as they began on the final mile. "Can't you hit it up a bit more, Jerry?" "I'll try." Just a degree faster came the explosions of the cylinders of the red car. But also, still faster, came the reports from Noddy's auto. He was not going to be beaten if he could help it. Around the two machines swung, the yellow car having given up and dropped out. There was a confused shouting from the spectators, and Bob could distinguish cheers for the red auto. "We've just got to win!" he cried. "Win, Jerry! Win!" Try as he did, by "nursing" the engine, Jerry could not gain an inch on Noddy's car. The red machine was fifty feet behind the green one, both going at top speed. Only an accident, it seemed, could make the motor boys win. As they swung into the last lap Ned cried: "Noddy isn't going to slow down for the turn!" "Neither are we!" cried Jerry fiercely. "Quick boys! All of you get out on the inside step! Crouch down! That will help hold us as we go around the bank, or, otherwise, we'll go over." They all knew what he meant. By hanging out on the runboard or step, nearest the inside of the track, more weight would be added to that side of the car. It was what automobilists call "shifting the center of gravity," and aids in preventing spills. Giving one glance to see that the boys were in their places, Jerry grasped the steering wheel firmly, and sent the car at the dangerous turn at full speed. Noddy was doing the same, but he had not thought of having any of his passengers hang out on the step. "Look out now, boys!" called Jerry, as they took the turn. "Swing out as far as you can, boys, but hang down low!" called Tom Jennings, who had been in races before. Even with this precaution, and aided as they were by the chains on the rear wheels, the red car skidded or slewed so that Jerry thought it was going over. But it did not. By the narrowest margin it kept on the bank. Not so, however, with Noddy's green dragon. As soon as his car struck the turn it began to skid. He would not shut off his power, but kept on the high gear, and with the engine going at top speed. There was a cry of alarm, and then the green car left the track, mounted the bank, slid over the top, and came to a halt in a pool of mud and water on the other side of the field. It went fifty yards before Noddy could stop it. "Go on! Go on!" yelled Ned. "We win! We win!" Jerry had all he could do to hold the steering wheel of his slewing car, but, by gripping it desperately, he swung it into place, and the red machine started up the home stretch, crossing the tape a winner, for it was the only car left on the track. A burst of cheers greeted it, and men crowded up to shake hands with the plucky boys. "Glad you beat the 'mud lark,'" said the owner of the yellow machine, thus giving Noddy's car a name that stuck to it for some time. "That Nixon chap thought he was going to walk over every one. You taught him a much-needed lesson." Nothing was talked of in the hotel that night but the race, and the motor boys were the heroes of the occasion. Noddy did not appear, and it was learned that he had to hire men and teams to get his car out of the mud. The motor boys started for home the next day, and thought they were going to make it in good time, but they had a tire accident on the road, when about twenty-five miles away, and decided to stay in the nearest village over night, as they had no spare shoe for the wheel. As they left their car by the roadside, and tramped into the town, to send word to the nearest garage, they saw a cloud of dust approaching. "Here comes a car," said Bob. "Maybe we can get help." As the machine drew nearer they saw that it was painted green, and, a moment later, Noddy Nixon had brought his auto to a stop, and was grinning at them. "Had a break-down, eh?" he asked. "That's a fine car you have, ain't it?" "We can beat you!" exclaimed Ned. "Yes you can! Not in a thousand years if I hadn't gone off the track! Want any help? Well, you'll not get it, see? Bye-bye! I'll tell 'em you're coming," and, with an ugly leer, the bully started off. "I wouldn't take help from him if I had to walk ten miles without my supper," said Bob firmly, and that was a strong saying for the stout youth. The motor boys found a good hotel in the village, and the next day, when their car had been repaired, they resumed their journey, arriving at home about noon. "There's some mail for you, Jerry," said Mrs. Hopkins, as her son came in, after putting the auto in the barn. "It's from California. I didn't know you knew any one out there." "Neither did I, mother. We'll see who it's from." He tore open the letter, read it hurriedly, and gave a cry of mingled delight and surprise. "It's from Nellie Seabury!" he said. "She says they are in lower California, traveling about, looking for a good place to stay at for a few months for their father's health. When they locate she wants-- that is Mr. Seabury-- wants us to come out and see them. Oh, I wish I could go-- I wish we could all go!" "Perhaps you can," suggested his mother with a smile. "California is not so far away. But I suppose you'll have to wait until next vacation." "Yes, I suppose so," admitted Jerry. "And that's a long ways off-- a long ways." "The time will soon pass," said his mother. "But tell me about your auto trip. Did you have a good time?" "Fine, and we beat Noddy Nixon in a great race." "I wish you wouldn't have anything to do with that young man," said Mrs. Hopkins. "You have nothing but trouble when you do." "I guess he'll not want much more to do with us," returned Jerry. "We manage to beat him every time. But I must go find the boys. This will be great news for them-- this letter from the Seabury family." "I thought it was from-- Nelly." "So it is-- but it's all the same," answered Jerry with a blush. CHAPTER IV MORE LETTERS JERRY found Ned, his nearest chum, at home, and told him of the news from the west. "That's fine!" cried Ned. "Come on and tell Bob." "Don't have to," said Jerry. "Here he comes now." The stout youth was, at that moment, walking along the street toward Ned's house. "Come on in!" cried Ned, as he opened the door while his chum was still on the steps. "That's what I was going to do," responded Chunky. "Did you think I was going to sit out here? Of course I'm coming in. What's the matter?" for he saw by Ned's face that something unusual had occurred. "Jerry's got a letter from Nellie Seabury-- they're in lower California-- we're going-- I mean they want us to come and pay them a visit-- I mean--" "Say, for mercy sakes stop!" cried Bob, holding both hands over his ears. "I guess Ned's a little excited," suggested Jerry. "You guess so-- well, I know so," responded Bob. "Are you all done?" and he cautiously removed his hands from his ears. "Tell him about it, Jerry," said Ned, and Jerry told the news. "It would be fine to go out there," said Bob, reflectively. "But there's school. We can't get out of that." They all agreed they could not, and decided the only thing to do was to wait until the following summer. "Too bad," remarked Bob with a sigh. "Winter is the best time of the year out there, too." In spite of the fact that they knew, under the present circumstances, they could not go for several months, the boys spent an hour or more discussing what they would do if they could go to California. "Oh, what's the use!" exclaimed Ned, when Jerry had spoken of how fine it would be to hire a motor boat and cruise along the Pacific coast. "Don't get us all worked up that way, Jerry. Have some regard for our feelings!" "Well, let's talk about school. It opens Monday." "Don't mention it!" cried Ned. "I say-- hello, there's the postman's whistle. He's coming here." He went to the door, and returned carrying a letter, the envelope of which he was closely examining. "You can find out from who it is by opening it," suggested Jerry. "Here's a funny thing," spoke Ned. "This letter is addressed to my father, but, down in one corner it says, 'May be opened by Ned, in case of necessity.'" "Well, then, open it," suggested Bob. "This is a case of necessity. Where's it from?" "Boston, but I don't recognize the writing." "Open it," called Jerry. Ned did so, and, as he read, he uttered a cry of astonishment. "Well if this isn't a queer thing," he said. "Did you ever see such a coincidence? This letter is from Professor Uriah Snodgrass, and listen to what he says: 'Dear Mr. Slade, or Ned. I write thus as I want one of you to read it in a hurry, and one of you may be away from home. You remember the last I saw of you and your chums (this part is for Ned) was in Florida. There I secured the rare butterfly I was looking for, and, through that success I was able to obtain a position with a Boston museum, to travel all over the world for them, collecting valuable specimens. I have been here for only a few weeks, but I already have a commission. I am soon to start for California, in search of a Cornu batrachian.'" "A 'Cornu batrachian'!" exclaimed Bob. "For the love of tripe, what's that?" "California!" murmured Jerry. "I guess the fates want to pile it up on us." "Say, is that 'Cornu batrachian' anything like a mountain lion?" asked Bob. "Wait," counseled Ned. "He explains. 'The Cornu batrachian,' he says, 'is what is commonly called a horned toad. I must get several fine specimens, and I thought you boys might be making another trip, and could go with me. I would be very glad of your company. Please let me hear from you. My regards to Mrs. Slade.'" "Well, wouldn't that tickle your teeth!" exclaimed Bob, more forcibly than elegantly. "And we can't go!" he added with a groan. "Think of the fun we'll miss by not being with Professor Snodgrass," went on Ned. "And with the Seabury family," chimed in Jerry. "It's tough!" exclaimed Ned. "And school opens Monday!" At that moment there was a whistle out in the street and a ring at the door bell. "The postman again," said Ned. "I wonder what he wants?" He went to the door. "Here's a letter I forgot to give you," said the mailcarrier. "It got out of place in my bundle, and I didn't discover it until I was quite a way up the street." "That's all right," answered Ned good-naturedly. "From the Board of Education," he murmured, as he looked at the printing in the upper left hand corner. "I wonder what they are writing to me about?" He opened it and drew out a printed circular. As he re-entered the room where his chums were he gave a cry of delight. "Listen to this!" he called, and he read: "'To the pupils of the Cresville Academy. It has been discovered, at the last moment, that a new heating boiler will be needed in the school. The tubes of the old one are broken. It has been decided to replace it at once, and, as it will be necessary to do considerable work about the building, thereby interfering with the proper conducting of studies, the school will not open for another month, or six weeks, depending on the length of time required to install a new boiler. "'Therefore pupils will kindly not report on Monday morning, as originally intended, but will hold themselves in readiness to begin their school work shortly after the receipt of another circular, which will be sent out as soon as the building is in proper shape. The faculty earnestly recommends that all pupils apply themselves diligently to their studies during this unlooked-for, unfortunate, but wholly necessary lengthening of the vacation season. By applying to their respective teachers pupils will learn what studies to continue.'" "Whoop!" yelled Bob. "O-la-la!" cried Ned after the fashion of some Eastern dervish. "Say! That's great!" exclaimed Jerry. "A month more of vacation!" "Now we can go to California with Professor Snodgrass, and help him catch horned toads!" added Ned. "And visit the Seabury family," supplemented Jerry. "Oh, boys, this is simply immense! Things are coming our way after all!" CHAPTER V PROFESSOR URIAH SNODGRASS THE sudden and unexpected news that they need not begin their school studies on Monday morning fairly startled the boys, at first. They read the circular over again, to make sure they were not mistaken. "Why didn't I get one?" asked Bob, rather suspiciously. "Probably it's at your home now," suggested Ned. "And I ought to have one, too," said Jerry. "You came away before the letter carrier arrived," went on Ned. "Maybe you'd better go see. It might-- it might be a mistake-- or a joke." "Don't say that!" exclaimed Bob. "I'm going to see if I have a letter like yours." "So am I," decided Jerry. "It might, as you say, Ned, be a joke, though it looks genuine." To make sure, Jerry and Bob hurried to their homes. There they found awaiting them circulars, similar to the one Ned had. To further convince them, as Jerry and Bob were returning to Ned's house, they met Andy Rush, a small chap, but as full of life as an electric battery. "Hello!" he exclaimed-- "Great news-- no school-- boiler busted-- thousands of teachers killed-- great calamity-- fine-- horrible-- terrible-- don't have to study-- longer vacation-- steam pipes blown out-- clouds of steam-- no heat-- freeze up-- burn to death-- great-- Whoope-e-e!" "Did you ever take anything for that?" asked Jerry calmly, when Andy had finished. "Dasn't! if I did I'd blow up! But say-- it's great, isn't it? Did you get a circular too?" and Andy showed one. "It's fearful-- terrible-- no school--" "Come on," urged Jerry to Bob. "He'll give us nervous prostration if we listen to him any longer," but they need not have hurried, for Andy, so full of news that he could not keep still, had rushed off down the street, hopping, skipping and jumping, to spread the tidings, which nearly every Academy pupil in Cresville knew by that time. Now the motor boys could discuss a Californian trip in earnest, for they knew their parents would let them go, especially after Mr. Seabury's invitation, and the letter from Professor Snodgrass. In the course of a few days Jerry received another missive from Nellie Seabury. This letter informed Jerry, and, incidentally, his two chums, that she, with her sisters and father, had settled in a small town near the coast, not far from Santa Barbara, and on a little ocean bay, which, Nellie said, was a much nicer place than any they had visited in Florida. "Father likes it very much here," she wrote, "and he declares he feels better already, though we have been here only a week. He says he knows it would do him good to see you boys, and he wishes-- in fact we all wish-- you three chums could come out here for a long visit, though I suppose you cannot on account of school opening. But, perhaps, we shall see you during the next vacation." "She's going to see us sooner than that," announced Bob, when Jerry had read the letter to him and Ned. "Did you write and tell her we were coming?" asked Ned, his two friends having called at his house to talk over their prospective trip. "No, I thought we'd wait and see what Professor Snodgrass had planned. Perhaps he isn't going to that part of California." "That's so," admitted Bob. "Guess we'll have to wait and find out. I wish he'd call or write. Have you heard anything more about damages for our smashed boat, Jerry?" "No, I saw Mr. Hitter the other day, and he advised me to wait a while before writing again. Something queer happened while I was in his office, too." "What was it'?" "Well, you remember the man who got off the Boston express that day, and acted so strange about his boxes of stuff he wanted shipped to the Pacific coast?" "Sure," replied Ned and Bob at once. "Well, through some mistake one of the boxes was left behind. Mr. Hitter, had it in his office, intending to ship it back to the man, for it wasn't worth while to send one box away out west, but it fell and burst partly open. The box was in one corner of the room, and, while I was there Mr. Hitter's dog went up to it and began sniffing at it. All at once the dog fell over, just as if he'd been shot. He stiffened out, and we thought he was dead, from having eaten something poisoned he found on the floor." "Was he?" "No, after a while he seemed to come to, and was all right, but he looked sick. Mr. Hitter said there must be something queer in that box, to make the dog act that way, and he and I smelled of it, taking care not to get too close." "What was in it?" asked Ned. "I don't know. It was something that smelled rather sweet, and somewhat sickish. Mr. Hitter said it might be some queer kind of poison that acted on animals, but not on human beings, and he put the box up on a high shelf where his dog couldn't get at it. But I thought it was rather queer stuff for a man to be sending away out to the coast." "It certainly was," agreed Bob. "That man acted in a strange manner, too, as if he was afraid some one would see him. I wonder if there is any mystery connected with him?" There came a time when the boys had good reason to remember this incident of the box filled with a strange substance, for they were in great danger from it. "Well, I don't know that it concerns us," mused Ned. "I guess we'll not get any damages from the railroad company in time to use the money on our California trip, so we might as well take some cash out of our saving fund. I do wish we'd hear from the professor. It's several days since I wrote to him, saying we would go with him." "I suppose he is so busy catching a new kind of flea, or a rare specimen of mud turtle, that he has forgotten all about writing," suggested Bob. "If he doesn't--" What Bob intended saying was interrupted by a commotion at the front door. The bell had rung a few seconds before, and the servant maid had answered it. Now the boys heard her voice raised in protest: "Stop! Stop!" she cried. "Don't do that! You are a crazy man! I'll call the police!" And, in reply came these words: "Calm yourself, calm yourself, my dear young lady. All I desire is to capture that spider crawling on your left arm. It is a very valuable variety of the red spotted species, and I must have it for my collection. Now just stand still a moment--" "Professor Snodgrass has arrived!" cried Ned, as he made a rush for the door. CHAPTER VI A STRANGE CONVERSATION WHAT the boys saw made them stop short in amazement, and they had hard work not to burst into laughter at the sight of the professor, but they knew he would be offended if they made fun of him. Professor Uriah Snodgrass had dropped his valise on the doorstep, and the impact had caused it to open, thereby liberating a number of toads and lizards which were crawling about the steps. In his hand the scientist held a large magnifying glass, through which he was staring at something on the arm of the servant. She had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, for she had been busy sweeping when she answered the door bell. "Let me go!" cried the young woman. "You are crazy! I'll call the police!" "One moment! One moment!" pleaded the professor eagerly. "I must have that spider. There!" and with a sudden motion he captured the small insect and transferred it to a tiny glass box. "I have it! Oh, this is a most fortunate day for me. The museum will be very glad to get this. It is a perfect specimen," and he peered at it through his magnifying glass, as it crawled around, a captive in the box. "Hello, Professor!" greeted Ned. "Glad to see you." "Oh, Ned, how are you?" asked the scientist, without glancing up from his inspection of the spider. "Luck seems to be with me as soon as I arrive at your house. I have a spider--" "Yes, but you'll not have any of those other specimens long, if you don't get busy," put in Bob. "They're all hopping or crawling away!" "Oh, my goodness!" cried Professor Snodgrass, as he glanced down at the liberated toads and lizards. "Oh, my goodness! That is too bad. I brought them with me to compare with the horned toads and web-footed lizards I hope to secure. Now they are getting away. Please, my dear young lady, help me to save them!" But the servant maid had fled into the house as soon as the scientist released her arm. She was convinced that she had just escaped the clutches of a madman. "Come on, boys!" called Ned. "Help the professor!" "Here are some small butterfly nets," the scientist said, producing them from his pocket. "Don't injure the toads or lizards." The boys were glad enough of these aids in catching the professor's specimens, that were rapidly seeking hiding places about the stoop and sidewalk. Though they had acquired a certain familiarity with strange insects and reptiles, from seeing the museum collector handle them, they did not fancy picking up a toad or lizard bare-handed. With the nets, however, they managed, with the assistance of the scientist, to capture most of the specimens, returning them to their cases in the valise. "There!" exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, when, after a close scrutiny of the porch he could see no more of the creatures, "I think we have them all. Now boys, permit me to ask how you are. I am sorry my visit was attended with such excitement, but I could not miss the chance of getting that spider. That young woman may consider herself in the light of having advanced science several degrees. There are very few persons a red spider of that variety will get on." "For which we ought all to be very thankful," announced Jerry. "I beg to be excused from helping the cause of science in that way. But, Professor, we're glad to see you. Are you all ready for your trip to California?" "I could start to-night," was the answer. "I suppose you have matters all arranged?" "Nearly so," returned Ned. "We thought of starting at the end of this week," and he explained how they hoped the destination of the scientist would be such that they might visit the Seaburys. "That locality suits me all right," declared Mr. Snodgrass. "I am not particular where I go, as long as I can get a specimen of a horned toad, and some web-footed lizards. I understand there are some to be had in the southern part of California, and so I will go there. I see no reason why you boys can not go with me, and also visit your friends. Only I should like to start as soon as possible. The toads may disappear." "Hope not," said Bob, "for your sake. I haven't any use for them, myself." "Oh, my dear young friend!" exclaimed the professor. "Some day you will see the real beauty of a horned toad. It is a most wonderful creature!" "I'll take your word for it," murmured Bob. "But now come in and let's see about our arrangements." The professor, who had been invited to be a guest at Ned's house, pending the start for the west, entered, placing his valise of specimens in a safe place in the hall. Then he and the boys discussed matters. Mr. Slade came in, soon after the arrival of the scientist, and announced that he had, in accordance with a previous arrangement, purchased the boys' tickets. "All you've got to do is to pack up and start," said Mr. Slade. "I'm not going to give you any advice, for you ought to be able to take care of yourselves by this time. I know you will be safe as long as you are with the professor." "Thank you," said the scientist with a bow. The professor's arrangements for the western trip were complete and it did not take the boys long to get ready. By the end of the week the last valise had been packed, trunks were checked on ahead and, one morning, the boys started. They were to proceed to Los Angeles, and from there were to go down the coast by land to the small town of San Felicity, where Mr. Seabury and his daughters had rented a bungalow. "Now for a good time!" exclaimed Ned, as the train pulled out of the Cresville depot. "I've always wanted to visit California, and now I'm going to." "We certainly ought to enjoy ourselves," agreed Jerry. The travelers made good time to Chicago, little of incident occurring on the trip. When they got to the Windy City, they found they would have to wait several hours for a connecting train, and they put in the time seeing the sights. When they returned to the depot they found the professor busy over some scientific book, sitting as undisturbed in the station, filled as it was with shifting crowds, as if he was in his quiet study at the museum. "The train will be here in about fifteen minutes," he informed the boys. "Better sit down and wait." The three chums were rather tired, and were glad enough to take their places on the comfortable benches. "Chicago is a great place," announced Bob. "That restaurant, where we had dinner--" "Can't you say something that hasn't got any eating in it?" asked Ned. "You're the limit, you are." "Well," said Bob, "they certainly had fine pie in that place. I wish--" He stopped suddenly, as Jerry help up his hand to indicate silence. "What's the matter?" asked Ned in a whisper, as he leaned forward. "See some new kind of a bug for the professor?" "I overheard that man back of us speaking," replied Jerry in a low tone, nodding his head to indicate where he meant. The benches were arranged so that travelers occupying them sat back to back. "His voice sounded like one I've heard before, but I can't place it. I thought maybe you'd remember. We may have met him on our travels. I can't see his face until he turns around." As he finished speaking, the man to whom he referred said something to his companion beside him. There came a momentary lull in the noises of the depot, and the boys heard him remark in low, but clear tones: "We can make everything look regular. Derelicts are not uncommon, and I think we'll be able to fool him so that the cargo--" "Hush!" cautioned the other man. "Not so loud!" The noise in the station again drowned what the two men were saying, but the boys had heard enough. All three of them knew at once that the man who had spoken was the stranger who had acted so queerly in the Cresville freight office. If they had any doubts of it they were dispelled a moment later when the doorman called out: "All aboard for the western express!" As the man and his companion arose, the boys saw he was the same individual who had been so particular about the boxes of stuff he shipped to San Francisco. Before the three chums could make any comment the man and his companion were lost in the crowd that thronged to the door. "Come, boys," said the professor, closing his book. "That's our train." CHAPTER VII A BAD BREAK "THAT was queer, wasn't it?" said Jerry to his chums when they were seated in the train, moving swiftly toward the great west. "I wonder what he meant, and what he was doing out here?" "And I guess you can keep on wondering, for all the good it will do," commented Bob. "I couldn't make anything out of what they said, except that some ship might be lost. That's common enough." "I wonder what that stuff was that he shipped from the freight office?" mused Jerry. "Rat poison, maybe," replied Ned with a laugh. "I've heard there are lots of rats on ships, and maybe he has a patent stuff for getting rid of 'em." "It might be," agreed Jerry. "Well, as Bob says, there's no use wondering. Say, but this is pretty nice scenery," and he pointed to the view from the window, as they were passing along the shores of a lake. "Fine!" exclaimed Ned. "It ought to have some mountains around it, and it would look just like Lost Lake, where we found the hermit, that time." "Seems as if that was a good while ago," commented Bob, "but it wasn't so very." For several hours the boys discussed their past adventures, some of which were brought to their minds by views of the western country through which they were passing. Professor Snodgrass took no interest in anything except a big book which he was studying carefully, at times making notes on slips of paper, which had a tendency to drop into the aisle, or under the seat when he was not looking. In consequence the car, in the vicinity of where the professor sat, looked as though a theatrical snow-storm had taken place. One morning the boys awakened to find the train making fast time over a level stretch of country, with rolling hills here and there, covered with tall grass. Occasionally glimpses could be had of herds of cattle. "We're on the prairies!" exclaimed Bob, as he went to the lavatory to get ready for breakfast. "Say, now we're in the wild and woolly west, all right." "Well, it's not the first time," replied Jerry. "Still it does look good to see it again. It's a little different, traveling this way, than it was scooting along in our auto." "Yes, and I think I prefer the auto to this," spoke up Ned, yawning and stretching. "This is too lazy a way of journeying. I'd like to rough it a bit." "Rough it!" exclaimed Bob. "Wait until we get out in California, and we can sleep out doors, while the folks back home are tending the furnace fire." The three boys were just about to enter the lavatory when the train gave a sudden lurch, and then it began bumping along over the ties, swaying from side to side. Every window in the car rattled as if it would break, and the boys were so shaken up, that, to steady themselves, they had to grasp whatever was nearest. "We're off the track!" cried Ned. "This-- is-- roughing-- it-- all right!" said Jerry, the words coming out in jerks. "There's-- been-- an-- accident!" "A-- whole-- lot-- of-- 'em-- by-- the-- way-- it-- feels to-- me," declared Jerry. "I-- wonder--" Just then the train came to a stop, the car the boys were in being tilted at quite an angle. "Let's see what happened," suggested Bob, going to the door. His companions followed him, and, from various berths the passengers began emerging, in different stages of undress. They looked frightened. "Well, at any rate, none of us are killed," said Professor Snodgrass, as he came down the aisle, fully dressed, for he had arisen early to continue his reading about horned toads. "What is the matter, boys?" "We're just going to find out," said Jerry, as he went down the steps and walked along the track toward the engine, about which a crowd of passengers and train men were gathered. "What's the trouble?" asked Bob of a brakeman who was running toward the rear end of the train with a red flag. "I don't know exactly. Something wrong with the engine; I guess. I heard the conductor say it was a bad break." "Come on," said Jerry to his chums. "There doesn't seem to be anybody hurt, but it looks as if we were in for a long wait," and he pointed to several cars that were off the track, the wheels resting on the wooden ties. CHAPTER VIII HEMMED IN THE boys found a group of worried trainmen gathered about the engine, and it needed but a glance to show what the trouble was. The piston rod had broken while the ponderous engine was going at full speed, and the driving rods, which had broken off from where they were fastened to the wheels, had been driven deep into the ground. This had served to fairly lift the engine from the rails, and, in its mad journey it had pulled several cars with it. The piston rod, threshing about with nothing to hold it, had broken several parts of the engine, and some pieces of the driving rods had been hurled up into the cab, narrowly missing the engineer. "It sure is a bad break," said the fireman as he got down from the cab, after opening the door of the fire box, so that the engine would cool down. "Never saw a worse." "Me either," fairly growled the conductor. "Why couldn't it have held off a couple of hours more and we'd been near some place where we could telegraph for help." "You don't mean to say we are away out on the prairies not near a telegraph station, do you?" asked an excited man. "That's just what I do mean to say," replied the conductor. "I've got to send a brakeman on foot eight miles to wire the news of this accident." "You ought to have a telegraph instrument on the train," said the excited man. "This delay is a bad thing for me. If I don't arrive on time I'll sue the road. Why don't you have a telegraph instrument on the train?" "I don't know," replied the conductor wearily, for he realized he was now in for a cross-fire of all sorts of questions. "How long will we have to wait here?" asked another man. "It's hard to say. The brakeman will go as fast as he can, but it will take some time to get the wrecking crew here with a new engine, and then it will take some time to get all the cars back on the track." "Railroads oughtn't to have such accidents!" declared the excitable man. "I'll sue 'em, that's what I'll do. What made the piston rod break, conductor?" "Oh-- I guess it got tired of going in and out of the cylinder," retorted the conductor, starting towards the baggage car. "Humph! I'll report you for impertinence!" declared the now angry passenger, taking out his notebook and making a memorandum lest he forget the conductor's retort. "It's a disgrace the way this road is managed," he went on to the crowd of passengers that had gathered. "I'm going to write to the newspapers about it. They're always having accidents. Why, only last week, they run over a steer, somewhere in this locality, the engine was derailed, two cars smashed, the road bed torn up, baggage and express stuff scattered all over, everything upside down, topsy-turvy and--" "Was the steer killed?" asked a little boy, who was listening with opened mouth and eyes to the story the excited passenger was telling. "What!" fairly roared the man, and then, as he saw who had asked the question, he turned away, and there was a general laugh. "Do you think we'll be here long?" asked Bob of the colored porter of the sleeping car they had occupied. "Oh, yes, indeedy!" exclaimed the attendant, "If we gits on de move befo' night we'll be mighty lucky." "Then we've got to stay out here on the prairie all day," exclaimed Jerry. "Dat's what," spoke the negro as cheerfully as though that was the regular program. The other passengers were returning to their berths to finish dressing, and soon the excitement that followed the accident had almost disappeared. Breakfast was served, and there was nothing to do but to wait for the arrival of the wrecking crew. "What's the matter with taking a stroll across the prairie?" suggested Jerry, when the boys and the professor had finished their morning meal. "There's no fun sitting here in the car all day." "Good idea!" exclaimed Ned. "I'm with you. Maybe Chunky will be afraid to come, for fear train robbers will carry off the dining car while he's gone." "Oh, you let up!" retorted Bob. "You like to eat as much as I do." "Not quite as much, Chunky, but I admit I like my three square meals a day." "Where are you going, boys?" asked the professor, looking up from his book, as he saw the three chums leaving the car. "Out for a walk across the prairie," replied Ned. "Wait, and I'll go with you. I might get some new specimens. I must never waste an opportunity," and, placing in his pockets several small boxes to hold any possible captives he might get in his butterfly net, the scientist was ready. It was pleasant on the vast plain that stretched away in every direction from the derailed train. The sun was shining brightly, but not too warm, and there was a gentle breeze. "This is fine!" exclaimed Jerry. The boys and the professor strolled on for several miles, the three chums enjoying the walk very much, while Mr. Snodgrass was continually finding some new insect, or a flower, until his specimen boxes were full. "Well, we've come quite a distance," said Ned, as they got on top of a small hill and looked about. "We can't see the train anywhere. I guess we'd better be thinking of starting back." "Maybe we had," agreed Jerry. "But what's that dark line out there?" and he pointed to the horizon. "A cloud isn't it?" asked Bob. "It's too low, and it doesn't move like a cloud," objected Jerry. They watched it for some time, as it got larger and larger. "Why it's all around us!" suddenly exclaimed Bob. And so it was. The travelers were hemmed in by a peculiar, moving ring, that seemed to get smaller and smaller. "What do you think it is, Professor?" asked Ned. "That? Why-- er that is-- um-- curious, I can't just say what it is," replied Mr. Snodgrass. "I have a small telescope," said Ned, producing it from his pocket, "We'll take a look through it," and he adjusted it, focusing it on the dark ring, that was, every moment, growing closer and closer to the little group on the hill. CHAPTER IX A LUCKY ESCAPE "WHAT do you make it to be?" asked Jerry, as Ned was staring through the glass. "Cattle!" "Cattle?" "Yes, steers. Thousands of 'em. And they seem to be headed this way." "Let me take a look," said Jerry. "You're right," he added, after an inspection. "They seem to be coming on rather fast, too. I guess we'd better get out of here. Cattle on the prairies don't like to see persons who are not on horseback. They are not used to a man unless he's mounted, and I've read that a man on foot may cause a stampede." "I hope they don't run in this direction," remarked Bob. "It's going to be unpleasant for us if they do." "We'd better get out of here," advised Ned. "Come on, fellows." "That's easier said than done," retorted Jerry. "The cattle are all around us. I don't see how we're going to get through them. If we go too close we may stampede 'em at once, whereas, if we stay here, they may pass by us, or change their direction." "What's the matter with the cowboys?" asked Rob. "Why don't they head the animals the other way when they see we're right in the path?" "Probably the cattlemen are on the outer edges of the herd," said Jerry. "The cowboys can't see us, and they're simply driving the steers on." "But what makes them go in a circle?" asked Bob. "Probably the men are driving them all in to a central point to take account of stock, or something like that," was Jerry's answer. "But, instead of standing here talking of it we'd better be doing something. What do you advise, Professor?" Uriah Snodgrass, who had discovered some queer kind of a jumping bug in the grass, had lost all interest in the approaching steers, but, at this question, he looked up. "What did you ask?" he said, making a grab for the bug, and catching it. "What do you think we'd better do?" asked Ned. "This is getting serious." "What is? Oh, the steers. Why, they are getting a little too close, aren't they?" They were, for a fact, and the animals in the foremost ranks, catching sight of the little party on the hill, broke into awkward gallop. As far as the boys could see, they beheld nothing but waving tails, heaving heads, armed with long sharp horns, and the movement of brown bodies, as the thousands of steers came on with a rush. "We'd better--" began the professor, who was walking slowly along, his eyes fixed on the ground, in search for another of the queer bugs. "Look out!" he suddenly cried. "Stand back boys!" Hardly had he spoken than there sounded, high and shrill above the dull rumble of the oncoming cattle, a queer, buzzing noise. "Rattlesna " exclaimed Ned. "Yes, a whole nest of them, in a prairie dog's hole," added the professor. "I nearly stepped into them. There must be thirty or forty." The boys looked to where he pointed. There, in a sort of depression, near a little hollow, on the edge of what is called a prairie dog village, they saw an ugly wiggling mass, which, as their eyes became more used to the colorings, was seen to be a number of the deadly rattlesnakes. Several were coiled to strike, and had, in accordance with their habit, sounded their rattles. This had aroused the whole den, many snakes appearing from under ground, or crawling from beneath stones. "Come on! They'll chase us!" cried Bob. "Nonsense," replied the professor. "Rattlesnakes never attack man unless they are first disturbed. It wouldn't be advisable to go too close, but, as long as we don't molest them, we have nothing to fear from the snakes. I'd like to get a few specimens if I had the proper appliances for extracting their fangs. But I never saw so many in one place, before. It is quite interesting to watch--" The professor broke off suddenly, for the thunderous noise of the approaching steers was now louder. "They're coming right at us!" exclaimed Jerry. "Yes, and they've stampeded!" cried Ned. "We're in for it now!" The situation of the boys and the professor was extremely perilous. They were right in the path of the now frightened steers. The circle had been broken, by many animals, which had been approaching from the rear of the travelers, joining the beasts on either side, so that now a compact, dark mass of cattle, nearly a quarter of a mile wide, was surging ahead with great speed. "Run!" called Ned. "There's an opening at our backs now!" "You couldn't go a hundred feet before they'd overtake you!" shouted Jerry. "Let's see if we can't frighten 'em. Take off your hats, jump up and down, and yell like mad. If we can force 'em to separate and go on either side of us, we'll be all right!" He started to swing his hat in the air, and prepared to let out a series of yells in imitation of an Indian war-whoop. "Don't!" cried the professor quickly. "Why not?" asked Jerry. "It's the only way to stop 'em." "I know a better, and a surer way," replied the scientist. "Get the rattlesnakes between ourselves and the cattle! Those steers will never go near a rattlesnake den, no matter how frightened they are, nor how badly stampeded! Quick! Here they come!" The cattle were scarcely two hundred feet away, and were maddened by the sight of unmounted persons, something to which they were unaccustomed, and which thoroughly frightened them. The ground was trembling with their hoof-beats, and the rattle of the horns, as they clashed together, was like the murmur of cannibal tom-toms. The professor grabbed Bob, who was nearest him, and swung the boy around, so as to get the nest of rattlesnakes between them and the steers. Ned and Jerry followed. The snakes, now all aroused, were rattling away like half a hundred electric batteries working at once. Would the professor's ruse succeed? Would the steers be afraid to come over the deadly reptiles, to trample down the little group, which the animals probably took for some new species of enemy? These were questions which the boys waited anxiously to have answered. Nor did they have to wait long. The foremost of the steers came within a few feet of the rattlers. Then something seemed to stiffen the cattle. They tried to stop short, but the press of the beasts behind them would not permit of this. For a few seconds it looked as if the impetus of the cattle in the rear would shove the others on, in spite of their desire to stop. But now more of the foremost steers became aware of the den of snakes. Their instinct, their sense of smell, and, above all, hearing the rattling, told them the terrible danger that was in their path. More of the animals braced their forelegs to bring themselves to a stop, and all bellowed in terror. Then, almost as though an order had been given by some one in command, the ranks of steers parted, right at the point where the snakes were reared ready to strike. To right and left the cattle passed, increasing their speed as they became aware of the danger they were escaping. The boys and the professor stood on the little eminence of land, as if they were on an island in a sea of cattle. The angry snakes hissed and rattled, but did not glide away, or what had proved a source of safety for the travelers, might have been instrumental in their death. Right past them rushed the cattle, raising a dust that was choking. The four were enveloped in a yellow haze, as they stood huddled together. Then, the last of the steers galloped past, with a band of excited cowboys in the rear, vainly endeavoring to understand the cause of the stampede, and halt it. As they rode on like the wind, they waved their hands to the boys and Mr. Snodgrass. "Well, I guess we can move on now," said Jerry, as the last of the steers and cowboys was lost in a cloud of dust that accompanied them. "I've seen all the beef I want to for a long time." "That's the first time I ever knew rattlesnakes were good for anything," remarked Ned, as he backed away, with his eyes on the den of reptiles, as if afraid they would spring at him. "They are more feared by animals than any other snake in this country, I believe," said the professor. "Luck was certainly with us to-day." The professor successfully resisted a desire to capture some of the snakes for specimens, and soon, with the three boys, he was on his way back to the stalled train, though he did not make very fast progress for he was continually stopping to gather in some strange insect. It was long past dinner-time when the travelers got back, but they found they were not the only ones in this predicament, for a number of the passengers had beguiled the tediousness of the wait by going off across the prairie. "Let's get the porter to get us some sandwiches, and then we'll watch 'em get the train back on the track," suggested Jerry. CHAPTER X AT THE SEABURYS' THE wrecking crew had arrived shortly before the boys and the professor got back, and there was a big crowd of passengers and train men around the laborers. "Never mind eating," called Ned. "Come on, watch 'em. We can get a bite afterward." "Not for mine," sung out Bob, as he made a dive for the dining car. "I'll be with you pretty soon." "There he goes again," remarked Ned with a sigh. "I couldn't eat when there's any excitement going on. I want to see how they get the cars on the track." "So do I." said Jerry. They pressed on to where, by means of powerful hydraulic jacks, men were busy raising up the engine, which, because of its weight, had sunk quite deeply into the ground. The jacks were small, but one man worked the handle, which pumped water from one part of it to another, and elevated a piston, that, in turn was forced up with terrible pressure, thus raising one end of the ponderous locomotive. When the wheels were clear of the earth other men slipped under them some peculiar shaped pieces of iron, so arranged that when the locomotive was pulled or pushed ahead by another engine, the wheels would slip upon the rails. In turn each of the wheels of the engine and tender were so fixed. Then word was given the engineer of the relief train to back down and haul the derailed locomotive back on to the track. "All ready?" called the foreman of the wrecking crew. "All ready," replied the engineer. Jerry and Ned, in common with scores of others, were straining forward to watch every detail of the task. They wanted to see whether the locomotive would take to the rails, or slip off the inclined irons, and again settle down upon the ground. "Let her go, Bill," called the foreman to the engineer of the wrecking crew. There was a warning whistle, a straining of heavy chains, creakings and groanings from the derailed engine as if it objected to being pulled and hauled about, then the ponderous driving wheels began to turn slowly. "Stand clear, everybody!" cried the foreman. At that moment Bob came running up, using the back of his hand as a napkin for his lips. "There she goes!" was the loud cry. As the crowd looked, they saw the derailed and helpless engine give a sort of shudder and shake, mount the inclined pieces of iron, and then slide upon the rails, settling down where it belonged. "Hurrah!" cried the passengers, in recognition of a hard task well accomplished. "Well, I'm glad that's over," announced the foreman. "Now boys, hustle, and we'll get the cars on, and the line will be clear." It did not take long to get the cars on the rails, as they were lighter. The damaged engine was switched off to one side, some rails, which had been displaced when the train bumped off, were spiked down, and the wreck was a thing of the past. "All aboard!" called the conductor. "All aboard! Step lively now!" The relief engine was not a fast one, being built more for power than speed, and the train had to proceed along rather slowly. But the boys did not mind this, as they had plenty to talk about, and they were interested in the country through which they were traveling. They arrived at Los Angeles somewhat behind their schedule, and did not leave there as soon as they expected to, as Professor Snodgrass wanted to call on a scientific friend, to learn something about the best place to hunt for horned toads. "It's all right, boys," he announced, when he returned to the Los Angeles hotel, where the three chums had put up. "My friend says the vicinity of San Felicity, where you are going to call on the Seaburys, is a grand place for horned toads. Come, we will start at once." They found, however, that they would have to wait until the next day for a train. They started early the following morning, traveling through a stretch of country where it seemed as if it was always summer. Back home there had already been evidences of fall, before they left, but here there seemed to be no hint of approaching winter. "Oh, isn't this fine!" exclaimed Ned, breathing in the sweetly-scented air, as he stuck his head from the car window. "It's like reading about some fairy story!" "It's better than reading it," said Jerry. "It's the real thing." They arrived at San Felicity, shortly before noon. It was a very hot day, though the morning had been cool, and the boys began to appreciate the fact that they had come to a southern climate. There seemed to be no one at the little railroad station, at which they were the only passengers to leave the train. The train baggage man piled their trunks and valises in a heap on the platform, the engine gave a farewell toot, and the travelers were thus left alone, in what appeared a deserted locality. "There doesn't seem to be much doing," observed Jerry. "Let's see now, Nellie wrote that we were to take a stage to get to their house, but I don't see any stage. Wonder where the station agent is?" "Hark!" said the professor, raising his hand for silence. "What noise is that? It sounds as if it might be a horned toad grunting. They make a noise just like that." "I would say it sounded more like some one snoring," ventured Ned. "It is!" exclaimed Bob. "Here's the station agent asleep in the ticket office," and he looked in an open window, on the shady side of the platform. From the interior came the sounds which indicated a person in deep slumber. "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the professor. "I took him for a horned toad! I hope he didn't hear me." "No danger," remarked Jerry. "He's sound asleep. Even the train didn't wake him up." The four gazed in on the slumbering agent. Perhaps there was some mysterious influence in the four pairs of eyes, for the man suddenly awakened with a start, stared for a moment at the travelers gazing in on him, and then sat up. "Good day, señors!" he exclaimed, and they saw that he was a Mexican. "Do you wish tickets? If you do, I regret to inform you that the only train for the day has gone. There will be none until to-morrow," and he prepared to go to sleep again. "Here!" cried Jerry. "We don't want any, tickets! We want to find the way to Mr. Nathan Seabury's house, and to learn if there's a stage which goes there." "There is, señor," replied the agent, yawning, "but I doubt if the driver is here. He seldom comes to meet the train, as there are very few travelers. Will it not do to go to Señor Seabury's to-morrow, or next day, or the day after?" "Hardly," replied Jerry, who, as did the other boys, began to appreciate the Mexican habit of saying "mananna" which means "to-morrow," for the Mexicans have a lazy habit of putting off until to-morrow whatever they have to do to-day. "We want to go to-day, right away, at once, now!" "Ah, the señors are Americanos-- always in a hurry," answered the agent, but in no unfriendly manner. "Very well, I will see if Hop Sing has his stage here." "Hop Sing?" questioned Ned. "Yes, señor, he is a Chinaman. You will find him a very slow and careful driver." "Slow? I guess everything's slow down here," said Ned in a low voice. The agent came leisurely from his office, walked to the end of the platform, and, pointing toward a low shed, remarked: "That is where the stage is kept. I will call, and see if Hop Sing is there." Then he called, but in such a low tone, as if he was afraid he might strain his voice, that it did not seem as if he could be heard ten feet away. Jerry stood it as long as he could and then said: "I guess Hop Sing must be taking his noon nap. I'll go over and wake him up." "Ah, the señor is in a hurry," and the Mexican agent smiled as though that was a strange thing. "If he would wait an hour, or perhaps two, Hop Sing might awaken. Besides, to-morrow--" "Not for ours," said Ned. "We've got to go to-day." The agent shrugged his shoulders, and went back into his little office to resume his nap. Jerry walked over to the shed. "Hey! Hop Sing!" he called, as he approached. "Where's the stage?" "Want stage? Take lide? All lite! Me come! Chop-chop! Give number one, top-slide lide!" exclaimed a voice, and a small Chinaman jumped down from the stage seat, where, under the shade of the shed he had been sleeping, and began to untie the halters of the mules that were attached to the ram-shackle old vehicle. "Be lite out!" Hop Sing went on. "Me glive you click lide. Me go fast! You see! Chop-chop!" "All right, if the old shebang doesn't fall apart on the way," said Jerry with a laugh, as he saw the stage which the Celestial backed out of the shed. Certainly it looked as if it could not go many miles. "Come on!" called Jerry to Ned, Bob and the professor, who had remained on the platform. "I guess it's safe. The mules don't look as if they would run away." They piled into the aged vehicle, and Hop Sing, with a quickness that was in surprising contrast to the indolence of the Mexican agent, put their trunks and valises on top. "Now we glow click, you sabe?" he said, smiling from ear to ear. "Me know Mlister Seablury. Him number one man, top-slide," which was Hop Sing's way of saying that anything was the very best possible. The boys soon found that while Hop Sing might be a slow and careful driver, it was due more to the characters of the mules, than to anything else. The Chinese yelled at them in a queer mixture of his own language, Mexican and American. He belabored them with a whip, and yanked on the reins, but the animals only ambled slowly along the sunny road, as if they had a certain time schedule, and were determined to stick to it. "Can't they go any faster?" asked Ned. "Flaster?" asked Hop, innocently. "They Mlexican mules. No go flast. Me go flast, mules not," and he began jumping up and down in his seat, as if that would help matters any. He redoubled his yells and shouts, and made the whip crack like a pistol, but the mules only wagged their ears and crawled along. "I guess you'll have to let matters take their course while you're here," suggested the professor. "You can't change the habits of the people, or the animals." They did manage, after strenuous efforts on Hop's part, to get to the Seabury bungalow. It was in the midst of a beautiful garden, and a long walk led up to the house, around which was an adobe wall, with a red gate. Over the gate was a roof, making a pleasant shade, and there were seats, where one might rest. In fact some one was resting there as the stage drove up. He was a colored man, stretched out on his back, sound asleep. "Well, I wonder if they do anything else in this country but sleep?" asked Jerry. "Why-- that's Ponto, Mr. Seabury's negro helper," said Ned. "Hello, Ponto. All aboard the Wanderer!" "What's dat? Who done call me?" and the colored man sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes. "Who says Wanderer? Why dat boat--" Then he caught sight of the travelers. "Why, I 'clar' t' gracious!" he exclaimed. "Ef it ain't dem motor boys an' Perfesser Snowgrass!" "How are you, Ponto?" sang out Bob. "Fine, sah! Dat's what I is! Fine. I 'clar' t' gracious I'se glad t' see yo'! Git down offen dat stage! It'll fall apart in anoder minute! Go long outer heah, yo' yellow trash!" and Ponto shook his fist at Hop Sing. "Wha' fo' yo' stan' 'round heah, listen' t' what yo' betters sayin'." "I guess I'd better pay him," said Jerry, and settled with the Celestial, who drove slowly off. "Now come right in!" exclaimed Ponto. "I were-- I were jest thinkin' out dar on dat bench-- yais, sah, I were thinkin', an' fust thing I knowed I was 'sleep. It's a turrible sleepy country, dat's what 'tis, fer a fact. I'se gittin' in turrible lazy habits sence I come heah. But come on in. Massa Seabury, he'll be powerful glad t' see yo'. So'll th' young ladies. Dey was sayin' only las' night, dat it seemed laik dem boys nevah goin' t' come. But heah yo' be! Yais, sah, I were jest thinkin' out on dat bench--" But Panto's rambling talk was suddenly interrupted by a glad cry from the shrubbery. Then there came a rush of skirts, and the boys saw three girls running toward them. "Here they are, dad!" called Nellie. "Here are the boys and Professor Snodgrass! Oh, we're so glad you came! Welcome to 'The Next Day'! That's what we've christened our bungalow, in honor of this lazy country. Come on in," and she ran up to Jerry, holding out her hands. CHAPTER XI AFTER HORNED TOADS OLIVIA and Rose, as had Nellie, warmly welcomed the boys and Professor Snodgrass, and, Mr. Seabury coming up a moment later, from his usual stroll about the garden, added his greetings. "We're very glad to see you," said the gentleman. "Come right in and make yourselves comfortable. We have more room than we had on the houseboat Wanderer. I'll have your baggage-- where is that black rascal, Ponto?-- Ponto!" "Yais, sah, I'se coming," called a voice, and Ponto who had gone back to the gate appeared, rubbing his eyes. "Ponto, take these-- why, you-- you've been asleep again, I do believe-- Ponto--" "I-- I done gone an' jest dozed off fo' a minute, Massa Seabury," said Ponto. "I 'clar' t' goodness, dis am de most sleepiest climate I eber see. Peers laik I cain't do nuffin, but shet mah eyes an'--" "Well if you don't do something mighty quick with this baggage I'll find some way of keeping you awake," spoke Mr. Seabury, but he was laughing in spite of himself. "Yais, sah, I'se goin' t' take keer of it immejeet, sah," and the colored man went off in search of a wheelbarrow, on which to bring the trunks and valises up to the house from where they had been put off the stage. "I never saw such a chap," said Mr. Seabury. "Before we came down here he was as spry as I could wish, but now he does just as the Mexicans do. He sleeps every chance he gets. But come on in. I know you must be tired and hungry." "Bob is," said Jerry. "I heard him say a while ago--" "No, you didn't hear me say anything," exclaimed Bob quickly, fearful lest he might be put to shame before the girls. "I'm not a bit hungry." "Fibber!" whispered Ned, though not so low but what they all heard, and the girls burst into laughter. "Never mind," spoke Olivia. "Come on, Bob. I'll take care of you. The cook and I are great friends," and the girl and Bob walked on ahead. "I suppose you came out here to study some new kind of plant or flowers, didn't you?" asked Mr. Seabury, of the professor. "Not exactly," replied the scientist, "though I shall examine them with much interest. What I came down for was to secure some specimens of horned toads for the museum. I--" "Horned toads!" exclaimed Nellie, who was walking with Jerry, while Rose had volunteered to show Ned the beauties of the Mexican garden. "Horned toads! Ugh! The horrible things. I hope you don't bring them around where I am, Professor. Horned toads! Why don't you search after something beautiful, like the wonderful butterfly you found in Florida?" "A horned toad is just as beautiful as a butterfly," said Mr. Snodgrass gravely. "The only difference is, people don't appreciate the toad. I do, and, some day, I hope to write a history of that creature. I have my notes ready for the first volume, which will be a sort of introduction." "How many volumes do you expect to write?" asked Mr. Seabury, curiously. "Twelve," replied the scientist calmly. "Even then I will have to omit much that is of interest. But I hope, in twelve, large books, to be able to convey some idea of horned toads, as well as some information about the other species." "Twelve volumes! I should hope so!" murmured Mr. Seabury. By this time the travelers were at the bungalow. It was a well-arranged affair, quite large, and set in the midst of a beautiful garden, with rambling paths, and shady bowers, while the whole place was enclosed by a mud or adobe wall. All around the bungalow was a wide veranda, and in the center courtyard was a small fountain, with a jet of water spurting up from the middle of a large shell. "Isn't this fine!" exclaimed Jerry, and the other boys agreed it was. "Yes, we like 'The Next Day' very much," said Nellie. "It was my idea to call it that. From the very moment we arrived, and wanted something done, about the only answer we could get was 'to-morrow,' 'Mananna' or 'the next day,' so I decided that would be a good name for the bungalow." "Indeed it is," declared the professor. "But you have a most delightful place, and I should like to spend many 'next days' here. I hope your health is better, Mr. Seabury?" "Considerably so, sir. I find the air here agrees with my nerves and rheumatism much better than in Florida. I have hopes of entirely recovering. But let us go inside, I think luncheon is ready." It was and, in the cool dining-room, within sound of the tinkling fountain, they ate a hearty meal, Bob demonstrating in his usual fashion that he was quite hungry. The girls took turns in explaining their experiences since coming to California. The bungalow, which they rented, was on the outskirts of the village of San Felicity, which was part of what had once been an old Mexican town. It was located on the shores of a secluded bay, and the bungalow was about ten minutes' walk from the water. "Do you think there are any horned toads around here?" asked the professor, when the meal was finished, and they had gone out on the veranda. "I don't know, I'm sure," replied Mr. Seabury. "I'll ask Ponto, he knows everything there is to be known about this place. Ponto! I say, Ponto!" "Yais, sah, I'se comin' sah!" and from somewhere in the depths of the garden the voice sounded. A moment later the colored man appeared, trying to hide a broad yawn. "Ponto, do you know-- well, I declare, if you haven't been asleep again!" "I-- I-- er-- I jest was weedin' de garden, Massa Seabury, an' I done felt so warm dat I jest closed mah eyes, jest fo' a second, not a minute longer, no sah, not a minute. Guess I knows better dan t' go t' sleep when yo' got company sah!" and Ponto looked very much hurt at the accusation. "Well, Ponto, I suppose you can't help it. Do you happen to know where there are any horned toads?" "Horned toads! Good lan', Massa Seabury! No sah! I ain't got none!" "I didn't suppose you had. Do you know whether there are any around here?" "Well, I doan know ef dey has horns or not, but de oder day, when I were comin' home from goin' t' ole Mexican Pete's shanty after some red peppers, I seen some horrible kind of thing hoppin' along ober de sand. I-- I didn't stop t' look an' see ef he had horns, but I s'pects he had, cause he were kind of diggin' in de sand." "That's the toad all right!" exclaimed the professor, joyfully. "Where is the place? Take me out there right away, Ponto." "Take you out dere, Perfesser?" "Yes, right away." "I-- I s'pects I'd better go back an' 'tend t' mah weedin'!" exclaimed Ponto, looking as pale as a colored man can. look. "Weeds grow powerful fast in dis climate. Dey'll choke de flowers in about an hour. I'se got t' 'tend t' 'em immejeet, sah. I ain't got no time t' go huntin' horned toads. I hopes you'll 'scuse me, sah," and with that Ponto was gone, walking faster than he had at any time since the travelers arrived. "He's afraid," said Rose, with a laugh. "I'm not. Come on, Professor, I'll show you where Ponto means, and maybe we can find some horned toads." "Let's all go," proposed Jerry. "I will, if you'll promise not to let the horrible things come near me," said Nellie, and Jerry promised. Mr. Seabury declared he would rather rest on the veranda than hunt horned toads, so the three boys and the trio of girls, with the professor, who armed himself with specimen boxes and a small net, set off after the curious reptiles. A short distance from the bungalow there was a sort of sandy stretch, where little grew in the way of vegetation, and there, Rose explained, was probably where Ponto had seen the toads. They headed toward it, the scientist eagerly looking on the ground, for a first sight of the specimens he had come so far to seek. CHAPTER XII A STRANGE MEETING "I GUESS Ponto must have been asleep when he was walking along here, and dreamed he saw those toads," commented Ned, after the party had covered a considerable part of the sandy stretch without getting a glimpse of the ugly reptiles. "That's too bad!" exclaimed the professor. "I had hopes of finding one here." "Oh!" suddenly screamed Rose. "There's one!" "Where?" asked the scientist eagerly. "Right there, by that stone. I saw it jump. Oh, girls, I'm going to run!" "And she said she wasn't afraid of them!" cried Nellie. The professor cautiously approached with his net outstretched. With a long stick he turned the boulder over, and made a quick movement with his net, imprisoning something beneath it. "I've got it!" he cried. "I have the horned toad!" Holding his captive down beneath the net, he leaned forward on his knees, to get a better view. Over his face came a look of disappointment. "It's only a harmless lizard," he said, "and not one of the web-footed variety, either. That's too bad. I thought I had my toad." "I'm glad, Professor," said Rose. "Oh, no," she added quickly, "I'm sorry for you, but I'm glad it wasn't a horned toad so close to me." The professor raised the net and the lizard scurried away, probably very much frightened, and wondering what all the excitement was about. "Let's go over this way," suggested Ned. "That looks as if it might be a good place for toads," and he pointed to where there was a clump of trees. "Can you tell where horned toads like to stay?" asked Olivia. "No," replied Ned, in a low voice, "but it's shady over there, and this sun, beating down on the sand, is very hot. I wanted to get where it's cool, and, anyhow, there's just as liable to be horned toads there as anywhere. If he doesn't find a toad he'll find something else that will make him nearly as happy, so it's all the same." "Isn't he a queer man," said Olivia, as they followed along behind Mr. Snodgrass, who was walking ahead, closely scanning the ground. "He is, but he's a good friend of ours," replied Ned. "He is very much in earnest over his collection of insects and reptiles, and, though he acts queerly at times, he is one of the best men in the world." "I'm sure he must be," agreed Olivia. "I like him very much. I hope he stays a long time, and I hope you boys do also. It's quite lonesome here, with nothing but Mexicans and Chinese for the main part of the population." "We'll stay as long as you let us," said Ned. "We can have fine times," went on the girl. "We can go boating on the little bay, and take trips off into the country. We, ourselves, haven't seen much of it yet, as papa was not feeling well when we first came, and we had to stay home and care for him. But he is better now, and we can go on little excursions. Ned's harmless trick to get the party to a shady spot was successful. The professor headed for the little clump of trees looking, the while, for a horned toad, but he saw none of the queer creatures. "My, but it's hot!" exclaimed Bob, as he sat down on the ground. "Oh, it will be worse than this, some days," said Rose. "We are getting used to it. But suppose we go down to the seashore? It's not far, and there is a very pretty view." "Perhaps I can get a horned toad there," put in the professor hopefully. After a short rest in the shade the little party headed for the beach. As they came in sight of it from a small hill, the boys uttered exclamations of delight, for a beautiful expanse of water was stretched out before them,-- the Pacific ocean sparkling blue in the sun. "Oh, for our motor boat!" exclaimed Jerry. "Oh, for the Dartaway! Couldn't we have fine sport in her, out on that bay!" "Don't speak of it!" said Ned with a groan. "What, is the Dartaway lost?" asked Rose. "Gone! Busted! Smashed!" exclaimed Bob, and the boys all tried to talk at once, telling of the disaster that had befallen their craft. "It's too bad," declared Olivia. "But never mind. We have a couple of rowboats, and maybe you can hire a little sailing skiff." "It wouldn't be the Dartaway," answered Bob, with a sigh. "That boat had the nicest little kitchen in it--" "So, that's all you cared about her for-- the kitchen-- where you could cook something to eat!" exclaimed Jerry. "Chunky, I'm ashamed of you; that's what I am!" "Well, I-- er-- I--" began Bob. "Oh, come on," he continued, and led the way down to the beach, where there were some bathing pavilions and several houses. The professor was walking along behind, in the vain hope of yet discovering a horned toad, perhaps on its way to get a dip in the surf or drink some salt water. "I think you'll like some chocolate," said Nellie, as the boys were in front of a little refreshment booth. "It is made by a Mexican--" She stopped, for she saw that the boys were not listening to her. Their attention was drawn to a man who was just coming from the place they were going in. The boys could not help staring at him, for he was the man who had acted so strangely in the freight depot at Cresville. CHAPTER XIII A QUEER STORY FOR several seconds the boys and the man stared at one another. The stranger did not seem to be the least bit embarrassed but, on the contrary, was smiling in a genial manner. "Is he a friend of yours?" asked Nellie, of Jerry. "Well, not exactly what you could call a friend," was the answer. "We don't even know his name," and he spoke in a low voice. "We saw him back in Cresville, just before we started out west, and he was acting in a strange manner. We thought--" "Excuse me," suddenly interrupted the strange man, advancing toward the group of boys and girls, "but haven't I seen you lads before? Your faces are very familiar." "We saw you in the Cresville freight office," declared Ned boldly. "Exactly! I knew it was somewhere. I remember now. I was there attending to some goods that had to be shipped in a hurry. I'm glad you remembered me. To think that I should meet you away out here! It's a small world, isn't it?" and he smiled, but there was something in his smile, in his looks and in his manner that the boys did not like. Neither did the girls, for, as Nellie said afterward, he acted as though he wanted to make friends so you would not be suspicious of him. "Shake hands, won't you?" asked the man, advancing closer to the boys. "My name is Carson Blowitz, and though it sounds foreign I was born in this country. I travel around so much I can't give you any particular place as my residence." There was no way without being rude of avoiding shaking hands with the man, and, though there was something in his manner that caused the boys to feel a distrust of him, they were not going to be impolite on mere suspicion. They shook hands with Mr. Blowitz, and Jerry introduced himself, his chums, the young ladies and Professor Snodgrass, and told, briefly, the object of their trip. "Well isn't that nice, now," said Mr. Blowitz, when Jerry had finished. "The professor comes out here to hunt horned toads, and you lads come to hunt adventures, Mr. Seabury comes out here in search of health and I-- well, I'm out here on a sort of hunt myself." "Are you interested in science?" asked Mr. Snodgrass eagerly. "Perhaps you and I might go off together after horned toads and web-footed lizards. Or, if you care for snakes, or insects, I think I can show you where there are plenty." "No, no," said Mr. Blowitz, with a laugh, which he tried to make sound hearty by the mere noise of it. "No, I'm on a different sort of a search. In fact it's quite a queer story-- perhaps you would like to hear it. In fact, I'm hunting for a lost ship." "A lost ship!" exclaimed Bob. "Well, one that was abandoned just before she sank, and that's about the same thing. It was abandoned quite a way out, but off this part of the coast. There is a current setting in towards shore, at this point, I'm told, and I thought I might get some news of her, or find some of the wreckage floating in on the beach. That's why you find me here." "What ship is it?" asked Ned, interested in spite of the aversion he and the others felt toward Mr. Blowitz. "It is a brig, Rockhaven by name. But suppose we go inside'? It is rather warm out here in the sun, and I'm not quite used to this climate yet. Won't you come in and have some chocolate with me? They have a very nice drink in here, and I--" "It's my treat," interrupted Bob. "No; if I may be so bold as to insist, you must be my guests this time," went on Mr. Blowitz. "It is not often that I see lads away off east and meet them a little later, in California, so I must have the pleasure of their company for a little while. The young ladies too-- I'm very fond of young ladies," and Mr. Blowitz smiled in a manner that Rose characterized later as "ugly," though just why she thought so she couldn't explain. There was no way of getting gracefully out of the invitation, and so the crowd of young people and the professor accompanied Mr. Blowitz into the refreshment booth. They went out into the shaded courtyard, where a fountain of splashing water at least gave the effect of coolness, if it did not really make it so. They sat at small tables, and were served with cold chocolate and sweet cakes, by a pretty Mexican girl. Bob wanted to pay for the treat but Mr. Blowitz would not hear of it. In fact he played the host in such a genial way, and seemed so anxious to make every one have a good time, that the boys were rather ashamed of their first opinion of him. Even Rose whispered to Bob that "he was not so bad, when you got acquainted with him." "Now I suppose you would like to hear the story of the abandoning of the brig Rockhaven," said Mr. Blowitz, and the boys nodded. "I hope no one was drowned," exclaimed Olivia. "Not as far as we know," replied Mr. Blowitz. "The whole affair is rather mysterious, and I am seeking information about the fate of the ship as much as anything else." "I would like to ask you one question," said Professor Snodgrass, who had been more interested in the antics of a small bug, walking on the table, than he was in his chocolate. "What is it?" inquired Mr. Blowitz. "Did you, or any of your men notice whether, just before the ship sank, that all the rats on board deserted it?" asked the scientist. "I have often heard that rats will desert a sinking ship, and I would like to know whether it is true. If you made any observations to that effect I wish you would tell me about them, and I can put them into a book I am writing about rats and mice." "I thought you were writing about horned toads," said Bob. "So I am, but this is another book. This will be in seventeen volumes, with colored plates. I want to get all the information I can, about rats." "I'm sorry that I can't help you," replied Mr. Blowitz. "In fact I know little about the abandoning of the brig, except what I heard. I was not aboard, and I don't know whether the rats left it or not. All I know is that the vessel is lost, and with a fortune aboard." "A fortune aboard?" inquired Ned. "Yes, worth about a quarter of a million." "Is it gold or diamonds?" asked Rose, who was very fond of jewelry and precious stones. "Neither one, my dear young lady," said Mr. Blowitz, with as happy a smile as he could assume. "It is valuable merchandise. Of course there was some money, and some valuable papers, but the main part of the cargo was costly merchandise. I'll tell you how it happened. But first, let us have some more chocolate," and he called to the Mexican girl waiter. When the cups had been filled Mr. Blowitz resumed his story. "I am interested in many enterprises," he said, "and I and some other men went into a venture to ship some valuable goods to the Santa Barbara islands, which are not far off this coast. I was the principal owner, having bought out my partner, and it looked as if I would make a large sum. "The vessel sailed from San Francisco, and as the weather was fine, we looked for a quick trip. I was attending to some of my other business affairs, having just arrived on this coast from Boston, when I received a telegram from the captain of the brig, telling me that she had been abandoned with everything on board. Of course there must have been an accident. Probably there was a collision, or fire on board, so that the brig was in a sinking condition. At any rate the captain, and, I suppose the crew, also, left her. That's why I can't tell whether they were all saved, though I assume so, as nothing was said about any one being lost. "The captain, it appears, was picked up By another vessel, and landed at a small coast town. He sent me the telegram from there, and I forwarded him money to come to San Francisco, to meet me. But, for some reason, he did not arrive, and so I decided to come down here, and see if I could get any news of the ship and the valuable cargo. Of course, if the ship sank at once that is the end of her, but, if she broke up, there is a chance of some parts of her, and perhaps some of the cargo, being washed ashore. At any rate I would like to get some news of her, that I might collect the insurance, if nothing else. "So that's why I'm here. I arrived yesterday, but, so far, I have been unable to obtain any news of the brig. I left word for the captain to join me here, and he may arrive at any time. I am glad to have met you, for it will not be so lonesome now." "I hope you have good luck," said Nellie, as she arose to leave the place. "I think we must be going now," she added to her sisters. "Papa might worry about us." "Give Mr. Seabury my regards," said Carson Blowitz, "and tell him I shall do myself the honor of calling on him soon, to pay my respects. As for you young people, I shall see you again, I hope. I am going to hire a boat and cruise about in search of my brig-- if I don't get some news soon-- and perhaps you might like to go along." "Perhaps," replied Jerry, as he and his chums followed the girls out of the place. Mr. Blowitz remained in the courtyard, drinking chocolate, and, as the little party was leaving Ned looked back. He saw their recent host pull a bundle of papers from his pocket, and, spreading them on the table in front of him, closely scan them. "I don't like that man," declared Nellie, when they were out of hearing. She was very frank in her statements. "Neither do I," said Jerry, "though he was nice enough to us." "He has a strange manner," commented Olivia. "And that was a queer story he told of the abandoning of the brig," went on Bob. "I wonder if he made it up, or if it's true? It seems strange that the captain would leave his ship, and not give a reason for it." "There's some mystery back of it, I think," was the opinion of Rose. "The less we have to do with Mr. Carson Blowitz, the better it will be, I think." "Well, we're not likely to see much of him." said Jerry. But in this opinion he was mistaken. They were to see and hear much of him, as later events proved. CHAPTER XIV IN A MOTOR BOAT SEVERAL days after this, during which time the boys had, under the escort of the three girls, visited many places of interest, Rose suggested they make a trip on the bay. "But what can we go in?" asked Bob. "We haven't any boat." "We have several rowing skiffs," said Nellie. "I know they are not as fine as your Dartaway, but you can have a nice time. The fishing is good, and it is very pleasant on the water." "It would be pleasant wherever you girls were," said Ned, with an attempt at gallantry. "Thank you!" exclaimed Nellie, making a low, bow. "You're improving, Ned," remarked Jeer, critically. "In time you'll be able to go out in polite society." "Oh, is that so'?" remarked Ned, sarcastically, "Thank you." "You're welcome," retorted Jerry, bowing low. "Oh, stow that away for use at some future time," advised Bob. "Come on, if we're going out in a boat." There was a little wharf, at which the Seaburys kept a couple of rowboats, and, as six were too many to go into one craft, Nellie and Jerry occupied the smaller, while Bob and Ned, Olivia and Rose, got into the other. "Where shall we go?" asked Ned. "Oh, row around anywhere," replied Jerry. "We'll have to get used to oars, we haven't handled 'em in quite a while." The boys soon found that the skill with which they had formerly used the ashen blades, before the era of their motor boat, was coming back to them, and they sent the skiffs around the bay at fairly good speed, the two crafts keeping close together. "This is something like work," announced Jerry, as he rested on his oars, and let the boat drift with the tide, which was running in. "That's what it is," declared Ned. "I wish--" "Thank you!" exclaimed Olivia. "I'm sure we're very sorry that we have given you so much work. We didn't know we were so heavy; did we girls?" "No, indeed!" chimed in Rose. "If you will kindly row us back to shore, we'll get out and you boys can go where you please. Work! The idea!" "Oh, I say now!" cried Ned, alarmed at the effect of his words. "I didn't mean-- Jerry didn't mean-- we--" "Of course not!" added Jerry. "I only said--" "You said it was hard work to row us around," declared Nellie in rather icy tones. "Well I meant-- you see since we had a motor boat-- that is I-- we-- it's rather--" "Now don't try to get out of it and make it worse," advised Olivia. "We know what you said, and what you meant." "I didn't say anything," put in Bob, with an air of virtue. "Good reason," declared Jerry. "You're so busy eating that cocoanut candy that you didn't have time to speak. Besides you're not rowing." "Oh, has he got cocoanut candy!" cried Nellie. "Give me some and we'll forgive you for the rude way you and Ned spoke, Jerry. Won't we girls?" "Of course," chorused Olivia and Rose. "I-- I didn't know you cared for cocoanut candy," declared Bob, rather ashamed that he had not, before this, offered the girls some. "Oh, don't we though!" exclaimed Nellie. "Just you pass some over and you'll see, Bob," for the two boats had drifted close together. Bob, who had purchased a big bag full of the confection, before they had started for the row, passed it over, and the girls helped themselves generously. "Take it all," advised Ned, who, perhaps, felt a little vindictive at Bob, because of that youth's lucky escape from displeasing the girls by unfortunate remarks. "No, thank you, we don't want to rob him," said Olivia. At that moment a shrill whistle sounded just behind the rowboats and the girls turned around to see what it was. Ned and Jerry, from the position in which they sat to handle the oars had seen a motor boat approaching, and they had stopped using the blades to watch its approach. "Oh, that's the Ripper!" exclaimed Rose. "And Charlie Farson is all alone in her. Maybe he'll give us a ride." "Who is Charlie Farson?" asked Jerry of Nellie. "He's a friend of Rose. He lives in San Francisco, but he is staying with his uncle at a bungalow about two miles from where we are. He owns that motor boat, and it's the biggest and fastest on this part of the coast. Sometimes he takes us out with him. I hope he does so now. He's headed right this way." "Um," grunted Jerry, not altogether pleased that a young fellow with a motor boat should come along, and claim the girls who, of course, would naturally prefer a power craft to one propelled by oars. Rose waved her handkerchief and, in answer the captain of the Ripper sent out three shrill blasts as a salute. "Oh, isn't that fine! He's coming over here!" exclaimed Rose. "I'll introduce you boys to him." Neither Ned nor Bob looked very pleased at the prospect of meeting a youth who might be a rival in entertaining the girls, but there was no help for it. On came the Ripper, and, as she approached, the motor boys could not help admiring her. The craft was powerful and swift, much more so than the Dartaway had been. It was considerably larger, too, and had an enclosed cabin. "That's a dandy!" exclaimed Jerry in spite of himself. "It's a peach!" was Ned's half-spoken comment. "All to the mustard!" came Bob's characteristic comment. "Want a ride, or a tow?" called Charlie Farson, when he got within hailing distance, and he slowed down his craft. "I guess we'll ride, if you'll tow our boats," replied Rose, for she knew the young fellow fairly well. "All right, come aboard." By this time the Ripper was quite close, and, in another moment it had come alongside of the boat containing Rose, Olivia, Ned and Bob. "These are some friends of ours from the east," said Rose, introducing Ned and Bob, "There's another one, in that boat with Nellie," she went on, telling Jerry's name. "I'm sure I'm glad to meet you all," said Charlie Farson, with such good nature, that the boys could feel no resentment toward him. "Come aboard, and we'll go for a spin. I guess it will be best to anchor your two boats here and you can pick them up when we come back. We can make better time then." "Oh, your boat always makes good time," complimented Nellie, as she made her way to the cabin of the Ripper. "That's the only objection I have. You run her so fast that if you ever hit anything it would sink your boat before you had time to jump overboard." "But I'm not going to hit anything," declared Charlie. He tied the two rowboats together, the other boys helping him, and then anchored them with a small, spare kedge he carried on his craft. "All ready?" he asked, looking to see that his passengers were comfortably seated. "Already, Captain Charlie," answered Rose. "Here we go then," and Charlie threw in the dutch of the engine, that had not ceased working, The Ripper fairly flew away, so suddenly that Bob, who was near the stern, nearly toppled overboard. "Look out!" cried Charlie. "Oh, I'm looking out now," said Bob. "Say, but she can go!" "Yes, she has some speed," modestly admitted Charlie. He turned on more gasolene and advanced the spark still further, so that the boat increased her rate, piling up waves of white foam on either side. They had a fine trip about the bay, the girls and boys thoroughly enjoying themselves, the latter being particularly interested in the engine part of the craft. The motor boys told the other lad of the Dartaway and how the craft had been destroyed. "My, but I certainly would like to run this boat," announced Jerry with a sigh. "She's a dandy!" "Maybe you'll get the chance," said Charlie. "The chance? How? What do you mean?" asked Jerry, while his two chums eagerly waited for Charlie's answer. CHAPTER XV CAUGHT IN THE FOG "WELL," replied Charlie as he sent the Ripper around in a big circle, "you see it's this way. I came down here expecting to stay with my uncle until Spring. I was going to learn how to raise oranges. I received word this morning that I would have to go back to my home in San Francisco. My father needs me there, because of a change in his business, and I've got to go." "That's too bad!" exclaimed Rose. "I guess you are thinking more of his motor boat than you are of Charlie," said Nellie, with a laugh at her sister. "I was not!" declared Rose, indignantly. "Well, I've got to leave my boat here," went on Charlie. "Leave it here!" repeated Olivia. "Yes, and I'm looking for some one to take charge of it while I'm gone." "Take charge of it!" exclaimed Ned and Bob at once, while a joyous look came into Jerry's eyes. "What I mean," said Charlie, "is that I would hire it out. I think that would be a better plan than merely to loan it to some one, for there is a chance that it might be damaged, and would have to be repaired, and, if I got a reasonable rent for it that would cover such a mishap." "Would you hire it to us?" asked Jerry anxiously. "I was thinking of that," answered the owner of the Ripper. "I heard from my friend, Rose," and he looked at the girl, "that you boys had had some experience with motor boats. I had rather hire mine out to some one who knew about machinery, than to persons who would have to learn. So, if we can make some deal, you may have a chance to run this boat. I've got to go to San Francisco in about a week." "We'll take the boat," said Jerry quickly, "that is--" "Oh, you needn't be afraid I'll ask too much money for her," interposed Charlie. "All I want is enough to pay for any possible damages, and for reasonable wear and tear. We'll talk it over later." "Say, isn't that glorious!" whispered Ned to Bob. "Think of having a motor boat, and cruising on the Pacific! We're getting to be like Sinbad the sailor, making voyages all over." "Yes, but maybe he'll want a small fortune for the hire of the Ripper," objected Bob. "We haven't any too much money, for this trip was rather costly." "If we could get damages for the Dartaway, we--" "Yes, but 'if' is a big word, even though it only has two letters," replied Bob quickly. "However, we'll do our best to get the Ripper during our stay here, and we'll take the girls out for some nice rides." "That's what we will." Charlie speeded his boat about the bay for some time longer, and then; as the girls said they thought they had better go home, he put back, picked up the anchored boats, and the motor boys and their hosts were soon rowing to shore. "Come over any evening, Charlie," called Rose. "Yes, come to-night," urged Jerry. "We can talk over the boat proposition then." "I'll be there," replied the Ripper's skipper, as he put about and went whizzing over the blue waters of the bay. When the young people entered the gateway they saw Ponto stretched out on the bench in the shade, fast asleep. "Wait a minute," said Rose. "I'll play a trick on him." She stole softly up, and, with a long piece of grass tickled the old colored servant on the ear. He put up his hand and sat up with a start. "I 'clar' t' goodness!" he said, "I were jest waitin' fo' yo', an' I close mah eyes, jest fo' one little second, but dis atmosphere am so slumberous dat, 'fore I knows it, I'm sort of noddin'." "I guess you were more than nodding," said Olivia. "But why were you waiting for us, Ponto?" "'Deed an' I didn't no mo' dan nod, Miss Olivia, dat's what I didn't. But I'se been waitin' heah a pow'ful long time, an' I jest natcherly done gone an' fell t' noddin'." "But what were you waiting for?" persisted Olivia. "Dis letter," replied the colored man. "Massa Seabury done tole me t' give it t' one ob de young gentlemen what had de motor boat. He say it come from Cresville, an' it might be important, so I done set heah waitin', but I done forgot which young gentlemen he tole me t' gib it to." "Let me see it," said Rose, and she looked at the envelope. "It's for you, Jerry," she declared, "and it's from some railroad company. It's been sent on here from Cresville." "Maybe it's about damages to our boat," said Bob. And so it proved. The letter announced that an investigation had been made of the wreck in which the Dartaway was smashed, that the claim department of the Florida Coast Railway Company admitted their liability, and were prepared to pay damages. They enclosed in the letter a check for the value of the boat, as declared by Jerry at the time of the shipment. "Hurrah!" cried Ned. "That's the stuff!" "Well, it's the end of the Dartaway," observed Jerry. "Poor old boat! I suppose we had better accept this sum, and not sue, eh?" and he looked at his chums. "Sure," replied Bob. "If we sued it would take a good while to collect, and if we got a larger sum we'd have to pay the lawyers. Let's take this money and hire the Ripper." "I don't believe you'll need all that," interposed Rose. "That's quite a sum, and Charlie will surely not ask as much as that for the hire of his boat." "Well, if he does we'll pay it," decided Jerry. "I want to cruise on the Pacific, and this seems to be the only way we can do it. We'll have a motor boat trip, even of the Dartaway is out of commission." Charlie came over to "The Next Day" bungalow that night and in a short time he and the motor boys had arrived at a business arrangement regarding the hiring of the Ripper. Charlie only asked a small sum as rental, much less than the amount of damages received, so that the travelers had plenty left for other purposes. "And now the boat is yours, as long as you stay here," said Charlie, when the final details had been arranged. "I know you will take good care of her." "Of course we will," answered Jerry, "and, if you find, after you get to San Francisco, that you have a chance to come back, we'll give her up to you." "There's no such good luck as my coming back this season," said Charlie. Early the next morning he brought the craft to the Seabury dock, where it was run in the small boathouse. Then, having explained to the boys some minor details of the engine, which was different and more powerful than the one they were used to, Charlie took his departure, having had another letter from his father asking him to hurry to San Francisco. "I hope you will have a good time," said the Ripper's owner, as he bade the boys and girls good-bye. "Don't get into any dangerous adventures, especially with the girls on board." "We'll not," promised Jerry, but he did not know how soon Charlie's warning was to be fulfilled. "Well, what do you girls say to a ride?" asked Jerry when Charlie had gone, and they stood looking at the powerful boat. "Do you think you boys can run her?" asked Nellie. "Run her? Well, I guess we can," declared Ned. "Didn't we tackle the Atlantic in the Dartaway, a smaller boat than this?" asked Bob, "and isn't the Atlantic worse than the Pacific?" "I don't believe it is, a bit," said Olivia. "Everyone thinks the Pacific ocean is very peaceful, because the name indicates that. But old fishermen here have told me there are terrible storms, which come up quite unexpectedly, and that at times there are dreadful fogs." "Well, we're not afraid," boasted Bob. "Are we fellows?" "Oh, I guess we can manage to run the boat," replied Jerry, who was critically examining the machinery. "If you girls want to go for a spin, I think I can guarantee to get you safely back." "Oh, we're not afraid on a day like this," replied Nellie. "There's no sign of a storm. Come on girls." She and her sisters got in, followed by Ned and Bob. Jerry was already in the small cabin, set aside for the engineer. He was testing various wheels and levers, seeing that the oil feed cups worked well, and looking to the sparking system. "All ready?" he asked. "Let her go, Captain Jerry," called Bob, as he cast off the lines, and the Ripper, with her new commander and crew, started off. Jerry found he could manage the engine about as well as the one that had been in the Dartaway. He soon had the motor going almost at full speed, and the way the boat cut through the water was a revelation to the boys. They had never ridden so fast in a motor boat before. Straight out to sea Jerry headed the craft, and the weather was so pleasant, the water so calm, and the sense of swift motion so enthralling, that, before they knew it, they had gone several miles. "Oh!" suddenly exclaimed Rose, as she came from the small cabin, and glanced back toward the shore, "I can't see anything." "It is a bit hazy," admitted Ned. "Must have blown up a little fog," spoke Jerry. "I guess we'll put back. It didn't look as it was going to be thick weather when we started." He swung the boat around and headed for what he supposed was the shore. As the boat speeded on the mist became thicker, until they could scarcely see two hundred feet ahead of them. "Better slow down; hadn't you?" suggested Bob. "We might hit something." "Yes, for goodness, sake, don't have a collision," begged Nellie. "We ought to be pretty near shore," remarked Jerry. "I'll keep on a little longer, and we'll come pretty near the dock, I think." He tried to peer ahead into the fog, but it slowly settled down in lazy, curling wreaths, that made it as hard to see through as though a white blanket had been hung in front of him. "Hark! What's that'?" asked Olivia, holding up her hand. Out of the mist there came the dismal clang of a bell. "Dong! Ding! Dong!" "A vessel!" cried Bob. "Look out, Jerry, or we'll be run down." "That isn't a vessel," said Rose, with a worried look on her face. "That's the bell of the shoal buoy. We are quite a way out to sea!" "And lost in the fog," added Nellie. CHAPTER XVI ON THE ROCKS WITH a quick motion Jerry shut off the power, and the Ripper drifted through the mist, slowly losing headway. The sound of the bell became more distinct, and in a little while something dark loomed up before the anxious eyes of the boys and girls. "Lookout! She's going to hit!" cried Ned. "That's the buoy," declared Nellie. "What's its location?" asked Jerry. "Can't we get our bearings from it?" "Well, it's about eight miles off shore, I've heard the fishermen say," replied Nellie, "and it's about four miles down the coast from San Felicity." "It doesn't seem as if we came as far as that," said Bob. "This is a very fast boat," commented Rose. "Is the buoy anchored to rocks?" asked Ned. "No, it's on a dangerous shoal," answered Olivia "But there is no harm from that source to be feared to this boat, as it doesn't draw much water." "It ought to be easy enough to start in the right direction for San Felicity, with this buoy to guide us," suggested Bob. "Can't you, Jerry." "I guess so, if you think it will be safe to travel in the fog." "No, don't," urged Nellie. "I'm afraid we might have a collision. I don't know much about this bay, and there are dangerous places in it, I've heard the fishermen say. We had better stay here until the fog lifts." "That's what I think," agreed Rose and Olivia. Bob and Ned, however, were for going on, but Jerry rather sided with the girls. "Well," he finally said, in answer to the urging of his two chums, "Which way would you say the dock was, Ned?" "Off there," and Ned pointed over the port rail. "No, you're wrong," declared Bob. "It's there," and he indicated the opposite direction. "There, you see," remarked Jerry. "It can't be both ways. The fog has you puzzled, just as it has me. We should have looked at the compass when we started out. Maybe the girls can advise us." But they, too, were equally at loss regarding in what direction San Felicity lay. "We'll have to drift around a bit," decided Jerry. "It's not very pleasant, but it's better than running any chances." In spite of their dismal situation the boys and girls managed to extract a good deal of fun out of their experience. They laughed, joked, told stories and sang songs. "Well, well!" exclaimed Jerry, looking at his watch. "Here it is noon, and we're not home for dinner." "No, and not likely to be," added Ned rather gloomily. "I'll admit I'm as bad as Bob this time. I want something to eat." "Do you?" asked the stout youth. "Sure, Chunky." "Then, maybe you'll quit making fun of me," was Bob's answer, as, from one of the lockers he drew out a bulky package. "What is it?" asked Jerry. "Sandwiches and cake. I bought 'em in the little booth where we had chocolate with Mr. Blowitz the other day. I thought we might be hungry, so I got 'em while you were tinkering with the engine. Now, maybe you wish I hadn't." "Not a bit of it, Chunky," declared Jerry heartily. "You're all right!" "It was very thoughtful to provide for us," said Rose. There was fresh water in a cooler, and the young people made a merry meal. They ate everything to the last crumbs, and, as Bob said, they could probably have gotten away with more, for the salt air gave them good appetites. "The fog's lifting!" exclaimed Ned suddenly. "Now we can start for home. I can just make out the coast." True enough, right ahead of them was a low, dark line. "Well, if that isn't queer," remarked Bob. "I would have said the shore was off there," and he pointed in the opposite direction. "I guess we must have turned around when we drifted," said Jerry. "We're quite a way from the buoy now." Once it began to lift, the fog dispersed rapidly, and Jerry soon had the engine going, and the boat headed for the shore. He speeded the motor up to as high a pitch as was safe, in unfamiliar waters, and soon the town of San Felicity came into view. "Get near the shore," advised Ned, "then, if the fog shuts down on us again, we'll know where we are." Jerry decided this was good advice, and steered the Ripper straight in, intending to run up along the coast to San Felicity. It was well that he did so, for the lifting of the fog was only temporary. When they were about a quarter of a mile from the shore the white mist closed in again, worse than before. But Jerry had his sense of direction now, and decided it would be safe to continue on at half speed, as there did not appear to be any other craft in sight, when he took a rapid survey of the bay just as the fog settled down. Peering through the almost impenetrable white mass of vapor ahead of him, Jerry sent the Ripper slowly on her way. "You'll have to be careful," cautioned Rose. "The tide is running out, and there's not much water along here at the ebb. I hope we don't go aground." "So do I," answered Jerry. Just then there was a shock, and the boat quivered, hesitated for an instant, and then resumed her course. "We struck bottom that time," said Ned. "Luckily it seemed to be mud." "There are rocks along here," declared Nellie. "Go slow, Jerry." The steersman, who could manage the boat from the engine cockpit, as well as from the bow, further slowed down the motor, until the Ripper was barely moving through the water. Suddenly there was a grinding sound, the boat heeled over to one side, and came to a stop. "The rocks!" cried Rose. "We're on the rocks!" "Reverse!" yelled Ned, and Jerry did so, as quick as a flash, but it was too late. "We're aground," he announced grimly. "Will we sink?" asked Olivia in alarm. "I guess there's no danger of that," announced Jerry, as he went forward, "but I hope we haven't stove a hole in her," he added, peering anxiously over the side. "How about it?" asked Ned. "Well, it might be worse," answered Jerry. "We have run right on the cleft of a rock, and we're held there. Can't get off until high tide, I suppose. Say, we seem to be up against it on our first trip." "Oh, as long as we're not sinking we're all right," said Olivia. "We can wade ashore. It's not far." "Yes, it's quite a way, and I don't want to spoil my shoes," objected Nellie. "We should have brought our bathing suits. Oh, dear! Isn't it unfortunate? I'm afraid father will be worried about us." "One of us will wade or swim ashore, and tell him," said Ned. "We can easily do it." "Boat ahoy!" suddenly called a voice out of the mist. "Who are you?" "The Ripper," answered Jerry. "Who are you?" A moment later a rowboat appeared from behind the white curtain of fog, and the boys and girls saw. that Mr. Carson Blowitz was in the craft. "Well! Well!" he exclaimed. "You're in trouble, aren't you?-- and I'm just in time to effect a rescue," and he smiled at the boat load of boys and girls. CHAPTER XVII NEWS OF THE BRIG "OH!" exclaimed Rose, rather excitedly, "take us off please! Our boat is sinking!" "No, it isn't," declared Jerry. "We're all right only we're aground. Can't get off until high tide I suppose." "Then perhaps I had better take the young ladies ashore," proposed Mr. Blowitz. "I have a large boat here, and they will be more comfortable than sitting there waiting for the tide to rise. Besides, you'll heel over quite a bit, I should judge by the way you're listing now." There was no doubt of this, as the Ripper was, even now, far from being on an even keel. The boys did not relish having this man, whom they disliked, take off the girls, but there was no help for it. "Say, we ought to go to some kindergarten and learn to run a motor boat," grumbled Ned in a low voice, as the girls were getting into Mr. Blowitz's craft. "We're peaches, we are!" "It was my fault," admitted Jerry, rather embarrassed over the accident. "Not in particular," remarked Bob. "Any one of us would have done the same thing. Lucky the boat isn't damaged any, but I hate to be under obligations to him," and he nodded toward Mr. Blowitz, who was helping Nellie into his boat. "I don't like him," he went on in a low voice. "There's something queer about him." "We oughtn't to feel that way," said Jerry. "He's doing us a favor." "Of course," admitted Bob. "I know it, and I suppose I shouldn't feel that way, but I do, and I can't help it. I don't want any favors from him. He's the kind, who, if he does something for you, will want you to do twice as much for him in return." "Well, I'll be more careful next time I run this motor boat," said Jerry. "It's too bad." "Might be worse," said Ned as cheerfully as he could. "Don't you want to go ashore, boys?" called Mr. Blowitz. "I guess we'd better," murmured Bob. "The water is quite deep except for the place where the Ripper went on the rocks." "The motor boat will stay there all right until high tide," the man went on. "Better anchor her well, however, it might come on to blow." Jerry attended to this, throwing over a strong anchor which was aboard. Then the three boys joined the others in the rowboat. "Can you find your way to shore, through this fog?" asked Rose. "Oh, yes, we're not far from the beach," replied Mr. Blowitz. "I've been out to see an old fisherman, on business, and I was slowly coming back through the fog, when I saw your boat. I didn't know you owned that." "We don't," replied Jerry shortly, for he did not want to get too friendly with Mr. Blowitz, even if that man did show a desire to do so. "We hired it." "I thought I'd seen it in the bay before," went on the man. "It's a fine boat. I suppose you could go out quite a way to sea in her." "You could," said Bob. "It's big enough to weather quite a gale, and you could carry provisions enough for two weeks." "It certainly is a fine craft," went on Mr. Blowitz, as if he was thinking of something. "A fine craft." "Did you ever hear anything more of your brig, the Rockhaven?" asked Nellie. "Yes, I did," was the unexpected answer. "In fact that was why I went out rowing to-day. I had a telegram from the captain of the brig last night. It seems she did not sink as at first supposed, but is a derelict, drifting about somewhere off this coast." "Has any one seen her?" asked Ned. "Yes, the captain of a fishing smack. He was the man I went to interview to-day. He says as he was cruising along, day before yesterday, he sighted what he took to be a small boat. When he got closer he saw it was an abandoned brig. From his description I knew it was the one I was interested in." "But if you only got a telegram from the captain of the brig last night, telling you it had not sunk, how did you know the fishing smack captain had sighted her, and how did you go out to see him to-day?" asked Jerry, for he thought there was something queer in the story Mr. Blowitz told, while the man's manner did not favorably impress him. "Oh, that," and Mr. Blowitz glanced sharply at Jerry, and then resumed his rowing toward shore. The fog had lifted a bit, and the beach could be made out. "Well, that was rather queer," admitted the man, slowly, as if searching about for a good answer. "You see I didn't know the fishing captain had seen the derelict. When I got the telegram, telling me the brig was still afloat, I thought it might be a good plan to go about among the fishermen, making inquiries." "And you happened to strike the right one?" asked Jerry. "I-- that is-- well, I had inquired among several before I met Captain Deckton of the smack Sea Girl. He saw the derelict. But I'd like to have a talk with you boys, when you are at liberty," added Mr. Blowitz, quickly. "I have a proposition to make to you. I think you will be interested." "Please put us ashore first, before you talk business," begged Olivia. "It is long past noon, and I'm afraid my father will be worried about us." "We'll land at the dock in ten minutes," said Mr. Blowitz. "I'll talk to the boys later." "I wonder what he wants?" thought Jerry. "Something of a favor, I'll bet. I know his kind." "Let me take the oars and relieve you," proposed Ned, who saw that the man was having rather hard work with the boatload of young people. "Thank you, there's another pair in the stern, if you want to try them," said Mr. Blowitz, and Ned got them out. They made better time after that, and were soon at the dock. "We must hurry home," said Rose. "Perhaps you boys had rather talk with me later," suggested Mr. Blowitz. "There is no special hurry. Some time this afternoon will do as well, and you might like to go home with the young ladies." "I guess it would be better," decided Jerry. "Where shall we see you?" "If you will call at the refreshment booth here about five o'clock this evening, I'll be taking my usual afternoon drink of chocolate there, and I'll be pleased to have you join me." "We will be here," promised Jerry, as, with his chums, he followed the girls along the dock and toward the bungalow. "Why didn't you ask him what he wanted?" inquired Ned, when they were beyond hearing distance. "Because, I want a chance to think some matters over," replied Jerry. "I believe Mr. Blowitz is up to some game, and I want to see if I can't discover what it is." "It seems a mean thing to say," added Rose, "but I don't like that man, in spite of the fact that he has been kind to us. I'm sure we ought to appreciate what he did for us to-day, in saving us a wetting, but I can't feel that he is sincere." "I, either," admitted Olivia and Nellie, while the latter added: "I hope you boys don't go into any business dealings with him. Perhaps you had better consult with my father, before you do." "I guess it would be a good plan," said Jerry. "I hope Mr. Seabury will not be angry at us for taking you out and getting fog-bound, as well as involving you in a shipwreck." "Oh, no!" answered Rose with a laugh. "He knows we are all right, for we have been on the water, more or less, all our lives. He sometimes worries a little, but, when we get home safe, he's so glad to see us that he never scolds." Nor did he this time. He inquired about the trip, and expressed his regrets at the mishap to the Ripper. "It will be all right if we don't get a storm before high tide," he said. "I'll inquire of Ponto what the weather signs are. Ponto! I say Ponto! Where are you?" "Comin' Massa Seabury! I'se comin'," answered a sleepy voice and Ponto came from the garden to the veranda, where Mr. Seabury, his daughters and the boys were. "Do you think we are going to have a storm?" "Storm? No, sah. No storm to-day." "How can you tell?" "Easy, Massa Seabury. When it's goin' t' storm, I cain't never sleep well, an' now, I can fall asleep as easy as a baby." "I believe you. Well, that's what I wanted to know. He's a very good weather prophet," he added in a low voice to the boys. "I guess the boat is safe. Have you seen Professor Snodgrass lately, Ponto?" "Yais, sah, I done saw him 'bout half an hour ago. He were huntin' around de' lower end ob de garden, after some web-footed grasshoppers, I t'ink he said." "Web-footed lizards," corrected Ned. "Yais, sah, dat's what it were. Web-footed lizards an' horned toads. Golly, I hopes he don't cotch none when I'se around!" The boys told Mr. Seabury of Mr. Blowitz, and their host advised them to be careful about entering into any arrangement with the man. "I don't know him," he said, "but I have heard from different persons here that there is something queer about him. However, he may only want some favor that you can easily do." Shortly before five o'clock the three boys started to keep their appointment with Carson Blowitz. Professor Snodgrass had not succeeded in finding any horned toads, and announced his intention of making a search near the bed of a dried-up river that evening, as he had heard there were some there. The girls were too tired to care for further excursions that afternoon, and they remained on the shady veranda, as the boys started off. "I wonder what Blowitz can want?" mused Ned, as he and his chums neared the chocolate pavilion. "We'll soon know," said Jerry. CHAPTER XVIII WHAT MR. BLOWITZ WANTED THE boys found Mr. Carson Blowitz in the little courtyard of the pavilion, calmly sipping some cold chocolate. "Ah, you are right on time, I see," he remarked, as pleasantly as he could. "That's what I like, boys. It shows your American spirit. Bright, hustling lads, all of you. Just the kind I have been looking for." "Did you want to see us on business?" asked Jerry, for he did not care for the man's too obvious flattery. "Yes, I did, but first let me order some chocolate for you. It is a hot day and you'll feel better after it. I never talk business unless I am eating, or drinking something like chocolate or lemonade. It calms the nerves." Jerry was about to refuse, as he wanted to get the interview over with as soon as possible, but he looked at Bob, and that youth showed an evident desire to have some refreshment. "Well, we'll take a little," Jerry said. "I thought so. Here!" and he clapped his hands to summon the waitress, who soon returned with some cups of cold chocolate. "Now to business," went on Mr. Blowitz, after a pause. "Did I understand you to say you had hired that large motor boat?" "We have; for several weeks," answered Jerry, who, by consent of Ned and Bob, had been elected spokesman. "And do you think it could go to sea-- say for a couple of weeks?" "Yes, I think so. But did you think of hiring her from us? Because if you did I don't believe we can consider it, as we have no authority to let any one but ourselves run it." "Oh, no, I was not thinking of running it," declared Mr. Blowitz. "I wouldn't know how if I wanted to. But I was thinking I might engage the motor boat and you with it, as a crew, to go on a cruise for me." "A cruise?" "Yes, out on the Pacific, but not too far from shore, say not more than twenty miles." "What for?" asked Jerry. "To search for that derelict-- the brig Rockhaven!" "The Rockhaven!" exclaimed Ned and Bob together. "Yes, as I told you it has a valuable cargo aboard, and, in addition a supply of gold, in money, and some important papers." "Do you think we could find her?" asked Ned. "I think so," answered Mr. Blowitz. "I made some particular inquiries of the captain of the fishing smack, whom I saw to-day, and I got her longitude and latitude, as near as he could give it to me. Of course it would be a rather hard search, and might consume considerable time, but I would be willing to pay for that. What I want to know is, if you boys would care to go out in that boat, the Ripper, and search for the derelict? If you find her I will pay you prize money." "If we found her, and she was quite a way out to sea, how would we get her in?" asked Jerry. "You could tow her, unless there was a bad storm. That motor boat is very powerful." "Then there isn't anyone on board now?" asked Bob. "Not a living soul," answered the man. "It's queer how they came to desert her, but I guess the captain and crew got scared and went off in a hurry, without making a proper investigation. The brig is a small one, and if she hit on a rock, or was in a collision, it would not take much to knock her out. "Now here is my proposition. You are to take the Ripper, get her in good shape for the cruise, and start out. The sooner the better. I will pay all expenses, such as for provisions and supplies. If you return with the brig I will pay you two thousand dollars. If you don't succeed in finding her, after say a two weeks' search, you are to return, and I will pay you five hundred dollars, and all expenses. What do you say?" "That sounds good to me," replied Bob. "Suppose we got the vessel, made fast to her, and started to tow her in and had to abandon her because of a storm?" asked Jerry. "Well, of course that might happen, though it's not likely, for we seldom have bad storms an this coast this time of year. Still if you couldn't bring the derelict in, you couldn't that's all. But if you found her, you could get the papers and gold, and if you had to abandon her, you could go back after the storm was over. I think you boys could do what I want, and, as I say, I'm willing to pay well. I'd go with you, of course. What do you say?" Mr. Blowitz seemed quite anxious. In fact he was so anxious that Jerry was suspicious. "I wonder why he doesn't hire some larger boat, or a small steam tug to go for that derelict?" thought Jerry. "He could get men, who are regularly engaged in the business of saving vessels, to go out for that price. Why should he prefer us, when we have had no experience in that line, and hardly know him? There is something back of all this, that he is not telling us. I wonder what we had better do?" "Well?" asked Mr. Blowitz, as none of the boys spoke. Ned and Bob were waiting for Jerry to reply and the latter was turning it over in his mind, seeking to find a reason for the strange request. "When would we have to start?" asked Jerry, at. last. "I'd like you to go to-morrow, or the day after, at the farthest. It would not take long to provision the boat for the cruise." "Will you put your offer in writing?" asked Jerry. "In writing-- why, isn't my word good? Well, of course-- Oh, I see-- you think I am a stranger here and might-- Oh, well, I have no objection to drawing up an agreement. Perhaps that will be the best way." Mr. Blowitz looked a little annoyed that Jerry should have suggested such a thing, but he quickly covered his confusion by speaking rapidly. "I'll draw up a paper right away," he said, taking a fountain pen from his pocket. "I'll have the waitress get me some blanks, and you can have them witnessed before a notary public, if you wish." "There's no hurry," said Jerry. "Suppose you draw up the papers, and we can meet you here to-morrow to talk things over further. I think we should take a little time to consider this. It is rather a queer proposition--" "Oh, of course, I don't want to hurry you into it," declared Mr. Blowitz, in rather a nervous manner. "Of course I could get some other boat and a regular crew, but I saw you boys, and I took a liking to you. I thought you might like to earn some money and, if you have good luck, it oughtn't to be hard work." "Oh, we'd like the money all right enough," interposed Bob. "We'll think it over," put in Jerry quickly, for he was afraid Ned or Bob might say something that would commit them. "We'll meet you here to-morrow at ten o'clock and you can have the papers with you." "All right," agreed the man, and Jerry thought he seemed disappointed that the matter was not settled at once. "Don't forget now," he urged them, as they left the pavilion, Mr. Blowitz remaining there to drink more chocolate. "Why didn't you agree to it, Jerry?" asked Bob, when they were outside. "That would be a swell cruise. Just the thing! And think of getting two thousand dollars!" "That's just it," replied Jerry. "We want time to think it over, and I guess we had better tell Mr. Seabury. Boys, I believe there is something wrong back of all this, and we don't want to run into danger." "Danger!" exclaimed Ned. "Do you think there is danger?" "I don't know, but I'm going to be on the safe side. I don't like Mr. Blowitz, but he may be all right. If we find he is, and Mr. Seabury advises it, we'll go on that cruise, and try to find the derelict. I asked him to make out the papers so we could have a chance to consider it." "Well, maybe you're right," admitted Ned. "But I do hope it's all right. It would be great, to take a voyage on the Pacific in the Ripper." The boys hurried back to the bungalow, intending to tell Mr. Seabury the result of their talk with Mr. Blowitz before mentioning it to the girls. "Father has gone out," said Rose. "He has gone to dine with a friend, and he'll not be back until late to-night. We'll have supper together, and go for a trip on the bay. It's going to be a nice moonlight night." "The very thing!" exclaimed Ned. "But we must see to the Ripper. She's on the rocks yet." "That's so," exclaimed Jerry. "I nearly forgot about her. Bob and I will get her and take her to the dock. She must be afloat by now." "It's almost supper-time," said Nellie, "hurry back." "Oh-- it's near supper-time, is it?" asked Bob, with a woe-begone look on his face. "I-- er--" "Come on, Ned," called Jerry. "Bob's afraid he'll get left on the eating proposition. You come with me." Ned and Jerry rowed out to the motor boat. They found her floated, and riding easily, and, after towing her to the dock, they returned to the house. Partaking of a hasty supper the young folks, leaving Ponto and the servant in the bungalow, went down to the beach, and started for a moonlight ride in the Ripper. CHAPTER XIX A CRY FOR HELP "ISN'T this perfectly delightful," remarked Nellie, as she reclined on some cushions in the little cabin. "I just love to be on the water!" "Well, it's better than being out in the fog," admitted Jerry, as he adjusted the oil feed on the engine, and glanced over the moonlit waves. "There don't seem to be many boats out tonight," observed Olivia. "Maybe the owners are afraid of a storm," suggested Rose. "Sometimes a storm will follow a fog. I wonder if it's safe for us to go out?" "We're not going far, and we'll keep near shore," replied Jerry. "It does act as if it was going to blow a bit, but I guess it will not amount to much." There was quite a swell on as they got further out, and the Ripper rolled some, but the boys and girls were too good sailors to mind that. "I wonder if we'll meet Mr. Blowitz again," came from Nellie, after a period of silence. "He's always turning up most unexpectedly." "I don't believe we'll see him to-night," said Ned. "What do you think he wanted of us? Shall I tell 'em, Jerry?" "Might as well, I'm going to tell Mr. Seabury as soon as I see him." Thereupon Ned related the interview with Carson Blowitz, and the latter's desire to have the boys search for the derelict Rockhaven. "I hope you don't go," spoke Nellie. "Why not?" asked Bob. "Because-- well, because," and she laughed a little uneasily. "That's just like a girl," remarked Jerry, good-naturedly. "They don't want you to do a thing, but they can't tell you why." "Well, it's just an uneasy feeling I have toward Mr. Blowitz, that's all," went on Nellie. "I can't explain it, but I feel, whenever I am near him, that he is planning something mean, or that he is up to some trick." "Well, it's just how I feel," declared Rose, and Olivia admitted that she, too, did not trust the man. "Well, we haven't decided to go," said Jerry, "and we're going to have a talk with your father about it. I admit I'd like to make the trip and find the brig, but, as you say, I don't quite trust Blowitz." "Oh!" suddenly exclaimed Rose, as a wave, larger than any that had preceded it, sent a shower of spray over the boat. "Don't go out any farther, Jerry. It's getting quite rough." "Yes, I guess it is," admitted the steersman, as he put the boat about. "There's quite a swell on. Wouldn't wonder but we'd have a storm by morning, though it's bright enough overhead. I don't believe Ponto is a good prophet." There were only a few clouds in the sky, and the moon was shining down like a big silver disk, making objects unusually bright, for the southern moonlight is wonderful. Jerry put the boat over near shore, and steered along the coast, which, at that point was quite rocky, cliffs rising here and there to a considerable height above the water. "Look out you don't run her on the rocks again," cautioned Ned. "I'll be careful," replied Jerry. "Maybe you want to run her a while. I don't want to be the whole show." Ned was glad of the chance to take the wheel, and he and Jerry changed places. They were proceeding at slow speed, the girls occasionally humming the chorus of a song, and the boys joining in when they knew the air. The beauty of the night, the fine boat, and delight of moving along with scarcely a sound, had them all under a sort of magic spell, and they felt they could thus go on forever. It was when they came opposite a range of low cliffs, close to the water's edge, that Bob suddenly called out in a low voice: "Look at the men on the rocks!" "Where?" asked Jerry. "Over there," and Bob pointed. Ned steered the boat nearer to where two black figures, sharply outlined in the moonlight, could be seen in bold relief on the cliff. "They are men, sure enough," replied Jerry, "but you needn't get excited over it." "I'm not," went on Bob. "Only one of them is Mr. Blowitz, that's all." "Mr. Blowitz?" queried Jerry sharply. "Hush! He'll hear you," cautioned Rose. "Sounds carry very easily over water." "It is Mr. Blowitz," admitted Jerry. "I wonder what he's doing out here." "Probably getting some more information about the brig Rockhaven," suggested Ned. "Maybe that's a seaman who has some news of her." By this time the motor boat was quite close to the two men, who, however, did not seem to notice the Ripper. There was no question about the identity of Mr. Blowitz. The other man was a stranger to the boys and girls. The two were apparently talking earnestly, and, occasionally Mr. Blowitz could be seen to be gesticulating violently. "He's mad about something," declared Ned. "It does look so," agreed Rose. All at once the boys saw Blowitz take a step toward the other man, who retreated, as if afraid. Blowitz raised his hand as though to give a blow. "Look out!" cried Ned involuntarily, as if the man could hear him. "You'll go over the cliff!" With a quick motion he turned the boat, steering toward the foot of the rock, above which the men stood. At that instant a black cloud came over the moon and the scene was plunged in darkness. It was just as if it had been blotted out, and a murmur of surprise, at the suddenness of it, came from those in the Ripper. At the same instant a cry rang out-- a man's cry-- and it seemed to be one for help. CHAPTER XX BLOWITZ IS ANGRY "QUICK!" called Jerry. "Put us over there, Ned!" "I will! Something has happened. I wonder--" "Oh, why doesn't the moon come out from behind that cloud," exclaimed Rose, for she and the other girls were nervously afraid. "Maybe they have both toppled over the cliff," suggested Nellie. "More likely only one of them did," said Bob. "I only heard one cry. What's the matter, Ned?" "Something's gone wrong with the engine." "Here, let me have a look," called Jerry, and he went to the cockpit. There was a lantern aboard, and, by the light of it, Jerry saw that one of the battery wires, leading to a spark plug, had become loosened, breaking the circuit, and preventing the gas from exploding in the cylinders. He soon had it fixed and the engine started, sending the boat toward shore. By this time the moon was out again, flooding the scene with radiance. Eagerly the boys and girls looked toward the spot on the cliffs, where the odd scene had taken place. To their surprise they saw Mr. Blowitz standing there, and they were close enough to note that he was smoking a cigar. "Well!" exclaimed Nellie, for that was all she could say, so great was her astonishment. "Guess nothing happened after all," added Ned. "We have had our fright for nothing." "There certainly was another man there," declared Jerry, "and he's gone now." "And I'm certain I heard a cry for help," said Bob. "We all heard a cry," admitted Jerry, "but it might have been a call for a boatman, or something like that. However--" He did not finish what he was going to say for, at that instant, Blowitz heard the noise of the approaching motor boat. The muffler. was not working just right, and the usually noiseless engine of the Ripper was making quite a fuss. Blowitz was in a listening attitude, standing in bold relief in the moonlight, and, having, apparently, satisfied himself as to where the boat was, he started to descend the cliff. "He's coming down," said Ned. "Is that the Ripper?" called Blowitz suddenly. "Yes," replied Jerry, wondering how the man knew. "I thought I recognized her engine. Are you coming ashore? If you are, I'd like to speak to you." "We're coming," answered Ned. "Don't come too close then, for there are dangerous rocks. Make for that little point up there," and the man pointed so that the boys could see where he meant. "There's deep water right up to the edge. It's a sort of natural dock, but go slow. I'll meet you there, I want to tell you something." "Shall we ask him about the man?" inquired Bob in a low voice. "No, don't," advised Nellie quickly. "It might make trouble. See what he has to say, and then let's hurry home. I'm afraid of him." "What? With we three aboard?" asked Jerry with a little laugh. "We are complimented." "Oh, I don't mean that," Nellie hastened to say. "I mean that Mr. Blowitz is a dangerous man." She spoke low for she did not want him to hear her, and they were quite near to shore now. Ned steered for the little point of land, and found he could send the boat quite close with no danger of hitting the rocks. Presently Blowitz, who had momentarily vanished amid the shadows at the foot of the cliff, appeared. "Good evening, boys," he said. "I--" he stopped suddenly, "I didn't know you had young ladies aboard." "Yes, we have been taking a moonlight run," Jerry explained. "We saw you up there on the cliff, and--" "I was there with a friend of mine," Blowitz spoke quickly. "We were talking about the derelict brig. I was to meet a sea captain there, but he did not come. My friend had to leave in a hurry, and just then I heard the noise made by your boat, so I called to you. Did you hear a call?" "We heard some sort of a call," spoke up Bob, "but we thought it was--" "That was me," interrupted Blowitz, "I recognized the Ripper by the peculiar sound of the exhaust. I have quite a trick of recognizing boats that way. I was afraid you'd get past, so I called. But I didn't know you had the young ladies with you, or I would not have bothered you." "That's all right," said Jerry. "We were coming ashore anyhow." "You were? What for?" and Blowitz looked sharply at the boys. "Oh, I suppose you saw me and wanted to tell me you would accept my offer-- but excuse me, perhaps the young ladies--" "Oh, we have told them of it," answered Ned. "You can speak before them." "All right then. I was going to say perhaps you came in after seeing me, to tell me you had accepted my offer and would search for the derelict. Is that it?" "Well, we hadn't quite decided," replied Jerry. "What! Not decided!" exclaimed Blowitz. "Why I want you to start at once-- or-- that is-- to-morrow morning. I have just received news that makes it important that the search begin at once. I am depending on you. You will go at once, won't you? Come, I'll increase my offer," he said. "I'll pay you two thousand dollars for your time and trouble, stand all expenses, and, if you find the brig, and tow her in, I'll give you three thousand dollars. That's a fair offer. Now you can start to-morrow morning, can't you, boys?" "I don't know," began Jerry, slowly. "Isn't that money enough?" and Blowitz seemed much excited. "Oh, yes, the offer is a very good one. But I think we should consult with some one-- We--" "No, there is no need of consulting with any one," interrupted Blowitz. "I have the papers all made out. We can go before a notary-public to-night, for it is not late yet, and sign them, and you can start by to-morrow noon. What do you say? Will you go?" It was a hard question to decide. The trip was alluring to the boys, even had there been no prize money connected with it. But there was something about Blowitz that made them hesitate. His very eagerness to have them start, almost at once, made them feel there was something queer back of it all. Still they had undertaken, before this, more difficult and risky tasks. Why not this one? "Well, I must have your answer soon," said Blowitz, approaching nearer to the boat. "Will you wait just a moment?" asked Jerry. "My chums and I will go in the cabin and talk it over. We'll let you know right away." "I'll wait five minutes," said the man. "Time is precious to me. I have lots to do. But I know you'll go. I'll raise the offer five hundred dollars. Now, that's the best I can do. But you must start as soon as possible to-morrow." "Come in here," called Jerry to his chums, entering the small cabin, where the three girls had already gone as they did not wish to seem to listen to the talk between Blowitz and the boys. Jerry closed the sliding doors, and, by the light of a small lantern which hung from the cabin ceiling, looked at his companions. Outside they could hear Blowitz pacing up and down on the rocky shore. "Well, what do you fellows say?" he asked. "I'd like the trip," said Ned, wistfully. "The money is a large sum," added Bob. "Then you want to go?" asked Jerry. "I'll do just what ever you do. I'll tell him we'll go." "No! Don't!" cried Nellie in a tense whisper. "Jerry-- boys-- don't have anything to do with this man. He may be all right, but there's something mysterious about him. Why should he want to hire you when, for the same money, or less, he could get a company of fishermen, who know these waters well, to make the search? Take a girl's reason, for once, and don't have anything to do with him!" She had risen to her feet, her eyes were flashing and her cheeks flushed with the excitement of the moment. The boys looked at her in admiration. "I admit there is something queer in his offering to increase the prize money," spoke Jerry, after a pause. "He must be very desperate." "And why this sudden rush?" inquired Ned. "This afternoon he was in no such hurry. Something must have occurred in the meanwhile-- I wonder if it was the man on the cliff--" "Now don't let's go to guessing at too much," cautioned Jerry. "The question to be settled now is: Do you want to go on a search for the derelict brig? Yes or no? That's what we've got to settle now." There was silence for a moment, broken only by the tick of the clock in the cabin. Involuntarily Nellie glanced at it. The hands pointed to the hour of nine, and she felt that she and her sisters should be home. Jerry looked at his two companions. "I guess we'd better not go," said Bob slowly. "I hate to give it up, but maybe it will be for the best," added Ned. "I'm suspicious of him. Tell him we'll not go, Jerry." "Very well." Jerry stepped to the cabin door and slid it back. At the sound Blowitz came eagerly forward. "Well?" he queried. "Are you going? Can you start at once'?" "We have decided not to go," replied Jerry, slowly. "I-- that is my chums and I-- do not feel just right about it. It is not our boat, and--" He hesitated, for he did not want to give the main reasons that had influenced him and his chums. But Blowitz did not give him a chance to continue. "Not go!" the man fairly cried. "Why I'm surprised at you! You led me to believe, all along, that you would go. Here I've gone and wasted a lot of time on you, gone to a lot of trouble, made all my arrangements, expecting you would go, and--" "We never gave you any reason to think we would go," declared Jerry very positively. "You are wrong, there, Mr. Blowitz. We only said we would consider it. We have done so, and have concluded not to go. I am sorry--" "Sorry? You'll be sorrier than this before I'm through with you!" threatened the man. "You'll wish you had gone before very long, let me tell you. You've spoiled all my plans. I depended-- Oh! I'll get even with you for this!" and the man, in a fury threw his cigar down on the rocks, whence it bounded up amid a shower of sparks. "You'll regret this!" he cried in angry tones, as he turned away and started off up the cliff, muttering to himself. "You've made him mad," said Bob. "Can't help it," replied Jerry. "I'm glad we are not going to have anything to do with him. I believe he is a dangerous person. Certainly he had no right to talk about us as he did." "Oh, I'm so glad you're not going!" exclaimed Nellie, as she and her sisters came out of the cabin. "I was afraid you would give in when he got so angry. But let's get away from here. Somehow, I don't like this place. Besides we should have been home some time ago. Papa may have returned, and we always try to be in before ten o'clock. We'll hardly get home by that time now." "Yes, we will," said Ned. "I'll send the Ripper along at a good clip." He started the engine, and, as the boat swung out from beside the rock dock, the form of Blowitz could be seen going up the cliff in the moonlight. In less than an hour the boat was at San Felicity and the girls were put ashore. They found Ponto down at the dock to meet them. "Massa Seabury done got worried after he got home," said the colored man, "an' he sent me to see if yo' was heah." "Ponto," asked Jerry, "do you think you can take the young ladies safely home, without falling asleep?" "Suttinly I can," Massa Jerry. "Fall asleep! I gess I doan't fall asleep at night. I'se only sleepy when de sun shines, I is." "Then I guess you'll do all right. See that they get home safe." "Why, aren't you boys coming too?" asked Nellie, in some surprise. "Not now," replied Jerry. "Why not?" "I think we'll go back to the foot of the cliffs and see if we can't find the man to whom Blowitz was talking. I don't like the way he acted, for that certainly was a cry for help, and there may have been foul play!" CHAPTER XXI THE MAN ON THE ROCKS JERRY'S announcement was news to his chums, for he had given them no hint of his intentions as the Ripper was nearing the boathouse. "Do you mean you are going to hunt for that man on the rocks?" asked Ned. "Yes, I think he fell; or was pushed over by Blowitz. There was no mistaking that call for help. Blowitz says it was he who called to us, but I know better. That was a cry of fear." "Oh, don't get into any danger," cautioned Nellie. "Maybe you had better take Ponto with you. We're not afraid to go home alone. It's nice and bright, and there is no danger." "Deed an' there be, Miss Nellie," interrupted Ponto, who did not relish going off on a strange hunt with the boys. "Some ob dem horned toads might git after yo', an' if Ponto wasn't along dey'd bite you. I shorely am gwine home wid yo'. Massa Seabury, he done 'specially stipulate it, an--" "Yes, I guess Ponto had better go with you," said Jerry. "We can do better alone. It won't be the first time we've had a midnight hunt, though never before one just like this. We'll come back as soon as we can, and tell you all about it. We can make quick time in the boat." "And, if you find the man?" asked Rose. "If we do, and he needs help, we'll see that he gets it; I think if we do find him we'll learn more about Mr. Carson Blowitz than we know now." "Shall I tell my father?" asked Nellie, as the boys were preparing to make the return trip. The dock was deserted, save for the young people and Ponto, but in the chocolate refreshment place, and other booths on shore there was plenty of life. "I think it would be a good plan," agreed Jerry. "You know the whole story, about the brig and the offer Blowitz made. Tell Mr. Seabury that we would have consulted him before, only he was out when we got back this afternoon. Now, Ponto, lookout that no horned toads or web-footed lizards get the young ladies, and, above all, don't lie down alongside the road and take a nap." "Hu! Guess I ain't gwine t' sleep when I's 'scortin my massa's daughters home," declared the colored man, rather indignant that such a slur should be cast on him. "Don't worry," called Jerry, as the girls walked along the dock to shore. "We'll be back as soon as we can." "Do you really think we'll find anything?" asked Ned of Jerry when they were some distance out, and speeding along toward where they had seen Blowitz and the other man on the cliff. "I don't know," Jerry frankly admitted. "It looks suspicious, and the way Blowitz acted made it more so. Maybe the shadows deceived us, and the man did not fall, for the cloud over the moon made things black. But it will do no harm to take a look, and then we'll be satisfied." "If we find him, what will we do with him?" asked Bob, who had a habit of looking ahead. "Let's find him first," said Jerry. "Maybe it is some man who works for Blowitz, and who would not do just as his boss wanted him to. Blowitz can get angry very easily, as was proved by his actions when we refused to make that trip. Maybe he hit the man in a fit of passion, and the man cried out in surprise, and ran away." The sky was more cloudy now, and the moon was oftener obscured by masses of dark vapor. Still, there was light enough for the boys to make out landmarks, and distinguish objects when they came near the low cliff, on which they had seen Blowitz and the other man. "There's the place," called Ned suddenly, from his position near the wheel. "That's right," admitted Jerry. "Better put us in near that rock where we talked to Blowitz. We can fasten the boat there and go ashore. There's no swell in here." In a short time the three boys were on the rocky shore. Jerry carried a lantern and Ned had a coil of rope, as he thought if the man had fallen over a cliff, and was unable to help himself, they might need a line to hoist him up. "Go easy now," cautioned Jerry, as they moved forward. "We don't want to send out notice that we have arrived. Blowitz may still be sneaking around." As cautiously as possible they advanced. They found there was a rough path leading from the beach up the cliff, on top of which the two men had stood. With Jerry, holding the lantern to guide them, Ned and Bob followed. They paused now and then to listen, but the only sound they heard was caused by the waves of the Pacific breaking on the rocky shore, the rattle of the pebbles on the beach, and the soft swish of the seaweed. "It was right over there that he seemed to fall," said Ned, pointing to indicate where he meant. "That's where I made it out to be," agreed Jerry. It was not easy walking, as the rocks were slippery, and some of them were thick with weeds, for, at very high water, they, were covered by the ocean. Several times Bob slipped and nearly fell. "Look out," cautioned Jerry. "We don't want two wounded persons to look after." They paused a moment to get their breath, after a stiff bit of climbing, and, as they stood there in the silence of the night, with the moon fitfully showing through the clouds, they suddenly heard a groan. "What's that?" whispered Ned, tensely. "It must be the man we're looking for," replied Jerry. "He's hurt. Where did the sound come from?" Ned pointed to a dark spot at the foot of the cliff. The three boys hastened toward it, Jerry flashing his lantern. When they got to the place they saw, lying huddled up on a bed of seaweed, the form of a man. As the light flashed on him they noticed that there was blood on his pale face, and one arm was doubled up under him in a strange manner. "He's dead!" whispered Bob softly, "No; he's breathing," answered Jerry, as he bent over the man on the rocks. "Get me some water in your cap, Ned. I'll try to bring him to." CHAPTER XXII DE VERE'S STORY NED ran down to the shore, slipping and stumbling over the rocks, and once falling and bruising himself considerably. But he did not mind this. He wanted to get the water, for it might save the man's life. It looked as if some crime had been attempted, and evidence pointed to Blowitz. Making as quick progress on the return trip as the carrying of a cap full of sea water would permit, Ned held it so Jerry could sprinkle some drops on the man's face. He stirred and seemed to be murmuring something. "We ought to have some fresh water for him to drink," said Bob. "I'll get some from the cooler on the boat." Off he hurried, returning presently with a pitcherful of fresh water and a glass, and with this the man was given a drink, when Jerry held up his head. The water seemed the very thing needed for the sufferer, as they could see by the light of the lantern, opened his eyes, and gazed wonderingly about him. "What-- where am I?" he asked, in a hoarse whisper. "You're at the foot of the rocks-- on the cliff near the ocean," said Jerry. "You had a fall. Are you badly hurt?" The man groaned in reply. Then an angry, light shone in his eyes. "No! I didn't fall!" he exclaimed. "I was shoved over the cliff. He wanted to get me out of the way so he could claim everything! He's a villain!" "Who?" asked Ned quickly. "Who? Who else but Carson Blowitz! I suppose he thinks I am dead, and he can have all that is on the ship! But I'll--" The man stopped suddenly, and a spasm of pain passed over his face. "What is it?" asked Jerry. "My arm-- Oh, I'm afraid it is broken!" The boys remembered how the left arm of the man was doubled up under him in a peculiar manner. He had doubtless fallen on it. "Wait a minute and we'll lift you up so that you will rest more comfortably," said Jerry, and, with the aid of his chums he made from their coats and some seaweed a rude sort of bed for the man. There was no doubt that the stranger's left arm was broken. It hung limply down, and the least motion of it produced terrible pain. Fortunately the man did not again lose his senses, and he directed the boys how to bandage the arm close to his side, with their handkerchiefs tied together, so that the injured member would not swing about, and further splinter the broken bones. "Do you think you can walk down to our boat?" asked Jerry. "We can take you to a doctor, for I think you need one." "Need one? I should say I did," replied the man. "It is a wonder I was not killed by that fall. I'm afraid my ankle is sprained, but, after I rest a bit, and get over this dizzy feeling, I'll try to walk to the boat. It's lucky you boys happened to come along, just when you did." "We didn't 'happen' to come along," said Jerry. "We were looking for you." "Looking for me'?" "Yes, we saw you and Blowitz talking on the cliffs in the moonlight, and then we saw you disappear. We thought it was queer at the time," and Jerry related the subsequent events. "I'm glad you witnessed that," said the man, when Jerry had finished. "This will be additional evidence against that scoundrel who intends to rob me, and who tried to get me out of his way. However my time of reckoning will come. But would you mind telling me your names?" Jerry introduced himself and his companions, briefly, telling the reasons for their presence in California. "My name is De Vere," said the man. "Maurice De Vere. I was in partnership with Blowitz, in several ventures, including the one in which a brig named the Rockhaven is concerned." "Are you interested in that?" asked Jerry eagerly. "Why that is the derelict Blowitz wanted us to go in search of in the motor boat." "He did? Now I understand why he wanted to get me out of the way!" cried Maurice De Vere, quickly. "He was afraid I would meet you boys." "Yes, and that's why he was in such a hurry for us to start," added Ned, and they told of their dealings with Blowitz, and his anger at their refusal to take part in his schemes. "I can't be thankful enough to you boys," said the wounded man. "I don't know what would have become of me if you hadn't happened to have seen Blowitz push me from the cliff. I-- I wish--" Mr. De Vere seemed overcome by a sudden weakness, and fell back on the pile of coats and seaweed. "We had better get him to a doctor," said Ned. "He may be more injured than we suppose." "I-- I'll be all right in a little while-- that is all but my arm," said the injured man faintly. "It was just a little weakness. If you will give me some more water--" They gave him some and he seemed to feel better after that. Then he tried to rise, but he had to fall back again. "My ankle-- I think it's sprained," he said. "Then let us carry you to the boat," suggested Jerry. "I'm afraid you can't." "Well, we can try." They did, but it was hard work. By dint of carefully picking their steps over the rocks, however, the three boys finally managed to get Mr. De Vere into the cabin of the Ripper, where they made him comfortable on the cushions. "Now speed her up for the doctor's," said Jerry to Ned, who had taken charge of the engine. "That is if you know where to find one." "There is a physician whom I know, not far from the main wharf at San Felicity," said Maurice De Vere. "If you run the boat there I can get into a carriage and drive right to his house. Then after he has set my arm, I should like to tell you my story. That is, if you care to listen." "We certainly do," said Jerry. "We will be very glad to help you in any way that we can." "Will you?" asked the man eagerly. "Then, perhaps, I can get ahead of Blowitz after all." Quick time was made to the dock, and, though it was quite late, the boys found several public hackmen on hand. Mr. De Vere was put in one of the vehicles and driven to the doctor's office, whither, after they had secured their boat, the boys followed. It took a little time to set the broken arm, and, after some restoratives had been administered, and the sprained ankle, bandaged (though that hurt was not as severe as at first supposed) Mr. De Vere received the boys in his room, which his friend, the physician had provided. "I do not want to detain you boys too long," he said, "and it is not necessary to go into all the details of my story now. I will tell you a little of it, and then I have a request to make of you. I have been making plans while the doctor was working over me. It helped me to forget the pain." "We'll do anything we can for you," promised Jerry, and the other boys nodded in assent. "Well, Blowitz and I have been associated in many enterprises," said Mr. De Vere, "but, of late, I have had my suspicions of him. I began to fear he was trying to get the best of me, so that he would control all the interests. Now I am sure of it. "We went equal shares in loading the brig Rockhaven with valuable merchandise, for trade among the Santa Barbara Islands. There was also, aboard the brig, some valuable papers, and a considerable sum in gold, that was to go to a client of ours. After the ship was loaded I learned that Blowitz sent some mysterious boxes aboard. They came from Boston, I understand. I--" "Those are the boxes we saw in Cresville!" exclaimed Bob. "What's that?" asked Mr. De Vere, and the boys explained the curious actions of Blowitz in connection with the boxes. "Very likely they were the same," said Mr. De Vere. "What they contained I do not know, but I--" "Excuse me for interrupting you," said Jerry, "but I think at least one of the boxes contained something poisonous," and he related how the dog, in the Cresville freight station, had been affected by smelling at the broken package. "That's it!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. De Vere, after a moment's thought. "I see it all now. I can understand his actions. But I will explain later, for I want to be very sure of my facts. At any rate, not to burden you with too many details, after the brig had sailed, Blowitz wanted to purchase my interest in her. As he offered me a large sum I consented, and I transferred all my rights to him. "As soon as I had done so he left town, and then I learned that he had cheated me, for he had pretended to give me certain property for my share in the ship, and this property he gave me was utterly worthless. I then considered the deal off, and I knew that I still had a right to my half of the ship and the cargo. But, more than this, I also learned that Blowitz had cheated me in another way, by taking property and money that belonged to me. I consulted my lawyers, and they told me I had a right to the entire ship Rockhaven and all that it contained. I am the sole owner, and Blowitz has no right to the brig nor anything on it. It is all mine, though he is trying to get it. "This all happened before the brig was abandoned and became a derelict, but I can't understand how that happened, as she was a very stout vessel, though small. There has been no collision, as far as I can learn. It is all something of a mystery, but I am going to solve it. As soon as I learned what a scoundrel Blowitz was, and of the wrecking of the brig, or, at least, the reported wrecking of it, I came here for further news. "When I met Blowitz I accused him of cheating me, and I claimed the brig, when she should be found. He wanted to argue with me, and talked of seeing lawyers, but I knew I was right. Then he asked me to meet him on the clips to-night, to talk matters over. He said we might get some news of the ship from the captain of a fishing smack. "Rather foolishly I consented to meet him, and talk the thing over. We quarreled, and he attacked me, with what result you saw. He pushed me over the cliff, and fled, leaving me, I suppose he thought, for dead. "Now what I am going to ask of you boys is this: Will you go with me in your motor boat and search for the brig? Wait; do not give me an answer now. I think I can prove to you that I have a right to the abandoned ship, and I will pay you well for your time and trouble. Better than Blowitz offered to. But do not decide in a hurry. I must get in a little better shape myself, and then I have some arrangements to make. But I hope you will decide to go. Of course, if you don't care to, I can hire some one else, but I would rather have you boys. Now you can go home and think it over, and let me know at your leisure." The boys did not know what to say. Events had happened so rapidly that they did not exactly understand all of them. They realized, however, that they had another chance to go on a cruise on the Pacific, in the Ripper, and they felt that they ought to take advantage of it, and aid Mr. De Vere. "I think I shall have to break up this little party," said the physician, coming in just then. "I can't have my patient getting a fever. You boys will excuse me, I know, if I ask you to let him get some rest now." "That's all right," spoke Jerry. "We'll see you to-morrow, Mr. De Vere." "Very well," was the answer, and the boys left the injured man to the care of the doctor. "Well, what do you think of that?" asked Ned, as he and his chums were on their way to the Seabury bungalow. "Isn't it simply great?" "Great? It's immense!" exclaimed Bob. "We're going, aren't we, Jerry?" "If you fellows say so, and outvote me, I suppose you are." "But you want to go, don't you, Jerry?" "I didn't say I did not. I think we have a different man to deal with, in this Mr. De Vere, than we had in Blowitz. I think we shall go derelict hunting, boys." "And maybe we'll not have sport!" exclaimed Ned. They were soon within sight of the bungalow. The storm clouds had continued to gather, and the moon only shone at brief intervals. The wind was blowing considerable, and there was every evidence that it would rain before morning. "Guess we got in just in time," said Ned, as they entered the gateway. As he spoke Ned came to a sudden stop. He was looking at a dark figure which seemed to be stealing up to the bungalow. It appeared to be that of a man, advancing so as to make no noise, and attract no attention. The fitful gleams of moonlight showed him to be stooping over, and, now and then, glints of light about him, indicated that he carried a dark lantern, which he flashed at intervals to enable him to see his way. "Look!" whispered Ned, grasping Jerry's arm. "I see," was the low answer. "It's a burglar," spoke Bob. "Let's creep up on him, and make a capture!" CHAPTER XXIII OFF ON A CRUISE CAUTIOUSLY the boys advanced. They did not stop to think what they were going to do, nor how they would capture the man, who, if he had evil designs, was probably armed and desperate. With the sole desire of protecting from loss their friends in the bungalow, they determined to prevent the man from breaking into the place. That this seemed his intention was almost certain to the boys, for they saw him approach one of the low windows, stop under it, and flash his light several times. "Now's our chance!" whispered Ned. "Let's creep up and jump on his back. Then yell like mad and Ponto, and some of the servants will come and help us." With light footsteps, hardly making a sound that was not covered by the noise of the wind in the trees, the boys advanced until they were within a few feet of the man. He did not suspect their presence. The three chums were trembling with nervousness and excitement. Suddenly the man flashed a bright beam of light on the ground, and made a quick motion. "Now!" whispered Ned. "Jump boys!" for it looked as if the intruder was about to open a window, and spring inside. The chums leaped together, and fairly bore the man to the earth. Down they came upon him, as if they were stopping a halfback, with a football, running around right end on the second down. "We've got him!" yelled Bob. "Help! Help!" shouted Ned. "Murder! Thieves! Robbers! Fire! Police! Help!" These were cries coming from the man who was struggling to get rid of the crushing weight of three healthy, sturdy boys. "He's trying to get away!" called Jerry: "Hold him, fellows!" "Let me go! Help! Help! I haven't any money!" pleaded the man underneath!" Fire! Police! Help!" "What is it?" cried Mr. Seabury, opening a window just over where the struggle was going on, and thrusting his head out. "What's the matter?" "We've caught a burglar!" cried Bob. "A burglar? Hold him until I get my revolver! Ponto! Where are you? There's a burglar below! Hurry up and help the boys! Where is that black rascal? I'll bet he's gone to sleep again!" "Comin'! I'se comin' Massa Seabury," answered Ponto's voice from the far distance. "I were jest takin' a nap--" "Do you take me for a burglar?" suddenly asked the wriggling man, as he succeeded in getting his head from under Bob's stomach where it had practically been out of sight. "Did you think I was trying to rob the house?" "Of course; aren't you--" began Jerry, when a light flashing from one of the windows, as Ponto approached, shone full on the prostrate man's face. Upon the startled view of the boys there burst the vision of the peaceful, though sadly surprised, face of Professor Snodgrass. "Pro-fes-sor Snodgrass!" exclaimed Ned weakly. "Pro-fes-sor," stammered Bob, rolling over in his astonishment. "Well, if we--" began Jerry but he could not finish. He let go his hold of the scientist's arm, and Ned at the same time loosened his grip on the supposed burglar's leg. The professor arose, smoothed out his rumpled clothing, and remarked in a sad tone: "I suppose it's got away, now." "What?" asked Ned. "The horned toad. I was chasing one through the garden by the light of my portable electric lantern. I cornered him under the window, and I was just casting the net over him when you jumped on me. The toad got away. It's too bad, but of course you didn't know it. I must continue my hunt, for at last I am really on the track." "Whar am dat bug'lar man?" suddenly demanded Ponto, opening the side door a crack, and thrusting a gun out. "Whar am he? Jest hold him up agin this yeah shootin' iron, young gem'mens, an' Ponto'll make him wish he done gone stayed home? Whar am he?" "Lookout for that gun," cautioned Ned. "It might be loaded. There's no burglar, Ponto. It's all a mistake. It was Professor Snodgrass, hunting for horned toads." "Yes," added the scientist. "I heard they were always out just before a storm, and so I went after them. I saw a fine specimen, but he got away. However I shall catch him." "No bug'lar, eh?" mused Ponto, in disappointed tones. "Golly, it shorely am lucky fo' him dat dere ain't. I shorely would hab plugged him full ob holes, dat's a fact!" By this time Mr. Seabury had dressed and come down, and the girls were calling in anxious voices to know what all the excitement was about. Matters were soon explained, and the awakened household prepared to return to its normal state. That is all but the professor; he decided to continue his toad hunt, and, probably would have done so, but for the fact that it began to rain just then, and there was such a down-pour that it was out of the question to search in the garden. "Anyway," the scientist consoled himself, "I don't believe the toads would be out in the rain. I shall probably find one to-morrow," and, with that comforting reflection he went to sleep. Though it was rather late Mr. Seabury insisted on hearing from the boys the rest of the adventure, part of which his daughters had told him. He was much surprised at the disclosure of Blowitz's acts, and congratulated the boys that they had had nothing to do with him. "Do you think it would be safe to go with Mr. De Vere?" asked Ned. "I think so," replied Mr. Seabury. "Of course you want to make an investigation, but, if you find him all right, I see no reason why you should not go off on a cruise after the derelict." "Oh, I wish we could go," spoke Rose wistfully, but she knew it was out of the question. Mr. De Vere was much better the next day. The swelling in his ankle had gone down, and he could walk around, though he had to carry his arm in a sling. He sent for his lawyer, who soon proved that what the injured man had said was true. The boys consulted further with Mr. Seabury during the next two days, and made up their minds to go on the cruise. "Now, when can you start?" asked Mr. De Vere, after this point had been settled. "Or, rather, when can we start, for I intend to go with you, though I can't do much with this broken arm "We can go whenever you are ready," replied Jerry. "Then I'll give orders to have the Ripper provisioned, for I am going to pay all expenses. By the time we get ready I think this storm will have blown over," for the wind and rain had continued for three days. Under Maurice De Vere's directions preparations for the cruise were soon completed. On the fourth day the storm blew away and there was the promise of settled weather, though some old sailors, down at the dock, said there were liable to be high winds for some time yet. The Ripper was overhauled, a plentiful cargo of provisions and supplies had been stowed aboard, and, having bid good-bye to their friends, the Seaburys, the boys were ready for their cruise. "When will you come back?" asked Rose, as she and her sisters went down to the dock to see the party off. "When we find the derelict," answered Jerry. "Good luck!" said Nellie. "Don't let a sea serpent catch you," cautioned Olivia, as she waved her hand. Jerry threw on the switch, Ned turned the fly wheel over, there was a throbbing of the cylinders, and the Ripper was off on her long cruise after the derelict brig. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING THE DERELICT "WELL, now that we're under way," said Jerry, who had assumed charge of the engine, "in which direction do you propose going, Mr. De Vere? We are under your orders you know." "There are to be no special orders given on this cruise," was the answer. "I regard you boys as my partners in this enterprise. We will all do our best to find the brig, and if any of you have any suggestions, I hope you will not hesitate to offer them. To be frank with you I do not know where to look for the Rockhaven. She is somewhere in this vicinity, floating around, but at the mercy of wind, wave and cross currents. All we can do is to cruise about, hoping to get a sight of her." "I thought when you searched for anything on the ocean you had to have the longitude and latitude," said Rob. "So you do usually," replied Mr. De Vere, but, in this case it is impossible to get those figures. If it were it would be an easy matter to pick up the brig. But, in the case of a derelict, that is floating about, going in no particular direction, and making only such speed as the wind or the currents give it, there is no telling where it will drift to. It might be at one spot at night, and many miles off the next morning." "We are prepared for a long cruise," spoke Ned, "and it doesn't matter which way we go. How would it do to go about in big circles, taking a new one every day?" "That's a good plan," said the owner of the Rockhaven. "We might try it, at any rate." So this was done. With chart and compass Mr. De Vere, who understood the science of navigation, worked out a plan of traveling about in big sweeps, that took in a goodly portion of that part of the Pacific. They had some strong marine glasses aboard and, with these, they would take an observation, every now and then, to see if there was any sight of the brig. As they did not expect to come upon her close to the harbor of San Felicity, this work was not undertaken until the afternoon of the first day. In the meanwhile the Ripper's cabin had been put in ship-shape, bunks were arranged for sleeping and, at his request Bob was put in charge of the galley, to prepare the meals and be cook. "And mind," cautioned Jerry, "don't eat all the things yourself. Give us a chance, once in a while." "Of course; what do you think I am?" asked Bob indignantly. "I don't think-- I know," replied Jerry with a laugh. Mr. De Vere could not do much to help the boys as, with his broken arm in a sling, he had to be careful how he moved about so that he would not be tossed against the side of the boat and injured. The Ripper was a large boat, for one of the motor class, but, when it got outside the harbor, and felt the full force of the Pacific swell, it was not as easy riding as the boys had imagined. At first they were a little inclined to be seasick, as it was some time since they had been on such a big stretch of water, but, after a while, they got used to it. The approach of night found them many miles from the harbor, but they had had no sight of the derelict, nor, did they expect to. If the deserted brig was anywhere in the vicinity, it must be pretty well out to sea, Mr. De Vere told them. So when it got dark, and lights were set aglow in the cozy cabin, it was with light hearts that the boys and their friends gathered around the supper table, Bob had prepared a good meal, and they enjoyed it very much. They took turns at the night watches, the boat continuing to steam on ahead, and the person on the lookout taking occasional observations of the dark horizon through powerful night glasses. Morning found them upon a waste of waters, out of sight of land, and with not a sail in view. "Say, but it's lonesome," remarked Bob when he went to the galley to get breakfast. "What a big place the ocean is." "I suppose you expected to find a lot of excursion boats out here," remarked Jerry. "I did not!" exclaimed Bob. "But I thought we might see a ship or two." For two days they cruised about, moving in great circles and keeping a sharp watch for any sight of the derelict. Several times one of the boys, after peering through the glasses, would call that they had sighted her, and the motor boat would be rushed in that direction. But, each time, it only resulted in disappointment for what they saw turned out to be only a bit of wreckage, a big dead fish, or some floating box or barrel, thrown overboard from some ship. "It looks as if our search was going to be longer than I at first thought," said Mr. De Vere on the fifth day. "It is a good thing we are well provisioned and have plenty of gasolene." "Yes, we could stay out for three weeks if necessary," replied Jerry. "I hope we don't have to," went on the owner of the brig. "A week ought to bring us within sight of her, if she still floats. But there is no telling what that scoundrel Blowitz may have done. He is capable of having some one of the crew bore holes in the ship before they deserted hEr, so she would slowly sink, and he could collect the insurance. In fact he may have done so, and only be pretending that she is a derelict. I wish we would get sight of her. A great deal, so far as my fortune is concerned, depends on the result of this search." The boys, no less than Maurice De Vere, were anxious to sight the derelict, not so much for the prize money, but because they wanted to be successful, and have their cruise result in something. Another day went by, and, though they sighted several vessels in the distance, no water-logged craft or slowly drifting derelict greeted their eyes. "We'll hope for better luck to-morrow," said Mr. De Vere as darkness began to fall, "though from the weather indications, I would say we were in for a blow." "It does look as if getting ready for a storm," admitted Jerry. There was a curious stillness to the air, and the ocean had a queer oily look, the waves heaving restlessly as though they were impatient at their slow motion, and wanted to break into a wild revel. Off to the west there was a murky, yellowish look to the sky, and, now and then, there came puffs of wind that had in them a hint of great force and power. "We had better make everything as snug as possible," advised Mr. De Vere. "If it comes on to blow in the night we'll have our hands full to manage the boat." CHAPTER XXV IN A BAD STORM SHORTLY after midnight, Jerry who was to take the last, or dog-watch was awakened by Ned shaking him in his bunk. "What-- what's the matter?" asked Jerry sleepily. "You'd better get up I think. The boat is pitching something fierce, and it's beginning to blow great guns." "Um!" exclaimed Jerry, as he got out of his bunk, and was thrown up against a bulkhead by a roll of the boat. "I should say it was pitching some. Where's Rob? Where's Mr. De Vere?" "I didn't call them. I thought I'd tell you first and see what you thought." "Wait until I take a look outside," said Jerry, dressing as best he could while swaying to and fro with the motion of the Ripper. "Here! Quit your fooling!" suddenly exclaimed Bob, as he rolled from his bunk, and barely saved himself from a bad shock by landing on his hands and feet in a crouching attitude, as does a cat. "What did you do that for?" "You'll have to ask Father Neptune," answered Jerry. "We're not guilty, Chunky." "Didn't you pull me from my bunk?" asked the stout youth. It needed no answer from his chums to assure him to the contrary. The motor boat was now pitching and tossing violently, and, as the boys stood in the cabin, they had hard work to prevent themselves from being thrown from partition to partition. Had it not been for their forethought in making everything secure earlier in the night, the boat might have been damaged. "What's the matter, boys?" asked Mr. De Vere, looking out from his small stateroom. "Oh, it's the storm. Arrived strictly on time, I guess, and it's a hummer too! How's the engine working?" "Fine," declared Ned, who had just left the motor cockpit. "Runs like a charm, and hasn't missed an explosion since I took charge." "That's good," commented Mr. De Vere. "We'll need all the power we can get, to keep her head on to the waves, if this gets any worse." As he spoke there was a thundering crash on the deck above them, and a rush of water told that a big comber had come aboard, nearly burying the small craft in a swirl of green water. "Are the hatches closed," asked Mr. De Vere anxiously, "and the sliding doors fastened?" "Yes," replied Ned. "I saw to that when I noticed the wind was getting worse, and the waves higher." The boat was fitted with a cabin over the full length, but amidships, where the motor was, were sliding partitions that could be taken down, thus making that part of the craft open. Ned had put these slides in place, securely fastening them, and closing the top hatches. The derelict hunters were thus completely shut up in the Ripper, and could manage the engine, and run the boat without exposing themselves. Only for this the big wave might have swamped them. Maurice De Vere quickly dressed and, with the boys went to the engine compartment. The motor was humming and throbbing, and, at Jerry's suggestion, Ned gave the wheels and cogs an additional dose of oil. The storm rapidly increased in fury, and the boat was pitching and tossing in a manner that made it difficult to get from one part to another. But the Ripper was a substantial craft and though her nose, many times, was buried deep under some big sea, she managed to work her way out, staggering under the shock, but going on, like the gallant boat she was. The engine, from which one or another of the boys never took his eyes, worked to perfection. If it had failed them, and they had gotten into the trough of the sea, there probably would have been a different story to tell of the motor boys on the Pacific. "This is getting fierce!" exclaimed Bob; after a particularly big wave had deluged the boat. "Getting fierce?" repeated Jerry. "It's been fierce for some time. I hope it doesn't get any worse." But, if it did not increase in violence, the storm showed no signs of ceasing. The wind fairly howled around the frail boat, as if angry that it could not overwhelm it, and beat it down under the waves, which were altogether too big for the safe or comfortable riding of the Ripper. There was nothing to do save watch the engine, keep the wheel steady, and the boat pointed head on to the waves. The three boys took turns at this, for no one would now venture back to his bunk. Mr. De Vere could do little, for his broken arm hampered him, and, in order that he might suffer no further injury, he braced himself in a corner, where he would be comparatively safe from the pitching and tossing. "Wow! That was a bad one!" exclaimed Bob, as another heavy wave thundered on the deck, and ran hissing along the scuppers. "I think you had better get out the life preservers," suggested Mr. De Vere, when several more tremendous waves followed in quick succession. "Do you think we are in danger?" asked Ned. "No more than we were some time ago," was the rather grave answer. "But it is best to be prepared. We seem to be running into the center of the storm, instead of away from it." "I'll get the cork jackets," volunteered Jerry, going to the lockers where the preservers were kept. They were placed where they could be quickly put on in case the boat foundered, and then, with white, set faces the boys prepared to watch out the remainder of the night, looking to the engine occasionally, and hoping fervently that they would weather the storm. It was not cold, for they were in the latitude close to perpetual summer, and there was no rain, only that never-ceasing wind which piled the waves up in great foam-capped masses. On and on the boat staggered, now scarcely making any progress at all, and, again, during a lull shooting through the water at great speed. Sometimes the screw would be "racing," as the stern lifted clear of the water, and again the powerful motor would be almost at a standstill, so great was the pressure of the waves on the blades of the propeller. "It doesn't seem to be getting any worse," remarked Bob after a long silence, broken only by the howl of the wind. "We haven't been boarded by any seas lately." "No, I think we have gone through the most dangerous part of it," agreed Mr. De Vere. "But we're still far from being out of danger. There is a very heavy sea on." They waited and hoped. The throb of the engine became a monotonous hum and whir, and the crash of the waves like the boom of some big drum. Rob, looking through one of the cabin dead-eyes, exclaimed: "See!" The others looked out. "It's getting morning," spoke Jerry, with a sigh of relief. "The night is almost gone." Gradually it became lighter, the pale gray dawn stealing in through the thick bull's-eyes, and revealing the rather pale faces of the young derelict hunters. They looked out on a heaving waste of waters, the big waves rising and falling like some gigantic piece of machinery. "The wind is dying down," announced Ned in a low voice. Somehow it seemed as if they ought to talk in whispers. "Yes, I think it will stop when the sun comes up," said Mr. De Vere. "It looks as if it would be clear." In the east there appeared a rosy light. A golden beam shot up to the sky, tinting the crests of the waves. Then the rim of Old Sol appeared, to cheer the voyagers. "Look there!" suddenly called Jerry, pointing straight at the disk of the sun, which, every second, was becoming larger. They all looked and saw, laboring in the waves, about a mile away, a powerful tug, that seemed to be following them. CHAPTER XXVI RIVAL SEARCHERS "WHAT boat is that?" asked Ned. "Hand me the glasses," requested Mr. De Vere, as he went nearer to the cabin port. He peered through the binoculars for some time, then announced: "It's the steam tug, Monarch, from San Pedro. I wonder what it can be doing out this way?" "Perhaps it was blown out of its course by the storm," suggested Jerry. "I'm sure we must have been." "Very likely," admitted Mr. De Vere. "Still that is a very powerful boat, and the captain must have some reason to be keeping after us the way he is doing." "Do you think they are following us?" asked Ned. "It certainly looks so. We're headed straight out to sea now," he added, after a glance at the compass. "If the tug was out of it's course it would be turned about and going the other way. Instead it is coming right after us." This was very evident, for, as the Ripper was laboring through the waves, the other vessel kept in her wake, and seemed to be overhauling the motor boat. "Well, it's a free country; I suppose they have a right to be here," spoke Jerry. "Yes," said Mr. De Vere, watching the tug through the glasses, "but I don't like their actions." "Why not? Do you think--" began Jerry. "I don't like to say what I think," was the answer. "We will have to wait and see what develops. But I propose that we have some breakfast, or, at least, some hot coffee, if Bob can manage to stand in the galley. It has been a hard night for us." Bob soon demonstrated that he could get up a breakfast under rather adverse circumstances, and the derelict hunters were soon drinking hot coffee, though they had to hold the partly-filled cups in one hand, and maintain their balance by clinging with the other to some part of the cabin. The day was clear, and, save for the high waves, there were no evidences of the storm. The big sea, however, was not likely to subside soon, and the Ripper had to stagger along as best she could, which task she performed to the great satisfaction of the voyagers. Maurice De Vere seemed much worried by the appearance of the tug, which hung on the wake of the Ripper, maintaining a speed that kept it about a mile to the rear. The owner of the Rockhaven kept the glasses almost continually on the steam vessel, and the anxious look did not leave his face. "Can you slow down the engine a bit?" he asked of Jerry, who had relieved Ned at the motor. "Yes, if you want me to, Why?" "I'd like that other boat to come closer to us. I want to see if I can make out who is aboard. If we slacken our speed they may approach before they see the trick, and I can form some opinion of what this strange chase means." "What do you think it means?" asked Ned. "I'm afraid it indicates that Blowitz is after us," replied Mr. De Vere. "I think he has heard of our voyage after the brig and has hired this tug to try and beat me. But slow down, and let us see what happens. The waves are not so high now, and you can do it with safety." Accordingly Jerry reduced the speed of the motor. The Ripper at once began to lose headway, and Mr. De Vere, watching the oncoming tug through the binoculars, announced: "She'll be closer in a little while, and I can make out the man on deck, who seems to be directing operations." The boys anxiously waited. Their employer kept the glasses to his eyes, though it was tiresome work, holding them with one hand. Suddenly he exclaimed: "I can see him quite plainly, now!" "Who is it?" asked Jerry quickly. "Carson Blowitz! He, too, is after the derelict! He is going to try and cheat me again!" Nearer and nearer approached the steam tug, for the pilot had, evidently, not taken into consideration the fact that the Ripper was going ahead at reduced speed. Soon it was close enough for the boys, without the aid of the glasses, to make out the figure of Blowitz. "I must go outside," announced Mr. De Vere. "Give me a hand, Jerry, so I won't stumble and hurt my broken arm." "What are you going to do?" "I'm going to ask Blowitz what he means by following me; and whether he is trying to find the derelict that belongs to me." Jerry assisted Mr. De Vere out on the small deck in front of the cabin. By this time the Monarch was within hailing distance, those in charge of her evidently having decided to give up trying to remain in the rear. "Ripper ahoy!" called Carson Blowitz, waving his hand at the little group on deck. "What do you want, you scoundrel?" asked Mr. De Vere angrily. "What do you mean by following me?" "Rather strong language, my dear partner," was the taunting answer from Blowitz. "Besides I don't know that I am following you. The ocean is big enough for two boats, I guess." "Do you deny that you are following me, and seeking to find the derelict Rockhaven?" demanded Mr. De Vere. "I deny nothing-- I admit nothing, my dear partner." "I am no longer in partnership with you, since you tried to cheat me," was the answer. "I consider our relations at an end." "Very well. But I am sorry to see that you are hurt. I hope it is nothing serious." "No thanks to you that I was not killed! You meant to end my life when you pushed me over the cliff, and, as soon as this business is settled I intend to see that you are punished for your crimes. You have gone too far, Carson Blowitz." "Not as far as I intend to go!" suddenly exclaimed the other, with a change in his manner. The two boats were now side by side, not twenty feet away. "You have guessed it," he went on. "I am after the derelict brig, and I intend to get her. I am going to finish you before I am through. That ship is mine, and all the cargo on her. If you attempt to touch it I shall have to take stringent measures to prevent you. I warn you not to interfere with my property!" "Your property!" cried Maurice De Vere. "That brig and all on it is mine, by every legal claim, and I shall maintain my rights to the uttermost." "Very well then, it is to be a fight!" answered Blowitz. "We are to be rival seekers after the derelict. Possession is nine points of the law, and I intend to take possession." "First you'll have to find it." "Never fear. I am on the track. Good-bye, my recent partner. Sorry I can't keep you company." Blowitz waved his hand, as though in friendly farewell, but Mr. De Vere turned aside, refusing to notice him, for the scoundrel had greatly wronged him, and was now adding insult to injury. There was a ringing of bells on the tug, and the powerful vessel forged ahead, leaving the Ripper astern. "Shall we speed up?" asked Jerry. "We can easily beat them, for ours is the faster boat." "No, let him go," replied Mr. De Vere. "He has no more idea, than have I, where to look for the derelict. He is taking the same chances we are, but I'll not follow him. As he says, we are rivals now. I hope I win, for my whole fortune depends on it." "We'll do our best to help you," said Bob. "That's what we will," added Jerry, and Ned nodded an assent. "Bear off to the left," suggested Mr. De Vere, as a cloud of black smoke from the funnel of the tug showed that the engineer was crowding on steam. "We'll part company from them." Speeding up the engine Jerry steered the Ripper out of the course of the Monarch. The hunt of the rivals to locate the derelict brig was now on. CHAPTER XXVII THE DERELICT "THEY don't seem to be following us now," observed Ned, after they had watched the tug continuing on her course. "No, it looks as if they were taking another tack," said Maurice De Vere. "I wonder if he can have private information as to the location of the brig? If he has he may get ahead of me and discover her first." "I don't believe he has," was Jerry's opinion. "I think he is on a blind search, just as we are." "I hope so. It means a great deal to me to find that derelict." "What had we better do?" asked Bob. "Can't we get ahead of him in some way?" "I know of no other way than to cruise about until we find the brig," replied Mr. De Vere. "It is only a chance, but luck may favor us first. That is all we can hope for." All that day they cruised fruitlessly about, and the next day was equally barren of result. "I'm afraid you'll think we're not very good derelict hunters," remarked Jerry on the morning of the third day after the storm, when they took an observation, and saw nothing but a vast extent of water. The weather was calm, the sun shone brightly and the Ripper was making good time. "No," was the answer. "It isn't your fault. This was in the nature of an experiment, and I do not expect immediate results. I figured on being three weeks on this search, and we have only spent about a third of that time. We are yet on the safe side, although I admit it is rather disappointing." After breakfast they resumed their observations. It was nearly eight bells when Ned, who had been stationed in the bow with the powerful glasses, cried out: "I see something." "Where?" asked Mr. De Vere eagerly. "Off the left." Mr. De Vere took the glasses and peered long and anxiously through them at a small speck which Ned pointed out as it rose and fell on the crest of the billows. "Is it the derelict?" asked Jerry, appearing in the companionway. "I don't know," answered Ned. "It looks like some sort of a ship, but I'm afraid to be positive, because we've had so many false alarms." "It's some sort of a ship," remarked Mr. De Vere suddenly as he passed the glasses to Jerry. "I make it out to be a brig, and, from the way it is jibing about, it seems to be under no control. See what you think." Jerry took a careful look. "It's a brig, sure enough," he declared, "and I can't see any sign of life on her." "Put us over that way," requested Mr. De Vere, of Ned, who was steering and running the engine. "When we get a little nearer I may be able to make out the name." There were anxious hearts beating in the breasts of those aboard the Ripper. Could it be possible that the ship they saw was the derelict for which they had been searching? They all hoped so. Ned speeded the motor up to the highest notch and the boat fairly flew through the calm sea. Near and nearer it came to the ship, which could now plainly be made out. There was not a sail set, and this was peculiar in itself. The brig idly rose and fell on the long, heaving swells. "It's my ship!" suddenly cried Mr. De Vere, after a lengthy observation through the binoculars. "I can make out her name. It's the Rockhaven! Hurrah, boys! We have found her at last!" "And Blowitz and his tug are nowhere in sight!" cried Ned. "We have beaten him!" "Indeed we have," went on Mr. De Vere. "Now, Ned, see how soon you can put us alongside." "It will not take long," declared the young engineer. "It's only a few miles." The Ripper proved worthy of her name, for she fairly "ripped" through the waves, and, in a short time, was so close to the derelict that they had to slow up. "Put us up under the port quarter," advised Mr. De Vere. "Luckily there is not much of a swell on, and we can easily get aboard as she sets low in the water. She must be leaking." With skillful hand Ned brought the motor boat alongside. The anchor chains were hanging low from the hawse holes and as they approached Jerry prepared to catch hold and swing himself up. He had reached out his hand, and was just going to grasp the links, when, from the deck of the deserted brig there came savage growls and barks. Jerry jumped back in alarm and Ned, who had jammed a boat hook in the side of the brig, to hold the Ripper steady, looked up. "It's dogs!" he cried. "Two of 'em!" As he spoke two savage looking creatures thrust their heads up over the low rail. They were large dogs, of the wolf-hound variety; great shaggy creatures, and they growled in a menacing manner. "They must have left the dogs aboard when they so strangely deserted the ship," said Mr. De Vere. "I suppose they're glad to see us. They must be lonesome. Try again, Jerry. I would, if I had the use of my two arms." Once more Jerry prepared to ascend by means of the chains, but the dogs almost leaped over the rail at him, showing their teeth, while the hair on as much of their backs as could be seen stood up in ridges. Foam dripped from their jaws. "Look out!" cried Bob. "Those dogs are mad! Be careful!" Savage growls and barks from the angry beasts emphasized his words. There was no doubt of it. The dogs were mad from fear and hunger. They disputed the advance of the voyagers, and would not let them aboard. "Try on the other side," suggested Mr. De Vere. The boat was worked around to the other side of the bow, but the dogs followed, and stood on guard there. "Maybe we can get up at the stern," said Jerry. "Perhaps the dogs can't make their way aft." But it was the same there. The maddened animals were ready to fly at the throats of any one who should attempt to board the derelict. "What's to be done?" asked Ned. "We didn't count on this. Those are fierce dogs." "Indeed they are," replied Mr. De Vere. "It would not be safe to risk getting too close to them." "But what can we do?" asked Jerry. "If we wait here too long, Blowitz may appear." "We've got to do something," said the boy's employer. "The only thing I can see to do is to shoot the dogs. I'll get my rifle," and he went into the cabin, where he had left his weapon, one of several he had brought aboard. CHAPTER XXVIII A MYSTERIOUS INFLUENCE "ONE of you boys will have to do the shooting," said Maurice De Vere, as he came out on the small forward deck with his rifle. "I'm a pretty good marksman, but I can't do anything when I have this broken arm." "Let Jerry try," suggested Ned. "He's the best shot of us three." "Oh, I don't know," spoke Jerry modestly, but Mr. De Vere handed him the rifle. "We have no time to lose," he said. "Blowitz may be here at any hour, and, as he said, possession is nine points of the law. I want to get aboard." Jerry looked to the loading of the weapon, and then, at his suggestion the motor boat was backed off some yards. "I want to see to get a good shot, and put the poor things out of their misery as soon as possible," he said. The dogs acted more wild than ever as they saw the motor boat moving about. They almost leaped overboard, as they raced about the derelict and finally, they both jumped on the quarter deck, where they stood in bold relief. "Now's your chance, Jerry!" cried Ned. Jerry took quick aim, steadying himself as best he could against the motion of the boat. The rifle cracked, and, at the same instant one of the dogs gave a howl, a convulsive leap, and, a second later was floundering in the water. "There's one of the poor brutes gone," remarked Mr. De Vere. "Now, once more, Jerry. I hate to kill the dogs, for they are valuable animals, but it is a question of their lives or ours, and it would not be safe to let them live." The remaining dog, startled by the rifle shot, and the disappearance of its companion stood in mute surprise on the quarter deck. He offered a good shot, and Jerry fired. The dog howled, and began whirling about in a circle, snapping its jaws. "You've only wounded him!" exclaimed Bob. Before any one else could speak Jerry had fired the repeater again. This time the bullet went true, and the dog fell to the deck, gave a few convulsive struggles, and was still. "That settles him," remarked Mr. De Vere. "Now, boys, we'll go aboard, and I'll get what belongs to me. Then we'll see if we can tow the ship in." The Ripper was once more put alongside the brig, cork buffers were adjusted to prevent damage being done, and, in a few minutes Jerry had scrambled up on deck. "That's a fierce brute," he remarked to Bob who followed him, as they stood looking at the dead dog. "I'm glad I didn't have to tackle him at close quarters." "Let's heave him overboard," suggested Bob, and they did so, though it took all their strength to drag the body to the rail. "I guess you'll have to lower the accommodation ladder for me, boys," said Mr. De Vere. "I don't believe I can scramble up by way of the chains, as you did." "Wait until I get up there and I'll give you a hand," called Ned, who had been left in the motor boat. "No, you had better stay here and help fasten the ladder when Bob and Jerry lower it," answered Mr. De Vere. "I'll need your aid." After some little difficulty, for part of the tackle had fouled, Bob and Jerry succeeded in lowering over the ship's side an accommodation ladder, somewhat like a short flight of steps. It hung above the Ripper's deck, and when some ropes had been strung for hand rails, Mr. De Vere was able to ascend, holding on by one hand, and was soon on the deck of the brig. "At last!" he exclaimed. "Here we are! I was afraid we'd never find her, and, if we did, that Blowitz would be ahead of me. But, thanks to you, boys, I have beaten him. Now I must see if my papers are safe." "Where will you look for them?" asked Jerry. "They must be somewhere in the captain's cabin. That is where the gold will likely be. I suppose we'll have to hunt for it." "Shall we help you?" "Yes, if you will. Let's go below. Is the motor boat securely made fast?" "I'll guarantee she'll not drift away," declared Ned, as he and his companions followed Mr. De Vere to the main cabin. On every side were evidences of a hurried abandonment of the brig. Some of the sailors had gone off without taking all their clothing, for garments were scattered here and there. Things were in confusion below decks, and the captain's cabin showed signs of having been ransacked. "There is something queer about this," said Mr. De Vere as he surveyed the scene. "The ship is not sinking, and I don't believe it has leaked a drop, though at first I thought so. There was no collision, for there is no sign of damage. Yet there is every indication that captain and crew deserted the brig in a hurry. Now what made them do that? Why did not Blowitz give me some reason for that? What caused the abandonment of the brig?" "Perhaps the sailors got superstitious, I've often read that they do," suggested Jerry. "I hardly think so." "Maybe they were afraid of the mad dogs," said Bob. "I don't believe the dogs went mad until after the sailors left," was Mr. De Vere's answer. "No, there is some strange secret connected with the brig, and I'd like to solve it. But I must first find my papers and the gold." "Suppose the captain took them with him?" remarked Ned. "He did not know about them. That is he did not know of what the valuables consisted. The gold and papers were put in a safe, and only Blowitz and myself had the combination. The safe was placed in the captain's cabin, and he was instructed to deliver it, unopened, to a certain man. When they deserted the ship in such a hurry I do not believe they took the safe with them. It must be somewhere on board. We'll search for it." The cabin was rather large, and contained a number of lockers and other places that might serve as a hiding place for the safe. The boys and Mr. De Vere made a careful hunt. While they were in the midst of it a sudden noise startled them. "What was that?" asked Bob. "The cabin door slid shut," answered Jerry, who had seen what happened. "I'll open it." "Here's the safe!" suddenly called Mr. De Vere, as he opened a small locker, in an out-of-the-way corner. "Help me get it out, boys, and we'll open it." The closed door was forgotten, and the three lads, at their employer's suggestion, fastened a rope about the safe and pulled it out. It rolled on small wheels. "Sorry I can't help you much," spoke Mr. De Vere, "but this arm of mine prevents me." "Oh, we can manage it all right," declared Jerry, and after a while, they succeeded in wheeling the safe out into the middle of the cabin. "There is some other stuff in the locker," announced Bob, as he peered within. "It looks like those small boxes Mr. Blowitz shipped from Cresville." "That's what they are," added Jerry, taking a look. "Now we have a chance to see what is in them." "Wait until we get the safe open," advised Mr. De Vere. "Then we'll see if we can't get at the secret of the ship." He sat down in front of the strong steel box, and began to turn the combination. It was quite complicated, and took some time. "Um-m-m-m-m!" exclaimed Bob, with a lazy stretch. "I'm beginning to feel sleepy. Guess I'll lie down on this couch and rest." He did so, and, somewhat to his companions' surprise, was soon apparently asleep. "He must be pretty well played out," remarked Ned. "Funny, but I feel a little drowsy myself. We haven't been getting any too much sleep, of late, I suppose." Mr. De Vere was working away at the combination of the safe. Something seemed to have gone wrong with it, and he twirled the knobs and dials, first this way and that. "What a curious ringing sound they make," Jerry was thinking, as he sat in a chair and looked on. "It's just like bells away off somewhere. I wonder if it's my ears? I feel as if I had taken quinine for a cold. There seems to be some sort of a haze in the cabin. I wonder--" But Jerry never knew what he wondered, for the same mysterious influence that had overpowered Bob had made Jerry succumb. His head fell forward on his breast, and he was unconscious. Ned began to imagine he was in a boiler factory, of which Mr. De Vere was the foreman. The latter seemed to be hammering on a big steel safe, and soon, in Ned's ears there echoed the noise of the blows. Then the boy's eyes closed, and he joined Bob and Jerry in falling under the mysterious spell. Seated on the floor in front of the safe Mr. De Vere wondered what made his fingers move so slowly. With his one good hand he could scarcely turn the dials of the combination. His head, too, felt very heavy, and once there was such a mist before his eyes that he could not see the figures on the shining disk of the safe. "This is queer," he murmured. "It is very close in this cabin. I wish the boys had opened the door. I wish-- I--" Mr. De Vere fell over backward, unconscious, while, around the silent forms in the cabin wreathed a thin bluish vapor that came from the locker where the safe had been, and where there were some small boxes-- the same mysterious boxes that Blowitz had shipped from Cresville. In the tightly-closed cabin the derelict hunters were now at the mercy of the mysterious influence-- an influence they could not see or guard against, and from which they were in deadly peril. CHAPTER XXIX A COMMAND TO LAY TO STRANGE things happen on the ocean. Sometimes slight occurrences lead to great results. When the sailors deserted the brig Rockhaven, provisioning their boats in a hurry, one water cask was left behind. The mate had intended stowing it away in the captain's gig, but found there was no room for it, so he allowed it to remain on deck, where he set it. In due time, by the motion of the abandoned brig in the storm, the water cask was overturned and rolled about at every heave of the waves, first to port, and then to starboard, Now aft, and again forward. As luck would have it, not long after those in the cabin fell under the deadly influence of some queer, stupefying fumes, the water cask was rolling about close to the trunk roof of the cabin, a roof that had side windows in it. With one lurch of the ship the water cask nearly crashed against these windows, but, by the narrowest margin missed. Then the cask rolled toward the scuppers. Those in the cabin were more than ever under the influence of the fumes. They were breathing heavily, the veins in their necks began to swell, their hearts were laboring hard to overcome the stupefying influence of the fumes. But it was almost too late. Suddenly a long roller lifted the brig well up into the air. Then it slid down the watery incline. The cask started to roll toward the cabin windows. Straight for them it came, turning over and over. With a resounding blow the cask shattered the frame, and sent the glass in a shower into the cabin below. Through the opening thus Providentially made, the fresh air rushed. The deadly fumes began to escape. Once more the cask rolled against the window, breaking another glass, and more fresh air came in. Jerry stirred uneasily. It seemed as if some one had a hammer, hitting him on the head. That was the blood beginning to circulate again. His veins throbbed with life. Slowly he opened his eyes. He became aware of a sweet, sickish smell, that mingled with the sharp tang of the salt air. By a great effort he roused himself. He could not, for a moment, think where he was, but he had a dim feeling as if some one had tried to chloroform him. Then, with a sudden shock his senses came back to him. He became aware of the need of fresh air, and, hardly knowing what he was doing, he opened the cabin door. The inrush of a fresh atmosphere completed the work the water cask had begun. The poisonous fumes were dispersed, and, with their disappearance, the others regained their senses. Mr. De Vere was the next to arouse. "What-- what happened?" he asked. "I don't know," replied Jerry, "unless Blowitz came aboard and chloroformed us." "He couldn't do that-- yet-- the safe is not tampered with-- but this drowsy feeling--" Mr. De Vere stopped suddenly. His eyes were fixed on the closet or locker, whence the safe had been wheeled, and where the little boxes were. From the locker a thin, bluish smoke arose. "Quick!" he cried. "I understand it all now! We must get them overboard or we'll all be killed!" Ned and Bob had been aroused by this time, and were sitting staring stupidly around them. They did not realize what had happened. "I'll throw 'em overboard," volunteered Jerry. "Don't go near them," cautioned Mr. De Vere. "If you breathe too deeply of those fumes, you'll be killed. Get a boat hook, poke them out of the locker, spear them with the sharp point, and thrust them up through the broken cabin window." Jerry hurried to the Ripper, which safely rode alongside the brig. He got a sharp boat hook, and, with the aid of Bob and Ned, the boxes, with their deadly contents were soon out on deck, whence they were knocked into the sea. Then a hunt was made in other parts of the brig and more boxes were found and cast into the ocean. "What was in them?" asked Ned, when the task was finished. "Was that what made us fall asleep?" "It was," replied Mr. De Vere. "What was in them I do not know exactly, but it was some chemical that Blowitz put there to accomplish his purpose. I see through his scheme now. After the brig was loaded he sent these boxes aboard. They were distributed in different parts of the ship, some in the quarters of the crew, some where the mates slept, and others in the captain's cabin. They were properly adjusted to give off a vapor at a certain time and he counted either on the fumes killing the men, or making them unconscious so they would die of heart failure. Then, very likely, he intended to make a search for the brig which would have no captain or crew, and claim the vessel. But his scheme did not work as he intended. The crew and captain were probably frightened by feeling some mysterious sleepy influence at work, and they hastily deserted the ship. Probably the commander did not like to acknowledge the real reason for his seemingly un-called-for act, and he did not tell Blowitz the cause for the abandonment. The stuff in the boxes remained on board, ready to render unconscious any persons who came within reach of the fumes. Maybe it made the dogs mad. "The accidental closing of the cabin door deprived us of air. The fumes filled the cabin, and rendered us all unconscious. I do not yet understand how we were revived." "It must have been the water cask," declared Jerry, who had seen it on deck, and his theory, which was the correct one, was accepted. "Now I will finish working the combination, and open the safe," said Mr. De Vere, when they had breathed in deep of the fresh air, and felt the last influences of the fumes vanish. "We must have been unconscious an hour or more." It did not take him long after this to open the strong box. From an inner compartment he drew forth a bundle of papers, and a small box, that seemed quite heavy. This he opened. "The gold is safe, at any rate," he announced. "Now to look at the papers." A hasty examination of these showed that they were all there. "This is good news for me, boys," announced Mr. De Vere. "My fortune is safe now, and that scoundrel Blowitz can not ruin me as he tried to do!" "Hark! What was that?" asked Jerry suddenly. From somewhere out on the Pacific there sounded a whistle, long drawn out. "It's a steamer!" cried Ned. "It has probably sighted the derelict!" "A steamer," murmured Mr. De Vere. "If it is not--" He did not finish, but the boys knew what he meant. Mr. De Vere hastily thrust the papers into an inner pocket of his coat. "Distribute the gold among you," he told the boys. "When we get it aboard the Ripper we can hide it. There is no telling what might happen. If that steamer--" "It's the tug Monarch!" cried Jerry, who had hurried up on deck. "It's coming this way full speed!" "Then we must leave at once!" decided Mr. De Vere. "I think our boat can beat theirs. I did hope to be able to tow the brig into harbor, and save the cargo, but that is out of the question now. I do not want a fight with Blowitz. Come, boys, we must escape!" The boys hurriedly divided the gold among them. It made their pockets bulge out, and was quite heavy. Mr. De Vere had his papers safe. As the derelict hunters all came out on deck they could see the Monarch was much nearer. In bold relief stood a figure in the bow. "It's Blowitz!" exclaimed Mr. De Vere, "and he's shaking his fist at me. He's angry because I have beaten him at his own game. But come on, I don't want a clash with him. I am in no shape for another fight. We'll have to retreat." It was the work of but a few seconds to get into the motor boat. The lines were cast off, and, with one turn of the wheel Ned started the engine, and ran her up to full speed after a few revolutions. "Now let them have the brig," said Mr. De Vere. "I've gotten the best out of her." But Blowitz and his men seemed to have lost interest in the derelict. Instead of continuing on their course toward it they were now coming full speed after the Ripper, the tug being steered to cross her bows. Probably Blowitz took it for granted that De Vere had the papers and gold. "They're after us!" cried Jerry. "Yes, but they've got to catch us!" declared Bob. An instant later a puff of white smoke spurted out from the side of the Monarch, something black jumped from wave-crest to wave-crest. Then came a dull boom. "What's that?" asked Bob, in alarm. "A shot across our bows. A command to lay to," said Mr. De Vere. CHAPTER XXX THE END OF BLOWITZ-- CONCLUSION "ARE you going to stop?" asked Ned, of Maurice De Vere. "Not unless you boys are afraid. I don't believe they can hit us. That's only a small saluting cannon they have, and it's hard to shoot straight when there's as much sea on as there is now. Do you want to stop and surrender?" "Not much!" cried the three motor boys in a breath. "Then may it be a stern chase and a long chase!" exclaimed Mr. De Vere. "Crowd her all you can, Ned, and we'll beat him." Ned needed no urging to make the powerful motor do its best. The machinery was throbbing and humming, and the Ripper was cutting through the water "with a bone in her teeth," as the sailors say. "Swing her around so as to get the tug in back of us," advised Jerry. "We'll be in less danger then." Ned shifted the wheel, but, as he was doing so there was another shot from the Monarch, and, this time, the ball from the cannon came uncomfortably close. "Their aim is improving," remarked Mr. De Vere, as he coolly looked at the pursuing tug through the glasses, "but we are leaving them behind." The chase had now become a "stern" one, that is the Monarch was directly astern of the Ripper, and the varying progresses made by the boats could not be discerned so well as before. Still it seemed that the motor boat was maintaining her lead. It now settled down to a pursuit, for, stern on as she was, the Ripper offered so small a mark for the tug, that it was almost useless to fire the cannon. There were anxious hearts aboard the motor boat, as they watched the tug pursuing them. They knew there would be a fight if Blowitz and Mr. De Vere met, and, in the latter's crippled condition, it was not hard to imagine how it would result. "How's she running, Ned?" asked Jerry, as he looked at the engine. "Never better. She's singing like a bird. This is a dandy boat." "I think we'll beat him," declared Mr. De Vere. For an hour or more the chase continued, the Monarch seeming to gain slowly. Mr. De Vere looked anxious, and kept his eyes fixed to the binoculars, through which he viewed the pursuing vessel. At length, however, a more cheerful look came into his face. "Something has happened!" he exclaimed. "Happened? How?" asked Jerry. "Why aboard the tug. Blowitz went off the deck in a hurry, and the steersman has left the pilot house. Maybe something is wrong with the machinery." That something of this nature had happened was evident a few minutes later, for the Monarch had to slow up, and the Ripper was soon so far in advance that to catch up with her was out of the question. "I guess the chase is over," announced Mr. De Vere. "I think they've had an accident. Still Blowitz will not give up. I must expect a legal battle over this matter when I get ashore. He will try to ruin me, and claim these papers and the gold. But I will beat him." The Ripper, urged on by her powerful motor, soon lost sight of the tug, which, from the last observation Mr. De Vere took, seemed to have turned about, to go back to the brig. Two days later, having made quick time, and on a straight course, the voyagers sighted the harbor of San Felicity a few miles away. "Now for home!" cried Ned. "And the bungalow 'The Next Day,' Ponto and a good square meal!" added Bob. "And the girls," came from Jerry. "I guess they'll be glad to see us." "If Blowitz doesn't turn up to make trouble for me," put in Mr. De Vere, rather dubiously. The Ripper docked that afternoon, and, Mr. De Vere, promising to call on the boys and pay them their prize money as soon as he had seen his lawyer, and deposited the gold and papers in a safe place, bade them good-bye at the wharf, and hurried off. He was fearful lest he should be intercepted by some agent of Blowitz, though there was no sign that the tug had arrived. The three boys were warmly welcomed by the girls and Mr. Seabury, when they got to the bungalow. "I congratulate you," said the elderly gentleman. "You deserve great credit for what you did." "Well, we had good luck," admitted Jerry. "But where is the professor?" "Out searching for horned toads and web-footed lizards," said Nellie. "He has enlisted the services of Ponto, and they are continually on the hunt. I hope he gets what he wants." "He generally does," said Bob. "If he doesn't he finds something else nearly as good." Some days later Mr. De Vere called at the bungalow. He had finished up his business affairs, and brought the boys the prize money, as their reward for the parts they had played in the finding of the derelict. "But this is too much," protested Jerry, when Mr. De Vere had given him and his comrades nearly half as much again as was originally promised. "Not a bit of it," was the reply. "I can well afford it. Those papers were more valuable than you supposed, and I find I will be able to collect insurance on the cargo of the abandoned brig. I have heard from the captain of it, and he tells me, just as I supposed, that he and the crew left her because of the peculiar fumes, so that my theory was right, after all. They tried to take the dogs, which belonged to the first mate, but could not." "Did you hear anything more of Blowitz?" asked Ned. "Yes," replied Mr. De Vere, rather solemnly. "Blowitz was killed shortly after the tug gave up the chase." "How?" "The boiler blew up when the tug was trying to tow the derelict in, and he and several of the crew were burned to death. The survivors floated on the wreckage until they were picked up. So I have nothing more to fear from Blowitz. But I called to know if you boys, and the young ladies, Mr. Seabury and Professor Snodgrass, would not be my guests at a little dinner I am to give at the hotel. I want to show you that I appreciate what you did for me." "I think you have already done so," said Jerry. "Perhaps I have, but I would like you to come to my dinner. Will you?" The boys promised. So did the girls and Mr. Seabury, whose health was much improved by the California climate. The professor, with a far away look in his eyes, said he would be there if he could. "What's to prevent you?" asked Bob. "Well, I haven't found that horned toad yet, and I'm still searching." The dinner came off three nights later. It was a grand affair, served in the best of style of which the San Felicity hotel chef was capable. The girls and the boys were there, dressed in their best, and Ponto was taken along as a sort of chaperon, which gave him great delight. He did not once fall asleep. "But where is Professor Snodgrass?" asked Mr. De Vere, when it was nearly time to sit down. "Isn't he coming?" "He promised to be here," announced Mr. Seabury. "Probably he is on his way now." At that moment a commotion was heard outside the private dining-room which Mr. De Vere had engaged. A voice was saying: "I tell you I will go in! I'm invited! My clothes? What about my clothes? All mud? Of course they're all mud. I couldn't help it!" Then the door flew open and a curious sight was presented. There stood the professor, his coat split up the back, his trousers torn, and his hat smashed. Splashes of mud were all over him. "What is the matter?" cried Mr. Seabury, in alarm. "Nothing," replied the professor calmly. "I have caught two horned toads, that's all. I saw them as I was on the way here, and I had to go into a mud puddle to get them. I fell down, but I got the toads," and he held up a small cage, in which were the ugly creatures. "Ugh!" exclaimed Nellie. "Good for you, Professor!" cried Jerry. "You got the toads and we got our prize money!" "Yes, but I would rather have these toads than all your prize money," replied the professor. "They are beauties," he added, fondly. The dinner was a joyous affair, and it is a question who was the happiest, the professor, over the capture of the horned toads, the boys over the successful outcome of their cruise on the Pacific, or Mr. De Vere, who had recovered his fortune. At any rate they all had a good time. "Well," remarked Bob, when the supper was over, and they were on their way back to the bungalow, "I suppose we'll soon have to think of getting back east, and beginning school. They must have the pipes and boiler fixed by now." "Don't think of it," begged Ned. "It's too awful. I'd like to go on another long cruise in the Ripper." "Well, I don't know that we can do that," said Jerry, "but I certainly hope we have more adventures soon." How his wish was gratified will be told in another volume of this series, to be entitled, "The Motor Boys in the Clouds; Or, A Trip for Fame and Fortune." In that book we shall meet many of our old friends again, and learn something more of a venture in which the motor boys were already interested. "Boys, this has been an interesting trip for me," said Professor Snodgrass. "I have the two horned toads, seven web-footed lizards, and over fifty other valuable specimens to take back with me. I would not have missed this trip for a great deal." "So say we all of us!" cried Jerry. "Let us go out for another trip in the motor boat to-morrow," said Ned. "I mean a short trip." "Take us along!" pleaded the girls in concert. "Sure thing!" answered the boys. And they went out-- and had a glorious time-- and here we shall have to say farewell. THE END _________________________________________________________________ 
50533	----	courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION NO. 21 JULY 17, 1909 FIVE CENTS MOTOR MATT'S LAUNCH OR A FRIEND IN NEED _BY THE AUTHOR OF MOTOR MATT_ [Illustration: _"Steady!" cried Motor Matt; "you'll be all right in a minute."_] STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK. MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION _Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._ No. 21. NEW YORK, July 17, 1909. Price Five Cents. Motor Matt's Launch OR, A FRIEND IN NEED. By the author of "MOTOR MATT." CONTENTS CHAPTER I. NEW FRIENDS AND NEW FORTUNES. CHAPTER II. THE RAFFLE. CHAPTER III. PING PONG OBJECTS. CHAPTER IV. ANOTHER RESCUE. CHAPTER V. AN ODD TANGLE. CHAPTER VI. THE RICH MAN'S SON. CHAPTER VII. A PLAN THAT FAILED. CHAPTER VIII. A CHASE ACROSS THE BAY. CHAPTER IX. THE LION'S MOUTH. CHAPTER X. THE MOUTH CLOSES. CHAPTER XI. SURPRISING EVENTS. CHAPTER XII. M'GLORY'S RUN OF LUCK. CHAPTER XIII. WAITING AND WORRYING. CHAPTER XIV. PING STARS HIMSELF. CHAPTER XV. A NEW TWIST--BY GEORGE. CHAPTER XVI. ANOTHER TWIST--BY MATT AND M'GLORY. THE MAN-EATER. CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY. =Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt. =Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive. =George Lorry=, a lad who has begun steering a wrong course, and in whom Matt recognizes a victim of circumstances rather than a youth who is innately conceited, domineering and unscrupulous. =Ping Pong=, a young Chinese who wins a motor launch in a raffle and insists on working for Motor Matt. Full of heathen vagaries, he drops mysteriously out of the story--but is destined to be heard from again. ="Red-whiskers,"= otherwise "Big John," an unscrupulous person who takes his dishonest toll wherever he can find it; but, in crossing Motor Matt's course, he meets with rather more than he has bargained for. =Kinky and Ross=, two pals of Big John. =Landers=, another pal who proves treacherous. CHAPTER I. NEW FRIENDS AND NEW FORTUNES. "What next?" Not often does a boy put that question to himself and receive an answer as quickly as Motor Matt received his. The king of the motor boys was out among the sand dunes on the Presidio Military Reservation. He had started to walk to the old fort at the Golden Gate, but had dropped down on one of the sand heaps, thinking--a little moodily, it must be admitted--over his present situation, and what lay ahead. It was a fine morning. The sky was pale blue and without a cloud, and the bay was as blue as indigo. The trade wind blew over him, and tempered the heat, and the salt tang in the air reminded him of the long voyage around the Horn which he and his chums had completed no more than a week before. Alcatraz was so close that it almost seemed to Matt as though he could take a running jump from the shore and clear the intervening stretch of water, and beyond Alcatraz, like a purple pyramid, arose Tamalpais, looking westward across the Pacific. Matt was gloomy because, early that morning, he had separated from his two chums, Dick Ferral and Carl Pretzel. Dick had received a telegram from his uncle, in Denver, asking him to come east at once. At his invitation, Carl had gone with him. Both lads urged Matt to accompany them, but he had declined, thinking more seriously than he had ever done of some "prep" school and a course at Leland Stanford. If he was to take that step, seeking new friends and new fortunes, why not take it now? There was something more in life, Matt told himself, than just knocking around the world, meeting all kinds of trouble and getting the upper hand of it. But there were the motors, the explosive engines Matt loved so well, and had worked among so long. If he entered some academy, he would have to turn his back on the humming cylinders, the rushing wheels, and the racing propellers. That thought gave him a pang. The gasoline motor was just coming into its own, and the field that lay before it was so wide as to stagger the imagination. Could Matt tear himself away from the fascination of terminals, commutators and spark plugs, from differential and transmission gear, from spray nozzles and float feeds, from the steady explosion, the perfect mixture of air and gasoline, the humming of the coils, and the beautifully balanced reciprocity of a running motor? Well, after a while, perhaps, but not--not right away. "What next?" he asked himself. "Huh!" came a sound, half-grunt and half-greeting, from directly in front of him. During his reflections, Matt's head had bowed forward and his eyes had fixed themselves vacantly on the gray sand. He raised his glance abruptly, and saw within a yard of him a young fellow in dingy sombrero, faded blue flannel shirt, and corduroy trousers. The lad could not have been more than seventeen. His face was tanned a deep bronze, and his eyes were as black as midnight. His nose was what is termed a "snub," and gave his face a droll, humorous look. As he slouched in front of Matt he had his hands in his pockets. For a full minute Matt and the stranger surveyed each other. "Huh!" said the stranger again, pulling a hand out of his pocket to jerk the brim of his hat down over one eye. "Got any sand?" he inquired. "Sand?" echoed Matt. "Sure--s-a-n-d, sand. I'm game as a hornet myself, and I reckon I can lay holt of you and wind you up like an eight-day clock. Say, try me a whirl, catch-as-catch-can. If I can't put you on your back in a brace of shakes, I'll eat my spurs. Dare you!" The stranger backed off, and pushed up his sleeves. A wide grin crossed his face and his black eyes twinkled. "What have you got against me?" asked Matt. "Why do you want to fight?" "Shucks! You got to have a reason for every blamed thing? Come at me. Dare you--dare you! I'm hungry to caper--and you ain't going to hold back on a feller when he's _hungry_, are you?" Matt laughed. "Well, no," he answered, getting up. Then, without any ifs, ands, or whyfors, the king of the motor boys and the stranger rushed together. It was the "double grapevine" that did the business for the stranger. In ten seconds, by the watch, he went into the air and dropped down on the soft sand with a _chug_ that left him dazed and bewildered. Then he sat up and stared. "Well, well, well!" he sputtered. He was still grinning, and his black eyes traveled over Matt with wonder and admiration. "You the Tur'ble Turk in disguise?" he inquired. "Hardly," laughed Matt. "You must have learned wrestling in an Agricultural School." "Mebby," answered the other, picking himself up, "but I ain't diving into my wannegan any, at that. You can't give me another jolt like that, pard. Two out of three, you know. First fall for the gent in the leather cap--but the next one's mine. Whoop-ee!" The stranger, bareheaded and sleeves rolled to his elbows, rushed at Matt like a hurricane. Matt side-stepped, whirled, caught his antagonist from behind and shouldered him like a bag of meal. The next instant he had dropped him, and squirmed out from under his gripping fingers. "Gee, man!" gasped the stranger, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Speak to me about that, oh, _do_! He lifts me up and sets me down, and all my caperin' don't amount to shucks. Ain't it scandalous to be hip-locked with like that?" "Got enough?" asked Matt. "Plenty, _amigo_." The stranger climbed to his feet, picked up his hat and reflectively slapped the sand out of it. "Down where I come from, a feller can 'most always tell when he's got enough. When did you break out on this part of the map?" "A week ago." "What label do you tote?" "King, Matt King." The strange youth came within one of dropping his hat. "Speak to me about _that_!" he gasped, his eyes widening. "Why, I might as well have wrestled with a locomotive and tried to stand it on its headlight in the right of way! Say, I've read about _you_! You're the king of the motor boys--the big high boy who brought that submarine around South Americy, and turned her over to Uncle Sam here in 'Frisco. _Gracias!_" "What are you thanking me for?" "Because you could have tied me into a bowknot and tossed me into the bay--and you didn't. Next time I hip-lock with a cyclone I hope somebody will put a tag on me and ship me to an asylum for the feeble-minded. My name's McGlory, Joe McGlory, and when I'm to home I hang up my lid in Tucson. Shake, Motor Matt. You sure stack up pretty high with me." "Glad to know you, McGlory," said Matt, highly edified, giving the youth's hand a cordial pressure. "Is it your custom to take a fall out of every acquaintance you make?" "Well, it's sort of satisfyin', when you make friends with a galoot, to know which is the best man. It shows you what he's got in him that you can depend on in a pinch, see? I reckon you think I've got everything but the long ears, eh? Don't make a mistake about that, pard. I'm not so foolish as you might think. Tell me something!" "What?" "While you've been in 'Frisco have you seen anything of a feller about my heft and height, scar an inch long over his right eyebrow, answerin' to the name of George Lorry?" Matt shook his head. "Haven't seen him," he answered. "Are you looking for a fellow answering that description?" "I am, a heap." The grin, which seemed almost perpetual on McGlory's face, faded into an earnest expression as he mentioned the lad he was looking for. "Did you come to this reservation looking for him?" went on Matt. "Nary, pard." McGlory faced the boy, and waved his hand toward the life-saving station ahead, and to the left of them, on the shore. "I'm mortal fond of boats," he went on. "Kind of queer, that, don't you think, for a galoot that's passed pretty near his whole life in the mines and in the cattle ranges? Anyway, that's me. I can't cross the ferry without gettin' seasick, but, all the same, everything that floats tickles me more than I can tell. I've been down to the life-saving station looking at the surf boat." "I'm fond of boats myself," said Matt, "especially motor boats. There's something on the ground that must belong to you, McGlory," he added, pointing to the sand near where McGlory had fallen, the first time. The young cowboy looked at the object, and then recovered it with a whoop. The object was a small, oblong square of pasteboard. "It's a ticket for the raffle," McGlory explained. "There's two hundred of 'em out, and I've got sixty." "Raffle?" queried Matt. "Sure. A little old motor launch is goin' to be raffled off, over at Tiburon, this afternoon. Say, that boat's a streak! She can show her heels to anythin' in San Francisco Bay. Speak to me about that, will you! I've got sixty chances out of two hundred for baggin' her. Come over with me to the raffle, pard. I've cottoned to you, and you're my style from the ground up. What say?" "Can you run a motor launch?" asked Matt. "Don't know the first thing about it." "What do you want with such a boat, then, if it makes you seasick to ride on the water, and if you don't know how to run a motor?" "Shucks! Whenever I get a notion I play it up strong, no matter whether there's any reason in it or not. That's Joe McGlory from spurs to headpiece, and everybody in Tucson will tell you the same. Are you with me, Matt? If you are, we'll slide back through the reservation, and jump the cars." Matt had already conceived a liking for young McGlory. There was something mysterious about him, and a mystery is always attractive. A few moments later the king of the motor boys was strolling along the old board walk between the big Presidio barracks and the row of officers' houses, side by side with his new friend. New friends and new fortunes, ran his thoughts. How were they to turn out, and what were they to be? CHAPTER II. THE RAFFLE. "There she is, Matt; and it's apples to ashes she's the fastest thing that floats. Why, she can run like a scared coyote makin' for home and mother. I've seen her perform, pard, and when she goes any place she arrives just before she starts. Speak to me about that, please. Squint at her good and hard, and tell me what you think." Motor Matt and Joe McGlory had eaten their dinner at a restaurant in Market Street, and had caught the one-o'clock boat across the bay to Tiburon. It was now a quarter to two, and they were standing on a small wharf, not far from the ferry landing, looking down on a trim little boat. There were about a dozen others, men and boys, lounging on the wharf. The raffle was to come off at two, and most of the idlers, presumably, had bought tickets, and were waiting to "put their fortune to the touch." The boat was an eighteen-footer, some three feet beam, and looked as though she could "git up and git" if enough ginger were thrown into her propeller. She was in charge of a boy who had let her drift out to the end of a ten-foot painter. "Pull her in," called Matt to the boy. "I'd like to look at her engine." The boy laid hold of the painter, and drew the boat up alongside the wharf. Matt dropped into her, and lifted one side of the hinged hood that protected the motor. He found that the engine consisted of two horizontal opposed cylinders, and was as neat, simple, and compact a marine motor as any he had ever seen. The gasoline tank was in the nose of the boat. "Ten horse power," mused Matt. "You've struck it," said the boy. After a five-minute examination the only fault Matt had to find with the machinery lay in the reversing gear. The brake band was not properly adjusted, but was set so that it dragged on the drum, which could hardly fail to result in a reduction of speed. When Matt climbed up on the wharf again McGlory met him with an eager question as to what he thought of the _Sprite_, which was the name of the little craft. "She's all right," answered Matt, "and ought to run like a singed cat." "Worth a couple of hundred plunks?" "The motor alone is worth a hundred and fifty, and seems to be as good as new." "Whoop!" exulted McGlory. "Somebody's going to get her for a cartwheel--one single, solitary piece of the denomination of eight bits. Mebby it's me? _Quien sabe?_" "There were two hundred tickets, you say, and they were sold at a dollar each?" "Keno, correct, and then some." "And you have sixty tickets, Joe?" "Again your bean is on the right number, pard." "Well, if you get the boat she will have cost you sixty dollars." "But it's only one ticket out of the sixty that wins her, Matt. Fifty-nine plunks are squandered, and it's one big dollar that pulls her down to me. I'd have bought more, if I'd had the _dinero_." "I might take a chance myself," observed Matt, "although I haven' any more use for a motor launch here in 'Frisco than has a stray cowboy by the name of McGlory." "Nary, you won't, Matt," said McGlory. "Tickets are all gone." "What in the world are you going to do with the craft if you win her?" "I can't tell how nervous you make me, wanting a reason for every blooming thing. The notion hit me plumb between the eyes, Matt, and that's all there is to it. But if I can't use the _Sprite_ I can sell her, can't I? And if I did want to go cruising, I've got you to run her for me! Oh, speak to me about that. But," and here McGlory's face fell, "I'm not going to get her. Johnny Hardluck has been running neck and neck with me ever since I was knee-high to a clump of cactus. If I'd have bought a hundred and ninety-nine tickets, the pasteboard I failed to corral would be the one that bobbed up when the wheel stopped runnin'. That's me, but I'm so plumb locoed that I keep trying to bust this hard-luck blockade. What's that--a twenty-dollar gold piece?" Matt had stooped down while McGlory was talking, and picked up a flat object from the ground in front of him. "A baggage check," answered Matt. "Some of the crowd here must have dropped it. If we could find----" Just then, a man appeared carrying his derby hat in his hand. The hat was filled with numbered slips. "Gents," called the man, "this here drawin' for the _Sprite_ is now a-goin' to take place. Somebody's a-goin' to get that little streak o' greased lightnin' for a dollar. She's a good boat, an' wouldn't be sold for twice two hundred if her owner hadn't tumbled into a stretch of hard luck. She's done her mile in four minutes, the _Sprite_ has, right here in the bay. This here hat is filled with slips o' paper numbered from one to two hundred, like the tickets. One of 'em's goin' to be drawed by the kid, who'll be blindfolded for the occasion. The lucky number the kid first pulls from the hat takes the boat." Cheers from the assembled crowd greeted the "kid" as he climbed out of the boat and allowed a handkerchief to be tied over his eyes. Then, with much formality, and while the breathless crowd watched, the youngster's grimy hand went into the hat and pushed around wrist-deep among the slips. "If the feller that gets the boat lives over in 'Frisco," pursued the man, while the boy dallied provokingly with the slips, "he won't have to wait for the next boat back. All he's got to do is to jump into the _Sprite_, head her where he wants to go, and cut loose. She's full o' oil and gasoline, an' could go from here to Vallejo without takin' on any more." The boy's hand lifted from the hat and held up a slip. "Number seventy-three," read the man; "number seventy-three is the lucky ticket, an' gets the _Sprite_. Who's got number seventy-three?" "Stung again!" said McGlory gloomily, taking a handful of tickets from his pocket and tossing them into the air. "I might just as well say moo and chase myself. Sixty _pesos_ gone where the woodbine twineth, and McGlory's got another lesson in the way luck's cut him out of her herd. Mebby it's just as well. I've got about as much use for a motor launch as a yaller dog for the tin can tied to the end of his tail, but the notion that I wanted the thing sure hit me hard." "You ought to put a curb on those notions of yours, Joe," said Matt. "They seem to be pretty expensive." "Shucks! Well, I get a couple o' square miles of fun nursing the notions along, anyways. It's hoping for things that makes a feller feel good; he never steps so high, wide, and handsome after he gets 'em. Now----" Just here there came an excited chirp, followed by a shrill cackle of joy. A Chinese boy, not more than fifteen or sixteen, broke through the disappointed throng of whites, his queue flying, and his blue silk blouse fluttering. "My gottee! Hoop-a-la! My ticket him seventy-tlee! My gottee chug-chug boatee." "Happy days!" scowled McGlory, his eyes on the young Chinaman. "If that washee-washee yaller mug hasn't pulled down the prize I'm a sick Injun. And here's me with sixty tickets, and him with only _one_! Speak to me about that! What sort of a low-down thing is luck, anyway, to pass up a respectable white, with sixty chances, and dump that boat onto a Chink with only one! Sufferin' sister! Let's go some place, Matt, where we can be away from the crowd and by ourselves. I'm in a mood for reflection--like old Jack Bisbee was when the government mule kicked at him and set off a box of dynamite. I've got it in the neck, as per usual, and I want to say things to myself." "Wait a minute, Joe," returned Matt. "Let's watch the Chinaman." The man who had "bossed" the drawing examined the Chinaman's ticket. "It's seventy-three, all right," he remarked. "Where you gettee, Charley?" "'Melican man no gottee dol pay fo' laundry," the Celestial answered; "him givee China boy ticket." "It was sure a good play for you. There's your boat. Take her." The yellow boy ran down to the edge of the wharf, dancing around in his wooden shoes, and crooning ecstatically to himself. "My gottee boat, my gottee boat! Hoop-a-la! Where row sticks?" he demanded, turning to the man who had been in charge of the raffle. "That's a motor boat, Charley," grinned the man. "You don't need any row sticks." The yellow boy, still chattering to himself, slipped from the wharf into the boat. One of the men, alive to the humor of the situation, pulled the painter off the post and threw it into the craft after him. "How you makee lun?" inquired the new owner of the _Sprite_, taking his seat at the steering wheel. The bystanders began nudging each other in the ribs. There was a delightful prospect ahead of them, in watching this guileless Celestial, who knew nothing about motors, trying to run a motor boat. Half a dozen voices called down directions for switching on the spark, starting the flow of gasoline, and getting the engine to going. "He'll get into trouble," cried Matt, pushing his way through the crowd. "What's the diff?" guffawed a blear-eyed individual, with a husky laugh. "It's only a chink, anyhow." Matt paid no attention to this remark. "You'd better look out, Charley," he called to the Chinaman. "My gottee, you no gottee," the yellow boy answered. "You no savvy China boy's pidgin; him savvy plenty fine. Hoop-a-la!" The motor began to pop, and then to settle down into a steady hum. The China boy was fairly palpitating with excitement. Grabbing at a lever, he threw the power into the propeller and the _Sprite_ jumped ahead along the wharf, rubbing her gunwale against the planks. Frantically the Celestial yanked at the steering wheel. The _Sprite_ turned her nose into the wharf and tried to climb out of the water. "She ain't no bubble wagon, chink!" roared the delighted crowd; "don't bring her ashore!" "Turn the wheel the other way!" shouted some one else. "If we can head the rat-eater right, he'll go plumb through the Golden Gate to China." In the confusion of yells, the yellow boy caught the suggestion and whirled the wheel the other way. In answer to this sudden twist of the helm, the boat made a hair-raising turn, going over so far that she almost showed her garboard strake, then she flung away like a race horse. A group of three piles arose out of the water, half a cable's length from the wharf. The _Sprite_ caught them a glancing blow. There was a terrific jolt, and those on the landing had a glimpse of a Chinaman in the air, his hat and sandals flying in three different directions. He came down headfirst in fifteen feet of water, while the _Sprite_ sheered away from the piles and struck a bee line for Sausalito. Matt, seeing that disaster was sure to happen, had jumped into a rowboat, and was bending to the oars. There might be fun in baiting a Chinaman in that way, but he could not see it. CHAPTER III. PING PONG OBJECTS. Motor Matt's first intention was to fish the China boy out of the water. He had barely started in the lad's direction, however, when he saw McGlory teetering on the edge of the wharf and throwing a rope. "Whoosh!" gulped the China boy, as he bobbed to the surface and laid hold of the rope. "No likee boatee! My gottee, no wantee. Whoosh!" Seeing that the lad was as good as rescued, Matt turned his attention to the runaway launch. By some freak of the steering gear the boat was cutting away in a straight line. The rowboat Matt had secured for the occasion had been tied well to the south of the piles into which the Chinese had run the _Sprite_. The launch, describing a turn before she struck into a straightaway course, would have to pass a point directly abreast of Matt. By quick work with the oars he could reach the point in time to lay hold of the launch. Under his strong arms the rowboat leaped out across the water, and then, with a quick push on one oar and an equally quick pull on the other, the boat was laid broadside on to the course the runaway _Sprite_ was taking. Not a second too soon was this accomplished. Hardly had Matt dropped the oars when the _Sprite_ came plunging up beside him. Leaning out over the side of the rowboat, he grabbed the gunwale of the _Sprite_. Both boats were hauled together, and the rowboat was towed along at a fierce clip--but only for a moment. Out of one boat and into the other Matt scrambled, deftly avoiding the swamping of either craft. A minute later he was at the steering wheel and the levers, and had slowed down and turned the _Sprite_ back. Yells and cheers greeted his successful manoeuvre; and when he regained the wharf, towing the rowboat, a dozen willing hands reached down to catch and secure the painters. "A dandy piece of work, you hear _me_!" bellowed one of the crowd. "You didn't expect Motor Matt to play lame duck while pullin' off a trick like that, did you?" came the voice of McGlory. "Shucks! that was as easy for him as sitting in at grub pile." "Say," cried the blear-eyed person, "is he the young thunderbolt as brought that submarine around from the Atlantic?" "He's the chap." This piece of information caused the crowd to develop a tremendous amount of interest in the king of the motor boys--more interest than he cared to claim. "Where's the Chinaman, Joe?" he asked, with difficulty extricating himself from the crowd, and making his way to McGlory's side. "Right here, Matt," answered the cowboy, leading the way to a pile of old timber on which the dejected Celestial was sitting. "He ain't feelin' quite as chipper as he was a spell ago. 'Melican man's boatee didn't set well, and he's got a bad attack of the blues." "Hello, Charley!" exclaimed Matt, leaning forward and slapping the yellow boy on his wet shoulder. "Where do you want that boat? I'll take it across the bay for you if that's where you want it to go." "No wantee," was the doleful reply. "Him debble boat; go sizz-sizz-sizzle, mebby so sendee China boy topside." "But you've won it, and it's yours." "No wantee," was the decided response. "My givee you fi' dol you takee." McGlory exploded a laugh and fell down the timbers. "Speak to me about that, will you?" he gasped. "He's willing to give you five dollars, Matt, to take the boat off his hands." The blear-eyed man pushed closer. "See here, chink," said he, "don't you be a fool jest because you got a chanst. What's the use of givin' a feller money to take the boat? I'll give you a ten-dollar bill for it, if that's the way you feel." McGlory pulled himself off the pile of timber and stepped in front of the man. "I wonder if you wouldn't?" he scoffed. "What's it to you, anyhow?" growled the man. "Who give you any right to butt in? If the chink wants to sell the boat I got a right to buy it." "You ain't got a right to rob him, howsumever, and I'm not going to loaf around with my hands in my pockets and see you do it." "Blather! What's a chink, anyhow?" "A chap's got to be treated square," spoke up Matt, "no matter whether his skin's white, black, or yellow." "Look here, Charley," persisted the man, "I'll give you fifty cold dollars for that boat." "I'll give him seventy-five," put in another man. "If the launch is going at a bargain I might as well hand over a bid. What do you say, Charley?" The China boy's little eyes began to snap and sparkle as the idea of profit drifted through his head. "Let them bid, Charley," said Matt. "I'll give you ten dollars more than the highest bid they make." This headed off any further attempt to get the better of the Chinaman. After lingering in the vicinity for a few minutes, the last of the crowd departed in the direction of the ferry house. "You takee boat," said the Chinaman to Matt. "You ketchee, you takee. Huh?" "For how much?" queried Matt. "I haven't any use for the craft, Charley, and I was merely bidding to keep those other fellows from robbing you." "Wisht I had some money," muttered McGlory. "I'll get a letter from Tucson in a day or two, and I reckon it'll have a wad of _dinero_ in it for me. Lend me enough to buy that boat, Matt, and I'll fork over as soon as I make the raise." "I'd be glad to lend you money, Joe, for anything but that," answered Matt. "You don't need the _Sprite_ any more than I do, so, if I don't lend you any funds you can't buy the boat." "That's just like a hired man, Matt, and not like a real pard," mumbled McGlory. "But you're doing the right thing, at that." "Me allee same Ping Pong," piped up the Celestial, picking up the slack of his kimono and wringing the water out of it. "Ah Choo makee lun launly, fire Ping Pong, you savvy? Whoosh! My no gottee job allee mo'." "That's rough," commiserated the cowboy, with a wink in Matt's direction. "Little Ping Pong here worked for Ah Choo, and the old sneeze pulled the pin on him. What was that for, Ping?" "My takee ticket flom 'Melican man fol washee-washee," explained the China boy. "Ah Choo no likee; him tellee Ping Pong makee skip, nevel come back allee mo'." "Listen to that!" went on McGlory. "A flat-faced swatty owin' Ah Choo a dollar for the week's wash, blows into the laundry emporium and trades a ticket on the raffle with Ping Pong here for the amount of his debt. When Ah Choo hears the particulars, he ditches Ping. Ping comes over to Tiburon, wins the boat, and tries to make it do a handspring over a clump of piles. Between you and me, Matt, we pull him out of the briny and save the boat, and here he is, worryin' because he's out of a job and never thinking about the eighty-five _pesos_ that are bound to drop into his yellow palms!" "China boy workee fo' you," chirped Ping Pong, reaching out to grab Matt's hand. "You takee boat, givee Ping Pong job." "There's your chance," grinned McGlory. "Take on the chink, Matt, and you corral the boat. It's no rhinecaboo he's running in, either. He means every word of it." Matt's eyes wandered in the direction of the ferry house. "The next boat is about to leave," said he hurriedly. "You take Ping and go on the boat, Joe, and I'll follow you with the _Sprite_. You'll find me on the water front near the foot of Clay Street. When we get back there we'll find some way out of this difficulty. I haven't any more use for the Chinaman than I have for the boat, but I should think we could sell the boat for somewhere near what she's worth and then turn the proceeds over to Ping. That ought to keep him going until he finds a job that suits him." "Keno!" agreed McGlory, grabbing the Celestial by the arm. "Come on, Ping, and we'll strike a bee line for the ferry." As they hurried off, Motor Matt returned to the landing and to the _Sprite_. He was only a few moments casting off and starting across the bay. Destiny was lying in wait for him. Fate knows her business, and never juggles events into such a state as they were then without having a well-defined object in view. CHAPTER IV. ANOTHER RESCUE. Matt fell in behind the big ferryboat as she moved out of the slip and churned up the water in the direction of San Francisco. Drawing back far enough to be clear of the steamer's troubled wake, he jogged along, and tried out the _Sprite_ with various manoeuvres calculated to test her motor and her rough-weather qualities. A keen delight ran tingling through every nerve as he handled the steering wheel and manipulated the levers. The engine worked perfectly; and, by flinging the little craft ahead into the rough water thrown up by the steamer, he was surprised and delighted at the easy work she made of the big waves. For a while, McGlory and Ping grouped themselves aft and watched him. Every now and then the cowboy would wave his hat and shout something which the distance between the boats rendered indistinguishable to Matt. A tug came towing a two-masted ship in from the Gate. Matt allowed the _Sprite_ to fall off, so that the tug and its tow would pass between him and the ferryboat. As he headed westward in order to round the stern of the sailing ship, Matt became suddenly aware that sailors were running about the deck of the towed vessel, shouting back and forth, and some of them hurrying to pick up coils of rope. Abruptly the excitement ceased. The sailors dropped their ropes, and two or three of them ran up on the poop deck, waved their hands to Matt, and pointed southward, along the track of the ferryboat. Matt could not hear what the sailors shouted to him, but from their gestures he knew there was something demanding his attention on the other side of their vessel. As the schooner gurgled and lurched past, Matt saw a human form bobbing about in the water, and he also saw that the ferryboat was in the act of putting about. Waving a reassuring hand to the captain of the boat, Matt forced the _Sprite_ to her best speed, and laid a direct course toward the struggling form. The captain of the ferryboat, no doubt assuming that the launch would easily effect a rescue, signaled his wheelman to keep on across the bay. As Matt steadily diminished the distance that separated him from the form in the water, the form suddenly vanished. With his eyes on the spot where it had gone down, the young motorist was just making ready to shut off the power and dive overboard when the form once more shot to the surface. "Keep afloat!" shouted Matt encouragingly, "I'm almost alongside." It was a young fellow, Matt could see that, and there was despair in his face as he turned his head in response to the call. He tried to say something, but the words were lost in a watery gurgle. His arms were working feebly, and it was evident that he was nearly at the last gasp. Coaxing the last ounce of speed out of the _Sprite_, Matt laid her bow within a foot of the youth, then swiftly shifted the wheel in order to bring the side of the launch as close as possible. Hanging to the wheel with one hand, Matt leaned outward and downward, grabbing the collar of the youth's sweater with his disengaged hand. "Steady!" cried Motor Matt; "you'll be all right in a minute." Then, with a heave that caused the little boat to dip at a dangerous angle, he hoisted the young fellow aboard and dropped him splashing against the stern thwarts. There was plenty of life in him, and Matt felt, just then, that the boat required more attention than he did. After getting the _Sprite_ back on her proper course, Matt slowed her speed and looked around. The young fellow was sitting up in the bottom of the boat, leaning back against the rear thwarts. He was about Matt's own age, his hands were slender and white, and his sweater, trousers, and shoes were of the most expensive material. "Did you ship much water?" asked Matt. "Not much," was the answer. "Fall off the boat?" "Yes." The youth did not seem inclined to go into particulars. When he answered Matt's question, he leaned over the gunwale to peer around Matt and get a look at the ferryboat. "She's going right on," he said, as though to himself; "she won't stop to take me aboard." "It won't be necessary for the ferryboat to stop," spoke up Matt. "I've got you aboard, and that's enough." The youth started, stared, and lifted one hand tremblingly to his head. "How did you happen to drop overboard?" inquired Matt. "I--I don't know," was the indefinite rejoinder. "I just happened to, that's all. Where are you going?" "To San Francisco--where you must have been going." "Can't you put about and take me to Sausalito?" The request surprised Motor Matt. "Changed your mind about going to 'Frisco?" "I don't want to go there. I want to go to Sausalito. It don't make any difference to you where you land me, does it?" There was an arrogant, domineering air about the youth, even in his present half-demoralized condition, that struck the wrong kind of note in Matt's ears. "It just happens," returned Matt, "that I'm to meet a friend at the foot of Clay Street, and he'll probably be waiting for me when I get there. I don't see how it makes very much difference to you, when it's certain you must have been going to the city when you dropped off the ferryboat." "Well," was the ungracious response, "it does make a difference to me--a whole lot of difference. Will you take me to Sausalito after you meet your friend?" "I guess the ferryboat can do that for you," answered Matt stiffly. The strange youth had not had a word of thanks to say to his rescuer, on the contrary, he was acting as churlish as possible in the circumstances. "I'm in a nice fix to ride on a ferryboat," grumbled the young fellow, looking down at his soggy clothing and his water-logged shoes. "What's your name?" asked Matt. "What do you want to know that for?" "Curiosity," was the cool response. "I'd like to chalk it up in my memory as belonging to a young chap who couldn't even be civil to the fellow who saved him from drowning." A tinge of color ran through the youth's pale face. "The captain of the ferryboat would have saved me, if you hadn't," said he. "He couldn't have got there in time. You were about to sink as I grabbed you." There was a silence, broken at last by the youth. "My name's Thompson," said he, "and I live in Sausalito." "You got on the boat at Tiburon?" Thompson was recovering his normal condition by swift degrees. He flashed a strange look of suspicion at Matt. "Well, yes," he answered. "I've been staying there for a while; but I live in Sausalito. Give me a cigarette." "You've come to the wrong shop for cigarettes, Thompson. I'm beginning to understand why you couldn't keep yourself afloat in the water better than you did--too many paper pipes. They play hob with a fellow's endurance." The _Sprite_, by that time, was abreast of the docks, and off the unsavory quarter known as the "Barbary Coast." Thompson paid little attention to Matt's remarks, but fixed his eyes gloomily on the shipping as they glided past. There was something at the bottom of Thompson's mind, and Matt wondered what it could be. "I suppose," Thompson continued, tiring of looking at the ships and the sweating stevedores, "that it's a lucky thing for me you happened to be around to pick me up." "You might call it that," returned Matt dryly. He had his back to his passenger, so that he might pick a berth for the _Sprite_ somewhere in the vicinity of the foot of Clay Street. When he spoke he did not look around. "Well, I'm obliged to you," proceeded Thompson. "I guess you needn't take me to Sausalito, after all. I'll get out and go to a hotel. There's a lot of hotels on the 'Front.'" "Stay away from the hotels on the 'Front,' Thompson; that's my advice to you. They're not the right sort of place for a fellow like you to stop, even for a short time." "I guess I can take care of myself," was the haughty rejoinder. "I guess you think you can, Thompson. You seem to have a pretty large opinion of yourself." "Are you trying to insult me?" "Great spark plugs, no! Why should I want to do that?" "I don't like the way you talk, that's all. You act as though you didn't believe what I said." "That's where your imagination is working overtime. What is it to me, one way or the other, whether you're telling the truth or not?" Matt saw the berth he was looking for, and turned the _Sprite_ into the slip. Two minutes later he was alongside the dock, and had his painter fastened to a post. As he faced about, after making the painter secure, he saw that Thompson had gained the dock, and was starting off toward the street, his feet sluicing around in his wet shoes, and his trousers slapping about his legs as he walked. He was intending to leave without any further talk with Matt, and the latter leaned against a post and watched him with half-humorous, half-wondering eyes. Before he reached the street, however, McGlory and Ping Pong dodged around the end of a loaded dray and came face to face with him. McGlory stopped short, and stared. So did Thompson. Then McGlory jumped forward with a whoop, countered the half-hearted blow Thompson aimed at him, and grabbed him around the waist. "Sufferin' Joseph!" cried McGlory, "if it ain't Cousin George! Speak to me about that, will you? Cousin George Lorry, that I've been bushwhackin' all over 'Frisco to find! Easy, George! You couldn't get away from me in a thousand years, and you know it. Whoop-ee, Matt! Come this way, and come a-running!" CHAPTER V. AN ODD TANGLE. In a flash Motor Matt recalled what McGlory had told him among the sand dunes beyond the Presidio barracks. He had described a fellow, about his own heft and height, whom he named as George Lorry. Could it be that Matt had picked up the very chap McGlory was looking for? And McGlory had referred to him as his cousin! Matt hurried forward to where the so-called Thompson was struggling to get away from the cowboy. "Hands off of me, McGlory!" panted the bedraggled youth. "You haven't any right to lay a finger on me, and you know it!" "I haven't, eh?" growled McGlory. "Well, you just try to bolt, and I'll give you a run for your alley. You're a pretty specimen, ain't you? Oh, shucks! I'm plumb disgusted with you, and so's everybody else. What do you suppose the folks think, back in Madison?" There was an exasperated rattle in the other's throat, but words and strength failed him, all at once, and he drooped limply in McGlory's arms. "He's played out, Joe," said Matt. "Let him sit down for a minute and rest." "What a mess he's made of this business," muttered McGlory angrily, as he allowed the flabby form he was holding to slip down on the rough cobblestones. "He hasn't as much sense as the law allows, and you can spread your blankets and go to sleep on that." "You're positive he's the fellow you were looking for, Joe?" inquired Matt. "Positive? Why, pard, I know him as well as I know my own picture in the looking-glass. See that scar?" and he indicated a thin red line over his cousin's right eyebrow. "I don't need even that to prove who he is," McGlory added. "He told me his name was Thompson, and that he lived in Sausalito." "He's liable to talk anything but straight--_now_. Let's get him somewhere to a hotel. Sufferin' sand hills! his folks would throw a fit if they could see him like this. His name's George Lorry, and he lives in Madison, Wisconsin. What's more, he's a cousin of mine, although that's nothing to congratulate myself about." McGlory bent down. "Able to walk, George?" "Yes," was the sullen rejoinder. "Any particular place you'd like to be taken?" "Bixler House, around in Kearney Street. Get a cab." "Got any money, George?" Lorry's hands went slowly into his pockets. "All I had with me is in the bottom of the bay," he answered sulkily. "I don't think I can dig up enough to pay for a cab, but I reckon it's just as well for us to ride." "I'll foot the bill," chimed in Matt. "Here, Ping!" Ping was almost as hard a sight as was Lorry, but he came blandly forward in his bare feet. "Yasso, Missul Matt," said he. "Go and get a cab for us, Ping." "Allee light. My workee fo' you," and he darted away along the street. "I thought there was something queer about Lorry," remarked Matt. "It's queerer than you think. Matt," replied McGlory. "The whole yarn, when you go over it from end to end and crossways, is enough to make a feller's hair stand like the fur on a buffalo robe." Lorry looked up with a scowl. "How did you know where I was?" he demanded. "Didn't you buy a ticket to San Francisco?" "I bought a ticket to Chicago." "And from there, George, you bought one for here. Think you could fool the wise boys your father had scramblin' around Chicago lookin' you up? I got a telegram at Tucson asking me to hustle for 'Frisco, and do what I could to locate you. I've been in this burg for a week, and had just about made up my mind you'd taken a boat for somewhere on t'other side of the Pacific. And to think you were riding from Tiburon on the same craft that was carrying me!" "I saw you on the boat, and I jumped overboard to get away from you." McGlory went up into the air and came down with an astounded look at Matt. "Say something about that!" he gasped. "Sufferin' Hottentots, Matt, did you hear him? He jumped overboard to get away from his cousin, Joe McGlory! Don't tell me, George!" he growled to Lorry. "You're not such a fool as that comes to. We're out of the same family, mind, and I'd hate to think it." "You--you don't know everything," faltered Lorry. "Keno, I don't; but I'm goin' to know everything, George Lorry, before we part company." All this, of course, was more or less Greek to Motor Matt. It was clear enough that George Lorry had come of good stock, and equally clear that he had been pampered and spoiled. As for the rest of it, Matt was completely in the dark. Just at that moment the cab arrived. As it drew up, Ping Pong threw open the door and jumped out. "My gottee, Missul Matt!" he chirruped. "My workee fo' you, huh?" "For a while, yes, Ping," Matt answered, unable just then to think of any other satisfactory method for dealing with the Chinaman. "Stay here and watch the boat till I come back. Savvy?" "Can do," crowed Ping Pong, "you bettee. My workee fo' Motol Matt. Hoop-a-la!" The Chinese boy seemed as delighted as he had been over in Tiburon, when ticket number 73 won the boat. He had insisted on working for Matt, and the pleasant feeling that comes with a job brought a grin to his face and satisfaction to his soul. Matt, McGlory, and Lorry loaded themselves into the cab, and were driven away in the direction of Kearney Street. "Let's get right down to cases, George," said the cowboy when they were well on their way. "First off, just understand that I'm your friend, that I'm representin' the folks back in Madison, and that I haven't trailed you to get back those ten thousand plunks." With an effort, Lorry braced back in his seat and pushed the straggling hair out of his eyes. "I didn't know what you were after, McGlory," he answered; "but I wasn't going to be bagged by _you_. When I'm ready to go home I'm ready, and not before." "Oh, you ain't?" grunted the cowboy sarcastically. "That's flat. The folks haven't treated me right, and they know it. They----" "Oh, cut that out," growled McGlory wearily. "Haven't you got any sense, or are you just half fake and half false alarm? The trouble with Uncle Dan and Aunt Mollie is that they've done a heap too much for you. If you'd had to knock about the mines and cattle ranges, same as me, earnin' your grub by hard knocks, I reckon you'd see things a lot different." "I know my own business," snapped Lorry. "You haven't been in Madison for a year, Joe McGlory, and you don't know how the old man has been rubbing my fur the wrong way. I told him I wouldn't stand for it--and I didn't." "You're a pill!" snorted McGlory, in a temper. "What's more," pursued Lorry, in a temper that matched his cousin's, "I'm not going to take any insolence from you. You're nothing but a rowdy, anyhow. Your father was a rowdy----" McGlory leaned over and dropped a hard hand on Lorry's knee. "That'll do you, my buck," said he, his low voice ringing like steel. "While my father was alive he had my respect, and I did what he told me to. What's more, he steered me plumb right. He didn't have the money your father had, but that wasn't his fault. As for the rest, just remember that my mother was your mother's sister. Whenever I go to that hill, just out of Tucson, where those two mounds are heaped up, side by side, I can stand between 'em and say, with a clear conscience, that I'm livin' square. In my place, George Lorry, you couldn't do that, and you know it." McGlory's eyes flashed, and, on the instant, the liking Matt had already conceived for the cowboy intensified into a fast and enduring friendship. Joe McGlory had character, and the right kind of an outlook upon life. At that moment the cab came to a halt. "Here's the place," announced McGlory, pushing open the door, "and a fine old honkatonk it is. I've been to this place huntin' for you. Wonder why I didn't find you?" "Probably," was the sarcastic comment of Lorry, "you didn't ask for Thompson." Matt paid the driver of the cab, and then followed McGlory and his cousin into the dilapidated building. A frowsy-looking clerk bestirred himself and leaned over the counter, his curious gaze centring on Lorry. "Gee Christopher!" he exclaimed, "is that you, Mr. Thompson?" "Give me the key to my room," snarled Lorry. The key was handed over, and Lorry led the way out of the room and up a flight of narrow stairs. A hall was traversed, and near the end of it Lorry unlocked a door, and bolted across the threshold. McGlory rushed after him, and when Matt stepped into the bare little room, the cowboy was jerking a revolver out of his cousin's hand. The drawer of a bureau, at one side of the room, was open. "Now what do you think!" cried McGlory, whirling away and pushing the revolver into his pocket. "He yanked this pepper box out of that drawer, Matt, and turned it on himself. With all his highfalutin' airs, that cousin o' mine hasn't got the backbone of a jellyfish. Look at him! Did you ever see any one of his age and size with less manliness in his make-up?" Matt turned and looked at Lorry. The next moment Lorry stumbled to the bed and fell on it at full length, burying his face in the pillow. CHAPTER VI. THE RICH MAN'S SON. "Blubbering!" muttered McGlory, with a look of profound disgust. "I might overlook his attempt to shake a cartridge into himself, but this baby act is too much for me." George Lorry was a puzzle to Motor Matt. And all Matt had overheard between McGlory and Lorry had only made the puzzle more perplexing. "Don't be too hard on him, Joe," said Matt. "There must be something pretty serious at the bottom of this or Lorry wouldn't have tried to shoot himself." "_Did_ he try," asked McGlory darkly, "or was it only a bluff?" "According to his story, he jumped off the ferryboat to get away from you. That alone proves he was desperate." "Maybe he was talking with two tongues when he said that." Matt stepped over to the side of the room. "Why did he leave Madison, Joe?" he asked in a low voice, as soon as McGlory had joined him. "He got to be more than Uncle Dan could handle. You see, pard, Uncle Dan's money runs up into seven figures, and George corralled the notion that whenever he wanted anything all he had to do was to order it sent up to the house. He joined a yacht club, and wanted to put a motor boat in a race, so what does he do but order a five-thousand-dollar racer, and drew on dad. Dad lands on the proposition with both feet, and little George over there is so mad he sulks in his room for a week, then he chases himself out of the house, and trots a heat with a swift bunch of thoroughbreds, who spend their time gamblin' and drinkin'. George does that, you know, just to show how mad he is; but dad's dander is up good and plenty, and he vows he'll send George to a military academy, where they'll straighten the kinks out of him or else break him in two. George was more worked up over the military school than he was over the racing boat, so he opens dad's safe one night, takes out ten thousand in cold cash, and slips away from Madison between two days. "Uncle Dan is a pretty good sort of fellow, although he never did anything for the McGlorys--not so you could notice it. He writes me all this that I've been tellin' you, Matt, and says that, if I see anything of George, will I please rope down, and tie him, and wire. The day after I get the letter, along comes a telegram saying George went to Chicago and bought a ticket for 'Frisco, and asking me to hit only the high places between Tucson and the Golden Gate. I went, and I've been here a week, walkin' my boot soles off, and askin' questions till I was blue in the face--but nothing doing. I got the notion that George had used his ten thousand for a trip to furrin parts, and so I was just beginning to cut loose on my own account and enjoy the boats when you and I came together, and this business of the _Sprite_ was pushed into the grooves. If it hadn't been for you and the _Sprite_, pard, I'd never have found George. Now that I have found him, what am I going to do with him? Speak to me about that. I'd like to unload a little of the responsibility onto you." "He's spoiled," observed Matt, after a little reflection; "and that's a cinch." "Oh, no, he ain't spoiled!" scoffed McGlory. "He's just mildewed with conceit and cobwebbed with ideas of his own importance. Back of all that, he's got about as much s-a-n-d as a gopher. He's over there now leaking great big briny tears like a Piute squaw who's been caught stealin' a string of glass beads. Wonder if he thinks he can melt _me_?" McGlory's black eyes glittered as they wandered to the heaving form on the bed. "You'd think he was seven instead of seventeen," he grunted. "There may be something in him, Joe," suggested Matt, "for all that." "There ain't anything in him worth while--you couldn't find it with a mikerscope." "Let's give him a chance, anyhow." "Chance? I'm willing. But what's the number? And how you going to play it?" "Your first move is to get hold of that ten thousand. He doesn't seem to have it with him, and it may be that he's feeling cut up because he gambled with the money, and lost it. If you can't get the money, then find out where it is. Don't go at him hammer and tongs, but use a little tact." McGlory grinned. "Smooth him down with a piece of velvet, eh?" he queried. "Dust him off with a few sweet words, and gently lift him back on the pedestal where he's already stood for more years than have been good for him. Not me, pard. Anyhow, I'm short on tact. You do it." Matt laughed a little as he looked at the cowboy and listened to him. It was plain that Matt's sympathy for George wasn't appreciated, and that if any diplomacy was used it was Matt who would have to use it. Without further words Matt walked over to the bed and pulled up a chair. "George," said he, "we're friends of yours, and we want to help you. Everybody makes a mistake now and then, and you've made a big one, but there's no use fretting about it. That ten thousand is the principal thing. If we can get hold of that, you'll be able to work out of this thing in good shape, and perhaps we can fix it so you can return to Madison and cut a better figure there than when you left the town." "I don't want to go back to Madison," came the muffled reply from the pillow. "The governor has treated me like a dog, and I've washed my hands of him." "Suppose we could arrange matters so the governor would treat you better?" "You can't," snuffled George; "nobody can. The governor's a brute." "I think we can make your father see things in a different light," went on Matt; "but the first thing to do is to send back that money." George jammed his head deeper into the pillow. "I haven't got it," he whispered. "You must have done a lot of gambling to----" "No, I didn't. It was stolen from me. The red-whiskered man with a mole on his face took it." "How was that? Turn over here, George, so we can hear you." "That's all there is to it," declared George, lifting his face a little so his words were more distinct. "I met him, and Kinky, and Ross on the train. I thought they were nice, sociable fellows; but that's where I made a mistake. They got on the train at Salt Lake City, and when we reached 'Frisco they got me to come to this hotel. The red-whiskered man had business over in Tiburon--I don't know what it was--and he went over there the next day after we reached 'Frisco, and lost his trunk check. They wouldn't let him have the trunk without the check, and he was awfully worked up. Kinky told Red-whiskers that maybe I had swiped the check, and they all seemed to believe it. Anyhow, Red-whiskers said the trunk was worth more'n ten thousand and they made me turn over that money I'd brought from home. Red-whiskers said that when I found the check, or when he proved his property and made the railroad company give up his trunk, he'd give me back the money. I went over to Tiburon, the next day, myself, and when I got back here, Kinky, Ross, and the other fellow had left. I've been going over to Tiburon every day since, but I couldn't find the check or hear anything about it. And I haven't heard anything about Red-whiskers, either. He and his two pals have stolen the money, that's what they've done. I was an easy mark, and--and--what's the good of living, anyhow?" George jammed his head down into the pillow again. This strange recital left Matt and McGlory gasping. It was clear that George had fallen into the hands of sharpers, and had been robbed, but there was that baggage check Matt had picked up near the little Tiburon wharf. That looked as though there might be something in the yarn Red-whiskers had told about losing the check. "Well, speak to me about this!" breathed McGlory. "That check you found, pard, may be the very one this chap with the auburn wind teasers lost! Wouldn't that knock you slabsided? Sufferin' jew's-harps! Why, I never heard anythin' to match it. Fate is workin' you into this game for fair." Lorry hoisted himself up suddenly on the bed. "Did you find a trunk check over in Tiburon?" he demanded. "Yes," replied Matt, and took the flat piece of brass from his pocket. "By Jove!" exclaimed Lorry. "It would be a big load off my mind if that check could be used for getting back the money. Light the gas, McGlory." It was falling dark outside, and the cowboy scratched a match and touched the flame to a jet. As soon as the light was going, Lorry took the check in his own hands and looked it over exultantly. Then, abruptly, he jumped for the bed and rushed toward a suit case that lay on a chair. "What are you going to do, George?" inquired McGlory. "Get into some dry clothes and then hunt for Red-whiskers. This means a whole lot to me. I'm going to Honolulu, and I need that ten thousand." "Don't be in a rush, Lorry," said Matt. "Was there just ten thousand in the roll? Didn't you use any of it?" "Not a cent! I had enough to get me to 'Frisco, and pay a few other expenses, aside from that. And it wasn't a roll; it was a packet with a band around the middle stamped with the name of the Merchants' and Traders' Bank, of Madison. Jupiter, but this is a good clue, and----" Some one rapped on the door. McGlory answered the summons and found the frowsy-looking clerk and a boy of about nine in the hall. The clerk pushed the boy forward and pointed to Motor Matt. "That's him," said the clerk, "an' I'll bet money." "You Motor Matt?" queried the boy, rushing into the room. "Yes," answered Matt. "Den dis here's fer you. Dere's an answer, an' I'll wait fer it." The boy handed over an envelope. Matt opened the envelope and read the inclosure. A strange light leaped into his gray eyes. "Who gave you this, my lad?" he asked of the boy. "Dunno de cove, but he had red lilocks an' a face like er ape." "Well, I'm not giving him anything till he proves his property, see? You tell him that. Also tell him that I won't meet him in Turk Bremer's Place, but will be at the foot of Clay Street in half an hour. Understand?" "Sure thing," grinned the boy. Matt snapped a quarter into the air and the boy grabbed it and made off. "What's it all about, pard?" asked McGlory. "Did you tell anybody in Tiburon about my finding that trunk check, Joe?" asked Matt. "I told the galoot that bossed the raffle." "Then that explains it," muttered Matt. "Listen." Thereupon he read the note aloud. "'MOTOR MATT: Several days ago I lost a baggage check somewhere in Tiburon, and a couple of hours ago I was told that you had found one there. It's a cinch it's mine. Give it to the boy; or, if my bare word that it belongs to me isn't enough, then come to Turk Bremer's Place on the "Front" in half an hour and I'll prove property. JOHN SMITH.'" McGlory fell back in his chair. Lorry, with a startled exclamation, grabbed the note out of Matt's hand to look at it for himself. CHAPTER VII. A PLAN THAT FAILED. Motor Matt was as profoundly surprised at the way matters were falling out as were McGlory and Lorry. As McGlory had said, fate seemed to have selected Matt for the particular work of recovering Lorry's money. "This is luck!" whispered Lorry. "If you can get back that money for me, Motor Matt, I'll give you five dollars." "Don't strain yourself, George," grinned McGlory. "I will," declared Lorry. "But you've got to get it back to-night. There's a boat for the Sandwich Islands to-morrow, and that's the one I was planning to take." "You're not going to emigrate, George," asserted McGlory. "We need you right here in the United States for a spell yet." Matt gave the cowboy a swift and expressive look. "I think, Joe," said he, "that Lorry has been dictated to too much. Leave him alone and let him make his plans." McGlory stared incredulously. "That's the talk," expanded Lorry, puffing up like an angry tomtit. "I'd been bossed altogether more than was right or necessary. From this on I'm my own master. You've got a little sense, Motor Matt. I give you credit for that, anyhow." "Thanks," answered Matt, with an irony so slight Lorry let it get past him. "Will you stay right here in this hotel while Joe and I are getting the money for you?" "Sure, I will! But I want it to-night." "We'll get it as quick as we can. Red-whiskers, otherwise John Smith, may not have it about him, so it may be some time before we can lay hands on it." Lorry's face fell at this. "You'll get it, though, won't you? You've got to get it. Do that for me and I'll give you five dollars apiece." "Fine!" rumbled McGlory, with a wink at Matt. "If George's generosity ever strikes in it'll bother him worse than the measles. How did Red-whiskers know we were here, pard?" "Probably he traced us through the _Sprite_," answered Matt. "He found the launch at the foot of Clay Street, and Ping must have heard us tell the cab driver to drive us to the Bixler House. Ping, of course, told the fellow." "And he sent the boy with a note, knowing it wasn't healthy to come himself!" crowed McGlory, slapping his hands. "The old rooster didn't know how we had tangled up with George--Ping didn't tell him that." "We haven't much time to work our plan, Joe," said Matt, starting for the door. "You'll stay right here Lorry, until you hear from us?" "Of course," answered Lorry. "All I want is that money. Get it so I can sail for Honolulu to-morrow." "We'll do the best we can," replied Matt, as he and McGlory left the room and the hotel. "You've got me guessing good and plenty, pard," said the cowboy, while he and Matt hurried toward the water front and the foot of Clay Street. "It wouldn't be right to let George pull out for furrin parts." "Of course not!" answered Matt. "But you told him----" "That he had been dictated to too much. You see, Joe, I wanted to reassure him, as much as I could, so he'd be sure and stay at the hotel. After we recover the money we can do with that cousin of yours whatever we think best." "That's you! Shucks! Now, I reckon, you understand how much tact I've got. But George--say, ain't he the limit? But he'll not be absent a whole lot at the wind-up, I can promise you that. I'm in this to help Uncle Dan and Aunt Mollie, and you can bet your moccasins that what George wants or don't want won't cut much of a figure in the final scramble. But, tell me: Do things always come your way, like this? As this business opens up more and more, the strangeness of it makes my skin get up and walk over me with cold feet." "Well," laughed Matt, "just so you don't get 'cold feet' yourself." McGlory chuckled. "I come from a country," said he, "where it's too hot for chilblains. But what's the plan?" "We'll get a policeman," answered Matt, "and have him keep in the background while we're talking with Red-whiskers. As soon as we're sure he's the man we want, we'll signal for the officer to come forward and take him in tow." "Keno! We'll let the law juggle with Red-whiskers. But wouldn't it have been better to let the law get in its work at Turk Bremer's? There'd be plenty of light there so we could see what's doing." "Those dives on the 'Front' are dangerous places, Joe, and it's well for us to leave them alone. As it is, we'd better walk in the middle of the road when we get to Clay Street." "Surely, surely. I reckon your head's as level as they make 'em. How am I for a pard, anyhow?" "A One," said Matt heartily. "Shake!" cried McGlory, and they stopped to seal their friendship with a cordial grip. When close to the "Front" they encountered a policeman and told him as much as necessary in order to get him to lend a helping hand. "If we're going to make an arrest," demurred the officer, "we ought to have a warrant." "There's no time for that, officer," said Matt. "Well, let me see that note this chap you call Red-whiskers sent by the boy." Matt passed it over, and the policemen withdrew into the glare of a street lamp to read it. "This here is pretty good evidence that you're handin' me a straight story," said the officer, returning the note, "but I'm a gopher if I'd help you on such a showing if it wasn't that you're Motor Matt. Your picture was in the papers"--here he gave Matt a swift sizing--"and there's no doubt but you're the fellow. Heave ahead, and don't pay any attention to me. When I'm needed just yell 'Come on!' and I'll be in the game before you can say scat." Matt and McGlory continued on, taking the middle of the street until they reached the "Front." Here, as they passed along the docks with their masses of shipping, they kept a sharp watch for the man they were seeking. For some distance they followed the docks without success, passing the dozing form of Ping Pong curled up at the foot of the post to which the _Sprite_ was moored. Ping did not see them, and they did not let him know they were passing. "The Chink stacks up pretty well for a heathen," commented McGlory; "and he's bound to go on your pay roll, Matt, whether you want him or not. If he was any----" "Hist!" warned Matt, his quick eye observing a dark figure emerging from the shadows on the right. The form came close and halted in front of the two boys, not far from a flickering light. It was the form of a tall man, in a slouch hat and dark, respectable clothes. He had a beaklike nose and red whiskers, but it was too dark for the boys to see the mole mentioned by Lorry. However, there was no doubt about his being the man. "Motor Matt?" inquired the stranger briefly. "Yes," replied Matt. "Well, I'm the man that wants the trunk check. The railroad people won't let me have the trunk unless I pass over that brass tag. Mighty accommodatin' set, I must say." "Is your name John Smith?" "Didn't I put that to the note?" demanded the other. "What's that got to do with it, anyhow?" "Not much, but I'd like to have you tell me where Ross and Kinky are, and----" The fellow muttered an oath and jumped back. His hand, at the same instant, darted toward his hip pocket. Matt had mentioned "Ross" and "Kinky" merely to make assurance doubly sure. The man's actions proved that he was one of the three thieves, and that he had come prepared for anything that might develop to his disadvantage. McGlory, watching Red-whiskers like a hawk, jumped for him and grabbed the hand that was reaching for his hip. Matt likewise jumped forward. "Come on!" he cried to the officer. A tramp of running feet was heard--but the sounds came from two directions, from behind the red-whiskered man and also back of Matt and McGlory. Another moment and Matt saw two figures leaping out of the heavy shadow. One of them came on toward the place where the boys were struggling with Red-whiskers and the other turned aside and set upon the policeman. Matt heard a scuffle, a sound of angry voices, and then a _thump_ as of a savage blow. Before he could draw a full breath, a heavy fist had struck him in the shoulder and thrown him reeling backward. "It's a fall!" panted a husky voice. "Cut for it, on the double quick. The launch--it's the only thing for us." Three figures leaped away along the docks. They were the three men, Red-whiskers, Kinky, and Ross--for, in Matt's mind, it was clear that the two latter had been in hiding, waiting to help their pal if he needed it. The suggestion about the launch aroused Matt's fears for the _Sprite_. He started toward the place where the launch was moored, but halted when he saw the three men vanishing in another direction. CHAPTER VIII. A CHASE ACROSS THE BAY. The suddenness with which the red-whiskered man's accomplices had interfered with Motor Matt's plan, and caused it to fail, was as startling as it was unexpected. Matt, standing back toward the edge of the dock with a thumping pain in his shoulder, felt a spasm of chagrin and disappointment. McGlory picked himself up, assisted the policeman to his feet, and both came toward Matt. The policeman was rubbing his head, and seemed dazed. "Sufferin' snakes!" exclaimed McGlory. "I'm trying to figure out what happened. Who were the other two that blew in on us, pard, just as we had everything our own way?" "They must have been Kinky and Ross," replied Matt. "Who are they?" demanded the officer. "Two pals of this red-whiskered man. He probably had them waiting in the background, just as we had you waiting to help us, officer." "This ain't the last of this!" cried the officer hotly. "Which way did they go?" Matt indicated the direction. The officer started off at a run, tugging at his pocket. "Why don't you come along?" he demanded over his shoulder. "One of them said something about getting away in a launch," returned Matt. "I didn't know but it was a boat that I have here, and I think it's well to stand around and see if they come back." "I'll see where the scoundrels go, anyhow," said the officer, and vanished at a rapid pace. "Are you hurt, Joe?" inquired Matt. "My feelin's are badly injured," answered the cowboy. "The rap I got on the block don't count for much, although it was enough to drop me, right where I stood. They're a fine lot, those galoots. I reckon, it's a cinch that they're the chaps we want--and the ones we won't get. George will weep some more when he hears about it." "Listen!" said Matt. The exhaust of an engine struck on his ears, faintly but distinctly. It came from somewhere to the south of the place where he and McGlory were standing. "What is it, pard?" queried the cowboy. "A boat! Didn't you hear Red-whiskers speak about a launch?" "Yes, but I reckoned it was the _Sprite_ he meant, and that he changed his mind when he saw you hustling to get between him and the boat." "It wasn't the _Sprite_, but another launch, and---- Ah, see that!" Matt pointed into the darkness to the southward. A light could be seen moving around the end of a slip, gliding across the dark water like a star. "There they go!" cried McGlory excitedly. "This way, Joe," called Matt, whirling and running toward the _Sprite_. "Hurry!" The Chinese boy was still dozing by the post, the noise caused by the recent scrimmage not having been sufficiently loud to disturb him. He was on his feet, however, the instant Matt dropped a hand on his shoulder. "You Motor Matt?" palpitated Ping. "You wantee----" "Cast off the rope, Ping," cut in Matt, sliding from the edge of the dock into the boat. "Quick! Get in behind, Joe," he added to McGlory. "We haven't an instant to lose." "Well, hardly," answered the cowboy, scrambling aboard while Matt started the engine. "Time's plenty scarce for us if we're to overhaul that other boat." The painter fell into the boat and Ping fell along with it. "I didn't intend to take you, Ping," said Matt, switching the power into the propeller and turning the nose of the _Sprite_ toward the open bay. "By Klismus," said Ping, with unexpected firmness, "my workee fo' you! Where you makee go, my makee go, allee same. Me plenty fine China boy." "Got any sand, Ping?" asked McGlory. "Have got. Fightee allee same like Sam Hill. Whoosh! Plenty big high China boy, allee same Boxer. You watchee, Motol Matt watchee. My workee heap fine fo' Motol Matt. Workee, fightee--him allee same." While this brief cross-fire was going on between McGlory and Ping, Matt was driving the _Sprite_ down the slip for all she was worth. The water slithered up along her sharp bow and flung itself in spray over the crouching forms of the cowboy and the Chinese. The launch, because of the weight aft, was very much down by the stern; but this, by throwing the bow high, helped the boat to slip over the water. After dropping from the dock into the launch Matt had not seen the moving light until, when he was halfway out of the slip, the little gleam danced across the open space between the outer ends of the two piers. "Great spark plugs!" muttered Matt, "that's the other boat." "She's going north!" exclaimed McGlory. "Which makes it easy for us to pick up her trail and follow. If she had gone south, she might have got away from us." "She's rippin' along like an express train," murmured the cowboy, watching the light vanish around the end of the pier. "She's not speedy enough to leave the _Sprite_ behind," exulted Matt, his nerves quivering in unison with the little tremors the humming cylinders sent through the boat. "If those tinhorns see us, pard----" "They won't. We're not carrying any lights, and I'm surprised to see them with one." "Mebby they can hear us if they can't see us." "We'll have to drop behind far enough so they won't hear us. Their own boat makes twice as much noise as the _Sprite_, and that will drown the throb of our exhaust and the whir of the cylinders." Just then the _Sprite_ dashed out of the black maw of the slip, wheeled in a foamy arc and turned her nose northward. There were many lights in the bay--red and green side lamps and white masthead lights, and others, but Matt was not confused. The white gleam straight to northward was the one he knew he should follow. A lightish streak surged in the wake of the other launch. Matt could not make out much about the craft except that she was considerably larger than the _Sprite_ and had a canvas or wooden canopy over the cockpit. But the _Sprite_ was the faster boat. Matt, studying the distance that separated the _Sprite_ from the launch ahead, found it necessary to choke down the motor in order to keep from overhauling the three thieves. "I thought you wanted to catch them," complained McGlory, conscious of the lessening speed. "What good would it do for us to overhaul them out in the bay?" queried Matt, humping over the wheel and speaking without turning his head. "There are three of the scoundrels, and they're armed and would probably be only too glad to have us tackle them. If Red-whiskers could lay me by the heels, you know, he'd get his trunk check." "Correct, pard. It wouldn't do to run alongside of them in the bay. But what're you thinking of?" "We're just shadowing them to find out where they go. When we discover that, we'll hold a council and decide what's to be done next." "Waugh!" sputtered McGlory. "Queerest ever that I can't ride on the water without getting a gone feeling in the pit of my stomach." "Have you got it now, Joe?" "Awful. If I had any supper aboard, I reckon I'd unload. And I can go through all kinds of rough weather on a buckin' bronk! No matter how much a bronk pitches, or bucks, it never makes me squeamish--but boats! Well, the minute I get into one I begin to have cramps. Funny, ain't it? They got a fake boat in a picture gallery in Tucson, and if a galoot wants a tin type of himself, at sea, he gets into the fake boat and lets the camera snap. Honest to Mack, every time I go to that place for a tin type I get seasick." Matt laughed. "And yet you like boats!" he exclaimed. "Achin' for 'em all the time. It's human nature to be contrary with yourself, I---- Sufferin' centipedes! I'm an Injun if that other boat isn't making for Tiburon." "I don't think so, Joe," said Matt. "There's a place around the point that's called Belvedere Cove. The other boat is either going to put in there or else go farther up the bay. We can tell in a minute." A little later Matt announced that the other launch had doubled the point and put into the Cove. For a brief space the point of land hid the larger launch from the eyes of those in the _Sprite_; but, as the _Sprite_ pushed around the point, a multitude of lights burst suddenly on the gaze of her passengers--stationary lights they were, with the exception of one that was gliding among them like a shooting star. "Tell me about that!" muttered McGlory, standing up for a better look. "The surface of the cove looks like a town. Where are all those lamps?" "On houseboats, Joe," replied Matt. "The tide-water inlets, in and about San Francisco Bay, are full of house boats at this season of the year. That's the other launch--that moving light, over there." McGlory continued to stand up, bracing himself with a hold on Ping's pigtail, which happened to be the most convenient thing handy. The _Sprite_, keeping to the trail of the moving white gleam, darted in and out among the house boats. From many of the anchored boats came sounds of mirth, music, and gay talk. Some one, on an ungainly craft which the _Sprite_ passed within a short fathom, shouted a warning for Matt to put out a light. This warning, of course, could not be heeded, and the little launch foamed onward out of earshot. Suddenly Matt shut off the power and brought the boat to a halt. "The other launch has tied up alongside a house boat, Joe," he announced, "and we're at the end of our trail. What shall we do? Go to Tiburon after a policeman or two or go on with the work ourselves?" CHAPTER IX. THE LION'S MOUTH. McGlory made a survey of the surface of the water directly in front of the _Sprite_. A hundred feet away was a large house boat, with the launch snugged up close to its side. The house boat was of the ordinary two-deck variety, the upper deck covered with an awning. A short staff extended upward from the highest point of the boat and supported the riding light. While the cowboy was looking, a light flashed in the windows of the house boat's cabin and then settled into a steady gleam. "I'm not one of those ducks who wear a sixteen collar and a number five hat, pard," observed McGlory, as he dropped back on the thwart, "but, at the same time, what you've thrown up to me takes more sense than I've got to decide. If we leave here and chase over to Tiburon after a few policemen, these birds we're after may fly the coop while we're gone. Then, taking it t'other way around, if we go ahead on our own hook we may make another bobble like that we got tangled up with at the foot of Clay Street. Those tinhorns are heeled, and you can chalk that up good and big; so, if us longhorns go prancing in there and begin pawing for trouble, the result looks like a cinch--for Brick-whiskers and the trunk check. You say what we're to do." "I don't think we could accomplish much by coming company-front with those fellows and demanding Lorry's ten thousand dollars," said Matt. "As a matter of fact, we don't know whether they have the money with them, or whether they've spent it, or whether they've left it somewhere ashore." "They've got it in their clothes, Matt, I'll gamble on that. When these tinhorns freeze to a roll of that size, they keep it handy and quiet." Matt flashed a look at the house boat. "They seem to be the only ones aboard the house boat," said he, "and they're evidently having a talk in the cabin. I believe we'll run alongside the other launch and then I'll leave you and Ping to watch the _Sprite_ while I do a little reconnoitring." "Meaning," added McGlory, "to get right in among 'em, big as life, and run the risk of having them put the kibosh on you?" "It's not much risk, Joe, if I'm at all careful." "Mebby not, but what's the good?" "Perhaps I can find out something of importance about the money." "You're putting your head in the lion's mouth. If the mouth should happen to close----" McGlory finished with a shrug and a gurgle. "Speak to me about that!" "If that should happen," said Matt, "I'll have you and Ping to fall back on." "Don't fall too hard, that's all." Matt started up the motor again, proceeding slowly and as noiselessly as he could. McGlory went forward over the hood of the motor and prepared to make the _Sprite's_ painter fast to the larger launch. The noise of the motor did not arouse any one in the cabin--at least, no doors were opened and no one showed himself on the house boat. Shutting off the power as soon as the _Sprite_ had gathered headway enough to carry her to the other launch, Matt lay over the wheel and watched while McGlory leaned out and gripped the upright supporting the canopy over the cockpit of the larger boat. Then, pulling the _Sprite_ along hand over hand, the cowboy came to the bow and made the painter fast to an iron ring. A mumble of voices could be heard coming from the cabin of the house boat. When all was fast, McGlory came back and got down off the hood. "How'd it be if I went with you, Matt?" he whispered. "A good deal worse, Joe, than for me to go it alone," was Matt's equally guarded reply. "One can crawl around, and be more quiet about it, than two." "Keno." "Mebby so my makee go with Motol Matt," murmured Ping, who, for the most part of that trip across the bay, had been content to use his eyes and ears and let his tongue rest. Every move Matt made about the machinery had been watched by the Chinese, and so intently that he had not complained when McGlory used his queue for a support while standing up in the boat. "That _would_ fix things," muttered the cowboy. "Why, you little rat-eater, you'd get Matt into more trouble than he could take care of. You'll stay right here with me, and that shot goes as it lays." "Awri," whispered Ping meekly. Matt went forward on hands and knees. In getting up to step from one boat to the other, the name of the larger boat stood out clearly under the falling rays of the lamp. She was the _San Bruno_. The young motorist made mental note of the name, for it might be of value in catching Red-whiskers and his pals in case the work of the night proved useless. Crossing the forward deck of the _San Bruno_, Matt stepped easily to the passage that ran along the side of the house boat's cabin. Then, on all fours, he crawled to the window through which came the glow of light. Rising up cautiously, he peered into the cabin. The three men were there, seated on the cushioned benches that ran along the sides of the little room. All were smoking cigars, and the air was thick with the vapor. The rascals had thrown off their hats and removed their coats, so Matt had a good chance to study their evil faces. Red-whiskers' mole was in plain evidence, but it could hardly be called a disfigurement, as the face itself was brutal and mercenary in every line. The other two men were of like calibre, if their features could be relied upon. They were talking, but it was impossible for Matt to overhear what they were saying. From their earnestness, however, it seemed plain that an important topic was being discussed. Presently, as Matt continued to look, Red-whiskers bent down and pulled a satchel out from under the bench on which he sat. The other two craned their necks toward him as he took the satchel on his knees and opened it. Shoving one hand into the bag, the red-whiskered man removed a thick packet of banknotes and held it up. The packet was encircled by a paper band, and Matt's heart thumped sharply against his ribs as he realized that this was certainly the money stolen from Lorry. While the red-whiskered man held the packet in his hand, the other two talked to him. They appeared to be pleading or arguing, Matt could not decide which. Abruptly the money was dropped back into the bag and the bag shoved under the bench once more, the red-whiskered man shaking his head as he straightened up on his seat. "They wanted him to divide it, and he refused," was the thought that ran through Matt's head. This was followed by another idea, whose audacity caused Matt to catch his breath. Wouldn't it be possible to take the satchel out of the cabin? If Matt could get the money, he would be perfectly satisfied to let the thieves keep their liberty. For the king of the motor boys and his two companions to attempt to capture the three men would have been foolish, and no doubt have ended in disaster; but to secure the satchel by stealth, or through some ruse, seemed feasible and worth trying. Dropping to the deck again, Matt crawled to the end of the house boat. At each end there was a wider strip of deck than at the sides, so that the young motorist had ample room to manoeuvre without making any noise. A door opened out of the end of the cabin upon the rear deck, and beside the door was a flight of steep stairs leading to the cabin roof. There was nothing to be gained by going to the upper deck, and to open the door and get inside the cabin promised more danger than Matt deemed it wise to face. The strip of deck on the starboard side of the cabin might repay investigation, and Matt started around the corner. But he did not turn the corner. He had no more than reached a point where he could get a view of the starboard alley than his startled eyes rested on a figure tilted back in a chair against the cabin wall. Well for motor Matt was it that the man was asleep. Had he been awake, the lad would surely have been discovered, and every hope of securing the satchel and its contents would have gone glimmering. Drawing back. Matt crouched on the deck and turned the situation over in his mind. What could he do to secure that satchel? His plans, whatever they were to be, would have to be laid quickly, for there was no telling how long the sleeping man would remain asleep, nor how long it would be before Red-whiskers, Kinky, and Ross finished their discussion and came out of the cabin. One move after another passed through Matt's mind, only to be rejected and cast aside. There was a window in the starboard wall directly back of the place where the red-whiskered man was sitting. In seeking to gain the starboard alley, Matt had had that window prominently in mind. But what he could do when he reached that window had not yet occurred to him. Any move on that part of the deck was out of the question, so long as the man occupied the chair. The king of the motor boys, usually so resourceful in expedients, could think of nothing, at that moment, that pointed the way to possible success in the matter of the satchel. The only ruse that suggested itself was to have McGlory and Ping start some sort of a row that would draw the three men out of the cabin, thus affording Matt a chance to run in through a door, or climb in at a window, and secure the grip. But this plan had many disadvantages--for what would it avail Matt, or Lorry, if he was to secure the satchel and then be left on the house boat with it, at the mercy of the red-whiskered man and his two pals? A talk with McGlory was advisable, in the circumstances, and Matt began crawling across the after deck of the house boat toward the _San Bruno_. Before he had covered half the distance that separated him from the edge of the house boat's deck his knee rested heavily on some hard object attached to the boards. It proved to be an iron ring, made fast in a hatch cover. Instantly the young motorist's plans underwent a change. He would not leave the house boat just yet, but would open the hatch, drop below and explore the lower part of the boat. If there was another hatch leading up under the part of the cabin where the three men were holding their secret session, then fortune might point a way for something worth while. The hatch cover was hinged. Softly Matt lifted the trap and threw it back; then, letting himself down into the scowlike hulk, he lifted the hatch again and cautiously lowered it. CHAPTER X. THE MOUTH CLOSES. When the hatch was closed, and Matt had shut himself into the hull of the boat, he found that he was in cramped quarters. The air was stifling, and the smell of bilge water was extremely unpleasant. He could not sit up without knocking his head against the deck beams, and he was entangled in a scattered pile of firewood. But if he got where he wanted to go he must contrive to move forward. Taking a match from his pocket, he struck it on his trousers, and looked about him in the feeble gleam. The firewood was not all he had to contend with. In addition to that, the hold was half full of boxes and casks. Making mental note of a course that would take him forward with least trouble from the fuel and food supplies, he pinched out the match and crawled carefully. He realized, presently, that the voices from the cabin were coming to his ears in increased volume; in fact, he was hearing them much more distinctly than when he had been at the window outside the cabin. Their distinctness became much more apparent the farther he advanced; not only that, but they served to help him locate himself. When the voices were directly over his head he paused. The floor boards of the deck had spread slightly, and the cracks were lined with threads of lamplight. This explained the distinctness with which the voices reached his ears. Sitting up, he stifled his breathing while he listened. "You fellers might just as well understand this from the start off--that money stays together, all in a wad, until we get safe out o' 'Frisco. Then there'll be a divvy, and not before." Red-whiskers was the speaker. Matt had no difficulty in recognizing his raucous voice. "Is that square, John?" demanded one of the others. "Ain't Ross an' me entitled to our share, here an' now, if we want it?" "You're entitled to your share, Kinky, and you're going to get it, but not until we're out of the woods. I'd have whacked up to-night, but for that raw deal we had worked on us at the foot of Clay Street. This Motor Matt, it's as plain as a pikestaff, is trying to help Lorry. Lorry himself wouldn't have the nerve to play a game like that. Why, he stole the money himself, see, and he ain't goin' to ask the law to step in and help him get the stuff back. But this Motor Matt--well, from all I can read about him, he's all nerve and is given to meddling. We've got to quit this house boat and sail on that Jap steamer to-morrow. I'll pay our passage to Honolulu out of the funds, and when we get to where we're going we'll go snucks, share and share alike." "I want mine now," struck in a third voice. "That's you, Ross," growled Red-whiskers. "You want to do some gamblin' and drinkin', which is the worst things you could possibly do, not only for yourself, but for Kinky and me. I'll not have it that way. When we get in a safe place, we'll split the loot into three parts, and you can take what's coming to you and go to ballyhack, if you want to. But you can't tune up around 'Frisco while I'm in the town." "What's to be done with the _San Bruno_?" asked a voice which Matt identified as belonging to Kinky. "We'll use her to take us to 'Frisco, in the morning, just before the steamer leaves. Then we can turn her over to her owner, pay him what's coming, and hustle for the dock where we load ourselves for the Sandwich Islands. I'm calculating we'll be safe enough there." "O' course," spoke up the voice of Ross, "all I want's to do the right thing by everybody an' have the right thing done by me. I ain't putting up no holler, an' don't think that for a minute; but I'm just about strapped. I haven't got more'n two bits in my jeans." "Well, you'll have three thousand of your own before you're a week older, Ross, and I'd advise you to do the same as I intend to do--invest it in a pineapple plantation in the islands." "Oh, splash! I'm going to invest my money in a distillery," and Ross finished with a reckless laugh, only he used a harsher expletive. "It wouldn't be like you if you didn't," grunted Red-whiskers. "Speaking along this line," spoke up Kinky, "reminds me that I'm dryer'n the desert of Sahary. Suppose we open a bottle?" "That hits me," agreed Ross promptly. "I'll go you--for just one bottle," came from the red-whiskered leader of the trio. Ross chuckled. "John likes his nip jest as well as anybody," said he. "What of it?" demanded the leader. "If I've got the sense to take no more than is good for me, what's the odds? The trouble with you, Ross, is that you never stop until you make a fool of yourself. Let me tell you something: Whisky is the worst enemy a man ever had. It'll give him a little 'Dutch courage' for a piece of crooked work, I grant you, but if a crook hangs onto the drink it will ruin him in the end. That's right." This was refreshing doctrine to come from such a man as Red-whiskers. Matt listened to his talk with a half smile. "Get the stuff, Kinky," said the impatient Ross. There was a sound of moving feet across the floor. The next moment a match was lifted directly over Matt's head and a flood of lamplight revealed him to Kinky. The scoundrel flung back with a wild yell. Matt waited for no more. With a pounding heart he scrambled over boxes and casks and stove wood on his way toward the other hatch. A confused babel of voices reached him from the cabin; feet could be heard running over the floor, and some one raised a great clatter dropping into the hold. "Come out here!" shouted a fierce voice. "Come out, I say, or I'll shoot!" Matt was willing to run the risk of stopping a bullet, there in the darkness, and he was in altogether too big a hurry to throw up a barricade between him and the man with the gun. Rising on his knees, he lifted his hands to the hatch. No shot was heard, and Matt reflected that the scoundrels would not dare fire a revolver for fear of attracting attention from the other house boats in the cove. To throw back the hatch took only an instant, but, as the young motorist scrambled through the opening, he was seized by the shoulders and hurled roughly to the deck. He was up again almost as soon as he was down. "Landers!" bellowed a gruff voice; "where the deuce is Landers? Take him, Kinky. I guess the two of us are enough without Landers. I'll head him off on this side." Matt felt a pair of arms go around him from behind. With a fierce effort, however, he twisted clear of the clutching hands, whirled and struck out with his fist. An exclamation, more forcible than polite, was jolted out of Kinky. "Hang it!" the scoundrel added, "he's got a fist like a pile driver. Lay for him, Ross! I'm wabbling." Before Motor Matt could turn and defend himself against Ross, Red-whiskers bolted through the open cabin door. "Don't make so much noise, you fellows!" he called angrily. "Every house boat in the cove will be----" Then he saw Matt. The latter had sprung to the edge of the deck with the plain intention of diving overboard. Before he could carry out his plan Ross and the leader of the three men had him by each arm and had jerked him roughly back. Matt struggled with all his power, but there were three against him, and he was thrown to the deck and dragged into the cabin, one of the men holding a hand over his mouth to prevent outcry. The cabin was divided into two rooms, and Matt was half dragged and half carried through the darkness of the first room into the glaring lamplight of the one beyond. "Put him in that chair over there," ordered the red-whiskered man. "You needn't be afraid he'll yell, Kinky," he added, with savage menace, "so take your hands from his mouth. If he lets out a whoop, or tries to bolt, I'll fire, even if the noise brings a tender from every house boat in the bay." One look into the gleaming eyes of Red-whiskers was enough to warn Matt that discretion demanded passive compliance with the wishes of his captors. Kinky removed his hands from Matt's lips, and Ross released his arms. Both men stepped to one side, glaring at him curiously and vindictively. Red-whiskers, a revolver lying on his knees, was sitting on the cushioned bench, directly facing Matt. With a steady hand he was lighting a fresh cigar. "Pull the window shades, Kinky," said he calmly. "Ross, lock both doors and put the keys in your pocket. We'll have a little heart-to-heart talk with Motor Matt, and I don't want Landers to see what we do, or hear what we're talking about." Motor Matt, blaming himself for what had happened, sat quietly and wondered what was to come. CHAPTER XI. SURPRISING EVENTS. "You're a daring youngster," remarked Red-whiskers, leering at the prisoner through the smoke of his cigar. "I suppose you think you're pretty smart, eh? Well, there are others. How did you find out we were here?" "I found out," said Matt. "I don't think it would help me any if I told you how." "Don't get gay," admonished Red-whiskers, his eyes dropping significantly to the weapon on his knee. "Remember where you are, Motor Matt. You're interfering with a game that doesn't concern you in the least. Poor policy, boy, poor policy. You ought to have sense enough to know that without being told. Where did you meet young Lorry?" "I'm not talking about Lorry or any one else," returned Matt. "You might as well let me go." "All in due time, my lad, and after you satisfy our curiosity. You rowed over from Tiburon?" Matt was silent. "That's what he must have done," spoke up Ross. "How could he have got here if he hadn't rowed over? He didn't swim, that's sure, for he's got on all his clothes an' they're dry as a bone. I'll go out and see if I can discover his boat." Ross turned to the door, but Red-whiskers lifted a restraining hand. "We'll look after the boat in due time, Ross," said he. "Just now we'll give all our attention to Motor Matt. I'll trouble you for that trunk check, my lad," he finished, facing the prisoner once more. Matt, knowing it would be worse than useless to resist, drew the check from his pocket and tossed it to Red-whiskers. "Much obliged," said the leader grimly, examining the tag. "This is the one, sure enough," he added to Kinky and Ross. "How did you know I had it?" asked Matt. "The gent that raffled off that boat put me next. How much pleasanter it would have been," Red-whiskers pursued, slipping the check into his pocket, "if you'd been nice and sociable, over there at the foot of Clay Street, and let me have that brass tag without trying to make trouble. What have you gained, Motor Matt, by roughing things up like you did? And what have you gained by sneaking in here? Are you any better off?" "Cut it out, John," growled Kinky. "What's the good o' readin' him a lecture?" Red-whiskers scowled at Kinky. "Be so good as to dry up," he requested. "You never was able to see anything an inch or two beyond your nose, so you can't guess what I'm driving at. Motor Matt," he went on, to the prisoner, "what did you lug that cop along with you for, when you came to the foot of Clay Street? What was your object? Was you afraid of that part o' town, and was he just a sort of bodyguard?" Matt laughed at that. "Hardly that," said he. "You've got ten thousand dollars that belongs to young Lorry, and the policeman was there to get it." "Well, well!" exclaimed the red-whiskered man, with a humorous glance at Ross and Kinky, "he thinks we've got ten thousand dollars! But," he continued, "assuming that we _have_ got that much money, how do you figure that it belongs to Lorry? Did Lorry steal it from his old man? If he did, does that make it his? If it does, Motor Matt, then if we stole the money from young Lorry it ought to belong to us." "That's foolish," said Matt, trying to guess what Red-whiskers was driving at. "Possibly it is. Now, you're a pretty good sort of fellow, only a trifle headstrong, and I don't mind saying that we _did_ take that ten thousand from young Lorry. And why? Let me tell you it was all perfectly legitimate." He leaned over confidentially and tapped Matt on the knee with the muzzle of the revolver. "We're detectives, Motor Matt, Chicago detectives, and old Mr. Lorry, that lives in Madison, Wisconsin, commissioned us to recover that money. We've recovered it; and you"--Red-whiskers leaned back and laughed softly--"thought we was thieves and tried to have us pinched! What do you think of that for a joke?" "Then," said Matt, "it's all a joke about you and your pals sailing for Honolulu to-morrow and dividing the money between you when you get there?" Enjoyment immediately faded out of the situation for the red-whiskered man. He straightened up, pulled at his fiery beard and glared at Motor Matt. Matt realized that he had made a mistake. By speaking as he had done, he had virtually admitted that he knew more about the plans of the three rascals than they had thought possible. "Ah," and a crafty smile crossed Red-whiskers' face "I thought you'd let out something, if I prodded you a little, but I'll be hanged if I expected that. This is beginning to look mighty serious for you, Motor Matt. Where did you learn all that?" "I was under the floor," replied Matt. "Exactly--under the floor listening to a conversation that didn't concern you. Because of that, you're going to stay two weeks on this boat, and Landers is going to keep you. By then we'll be where we're going and out of harm's way, and it won't be possible for what you know to have any effect. You've only yourself to blame for this. Who's that chink that won the boat in the raffle?" "I don't know much about him," replied Matt. "You took his boat across the bay for him, didn't you?" "Yes." "Well, he knew where you had gone, because he told me. That's how I was able to send that note to the Bixler House. The chink said you had a couple of fellows with you--one, in particular, who had fallen off a ferryboat and whom you had picked up. Was that young Lorry?" "I'm not saying a word," said Matt, "about Lorry. You say you're going to keep me on this house boat for two weeks. If that's your plan, all right, go ahead with it." For several minutes Matt, from where he sat, had been trying to locate the satchel under the bench. It was impossible for him to see it, and he supposed that it had either been moved by Red-whiskers, or taken away. "We're going to leave for parts unknown," continued the leader of the three rogues, "and we're going to take young Lorry with us. I guess if we give him a thousand of his father's money he'll be satisfied." "You're a scoundrel, on your own showing," cried Matt angrily, "but I don't think you'd be such a contemptible scoundrel as to take that boy away and make him a thief, like you and your pals!" "Softly, Motor Matt," warned Red-whiskers. "What is the boy now but a thief, and on his own showing, at that? I don't think we can hurt him any, and by taking him away we'll be doing a good thing for him--and for us." "You'll ruin him, that's what you'll do," proceeded Matt indignantly. "Haven't you a thought for his people, back there in Wisconsin?" "What are his people to us? I had intended all along to compromise with the cub and give him a thousand, but you got to him before we did. He doesn't dare appeal to the law----" "There are others who will act for him," broke in Matt. "There's the making of a man in young Lorry, and if you do as you say you intend to, you will end by making him no better than you are." "You're not very complimentary, it strikes me," said Red-whiskers easily, bending down and groping under the bench with one hand. "We might just as well take our boodle and get away from here. I had planned to stay on the house boat all night, and run over to 'Frisco in the launch in time to catch that steamer to-morrow, but you've compelled us to change our plans. We'll take a night train, and---- Where in blazes is that satchel?" Failing to find the satchel with one hand, Red-whiskers had used both hands. Even then the treasure grip eluded him, and in a sudden flurry he dropped to the floor on his knees and looked under the bench. The next instant he had leaped up, maddened and furious. "It's gone!" he shouted. Kinky and Ross jumped as though they had been touched by a live wire. "Gone?" they echoed blankly. "You know something about this!" cried Red-whiskers, facing Ross furiously. "What're you givin' us?" retorted Ross menacingly. "If you think you can throw any such bluff as that, John, and make it stick, you've got another guess coming. You've taken the satchel yourself! You never intended to whack up with Kinky and me, and this is a move to corral all the money." "Don't be a fool!" snapped Red-whiskers, studying Ross' face for a moment, and then swerving his eyes to Kinky. The affair had a dark look, for a space, as both Kinky and Ross had reached their hands under their coats. If the three scoundrels had a quarrel among themselves, Matt felt that he would have a chance of escape. His eager eyes traveled to the doors, and then to the window. "Look here, you two," went on Red-whiskers, his eyes glittering fiendishly, "the satchel's gone. I'll take back what I said about you two having had anything to do with trying to lift it. Certainly I didn't--you ought to know that. We've all been in this room----" "Except when we ran aft to ketch that fellow," fumed Ross, indicating Matt with a jerk of the head. "You was in here alone with the satchel then, John. How do we know you didn't hide it on us?" "Mebby it was him!" stormed Kinky, stepping toward Matt. "How could it have been him?" objected Ross. "He was under the floor, and we kept him busy every minute until he bobbed up through the after hatch." "Then it was Landers!" cried Kinky. "I never did like that feller's looks. I'll bet it was Landers! If----" Just at that moment the _chug-chug_ of a motor was heard outside. "He's turning over the engine!" cried Red-whiskers, jumping for one of the doors. "Landers has got the satchel and he's getting away with it in the boat." Red-whiskers threw himself against the door, trying to break it down. "Wait, confound it!" yelped Ross; "here's the key, John. I'll unlock the door if you'll gi' me a chance." The three men paid no attention whatever to Matt. As soon as Ross could unlock and throw open the door they all rushed out. The _San Bruno_ was still lying where she had been moored, but the wheeze of a boat could be heard, and a craft, a cable's length away, could be seen vanishing wraithlike into the shadows across the cove. "Landers has got another boat, somewhere, and he's running away in it!" declared Kinky. "We'll overhaul him with the _San Bruno_," cried Red-whiskers, throwing himself into the launch. "One of you stay behind and look after the prisoner----" "Hang the prisoner!" answered Kinky. "The money means more to us than he does." Ross cast off the rope that held the launch alongside the house boat, and both he and Kinky sprang aboard the _San Bruno_. Matt, bewildered by the surprising events that had followed each other so swiftly, stood on the forward deck of the houseboat and watched while the _San Bruno_ got under way and started on the track of the other boat. That other boat, of course, Matt knew to be the _Sprite_. But why was she tearing off across the cove like that? Why were McGlory and Ping leaving Matt when they must have known he was in difficulties? Had they started for Tiburon to get a few policemen and bring them back to help their comrade out of his trouble? As these questions sped through Matt's bewildered mind a laugh echoed behind him--and he turned to face the most surprising of all the events that had happened that night. CHAPTER XII. M'GLORY'S RUN OF LUCK. Joe McGlory, judging from the way fortune had turned her back on him during his whole life, was positive that he had not been born "under a lucky star." It was more likely, he thought, that he had been born under the Dipper, and that the Dipper was upside down at the time. Yet, be that as it might, luck had never had much to do with McGlory. Whatever he got came to him always by hard knocks and persistent grubbing. But there was a bright lining to the cloud, and this lining was making ready to show itself. He sat impatiently on the stern thwarts of the _Sprite_, while Matt was doing his reconnoitring on the house boat, waiting impatiently for him to return and report. Ping was forward at the steering wheel of the launch, feeling casually and with a certain amount of awe of every lever that manipulated the motor and the gear. The little _Sprite_ was completely dwarfed by the larger boat alongside of which she cuddled, like a young duck under the lee of its mother, and the gloom of the higher bulwarks overshadowed McGlory and Ping. From time to time, the cowboy stood up and looked across the cockpit of the _San Bruno_ toward the house boat. He saw Matt's head silhouetted in the light from the cabin window, and finally he saw him move away and vanish from sight behind the raised forward deck of the larger motor boat. After that, McGlory champed the bit, and waited. As is usual in such cases, the seconds dragged like minutes, and the minutes were like hours. The cowboy finally made up his mind that something had gone wrong, and that he ought to investigate. This feeling grew upon him until he could stand it no longer. Creeping forward to where Ping was caressing the steering wheel, he paused beside him for a moment. "Motor Matt's been gone so long, Ping," said he, in a low tone, "that I'm afraid he has struck on a snag. If that's so, it's up to me to flock over to the house boat and do my little best to get him out of trouble. Savvy?" "Heap savvy," replied Ping. "By Klismus, China boy go 'long. Mebbyso you makee fall in tlouble, China boy savee you, savee Matt, savee evelbody. Huh?" "Never you mind about Matt and me, Ping," returned McGlory. "You stay right here--and stop fooling with that machinery, too. First thing you know you'll have the _Sprite_ turning a summerset, and that would be about the worst thing that could happen to us. Stay right here, mind, and wait until you hear from Matt or me before you budge." "Awri'," said Ping meekly. McGlory crawled over the hood, got aboard the _San Bruno_, and then stepped softly to the deck of the house boat. A quick look around revealed the fact that Motor Matt was not in evidence. Slipping forward along the port alley, the cowboy took a hasty look through the lighted window. The three men were smoking, and in close converse, but McGlory was more interested in locating Motor Matt, just then, than in anything else. Instead of returning toward the after end of the house boat, he passed on to the patch of deck at the forward end--and was thus out of the whirl of excitement that was turned on at the rear of the craft. The yell given by Kinky when he lifted the trap in the floor of the cabin and caught a glimpse of Matt reached McGlory's ears almost as soon as he had gained the wider deck at the end of the boat. Almost immediately he heard the scramble inside the cabin, and then the rush of feet aft. He hesitated for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. Matt had got into trouble, all right, but had he gotten out of it? Stepping quickly to a door which led directly into the lighted front room of the cabin, McGlory softly turned the knob and pushed the door open. The room was empty. A trap in the floor was open, and also a door leading into a dark room beyond. From somewhere farther aft came angry voices and more sounds of scuffling. "That means me, I reckon," thought the cowboy, rushing across the lighted room and into the darker chamber farther on. It was his intention to keep going and find out just what the struggle he had been hearing might mean, and to do what he could for Motor Matt; but he heard a sound behind him, just as he gained the darkness of the rear room, which caused him to halt, turn cautiously, and peer backward. A tall, gangle-legged individual, with a mustache the color of dried buffalo grass, a nose like a wart and eyes that looked like a couple of wilted cactus blossoms, had entered the door which McGlory had left open. The manner of this person aroused the cowboy's interest and curiosity. If he was one of the gang, what was he doing there? And why was he acting in such a stealthy manner, as though in a hurry and fearing to be apprehended? McGlory, for a moment, curbed his desire to hurry on to the rear of the house boat and stood and watched the stranger from the safe screen of darkness. The man was looking for something, that was plain. Dropping to his knees, he reached under a bench at one side of the room. What he wanted wasn't there. He turned to the bench on the other side and gave an exultant grunt as he pulled a satchel from under it. After flashing a wary look around him, he opened the satchel with trembling fingers and drew forth a package of banknotes that made McGlory stagger. Money! George Lorry's money! That is what the cowboy thought on the instant. With another jubilant grunt, the stranger snapped the satchel shut and faded through the front door. McGlory was about two seconds making up his mind, and then faded after him. The man was out of sight when the cowboy reached the deck at the forward end of the boat. Heavy feet were coming through the dark room of the cabin, and McGlory knew it was hardly safe for him to stand in the exposed position where he had placed himself. Wondering where the man had gone with the satchel and the money, he stepped around the corner of the cabin into the starboard passage--and saw the man just dodging around the opposite corner, on the after deck. "That's where I nail him!" thought McGlory, moving softly and swiftly along the alley. As he passed the lighted window on that side of the cabin a curtain was jerked down, and a door was slammed. Following this, a key grated in a lock. Then another door was slammed and another key grated. The cowboy hesitated, trying to guess whether all that had anything to do with the man who was making off with the satchel. Unable to reach any conclusion, and convinced that his duty lay in following the man, McGlory moved noiselessly onward. The light on the upright staff of the houseboat cast a faint glow on the after deck, and here McGlory saw the man he was following again on his knees and examining the packet of bills. In two jumps the cowboy was on the man's back. "Steady!" he hissed in the man's ear. The fellow began to struggle; and then, in a flash, the cowboy remembered the revolver he had snatched out of his cousin's hand and slipped into his pocket. In a twinkling he had the weapon out of the pocket--and commanded the situation. "Don't shoot!" whined the man. "Great guns, I ain't done anythin' to _you_." "Put that bunch of green goods back into the grip," ordered McGlory. "Thar she goes," said the man, letting the packet fall into the satchel. "Now give the grip a shove," continued McGlory, "so it'll be closer to where I'm standing. That's the idea," he added, as the bag came sliding toward him. "Now, pardner, I've got the money and you've got the experience, and things are looking real fine. Who are you, anyhow?" "Landers," said the man. "I'm in charge o' this boat for Big John." "Big John, eh? I wonder if that's my friend, Mr. Smith, otherwise Red-whiskers?" "That's him," answered Landers, "but you ain't no friend o' his, I'll gamble." "Ain't I?" queried McGlory humorously. "You're a detective, an' you've come here to bag Big John an' them other coves. But you don't need to bag me. I was only gettin' the money to turn it over to the police." "Oh, speak to me about that!" chuckled McGlory. "Look out behind ye!" whispered Landers hoarsely. "Big John is----" McGlory turned. As he did so, Landers fell off the house boat and into the cockpit of the _San Bruno_. "Ain't I easy?" grumbled McGlory, marking a half run across the deck in the direction of the launch. "No," he muttered, "I won't do that, either. I've got the ten thousand plunks belongin' to Uncle Dan, and I guess I'll freeze onto 'em. Matt needs me, I reckon. With the grip in one hand and George's pepper box in the other, I'll walk through the cabin and see what I can do for this new pard of mine." The rear door of the cabin was unlocked. McGlory passed through it and groped his way in the dark to the other door. He had barely reached the door when another commotion assailed his ears, accompanied by loud voices. The voices were so loud, in fact, that the cowboy could hear distinctly all that was said. Big John had just discovered the loss of the satchel, and a violent scene was threatening. Then came the popping of the motor, and the rush to get out of the cabin and pursue Landers. McGlory, beginning to understand what had happened and how the thieves had been fooled, leaned against the wall of the cabin and sputtered with merriment. "Speak to me about luck, will you?" he gasped. "This is once, anyhow, that I've got the winning number. I reckon it's because I'm hooked up with Motor Matt." He tried the bulkhead door, but found it locked. With a sudden thought, he returned to the other door, took the key he found there from the lock and tried it in the lock of the bulkhead door. It worked like a charm, and McGlory, satchel in one hand and revolver in the other, pushed into the lighted room. At the very least, he was expecting to find Motor Matt on the floor, tied hand and foot. McGlory's astonishment was great, therefore, when he discovered that Matt was not in the room. A form stood just outside the door, on the forward deck, vaguely outlined in the darkness. It was Matt, there was no doubt about it. Thoughts of the way events had shaped themselves to befool the thieves rushed over the cowboy again, and once more he dropped against the side of the cabin. He exploded a laugh that brought Matt into the room at a double quick, and held him, just inside the door, staring as though at a ghost. "McGlory!" muttered Matt, rubbing his eyes. "Keno, correct--and more, much more. It's McGlory, Matt, and McGlory's got the _dinero_. Come to me, put your little hand in mine for a good shake, and let's felicitate. This will be happy news for Cousin George!" CHAPTER XIII. WAITING AND WORRYING. "In the name of all that's good, Joe," cried Matt, as he and the cowboy shook hands, "where did you come from?" "From the _Sprite_, pard," grinned McGlory. "But that was some sort of a while ago. I've been on the house boat for quite a spell." "Where did you get that satchel?" "It's got the bundle of money in it, Matt--Uncle Dan's money _sabe_?" "Yes, yes, I know! I saw the red-whiskered man take the money out of the satchel, then put it back again and push the satchel under that bench. But how did _you_ get hold of it? That's what I want to know." McGlory dropped the satchel and collapsed on the bench. "Oh, that's the best ever," he laughed. "Those old hardshells were fooled at their own game. Queer about that money of Uncle Dan's. It's been in a good deal of a taking ever since it left Madison. George takes it from Uncle Dan, Red-whiskers takes it from George, Landers takes it from Red-whiskers, and now here's me taking it from Landers." "Landers?" queried Mitt. "Did he take the money?" "Took it the length of the boat. By then I was close enough to get hold of it myself. But you cut loose and tell me what went crossways with you--I've been worried a heap about that--and then I'll even up by tellin' how I jumped into the game." Matt made short work of his end of the explanation, and McGlory consumed but little more time. While McGlory was talking, Matt was not only listening but also putting two and two together in his own mind. The cowboy finished with another jubilant laugh, but Matt suddenly became grave and got up from the bench. "Let's go outside, Joe," said he, "where we can keep an eye on our surroundings." "What's there in our surroundings to worry us? We've got the money, haven't we?" "Yes, but the 'taking' you mentioned a few minutes ago may keep up--unless we're on the alert. Suppose Big John, Kinky, and Ross come back here in the _San Bruno_? What would happen then? We haven't any _Sprite_ to take us off, remember." "That's a fact," and McGlory went suddenly grave himself. "What ever came over that chink to run off? Say, I'll bet he got to tinkering with the motor, and that it started on him and he couldn't stop it. Consarn these chinks, anyhow!" "Don't be too quick to blame Ping, Joe," remonstrated Matt. "I don't think that's what happened." "What then?" "Landers thought you were a detective, didn't he?" "That's what he said." "Well, he was afraid of being arrested and jailed for helping Big John and the other two. That's the reason he played a trick and tumbled off the boat." "Well? Go on, pard, and give me the rest of it." "Don't you think it's likely that he climbed aboard the _Sprite_, took her away from Ping, and then rushed her across the cove to the nearest landing?" "Oh, tell me!" muttered McGlory. "And I never, no, I never once let that drift into my head! And yet, why not? Wasn't it the natural thing for Landers to do? Any day you can find in the almanac, pard, I'm shy something when it comes to headwork. But here's the point: Can Landers run the _Sprite_ fast enough to keep her away from the _San Bruno_? If he can't, I can see what will happen to Ping and Landers when that outfit of fire-eaters come up with them. Oh, shucks! This ain't turnin' out so pleasant as I thought. Suppose we hike for the deck and keep our eyes peeled. It may save us something, although I'm a heathen if I see what we could do if the _San Bruno_ came back." "If we have to," said Matt, "we'll take the money and swim to the nearest house boat." "It will be a damp roll of bills we take ashore with us if we have to do that." "Better a lot of wet money, Joe, than no money at all." "Right, exactly right, as per usual. I've got this pop-gun of Cousin George's. It looks like one of those toy Fourth of July things that make a noise and let it go at that. Still, maybe the sight of the thing would scare somebody." Together they left the cabin, and, in order that their view might be more extensive, climbed the steep stairs to the house boat's upper deck. Here there were comfortable chairs, and the boys sat down and allowed their eyes to wander about them over the shadowy surface of the cove. The lights of the house-boat settlement were still gleaming in every direction, but every sound had died away and a dead silence reigned. "If a launch was coming," said McGlory, "we could hear her a mile off--which is three times as far as we could see her." "That's right," said Matt, "and I'm hearing one now. Listen! Unless I'm away off in my reckoning a boat is bearing this way from the direction of Tiburon." McGlory bent his head. "You've made a bull's-eye, Matt," said he. "A boat's coming, but is it the _Sprite_ or the _San Bruno_?" "It's the _San Bruno_," averred Matt. "How do you make that out?" queried the wondering cowboy. "Why, a bigger volume of sound, distance considered, than the _Sprite_ makes. I noticed that particularly when we were chasing the _San Bruno_ across the bay." "Well, you've got me beat, plumb. We've got to swim, I reckon, going off one side of the house boat as the launch ties up at the other?" "We'll not take to the water until we have to, Joe. Wait until we can get a good look at the boat." Standing on the upper deck, the two boys faced in the direction of the approaching launch, and waited and worried. Slowly, and after a period of time that seemed interminable, a blot of shadow came gliding toward them from among the clustered lights of the house boats. Matt whirled to grip McGlory's arm. "What's to pay now, pard?" asked the startled cowboy. "Why," answered Matt, "two boats are coming!" "Two?" echoed McGlory, squinting in the direction of the moving blot. "I can't make out more than one, and it's plenty hard to see that." "One is chasing the other--I can tell by the sounds, alone." "Good ear--remarkable. Put a lot of bronks on a hard trail and I can shut my eyes and tell you how many there are, up to five, by listening. But a boat's a different proposition. How do you know one is chasing the other, though? That's what gets me." "Because," answered Matt, "the boat ahead is the _Sprite_ and the one behind is the _San Bruno_!" "Sufferin' whirligigs!" exclaimed McGlory. "How far ahead is the _Sprite_?" "We can tell in a minute. Both boats are close--and the _San Bruno_ has put out her light. Ah, look!" Matt leaned over the rail and pointed. By that time the boats could be easily distinguished. The _Sprite_ was pounding along in a distressing way that proved there was something wrong with her sparking apparatus or her fuel supply, but, in spite of that, she was doing nobly. "It can't be that Ping is doing the work on the _Sprite_," muttered McGlory. "It sounds as though it might be Ping," said Matt. "But he can't run the boat! Didn't we see him try, at the Tiburon landing?" "He's been watching me, and I think he's learned what to pull and push and turn in order to keep the boat moving. A Chinaman is a good imitator, Joe. The _San Bruno_ is giving our launch a close race, and we'd better go down and stand ready to leap aboard the moment Ping stops for us." Hurrying down the steps, the two boys placed themselves at the edge of the house boat's after deck, ready to jump the moment the _Sprite_ came close enough. CHAPTER XIV. PING STARS HIMSELF. Ping was not impatient, while waiting for Matt and McGlory to come back from the house boat, and he was not worrying. His callow mind was engaged with the wheels and levers of the _Sprite's_ machinery, and he might be said to be enjoying himself, in his artless, heathen way. His first acquaintance with the _Sprite_ had not been of a pleasant nature, but Ping had overcome his awe and fear, to a large extent, by watching how readily the boat obeyed the touch of Motor Matt's hands. The Chinese boy had observed all the details of starting, steering, and stopping. Sitting alone in the launch, he touched the various levers in proper order, again and again--touched them lightly, for he had no desire to make the boat turn a "summerset," as McGlory had said she would do if he got too free with his attentions. The uproar and commotion that started abruptly on the house boat and continued at intervals for some time, naturally drew the Chinaman's eyes across the _San Bruno_. But the attraction of the motor was too much for Ping to withstand, and he jumped at a conclusion to assure himself that everything was well with Matt and McGlory, and returned to his childlike interest in the machinery. Some one scrambled off the _San Bruno_ into the _Sprite_. The rough boarding of the little launch caused her to sway and shiver and dance at the end of her painter. "You makee plenty fuss, McGloly!" complained Ping, grabbing at the sides of the boat to hold himself upright. Before he could look around a rough hand had caught his queue and jerked him over backward. "Not a bloomin' word out o' you, chink!" hissed a menacing voice in Ping's ear. "Ahead with ye, now, and unloose the painter. If you don't hustle, I'll kick yer inter next week. This is a hurry-up call, and don't you fergit that!" Ping didn't wait to argue the question. Rolling over the top of the hood, he knelt in the bow and tore the painter loose from the iron ring. The engine was chugging by the time he had finished, and when the _Sprite_ started, under the impulsive hands of the strange white man, she leaped away with a jolt that rolled Ping back into the arms of the boat's captor. With an oath, the man hurled Ping into the bottom of the boat. He would as soon have tumbled the Chinese boy into the water, and it was luck, rather than design, that kept Ping out of the wet. Crawling back on the stern thwarts, Ping leaned on his elbows, blinking his little eyes and trying to guess what had happened. Behind, over the swiftly growing stretch of water, he heard an uproar on the house boat, then the pant and throb of another engine. The strange white man looked around and swore. "They're chasin' me, but they won't get me!" he muttered. "If this boat can put me ashore ahead of 'em, I'll save my bacon dry-shod; an' if it can't, by thunder, I'll take to the water and swim!" Ping heard this, and dwelt upon the words for some time. The strange white man was running away from the other devil-boat. What had the strange white man done? Were Matt and McGlory on the other devil-boat trying to catch him? Or was it the three bad 'Melican men who were doing the chasing? Ping couldn't figure it out. About all he realized was that there was a race between the _Sprite_ and the _San Bruno_. Inasmuch as the _San Bruno_ belonged to the enemy, Ping hoped in his heart that the _Sprite_ would leave her behind. They were making for the shore of the cove, but the strange white man was handling the boat badly. He didn't push or pull the way Motor Matt did, and the imprisoned devil under the hood--the power that made the propeller whirl--coughed and spluttered with rage and pounded on the machinery with iron hammers. It got on Ping's nerves, and he hoisted himself to a sitting posture. "By Klismus," he cried frantically, "you lettee Ping lun engine! Him makee go chop-chop, keepee _Splite_ away flom othel boat!" The strange white man looked around with a snarl. "Shut up!" he roared, "or I'll toss ye into the drink, so help me!" Ping shut up. Lying back on the thwart he watched the other boat draw nearer and nearer. The shore was yet a good way off, and it was plain the _San Bruno_ would overhaul the _Sprite_ before the land could be reached. And how the good devil under the hood was fighting to do better! How hard it was begging the strange white man to treat it right, and let it work easier and take the _Sprite_ away from the other boat. Ping gave a deep groan. Oh, if he was only at the wheel, and the pull-things and the push-things! He looked around for something to throw at the strange white man. If a monkey wrench, or a hatchet, had been convenient, then one Landers would probably never have known what struck him. But, fortunately for Landers--and for Ping, too--no weapon was available, and the race went on. The shore was near now, but the _San Bruno_ was nearer. Ping, straining his eyes through the dark, could see the men on the _San Bruno_. There were three of them, and their boat was less than three lengths away! Suddenly the _Sprite_ slewed around, crosswise of the _San Bruno's_ course. Ping started up with a frightened yell, a splash echoing in his ears. There was no one at the wheel or the levers! Ping's almond eyes turned swiftly shoreward, and there they saw a form in the water, swimming strongly toward the land. But Ping was not thinking of the strange white man, but of the _Sprite_. Hurling himself forward across the midship thwart, he seized the steering wheel and turned the launch in a wide circle. A shout went up from the _San Bruno_. "Halt, Landers! You can't get away with that money! Stop and drop alongside or we'll cut you down to the water's edge!" Ping, naturally, couldn't understand this. The voice that had called out was not the voice of Motor Matt or McGlory. Since they were not on the _San Bruno_, then, of course, they must still be on the house boat. The Chinese boy started back over the watery trail which the _Sprite_ had recently traversed under the guidance of the white man. Carefully he doctored the motor, pulling and pushing as he had seen Matt push and pull, all the while breathing choice prayers in his native tongue to placate the demon in the engine. The devil must have been placated, at least a little, for he did not clamor quite so loud, but at intervals he hammered in a way that was very distressing to Ping. However, Ping couldn't help it, so he settled himself down to his steering, occasionally throwing a look over his shoulder at the other boat. The _Sprite_ was gaining on her slowly. Ping continued to breathe his heathen prayers, and to beg the honorable demon to stop pounding in the machine and to put its extra power into the little wheel under the boat. As the _Sprite_ came closer and closer to the house boat Ping was able to see two figures on the upper deck. Were they Motor Matt and McGlory? He guessed they were not, while hoping that they were. Anyhow, he would have to stop. His nerves fluttered as he wondered if he would be able to stop. He had watched Matt as he brought the _Sprite_ alongside the _San Bruno_. As he remembered it, Matt had begun to play with the levers before the launch was very near the larger craft. Matt, it will be recalled, had done this in order to let the _Sprite_ glide noiselessly to her berth. Ping repeated the manoeuvre, and McGlory danced around on the house boat's deck, fuming at the delay caused by the halted motor. The _San Bruno_ was almost bunting into the stern of _Sprite_ as the two boys made flying leaps to get aboard. The impact of their bodies came within one of swamping the little craft, and Matt stumbled to the steering wheel and got busy without losing an instant. Ping slid backward over the midship thwart, yielding his place meekly and gladly; and then, with McGlory, he watched while Motor Matt plucked the _Sprite_ out of harm's way. It was so neatly done that Ping's heart swelled within him, and he slapped his hands and said glad things in Chinese. One touch of Motor Matt's hand, and the demon stopped pounding. A hum as of an industrious hive of bees came from under the hood, and the launch gathered itself together and flung onward with a fresh burst of speed. The _San Bruno_, those aboard her still under the impression that Landers was on the _Sprite_--perhaps, in the darkness, mistaking Ping for their renegade comrade--continued to give pursuit. It was a hopeless chase, however, and when the _Sprite_ gained her old berth at the Tiburon wharf the _San Bruno_ had given up and turned back into the night. CHAPTER XV. A NEW TWIST--BY GEORGE. "Speak to me about that!" gulped McGlory, as he, and Matt and Ping climbed out of the _Sprite_ to the top of the wharf. "Little Slant-eyes has starred himself. But how he ever did it stumps me." "How did you do it, Ping?" asked Matt, leaning against the post to which he had secured the launch and peering across the water to see if there was any sign of the _San Bruno_ in the gloom. "By jee-clickets," bubbled Ping, "me allee same big high China boy. Fightee like Sam Hill, workee allee same. Whoosh!" "And that's the way he did it," commented McGlory. "My no savvy," admitted Ping. "Plenty quick 'Melican man takee boat, plenty quick him dlop ovelbo'd, plenty quick my come back to othel boatee. No savvy ally mo." "You did well, anyhow," said Matt. "Awri'. My workee fo' Motol Matt allee time." "What now, pard?" asked McGlory. "We got out of that bunch of excitement with ground to spare, but why do we tie up here? Why don't we keep right on to 'Frisco? George is going to hand us five apiece, you know," he added, with a laugh, "providing we fork over this ten thousand before the steamer sails for Honolulu." "George will have to wait while we send some officers out to that house boat," said Matt. "You haven't an idea those three tinhorns will have the nerve to go back to the house boat, have you?" "They may, to pick up their traps. That makes it necessary for us to act quickly, if we are to accomplish anything. Come on, and we'll hunt up police headquarters." Ping hesitated. "What's the matter with you, chink?" asked McGlory. "Ain't you coming with us?" "No can do," replied Ping. "My no leavee boat. Mebbyso my makee sleep in boat, huh? Plenty fine place. My no lettee 'Melican man lun away with him some mo'." "Stay here if you want to, Ping," answered Matt. "That's the heathen of it," grunted McGlory. "He'd rather bunk in the bottom of the _Sprite_, with his legs doubled over the thwarts, than to rest on a good mattress like a Christian." "Here's one Christian that's ready to rest," said Matt. "And here's another," added McGlory. "Listen. Do you recollect that we haven't had a feed since we took that quick-order lunch at noon?" "Yes." "Well, no wonder we're hungry and fagged. Let's make rush work of this police business, and then tumble into our blankets." It was an hour before they got a detail of officers started in a launch for the house boat, and incidentally looking for the _San Bruno_; and half an hour longer before they dropped into bed and went to sleep. They awoke late next morning, which was to be expected, considering the hour at which they retired, and their exhausted condition; and they would not have got up when they did had a smart summons not been pounded on their door. "Speak to me about this," snorted McGlory, sitting up and yawning. "Who's got the nerve to hammer on that door before we've done anything but go to bed and turn over?" "It's been several hours since we went to bed, Joe," laughed Matt, pointing to the sunlight streaming through the window. "The sun looks to be nearly noon-high. Who's there?" he called, as the knocking at the door went on. "Officer from headquarters," came the response from the hall. "Sufferin' horn toads!" exclaimed McGlory, leaping out of bed and hurrying to the door. "Mebby he's come to tell us Big John, Kinky, and Ross have been bagged." But the officer had no such report to make. "We found the house boat deserted, when we went out to her last night," he said, coming into the room. "Two men were left aboard of her and the rest of the detail went nosing around the bay looking for the _San Bruno_." "Did you find the launch?" asked Matt. "Yes--tied up at Sausalito. No sign of the three men whom you described; but three passengers took a train from Sausalito, in the small hours of the morning, and it may be that they are the fellows we were after. If they were, then they have made good their escape." "A nice handful of cold fish you're giving us, officer," said McGlory. "Can't help it," returned the officer. "We did the best we could." "Who owns that house boat?" asked Matt. "A gentleman who lives in Oakland. He rents the _Griselda_ for part of the season when he's not using her himself." "He rented her to that precious outfit of crooks and tinhorns, did he?" struck in McGlory, scrambling into his clothes. "What sort of a gent is that Oakland man, anyway?" "He's all right," declared the officer. "We talked with him over the phone, a while ago, and told him to send some one to look after the boat. He said he rented the _Griselda_ to a stranger named Higgins, who paid him eighty dollars in advance for a month's rent." "Higgins!" muttered McGlory. "That's another label for Big John. Wonder how many names Red-whiskers has got?" "Well," said Matt, "it's too bad, officer, but, as you say, it can't be helped." "We've placed your description of the rascals on file," finished the officer, as he turned to leave, "and if they ever show up here, or in 'Frisco, again, they'll be run in." "Mebby," qualified McGlory. "Tie a string to that remark, officer." "We'll do the best we can to keep watch for them, anyhow," averred the officer. Motor Matt and McGlory had a late--a very late--breakfast; then, after Matt had had a good meal put in a paper bag for Ping, the two boys started for the _Sprite_. To their surprise, neither Ping nor the _Sprite_ were where they had been left; nor could any inquiries develop their whereabouts. "It's good-by, Ping," laughed McGlory. "I reckon he made up his mind that he didn't want to work for you any longer, Matt." "I'm glad of it, Joe, if that's really the case," answered Matt. "I haven't the least notion in the world what I could have found for the Chinaman to do. But I can't think that he's pulled out for good. He seemed too anxious to tie to me to break away so suddenly as that." "Well, wherever he went he went in the _Sprite_. We can feel sure that Big John and his pals haven't had anything to do with the chink's disappearance. They're too busy getting themselves out of sight, pard, to bother with any one else." Matt and McGlory went to the ferry house and caught the next boat for 'Frisco. On the way across the bay Matt gave Ping's breakfast to a little chap who looked as though he needed it. McGlory carried the satchel with the ten thousand dollars. It had been glued to him ever since he got hands on it aboard the house boat. By one o'clock the boys were at the hotel inquiring of the frowsy-looking clerk as to whether "Mr. Thompson" was in his room. Both boys thought the inquiry rather needless, but concluded to put it as a mere formality. They were a good deal taken aback, therefore, when the clerk informed them that Mr. Thompson had gone out about nine o'clock and hadn't returned. "Now what?" muttered McGlory, taking Matt's arm and leading him off into a corner. "We've got George's money, but no George. Do you think, pard, that he raised enough money on something to pay his passage to Honolulu?" "Certainly not, Joe," answered Matt. "He wouldn't leave town until he had learned more about that ten thousand dollars." "But he promised to stay here! Still, as for that, he always was a fine hand at making promises. If George isn't here, I don't reckon we're obliged to hang out in this honkatonk. The more I see of it, the more I'm sorry the earthquake didn't give it a few extra shakes and put it out of business. We'll go to some other hotel, and on our way there we'll just step into a telegraph office and shoot a few reassuring words to Uncle Dan." "We could make them more reassuring, Joe," suggested Matt, "if we waited to find George before sending the telegram." "I wouldn't bet a whole lot, Matt, that we're going to find him." "Oh, yes, we are, and perhaps quicker than you think." As a matter of fact, they found George a good deal sooner than even Matt had any idea they would, for he was on the sidewalk, making for the hotel door, as Matt and McGlory passed out. Young Lorry was quite a swell-looking boy, togged out in another suit, but there was an air about him that suggested conceit, carelessness of others' feelings, and a haughty confidence in himself that was too plain for a favorable impression. Lorry was surprised at seeing Matt and McGlory, and, quite naturally, Matt and McGlory were not only surprised, but delighted to come upon the missing youth so soon. "Howdy, George?" called McGlory. "We've just been asking for you." "You have--not," retorted Lorry. "You didn't want to see me, and you know it." He turned to a policeman who was standing behind him, and who, up to that moment, had escaped the notice of Matt and the cowboy. "There they are, officer," went on Lorry. "Arrest them." Matt and McGlory were stunned. "Arrest us?" queried Matt. "For what?" "For trying to run away with ten thousand dollars belonging to me," asserted Lorry. "You were to bring it back last night, and you didn't. Arrest them, why don't you, officer? What are you standing there like that for?" "There are always two sides to a story," said the policeman. "We've heard your side, young man, and now we'll hear the other." Matt's amazement remained with him, but McGlory's rapidly dispelled. "A new twist--by George," remarked McGlory dryly. "When you've known him as long as I have, Matt, you'll not be surprised at anything he does. Come back into this hotel with us, officer," the cowboy went on to the policeman, "and we'll tell you all you want to know, and perhaps more. But hang on to that false alarm who was towing you this way. He may try to bolt before we get through." CHAPTER XVI. ANOTHER TWIST--BY MATT AND M'GLORY. "I don't like your attitude," said Lorry haughtily, to the officer when they were all in the office. "Naturally," grinned the policeman, "I'm not responsible for that." "Well," ordered George, "search them, take the money and give it to me. That's all I want. They've got it, I know they have." "You bet we've got it, George," said McGlory, opening the satchel and fishing out the bunch of bills. "How does that look to you? Everything's all shipshape, too, even to the name of the bank on the wrapper." George gave a cry of delight and started forward. "See him!" cried McGlory, calmly pushing his cousin back with one hand and thrusting the money into his breast pocket with the other. "I want that, McGlory," snapped George. "I know you do, but you don't get it." "Come, come," put in the officer. "There's a whole lot of money in that roll----" "Ten thousand, officer." "Does it belong to this young fellow?" "Not that anybody knows. He stole it, and we've just got it back from a bunch of crooks who lifted it from him." The officer frowned. "Ah," he muttered, "this is beginning to look serious. He says you two boys are thieves, and now you're accusing him of being a thief." "There's a difference, officer," said McGlory. "Difference?" "Sure. We can prove our case, and he can't prove his." "How'll you prove it?" "Why, by sending a telegram to this young chap's father, in Madison, Wisconsin. Police headquarters will keep the money until an answer is received to that message." Lorry went pale and began to tremble. "I won't have it that way," he declared hotly. "I guess you will," said the officer grimly. "That's a fair way to settle this business, and you ought to abide by your father's orders if these other young fellows are willing to." "They've got some game they're trying to play," scowled George, "and I won't stand for it. I'll make you all sorry for this," he threatened, turning away. The officer grabbed him before he had taken two steps. "Where you going, Lorry?" he asked. "Take your hands off of me!" ordered Lorry, striking feebly at the big fist that had collared him. "I'm going where I please, and you've no right to interfere with me." "You're going to headquarters," asserted the policeman, "and it's there you'll stay until an answer is returned to that telegram." "You gave the game a twist, George," grinned McGlory, "and now here's another twist, by Motor Matt and me." "What made you think of such a foolish move, George?" asked Matt. "You didn't really think we were trying to steal that money, did you?" "How'd I know?" snarled Lorry sullenly. "I haven't a very good opinion of McGlory, and if you travel around with him I can't have a much better opinion of you." Motor Matt was disgusted. "McGlory and I will go to headquarters with you, officer," said he, "and explain this to the chief. The quicker that telegram is sent, the better." The straightforward story which Matt and the cowboy told the chief of police aroused nothing but pity and contempt for young Lorry. A telegram was forwarded to George's father, at Madison, and all three of the boys were treated as guests, rather than as prisoners, by the chief while they awaited an answer to the message. This interval Matt put in to good advantage. In his memorandum book he had the number of the baggage check which had been turned over to Big John, and also the name of the railroad by which it had been issued. At Matt's suggestion, the chief sent a couple of officers to the depot to examine the trunk, and also to warn the railroad officials to call a policeman at once in case any man presented the baggage check and tried to claim the trunk. In two hours the two officers were back, highly elated. They had opened the trunk and had found it to contain, securely packed in a lot of clothing, a very complete burglar's kit. "We can understand now," remarked the chief, "why those rascals were so anxious to secure the trunk check. In order to claim the trunk without the check, they would have had to identify the property. They would have looked nice describing that set of burglar's tools, wouldn't they? My word for it, no one will ever show up at the station and try to claim that trunk. After what has happened, it would be altogether too dangerous." The trunk and the burglar's kit were confiscated by the police. It was evening before McGlory received a telegram from his Uncle Dan. The message was a long one, and entirely satisfactory to the authorities, even if not so pleasing to Lorry. The message ran as follows: "Thank you for what you have done. My desire is to have you take charge of money and to bring George back home. This Motor Matt, who has already been of so much aid, might be willing to come with you and help still further. Use as much of the money as needed for your expenses. Prefer to have George brought home by you than to send officers for him. Bring him whether he wants to come or not. We will take care of him when he gets here." "I'll not go," declared Lorry, when the telegram was read to him. "I guess you will, old chap," said McGlory. "There'll be two of us, and if we have to, you know, we can carry you to the train." If Lorry's looks reflected his feelings, his frame of mind was anything but enviable. As a precaution, he was to be left at police headquarters until train time. "You're going along, eh, pard?" asked McGlory, as soon as he had got Matt where he could talk to him privately. "It's a sudden turn for me," answered Matt. "Yesterday, at this time, I hadn't any more idea of going to Wisconsin than I had of going to China." "What difference does it make to you where you are, Matt, so long as you're making a little good money?" "Money isn't everything, Joe." "No more it ain't, but in this case, Matt, you're helping a couple of mighty good people--and by that, I mean Uncle Dan and Aunt Mollie." "If I go, McGlory, it will be to help somebody else." "Who?" "Why, George, himself. I think there's good stuff in him if it could be brought out." "Hear him! Matt, George is as near a false alarm as you'll find anywhere. He's not more than half baked; if he wasn't all of that, do you think he'd have tried to have us arrested for stealing that money?" "He's all worked up, now, and has been for quite a while," explained Matt. "When a fellow's in that condition, Joe, he's not wholly responsible for what he does." "Talk about making a man of George is all a summer breeze, Matt. He hasn't a thing to build on, if you count out the cigarette habit." Matt mused for a little while. "He likes motor boats, I believe you said, Joe?" he queried at last. "Well, yes," laughed McGlory, "a liking for boats seems to run in the family. It was a motor boat, you _sabe_, that started George on his last dash for the Pacific Slope and freedom. But what of that?" "I was thinking that a course of motor boats might develop George into a different person." McGlory whistled. Then he laughed. "You're over my head, Matt," said he, "but that's nothing. The point is, will you go? I don't care what sort of a fool notion takes you, just so you see me through to the end of the trip." "I'll go," replied Matt. McGlory reached out his hand. THE END. THE NEXT NUMBER (22) WILL CONTAIN Motor Matt's Enemies; OR, A STRUGGLE FOR THE RIGHT. On the Road to Waunakee--Into a Noose, and Out of It Again--George's Sister--The "Jump Spark"--By Express, Charges Collect--"Pickerel Pete"--George and McGlory Missing--Setting a Snare--Enemies to be Feared--Between Fire and Water--Chums to the Rescue--How Fate Threw the Dice--Under the Overturned Boat--A Dash for the Open--The Power Boat, Minus the Power--A Reconciliation. MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION NEW YORK, July 17, 1909. TERMS TO MOTOR STORIES MAIL SUBSCRIBERS. (_Postage Free._) Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each. 3 months 65c. 4 months 85c. 6 months $1.25 One year 2.50 2 copies one year 4.00 1 copy two years 4.00 =How to Send Money=--By post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =Receipts=--Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. If not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ORMOND G. SMITH, } GEORGE C. SMITH, } _Proprietors_. STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. THE MAN-EATER. I was traveling on duty from Kolicaad on the coast to an inland station, by a road, crossing the Western Ghauts, which was entirely new to me. Two bullock carts carried my kit; my half a dozen servants marched alongside, while I headed the procession on horseback. Before leaving Kolicaad I had ascertained that the route was furnished throughout with travelers' rest houses; that after the first three marches the country became wild; that a few coffee plantations--managed by Europeans--lay scattered about the loftier hills, and that from the third stage--Cerrianaad--right away to the further foot of the Ghauts, I would traverse heavy jungle, said to be swarming with wild animals. This last piece of information would have gladdened a seasoned shikarrie--or sportsman--but to me it was immaterial, as I was not much given that way. I was only nineteen years of age, owned nothing in the shape of firearms, and had yet to acquire that love of big game shooting which took such strong hold of me in after years. After we passed Cerrianaad the country became more hilly, the track zigzagged and curved, the dense jungle shut in the road, hamlets grew fewer and further between, and the only natives to be seen abroad were wayfarers--all in large bodies--who told us that they purposely made up parties for the sake of security. I could see that my followers were fast becoming uneasy; they huddled together, while the bullock drivers frantically urged their sluggish cattle into keeping pace with me on horseback. We reached the next stage--Wuddagherry--without adventure; but here we learned something that well-nigh drove my servants into a panic, and made me ardently wish that I had a gun of any description in my hands. Soon after our arrival the head man of Wuddagherry hamlet came to me and asked if I intended going on to Malanaad the following day. I understood him, for I had already picked up the local language. "Yes," I replied. "You must take care to reach it as early as possible, sir; for it is a long stage, fifteen miles; the road is difficult, and very dangerous." "How is it more dangerous than from Cerrianaad to this?" I inquired with surprise; for no one at Kolicaad had said anything about the stage in question being particularly perilous. "Almost opposite to Malanaad hamlet, sir, about a quarter of a mile off the road to the right, an English gentleman has lately commenced clearing the jungle to make a coffee plantation. He has built an iron house and iron lines for his coolies." "That's good news, head man: I shall certainly go and stay the night with the gentleman rather than at the Malanaad bungalow--all by myself." "But, sir," continued the villager, now speaking in an awed whisper, "a man-eating tiger that is supposed to have wandered up from the low country on the other side is haunting the plantation! The Malanaad hamlet is walled in; the people do not stir out after dark, so the tiger is preying on the gentleman's coolies, who are not so protected." Danger, indeed! I had heard and read of man eaters, but had never encountered one. What if the demon happened to be lurking by the roadside as we passed? What if he should pop out on to us? What could I do? Nothing! "Is the gentleman by himself?" "No, sir; he has a son of about thirteen years, and a little daughter, much younger. I saw them all when they rested here on their way up." "No lady?" "No, sir; but there was an old ayah who attended on the little girl." I felt sorry for the isolated Englishman, especially when I thought of his two children, leading a lonely life in a jungle, cut off from the society of those of their own color. Knowing how gladly they would welcome me, I should certainly have claimed the planter's hospitality for one night at least had not the villager's news about the tiger put me off the idea. No, I was not going to run any risk: I would go straight to the Malanaad bungalow. After dismissing the head man, I summoned my trembling followers, heartened them as best I could, and added that we would start sufficiently early in the morning to insure our reaching Malanaad well before sundown. Accordingly, we set out soon after dawn, and proceeded in close order, keeping a bright lookout on all sides. The road wound, dipped, and climbed; the thick jungle lined it on both flanks, and frequently formed a canopy over our heads. We heard occasional weird cries in the forest, but saw nothing; and we met no one till the afternoon, when, all at once, as we cleared a bend, I saw a narrow road branching off to the right, and three figures standing under a tree just where the two tracks joined. One was a European lad of some thirteen years, the other a flaxen-haired little girl of eight or so--both wearing sun hats--and the third an old ayah, or maid; the planter's children, no doubt, with the maid in attendance. But why there--a quarter of a mile from their home? Why with only a solitary old native woman, while a man-eating tiger, not to say other dangerous animals, perhaps crouched in the very thicket behind them? My blood curdled as I thought it. No sooner did they behold me than all three ran forward. "Halloa! Who are you?" I asked, dismounting and signing my carts to halt. "Oh, we are so glad to see you!" answered the boy, eagerly and breathlessly. "My name is Jimmy Simpson: this is my sister Maud, and the old woman is her nurse. We are Mr. Simpson's children: we live up at the plantation, and--and we are in great trouble." "What trouble?" I demanded. "A man-eating tiger commenced coming here a few nights ago, and has killed several of our coolies. My father has not been able to shoot it. Many of the coolies ran away; and, as father could not make the plantation without men, he and Pote have gone down the other side of the hills to get some." "Who's Pote?" "Father's assistant. They went the day before yesterday, leaving us in the care of the servants and the few coolies who still stayed. That night the tiger came about eight o'clock, the same time as before, and killed a man who had gone out of doors. The next morning every coolie and all our house servants ran away: they said they were too frightened to stop any longer. But the ayah wouldn't leave Maud. We are afraid of spending another night by ourselves, so, as the tiger does not show himself till about eight o'clock, we came out here, and have been waiting all the afternoon in hopes of meeting some one who would stay at the bungalow with us. Father won't be back for a week. Oh, sir, do come and stay with us!" he concluded pleadingly. I thought that if I did halt here--even for a week--and I explained the reason to my superiors, they would not blame me. It was against human nature to leave these poor children alone in their fix. I did not see how I could suggest their abandoning the house, with all their father's property in it, and accompanying me to the comparative safety of the Malanaad bungalow--the very fact of Jimmy Simpson's expressing no such wish barred the idea. I therefore decided to give them my companionship--little though it might afford in the shape of protection. So, telling my people to go on to the travelers' bungalow, I turned up the side road with the children. In the centre of a clearing stood a corrugated iron house, with a high-pitched roof, and a veranda running all round, above which opened some ventilating windows. Several trees had been allowed to stand close to the house--evidently to give shade--while at the back was a range of out-houses for servants, and two long rows of "lines" for the coolies--all built of the same material as the main house. Excepting the high ventilators, every door and window was closed, and not a sound save that of our footsteps broke the reigning stillness. Young Simpson unlocked a door, and we entered the bungalow. The ayah brought me some refreshing drink, which was very welcome after my journey, and I chatted for some time with the children, with whom I soon became fast friends. "Well," said I at length, "I must leave you for an hour or so. I have got to see my things safely stowed away at the travelers' bungalow. Then I'll trot back here for the night with some of my men." "Please don't be longer than you can help, Mr. Geoffrey!" begged the lad. "I'll be as quick as I can," I replied. "Be ready to open the door when you see us approaching." And I hurried away. My followers, however, were obdurate, and no amount of threats or coaxing would induce them to budge from the travelers' bungalow. During my absence the man in charge, and the villagers, had been telling them all about the tiger, and they flatly refused to accompany me to the plantation house. I had no alternative, therefore, but to go alone. I must confess to a strong sensation of nervousness as, with lantern in hand, I set out on my return journey to the Simpsons'. But I had picked up an idea somewhere that a man-eating tiger was peculiarly regular as regarded the time of his visits to the locality he preyed on. Jimmy had said that this brute appeared at eight o'clock or thereabouts; so, it now being only a little past seven, I imagined that I had forestalled the tiger. I reached the clearing, saw the light shining through the upper ventilator windows, reconnoitred as well as the darkness would allow, listened intently, and then pushed boldly across. I had hardly got halfway ere I heard Jimmy's voice, muffled and indistinct, from within the building. "All right, Jimmy!" I answered, dashing on. "Here I am! Open the door!" "Climb! Climb!" I now plainly heard him cry. "The tiger's close by somewhere!" The words temporarily paralyzed me. I looked to see the monster shoot into the rays of my lantern; I already felt his fangs at my throat! He must have observed my approach, and concealed himself--to pounce on me! Jimmy must have marked the manoeuvre, and had shouted a warning in his childish way! With the beast at the door, so to speak, of course I did not expect the boy to open it: before I could slip in the tiger would probably be up, and either grab me or enter the house. No; the boy was quite right in keeping the door shut. These thoughts flashed through my mind in a moment: the next, nerved by despair, and roused to action by Jimmy's reiterated cry of "Climb! Climb!" I glanced wildly about me and found myself close to one of the shady trees already alluded to. It was a moderately sized tree, with a smooth, straight stem, and much foliage at the top. Dropping my lantern--fortunately, without upsetting it--I threw myself on that trunk, and frantically shinned up. I was just in time: I had barely got out of harm's way ere, with a hideous roar, a long, lanky, mangy-looking tiger squirmed round the corner of the house, came in a series of bounds to the tree, and then, rearing on end, tried to hook me down! I could hear his claws tearing the bark; I expected the cruel talons to pierce my flesh; but luckily he could not reach me, and I hauled myself up among the branches into comparative safety. It now remained to be seen whether the beast could and would follow me. At the time I knew nothing of the tiger's climbing powers; so I watched my enemy in an agony of doubt--to be inexpressibly relieved when I realized that he could not do it! He was old--as most man-eaters are: he hung on to the base of the stem, but, after many ineffectual attempts, he desisted: the task was beyond him: he was unable to draw himself up! For the present I was safe, then, and had time to look about me. Taking my position in the centre of the tree, I topped the veranda roof, and I could almost see in through one of the ventilator windows; but a good six feet yawned between the inmost tree twig and the veranda eave; a gap that I could not cover even had I good foothold to spring from. Nothing remained, therefore, but to make the best of it, and trust to the feline sneaking off at daylight. Accordingly, I was about seeking a comfortable branch to spend the night on when Jimmy called, "Mr. Geoffrey!" "Halloa!" I shouted in reply; "I'm safe up the tree, Jimmy, thanks to your warning." "But you are not safe!" he wailed hysterically. "Why, where's the danger? The brute has tried to climb the tree, but failed: he can't get at me." "Yes, he can, if he thinks of the wood stack!" "What wood stack?" "There, at the end of the veranda, just round the corner! If he climbs by it on to the veranda roof, he can jump from there into the tree! I've only just thought of it!" My lantern rays did not penetrate so far. I peered through the gloom in the direction indicated, and could dimly make out a number of log ends projecting beyond the side wall, and heaped to the full height of the veranda itself. Clearly, then, if the tiger thought of that stack he would certainly climb it, come along the veranda roof to the tree, spring across the gap, seize and carry me with him to the ground! As I contemplated these probabilities I nigh yielded to despair: I broke into a cold perspiration, and I murmured a prayer for aid. That my prayer was answered is proved by my now living to tell this story. But I had yet to get out of my fix. I was given little leisure to reflect, for the tiger--as if Jimmy's words had given him the hint--walked off and disappeared round the corner; a scrambling, scratching sound followed, and before I could well believe my eyes, there came the brute, sneaking along the inclined plane of the veranda roof! Could I--after warning Jimmy to unfasten the door--slip down the tree and dash into the house? No; though the varmint could not climb I felt sure he could drop, and that almost before I touched ground he would be upon me. The ugly cat crawled along the sloped iron sheeting, halted abreast of the tree, and set up a hoarse purr on spotting me--cowering amid the branches. He crept closer and closer to the eave till he could come no further--then gathered himself up for a spring! He strained and strained; I expected to see him shoot across and dig both teeth and claws into me; yet he came not! I stared at the beast in a wild fascination of terror. I remember--at that awful moment--being struck by his aged and unkempt appearance; I remember hearing the purr gradually give place to a growl of anger, and then all at once the truth broke on me: that outward and upward spring was beyond the man-eater; he would not attempt the feat; I was safe! My courage revived, and with it came a fierce longing to destroy my tormentor, whose foul breath reached and sickened me even at that distance. Now, another thought suddenly struck me: was there possibly a gun of some kind in the house? Hardly; for if so I should probably have seen it, or Jimmy would have offered me the weapon when I left that afternoon. Anyhow, I would find out. "Jimmy!" I bawled, causing the tiger to start angrily. "Yes, Mr. Geoffrey?" "The tiger has come on to the veranda roof--as you said; but he can't manage to spring into the tree, so I'm safe!" "Oh, I'm so glad! I was----" "I say, have you a gun?" "Father took one rifle with him; the other is in the case, locked up, to keep us from meddling with it." "Are there cartridges?" "Yes; a beltful in the case." "Where's the key?" "Father has it." "Jimmy," I rejoined imploringly, "break open the case, load the rifle, open the door a wee bit, and fire at the beast through the veranda roof. The bullet will penetrate--I'm sure. He is crouching in a line with the ventilator, just short of the eave, so you'll know where to aim. I'll make it right with your father." "What's the good?" half whimpered the boy. "I don't know how to use a rifle." Here was a facer! What more was left? But my brain was busy, and I determined to die hard. Green as I was, shaken as I was, I resolved to try and shoot the tiger myself! "Jimmy, do you think you could manage to pass me the rifle?" "I will if I can; but how?" "No use attempting the door--even while the brute is on the veranda roof; he'd hear you like a shot, and pounce down on you before you could wink. But could you reach the ventilator window from the inside? Don't be afraid; it is too small for him to get his head and shoulders through, so he can't touch you." "But how am I to do it?" "Can't you go hand-over-hand up the swing rope, with the rifle and belt slung on you?" "Yes, I can," he answered readily. "Then you could work along the tie beam and reach the window, couldn't you?" "I think so; but even if the window is large enough for me, how about the tiger outside?" "Tell you what: get the rifle and cartridge belt, climb the swing rope, making as little noise as possible, and straddle along the tie beam to the window. Directly I see you there, I'll pretend to descend the tree; the brute will either drop to the earth from where he now is, or go round by the wood heap; in either case you could scramble out, chuck me the rifle and belt, and get through the window again before the tiger is able to remount the veranda by the wood heap; that is, if he notices you. Leave the rest to me." The boy was plucky to the backbone, and immediately agreed to carry out my instructions. Presently I heard a rending, as of a box being broken open; then succeeded a silence of several minutes, and finally--to my joy--I saw the lad cautiously peeping over the window sill. Promptly I made a show of climbing down, energetically shaking the foliage as I felt my way to the lower branches. My movement had the desired effect; the tiger raised himself, growled, and, evidently believing that he had me, down he dropped with a "thud" to the ground. The coast was clear for Jimmy! "Now, Jimmy!" I shouted, frantically reclimbing upward and inward, "out you get! He's down below!" Quick as thought Jimmy slipped out the rifle and belt and proceeded to follow them. With my attention divided between him and the man-eater, I waited in desperate expectancy, but try as he would, the boy could not pass through! He essayed head first, then legs first, then this way, then that way; no, he failed! In my anxiety I had momentarily taken my eyes off the animal to watch Jimmy. On recollecting myself, and looking down again, the brute was nowhere to be seen! Merciful heaven! where had he gone? I peered on all sides, striving to probe the gloom beyond the rays of my still burning lantern, but I could not see him; the monster had vanished! While a sensation of superstitious terror threatened to overwhelm me, a smothered ejaculation of triumph came from Jimmy; I glanced eagerly in his direction, to find that he had at last succeeded in getting out! He was in the act of dropping to the veranda roof, when the scrambling, scratching sound which I had once before heard that night smote on my ear; the disappearance of the tiger was no longer a mystery: he was climbing the wood heap! "Jimmy!" I shrieked, "get back! For your life get back! The tiger's climbing the stack!" Whether the boy heard me, understood me, or not, or had taken leave of his senses, I could not tell, for, instead of obeying me, he clutched both rifle and belt, and floundered down the slope toward the tree! At the same moment I saw that the tiger had gained the roof, and was approaching as fast as he could! "Back! For mercy's sake, back!" I yelled despairingly; but the next instant the lad--after giving a hasty glance at the tiger--put forth all his young strength and hurled the rifle in my direction. Mechanically I managed to seize the piece as it crashed into the branches; the belt followed; I secured it, and then the plucky boy, scurrying up the inclined roof, hauled himself to the window and wriggled through the aperture not half a second before the man-eater got up to it! Intensely relieved at Jimmy's miraculous escape, and burning with fury against the accursed animal--the cause of all our trouble--I simply sat there and sent bullet after bullet into his vile carcass, continuing the fusillade till he lay limp and lifeless on the veranda roof! No more need be said. I loved that boy, who had shown a courage and nerve beyond the wildest dreams of fancy. I love him now as a man, with a reputation for cool pluck and presence of mind, the promise of which he so signally exhibited on the occasion of my story. When Mr. Simpson returned, and I told him all, the satisfaction I derived by seeing the tears of admiration that dimmed his eyes as I described his son's gallantry more than compensated me for my own somewhat unpleasant share in that ever memorable adventure. LATEST ISSUES BUFFALO BILL STORIES The most original stories of Western adventure. The only weekly containing the adventures of the famous Buffalo Bill. =High art colored covers. Thirty-two big pages. 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By John De Morgan. MOTOR STORIES The latest and best five-cent weekly. We won't say how interesting it is. See for yourself. =High art colored covers. Thirty-two big pages. Price, 5 cents.= 6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On The High Gear. 7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto. 8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward. 9--Motor Matt's Air-Ship; or, The Rival Inventors. 10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot. 11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady. 12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Castaway in the Bahamas. 13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest. 14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the _Hawk_. 15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the _Grampus_. 16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters. 17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos. 18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon. 19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn. 20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys. _For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York =IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS= of our Weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. Fill out the following Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the Weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY.= ________________________ _190_ _STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City._ _Dear Sirs: Enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: TIP TOP WEEKLY, Nos. ________________________________ NICK CARTER WEEKLY, " ________________________________ DIAMOND DICK WEEKLY, " ________________________________ BUFFALO BILL STORIES, " ________________________________ BRAVE AND BOLD WEEKLY, " ________________________________ MOTOR STORIES, " ________________________________ _Name_ ________________ _Street_ ________________ _City_ ________________ _State_ ________________ A GREAT SUCCESS!! MOTOR STORIES Every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of Motor Matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. Surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the Tip Top Weekly. Matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _HERE ARE THE TITLES NOW READY AND THOSE TO BE PUBLISHED_: 1--Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel. 2--Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends. 3--Motor Matt's Century Run; or, The Governor's Courier. 4--Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the "Comet." 5--Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot. 6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On the High Gear. 7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto. 8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward. 9--Motor Matt's Air Ship; or, The Rival Inventors. 10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot. 11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady. 12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Cast Away in the Bahamas. 13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest. 14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the "Hawk." 15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the "Grampus." 16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters. 17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos. 18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon. 19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn. 20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys. To be Published on July 12th. 21--Motor Matt's Launch; or, A Friend in Need. To be Published on July 19th. 22--Motor Matt's Enemies; or, A Struggle for the Right. To be Published on July 26th. 23--Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins. To be Published on August 2nd. 24--Motor Matt on the Wing; or, Flying for Fame and Fortune. PRICE, FIVE CENTS At all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_, NEW YORK Transcriber's Notes: Added table of contents. Bold is represented with =equal signs=; italics with _underscores_. Retained inconsistent spacing of "houseboat" vs. "house boat." Replaced oe ligatures with "oe" -- ligatures retained in HTML edition. Page 9, removed unnecessary comma from "rope down." Corrected "You're" to "Your" in "Your father was a rowdy." Page 12, added missing quote after "see if they come back." Page 15, added missing "ing" to "catching Red-whiskers." Page 18, corrected double comma after "a humorous glance at Ross and Kinky." Corrected typo "bame" in "only yourself to blame." Page 19, added missing open quote to "Don't be a fool!" Page 23, capitalized "Wait" in "Wait until we can get." Page 25, corrected "yawninig" to "yawning." Page 30, corrected typo "ventilater" in "upper ventilator windows." 
50941	----	courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION NO. 22 JULY 24, 1909 FIVE CENTS MOTOR MATT'S ENEMIES OR A STRUGGLE FOR THE RIGHT _BY THE AUTHOR OF "MOTOR MATT"_ [Illustration: _A hoarse laugh echoed in Motor Matt's ears as the burning launch leaped away through the thick shadows._] _STREET & SMITH PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK_ MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION _Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._ No. 22. NEW YORK, July 24, 1909. Price Five Cents. MOTOR MATT'S ENEMIES; OR, A STRUGGLE FOR THE RIGHT. By the author of "MOTOR MATT." CONTENTS CHAPTER I. ON THE ROAD TO WAUNAKEE. CHAPTER II. INTO A NOOSE--AND OUT OF IT AGAIN. CHAPTER III. GEORGE'S SISTER. CHAPTER IV. THE "JUMP SPARK." CHAPTER V. BY EXPRESS, CHARGES COLLECT. CHAPTER VI. "PICKEREL PETE." CHAPTER VII. GEORGE AND M'GLORY MISSING. CHAPTER VIII. SETTING A SNARE. CHAPTER IX. ENEMIES TO BE FEARED. CHAPTER X. BETWEEN FIRE AND WATER. CHAPTER XI. CHUMS TO THE RESCUE. CHAPTER XII. HOW FATE THREW THE DICE. CHAPTER XIII. UNDER THE OVERTURNED BOAT. CHAPTER XIV. A DASH FOR THE OPEN. CHAPTER XV. THE POWER BOAT--MINUS THE POWER. CHAPTER XVI. A RECONCILIATION. THE GUARDIAN OF THE PASS. WATCH THE SKY. CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY. =Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt. =Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive. =George Lorry=, a lad who has begun steering a wrong course, and in whom Matt recognizes a victim of circumstances rather than a youth who is innately conceited, domineering and unscrupulous. =Lorry, Sr.=, George's father; a rich man whose attitude toward Motor Matt, in part of the story, is as incomprehensible as it is uncalled-for. =Big John=, an unscrupulous person who takes his dishonest toll wherever he can find it; but, in crossing Motor Matt's course, he meets with rather more than he has bargained for. =Kinky=, a pal of Big John. =Ross=, another pal of Big John; a desperate man with a grievance against Motor Matt. =Ollie Merton=, a rich man's son with many failings, but rather deeper than he appears. =Pickerel Pete=, a superstitious little moke who collects two dollars from Motor Matt for a day's work and abruptly resigns. CHAPTER I. ON THE ROAD TO WAUNAKEE. "Do you know what you're doing, John?" "If I didn't, Ollie, I wouldn't be doing it. I'm not one of these fellows who take a jump in the dark and trust to luck." "Then it's about time you put me wise. I've been taking jumps in the dark ever since you showed up in Madison yesterday." The man with the closely cropped red hair, the smooth face, and the mole on his cheek laughed softly. "Back the car off the road and into the bushes," said he, "then we'll sit where we can look around the bend toward Waunakee and I'll tell you all you want to know." The young fellow with black hair and a sinister face threw in the reverse and backed the big automobile off the road and into the undergrowth. When he stopped the car it was all but screened from sight. Jumping down, he walked out to where the man was standing in the highway thoughtfully smoking a big, black cigar. Pulling a silver cigarette case from his pocket, Ollie helped himself to a highly ornamental brand of Turkish poison, each little cylinder cork-tipped and marked in gilt with his monogram. Big John looked at him with frank disapproval as he took a silver matchbox from his vest and fired the imported "paper pipe." "You're the silver-plated boy, all right," muttered Big John. "Sterling, you big duffer," grinned Ollie. "Nothing plated about me." "The dope they roll up in that rice paper and hand you with your cute little monogram is plate, all right--coffin plate----" "Oh, splash!" sneered Ollie. "You're a nice one to lecture a fellow, I must say. Cut it out, John, and tell me what we're here for." Big John shook his red head forebodingly and moved off toward the bend of the wooded road. Here he sat down just within a fringe of brush, in such a position that he had a good view of the straightaway stretch toward Waunakee, and Ollie pushed in beside him. "You know George Lorry, all right, eh, Ollie?" Big John observed. A flush crossed Ollie's sinister face. "You bet I know him!" said he. "The fellows used to call him 'Sis,' because he was so nice and ladylike. But I've known for a long time there was good stuff in George, and that he'd be a first-rate chap if some one would only cut him adrift from his mother's apron strings. I got him started right," and a very complacent look drifted over Ollie's dark features. "He can smoke cigareets as well as the next one, now, and play as good a game of cards as any fellow in our set. He's got _me_ to thank for that." Big John stared at Ollie, and once more shook his head. "What fools you kids can make of yourselves!" he grunted. "You're the one that started young Lorry, eh?" "He was a sissy," asserted Ollie, "and I was making a man of him. George's folks never treated him right. Old Lorry has got as much money as my governor, but he's a tightwad, all right, and put the screws on George's allowance in a way that was scandalous. George bought a five-thousand-dollar motor launch, and had it sent on here from Bay City, C. O. D., and his skinflint father wouldn't foot the bill and the launch had to go back." Ollie fired up to a white heat. "What sort of a way was that for a man to treat his only son?" he demanded. "Awful!" commented Big John sarcastically. "George told me how he was treated," went on Ollie, failing to observe the sarcasm in Big John's voice, "and I advised him to break away and show the old folks that he wasn't going to let 'em tramp on him. He joined our club and got to be one of the best card players we have." "Beautiful!" expanded Big John. "I suppose his folks were all cut up about that, eh?" "I guess they were, only old Lorry took the wrong way of showing it. What do you think he did?" flared Ollie. "I'm by. What did he do?" "Why, he made arrangements to send George to one of these military academies, that's nothing more or less than a reform school. George came to me and told me about it, and asked what he ought to do." "And what did you tell him?" "I told him to skip, and to take with him all the money of his father's that he could get his hands on. Old Lorry is a brute, and I didn't make any bones of telling George what I thought." "And George skipped, taking ten thousand dollars from his father's safe," said Big John. "He went to Chicago first, then bought a ticket to 'Frisco. When he got there he had made friends with three men, and one of those men was me. I'm a villain, Ollie, and ought to be a horrible example to every young fellow who's got sense enough to know right from wrong, and the minute I learned Lorry had ten thousand dollars I planned with my two pals, Kinky and Ross, to get it. We'd have got away with it, too, on a boat to the Sandwich Islands, where I could have bought a pineapple plantation and, mebby, have lived honest for the rest of my life, but something happened." Big John looked through the bushes, out along the road, and scowled blackly. "What happened?" demanded Ollie. "A chap named Joe McGlory----" "I've heard of _him_," interrupted Ollie. "He's a cousin of George's, and lives in Arizona. A cowboy and a rowdy--nothing refined or genteel in his make up. Go on." "Well, McGlory got a message from young Lorry's father asking him to go to 'Frisco and hunt for George. McGlory went, but he'd never have found George in a thousand years if it hadn't been for some one else who butted into the game." Big John scowled again, this time more fiercely than he had done before. "Who was it?" queried Ollie. "Hold your horses a minute," proceeded Big John. "McGlory and this other fellow took after Kinky, Ross, and me, and dropped on us like a thousand of brick. My, oh, my! Say, that other lad was the clear quill, all right. I've seen a good many likely younkers, but never one to match him. I guess you'd call him a 'sissy,' seeing as how he don't smoke, or drink, or gamble, but just trains his muscle to keep in form and cultivates his brain along the line of motors, gasoline motors. And muscle! Son, that fellow's got a 'right' any man would be proud to own, and what he don't know about chug-engines nobody knows." Ollie's upper lip curled. "I don't believe in paragons," said he. "But what has all this got to do with our being here?" "I'm getting to that. With this young fellow's help, McGlory got the ten thousand away from us; not only that, but we had to get out of 'Frisco on the jump to keep the law from layin' hold of us. But Big John wasn't throwing his hands in the air, not as anybody knows of. I knew what would happen. Young Lorry would have to be brought back to Madison, and this motor boy would have to help McGlory bring him back. Also, the ten thousand dollars would be brought back--and I was still yearnin' for that money and the pineapple plantation. I had Ross dodge back to 'Frisco and watch. When McGlory and the other chap took the cars with Lorry, Ross was on the same train, but he had changed himself so no one would have known him. Ross is good at that sort of thing, and that's the reason I made him do the shadowin'. Kinky and me hurried right on to Madison, where I called on you and reminded you of the way I'd once given you a tip on a hoss race in New York and helped you win a thousand. You remembered old times"--Big John grinned widely--"and you wasn't leery of me." "I always liked you, Big John," averred the misguided youth, "because you're so free and easy." "Thanks," was the dry response. "Well, to proceed," he went on, "Ross dropped in on Kinky and me, last night, and said that young Lorry and t'other two hadn't come to Madison, but had got off the train at Waunakee and had gone to a little cabin on the bank of a creek that empties into the Catfish. Ross hung around the cabin, listenin', until he found out that one of the outfit was to walk into Madison, this morning, to have a talk with Mr. Lorry. I don't know what the talk's to be about, but this motor boy must have something up his sleeve." Big John gave an ill-omened grin. "As near as I can find out from Ross," he continued, "this chug-engine chap thinks he can make a man out o' Lorry--but he's going about it a little different from what you did, Ollie. Now, I don't care a whoop about anything but that money, and I rather believe I've fixed things so the motor boy won't have easy sailin' with Mr. Lorry. But that's neither here nor there. I got you to bring me out here in your benzine buggy, this mornin', so I could lay for the chap that goes into town and take the ten thousand. After I get it, you're to take me to Dane, or Lodi, or Barraboo, and leave me there. That'll settle the debt you owe me on account of the tip I gave you on that hoss race, see? Are you willin'?" The sinister face of the youth glowed with a fierce light. "I'm willing to help you get away, Big John," he answered, "and I'm even willing to help you get the money. This motor boy you speak about is trying to undermine my influence with George, and, by Jupiter, I won't have it. I know what's the best thing for George." "We won't talk about that part of it," said Big John, who was a strange mixture of right principles and evil actions, "because I might say something you wouldn't like. As I was saying, I've got my heart set on an honest life and a pineapple plantation, and ten thousand ain't any more to Lorry, the millionaire, than ten cents is to me. I'm going to get that money--and here's where I turn the trick. You can go farther back into the bushes and watch, for I don't need your help." Unbuttoning his coat, Big John began unwrapping coil after coil of light rope from around his waist. When he was through he had a thirty-foot riata in his left hand and was holding the noose in his right. Ollie, who had never been the confederate of a man before in such a rascally piece of work, stared with wide eyes at Big John; then, before pushing farther back into the brush, he turned his eyes down the wooded road. A young fellow, lithely built, and with the grace and freedom of movement that marks the perfect athlete, was swinging toward the bend from the direction of Waunakee. "Is that McGlory?" asked Ollie in a whisper. "Nary it ain't McGlory," replied Big John, with a snap of the jaws. "It's Matt King, otherwise Motor Matt, and here's where he gets what's comin' for meddlin' in affairs that's none of his business. Get back, I tell you, and give me a free hand." CHAPTER II. INTO A NOOSE--AND OUT OF IT AGAIN. Motor Matt, swinging along the road toward Madison, that morning, was particularly light-hearted. He and his new chum, Joe McGlory, had accomplished something worth while; and whenever a young fellow does that he is pretty sure to be on good terms with himself. The long railroad journey from San Francisco to a point within a few miles of Madison had been safely accomplished. Young Lorry had not been a willing traveler, at first, but Matt had gradually won him over by suggesting a plan which carried an appeal to Lorry's heart. This plan had to do with the three boys leaving the train at Waunakee, taking to the little cabin in the woods, and then Lorry and McGlory staying there while Matt went on to the city for a talk with the elder Lorry and to deliver the ten thousand dollars. Motor Matt and McGlory had had some exciting experiences with Big John and his two pals, Kinky and Ross, but those experiences had been passed through safely, and the end of the journey, if not of Matt's work, was in sight. Matt had faith to believe that there was "good stuff" in George Lorry. The boy had fled from Madison, and had committed a dishonest act before doing so. Having far and away too much pride for his own good, the thought of being brought back, virtually under guard and in disgrace, was more than he could bear. Matt had tried to think of a plan for giving Lorry's return a different look--hence the reason for McGlory and Lorry remaining in the cabin while Matt went on to the city. The morning was fresh, the sun was bright, and the clear weather seemed a good augury for what lay before. Matt always made it a point to look on the bright side of things, anyway. Ahead of him lay a bend in the road. When he rounded the bend he felt sure that he would be able to catch a glimpse of the white dome of the capitol, and from that point onward he would not be long in covering the ground. He halted abruptly just before he got to the bend. The peculiar corrugated marks of automobile tires lay under his eyes in the dust of the road. It wasn't so much the marks themselves that claimed his attention as the strange way they curved from the roadside and entered the brush. Why should an automobile be taking to the woods in that unaccountable fashion? From ahead of him, around the bend, he heard a car. The car was on the move, plainly enough, but the motor was in distress, pounding badly; not only that, but there was a smell of fried engine in the air, as though some reckless driver were burning up his transmission. Was the car Matt heard the one that had left its tracks there by the roadside? He presumed that this must be the case; so, instead of investigating the bushes, he started to run around the bend. If he could help the injured car, then perhaps the driver might give him a lift the rest of the way into town. As he started on, after a moment's pause, a sinuous, snakelike thing leaped noiselessly from the bushes behind him, unwound itself in the air, and a loop fell over his head and dropped on his shoulders. Motor Matt jumped as though he had been touched with a live wire. He half turned and lifted his hands to remove the coil, but it tightened before he could free himself, and a rough jerk from behind landed him on his back in the dust. Matt had not been expecting such lawlessness on that peaceable country road. Who was back of it, and what was the purpose? To escape, half-strangled as he was and with enemies bearing down on him, was out of the question--at that moment. The lad's resourcefulness suggested a trick, whereby he hoped to gain time and discover a chance for escape. Although the fall backward had not injured him in the least, yet he gave a groan, tried to lift himself, and then fell back and lay still and silent. In his ears the pounding of the motor around the bend continued to echo, but, from the noise, he could not discover that the car was coming in his direction. A quick tramp of feet and a rustle of bushes were heard, and two figures bounded to his side. One of the figures was that of a man, and the other of a well-dressed, dissipated-looking youth. Matt, peering from half-closed eyes, could scarcely restrain an exclamation at sight of the man. When he had seen the man last, in San Francisco Bay, he had worn a red beard. Although the beard was gone, Matt recognized the scoundrel instantly--and the mole served to make his identification complete. "Confound it, John!" grumbled the youth, "_now_ what have you done? If he's badly hurt----" Big John laughed. "Hurt! Motor Matt badly hurt by a little drop like that! Why, he's tougher'n whalebone and you couldn't damage him with a sledge hammer. He's just stunned and strangled, that's all. A good thing for me, too, because he'll never know who roped him and we can get away before he comes to himself. Pull out that noose so he can breathe, Ollie. I'll get what I want out of the younker's pocket and----" "There's another machine!" Ollie muttered, staring toward the bend as he was about to stoop over Matt and release the noose. "Just heard it?" answered Big John. "Well, don't let it worry you. I've heard it for some time, and it's coming into this road from a branch and is bound for town. Look sharp, now, for we've got to hustle." While Ollie, with trembling fingers, pulled out the loop and drew it over Matt's head, Big John went down on one knee to search his pockets. Matt knew, then, what Big John was after. The rascal was foolish enough to think Matt was carrying Lorry's money in cash. This was not the case, for Matt and McGlory had bought a draft in San Francisco. Matt, however, did not intend to lose even the draft. Suddenly, and most unexpectedly, he became very much alive. With a quick move he hoisted himself upward, catching Ollie by the shoulders and hurling him, with terrific force, against Big John. Both the youth and the man were caught at a disadvantage. Ollie gave a startled cry as he carromed against Big John, and the latter, as he staggered back, said something more forcible than polite. As for Matt, if he had any comments to make, he preferred to send them by mail. Without hesitating an instant, he took to his heels and tore around the bend. He could see the dome of the capitol, far off and embowered by trees, but he was thinking more, at that moment, of the other car than he was of the capitol. A hundred yards ahead was another road, coming from the timber into the one he was following. The moment Matt raced around the bend a swagger little runabout was jumping from one road into the other. The car was not _headed_ toward Madison, although it was proceeding in that direction. It was on the reverse gear, and a young woman in the driver's seat was craning her head around in order to see the way and do the guiding. There was only the young woman in the car, and Matt, in spite of his dangerous situation, felt a distinct sense of disappointment. He had been hoping to meet a man, in that emergency, and now to meet a young woman---- But he had no time to waste in vain regrets. A look over his shoulder showed him Big John hurrying after him at top speed. Matt knew that Big John was one of those lawless persons who carry weapons in their hip pockets, and, although Matt's legs could outdistance Big John's, the young motorist would hardly be able to keep ahead of a bullet. But Big John held his hand and determined to trust to his sprinting ability. To use a revolver would, perhaps, have carried the matter farther than he wanted to see it go. Besides, Ollie was cranking up the big car and making ready to bring it along in pursuit. The smell of sizzling engine became stronger as Matt drew closer to the runabout. The girl, with a very white face, had turned in her seat and was staring toward Matt with startled eyes. At the same moment she had brought the car to a stop. Big John, on seeing Matt draw abreast of the runabout, halted and looked around for Ollie and the touring car. "Will you give me a ride into Madison?" Matt asked of the girl, as respectfully as he could in the circumstances. "What's--what's the matter?" asked the girl. "That fellow, back there, tried to rob me. I don't think he will follow me far, on a public highway in broad daylight--if you will let me ride in the runabout." "But the bearings are chewed up!" cried the girl; "I'm going home on the reverse." "Take the other seat, please," said Matt. "I know something about motors, and perhaps I can handle the car so as to get more speed out of it with less rack on the engine." Without a word the girl changed to the other seat and Matt leaped into the car beside her. The next moment he had advanced the spark, thrown in the high-speed clutch, and they were shooting down a long slope. Matt's eyes were behind, and the girl's in front of her. "Oh, hurry, hurry!" she cried, in a frightened voice. "They've got a big touring car, and I don't think anything can keep them from overtaking us!" CHAPTER III. GEORGE'S SISTER. Matt threw a look over his shoulder. Big John was just making a flying leap to the running board of a large car. He fell aboard in a huddle, colliding with the dash and striking violently against his young companion, who was at the steering wheel. Matt was not able to look longer. By doing wonders with the spark and the steering wheel, and by ignoring the bubbling in the radiator and the pounding of the engine, he nursed the runabout along at a good rate of speed. A low hill was before them, and it came near killing the car, but when they had reached the crest and were ready for the descent on the other side, an exclamation from the girl drew his attention. "What is it?" he asked. "Is that other car close upon us?" "Something has gone wrong with the other automobile," was the answer. "When that man jumped aboard he must have injured something." Matt looked around again. Big John and his companion were on the ground, looking over their car and trying to locate the trouble. Matt laughed. "It's a good thing for those fellows that the car went wrong," said he. "In their excitement they might have done something that would have got them both into trouble. We'll go on for a little way and then I'll have a look at the runabout and see if I can't fix it up so we can run headfirst, like every respectable automobile ought to run." They coasted down the hill, and the tired and much abused motor must have appreciated the rest. "Is this your car?" asked Matt. "Yes," was the reply. "I don't think you can fix it, for I've stripped the gear." "I'll look at it, anyway, if you don't mind, just as soon as we get to the bottom of this slope. I've had a lot of experience with motors." "You say that man tried to rob you?" queried the girl. "That's the way it looked to me, but it seemed like an audacious thing to attempt so near a big city like Madison. You see, I was walking into town, and back there at the bend in the road some one threw a rope and I got tangled in the noose and thrown off my feet. I managed to get away, though, and the man took after me. If it hadn't been for you, that other car might have overhauled me. I'm much obliged to you, miss." "I'm glad I was able to help you," was the quiet reply. "As you say, it is strange any one should try to commit a robbery, in broad daylight, so close to the city. And on a public highway, too!" By then they were at the foot of the slope and Matt brought the car to a halt. Here he got out and turned to the girl. "If you'll jump down for a minute," said he, "I'll give that transmission a sizing and see if I can do anything with it." "But won't the other car come?" she demurred. "Those fellows will think better of it. If they hadn't been excited they wouldn't have tried to chase me. They've had time to cool off, now, and to think better of what they're doing." Matt helped the girl down, and, for the first time, saw that she was very young and very pretty. There was a familiar cast to her features, somehow, which aroused his wonder. Was it possible that he had ever met her before? Without trying very hard to answer this mental question, he stripped off the transmission cover and thrust a hand inside. The metal band encircling the low-gear drum had sustained a fracture. It was made of bronze, and had been slotted for convenience in lubricating, and the break was through two of the slots. "The low gear is chewed up," he remarked to the girl, "and that part of the machine is permanently retired. I guess we'll have to go into Madison on the reverse, and it will be well to go slow so as not to overheat the engine. We can take care of that, all right, if we stop occasionally to cool off. How far are we from town, by the way?" "Not more than two miles from Sherman Avenue and Lake Mendota." "We'll get over that quick enough. You don't mind my riding with you?" "I'm glad to have you," was the smiling reply. "You'll save me from twisting my head off and doing all the work." Matt, with his gray, earnest eyes and fine face, was a well-favored lad, and it is not to be wondered at if the girl was impressed. "Are you a stranger in this part of the country?" the girl inquired, when they were once more in their seats and backing away in the direction of town. "Yes," he replied. "Never been in these parts before." "You were walking into town, you say?" The girl eyed his neat, trim figure with a certain amount of surprise. "I was," he answered, with a laugh, "but please don't think I'm a tramp. I've a draft for ten thousand dollars in my pocket--and tramps are not usually as well fixed as that. The fellow who roped me must have known about that ten thousand, and perhaps he was foolish enough to think that I had it in cash." "Ten thousand dollars!" murmured the girl. "That's a lot of money." Evidently it was not such a vast sum--to her. That swagger little car, as Matt figured it, was given to her for her very own, and she was wearing the latest thing in automobile coats, hats, and gauntlets. The dust coat had become parted at the throat and revealed a fraternity pin set with a big diamond. "After I take your car to the garage," said Matt, "perhaps you could tell me where I can find Mr. Daniel Lorry?" The girl started. "Why," she exclaimed, "if we get to the garage about noon you will find dad in the house in the same yard. He's my father. I'm Ethel Lorry." "Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed Matt. "I guess this is my lucky day, after all. You're George's sister, are you?" A cry escaped the girl, and she reached out to drop a convulsive hand on Matt's arm. "You know George?" she asked breathlessly. "I should say so!" returned Matt. "Where is he?" The girl was tremendously excited. "Is he well? Has he come back from San Francisco?" "Yes, Miss Lorry, he is back from San Francisco, and he's feeling tiptop. But he didn't want to come to Madison just yet. I left him not more than an hour ago. His cousin, Joe McGlory, is with him." "But why didn't he want to come home?" cried the girl, with vague alarm in her voice. "I'm to see your father and tell him about that. That's what I was coming to town for." The girl suddenly whitened, a frightened look arose in her eyes, and she drew as far away from Matt as she could. "What's the matter, Miss Lorry?" Matt asked. "Are you--can it be that you are the young man called Motor Matt?" "That's what I'm called. My real name is King, you know, Matt King, but I'm always doing something with motors and that's why they call me Motor Matt." The girl was silent for a space. Her face continued white, and she seemed to be thinking deeply. "I think, Motor Matt," she said finally, in a strained voice, "that you'd better get out of the car and let me run it back to Madison alone." Matt was "stumped." For a moment, so great was his astonishment, he could not do a thing but stare. "Why," he exclaimed, "I want to see your father; that's why I'm going into town this morning." "I think it will be better for you if you don't see him." Matt's bewilderment continued to increase. "I've got ten thousand dollars for him, and also a message from George," he managed to articulate. "You can give me the money and the message, Mr. Motor Matt," was the terse reply, "and I will see that they are delivered." Matt halted the car--it was time to cool off the engine a little, anyway--and straightened in his seat. "I am a friend of your brother's," he observed, "and Joe McGlory will tell you what I have tried to do for him. Your father sent a telegram to San Francisco asking McGlory to have me come with him and George, if possible. Now, at a good deal of inconvenience and expense to myself, I have come--and why shouldn't I see your father?" "Because," answered Miss Lorry steadily, "he has recently heard something about you that--that is not to your credit. If you insist on seeing him, he might--he might have you arrested." If Matt was "stumped" before, he was staggered now. Arrested! George Lorry's father might have him arrested! And for what? For helping George recover the ten thousand dollars, and for helping to bring George back to Madison? "There's a big mistake, somewhere," muttered Matt. "You'll not go on?" queried Miss Lorry. "I _will_ go on," Matt returned firmly. "But I'll get out of the car and walk, if you want it that way, Miss Lorry. I can't give the money to you, or the message, either. As I say, there's a mistake, and I must see your father and explain away the bad impression he has of me. Certainly he didn't get that from Joe McGlory." "I don't know who told him what he knows," went on the girl, "and I don't know _what_ he knows, but he's very much incensed against you, Motor Matt." "I'll know why, before I'm many hours older," and Matt got up to leave the car. Once more the girl caught his arm. "I'm glad you show that sort of spirit," said she. "If you are really determined to see dad, and have a talk with him, then that proves on the face of it that there must be some mistake. Please stay and take the car into town for me!" Without a word, but with his mind working hard to evolve some clue to this puzzling situation, Matt dropped back in the driver's seat. He threw in the switch, and the gas in the cylinders took the spark. But it was a silent ride that he and Miss Lorry had during the rest of the time they were backing into town. CHAPTER IV. THE "JUMP SPARK." Into the grounds of one of the finest homes on "Fourth Lake Ridge," otherwise known as "Aristocracy Hill," Matt backed the little runabout. A brick-paved roadway, overarched with trees, led from the front of the premises to the neat garage in the rear. A middle-aged gentleman, stout of build and with a florid face, was sitting on the veranda of the house. The runabout, worrying backward up the street and into the yard, was an astonishing sight. The middle-aged gentleman leaned against the rail and stared; then, waving a newspaper which he held in his hand, he shouted something and hurried down the steps and toward the driveway. "Dad!" murmured Miss Lorry, with an apprehensive glance at Matt. A man--probably the Lorry chauffeur--appeared in the open door of the garage and stared at the runabout in open-mouthed amazement. Matt brought the car to a stop, and Mr. Lorry came puffing up alongside. "What in the world's the matter, Ethel?" he demanded, his eyes swerving from his daughter to Matt. "I smashed the low gear, dad, and had to come in on the reverse," Miss Lorry answered. "I was just coming into the Waunakee road, two or three miles the other side of Maple Bluff, when the gear went wrong." Mr. Lorry's eyes continued to rest on Matt, and they were becoming uncomfortably inquisitive. He was wondering, no doubt, who Matt was, how he came to be in the car, and why his daughter did not introduce him. "Call Gus," went on Miss Lorry, jumping lightly out of the car, "and have him run _Dandy_ into the garage. Gus will know what to send for in order to make the runabout as good as new again." Without waiting to speak further, the girl whirled about and ran into the house. Mr. Lorry stared after her, and then turned to give Matt another look. "Are you a chauffeur?" he asked. "I have been--a racing chauffeur," Matt answered, springing to the ground, "but I haven't been driving a car for some time." "You helped my daughter--that much is plain, even though I _have_ been left in the dark on several other points." "I was coming into town along the Waunakee road," Matt went on, "to see you." "To see me?" Mr. Lorry's interest visibly increased. "Yes, sir, on very important business. I happened to meet Miss Lorry and she kindly gave me a ride into town. The least I could do was to run her machine for her." "Did you know Miss Lorry?" "Not until she told me who she was." "Quite a coincidence that you should meet her, when you were coming into town to see her father. But come up on the veranda--we'll be more comfortable there." Mr. Lorry turned toward the garage. "The runabout's in trouble, Gus," he called. "Take it into the garage, see what it needs, then order whatever's necessary. This way, sir," he added to Matt. While Gus removed the runabout to the garage, Matt followed Mr. Lorry up the steps to the veranda and seated himself in a chair. "I don't remember ever seeing you before," remarked Mr. Lorry as he sat down close to Matt, picked up a fan, and began stirring the air in front of his perspiring face. "But I'm obliged to you for giving Ethel a helping hand. I'm worried to death every time she's out with _Dandy_. It wasn't more than a week ago that she came near going over a bluff at McBride's Point." Matt lost no time in plunging into his business. Drawing the draft from his pocket, he handed it to Mr. Lorry. "Part of my work," said he, "is to give you that." Mr. Lorry stared at the draft and opened his eyes wide. "Ten thousand dollars!" he exclaimed, "and it's made payable to Joseph McGlory." "On the back, sir, you will see that Joe had indorsed it over to you." Mr. Lorry turned over the oblong slip of paper; then, suddenly, an idea darted through his mind and he stiffened in his chair. "Is this--is this----" "It is the money George took when he left Madison," said Matt, dropping his voice. Mr. Lorry's face hardened. "Then," said he raspingly, "inasmuch as you're not McGlory, I suppose you're that young rascal, Matt King, better known as Motor Matt." "My name is Matt King, sir," answered Matt, "and you have no right to refer to me as a rascal." "I have, by gad," exploded Mr. Lorry, "and a very good right! I've heard about you, sir. You're the lad who was hand-and-glove with the three villains who made George so much trouble on account of this money. I wonder that you have the face to show yourself to me. Do you know what I could do with you?" A hostile red had leaped into Mr. Lorry's face. As Matt sat back and looked at him, he likened his anger to a "jump spark." The "make and break" system of ignition, while electrically simple, is complicated mechanically. The "jump spark" system, on the other hand, while complicated electrically is mechanically very simple. A simple error of some sort lay back of Mr. Lorry's anger, but it found vent in mighty puzzling expressions. "Who is your authority for the statement that I was hand-and-glove with the three men who robbed George?" asked Matt calmly. "I decline to quote anybody." "You can ask McGlory, or George, about me," proceeded Matt, "and I think they will tell you that if it hadn't been for me that money would never have been recovered." "You have pulled the wool over McGlory's eyes, and over George's, too. But where's my son? Why didn't he bring this money to me himself? Why was it necessary for him to send it at the hands of a stranger?" "Your son is a few miles out of town. He did not leave San Francisco willingly, and it was only by promising him that we would not take him directly into Madison that we got his consent to come with us." "A fine lay-out!" muttered Mr. Lorry. "The boy's got to come here, sooner or later, and what is he to gain by delaying the matter? Can't he realize how worried all of us are?" "He feels the disgrace of his position very keenly, Mr. Lorry." "Bosh! Not much of what he's done is known to outsiders, and those who know, or think they know, anything about it, will forget the whole business within a week after George gets back." "Are you going to send George to military school, Mr. Lorry?" At that the "jump spark" seemed about to set off an explosion. Mr. Lorry twisted angrily in his chair. "What business is it of yours, young man?" he snapped. "That boy has got to realize that he isn't of age yet, and I'm not going to let him run wild and bring disgrace on himself, and on me." "Mr. Lorry," said Matt earnestly, "I have tried to be a good friend to your son, and it was your request, contained in the telegram you sent to San Francisco, that I come with him and McGlory, that brought me here. I won't tell you what I have done--I will leave that to George and his cousin--but I will tell you, as plainly as I can, that George is just now in a place where he must be treated with consideration. One false move would prove his ruin, and----" "By gad," interrupted Mr. Lorry, "do you mean to sit there and lecture _me_? Why, I'm old enough to be your father! Such impudence as that is----" "Sir," protested Matt, "I'm not impudent. I know George pretty well, and I want to do what I can for him. He's got lots of pride, and he had his heart set on getting a power-boat that would make a good showing in the coming race of the Winnequa Yacht Club. He had talked about what he was going to do to members of the club, and when he ordered that boat and you refused to pay for it and let it be sent back to the builders, the blow to his pride started him off on the wrong course." "A five-thousand-dollar boat, by gad!" growled Mr. Lorry. "His whims were getting too confoundedly expensive. If his pride is going to suffer every time I put my foot down on such a piece of folly, then he'll have to pocket his pride. I'm his father, and I guess he'll have to toe the mark for me for a while yet." "There's a way to make George the happiest fellow in Madison, Mr. Lorry," Matt went on, "and it won't cost you more than two hundred and fifty or three hundred dollars. I know a good deal about motors, and I'll help George fix up a boat that will win a prize in that yacht club race----" "Not a cent more will he get from me!" stormed Mr. Lorry. "He'll come back here, and he'll go to that military school, and if what you call his 'pride' keeps him from being a dutiful son, then his pride will be broken. Where is he? Where did you leave him?" "If you go out to where he is now, without first giving him a chance to----" Mr. Lorry leaned forward and shook a finger in Matt's face. "If you want to keep yourself out of trouble, my lad, you'll tell me where that boy is, and no more ifs nor ands about it." Matt got up slowly. He was white, but none the less determined. "I am George's friend, Mr. Lorry," said he, "and I had to promise him that I would help him do certain things here in Madison in order to get him safely back from the West. If I tell you where he is, while you feel as you do toward him, I would be breaking my promise. He is well, and he will be here in a few days. As for the rest, if you want to make trouble for me, why, go ahead." Intensely disappointed with the result of his interview, Matt passed down the steps and toward the street. Mr. Lorry gasped wrathfully and watched as he left the yard, but he made no attempt to interfere with him. Matt was hardly out of sight, however, before he ran into the house and began using the telephone. CHAPTER V. BY EXPRESS, CHARGES COLLECT. Motor Matt was surprised enough, as he left the Lorry mansion, and his indignation equaled his surprise. Who could possibly have furnished Lorry with the information on which he had based his remarkable conclusions? Certainly his attitude had changed most decidedly since he had sent his telegram to 'Frisco requesting that Matt accompany McGlory in bringing George home to Madison. Matt, as he descended the ridge and proceeded toward the capitol and the main part of the town, could think of only one possible cause for Mr. Lorry's actions. Big John must be in some way mixed up in it. The knowledge that Big John was in that part of the country had come like a thunderbolt to Matt. The last the king of the motor boys had heard of Big John, he and his two pals, Kinky and Ross, were getting out of California by way of Sausalito. A bolt from the blue could not have been more astounding than the discovery of Big John attempting a robbery there on the Waunakee road. Why had Big John come to Madison? And how had he known that Matt was going to pass that particular point on the Waunakee road that morning? No doubt Big John's eastern trip had been inspired by the ten thousand dollars of Lorry's. The rascal had been lured to Wisconsin by the hope of recovering the money. This seemed clear enough--much clearer than the method by which Big John had learned that Matt was to go over the Waunakee road that morning, on foot. Yes, Big John must have been back of that misinformation which Mr. Lorry had accepted as a true statement of facts. But it was odd how the scoundrel had been able to influence Mr. Lorry as he had. Motor Matt felt that he was embarked on a struggle for the right, and that he must go on with the battle in spite of his enemies. George Lorry's whole future might hang on the result of that fight. Had Matt told Mr. Lorry where McGlory and George were waiting, the millionaire would certainly have proceeded to the place and attempted to bring George in to Madison. This would have led George to believe that Matt had broken faith with him, and the lad would have bolted for parts unknown. George had been allowed to have his way for so long that, when his father took another tack and resolved to be severe with him, the lad had thought himself abused and imposed upon. George was a spoiled youth, but Matt believed that he had the right material in him and would prove a credit to his people if given the proper kind of a chance. Just as surely, too, he would go down to ruin and disgrace if the wrong move was made at that critical time. Lorry, senior's, obstinate determination to send George to the military school would be a step in the wrong direction. By paying out a little money for a motor launch, Mr. Lorry would have gone far toward healing the breach between him and his son, and would have paved the way for a perfect understanding. This affair of the launch looked like a trifling matter, but no one but Matt and McGlory knew how much it meant to George. When Matt reached the main part of the city his study of the situation had convinced him that he was doing exactly right. What his next step was to be he hardly knew. He hated to go back and tell George of his father's uncompromising attitude, and yet he felt the need of a talk with McGlory in order to lay future plans. It was about one o'clock, and Matt went into a restaurant and ate his dinner. From there he went to the post office to see if any mail had followed him from San Francisco. No mail had reached him from the West, but there was a postal card, posted that morning in Madison, which informed Matt that a certain express company had received, and was holding at his risk, a crated power boat on which there was a charge, for _transportation alone_, of $262.50. When Matt read the postal card he was positive there was some mistake, and that it had been given to the wrong person. The card was addressed, plainly enough, to "Matt King, otherwise Motor Matt," but the king of the motor boys was not expecting a launch, had not ordered one, and was not intending to turn over $262.50 to the express company on what was manifestly an error. He was on the point of handing the card back to the man at the post-office window, with the information that the card could not be for him, when he suddenly changed his mind and decided to go to the express company's office and rectify the mistake at headquarters. A little inquiry put him on the right road, and within five minutes he was leaning over a counter at the express office, showing the clerk the card and telling him the boat must be for some other Matt King. "There's no other Matt King in Madison," protested the clerk, "and it's a cinch there's no other Motor Matt. You're the fellow the boat is for." "But that charge!" exclaimed Matt. "It can't be for transportation alone. It must be a C. O. D. collection for part of the price of the boat. I haven't bought any boat, and am not expecting any one to send me a boat. I'm a stranger here, and only reached Madison to-day." "Can't help that. If you're Motor Matt the boat's for you. If you refuse it we'll have to notify the shipper, and if we can't get any satisfaction from the shipper, the boat will have to be sold for the charges." "Great spark-plugs!" muttered Matt. "Where's the boat from?" "San Francisco." The king of the motor boys stared blankly at the clerk. "From San Francisco, eh?" he repeated. "Yes, and it's all complete--an eighteen-footer, with engine installed." "Can--can I see it?" "Come this way." The clerk opened a gate at the end of the counter and Matt walked through and into the storeroom. There he saw the boat, securely crated. Between the bars of the crate he read the name _Sprite_, lettered on the bow. By that time the king of the motor boys was too far gone for words. Leaning against the wall of the room, he bent his head and drummed a tattoo on his brow with his fingers. "Who's the shipper?" he finally managed to ask. "I don't know whether the way bill has it right or not, but the name of the consignor is down as Ping Pong. It reads like a joke. Eh?" Matt left the room and retired to the other side of the counter in the office. There was no joke about it. "Ping Pong" might look to the express agent like a fake name, but it was _bona fide_ for all that. Ping Pong was the name of a Chinese lad whom Matt had befriended in San Francisco. The Celestial had won the _Sprite_ in a raffle, and had turned the boat over to Matt on condition that Matt would allow Ping Pong to work for him. Ping and the _Sprite_ had disappeared mysteriously before the young motorist left 'Frisco, and that was the last seen of either the Chinaman or the boat until now. And here the boat had turned up in that Madison office of the express company with transportation charges of $262.50 to be collected! The idea of sending a power boat, engine and all, by express, in a heavy crate, was a piece of folly of which even a ten-year-old American boy would not have been guilty. But Ping was a Chinaman, and probably he thought Matt was a millionaire. "Goin' to take it or leave it?" inquired the agent as Matt walked back and forth across the office turning this new development over in his mind. "The charges ain't any more than what they always are--three times the merchandise rate." "I guess the charges are all right," said Matt humorously, "for it's a long haul. And then, too, the crate, and the engine, and the boat weigh up to beat the band." "Going to take it?" Matt's mind had been rapidly going over the points of the case. Madison was surrounded by lakes, and motor-boating was a hobby with a large number of the people. By sending the _Sprite_ to Matt, Ping had undoubtedly determined that he should have the boat. The _Sprite_ was speedy--Matt had tried her out in San Francisco Bay and knew that--and with some changes in the reversing gear Matt believed she could show her heels to anything from First Lake to Fourth. On such a showing, the boat could undoubtedly be sold at a good price, and while $262.50 was a big sum to pay out, just for express charges, still---- Then Matt had another thought, and it was a "startler." George wanted a motor boat for the race. The _Sprite_ wasn't a five-thousand-dollar "speeder," but she could run like a streak with the right kind of a fellow at the engine. Mr. Lorry had refused to help George to a boat, and this unexpected arrival of the _Sprite_ seemed almost providential. "I'm going to take the boat," said Matt, pushing a hand into his pocket and stepping up to the counter. CHAPTER VI. "PICKEREL PETE." By bringing the submarine boat _Grampus_ safely around South America the king of the motor boys had made a good deal of money. Most of this he had invested on the Pacific Slope, but he had more than enough of the "ready" with him to settle the express charges and to keep him afloat until George Lorry's affairs had been put in proper shape. Having paid over the money and signed the express receipt, the question as to what should be done with the _Sprite_ presented itself. "You can uncrate the boat in the storeroom, if you want to," said the obliging clerk, "and then we'll have her hauled down to the water for you." "Much obliged," answered Matt. "I believe I'll take off the crate and see how the boat has stood her long overland journey." The clerk furnished him with a hatchet, and Matt threw off his coat and got busy. In an hour, the clean-cut hull of the _Sprite_ had emerged from a litter of boards and old gunny sacks. An examination showed that both hull and machinery were in as good condition as ever. While Matt was working he had noticed a map of Madison hanging from the storeroom wall. The map gave a very clear idea of Lakes Monona and Mendota, between which lay the long and narrow city. One of the express company's drivers had come into the storeroom and was looking over the _Sprite_ with an air of deep interest. "I wish you would tell me something about this map, neighbor," said Matt. "Ask me anything you want to," was the cheerful response. "I was born and raised here and I know the place pretty well." "What's this?" Matt inquired, laying a finger on a certain part of the diagram. "That's the Yahara River, sometimes called the 'Catfish.' It's been straightened into a canal, and connects Third and Fourth Lakes. Monona is Third, and Mendota is Fourth. There's locks at the Mendota end." "And what's the other river coming into Mendota Lake on the side across from the city?" "The Yahara again." "Then, if this boat was launched in Lake Monona, it could enter the Canal over by Winnequa, cross into Mendota Lake, and proceed up the Yahara?" "She could, sure. Lots of boats do that." "Here's a creek entering the Yahara. Is that navigable for a boat drawing two or three feet of water?" "Maybe. I guess a small boat could get up the creek a ways." As Matt figured it, the cabin where he had left McGlory and George was on the creek. Why couldn't he get the _Sprite_ afloat and proceed by water to the cabin? "I don't know anything about these lakes," went on Matt, "but I'd like to get some one who knows them and make a little cruise." "Fourth Lake is mighty treacherous. Whenever there's a west wind she kicks up a big sea, and a lot of boats have come to grief on the rocks of Maple Bluff. That's here--that piece of land running out into the water, over where they've made a park. It used to be called McBride's Point. A mile across from the bluff is Governor's Island. The insane asylum is near the island. If you want to put your boat in Fourth Lake, why don't you launch it there instead of taking it to Third Lake?" "Well, I want to try her out with a little longer cruise than just across Fourth Lake. Do you know of any one I could get to pilot me around?" "H'm!" murmured the driver thoughtfully. Presently his face brightened. "Any objection to color?" he asked. "How do you mean?" "Well, how'd a colored boy do? I know of one that's right to home on the lakes, and he's a character, you bet. His name's Pickerel Pete; that's all he's got, just Pickerel Pete." "He'll do," said Matt. "How can I get hold of Pickerel Pete?" "Tell you what I'll do; I'll get hold of him for you. When you going to put that boat in the water?" "Right away." "'Course we got to deliver it for you. I'll have some of the boys help me get it on the dray, and on the way down to the lake I'll pick up Pete. You don't need to wait here. In half an hour you go down King Street to Wilson. There's a lot of landings and boathouses t'other side the railroad depot. If we ain't there when you reach the place, you wait, and we'll show up pretty soon afterward." "That's mighty good of you," said Matt. "You'll be careful of the boat, will you?" "Sure, you bet. No harm'll happen to her. We got a special dray for movin' boats like that." Matt went to the capitol grounds and sat down on a bench. For half or three-quarters of an hour he was there, thinking of George and the unsatisfactory state his affairs had drifted into. The king of the motor boys did not want to appear to be helping George to dodge his father's authority, but he knew that the elder Lorry would not have taken the stand he did if he had not acquired a whole lot of misinformation. The thing for Matt to do was to get back to George and McGlory, tell them exactly what had taken place, and then ask them for suggestions as to the next move. On the way down King Street, Matt stopped at a store and bought a supply of gasoline, oil, and cotton waste. Not having a hydrometer, he tested the gasoline as well as he could by other means, and convinced himself that it was, as the dealer assured him, the "right stuff." Matt rode down to the lake with the expressman who took his supplies, and when he got there he found the _Sprite_ in the water, moored to a small pier. The express driver, and those who had helped him with the boat, were gone. The only person in the vicinity of the launch was a barefooted little darky. He sat on the pier, absorbed in throwing a couple of dice. "Come seben, 'leben, come seben, 'leben," he was saying, as the small cubes rattled on the boards. "Pickerel Pete!" called Matt. The little negro jumped as though a bomb had exploded under him. "Yassuh, yassuh, dat's me," he answered, grabbing up the dice and shoving them into a pocket of his ragged trousers. "Come over here, Pete, and give us a hand with this gasoline and stuff." "On de hop." The gasoline was emptied into the tanks and the oil cups filled. After that Matt went over the machinery, carefully examining the ignition and all connections. Pickerel Pete helped him intelligently. "Yo's de fellah whut's a-wantin' tuh hiah me?" he inquired. "Yes," replied Matt, highly pleased with the way Pete divined whatever he wanted and handed it over to him from the tool kit. "Do you know anything about a motor boat, Pete?" "Ah's done steered heaps o' boats froo dese yer lakes, boss," grinned the moke, "an' Ah reckons Ah knows de spa'k plug f'om de propellah." "You know the lakes, too?" "Hones' tuh goodness, boss, Ah could go froo all de lakes f'om First tuh Fo'th, en cleah down de Rock Rivah, wif mah eyes shut. Ah'm er phenomegon." "What's that?" "Phenomegon. Doan' you-all know whut a phenomegon is?" "You mean a phenomenon, I guess." "Ah reckons Ah knows whut Ah means," answered Pete, with sudden dignity. "You've mixed phenomenon and paragon, and----" "Ah ain't mixed nuffin. Ef you-all thinks Ah'm er ignorampus, den Ah 'lows Ah ain't de fellah you wants tuh hiah." "Yes, you are, Pete--you're just the fellow." "How much does Ah git?" "Two dollars a day. There's pay for your first day's work." Pete almost fell out of the boat. Fifty cents a day was the most he had ever received. "Does yo' think yo' kin stand dat, boss?" he inquired. "Ah'd hate mahse'f tuh def ef Ah thought Ah was er strainin' yo' financibility." "I guess it won't be much of a wrench to give you a couple of dollars a day," laughed Matt. "Den yo's bought me. By golly, dis is de first time Ah's evah had two whole dollahs knockin' togethah en mah clothes since Ah was knee-high to a chickum. Where you-all wants tuh go, boss?" "I want to go into Fourth Lake through the canal, then across Fourth and up the Catfish." "Dat's easy. De Catfish runs f'om one lake tuh de odder, intuh one en out ergin, cleah f'om Fo'th Lake tuh First. Thutty miles you-all kin go in er boat, den intuh Rock Rivah en clean erroun' de worl'. But dat 'ar Fo'th Lake is right juberous when dar's er west win'. A boat Ah was in once, on dat 'ar lake, turned ovah fo' times! Yassuh. I got spilled out de las' time en swum fo'teen miles towin' de boat by de painter, which Ah done happen tuh ketch when Ah drapped in de watah. Ah got er medal fo' dat. De Gun Club give me de medal." "They ought to have given you two medals, Pete." "En it was er solid gol' medal, with er inscripshun sayin' dat Pickerel Pete was gallywhoopus tuh dat extent. Golly, but dat was er fine medal! It was as big erroun' as er fryin' pan." "Must have bothered you some to tote it." "Sold it fo' fo' dollahs en fo'ty cents, en dey kep' it in de cap'tol fo' people tuh come in en look at. Yo's got er pow'ful fine moke wo'kin' fo' yo', boss." "Well, cast off, Pete, and we'll start. I'll do the steering, and you can sit up front and tell me which way to go." Matt started the gasoline, switched on the spark, and Pete gave the fly wheel a turn. One turn of the wheel was enough to give them their first explosion, and the _Sprite_ shook herself together and started out into the lake. CHAPTER VII. GEORGE AND M'GLORY MISSING. The hum of the motor was soothing to Matt's troubled spirit, and even the kick of the wheel sent a joyous thrill through his every nerve. There were clouds in the west, and a promise of wind and rain in the air, but if there was to be a storm it would not come before night, and the _Sprite_ would have ample time to nose her way up the Catfish and into the creek. It was surprising how quickly the kinks of fortune straightened themselves out for Motor Matt whenever he found himself in control of an explosive engine. The sun was sinking behind the capitol as the _Sprite_ headed toward Winnequa on her way to the Canal. The yellow rays pierced the gathering clouds, and Madison peered from its enveloping greenery like a phantom city. A number of fishermen were rowing, sailing, and motoring home for supper, and they stared at the dashing little _Sprite_, and some of them yelled a cheerful greeting to the diminutive colored boy perched on the launch's hood. "Dat's de Gobernor ob Wisconsin," Pete gravely explained, indicating a grizzled fisherman in one of the boats. "Ah knows him as well as Ah knows anybody. De fellah in dat rowboat wif de pipe is Honnerbull Tawm Patterson, en he's done took me by de han' mo' times dan Ah kin count. De lake is full ob notoribus pussuns tuhnight, seems lak." "Where's the Czar of Russia?" asked Matt soberly. "Ah reckons he was too busy tuh come out tuhday," answered Pete. "Ah knows him, dough. Ah done took him tuh a good fishin' place ovah by Picnic P'int las' week." They passed the canal and locks, swept into Fourth Lake, and Pete lined out a westerly course that carried the _Sprite_ past the high bluffs of McBride's Point with the buildings of the asylum in clear view. Pete's chatter enlivened the trip wonderfully. The little moke was a "notoribus" personage, to take his word for it, and there were very few famous people whom he had not shaken hands with or conducted around the lakes. Matt was surprised to learn that he had dug bait for Julius Cæsar and had shown Napoleon Bonaparte a pickerel hole off Governor's Island. The Catfish was comparatively easy for the _Sprite_, but Whisky Creek--which, Pete said, was the particular creek Matt was looking for--was too shoal. After they had grounded twice, and backed clear with considerable difficulty, Matt decided to tie up to a tree on the creek bank and go on to the cabin on foot. By then it was falling dark, and Matt wanted to cover the remainder of his journey as quickly as possible. "Pete," said he, getting out on the creek bank, "I'm going to leave you with the boat for a short time, while I go up the creek." Pete immediately had an attack of the "shakes." "Golly, boss," he chattered, "Ah doan' lak de da'k when Ah's erlone. Hit's spookerous, en white things done trabbel erroun' lookin' fo' brack folks. Where you-all gwine?" "Not far. I ought to be back in an hour. You're not afraid of spooks, are you, Pete? I should think a chap who was the friend of so many illustrious people would be above such foolishness." The gathering wind sobbed through the trees, and from somewhere a screech-owl tuned up in a most hair-raising way. "Br-r-r!" muttered Pete, hugging himself and dropping into the bottom of the boat. "Ah ain't afraid, no, sah," he declared plaintively. "Ah ain't afraid ob anythin' dat walks. Hit's dem white ha'nts whut doan' walk, er fly, but moves erlong in er glide, dat gits me a-goin'. Mebby Ah better go along wif yo' en see dot yo' doan' git lost?" "I'll not get lost, Pete, and I don't want the _Sprite_ left alone." "Yo'll be back in er houah, hones'?" "Yes." "Den hurry. Ef Ah was lef' in dishyer place twell midnight Ah'd be skeered plumb intuh de 'sylum, sho' as yo's bawn. Hurry up en git back, dat's all." Pete cuddled up with his back against the stern thwart, and Matt whirled away and vanished into the timber. As Matt figured it, he was not more than a mile from the cabin. He had landed on the side of the creek where he knew the shack to be, and if he followed the little water course he knew he would soon arrive at the place where he had left George and McGlory. The timber was broken into by fields of corn, and by cleared pasture land. Matt pushed through the corn and climbed pasture fences, and within half an hour came to the end of his journey. The cabin, nestling in a clump of oaks, seemed dark and deserted. George had known of the cabin as a rendezvous, in the fall, for duck hunters. It was a quiet and obscure place, and answered admirably the requirements of the boys while working out their plans in Lorry's behalf. As Matt drew closer to the hut the silence oppressed him with a foreboding that something had gone wrong. The door was open, and he stepped inside. Still there was no sign of life about the place. "McGlory!" he called; "George!" His voice echoed weirdly through the one room of the cabin, but brought no response. Striking a match, he peered about him. Empty! There was no one in the room. The match flickered and dropped from Matt's fingers. Groping his way to a bench, he sat down, alarmed and bewildered. What had become of McGlory and George? This was the question he asked himself, and his mind framed a dozen different answers, none of them satisfactory. George was full of whims and unreasonable resolves. Had he suddenly made up his mind that he could not trust Matt to make peace with his father? Had he broken away from McGlory, and had McGlory gone in pursuit of him? Or was the absence of the boys due to some move against them on the part of Big John? Or had they gone to some farmhouse after milk and eggs, or to get a hot supper? That George had not "bolted," Matt was almost sure. Matt's plan for patching up a truce with the elder Lorry had appealed to George too strongly for that. As for Big John making George and McGlory any trouble, that was possible, although not very probable. Matt did not see how Big John could have any information about the cabin. And as for the boys visiting a neighboring farmhouse to secure food, it was not in line with their plan for either George or McGlory to show himself until their schemes were further advanced. Rations had been secured in Waunakee--cold rations, but enough to last all three of the boys for two or three days. Giving over his bootless reflections, Matt lighted another match, hunted up a candle, and soon had a more dependable glow in the room. A brief search showed him that George's suit case, McGlory's carpetbag, and his own satchel were missing. This was a staggering discovery. It meant, if it meant anything, that the two boys had left and did not intend to return. They would hardly go away, it seemed to Matt, without leaving some clue as to their whereabouts, and the cause that had led them to make such a decided change in the general plans. George and McGlory understood that Matt was to return as soon as he had talked with Mr. Lorry. Matt had expected to get back to the cabin early in the afternoon. Had his failure to return alarmed the two boys? Matt hunted high and low for some scrap of writing which would let in a little light on the situation, but he could find none. The rations brought from Waunakee had vanished along with the luggage--another fact that indicated a permanent departure on the part of the two lads. "Here's a go!" muttered Matt, leaning perplexedly in the open door of the cabin. "About all George and McGlory left behind them was that piece of candle. They might, at least, have tipped me off regarding their intentions, I should think. All sorts of things are liable to happen to a fellow when he's trying to do the right thing by another chap who's too proud and weak-kneed to put himself company-front with his responsibilities. But then, George is an odd stick. He can't be judged by any of the usual standards, and I'm pretty sure that if he's handled right, he'll come out all right. One or the other of them will certainly come back here. I'll return to the mouth of the creek, get Pete, and we'll bunk down in the cabin. It's the only thing to be done." Perplexed as he was, Matt neglected to put out the candle before starting on his return to the Catfish. On a corner shelf, the feeble gleam sputtered and flickered in the draft that came through the open door. Matt hastened his steps on the return journey to the _Sprite_. The clouds were slowly mounting and blotting out the stars, intensifying the darkness. As he came close to the bank where the launch was moored he experienced a feeling of relief when he saw the boat riding to her painter just as she had been left. The _Sprite_ resembled a black blot on the water. The bank was rather high, at that point, and its shadow covered the boat. "Hello, Pete!" called Matt. There was no answer to the call, and Matt began to think that Pete had vanished, as well as George and McGlory. "Pete!" Matt cried in a louder tone. "Yassuh, yassuh," came the answer from below, and Matt's apprehension suddenly subsided. "Come up here, Pete," Matt went on. "We're going to spend the night up the creek. I guess the _Sprite_ will be safe enough. There's a lantern in the port locker, amidships. Bring it up with you." Matt could see only the blurred outline of a human form moving around in the boat. He heard the lid of the locker as it was lifted. "Ah kain't find dat lantern," came from the boat. "I'll get it," said Matt. The next moment he had climbed into the launch. Hardly had his feet found firm foothold when he was seized and flung roughly backward. Two pairs of hands held him, and a hoarse, mocking laugh echoed in his ears. CHAPTER VIII. SETTING A SNARE. Pickerel Pete did not feel overloaded with responsibility. Two dollars a day was a princely wage, but there were things he would not do even for that immense sum. He would try to stay with the boat for an hour, in spite of the owls and the queer crooning of the wind in the trees, but if he saw a "ha'nt," he'd resign his job, right then and there, and leave the _Sprite_ to take care of herself. Anyhow, he had two dollars. The fact that his services had been paid for until afternoon of the following day did not enter seriously into his calculations. "Wisht de screech-owls would stop dat 'ar screechin'," muttered the darky, "an' I wisht de win' would stop dat ar' groanin' in de trees. Dishyer's jest de time fer spookerous doin's, an' I'd radder be home in mah baid wif mah head kivered, so'st---- Golly, whut's dat?" Something fluttered among the tree branches overhanging the water, farther along the creek. It may have been an owl, or some other bird, changing its roosting place, but Pete's fears magnified the cause into something connected with the "ha'nts." Crouching in the boat's bottom, he stared through the darkness and held his breath. The fluttering had ceased and nothing else happened. As one uneventful minute followed another, Pete gradually put the clamps on his nerves. "Ah dunno 'bout dat," he whispered. "Mebby dat floppin' noise didun' mean nuffin', en den, ag'in, mebby it _mout_. Hey, you, dar!" he added, lifting his voice. The cry echoed across the creek, but the only answer was the echo. "If yo's one ob dem gliderin' spooks," called Pete, "den you-all doan' want any truck wif _me_. Ah's on'y a po' li'l moke, en Ah ain't nevah done no ha'm tuh nobody. Ah's fibilus, occasion'ly, en now an' den Ah's tole a whopper, but dem yarns doan' amount tuh nuffin'." The silence continued, save for the soughing of the wind and the "tu-whit, tu-whoo!" from the depths of the woods. "Ah done got tuh do somethin' tuh pass de time," thought Pete. "Ah'll frow de iv'ries, dat's whut Ah'll do. Wonner where dar's a lantern?" Pete remembered having seen a lantern in one of the lockers while he was helping Matt with the engine. After a little thought he located the lantern, and secured it. Then he recalled having seen a box of matches in the tool-chest, and he soon had the lantern going. It's surprising what a soothing effect a light will have on a superstitious mind that dreads the dark. With the lantern on the stern thwart, Pete knelt in the boat's bottom and cast his dice again and again, becoming so careless of his "spookerous" surroundings that he almost forgot his fears. The little white cubes dropped and rattled on the thwart, and Pete bent low to read the faces. "Ah's got two dollahs," he muttered, surprised at the lucky combinations turning up for him, "en Ah wisht dar was some odder moke here tuh take er han' in dis game. Ah's havin' mo' luck, here, all by mahse'f, dan I evah----" He straightened on his knees in sudden panic, then dropped his head down on the thwart and covered his face with his hands. "Whut's dat?" he whimpered. "Whut's dat Ah hear? Hit sounded monsus lak er chain rattlin'." But it wasn't a chain; it was a good, well-developed groan. It came from the darkness at the top of the bank and echoed shiveringly across the creek. "Dat wasn't no screech-owl," murmured Pete, in stifled tones. "Golly! De ha'nts is comin' fo' me. Wisht Ah was out ob here! Oh, I wisht Ah was some place else where dar's folks, en buildin's, en 'lectric lights. Br-r-r!" The groan was repeated. It was a hollow kind of groan, long drawn out, and given in the most approved ghostly style. Pete groaned on his own account, and collapsed in the bottom of the boat, floundering forward and trying to crawl into the motor and lose himself in the machinery. While the wretched little darky lay in a palpitating heap under the steering wheel, a funereal voice was wafted toward him--a voice that made him gasp, and close his eyes, and shiver until he shook the boat. "Who-o are you-u-u?" inquired the voice. "Oh, lawsy! Oh, mah goodness!" fluttered Pete in tremulous, incoherent tones. "Ah's as good as daid! Ah's nevah gwine tuh git out ob dis alive! Der ha'nts has cotched me! Oh, if I c'u'd only git away dis once, Ah'll nevah brag no mo'! Ah'll nevah tell anodder whopper!" "Who-o are you-u-u?" insisted the sepulchral voice from the darkness at the top of the bank. "Ah's er moke," whimpered Pete, "jes' a moke. You-all go 'long an' nevah min' me. Ah ain't nevah done nuffin'--Pickerel Pete's a good l'il coon. Please, Marse Gose, go off some odder place en do yo' gliderin'. Oh, gee! Oh, golly!" "Go 'way, go 'way, go 'way!" ordered the "ghost." "Ah'll go, yassuh," chattered Pete, "on'y doan' yo' grab me as Ah run by. Dat's all. Yo' ain't layin' fo' tuh grab me, is yuh?" "Go 'way, go 'way, go 'way!" insisted the spook, with hair-raising emphasis. Pete got up slowly and cautiously in the boat. The lantern threw a weird reflection over him, but the most noticeable thing about the frightened little darky, just then, was the white of his eyes. He shook like a person with the ague, and nearly dropped into the water while stepping from the gunwale of the boat. Begging the spook not to grab him, he floundered up the bank and darted into the timber as though the Old Nick was after him. His piteous wail was lost in a crashing of bushes, and finally even that sound died out. A chuckling laugh echoed from the top of the bank, and a form disentangled itself from the shadows. "Come on, Kinky," called a voice. "That little nigger was scared white. He'll not stop running until he gets clear to Madison. What kind of a spook do I make, eh?" "Pretty raw," answered another voice, as a second form pushed out of the shadows and joined the first. "You can fool a superstitious, half-grown darky, Ross, but I wouldn't make a business of this ghost racket. What was the good of it, anyhow?" "Well, that darky never came here alone in that boat." "Well." "Some one must have come with him. Maybe the boat's other passengers are the two kids we couldn't find in the cabin." "I don't know how it could be, Ross, but mebby you're right. That's not a rowboat." "Just what I was thinkin', Kinky. Let's go down and look her over. The darky was obliging enough to leave a lighted lantern for us." The two men descended to the boat, and Ross picked up the lantern and swung it about him. "It's a motor-boat, blamed if it ain't!" Kinky exclaimed. "Right you are," chuckled Ross. "She must have come up from the town. What's she doin' here at this time o' night? Suspicious, that's what it is! I'll gamble heavy the boat has somethin' to do with the young fellers in that cabin." "Well, like enough you're right," answered Kinky. "But what's that to us? We came up the Catfish in a boat, too, an' we'd better take to our oars an' go back to town huntin' for Big John. If he overhauled Motor Matt and got that money, we don't want to give him a chance to get away from us." "We'll see to _that_," grunted Ross decisively. "It looked as though Big John was tryin' to sidetrack us when he wanted us to keep watch of that cabin to-night. What's the good of watchin' the cabin if he gets the money? What's the use of keeping track of the other two boys when King's the one we want?" "Right again, Kinky. That brain of yours seems to be doin' some brilliant work to-night. Here, take a hack at this." Ross turned and held out a bottle. "If I take too many hacks at that, Ross," answered Kinky, "the brilliant brain work is liable to stop." Nevertheless he seized the bottle and a prolonged gurgling followed. When he had finished, Ross took the bottle back and gave some attention to it himself. "All I want," growled Ross, as he screwed the top back on the flask, "is to get a chance at this here Motor Matt." "Big John has already had a chance at him," suggested Kinky. "Will Big John do anythin' to even up with Motor Matt for the way we was treated in 'Frisco Bay?" flung back Ross. "Don't you never think it, Kinky. If Big John gets the money, he'll turn the cub loose to make some more trouble for us. I'm built along different lines, myself. I want revenge, with a big R. That's me." "Oh, slush!" grumbled Kinky. "You ought to have left more of that stuff in the bottle. _Your_ brain work's anythin' but brilliant." "I mean what I say, anyhow," rapped out Ross. Picking up the lantern, he went forward, crawled over the hood, and made a close examination of the forward part of the boat. "Thunder!" he exclaimed. "What've you found?" demanded Kinky. "What was the name of that chug-boat the Chink won in 'Frisco, and that Motor Matt used in windin' us up?" "_Sprite._" "Well, wouldn't this knock you stiff? Say, Kinky, this here's the _Sprite_." "Go on!" "There's the name, plain enough." "Then it's another _Sprite_. It's a common name, and the 'Frisco _Sprite_ couldn't be here." "It's the same boat, you take it from me. It looks the same, and by thunder it _is_ the same." "I don't see how it got here." "Nor I--but here she is, for all that. Let's burn her!" "What for?" "If it hadn't been for this boat we'd have been on the way to the Sandwich Islands by now. I'll feel a heap better if we burn the blame thing." "Aw, be sensible, can't you. If----" "Hist!" Ross interrupted Kinky with the warning syllable; then, quickly, the lantern was extinguished, and Ross crept back into the rear of the launch. "Listen!" he whispered; "some one's coming." "Then we'd better hike!" "Not on your life! Crowd up forward, there. I played the spook, a while ago, and now let's see how well I can play the rôle of the darky." "But what----" "Sh-h-h!" Thus suddenly did Ross lay his snare. As Kinky crept forward, Ross crouched in the stern; then followed the brief colloquy between Matt and Ross, the latter imitating the voice of the negro. The instant Motor Matt dropped into the boat the snare suddenly tightened. CHAPTER IX. ENEMIES TO BE FEARED. As Matt fell his head struck against the gunwale of the boat. His senses did not leave him entirely, but he was stunned for a few moments and rendered incapable of doing anything in his own defense. Before he recovered sufficiently to struggle with his assailants the two men had found a rope and had lashed his hands. "Now for his feet, Kinky," said Ross. "This is a haul I wasn't expectin', although we might have figured it out, I guess, if we'd had time to think things over." Matt kicked out with his feet in a desperate attempt to overturn Kinky, and, perhaps, leap upright and jump ashore. "He's a fighter, all right," snarled Ross. "Here, I'll hold him while you finish the job." With hands bound and two men to secure his ankles, resistance was worse than useless. When the binding was done, and Matt was lying helpless, he had a chance to study the faces of his captors while Kinky was relighting the lantern. Ross' talk had already given Matt an inkling of the two men's identity. The gleam from the lantern left no doubt about their being Big John's pals. Matt was not surprised that the two rascals should be in that part of the country. They and Big John were birds of a feather, and it was quite natural that all three should flock together. What did surprise Matt, however, was the fact that Kinky and Ross should be in that particular place, and have laid their plans to capture him. "Surprise party, eh?" queried Ross. "You weren't expectin' to meet a couple of old friends, eh, Motor Matt? Oh, you're not so much. You're cracked up pretty high, but I reckon you're not any brighter than the rest of us. Wonder if you've got ten thousand about you that we could borrow for a while?" "You're after that money," said Matt, "and you're fooled. You won't get it, and neither will Big John. It has been in Mr. Lorry's hands ever since noon. You didn't think I'd bring ten thousand dollars back with me in cash, did you? The money was in the form of a draft, payable to Mr. Lorry, and it wouldn't have benefited you or Big John any if you had stolen it." "That's luck for old Lorry, then," answered Ross, pushing his hand into Matt's pockets. "Here's a roll," he added, drawing some bills out of Matt's vest. "It's hardly big enough for the ten thousand, but I reckon we'll have to be satisfied with what we can get." "If you take that," said Matt, "you'll be in trouble with the law before you're many hours older. So far as San Francisco is concerned, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones; but if you take my money I'll do everything I can to have you caught." Kinky seemed nervous. Ross, however, was reckless and in an evil temper. "We'll _not_ get ourselves into trouble," he flared. "By the time we're through with you, my hearty, there won't be anybody to make us trouble." Ross brought out his flask again and helped himself liberally to its contents. "Here," he said, extending the flask toward Kinky. "I guess I've had enough," demurred Kinky. "Take it, you fool!" cried Ross; "you'll need it before we're done with this night's work." Not until that moment did Motor Matt realize that here were two enemies who were seriously to be feared. He had thought, when he recognized his captors, that they had merely made a prisoner of him in the hope of securing the ten thousand dollars, but now he realized that there was something more villainous, perhaps more murderous, back of their scheming. Liquor arouses the evil passions of men and makes them ripe for deeds they would not think of committing when in their sober senses. Kinky and Ross were partly intoxicated. Kinky was the less desperate of the two villains, mainly because he was the more cowardly. Matt hardened himself to face whatever might be coming. "You'd better think well about this, Ross," said he. "All you've got to do to keep clear of the law is to return my money, set me at liberty, and take yourselves off. I'll forget what you've done, and what happened in San Francisco Bay----" "That's more than we'll do, you young cub," scowled Ross. "You hadn't any notion I followed you all the way from 'Frisco, on the same train, had you? You didn't know I got off the train at Waunakee, when you got off, and that I trailed you and your two friends to that cabin in the woods, eh? And I don't believe, when you and your pards were talking in that cabin, that you had any notion I was hanging around and listening. But I was. I knew one of you was to go into town this morning with the money for old Lorry, so it was me that put Big John wise and had him waiting for you on the road. But do you think I rigged myself out in different clothes and followed you clear from 'Frisco just in the hope of getting that money? You're wrong if you do think that. I was after something else--and that was to _play even_. It's a habit of mine always to settle my accounts. Big John works differently--but I'm not responsible for what he does, or doesn't do. When I lay out a course and take the bit in my teeth, nothing can stop me." There was a short silence. "But, I say, Ross," began Kinky in faint protest, "you don't intend to----" "Wait till I ask you to talk," cut in Ross. "You can bobble more in your conversation than any man I ever knew." "Do you know where my two friends are?" queried Matt. "You know who I mean--young Lorry and McGlory." "We don't know where they are. I don't object to telling you if that will make you any easier in your mind." "Where's the colored boy that was here with the boat?" "I played spook and scared him out. He's on the way to Madison, and is hitting only the high places. Is this the old _Sprite_ you used in 'Frisco Bay?" "Yes." "Glad to know it. She'll go up in smoke before we're done with her." Ross' veiled hints of what he was going to do did not bother Matt very much. He had a hearty contempt for a boaster--even a desperate boaster of Ross' stamp. The scoundrel was in a communicative mood, and many points which had been dark to Matt were being cleared away. "What has Big John done," Matt asked, "to get Mr. Lorry down on me?" Ross laughed huskily. "How do I know?" he answered. "Big John is about as sly as they make 'em. I didn't know he'd done anything to get Lorry down on you--didn't think he'd have the nerve to go near Lorry. You got away from that pal of ours?" "Yes." "Then I wish John was here with us. He's probably as mad as a hornet over losing that money, and would make a better stand-by than Kinky." "I never go back on a pal," expanded Kinky, "but I think a pal ought to be sensible and not kick up too big a row for his own good." "You'll find the row plenty big enough if you go too far," warned Matt, speaking for Kinky's especial benefit. Kinky stirred uneasily. "It's a case," declared Ross, "where we've got to go as far as we can. That's what'll make it safe for us. Kinky and me have been loafing in the woods all day. We were not to report to Big John until to-night. It's safer for us, you understand, to get together at night than at any other time." Matt had been working desperately at the cord that bound his hands. The cord was drawn tight and firmly knotted, and his efforts had not met with much success. Ross suddenly detected him in his work, and, with an oath, jerked him over and looked at the rope. "That's enough of that," he said sternly. "Suppose you do get rid of the rope, how'll it help you? You lay still and be quiet, that's your cue." "What are we going to do, Ross?" inquired Kinky nervously. "You're going up on the bank and cast off the painter," returned Ross. "I don't think you're any too steady on your feet, so be careful." "What do you want me to cast off the painter for? We've got a boat of our own, and we don't need this." "I'm engineerin' this deal, Kinky," said Ross sharply. "Do as I say, or else take to the woods and let me do it alone." Kinky got up and staggered ashore. Although he worked awkwardly, yet he finally succeeded in releasing the painter and throwing the rope aboard. Then he scrambled back into the boat himself. Ross, meanwhile, had been starting the engine. He proceeded in a way that proved he had some knowledge of motors. Turning the _Sprite_, Ross sent her slowly toward the mouth of the creek, peering sharply ahead as they moved through the water. "There she is," muttered Ross, shutting off the power. As the _Sprite_ came to a halt, Ross reached over the side and caught the gunwale of another boat. "We'll tow our boat behind, Kinky," announced Ross. "Climb into her and make sure the oars are safe inboard, then fasten her painter to the stern of the _Sprite_." This rather difficult operation was safely accomplished, and then, with the rowboat in tow, the launch glided out of the creek into the Catfish, and down the Catfish toward Fourth Lake. How was that voyage to end for Motor Matt? CHAPTER X. BETWEEN FIRE AND WATER. Matt's position in the boat enabled him to watch one dark bank of the river as they glided down toward the lake. He was listening and looking for some sign of life on the bank. Had he seen any one, a shout would quickly have apprised the person of the prisoner's predicament. But Matt saw no one. Steadily the _Sprite_ glided onward--steadily, but covering so crooked a course that Matt wondered they did not drive into the bank on one side or the other. The lake was reached. The storm promised by the late afternoon was slow in coming. The wind was no higher than it had been, two or three hours before, but the waves were beating sullenly on the rocks as if in warning of what was to come. Far across the lake Matt could see the glare of city lights. Because of his position in the boat, the other shore of the lake was not visible to him. He was looking for other boats, but there were very few boats on the lake at the time. He saw one moving light, however, and essayed a lusty call for help. Ross swore savagely. "Clap a hand over that cub's mouth!" he snapped. At the same instant he jerked one hand from the wheel, caught up the lantern, and dropped it overboard. Kinky, meanwhile, had forced his hands over Matt's lips. The light Matt had seen had shifted its position, and was gliding toward the _Sprite_. "Hello, there!" called a voice from the dark. "Hello, yourself," flung back Ross. "Did you hail us?" "No." "I thought some one yelled. What became of your light?" "A lubber here with me knocked it overboard." "Well, you'd better get out another. If you take my advice, you won't stay out long, either. There's nasty weather coming, and we're making for our berth over at the asylum." Ross allowed this warning to go unanswered. The light of the other boat dwindled away and vanished in the gloom. "This is far enough, I reckon," Ross remarked, halting the _Sprite_. "You can leave him alone now, Kinky," he added. "He could yell till he's black in the face and no one would hear him; but, if he knows what's good for him, he won't whoop it up while we're close to him. Pull the rowboat up alongside, Kinky." Ross lifted the hood and leaned down into the space reserved for the motor and the gasoline tanks. "Confound it!" he exclaimed, lifting himself erect, "I wish I had that lantern now." He continued to grumble and work around in the bow of the boat. At last he finished his labor, whatever it was, and turned to Kinky. The latter was holding the rowboat alongside the launch. The task was none too easy, as the swell was bumping the boats together and then forcing them apart. "What am I to do, Ross?" asked Kinky. "I can't hang on here much longer." "Get into the rowboat and take the oars," ordered Ross. "Ain't you going along with me?" "Sure, when I get through." "What's your game?" "Never you mind," was the angry retort. "It's my game, from now on, and you'll watch and do as you're told. Get into the boat and hold her close to the _Sprite_ with the oars. When I want you I'll let you know. Mind your eye when you change or you'll find yourself at the bottom of the lake." Kinky made three attempts to get from one boat into the other. At the last attempt he came near swamping the rowboat, and when he drew back and clung panting to the side of the _Sprite_ the rowboat had got away from him. Ross shouted his maledictions. "What can you expect of a fellow workin' like this in the dark?" grunted Kinky. "I ain't no sailor, anyway." "You got feet and hands, haven't you? Then why don't you use 'em?" With this retort, Ross started the motor and laid the _Sprite_ alongside the rowboat once more. "Now," he ordered, "try it again, Kinky. If you get a spill you'll stay in the lake for all of me." Kinky's next effort was more successful. He had a narrow escape, but he finally plumped down into the bottom of the rowboat, righted himself unsteadily, and got on the 'midships thwart. A moment more and he had shipped the oars. "Now what?" he demanded. His own temper was beginning to rise at the rough, and perhaps unnecessary, work he had been made to do. Ross had again switched off the power of the motor and the launch was rolling in the waves. "Wait, and I'll tell you," answered Ross. He was lashing the steering wheel with a piece of rope. Kinky could not see what he was doing, or he would probably have ventured some remarks. Matt, however, was able to follow the scoundrel's movements, and a vague alarm ran through him. "What are you up to, Ross?" asked Matt sternly. Ross snarled at him, but did not make any response that could be understood. "I suppose you could get at this wheel, bound as you are," muttered Ross, turning around, at last, and facing Matt. "But I'll fix that," he added with a brutal laugh. Making his way to where Matt was lying, he caught him by the shoulders and dragged him roughly forward. "What are you doing this for?" demanded Matt. Ross was strong, and, without deigning a reply, he heaved the helpless youth up onto the hood. Bound as he was, Matt's position was precarious in the extreme. "I never thought you were such a scoundrel, Ross," Matt said quietly. "It can't be you're going to leave me like this." "You wait till I get through," was the fierce answer. By craning his head around, Matt could see Ross pick up a pile of waste. From the pungent odor of gasoline which assailed Matt's nostrils he knew that the waste had been soaked in the inflammable stuff. Ross carried the waste back into the stern of the boat. "You like motors, King," called Ross, "and I'm going to give you such a ride on a motor-boat as you never had before. I hope you'll enjoy it." "For the last time, Ross," called Matt, horribly conscious of the trend the scoundrel's work was taking, "I ask you to think of what you are doing." "I've thought of it all I'm going to. It's a fine plan, and I'm going to carry it right through to a finish." Ross turned to the rowboat, which Kinky was keeping close to the _Sprite_. "Come alongside, Kinky," Ross called. "I'm about ready to be taken off." "What have you been doin', Ross?" demanded Kinky, pulling the other boat closer. Matt felt, at that moment, as though Kinky was his only hope. "He's got me tied here on the hood, Kinky," Matt called, "and he's going to fire the boat! If you let him keep on, you'll be equally guilty with him, and the law will sooner or later take care of you both." "Let him talk!" exclaimed Ross. "Much good it'll do him. A little more to the left, Kinky." The man in the rowboat had turned to look. "Is that him on that forward deck, Ross?" asked Kinky. "That's where I put him." "Blazes! Why, he's liable to roll off into the water and be drowned. What did you put him there for?" "I told you I was attendin' to this," retorted Ross. "Get that boat alongside here, and be quick about it." "But I'm not goin' to stand for any----" "You're going to do as I tell you. Get alongside." Kinky, unfortunately for Matt, had the weaker will of the two. He was plainly afraid of Ross, and the latter could bullyrag him into doing anything. As the rowboat came up, Ross leaned over and grabbed the painter. Securing the end of it to the driver's seat of the launch, he stepped back into the stern, struck a match, and dropped it into the heap of waste. A fire leaped upward instantly, and a yell of consternation broke from Kinky. "Ross, you're mad! You want to make a swinging job of this for both of us, I guess. Put out that blaze or I'll put it out myself." Ross did not reply. Hastening forward again, he started the motor, and the _Sprite_ began driving ahead, hauling the rowboat with it. "This course, Motor Matt," said Ross, "will carry you direct to Maple Bluff. I hope you'll have a comfortable landing. Good-by, and good luck to you! Have I paid my debts? Think it over." Whirling swiftly, Ross clambered into the rowboat. "I'll not stand for this!" yelled Kinky. "This may be your idea of paying your debts, but----" Ross pushed Kinky backward, sending him sprawling across the 'midships thwart. "Get up and take the oars," he cried. "Pal of mine though you are, if you try to make me any more trouble something will happen to you. I've got the bit in my teeth, I tell you, and I'll settle for Motor Matt as I think best." Ross leaned forward and slashed the blade of his pocketknife through the painter, and a hoarse laugh echoed in Motor Matt's ears as the burning launch leaped away through the thick shadows. CHAPTER XI. CHUMS TO THE RESCUE. Matt was several moments realizing the terrible predicament in which Ross had placed him. The glowing fire in the stern of the _Sprite_ lighted the darkness with a ghastly glare. The boat was on fire and speeding, with a lashed wheel, across the troubled waters of the lake. What could Matt do to save himself? It was a time when he must think quickly. He would also have to act with promptness and decision--an impossibility in his helpless state. If he could roll back over the hood, he might contrive to get aft and, in some manner, smother the fire. He made the attempt--and succeeded, although not until he had come within an inch of sliding off the rounded hood and into the lake. As he fell into the bottom of the boat, he struck the lever that controlled the sparking apparatus, throwing off the switch and causing the _Sprite_ to slow to a halt. This was a little gained, for the speed of the boat would not now fan the flames; but Matt was wedged in between the driver's seat and the motor, and found it impossible to extricate himself. His heart sank. Was this to be the end? Was the _Sprite_ to burn and sink, there in the open lake, and carry him to the bottom? At this moment, just as his hopes were at the lowest ebb, he heard a shout from near at hand. "Matt! Where are you, pard?" McGlory! That was McGlory's voice! The wonder of McGlory's being there to help him was lost, for the moment, in the wild joy that swelled in Matt's breast. "Here!" he shouted. A whoop of delight came from McGlory. "We've found him, George!" Matt heard him exclaim. Then there came a splash of oars and a jolt as another boat bumped against the _Sprite_. "Hold her steady, pard," McGlory went on, "and I'll get Matt out of this in a brace of shakes." The next moment the cowboy scrambled into the launch. "Where are you, Matt?" called McGlory. "Never mind me," Matt answered; "put out the fire. Beat it out--use your coat." The fire looked worse than it was in reality. Not much of the woodwork was afire, but the blazing waste had been scattered by the wind and was sending up smoke and flame from the stern almost to the driver's seat. McGlory was thinking more about Matt than he was about the boat. However, he had his orders and did not stop to do any arguing. Jerking off his coat, he got to work at once. Lorry helped. Fastening the skiff which had brought him and McGlory off from the shore, he likewise removed his coat, and the little _Sprite_ rocked and pitched with the mad efforts of the two boys to get the best of the blaze. Inside of five minutes they had the last flame smothered. While George dipped up water with his cap and deluged the smoking woodwork, McGlory pulled Matt out of his cramped quarters. "Well, speak to me about this!" gasped McGlory. "He's tied! Say, this would make the hair stand on a buffalo robe. Lashed hand and foot and turned adrift out in the middle of the lake! Sufferin' volcanoes! Who did it, pard?" "Get the ropes off me," said Matt, "and then I can talk to better advantage. My arms are numb clear to the shoulder." McGlory pulled a knife from his pocket and groped carefully while he cut the cords. "It seems like a dream," muttered Matt. "Nightmare, you mean," returned McGlory. "If I'd been in such a fix I'd 'a' thrown a fit." "And then to have you fellows come!" went on Matt. "I don't know how you managed it, but here you are, and here I am, and I guess the old _Sprite_ is good for several trips yet. Shake!" McGlory caught Matt's outstretched hand and gave it a hearty pressure. As soon as the cowboy was through, Matt leaned over and gave Lorry's hand a cordial grip. "I'll never forget what you have done for me," declared Matt. "Shucks!" muttered McGlory. "That's what pards are for--to help one another when they're in a tight pinch. And I'm an Injun if this _wasn't_ a tight one. But see here, once, Matt. You called this boat the _Sprite_." "That's her name, Joe." "Queer they'd have another motor boat, same size and rig of that 'Frisco launch and with the same name, here at Madison." "It's the same _Sprite_." "Not the same boat you fellows used in Frisco Bay!" exclaimed Lorry. "The same identical boat," returned Matt. "Wouldn't that rattle your spurs?" breathed McGlory. "But how did she get here?" "By express." "Who sent her?" "Ping." "Ping! And did the yaller mug come with her?" "If he did I haven't seen him." "Why," went on Lorry, "the boat came through nearly as quick as we did!" "How did Ping know where to send her?" asked McGlory. "He could have found that out easy enough. They knew at police headquarters that we were coming to Madison." "And she came by express!" "Yes, with charges of over two hundred and fifty dollars for transportation." "Tell me about that!" McGlory nearly fell off his seat. "But that's just like a heathen Chinee. Probably he thought the charges wouldn't be more'n a dollar and a half. And they were over two-fifty! Sufferin' millionaires!" "It's all well enough to talk," put in Lorry, "but there are lots more comfortable places than a motor boat, with a dead engine, in the middle of the lake." "That's right, too," agreed McGlory. "Every once in a while little George, the child wonder, gets a bean on the right number. It will be blowing great guns on this stretch of water before morning. I move we hike." "Where'll we hike?" "Did you fix things up in Madison?" George inquired. "Not the way I wanted to, George," said Matt. "We'll have to talk about that." "Then we won't go to Madison," declared George, "and that's settled. We might as well haul off into the Catfish and spend the night in the boat." "There used to be a 'tarp' for coverin' her in rough weather," put in McGlory. "Was Ping thoughtful enough to send all the stuff that belonged to her?" "He was," said Matt, "at thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents a hundred pounds--three times the merchandise rate." "Oh, glory! What did you take the boat off the express company's hands for, pard?" "For the reason, Joe, that I had use for her." "And this is the kind of use you've been putting her to!" muttered the cowboy. "It wasn't worth the price, not by a whole row of 'dobies." The waves were rolling higher and higher, and the _Sprite_ was pitching like an unruly broncho. "We'll have to get out of this," said Lorry, as the skiff alongside smashed against the _Sprite's_ bulwarks and gave them all a rough shaking. "The wind's carrying us toward Maple Bluff, and I don't want any experience with the bluff on a night like this. Where's a lantern? Is there one aboard?" "There was," answered Matt, "but Ross threw it into the lake." "Ross!" gulped McGlory. "You don't mean to say you've seen him?" "We'll go over all that later," said Matt. "We'll make for the Catfish as fast as we can." "That's as good a place as any, I reckon, seeing as how George isn't ready to go to Madison." Matt opened the hood and sniffed at the engine to ascertain if there was any waste gasoline dripping from the tanks. He decided that the tanks were all closed. The engine was started and Matt brought the boat's nose around into the wind. The trailing skiff was allowed to fall behind to the end of its mooring chain. There was thunder, off in the west, and an occasional sharp flash of lightning. The flashes served to guide Matt over the course he had recently covered, while a prisoner in the hands of Ross and Kinky. As he held the _Sprite_ steadily to her course, more and more the wonder grew upon him as to the timely arrival of McGlory and George. Although Matt, when bound and cast adrift, had left a fiery trail over the lake, yet he was positive that the grewsome beacon alone had not been responsible for the providential appearance of his two friends. But everything would soon be made clear, and Matt hurried the moment of explanation by driving the launch at her best speed. The wind, of course, delayed the boat appreciably, but her sharp bows cut the water like a knife, and the white spray went swirling upward on both sides of the craft, high into the night. It was an exhilarating ride, and thoroughly enjoyed by Matt and George. McGlory loved boats, but he had been built for a landsman, and the roll and tumble of rough water gave him unpleasant feelings in the region of the stomach. The cowboy drew a long breath of relief when the launch battled her way into the quieter waters of the Catfish, and he sprang eagerly ashore to make the boat fast to a tree, under the lee of a steep bank. "There's a boathouse near here," said George, when the skiff had also been secured, "and the proper move for us is to make for it and break in. The rain will be coming down in sheets before long. The boathouse belongs to a friend of mine, and he won't make much of a fuss when he knows who it was broke into the place." Before Matt left the launch he spread the tarpaulin over it carefully and made the edges secure to the metal pins along the gunwale; then, led by Lorry, the boys made their way to the boathouse. Forcing an entrance was not difficult, and just as the lads got inside the rain began. CHAPTER XII. HOW FATE THREW THE DICE. There was a rough but comfortable sitting room in one end of the boathouse. Lorry, who was familiar with the place, left Matt and McGlory near the door which they had forced open, and groped his way to the sitting room, where he lighted a tin lamp. There was a smell of stale cigarette smoke in the room, and the walls were papered with pictures of prize fighters, sailboats, race horses, and "footlight favorites," all cut from newspapers and magazines. This, and the acrid odor of cigarettes, attested sufficiently the taste of the owner of the boathouse. There were chairs enough to seat the three boys comfortably. "Somebody has been here, pards," declared McGlory, "and not so very long ago, either." "He's a Sherlock Holmes, all right," grinned Lorry. "How do you suppose he knew that, Motor Matt?" "Oh, go on!" growled the cowboy. "Your friend George is a cigarette fiend. Why do you reckon the windows were draped like that?" There were two small windows in the sitting room, and each was covered with a double thickness of canvas, battened down on all sides. "Give it up," said Lorry. "Ollie must have been having a game of cards here with some of the boys, and probably he didn't want anybody looking in." "Ollie?" murmured Matt, startled, suddenly remembering that, at the time of the attempted robbery on the Waunakee road, Big John had addressed his youthful companion as "Ollie." "Yes, Ollie Merton," answered Lorry; "he's the fellow who owns this place." "What sort of looking fellow is he?" "Why, he's about my build, rather dark, and with a face that's not much of a recommendation; but Ollie's been a good friend of mine, just the same." Matt was convinced that the Ollie he had met on the Waunakee road, under such evil conditions, was the same Ollie who had papered that rude little sitting room--and had left behind him the reek of his cigarettes. "What are you asking about Ollie for?" inquired Lorry curiously. "We'll get to that in a few minutes," said Matt. "Just now I want to hear how you fellows came to leave the cabin on the creek, and what sort of a coincidence it was that enabled you to come to my rescue, out there on the lake." "I reckon we can explain that a heap easier than you can explain how you came to be lashed hand and foot and jammed between the thwart and the engine of a burning boat," returned McGlory. "You didn't get back to the cabin, that was one of the things that bothered George and me, and we couldn't savvy the why of it; then, all at once, we spotted our old friends, Ross and Kinky, standing among the oaks and piping off the cabin. _Was_ it a jolt? Say, speak to me about that. 'That means trouble,' said George, and I allowed that he had rung the bell. "There we'd been congratulatin' ourselves that no one knew of the hang-out, when along comes those 'Frisco gents, loafing in the scrub and taking the sizing of our wickiup. Having made up our minds that the appearance of Ross and Kinky spelled trouble with a big T, George and me got to guessing that those two lads had somehow interfered with your getting back to the cabin, Matt. "'We'll duck out of this, George,' says I, 'and you can bet your moccasins on _that_. And when we duck,' I says further, 'we'll take the luggage and the grub along with us.' "'But what about Matt?' says George. 'He's trying to do something for me, in Madison, and it looks kind of rough to scatter when maybe he'll whistle for this siding even if he is somewhat behind his running time. Didn't you tell me that Motor Matt usually does what he says he'll do?' "You must admit, Matt, that this cousin of mine is improving a whole lot or he'd never have thought of that. Up to now, he's been so busy taking care of Number One that he hasn't had any consideration for the rest of the human race. But I explains to him like this: "'Georgie, we're makin' a change of base. That's all. When we dodge those tinhorns, and pile our traps in another part of the woods, we'll sneak back here on the q. t. and watch for Matt. Like as not we can head him off on the Waunakee road before he reaches the bridge over the creek.' "George thought that would be all right, so we get our plunder together, sneak out of the cabin, drop over the edge of the creek bank, crawl a mile downstream, and sashay right into the woods. I don't know whether you'll believe it or not--things like that happen mostly in story books--but we find the neatest cave you ever crawled into right on the banks of the Catfish. George says it's a second edition of Black Hawk's cave. Well, say, after we get the bats out of that hole in the rock, we are almost as snug as we are here, this minute. Sufferin' Niagara, hear it pour!" "Never mind the rain, Joe," said Matt. "Your talk is mighty exciting. Go on with it." "Of course," proceeded McGlory, "we couldn't enjoy our cave while you were due to arrive at the cabin any minute and drop into the hands of Ross and Kinky. I reckon it was about eight o'clock into dewfall when George and me crawled out of that hole and started to make a short cut for the Waunakee road. Then, right in the middle of the dark, we heard somethin' coming our way just a-tearin'. George guessed bears and I guessed Injuns; but, no, we were both fooled. It was a little negro--George struck a match and got his color a minute after him and me had collided and I had flopped him on his back and was holding him down. Then----" "Pickerel Pete!" exclaimed Matt. "That's a guess for your life. Sure, pard, it was Pickerel Pete, and a scared Pickerel he was, at that. He thought George and me was a pair of 'ha'nts,' whatever they are; but George knew him, and he braced up some when he made sure that we were perfectly human. "Then--speak to me about what that little ebony chap told us! Motor Matt had hired him for two plunks a day--you're getting reckless with your money, pard--and he had piloted Motor Matt from Third Lake to Fourth, and from Fourth up the Catfish to Whisky Creek. Motor Matt had left the boat tied up there, with Blackberry on guard, and gone on afoot up the creek. Then spooks arrived, ordered Pete to duck, and he had started for home like a singed cat. He was on his way when he ran into us. "Well, George and me was all crinkled up with a scare. Matt's gone on to the cabin, we figure it out, and he's dropped into the hands of Ross and Kinky. We make a run for the cabin. No one there, not even Ross and Kinky. But there's a candle still burnin' on the corner shelf. "Was it Motor Matt who lit that candle, we asked ourselves, or Big John's pals? Of course we couldn't tell that, but we allowed it was probably Matt who had struck a light. Then it was us for the mouth of the creek to see what was going on at the launch. "I forgot to tell you, pard, that George and I had found a skiff, while we were fooling around the creek bank, waiting for you to get back. The skiff pleased me--I never saw a boat yet that didn't--and I suggested to George that we paddle down the creek in the skiff. That would save climbing fences and blundering around in the dark. Well, we took the skiff. It didn't draw much more'n a drink of water, and, although the creek is lower than usual at this time of year, according to George, we got down it all right. Just as we got within hailing distance of the launch, we heard the chug of an engine, and some one calling from the boat to some one else on the bank. We'd found Ross and Kinky--their voices give 'em away; and from what they said later we also knew that we'd found _you_. "George and I were up a tree for fair, then. Ross and Kinky were 'heeled'--we didn't have to guess any about that--while all I had was a pocketknife, and all George had was a scarfpin. "'Well,' says George, 'I'm not going to leave those tinhorns to do what they please with Matt.' Surprisin', eh, the way this cousin of mine is beginnin' to act? He was as nervy as a Ute buck with an overload of tizwin. I asks George what he thinks we can do against two men with a pair of hardware hornets that sting six times apiece. George didn't know, but allowed we'd better drop down the creek and get a closer view. "By the time we got down to where the launch was she had moved on and stopped again. When she moved on once more, something was trailing behind her. It was so dark we couldn't see what the thing was very plain, but after some sort of a while we made out that it was a boat. Well, how we ever did it I don't know, but George--it was George, mind you--made our chain painter fast to the stern of the trailing rowboat--and that's the sort of procession we made down the Catfish." McGlory threw back his head and laughed till he shook. "First, the launch," he went on; "then the rowboat, then George, and me, and the skiff. Sufferin' side-wheelers! Why, I nearly gave the snap away enjoying it." "Great spark plugs!" muttered Matt. "When we went down the Catfish, I was watching the bank, hoping to see some one I could call to. And there were you and George behind us all the time! I wish Ross and Kinky knew about that." "It was too much fun to last, pard," continued McGlory, sobering a little. "When we got out into the lake the heavier swell made the chain break loose from the rowboat, and we had to follow with the oars, which was slow work. We were a long ways off when you spoke that other launch; and when you started like a streak of fire for the northwest end of the lake, we were still so far off that we didn't think we could reach you in time to do you any good. But we broke our backs at the oars, and managed to make it. You know the rest." "Fine!" exclaimed Matt admiringly. "Say, you fellows are pards worth having. What became of Pickerel Pete?" "Bother him!" put in George. "We didn't have any time to fool with the little moke after we heard what he had to tell us about you." "He kept on toward town, burnin' the air," said McGlory. "I think," said Matt reflectively, "that this cave of yours would be a safer place for us than this boathouse." "Safer," returned the cowboy, "but it hasn't got any chairs and nothing to make a light with. Hear the rain, once! Gee, _compadres_, I wouldn't move from here to the cave, through all that water, for a bushel of double eagles." "Why is the cave safer?" asked Lorry. "Because this Ollie Merton isn't such a friend of yours as you think," said Matt. George Lorry stiffened in the old, arrogant way. "I guess I know my friends," he answered frigidly. "Listen," went on Matt. "When I left the cabin and started along the Waunakee road, some one in the bushes threw a riata at me. It was Big John threw the rope, and along with Big John was this Ollie Merton. They were after that ten thousand dollars, but I played a trick on them and got away with the draft. It was your sister, George, that helped me get away." "What!" exclaimed George; "not Ethel?" "Yes. She was on the Waunakee road with her motor car----" George scowled. "The governor would put twenty-five hundred in a runabout for sis," he growled, "and wouldn't scrip up when I wanted a motor boat. Is that right? Is----" Voices were heard outside, accompanying a slushy crunch of wet gravel. Matt leaped for the light and blew it out. "Not a word!" he whispered. "That must be Ollie Merton, and we don't want him to see us. There's an overturned catboat--get under it." Lorry tried to protest, but Matt caught him by the arm and hustled him toward the overturned boat. The boat had been lying under the boys' eyes during their talk. Barely had they secreted themselves when the door opened and two persons walked in, followed by a whirling gust of rain. "Whoosh!" called a familiar voice, "I'm glad to get out of that, Ollie." "Big John!" whispered Matt in Lorry's ear. "He's come here with Merton. Keep quiet, now, and listen." CHAPTER XIII. UNDER THE OVERTURNED BOAT. When Matt, Lorry, and McGlory had made forcible entrance into the boathouse, it had been through the door that fronted the river. Merton and Big John had entered through a door at the other end of the house. Thus, for a time, at least, the broken lock on the other door was not discovered. "Light up," went on the voice of Big John. "And if you've got anything in a bottle, Ollie, trot it out and mebby it'll drive the chill from our bones. I'm not pinin' for an attack of rheumatism." "I've got that, too," answered Ollie, with a fatuous snicker. "Always keep something for snake bites." "And it's a bad thing for a lad of your years. Hurry up with the light." "Give me time to get out of this mackintosh and then I'll hunt for matches." There followed the slap of a wet garment on the floor. The next moment a match was struck, and young Merton could be seen making for the lamp. The moment he touched the chimney he jumped back with a cry and the match dropped from his fingers. "What ails you?" demanded Big John. "Why, the chimney's _hot_!" exclaimed Merton. "Somebody's been here, and they haven't been gone very long, either." "Thunder! It must have been Ross and Kinky. They were to meet us here, you know, and Ross had a key to the boathouse." "If they were here a few minutes ago," went on Merton, "why aren't they here now?" "I'll have to pass that. But if any one was here, it was those pals of mine. Go on and light the lamp. Use your handkerchief for taking off the chimney." Matt, under the overturned boat, drew a breath of relief. But it was only a temporary relief. Already he was wondering what would happen when Ross and Kinky arrived at the rendezvous. Ross had told Matt that he and Kinky were to meet Big John that night, but had carried the impression that the meeting was to take place in town. Merton's fears were apparently relieved, and he soon had the lamp lighted. Big John divested himself of a raincoat and removed a dripping cap. Coat and cap he hung very carefully from two nails in the wall. Merton, meanwhile, was unlocking a cupboard. A bottle and two glasses came out of the cupboard. Merton poured some of the liquor into the glasses. Big John reached over and emptied part of Merton's glass into his own. "That leaves enough for you, son, and a heap more than you ought to have," said he. "It ain't good for younkers--nor for old fellers, either." "Oh, splash!" grunted Merton. "You ought to go around with a pocketful of tracts," he grinned. "Whenever you rob a man, leave a tract with him." "You're mighty cute," observed Big John, setting his empty glass on the table and leaning back in his chair, "but the two of us wasn't cute enough to get the best of Motor Matt. There's a boy! He's a bright and shinin' example. He has backcapped me twice, and the more he does it the more I admire him." Merton stared; then, developing his silver cigarette case and his silver match box, he proceeded to smoke. "You're a queer fish, Big John," said he. "If you've got such high standards, why don't you live up to 'em?" Big John shook his head gloomily. "I expect it ain't in me," he answered. "If you'd had Ross and Kinky with you, there at the bend in the Waunakee road, this Motor Matt wouldn't have made a get-away." "Mebby not; but Ross is down on Motor Matt and wouldn't hesitate to hand him his finish. That's the reason I wouldn't have Ross along; and I let Kinky stay with Ross as a sort of safeguard, in case anythin' went crossways and Ross happened to find Motor Matt. Only the hope of me gettin' that money has caused Ross to hold back as long as he has. Now that he knows there's no hope of gettin' the money, he'll be as mad as a cannibal. Ross is worse'n an Apache Injun when he's worked up." "Then he'll be mad when he comes here and finds you didn't get the money, won't he?" "He will; and I've laid my plans to make a quick jump for the West. I'll land that precious Ross where he won't get us all into trouble." "You were telling me that you had set old man Lorry against Motor Matt." A slow grin worked its way over Big John's face. "Anonymous letter," said he. "I just wrote Lorry that I was a detective, and didn't think it wise to put my information over my own name, see? Then I went on to tell him to look out for Motor Matt, and explained that he was in cahoots with the three desperate scoundrels who had stolen the ten thousand in 'Frisco. That'll make Lorry think a little. But see here, son. You haven't been private adviser for young Lorry just to make a man of him in the gamblin' line, have you? What's your graft? I'll bet it's somethin' more than getting him away from his mother's apron strings, and out of the sissy class." Merton's sinister face took on a crafty look. "You're right," said he. "The Winnequa Club has a race in a few days. For reasons of my own, I intend to win that race. See? Lorry also wanted to have a boat in the race, and he's about the only one, apart from me, whose dad has money enough to furnish him with a boat that will make the rest of us climb. But old man Lorry isn't furnishing George with the boat." Merton chuckled. "When George asked me what he ought to do the time his father threatened to send him to military school, I told George to skip, and to get as far away as he could. That left me free to do as I wanted to in that motor-boat event." Merton winked. "H'm!" murmured Big John. "You're a foxy youngster. I'm not sayin' it's creditable in you, mind, but it shows sharp thinking, all right." The three boys under the overturned boat were able to see and hear all that went on. When the conversation between Merton and Big John had proceeded that far, Matt heard a sharp breath escape Lorry's lips. A few words, and Merton's despicable planning had been laid bare. Out of Merton's own mouth Lorry could judge him. This false friend, with whom Lorry had associated, and whose advice he had taken, had headed him toward irretrievable ruin. "Oh, I can be foxy if I want to," said Merton. "All I want now is to make sure that Lorry doesn't get in that race." "I guess you can be easy on that point," returned Big John dryly. "The old gent won't put up money for the boat on a bet. Motor Matt called on Lorry. I talked with Gus, the Lorry chauffeur, and he said there was a heap of coldness developed durin' the interview, and that when Motor Matt had left, Lorry used the telephone and asked police headquarters to have a plain-clothes man pick up his trail and follow him. The fly cop followed Motor Matt from Third Lake into Fourth, but lost him somewhere around the Mendota end of the Catfish. The last thing I did, before leaving Madison to come here, was to drop another unsigned letter in the mails for Lorry." "What was that for?" asked Merton. "I told Lorry that if he would cross Fourth Lake in the morning, and proceed up the Catfish as far as Whisky Creek, then leave the boat and walk up the creek for a mile, he would come to the place where Motor Matt was having McGlory keep his son. I reckon _that_ will give Motor Matt something to think about. I'll not be here to see the fun, and I guess young King will get out of the scrape in his customary fashion, but it'll be something by way of remembering Big John. King has made me a lot o' trouble, and has beat me out of a pineapple plantation, and that's all I can do to rough things up for him. You see----" Big John broke off suddenly. Some one else was approaching the boathouse. Matt, McGlory, and Lorry could hear the footsteps plainly. Merton started to get up, but Big John lifted a restraining hand. "If they're the ones we expect," said he, "they've got a key and can let themselves in. If they're not the ones we're looking for, then we don't want them here." A key rattled in the lock just as Big John finished speaking. The next moment the door opened and two men blew in. They were Ross and Kinky! CHAPTER XIV. A DASH FOR THE OPEN. That visit of Matt, McGlory, and Lorry to the boathouse was worth all the danger it had brought, even if it had resulted in nothing more than opening Lorry's eyes to the duplicity of his supposed friend. But other things had developed that were highly interesting, as well as edifying. Matt was astounded to learn that an anonymous letter had made the elder Lorry so bitterly hostile. If Lorry had put so much faith in one unsigned letter, surely he would have equal confidence in the second, and might be expected to cross the lake on the following morning and make his way to the cabin on the creek. It was likewise refreshing to learn that Big John was intending to take his two pals and return to the West. Matt was not forgetting that Ross and Kinky had some three hundred dollars of his money, and before the flight something must be done to recover the funds. But just then a common danger suggested that the boys must get away from the boathouse. There were four enemies against them, and at least three of the enemies were armed. "We've got to get out of here, Joe," whispered Matt. "Why not lay low till _they_ get out?" returned the cowboy. "It won't be possible. That hot lamp chimney is going to do the trick for us. Big John will mention it and ask Ross and Kinky why they left the boathouse and went out into the rain. Ross and Kinky will say they didn't; then there'll be talk and a hunt for intruders. We've got to make a dash for the open--and at once." "You've got it right, Motor Matt," murmured Lorry. "The quicker I can get away from here, the better I'll like it. I've learned a lot," and there was bitterness in Lorry's voice as he finished. "Let's heave over the boat and make a dash for the back door," suggested McGlory. "We're rushin' straight into the dark, and, if we're quick, we can get clear before there's any shooting." "That hits me," said Lorry. "It's now or never, then," assented Matt. "Separate, just outside the boathouse, and then come together again at the launch. We'll go up to that cave you fellows found. You understand the plan, do you?" "Yes," answered Lorry and McGlory. "Then lay hold of the edge of the boat," went on Matt. In their narrow quarters the three boys knelt, waiting for the word to lift the boat's edge from the skids and throw the hulk entirely over. It was not a large boat, and their strength was fully equal to the task they had set for themselves. "_Now!_" hissed Matt. Over went the boat with a crash. Startled yells came from the sitting room, followed by silence broken only by a rush of feet as Matt, Lorry, and McGlory darted toward the rear door. "Stop 'em!" roared Big John. "Guns!" cried Ross; "use your guns!" McGlory halted and whirled. At the side of the boat he had found a small can of white lead, which was probably to do its part in giving the hull a coat of paint. When starting to run the cowboy had taken the can of lead with him. He paused to hurl the can. Straight as a bullet it shot through the air, crashed into the lamp, and plunged the interior of the boathouse in darkness. Another moment and McGlory had hurled himself through the door. Acting upon Matt's suggestion, the three friends separated as soon as they reached the outside air. Ten minutes later they were all together again at the place where the _Sprite_ was moored. There was a lull in the storm, and for a while, at least, the rain had stopped. Matt began ripping off the boat's tarpaulin cover. "Cast off the painter, Joe," he called, as he worked. "You can help me with this, George," he added. "Never mind the skiff--we can't bother with that now." Clearing a working space aft of the hood, Matt leaped into the boat and began getting the motor into action. George finished removing the "tarp," and McGlory scrambled aboard with the end of the painter. From the direction of the boathouse sounds of pursuit could be heard. "Tumble in, George," called Matt. "You can finish that from inside the boat." McGlory gave his cousin a hand and Matt started the propeller. Taking the launch up the river on such a night was hazardous in the extreme. But Matt had the bearings of the stream in his head, and he urged the _Sprite_ boldly onward. From behind them, somewhere, a revolver was fired. The leaden missile caused no damage, and the launch rushed on into the gloom. Lorry, who knew the river well, pushed to Matt's side to be of what help he could. "You never had a better chance to wreck a boat, Motor Matt," said Lorry, "than you've got right now." "I'm hoping for the best," returned Matt. "Instinct, more than anything else, is guiding me. I don't know, but I seem to _feel_ it when we're going wrong." It was the same instinct, perhaps, which carries a horse over the right road when the rider is lost, or that carries a bird miles and miles through the air to the same nest in the same tree of the forest. This was not the first time Matt had profited by that vague intuition. It was almost like a sixth sense. McGlory, time and again, held his breath, fearing that they were about to run upon the rocks; but, just as surely, time and again, the king of the motor boys turned the wheel and deep water remained under them. "It's up to you fellows to tell me where to stop," said Matt. "I'm watching for the place," replied Lorry, "but the shore line looks like a solid blur of shadow. I can't distinguish one point from another." "Figure it out by dead-reckoning," suggested Matt. "You must have some idea, George, how far the cave is from the lake." "Two miles, I should say." "Then, at this speed, we've covered the two miles," and Matt shut off the power and let the boat's momentum carry her toward the bank. The _Sprite_ came to a halt with a slight jar, which proved that she had struck. "That's all right," announced Matt, "and we're close enough to tie up. Never mind if we do get our feet wet; we're in luck to get out of that boathouse as well as we did." "You can gamble the limit on that," answered McGlory, splashing ashore with the painter. "I'm a Digger, too, if this place don't look familiar to me, what little I can see of it." "It's familiar to me, too," exulted Lorry. "Why, fellows, we're within a hundred feet of the cave! Talk about luck, will you? This lays over anything that ever came my way." Matt replaced the tarpaulin, got over the side, and waded to the bank. Lorry and McGlory led him upward for a dozen feet to a place where the bank broke away in a sort of narrow shelf. Something like a hundred feet along this shelf was the opening into the cavern. The entrance was masked with hazels, but the boys crowded in, and soon found themselves in dry quarters. "Speak to me about that boathouse, please!" guffawed the cowboy, stretching himself out on the uneven stone floor. "Were Big John and his pals surprised! I rather guess they were." "Tell us more about that attempt Big John and Merton made to rob you on the Waunakee road," said Lorry. "It seems strange that Merton should have a hand in anything like that, or that he should be mixed up with this gang of scoundrels at all. Merton's folks are immensely wealthy. They're traveling in Europe now, and Merton is in Madison attending the university. Mert is a spender, all right, and all he has to do when he wants money is to ask for it. Why should he help Big John try to get that ten thousand from you, Matt?" "Possibly it wasn't the money end of the deal that attracted Merton," answered Matt. "It may be that all he wanted, Lorry, was to make you as much trouble as he could." Lorry muttered angrily under his breath. "I don't know how I ever let him pull the wool over my eyes," said he, "but it's a fact that I considered Ollie Merton my best friend. It was by his advice that I took that money and went to 'Frisco." "That, alone," remarked Matt earnestly, "proves that Merton was not a friend." "I'm beginning to see it in that light myself," admitted Lorry. "It's hard to have to say so, but it's the truth." "Hard!" scoffed McGlory. "Why, pard, the way you're showin' up is sure hard to beat. But don't hang fire with that yarn of yours, Matt. You've got ours, and all George and I need is a statement of facts from you in order to get the whole business straight in our own minds. Heave ahead now, and be quick about it. I'm about ready to doze off." Matt began with his start for Waunakee, related the attempted robbery, and the manner in which he and Ethel Lorry had backed the runabout along the Waunakee road and into Madison. The part Matt dreaded to tell had to do with his interview with Lorry's father; but Lorry had shown such a surprising change in his whole manner of thought and action that Matt detailed the conversation between himself and Mr. Lorry exactly as it had occurred. A few days before, such a report would have sent George into a furious tirade against his father, but he now listened quietly and without comment. Matt, highly pleased, proceeded to tell how he had taken the launch from the express office, had engaged Pickerel Pete, and had run the _Sprite_ into Fourth Lake and up the Catfish; then followed his visit to the cabin, his failure to find McGlory and Lorry, his return to the launch, his capture by a ruse on the part of Ross, and, finally, the murderous attempt which Ross had made and which had come so near being successful. "That Ross must be bug-house!" growled McGlory angrily. "He had been drinking," said Matt. "A man will do things when he's partly intoxicated that he wouldn't think of doing when sober." "You're out three hundred dollars, Matt," spoke up Lorry, "and I don't think that money will ever come back to you. When we made that dash from the boathouse, Big John and his pals knew we had been there long enough to learn a whole lot about their plans. Ross and Kinky have discovered that you were saved from the burning boat, even if they didn't know it before, and all three of the rascals will not lose a minute getting away from this part of the country. I doubt if it would do any good for us to go to Madison and report to the police. Big John and his pals are done with Madison, and with you. They'll make tracks for where they came from, and they'll do it at once." "That sounds like pretty good reasoning to me," observed Matt, "but I guess that what we've accomplished is worth all it cost us. What are your plans, Lorry?" "I'm going home in the morning," declared Lorry. "If I'm to go to a military school--well, there are worse places." "Listen to George!" cried McGlory. "Oh, tell me about George! Ain't he a surprise party, though?" "Now," said Matt jubilantly, "I'm _sure_ that what we've accomplished is worth the price. Good night, pards. I've found a soft stone, and I've got material for pleasant dreams, so I'm going to sleep. In the morning, we're for across the lake--and Aristocracy Hill!" CHAPTER XV. THE POWER BOAT--MINUS THE POWER. The boys were astir early, it being their intention to reach Madison and the Lorry home before Mr. Lorry could get away to cross the lake--providing that proved to be his intention. The boys had a frugal breakfast off the cold food McGlory and Lorry had brought from the cabin, and immediately after they emerged from the cave upon the narrow shelf that ran in front of it. The rain seemed to be over, and the leaden clouds were being scattered by a fierce wind from the west. "This is a bad morning to be on Fourth Lake," said George, casting an anxious eye upward. "I had hoped the wind would blow itself out, but it appears to be as strong as ever." "Why not leave the _Sprite_ here," suggested McGlory, "and hike for Madison along the wagon road?" "It would take us too long," protested Matt. "I think a boat that can stand the seas in 'Frisco Bay ought to be able to negotiate this fresh-water lake. The _Sprite's_ reliable, I can say that for her; and, so long as we have power, I guess we needn't fear the wind." "We'd better have a look at the boat by daylight," said McGlory. "For all we know, pards, the end may have been burned off her." But an examination showed that the _Sprite_ had suffered little damage from the fire. The luggage was thrown aboard and the boys climbed to their places. One turn of the flywheel and the cylinders took the spark; then, on the reverse, the boat was pulled from the shoal into deep water, Matt changed to the forward drive, and they were off in a wide circle that pointed them for Lake Mendota. "I don't care a whoop what happens now," gloried the cowboy, "we've got George out of the woods, and that's the main thing." "Call it that if you want to, Joe," said Lorry, "but there's music for me to face, over on Fourth Lake Ridge." "And you're goin' to face it like a little man, Georgie; and if Uncle Dan don't back down on that military-school proposition he'll get a cold blast from Joe McGlory. And that, pards," the cowboy added, "is a shot that goes as it lays." "I'll take my medicine and not make much of a face, no matter how bitter the dose is," went on George; "but there's one thing that's bound to happen." "Meanin' which, George?" inquired McGlory. "Why, my father is going to be set right on the subject of Motor Matt." "Don't let me cause any friction between you, George," urged Matt. "The breach between you and your father is in a fair way of being healed." "So far as I am concerned," said Lorry, a flush tinging his cheeks, "I'm willing to admit that I acted like a fool. I'll go on record with that, face to face with the governor; I'll even go further and say that it was weakness that made me hang back from Madison, stop in that cabin, and send Motor Matt on to make a dicker and save my pride. But the governor has got to understand that Motor Matt's my friend, and that, but for him and you, Joe, I'd not be here now. Right is right, and Motor Matt is going to have justice, if nothing more." "I'm glad as blazes, George," caroled McGlory, "to hear you tune up in that fashion. The more I listen to you, since last night, the better I feel." "I was quite a while getting to sleep in that cave," pursued Lorry. "I lay there, on the hard rocks, and reviewed everything I've done since leaving Madison. It seems as though a fog had been cleared out of my brain, and that I was able to stand off and get a clean-cut, impersonal look at myself. The sight wasn't pleasing. I know why Motor Matt suggested that stop at Waunakee, and a probation in the cabin on the creek. He read me better than I could read myself. He knew that I had pride which would not suffer humiliation and disgrace, and that if I was not pampered and humored a little I would probably go off on another rebellious splurge--and wind up my future prospects. By staying at that cabin, I brought all these dangers upon Matt; and yet, if he had not suggested some such move as the halt at Waunakee, I should very likely have bolted from the train between 'Frisco and here. Oh, what an unreasoning idiot I have been!" Lorry dropped down on a seat and bowed his head in his hands. "Speak to me about this, Matt!" whispered McGlory, placing himself alongside the king of the motor boys. "Who'd ever have dreamed my haughty, high-and-mighty cousin would ever have come to the scratch in such a way? Sufferin' tyrants! I wonder if Uncle Dan is going to do the right thing by George, or make as big a fool of himself as George did?" "I think Mr. Lorry, after he sees and talks with George, will do the right thing," returned Matt. Just here the _Sprite_ shot out of the river into the rolling waters of Fourth Lake. The west wind, marshaling its strength on the broad sweep of the prairies, caught up the waves and flung them headlong toward Maple Bluff. The launch leaped and staggered, shoved her bow into the highest waves, and then shivered and flung off the spray in a double cataract on each side. It was a nerve-tingling ride, and McGlory suddenly made up his mind that his stomach would feel better if he sat down. George, his face flushed with excitement, looked around him and gave a jubilant shout. "Great!" he cried. "I wish I felt like that," groaned McGlory. "For Heaven's sake, Matt, see how quick you can get us to the other side." "We can tie up at the yacht club on the west shore," said Lorry. "All right," answered Matt. "Look at that boat over there, George," he added, nodding his head in the direction of Governor's Island. "She's the only other boat on the lake, so far as I can see, and she's acting as though something is wrong with her." Lorry stood up, braced himself, and peered ahead. "She's a bigger boat than ours," he remarked, "and looked to me like the _Stella_. The _Stella_ is a thirty-footer, and belongs to Barkley Cameron, a neighbor of ours up on the Hill. By Jupiter," he added, a few moments later, "it is the _Stella_, and she's in trouble, as sure as you're a foot high." "The wind is driving her toward the Bluff," said Matt excitedly. "Her engine's dead--she hasn't any power to fight the wind and waves." "And there are four men aboard her," went on Lorry. "Great Scott! If they ever go on those rocks at the point, the boat will be smashed to kindling and every one aboard of her drowned. Let's stand by the _Stella_, Matt, and try and do something for her." "I'm rushing the _Sprite_ in the _Stella's_ direction," answered Matt, "and have been for some time. But we may not be able to do anything. She's half a mile nearer the rocks than we are, and she may go onto them before we can overhaul her." Far off, just beyond the drifting and helpless launch, Matt and Lorry could see the white waves flinging themselves against the jutting crags of McBride's Point. The _Sprite_ was coming up with the _Stella_ hand over fist, but the _Stella's_ drift was carrying her toward the cliffs with tremendous speed. "I can see the people on board," cried George, "and two of them are tinkering with the engine. If they can get the motor in shape they're all right, but if they can't----" George broke off abruptly, and stood clinging to Matt and staring at the other boat with frenzied eyes. Two of the _Stella's_ passengers, as Matt could see, were looking toward the _Sprite_ and waving their hands frantically. "Matt," called George huskily, "one of those men is my father!" "Great guns!" gasped Matt. "He started across the lake in the _Stella_. We didn't leave the Catfish quick enough. But keep your nerve, George. We're going to save them if we have to run into the breakers and pull the _Stella_ off the cliff!" CHAPTER XVI. A RECONCILIATION. McGlory aroused himself for a moment, and learned what the excitement was all about. Straightway he forgot his physical ills and became absorbed in the wonderful race Motor Matt was running with death. By every trick in his power the king of the motor boys was doing his utmost to urge the _Sprite_ onward. The boat's speed became a terrific dash, a headlong hustle, with wind and wave helping the propeller. "We'll never make it!" groaned George. "Buck up, George!" cried McGlory. "Motor Matt has done harder things than this." "But the _Stella_ will be on the rocks before we can get to her! And there's the governor, likely to meet his fate right under my eyes! Oh, what a scoundrel I have been! Seeing the governor like this, perhaps for the last time, makes me realize what I have done. He was crossing the lake to find me, Joe." George's voice died to a whisper and ended in a dry sob. "Pull yourself together, I tell you!" roared McGlory. "Now's the time to show yourself a _man_!" "Yell to them to stand ready to throw a rope," said Matt, between his teeth. "We can't get alongside of them before they hit the rocks, but we can come near enough so we can catch a rope if there's a strong enough arm to pass it." Lorry cast aside his overpowering doubts and fears and flung himself into the fight with demoniacal energy. "Stand ready with a rope!" he yelled, trumpeting through his hands and doing his best to make his voice heard above the roar and crash of the waves. Again and again he repeated it, and McGlory joined in, timing his voice with his cousin's. One of the men who had been working at the engine suddenly left his thankless labor and placed himself well forward on the _Stella_ at the point nearest to the approaching _Sprite_. "Make ready to grab the rope, both of you!" shouted Matt. "If you're lucky enough to grab it, take a half-hitch around the stern stanchion, and lay back on the end of the rope with every ounce of power in your bodies! There, stand by! They're going to throw!" Matt shifted the wheel and, for a minute, placed the _Sprite_ broadside on to wind and waves. This gave the man with the rope a better mark. Out shot the coil of hemp, but the resistance of the wind caused it to fall pitifully short. A cry of despair went up from Lorry. "Once more!" yelled McGlory, as Matt pointed the _Sprite_ straight for the _Stella_ and flung her onward. The man rapidly coiled the rope in his hands. Another man stepped forward and took the rope to make the next cast himself. He was a more powerfully built man than the one who had attempted the first cast. "This will tell the story," cried George. "If this throw fails the _Stella_ will be smashed to pieces on the bluff." Matt and McGlory knew that fully as well as Lorry; and those on the _Stella_ must have realized it. The man with the rope was cool and deliberate. It was plain he was not going to waste any valuable chances by undue haste; then, as he was whirling the rope to let it fly, Matt again turned the _Sprite_ broadside on. For an instant it looked as though the rope was again to fall short; but Lorry, stretching far out from the side of the _Sprite_, snatched the end of the rope out of the air with convulsive fingers, and fell with it to the bottom of the boat. A faint cheer went up from those on the _Stella_. But the battle was not yet won. McGlory went to the assistance of Lorry, and the slack of the cable was jerked out of the water. This gave sufficient rope for a half-hitch around the stanchion and a firm hand hold. The cowboy and his cousin lay back on the line, bracing their feet against the thwarts and clinging with all their strength. Motor Matt, meanwhile, had been busy with his part of the work. The instant the rope was made fast, he had shifted the bow of the _Sprite_, switching off the power for a moment in order to lessen the shock when the launch should begin to feel the pull. Yet even with this precaution the shock was tremendous. But nothing gave way, and slowly but surely the _Sprite_ took up her burden. For a few moments the two boats seemed to stand stationary, the power of the _Sprite_ just counterbalancing the push of wind and wave against both boats; then, a little later, the _Sprite_ began to move, gathering headway by slow degrees. Anything like speed was out of the question, but the _Sprite_, without missing a shot, plowed her way like a tugboat through the churning waters, and brought herself and her tow safely along the yacht club's pier. Matt and McGlory, busy making the _Sprite_ fast, caught a glimpse of George rushing across the pier to meet his father. "George!" shouted the elder man. "Dad!" cried George. And they came together, gripping each other's hands. With arms locked they walked the length of the pier and vanished inside the yacht club's headquarters. "Reconciliation?" queried McGlory. "If it isn't, I don't know the brand. Oh, I reckon Uncle Dan will do the right thing by George. That cold blast of mine will have to be permanently retired. Matt, give us your paw! This is a grand day for the Lorry tribe!" "No doubt about that, Joe," answered Matt, with feeling, as he and McGlory shook hands. Half an hour later Matt went into the yacht club to telephone police headquarters about his stolen money. He had only a very faint hope of ever seeing the money again, but he felt it his duty to do everything possible to recover it. Over the 'phone he gave a description of Big John, Ross, and Kinky. The man at the other end of the line had just promised to do what he could when Matt was caught by a strong hand and turned around. He was once more face to face with Lorry, Sr. But there was a difference in the Lorry of Matt's first and second meeting. "By gad!" cried Lorry, "I want to shake hands with a hero. Nobly done, young man! But for you we'd have gone to smash against Maple Bluff, every last one of us on the _Stella_. We had our little differences when we met, that other time, Motor Matt, but I didn't understand the matter then. George here has been telling me how much he owes to you, how much I owe to you, how much I owe to him, and we all owe to McGlory, and everybody owes to everybody else. Gad! my head is fair splitting with it all. Never mind that three hundred that was taken away from you; I guess"--and the rich man laughed--"that my bank account is good for three hundred. I'll see that _you_ don't lose anything. We'll have more talk about this later." Lorry, Sr., turned to where McGlory was standing, at Matt's side, his black eyes gleaming humorously. "Ah, Joe, you rascal," went on Lorry, placing two hands on the cowboy's shoulders, "you've done something to make us all proud of you--and I guess you'll find it out before you're many days older." "What are you going to do for George, uncle?" queried McGlory. "You watch! Keep your eyes skinned and you'll see me do something for you as well as for George." Lorry, Sr., pushed himself between Matt and McGlory and caught each of them by an arm. "Come on, my lads!" said he, "you're both going up to the house with George and me. This is a happy day, and the Lorrys are going to celebrate. Naturally, the celebration won't be complete without Motor Matt and Joe. Never mind your boat--I've asked the people here to look after it. Gus is outside with the big car, and all we've got to do is to get in and strike out for home. _Home!_ How does that sound to you, my son?" "It has a truer ring, dad," answered George, "than it ever had before." "Maybe it's a different home, George," answered Mr. Lorry. "Anyhow, we'll try to make it so." THE END. THE NEXT NUMBER (23) WILL CONTAIN MOTOR MATT'S PRIZE; OR, THE PLUCK THAT WINS. A Clash in Black and Yellow--Pickerel Pete's Revenge--A "Dark Horse"--Plans--An Order to Quit--Facing the Music--Gathering Clouds--The Plotters--Firebugs at Work--Saving the "Sprite"--Out of a Blazing Furnace--What About the Race?--Mart Rawlins Weakens--The Race--The Start--The Finish--Conclusion. MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION NEW YORK, July 24, 1909. TERMS TO MOTOR STORIES MAIL SUBSCRIBERS. (_Postage Free._) Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each. 3 months 65c. 4 months 85c. 6 months $1.25 One year 2.50 2 copies one year 4.00 1 copy two years 4.00 =How to Send Money=--By post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =Receipts=--Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. If not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ORMOND G. SMITH, } GEORGE C. SMITH, } _Proprietors_. STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. THE GUARDIAN OF THE PASS. It was the sudden change in the color of the water that made Nick Salveson realize something was wrong. All day thunder had been muttering far up in the mountains, but down in the river valley the autumn sun had been shining warm; and, busy with his fishing, Nick had paid no attention to the heavy clouds which hung over the jagged peaks upstream. Suddenly the water lost its crystal clearness, and turned to a yellow, muddy hue, and the canoe began to strain at her anchor rope. "Reckon it's about time to quit," muttered the young fellow; and, hastily reeling in his line, he laid the rod down and set to work to pull up the anchor. It was badly jammed between two rocks at the bottom. By the time he had cleared it the river had risen at least two feet, and was roaring down in a sheet of muddy foam. "Guess there's been a cloud burst up in the hills," said Nick to himself as he turned the bow of the canoe upstream. He was not uneasy. He had spent the whole summer in Alaska, and could handle a canoe as well as most boys of his age. He had been anchored close in under the far bank. To reach his camp he had to cross the whole width of the river, and return nearly a mile upstream. But he had not taken six strokes before he realized that two strong men could not have paddled the canoe back against the flood that was now coming down. The only thing to do was to get across, land anywhere he could, pull the canoe up, and walk back. "Great ghost! but it's strong," he muttered, as, in spite of his efforts, the bow of the canoe was swung sideways by the weight of the water. He leaned forward, drove the paddle deep in the yellow flood, and, with all his weight in the stroke, attempted to force her round. Crack! The paddle, worn thin with weeks of hard wear, snapped like a pipestem. Nick was left with a mere foot or so of useless stump. The blade was gone. Instantly the rising flood seized the canoe and sent her flying madly downstream. Like a feather she danced and spun among the whirling yellow eddies. Recovering from the sudden shock of the accident, Nick made a desperate effort to steer inshore by using the stump of the paddle. It was useless. The flood, rising every minute, mocked his best efforts. At last, streaming with perspiration, and with his heart beating like a hammer, he gave it up, and sat grimly quiet and silent. There was something of the stoicism of the Indian in this son of a San Francisco millionaire. He had done his best. Now the only thing was to wait and see what the river would do with him. Mile after mile the relentless current bore him flying westward. Soon he was past all his landmarks, and speeding through country completely unknown to him. Once or twice the river contracted dangerously between walls of rock, and the canoe pitched and plunged among foam-tipped waves. But for the most part the banks were hillsides covered with primeval forest of fir and hemlock. There was nowhere any sign of man. "It'll take me all my time to get back even if I do manage to hit the bank somewhere," said Nick to himself grimly, as he noted the tangled thickness of the woods on either hand. He was in a tight place; he knew that. What he hoped was that some freak of the current would drive the canoe near enough to the bank to catch hold of a branch and so pull himself ashore. But this did not happen, and, after his mad flight had lasted for a full hour, Nick became desperately anxious. In the distance, he could see that the valley narrowed greatly, and he more than suspected that he was approaching dangerous rapids. He swung round a curve. Yes, he was right. Barely half a mile away the whole river plunged into a gorge so narrow it looked like a mere crack in the cliff. The shriek of the tortured waters rang high above the roar of the flood which bore the canoe onward to its doom. Nick was no fool. He knew that in all human possibility his fate was sealed. No craft that man ever built could hope to pass in safety down the raging flood that boiled through that rift in the mountain. "Rotten luck!" he muttered. "Well, there's one comfort--there's no one to miss me except old Rube, and I don't remember I ever did any one a dirty trick in my life." Every instant the scream of the rapids grew louder. Nick could see the mouth of the rift and the yellow waves heaping themselves high against the black precipices on either hand. On flashed the canoe. Every moment her speed increased. She was a bare one hundred yards from the top of the rapids, when a yell from the right-hand bank rose high above the thunder of the flood, and Nick, turning his head, saw a small, slight figure dashing down through the trees. Just above the gate of the rapids half a dozen great bowlders showed their black heads above the yellow foam. Without a moment's hesitation the stranger leaped from the bank to the nearest, and so from rock to rock, till he stood far out near the centre of the raging river. Nick watched him with straining eyes. Was there still a bare chance? No! At that moment an eddy swept the canoe away to the left. With a groan Nick realized that she would pass far out of reach of his would-be rescuer. The canoe shot like an arrow toward the lip of the fall. Nick waved the broken stump of his paddle in farewell to the figure on the rocks. The latter's right arm whirled up, and, with a sharp hiss, a coil of rope flashed out and dropped clean and true across the canoe. Nick snatched at it with the energy of despair. As it tightened, the canoe was drawn away from under him, and he, dragged over the stern, was struggling in the rushing water. A minute of gasping, stifling battle among the tumbling, roaring waves. The strain on the rope was so tremendous that it seemed to Nick that either it must break or the man who held it must be pulled off his slippery perch. But neither happened, and inch by inch the boy was drawn in, until a hand grasped him and pulled him, gasping and exhausted, onto the solid summit of the bowlder. "Can you jump?" He heard an anxious voice. "The water's still rising. It'll be over the rock soon." "You bet I can," replied Nick, struggling to his feet and shaking himself like a dog. "Come on, then!" cried the other. And, sure-footed as a goat, he sprang across six feet of raging torrent to the next rock. Nick set his teeth and followed, and in another minute was safe ashore beside his rescuer. "Mean to say you live here all alone!" exclaimed Nick Salveson in blank amazement, as he looked round the bare little log hut a little later. "Yes, for the last four months, ever since my father left." "Did he go down to the coast?" "I wish he had. No, he went inland, over the Big Snowies!" "Great Scott! What for?" asked Nick bluntly. "Gold," replied the other. "I'll tell you about it. My name's Glenn--Roger Glenn. We came here a year ago prospecting. We heard there was gold down here, but we didn't do much, and an Indian who was snowbound here last winter told my father that there was rich placer ground the other side of the mountains." "But no one's ever been across there," objected Nick. "There's no pass." "The Indian told us there was. He made a map. Here's a copy of it." "So your dad tried it?" said Nick, staring curiously at the rough map. "He went the first of June last, and I've not seen or heard of him since. He said he'd be back in six or eight weeks." "Gee, but that's bad," replied Nick sympathetically. "What do you reckon you are to do?" "What can I do?" cried young Glenn bitterly. "I'm mad to go after him, but I haven't a red cent to grubstake myself or buy a pony or dogs or a sledge." Nick stared in silence at the other for some seconds. Then he said slowly: "Say, Mr. Glenn, that flood may have done us both a good turn. What d'ye say to taking me along in your trip over the Snowies?" Roger stared violently. "B-but----" he began. "No 'buts' about it. I'm running this outfit. Look here, Roger--I guess you don't mind my calling you by your first name--I'm pretty well fixed. My people are dead; they were killed in the earthquake in San Francisco. I'm my own boss, though I am only eighteen, and I came up to Alaska this summer to get a holiday before I go to the university next Christmas. There isn't a thing I'd like better than a trip over the Snowies, and if we're smart we'll do it and be back before winter hits us. Are you agreeable?" "I don't know how to thank you," said Roger brokenly. "Then don't worry to try, old man," replied Nick comfortably. "Just fix up a mouthful of grub, and give me a bunk. We ought to start before sun-up to-morrow morning." * * * * * "Seems to me, Rube, you were a bit out in your reckoning," said Nick as early one morning, ten days later, he looked out of the tent and found the landscape white with snow. Rube shook his grizzled head. "'Tain't that altogether, boss. I reckon we're a matter of four thousand feet higher than your summer camp. Winter comes here a sight sooner than down in them river valleys. Howsomever, it ain't deep, and it'll melt when the sun gets good an' strong." All that day the little party of three struggled up a narrow valley that wound ever upward into the heart of a maze of great snow peaks. Over and over again tall cliffs loomed up in front, and it seemed as if they could go no further. But always there appeared some fresh opening, and bit by bit they won their way upward toward the summit of the range. "I reckoned as I knew this here country's well as any," said Rube, staring thoughtfully up at a tremendous pyramid peak, the snow on which was gold and crimson in the light of the setting sun. "But this beats me. 'Tain't on any map as ever I seed." "The Indian said no white man had ever crossed it," said Roger. "Hed he bin across hisself?" inquired Rube. "No. He told dad that none of his tribe had ever been across. And when dad asked him why, he only shook his head, and said something about its being the country of two-tailed devils." "How did he know of this here pass then?" demanded Rube. "The map was given him by his father. It had come down goodness knows how many generations. He tried awfully hard to persuade dad not to go." "They've got a mighty queer lot of legends about these mountains," put in Nick. "You couldn't pay any Injun I ever saw to put foot on 'em." They camped that night in bitter cold and deep snow on the very summit of the pass. Rube took Nick aside. "Say, boss, do you reckon we're ever going to find Roger's dad?" Nick shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Roger says that before he left his father told him he'd blaze a trail, so as if anything went wrong his son could come along after. Roger found his father's mark on a tree near the eastern end of the pass." "Seems to me the chances are ez something hez happened to old Glenn," said Rube thoughtfully. "Chewed by a b'ar, I reckon. Or maybe had a fall. It's a fool job fer any man to come into country like this by hisself." "I guess I'm going as far as Roger wants," said Nick, "Seeing what he's done for me, it's about the least I can do for him." "You're right, boss," said Rube. "He's a real white, that boy is!" "If we don't find his father, I'm going to take him back to the States," said Nick. "But that's a bit o' news you can keep to yourself for the present." Next morning the sun shone brilliantly on the snow, and, looking down, the party saw, thousands of feet below them, an unknown country covered with a forest heavier than any of them had ever seen before. "Mighty curious-looking country this," observed Rube doubtfully, as they slipped and slithered down the steep snow-covered rocks. "I don't reckon I ever seed woods as thick as them before." "What's that queer-looking little plain halfway down?" asked Nick. "Looks like a clearing of some kind." A smile crossed Rube's leathery face. "Thet's a pond, boss. It's fruz over, an' the snow's laying thick on it." Further down they came to a place where the only possible track lay along the bottom of a three-hundred-foot slope, steeper than the roof of a house and thick in snow, which glared blinding white in the morning sun. The opposite slope was covered with the amazingly thick forest which they had seen from above. "Go keerful," said Rube. "'Twouldn't take a great deal to start a snowslide down them rocks." "Seems as if something had been falling already," said Roger suddenly. "Look at these pits in the snow." He pointed to a hole in the snow. It was circular and about two feet deep. "Now that's strange," exclaimed Nick. "There's a whole row of 'em." Rube looked at the queer marks, grunted, and shook his head. He hadn't a notion what they were, but did not like to betray his ignorance to the boys. "Reckon best not talk," he growled. "Don't take much to start snow a-sliding." For the next half mile no one spoke. Twice more Roger noticed a series of the same queer marks in the snow. Also in two places there seemed to be regular roads beaten back into the thick underbrush of the snowclad forest on their right. He did not pay much attention. His eyes were fixed on the tree trunks. Suddenly he gave a shout. "Dad's mark!" he cried, pointing to a blaze on a big trunk by the path. The words were hardly out of his mouth before there came a deep crashing sound from somewhere behind. "Yew've done it now!" cried Rube. "That's the snow!" "Not a bit of it," retorted Nick. "It's coming from the wood." "Blamed if you ain't right!" exclaimed Rube. "Thet beats all. I never heerd a snowslide come down through a wood afore." "It's not snow; it's something alive!" shouted Roger. "For heaven's sake, look there!" Rooted to the ground with sheer amazement, the three saw the forest wave as if it were grass, heard the crashing of great boughs and trunks breaking like nettles under a boy's stick. There came a scream like the escape of steam from an express engine, and then there burst out from the forest a beast so huge and hideous that those who saw it stood gasping, unable to believe their eyes. As large as a four-roomed cottage, in shape it resembled an elephant. It was covered all over with a thatch of coarse, reddish hair, and high above its monstrous head it waved a trunk of incredible size. On each side of this trunk curled vast tusks, and its small, bloodshot eyes glowed with bestial fury. Again came that awful trumpeting. Instantly both the pack ponies were off at a mad gallop. "Run!" shrieked Rube. The warning was needless. Nick and Roger were off as hard as their shaking legs could carry them, and behind them came the monster at a shambling gallop, which, in spite of the snow, covered the ground at terrific speed. Again he trumpeted, and one of the pack ponies, mad with fright, tried to wheel sideways into the wood. The poor brute slipped and fell, rolling over and over. Before it could regain its feet the monster was upon it, and, lifting pony, pack, and all, bodily in its trunk, flung it against the cliffside with such frightful force as must have broken every bone in its body. The momentary delay gave the others a few yards' start; but almost instantly the gigantic brute was on their track again, and the solid ground shook beneath its ponderous weight as it thundered down the slope. It could not last. The monster was gaining at every stride. Already Roger felt his breath failing. There was no cover; in fact, the pass was opening out wider and wider as they went. "Try the trees!" shrieked Nick to Roger. "No," came a gasp from Rube. "The lake! That's our only chance!" They were close by the side of the little frozen lake, and the boys saw Rube wheel and dash down the steep bank. It seemed madness, for on the open ice they were at the mad brute's mercy. Roger was for going straight on, but Nick seized his arm and swung him to the left and onto the lake. Another of those ear-piercing squeals. Roger, glancing back over his shoulder, saw the gigantic bulk of their enemy come plunging down the sharp descent toward the ice. It rushed straight toward him as though certain of its prey. Then came a rending crack, and the whole surface of the ice rose and fell beneath the feet of the fugitives. A crash like the explosion of a shell, a terrific bellow, and a wave of icy water rushed across the frozen snow. "That's done it!" came an exulting yell from Rube; and, swinging round, the boys were just in time to see the domelike head of their terrible enemy sink amid a lather of broken ice and foam. For another second or two that terrible trunk waved high in the air, as the huge beast fought for its ancient life in the hole its ponderous bulk had broken. Then this, too, vanished. The last of the mammoths had sunk into the depths. While the three stood in awe-stricken silence, watching the black water heave and bubble, there came a loud shout from the woods at the far end of the lake. A burly man in furs stood waving a rifle. With a shriek of joy Roger tore away across the ice toward him. "Reckon that's his pa," observed Rube. "Guess so," agreed Nick. "We might as well go and see." "Dad!" cried Roger, as Rube and Nick came up. "If it hadn't been for these good friends I could never have come to look for you." "Then," said the man in furs with a grave smile, "I'm afraid I should have been hung up here for the term of my natural life." "What--did that old hairy elephant chase yer?" exclaimed Rube. "He did, and I got away by the skin of my teeth by climbing a cliff," replied Mr. Glenn. "I've been living up in the hills ever since. Time and again I've tried to find another way out, but there isn't one, and for the life of me I didn't dare risk conclusions a second time with the mammoth." "I reckon he won't trouble us no more," said Rube dryly. "Say, though, I'd like to have had them tusks. They'd be worth a mint o' money in the States." "They'd be awkward to carry," smiled Mr. Glenn. "They'd weigh about a quarter of a ton apiece. What do you suppose they'd be worth?" "A thousand dollars, I reckon," said Rube. Such a sum represented wealth untold to the old trapper. Mr. Glenn put a hand in his coat pocket, and pulled out a lump of dull yellow metal as big as his fist. "This isn't worth quite that much," he said quietly, as he handed it to Rube. "But I'd be glad if you'd take it as a sort of consolation prize." "Great gosh! It's a twenty-ounce nugget!" gasped Rube. "Yes, and plenty more where that came from," said the prospector. He turned to his son. "Roger, I've made the strike of a lifetime. Now to get back to Dawson before the snow comes." WATCH THE SKY. The different colors of the sky are caused by certain rays of light being more or less strongly reflected or absorbed, according to the amount of moisture contained in the atmosphere. Such colors do, therefore, portend to some extent the kind of weather that may naturally be expected to follow. For instance, a red sunset indicates a fine day to follow, because the air when dry refracts more red or heat-making rays, and as dry air is not perfectly transparent, they are again reflected in the horizon. A coppery or yellowish sunset generally foretells rain. The following has been advocated as a fairly successful way of prognosticating: Fix your eye on the smallest cloud you can see: if it decreases and disappears, the weather will be good; if it increases in size, rain may be looked for. LATEST ISSUES BRAVE AND BOLD WEEKLY All kinds of stories that boys like. The biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =High art colored covers. Thirty-two big pages. Price, 5 cents.= 331--Two Chums Afloat; or, The Cruise of the "Arrow." By Cornelius Shea. 332--In the Path of Duty; or, The Fortunes of Officer Dan Deering. By Harrie Irving Hancock. 333--A Bid for Fortune; or, True as Steel. By Fred Thorpe. 334--A Battle with Fate; or, The Baseball Mascot. By Weldon J. Cobb. 335--Three Brave Boys; or, Adventures in the Balloon World. By Frank Sheridan. 336--Archie Atwood, Champion; or, An All-around Athlete's Career. By Cornelius Shea. 337--Dick Stanhope Afloat; or, The Eventful Cruise of the _Elsinore_. By Harrie Irving Hancock. 338--Working His Way Upward; or, From Footlights to Riches. By Fred Thorpe. 339--The Fourteenth Boy; or, How Vin Lovell Won Out. By Weldon J. Cobb. 340--Among the Nomads; or, Life in the Open. By the author of "Through Air to Fame." 341--Bob, the Acrobat; or, Hustle and Win Out. By Harrie Irving Hancock. 342--Through the Earth; or, Jack Nelson's Invention. By Fred Thorpe. 343--The Boy Chief; or, Comrades of Camp and Trail. By John De Morgan. MOTOR STORIES The latest and best five-cent weekly. We won't say how interesting it is. See for yourself. =High art colored covers. Thirty-two big pages. Price, 5 cents.= 6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On The High Gear. 7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto. 8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward. 9--Motor Matt's Air-Ship; or, The Rival Inventors. 10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot. 11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady. 12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Castaway in the Bahamas. 13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest. 14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the _Hawk_. 15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the _Grampus_. 16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters. 17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos. 18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon. 19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn. 20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys. TIP TOP WEEKLY The most popular publication for boys. The adventures of Frank and Dick Merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =High art colored covers. Thirty-two pages. Price, 5 cents.= 681--Frank Merriwell's Patience; or, The Making of a Pitcher. 682--Frank Merriwell's Pupil; or, The Boy with the Wizard Wing. 683--Frank Merriwell's Fighters; or, The Decisive Battle with Blackstone. 684--Dick Merriwell at the "Meet"; or, Honors Worth Winning. 685--Dick Merriwell's Protest; or, The Man Who Would Not Play Clean. 686--Dick Merriwell In The Marathon; or, The Sensation of the Great Run. 687--Dick Merriwell's Colors; or, All For the Blue. 688--Dick Merriwell, Driver; or, The Race for the Daremore Cup. 689--Dick Merriwell on the Deep; or, The Cruise of the _Yale_. 690--Dick Merriwell in the North Woods; or, The Timber Thieves of the Floodwood. 691--Dick Merriwell's Dandies; or, A Surprise for the Cowboy Nine. 692--Dick Merriwell's "Skyscooter"; or, Professor Pagan and the "Princess." 693--Dick Merriwell in the Elk Mountains; or, The Search for "Dead Injun" Mine. _For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York =IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS= of our Weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. Fill out the following Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the Weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY.= ________________________ _190_ _STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City._ _Dear Sirs: Enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: TIP TOP WEEKLY, Nos. ________________________________ NICK CARTER WEEKLY, " ________________________________ DIAMOND DICK WEEKLY, " ________________________________ BUFFALO BILL STORIES, " ________________________________ BRAVE AND BOLD WEEKLY, " ________________________________ MOTOR STORIES, " ________________________________ _Name_ ________________ _Street_ ________________ _City_ ________________ _State_ ________________ A GREAT SUCCESS!! MOTOR STORIES Every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of Motor Matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. Surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the Tip Top Weekly. Matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _HERE ARE THE TITLES NOW READY AND THOSE TO BE PUBLISHED_: 1--Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel. 2--Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends. 3--Motor Matt's Century Run; or, The Governor's Courier. 4--Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the "Comet." 5--Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot. 6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On the High Gear. 7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto. 8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward. 9--Motor Matt's Air Ship; or, The Rival Inventors. 10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot. 11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady. 12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Cast Away in the Bahamas. 13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest. 14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the "Hawk." 15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the "Grampus." 16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters. 17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos. 18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon. 19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn. 20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys. To be Published on July 12th. 21--Motor Matt's Launch; or, A Friend in Need. To be Published on July 19th. 22--Motor Matt's Enemies; or, A Struggle for the Right. To be Published on July 26th. 23--Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins. To be Published on August 2nd. 24--Motor Matt on the Wing; or, Flying for Fame and Fortune. PRICE, FIVE CENTS At all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_, NEW YORK Transcriber's Notes: Added table of contents. Bold text is represented with =equal signs=, italics with _underscores_. Page 1, Added comma after "Joe McGlory" in list of "Characters that appear in this story." Page 10, restored missing period to last sentence of chapter VI. Page 29, corrected "Rufe" to "Rube" ("miss me except old Rube"). 
49030	----	The Motor Boat Club at the Golden Gate OR A Thrilling Capture in the Great Fog By H. IRVING HANCOCK Author of The Motor Boat Club of the Kennebec, The Motor Boat Club at Nantucket, The Motor Boat Club off Long Island, The Motor Boat Club and the Wireless, The Motor Boat Club in Florida, etc., etc. Illustrated PHILADELPHIA HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY HOWARD E. ALTEMUS [Illustration: "I Trust You, But I'll Hold Onto the Pitcher." _Frontispiece._] CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. TOM HALSTEAD, KNIGHT OF THE OVERLAND MAIL, 7 II. HAZING, M. B. C. K. STYLE, 22 III. CAPTAIN TOM'S NEW COMMAND, 34 IV. HALSTEAD IS LET INTO A SECRET, 52 V. A HUNT IN THE UNDER-WORLD, 59 VI. FACING THE YELLOW BARRIER, 68 VII. DICK TAKES THE RESCUE BOAT TRICK, 81 VIII. THE REAL KENNEBEC WAY, 94 IX. THE CHASE OF THEIR LIVES, 100 X. COMING TO CLOSE, DANGEROUS QUARTERS, 111 XI. GASTON GIDDINGS MAKES TROUBLE, 122 XII. TOO-WHOO-OO! IS THE WORD, 129 XIII. THE CALL FROM OUT OF THE FOG, 136 XIV. MR. CRAGTHORPE IS MORE THAN TROUBLESOME, 146 XV. THE MIDNIGHT ALARM, 155 XVI. THE FIRE DRILL IN EARNEST, 164 XVII. CRAGTHORPE INTRODUCES HIS REAL SELF, 172 XVIII. A TRICK MADE FOR TWO, 183 XIX. TED DYER, SAILOR BY MARRIAGE, 196 XX. THE FIND IN THE FOREHOLD, 206 XXI. ON A BLIND TRAIL OF THE SEA, 213 XXII. A STERN LOOMS UP IN THE FOG, 222 XXIII. ROLLINGS'S LAST RUSE, 228 XXIV. CONCLUSION, 243 The Motor Boat Club at The Golden Gate CHAPTER I TOM HALSTEAD, KNIGHT OF THE OVERLAND MAIL "I feel it in my bones," announced Joe Dawson, quietly though positively. "That's no talk for an engineer," jibed Tom Halstead. "Tell me, instead, that you read it in your gauge." "Oh, laugh, if you want to," nodded Dawson, showing no offense. "But you'll find that I'm right. You know, I don't often make predictions." "Yet, this time, you feel that something disastrous is going to happen before this train rolls out on the mole at Oakland? In other words, before we set foot in San Francisco?" "No, I don't say quite that," objected Joe, thoughtfully. "There's a heap of the navigator about you, Tom Halstead, and you're pinning me down to the map and the chronometer. I won't predict quite as closely as that. But, either before we reach 'Frisco, or mighty soon after we get there, something is going to happen." "And it's going to be a disaster?" questioned Tom, closely. "For someone, yes; and we're going to be in it, at great risk." "Well, it's a comfort to have it narrowed down even as closely as that," smiled Tom Halstead. "I hope it isn't going to be another earthquake, though." "No," agreed Joe, thoughtfully. "Oh, well, that much of your prediction will comfort the people of San Francisco, anyway." "Now, you're laughing at me again," grinned Joe, good-naturedly. "No; I'm not," protested Halstead, but belied himself by the twinkle in his eyes, and by whistling softly the air of a popular song that the boys had heard in a New York theatre just before leaving for the West. At the present moment both boys were sitting comfortably facing each other in their section in a sleeping car on the luxurious Overland Mail. It was early forenoon. They had left Sacramento behind some time before, on the last stretch of the run across the state of California. Joe Dawson was riding facing forward. Tom Halstead, in the seat opposite, half lolled at the window-ledge, with his back toward the engine. Both boys had slept well on their last night out from San Francisco. Both had breakfasted heartily, that morning, in the dining car now left behind at the state capital. The next thing that would interest them, so far as they could now guess, would be their arrival at Oakland, and the subsequent ferry trip that would land them in San Francisco. It may seem a curious fact to the reader, but neither Tom Halstead nor Joe Dawson knew just what new phases of life awaited them in the City by the Golden Gate. They were engaged to enter the employment of a man who owned a motor yacht. The owner had agreed to their own terms in the way of salary, and he was paying all their expenses on this luxurious trip westward. Moreover, the same owner had engaged some of the other members of the Motor Boat Club of the Kennebec, as will soon be told. Readers of the preceding volumes of this series are already well acquainted with bright, energetic, loyal and capable Tom Halstead, who, from the start, had held the post of fleet captain of the Motor Boat Club. The same readers are equally familiar with the career of Joe Dawson, fleet engineer of the Club. As narrated in "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OF THE KENNEBEC," Tom and Joe were two boys of seafaring stock, and natives of Maine, having been born near the mouth of the Kennebec River. That first volume detailed how the two young men served aboard the "Sunbeam," the motor yacht of a Boston broker, and how the boys aided the Government officers in solving the mystery of Smugglers' Island. Out of those adventures arose the founding of the Club, with Tom and Joe at its head. In "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AT NANTUCKET" the two boys were again seen to great advantage. There they had some most lively sea adventures, all centering around the abduction of the Dunstan heir. Next, as told in "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OFF LONG ISLAND," the motor boat boys played an exciting part in the balking of a great Wall Street conspiracy. In recognition of their services at this time, the man whom they most helped presented them with a fifty-five foot cruising motor boat, which the two proud young owners named the "Restless." Afterwards they installed a wireless telegraph apparatus on the boat, and then came one of their truly famous cruises, as related in "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AND THE WIRELESS," wherein wireless telegraphy was employed in ferreting out one of the great mysteries of the sea. "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB IN FLORIDA" described the sea wanderings of Captain Tom and Engineer Joe in the Gulf waters, and their subsequent adventures in the Everglades and at Tampa, including the laying of the Ghost of Alligator Swamp. From time to time other seafaring boys, whose experience aboard motor yachts qualified them, were elected members of the Motor Boat Club, an organization which now boasted some forty members along the Atlantic seaboard. Several of these boys had made themselves barely less famous than had Halstead and Dawson. Broker George Prescott, of Boston, their first employer and founder of the Club, was still their staunch friend. So, too, in scarcely less degree, was Francis Delavan, a Wall Street financier to whom Tom and Joe had rendered most valuable services. It was through Mr. Delavan that Halstead and Dawson had secured their present engagement, the details of which they did not yet know. This engagement had come just as the young men were leaving Florida waters in January, preparatory to making their way to New York, near which great city the "Restless" was now laid up, out of commission at present, though as seaworthy a boat as ever. Tom had been allowed to engage Jeff Randolph, the Florida member of the Club, for this new, unknown enterprise. Jeff was believed to be either on his way, or already in San Francisco, at the Palace Hotel, on Market Street, which was to be the meeting place of the motor boat boys. Yet there were other old friends due to meet the fleet captain and fleet engineer. Mr. Delavan had also engaged, by wire, Dick Davis and Ab Perkins, of Maine, now back from a famous trip to Brazil as told in "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AND THE WIRELESS." Jed Prentiss, a Nantucket member of the Club, was also on his way to or in San Francisco to join them, thanks to Mr. Prescott's interest. How Jed joined the Club, and proved himself more than worthy, was all told in "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AT NANTUCKET." The name of the San Francisco man who had engaged six members of the Motor Boat Club to cross the continent was Joseph Baldwin. Beyond this the boys knew nothing of him, save that Francis Delavan had vouched for him. That was enough. Not even the name of Baldwin's craft was known to the seafaring boys who were crossing the continent. "I wonder if Mr. Baldwin will be at Oakland, to meet us?" asked Joe, as the train sped evenly, swiftly along. "It isn't likely," replied Tom. "He has told us where to report. I fancy he considers that enough." "A man might get a boat's crew together a good deal more cheaply," mused Joe, aloud. "Our fellows that Mr. Baldwin has engaged are all top-notchers in the way of salary. With such a crew it's going to cost our man a good deal to keep his boat running." "You know the reputation that California millionaires have, Joe," laughed his chum. "It is said of them that they'd sooner spend money than keep it drawing interest." "Still," pondered Joe Dawson, "I don't believe California people like to pitch money out of the window any better than people of other sections do." "It has struck me," Tom went on, "that we're engaged by a man who is running a racing boat. If that is so, and we can get the top speed out of his craft, then I suppose Mr. Baldwin wouldn't consider the matter of expense at all. All he wants, in that case, is to win cups and build a big reputation for his boat." "I hope it _is_ a racer," cried Joe, his eyes glistening. "Whew! How our crowd, pulling together in team work, could make a boat everlastingly sprint over the waves!" The car in which the two boys sat was the last of the train. It had an observation platform at the rear. In this observation compartment the motor boat boys had spent much time while the train was rolling along through the highly picturesque scenery of the Rocky Mountains. This morning, however, going swiftly past sun-lit sections of California, over a nearly level road, both young travelers were content to remain in their seats by the window. In the car were a dozen other passengers. Only one other besides the motor boat boys was especially young. She was a girl of about eighteen, blond, rather plump and very pretty. She appeared to be traveling alone, having boarded the train at Kansas City. Tom and Joe had been able to offer her a few travelers' courtesies, which had been graciously accepted. Neither young man, however, knew the girl's name. Both motor boat boys were too well bred to attempt to force an acquaintance. Just now, as Tom happened to lean over his seat and glance down the aisle, he saw that this young lady was in the observation compartment. She appeared to be alone there. Something in the expression on her face made her seem highly uneasy about something. "I hope she isn't in any trouble," murmured Halstead, to himself, "and that she isn't going to find anything unpleasant at the end of her journey." The next time he glanced down the aisle Halstead again caught a glimpse of her face. "By Jove, I believe she's been crying, or else is about to begin," muttered the young captain. "I wonder if it's real trouble, or just something that she's afraid of." Then Tom made haste to look away, lest the young lady should see that he had been studying her and take offense. "Look at the roses," commented Joe, glancing out of the window at a pretty little California village through which the train was passing at somewhat lessened speed. "Great Scott, there are violets growing in the garden we've just passed. February! Think of the deep feet of snow on either bank of the Kennebec just now!" "It's the land of roses and other posies, all right," agreed Halstead, himself looking out with a good deal of interest at the bright scene under the soft haze of the California winter day. "Say, these are real days! This beats Florida!" exclaimed Joe, enthusiastically. "When it doesn't rain," remarked the practical Halstead. "You know, this is the rainy season in California." "I don't care," contended Joe. "Even on a rainy day it must be beautiful in this fine old state." "And on a foggy one, also," laughed Tom. "You know, at this time of the year, there are likely to be some great old fogs around San Francisco Bay. I've heard that it takes a clever pilot to guess correctly whether he's landing at San Francisco or Oakland." "Humph!" grunted Joe. Dawson turned, looking out of the window for some time without speaking. "We're getting near some big town," he remarked, at last. Then, after glancing at his watch: "It must be Oakland." "Yes," nodded Tom. "I guess we'll soon be making our stop at the Sixteenth Street station." "Anything special about that station?" "It's the last stop before we run out onto the mole at Oakland." The train had now begun to run, at greatly lessened speed, through one of the streets of the city. Joe found less to interest him. He glanced upward at the rack, toward his traveling bag and overcoat. "That overcoat seems like an insult to the climate," he remarked. "Don't throw it away," advised Tom Halstead, "until you see whether some of the 'Frisco nights are chilly. I've sort of an idea they will be." "I wonder whether we're going to have much time ashore, or whether it will be all spent on the water?" suggested Joe. But Tom, of course, didn't know the answer. "Sixteenth Street next stop!" called the porter through the car. "Might as well stretch our legs," hinted Tom, rising. Joe also left his seat. As several of the passengers in the car were heading toward the front end, the motor boat boys started for the observation compartment at the rear end. The young lady was still standing there. It looked as though she intended to step down outside as soon as the train should come to a stop. Not wishing to intrude, Tom Halstead halted, a few feet away, Joe doing the same. Hardly had the train stopped when a porter opened the door of the observation compartment. The young lady quickly descended, the boys following. The young lady remained close to the steps, glancing about her. Lifting their hats, Tom and Joe stepped past her, mingling in the throng at the station. There wasn't much here to see, but it was a relief to be quit of the train for a minute or two. "There's the engine bell ringing," nudged Joe, at last. "We may as well hustle back." As the two motor boat boys turned once more, Tom saw the young woman standing beside the rear steps, one hand holding to the brass rail. She appeared rather frightened. Before her, talking rapidly, was a man of perhaps thirty years of age and some five feet nine inches in height. On his smooth-shaven, dark face rested an ugly, black look. Something that the man said just as Tom glanced that way caused the girl to wince and grow paler. "Why, that fellow has been on the train, though not in our car, for the last two days," occurred to Halstead, swiftly. "And now I remember I saw the young lady talking to him back at Battle Mountain. Jove! but she seems afraid of him. There, she's trying to leave him, and he has caught at her sleeve to hold her. Confound the ugly look in his eyes! I wish she were _my_ sister for five minutes!" Almost unconsciously, in his indignation, Captain Tom increased his pace. Joe, looking in another direction, did not at once perceive this, and so fell a bit behind. "I'm not going to listen to you any longer," cried the young woman, in a voice that sounded tearful, though she was resolutely keeping the tears back out of her eyes. "You are talking like a coward!" "Pardon me," said Captain Tom, rather stiffly, brushing past the young man. The girl edged to give the motor boat boy room on the steps, and, as he passed her, started to follow him up into the car. "You're not going to leave me in that fashion," snapped the dark young man, angrily. "See here----" Again he caught at the girl's sleeve, after leaping up onto the lowest step. "Let me go," commanded the girl, indignantly. "Not until----" She wrenched herself free, then bounded after Halstead. "Don't let him come into the car," begged the girl. "Out of my way, young fellow," ordered the dark man, gaining the second step up. "Is this man annoying you?" asked Tom, in a friendly tone of the girl, though he turned a cool, hostile stare upon the young man. "Yes, he is," the young woman answered. "Get out of the way, boy," commanded the man, reaching out a hand. Tom Halstead's right hand closed instantly. His fist shot out, landing on the fellow's neck. That persecutor fell back, missed his footing, and went sprawling to the station platform. The girl had started to dart into the car, but now she turned, watching with fearful eyes. "Oh, don't let him hurt you!" she cried to Tom. "Thank you," responded the young captain, dryly; "I don't believe he will." The train was beginning to move as the man fell sprawling on the platform. Joe, who had seen the blow struck, darted in, dragging the fellow swiftly to his feet. "You'll have to hustle, mister, if you're going to get your car forward," Joe advised him. "This car is the one I----" began the man. But Joe coolly swung in ahead of him, elbowing the fellow out of the way. The next moment the porter, grinning, reached over with the key and locked the door of the car, which Dawson had closed. Looking the picture of rage, the man darted swiftly down the platform. The train was now moving too rapidly, however, for the stranger to get aboard, and the last car rolled by him as he stood, baffled, on the platform. "I--I don't know how to thank you both," faltered the girl. "I assure you it didn't even put us to any inconvenience," smiled Captain Tom. "But--oh! I hope you won't meet him in San Francisco," cried the girl, in sudden alarm. "He's dangerous, ugly, vengeful!" "We've met such men before," laughed Captain Tom, quietly. "And yet----well, we're here." "But you don't know that man!" shuddered the girl. "That we don't is something to brag about, I reckon," smiled Joe. "If you ever do come face to face with him, or catch him, anywhere, watching you, beware of him!" begged the young lady, earnestly. "He never forgives anything--that wretch!" "Are you uneasy over the remainder of your journey?" asked Tom, politely. "Will you feel safer for escort?" "Oh, I shall be all right, now," replied the girl, with a grateful smile, though her cheeks were still pallid. "He is no longer on the train." "Command us, if you will," begged Captain Tom Halstead, gallantly. He and Joe Dawson lifted their hats courteously, then passed on to their own section. "One of the little dramas of life that are being enacted all around us," muttered Halstead. "I wouldn't have minded seeing that one through," returned Joe. Neither boy, at that moment, suspected that they would yet "see it through." CHAPTER II HAZING, M. B. C. K. STYLE At the ferry slip on the San Francisco side the two motor boat boys saw the young woman again. A big, broad-shouldered, well-dressed, wholesome looking young man of twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, came forward eagerly, hat in hand, to meet her. "She's all right, now," declared Joe, with satisfaction. "Gracious! That husky young fellow could eat up two or three muckers like the one you punched, Tom." "Yes; our young lady of the journey is surely all right," nodded Halstead, delighted with what he had seen. "So come along, Joe. We'll probably never see any of that party again." Through a throng of eager cabmen the two young motor boat boys plodded sturdily. Neither had ever been in San Francisco before, but they knew that the ferry came in at the foot of Market Street, and that the Palace Hotel was but a few blocks from the water-front on the same great artery of traffic. "Might as well walk up, and get a little bit of a look at the town," proposed Halstead. "Which side of the street is the Palace on?" queried Joe. "East." "Then we'll cross over. I don't believe we can miss it." It was a bustling crowd through which the boys steered their way. The man on the San Francisco sidewalk who is under eighty years of age is engaged in making his fortune, and has no time to lose. After he has made it, he buys an automobile, and has comparatively little need of a sidewalk. Men from every country in Europe and the Orient passed them. There was, of course, a large sprinkling of native Americans, yet even the chance passer knew that he was moving through a throng recruited from the four quarters of the world. To Tom the walk ended all too soon. However, they were bent on business, not pleasure, so they turned in briskly through the main entrance of the Palace Hotel as soon as a policeman had pointed it out to them. Captain Tom Halstead stepped to the desk, picking up a pen to register. "Are Davis, Perkins, Prentiss and Randolph here ahead of us?" queried Halstead, as soon as he had written his name and his chum's. "All of 'em," smiled the clerk, after glancing at the entry on the hotel register. "Davis, who got here first, with Perkins, engaged rooms close together for the whole party. Front! I'll have you shown right up, Captain Halstead." The colored boy in blue uniform and brass buttons confiscated the bags and overcoats of the two young travelers, leading the way to the elevator. That bell-boy turned his head to conceal a grin that illumined his face. "So our friends are all here ahead of us, and have everything ready?" remarked young Dawson. The bell-boy, his head still turned away, seemed to be choking. "I wonder if they've seen Mr. Baldwin, or heard from him?" mused Tom, aloud. "Right dis way, sah," begged the bell-boy, stepping out of the elevator ahead of them at the third floor. He led them down a long corridor, turned into another corridor, then halted before a door. That bell-boy gave three distinct knocks; a pause, then two more knocks. "I reckon yo' can go right in, sah," announced the bell-boy, dropping some of his burden in order to throw the door open. Utterly unsuspicious, Tom and Joe passed through the doorway. The instant they had done so, the bell-boy tossed their bags and coats in after them, yanked the door shut and fled, chuckling. "Here they come! Welcome!" roared Dick Davis's deep, hearty voice. A short hallway led from the door to the room proper. As Tom Halstead passed over the inner threshold a pair of arms reached out from either side, yanking him into the room out of Joe's sight. Dawson leaped after his chum, only to be similarly seized. Then it snowed! At least, for a brief instant, that was what the victims thought. Tom was neatly, ruthlessly tripped, being sent sprawling to the floor, while Ab Perkins, snatching up a bolster, which he had ripped open, shook all the fine, downy feathers over him. They sifted down the young captain's neck; they obscured his vision; some of the small feathers fell into his mouth. He fell to spitting them out with vigor, even before he tried to get up. Nor did Joe Dawson fare any better. If anything, he was rather more roughly handled by Jed Prentiss and Jeff Randolph. "Now, roll 'em!" roared Dick Davis. Before either of the newcomers could rise to his feet they were rolled together in the middle of the floor. Ab lifted the mattress from the bed, plumping it down over the two victims. Then all four of the gleeful assailants threw themselves across the mattress, shoving it over the floor, using Tom and Joe, underneath, for rollers. And, over it all, rose the famous club yell: "M. B. C. K.! M. B. C. K.! Motor Boat Club! Wow!" "Oh, but we're glad to see 'em!" yelled Dick Davis, in his deepest tones. "Good old chums! Keep up the welcome, fellows!" From under the mattress Tom Halstead managed to make himself heard, though his voice sounded muffled indeed. "Help!" he roared. "Turn out the port watch! Mutiny!" "Port watch, ahoy! Roll up on deck, you lubbers!" roared Ab Perkins. "Cap'n wants you!" At that Jed and Jeff left the mattress, darting to where Tom's and Joe's traveling bags lay. These they quickly opened, dumping all the contents on the floor. "All hands to quell mutiny!" yelled Jed Prentiss. Dick Davis and Ab Perkins joined them on the jump. That gave Tom and Joe, both very red-faced and much winded, a chance to crawl out from under the mattress. Yet no sooner did they show their astonished faces than all four of the first-comers began to pelt them with the articles dumped from the traveling bags. Slippers flew straight and true, landing with swats. Hair brushes, tooth-brushes, cakes of soap, boxes of tooth-powder and numerous other articles filled the air, a veritable cyclone with the fleet captain and the fleet engineer in the middle of it. "Cut it!" commanded Tom Halstead, sternly. "Oh, if I had my revolver and handcuffs and leg-irons here. This is the last time I'll ever go on deck without 'em. But cut it--anyway!" Dick Davis, having thrown the last missile that came to hand, and having pitched Halstead's overcoat up in the air so that it now lay hanging from the chandelier, suddenly straightened up, looking very grave as he saluted and roared out: "Aye, aye, sir!" At that the other three disturbers of the peace lined up with Dick, all saluting. "What's the meaning of all this riot?" insisted Halstead, trying to keep back the grin that struggled to his face. "After not having seen each other for all these moons," demanded Davis, in a hurt voice, "can't we do anything to show you how ding-whanged glad we are to behold you two once more?" "Your joy takes a strange turn," grimaced Captain Tom. "I prefer people who put their welcome in writing," retorted Joe. At that Ab Perkins, with a whoop, made for a table. From it he snatched up a cork, one end of which had been burned to a char. "Come on, then, fellows," proposed Ab Perkins, gleefully; "we'll write our welcome on Joe's face." "Will you, though?" demanded Dawson, crouching low, as though for a football tackle. He caught Ab, and rising with that boisterous youth, toppled him over. Ab Perkins went sprawling; fortunately for him he landed across the mattress. "Hold on!" expostulated Tom Halstead. "The reception committee is excused--fired--bounced, in fact. Now, stop all this monkey-business, and let's get down to trade topics. But, first of all----" Tom paused to spit out two or three fragments of down feathers. Then he crossed to where the water pitcher stood on a tray. Pouring out a glass of water, Halstead took a mouthful, while the late mutineers looked on expectantly. "O-oh! Ugh! Waugh! Wow!" sputtered Tom, expelling his mouthful into a waste-water jar beside the wash-stand. "That water's _salt_!" "Well, what of it, you bo'sun's mate of a lobster trap?" demanded Ab Perkins, aggressively. "Is it the first time you've ever hit up against salt water?" "Now, see here, fellows," grinned Halstead, looking around at the impish faces of the first-comers, "this is all right. We know how glad you are to see us. Your pleasure is far greater than we had ever dared to hope----" "Oh, we can show more pleasure!" proposed Dick. "Do it at your personal risk, then!" defied the young captain, arming himself with the water pitcher. "Now, then, will you all be quiet?" "Oh, aye!" promised young Davis, with a sudden assumption of meekness. "I trust you--trust you all to the death," affirmed Tom, grimly. "But I'm going to keep hold of the water pitcher just the same!" "This deck doesn't look ship-shape, does it?" demanded Dick Davis, glancing about him. "Hadn't we better change craft? Wait here a moment." Stepping to the push-button, he pressed twice, for the porter. Tom Halstead remained on guard, armed as before, and Joe keeping rather close to him, until the porter knocked at the door. "See here, my friend," remarked Dick, holding out a dollar bill to the porter, "there has been a ship-wreck here." "It looks like it, sir," grinned the porter, pocketing the money. "What'll you have, sir?" "Find the chambermaid that belongs on this floor," begged Dick, "and bring her here." The porter was soon back with the chambermaid, who also received a dollar bill from young Davis. "Now, you two try some team-work, please," begged Dick Davis, "and see whether you can make this place look neat enough to be a captain's cabin. Gentlemen of the Motor Boat Club, will you adjourn to the costly quarters that Ab and myself consider almost good enough for us?" Tom Halstead laid down the water pitcher and passed out of the room last of all. "I reckon you'd better go into the other room first, Joe, and let me bring up the rear," called Tom, grimly. "Then we can watch, from both ends of the line, for any new tricks." Dick Davis produced a key, admitting all hands to the adjoining room. "Now, be seated," proposed Davis, in his most hospitable tone. The club members found chairs. "Have you seen Mr. Baldwin?" inquired Captain Tom. "No; but we've sent him word," Ab replied. "Mr. Baldwin has offices in the Chronicle Building." "Is that near?" queried Halstead. "Only a few hawser lengths from here, on the other side of Market Street," put in Jed Prentiss. "Come here to the window. There's the Chronicle Building over yonder." "Mr. Baldwin has a telephone, of course?" suggested Captain Tom. "Yes; 9378 Market." "I can tell him we're here, then," murmured Tom, crossing the room to where a telephone apparatus rested against the wall. "Don't," prompted Dick. "Mr. Baldwin has sent his orders. You can 'phone him between three and three-thirty to-day. Mustn't bother him at any other time." "That's right, is it?" demanded Halstead, looking half-suspiciously at Davis. "Quite right," nodded the latter youth, gravely. Dick was older than the others, being nineteen, as against a general average of sixteen years for the other boys. Dick was different in another respect. While the other five boys followed motor boating as a means of livelihood, depending upon their earnings, young Davis, the son of a ship-builder of Bath, Maine, was at all times well supplied with money. Dick's outline for the future included a possible college course, and then breaking into the ship-building business with his father. It was not yet quite decided whether young Davis should omit the college part of the plan. In the meantime, the elder Davis believed that an active membership in the Motor Boat Club would be the best possible training to fit his son for a position in the ship-yard. "Well, if those are the instructions, then," replied Captain Tom, returning to his chair, "we'll wait until a few minutes after three." "And now it's half-past eleven," said Jed, consulting his watch. "Luncheon will not be served until one. We can wait here as well as anywhere. Say, fellows, I'm just crazy to hear some good old yarns of what you others have been through." With that, yarn-spinning became the order of the day. The young men were still at it when they went down to the gorgeous dining room of the Palace Hotel. The air about their table was thick with yarns all through the meal. While they sat around the table, absorbed in one another's stories, a dark-visaged, well-dressed man of thirty started to enter the dining room. Just at the threshold, however, he paused, for his glance had alighted on a profile view of Captain Tom Halstead at one of the tables in the center of the dining room. "That's the cub who struck me this morning," muttered the dark-faced one, drawing back. "I want to know who he is. I want to place him--I want to meet him and settle the account for that blow and the disappointment it brought about!" Tom Halstead turned around, a moment later, but he did not see the man he had knocked from the train that morning at the Sixteenth Street station in Oakland. That worthy had drawn quickly back out of sight, and was now looking about for some hotel employé to question. Ten minutes later he of the dark visage had all the information he felt he needed. "Tom Halstead? So that's your name?" snarled the stranger, as he started for the street entrance. "And you're employed by Baldwin--could anything be more favorable to our meeting again, eh?" The stranger smiled darkly, meaningly, as he pronounced the name of Baldwin. Luncheon over, the yarning motor boat boys embarked in the elevator. This time they went direct to the room assigned to Tom and Joe. The trunks of these two young men had arrived, and now rested in the room. Once more the yarning went on, until Captain Tom checked it at exactly two minutes past three o'clock. CHAPTER III CAPTAIN TOM'S NEW COMMAND "It's time for Mr. Baldwin to hear from us, now," announced the young skipper, rising and crossing to the room-telephone. He gave the number, waiting briefly. "Hello," sounded a voice in the receiver. "Hello," returned Tom, quietly. "Is this Mr. Baldwin?" "No; wait a moment. I'll connect you." "Hello," came, an instant later. "Hello. Mr. Baldwin?" "Yes." "I am Captain Tom Halstead, here at the Palace Hotel, awaiting your orders." "Is Dabson with you?" "Dawson, sir," Tom corrected. "Yes; Dawson is with me." "Then your whole crew is on hand?" "Yes, sir." "Good! Well, as the finishers are about through with their repair work on my boat we shall be ready to get you aboard without delay." "May I ask, sir, how big a boat----" "Captain, be at my office, all of you in uniform, at four o'clock exactly." "Very good, sir. Four o'clock." "Captain Halstead, punctuality is one of my failings," warned Joseph Baldwin's voice. "It's one of my studies, Mr. Baldwin." "Then, at four o'clock?" "Four o'clock, sharp, sir!" "Good-bye." Ting-ling-ling! Tom hung up the receiver. "Well," came an eager chorus. "What are we going to do?" "We're going to get into our club sailing uniforms," smiled Captain Tom, "and we're to be at Mr. Baldwin's office at four o'clock to the minute." "What sort of a boat----" "Cruising or racing----" "Coasting or sea-voy----" "You'll all of you have to cut out the questions," laughed Tom Halstead. "I've told you every blessed thing I've just learned over the 'phone. Fellows, I think our Mr. Baldwin is stingy----" "Stingy?" broke in Ab Perkins, with fine scorn. "And paying every one of us first-class salaries!" "Stingy of words," finished Captain Tom, calmly. "If our new employer keeps on as he has begun, we won't know anything he means to do until the time comes to do it. Then he'll give his complete orders in from six to eight words. That's the way it looks. Now, for your uniforms. Come along, Joe, and we'll get into ours. Mr. Baldwin, I omitted to tell you, did inform me----" Captain Tom paused, looking mysterious. "Told you what?" chorused Dick, Ab and Jed, eagerly. "That he's extremely partial to people who are punctual to the minute," finished Tom Halstead, making a sign that brought Joe along in his trail. Sailors are accustomed to quick dressing, as they are to quick work of all sorts. Hence the six motor boat boys, all looking decidedly neat and important in their uniforms and visored caps, were soon on their way to the elevator shaft. Soon afterwards they stepped from the Palace entrance to the street, making for the other side of Market Street at the first crossing. More than one swift pedestrian paused long enough to send a look back after these six trim, almost martial-looking young men, who walked in pairs and carried themselves like graduates of the Naval Academy. It was just five minutes before four o'clock when the sextette halted outside the Chronicle Building. "A couple of minutes to breathe," announced Halstead, watch in hand. Presently, he marched them into the corridor. Here, after a short wait, they stepped into one of the several elevators, leaving it a few floors from the street. "Sixty seconds yet to spare," whispered Captain Tom, smilingly, holding up his watch. Precisely at the dot of four o'clock the six motor boat boys filed in at the door of the Baldwin offices, after Halstead had turned the knob. In the outer office were several clerks, behind a railing. An office boy sat at a desk close by the gate of the railing. "Mr. Baldwin expects us at four," stated Tom to the boy. "Will you please tell him that Captain Halstead and party are here?" The boy disappeared. When he returned a briskly-moving man of fifty was at his heels. It was Joseph Baldwin, one of the rich men of the Pacific Coast, and one of its most daring promoters. He was a man who acted, ordinarily, as though the day were but five minutes long and crowded with business. Mr. Baldwin looked like a prosperous business man, though there was nothing foppish in his attire. "Captain Halstead?" he demanded, holding out a hand. The act was gracious enough, though hurried. In less than a minute Tom had presented his friends and all had been through the handshake. Back of Mr. Baldwin stood a clerk, holding his employer's hat. "I'm off for the day, Johnson," he announced. "Is the transportation at the door?" "Yes, sir. I just looked out of the window. Your transportation is ready." "Come along, Captain Halstead and gentlemen," directed Mr. Baldwin. Though he led them swiftly, another clerk had slipped out ahead of them, and now stood by the elevator shaft. A car was just stopping at the floor. Down the party whizzed. Mr. Baldwin led the boys to a street door, outside of which two automobile touring cars stood. "Captain, I want you and Dawson in the car with me. Let your friends follow in the other." Two tonneau doors closed with bangs. Off whizzed the cars. Speed laws did not appear to be made for the concern of a man like Joseph Baldwin. It seemed as though the cars had barely started when they ran out onto a dock not much to the westward of the ferry houses. A man in plain blue uniform and visored cap, wearing the insignia of a quartermaster, stood at the far end of the dock. He saluted as soon as he espied Joseph Baldwin hastening toward him. "I see you're on time, Bickson." "Yes, sir." By this time Mr. Baldwin was going down a short flight of steps to a landing stage. There lay moored a trim-looking sixteen-foot power tender. "Fall aboard," briefly directed Mr. Baldwin, and the motor boat boys, rather enjoying this systematized bustle, obeyed. Bickson, without waiting for orders, cast off, started the motor and sent the boat gliding out into the stream. "Quite a motor yacht that carries a quartermaster," observed Captain Halstead, with a smile. "I carry three," rejoined Mr. Baldwin, thrusting a cigar into his mouth and lighting it with a "blazer" match. In and out among the shipping the tender glided. Then, at last, Captain Tom caught sight of a graceful craft some hundred and twenty feet long. She looked like a miniature liner. "I wonder if I'll ever command a handsome craft like that?" thought the young motor boat skipper, with a brief pang of envy. "Jove! what a boat!" The next thing the motor boat boys knew they were running up alongside this hundred-and-twenty-footer. A young man of twenty-five or twenty-six, whose uniform proclaimed him to be a watch officer, stood at the top of a side gangway. "This can't be the boat--such a beauty!" gasped Tom Halstead, inwardly. Joe Dawson's eyes were full of wonder. Ab Perkins's lower jaw was hanging down in proof of his bewilderment. Dick Davis's face was flushing. Jed was staring. Only Jeff Randolph appeared indifferent. "How do you do, Mr. Costigan?" hailed Mr. Baldwin, leading the way up the side gangway. "Mr. Costigan, pay your respects to the new captain of the 'Panther.' Captain Halstead, Mr. Costigan, your third officer." If Mr. Costigan appeared astonished, Tom Halstead did not look less so. That he was really to command this big, handsome craft seemed to Tom like a dream. A moment before, when he had realized that the "Panther" was Mr. Baldwin's craft, the most the Maine boy had expected was that he and his companions would be allowed to stand watch in the engine room and on the bridge. But--captain! Third Officer Costigan, however, saluted in a most proper manner. Tom held out his hand cordially. "Presently, Mr. Costigan, I shall ask you to show me about this craft." "At your orders, sir," replied Costigan, again saluting his commanding officer, then making his way forward. "Here's the captain's cabin. I have the key," announced Mr. Baldwin, leading the way to a door immediately aft of the pilot house. The owner unlocked the door, then led the way inside. Again Captain Tom wondered if he could be dreaming. Though everything was compact in this stateroom, yet all the conveniences were there, too. There was a double bed, a wardrobe locker, running water, two easy chairs, a desk, and a table just under a well-stocked China and glass cupboard. "Your stateroom runs right through the deck-house from starboard to port," explained Mr. Baldwin, who now appeared less pressed for time. "Bathroom and chart-room open out of this cabin aft. I think, Captain, you will be comfortable." "Comfortable!" murmured Tom, then smiled in sheer delight. The other motor boat boys stood about the doorway, not offering to enter while the owner was there. Mr. Baldwin dropped into one of the arm chairs. "Now, Captain, I'll tell you what we have aboard," continued the owner. "Costigan is third officer. He's a good fellow, and a capable sailor, but he has his limitations, and--well, I don't believe he'll ever be much more than a third officer. You'd better keep him in that grade--unless you find he's better than some of your comrades. One good thing about Costigan is that he has a pilot's license for San Francisco Bay and the coast hereabouts. He's a good pilot, too. Another good thing about Costigan is that he's loyal, and a man who knows how to keep his tongue resting in the back of his mouth. "Besides Costigan, there are three quartermasters and seven men in the crew. We have also a cook and helper, a cabin steward and a men's steward. That's the whole outfit. We have no one, at present, in the engine-room department. You have men with you to fill out those positions, haven't you, Captain?" "Yes, sir." "Then let me see how you'll go to work to place them," shot out Mr. Baldwin, instantly. "Mr. Perkins, first officer; Mr. Davis, second officer," replied Halstead, promptly. "Mr. Costigan, of course, third officer." "And in the engine room?" pressed the owner. "Mr. Dawson, chief engineer; Mr. Prentiss, first assistant; Mr. Randolph, second assistant engineer." "All right," nodded Joseph Baldwin. "That makes our complement complete, I think. Now, Captain, publish your selections to the crew and take command. There's the bell at the side of your desk." Hardly had Tom Halstead, still feeling as though in a trance, pressed the button, when a jauntily uniformed sailor appeared at the doorway, saluting. "My compliments to Mr. Costigan; ask him to come here," ordered Tom. From the speed with which he reported, Third Officer Costigan must have been awaiting the summons. "Pipe the crew forward of the pilot house, Mr. Costigan. All hands. I've something to say to them." The third officer's whistle rang out shrilly forward. A few moments later Captain Halstead was notified that all hands were on deck. Tom thereupon went forward, accompanied by the new officers of the "Panther," who were proclaimed to the crew, including even the stewards and cooks. "And I now invite the officers to my cabin," said Captain Halstead as he wound up his harangue to the men. "The details of the deck and engine room watches will be decided at once." This was soon done. Following the practice that now obtains on many yachts, the watches were made eight hours long, instead of four. This enabled each member of a watch to get a full sleep between watches. In ordinary weather neither the captain nor first officer stands watch. The captain's, or starboard, watch was to be taken by Dick Davis as second officer. Mr. Costigan, third officer, was to stand the first officer's, or port, watch. Joe Dawson, as chief engineer, was generally responsible for the engineering department, but stood no watch in the engine room, the starboard watch at the motors falling to Jed Prentiss, and the port watch to Jeff Randolph. Bickson, as chief quartermaster, was made responsible for the general policing of the craft, the other two quartermasters taking watch trick at the wheel in the pilot house. During the making of these arrangements Mr. Baldwin had strolled aft to his own suite of rooms. These, immediately aft of the chart room, consisted of parlor, bed-room and bath. Aft of these quarters lay the deck dining room, from which a staircase led down to the cabin proper. Off the cabin were eight handsome staterooms for the owner's guests. All this Tom and his comrades saw as Costigan piloted them over this superb yacht. Forward of the main cabin, below, was the chief engineer's stateroom, which Joe would occupy by himself. In Joe's room, also, was service for the chief engineer's meals. Then there was a stateroom for the second and third officers, and another for the engineer's two assistants. For these junior officers, and Mr. Costigan, there was an officers' mess. Further forward was the crew's mess, then the kitchen department. Ahead of this was the engine room, with the crew's forecastle quarters right up in the bow of the craft, below decks. "You see, sir," explained Mr. Costigan, "there's everything that could be thought of for the comfort of officers and crew." "It's the most compact boat I could imagine," declared Captain Tom, enthusiastically. "You may well say that, sir." They passed on to inspect the engine room. Joe's eyes fairly gleamed as he inspected the twin motors, the dynamos and all the other details of his own department. It was a finer engine room than Joe Dawson had hoped to command for many years to come. He remained below, with his assistants, to inspect their new domain, while Tom, Ab and Dick returned to the deck with Mr. Costigan. The "Panther" was schooner rigged, with a full set of sails for each of the two masts. There was a short bowsprit, carrying two jibs. "This craft does pretty well under sail, sir," declared the third officer. "She looks as though she ought to," replied Captain Tom. "But what gait does she make with her power alone?" "She's been running, cruising, sir, at about twelve to fourteen miles an hour. She's listed as a twenty-two mile boat at her best, but I believe, sir, that a good engineer could get twenty-four out of her." "The new chief engineer is one who can get out any speed that the motors will stand." "He looks it, sir." Halstead was careful always to use the word "Mister." Watch officers and engineers, who are also officers, are always addressed in that way, by the captain, or even by the owner. Costigan was equally careful to say "sir," when addressing any officer of grade above his own. "When you can spare the time, Captain, I'll have a few words with you," called Mr. Baldwin, showing his head through the starboard doorway of his suite. "At once, sir," replied Captain Tom, turning and going to the owner's door. At the threshold the new captain of the "Panther" halted. "Come right in, Captain. Take a chair," invited the owner. "Now, then, what do you think of your new task?" "I'm astounded, sir. Overjoyed, too," Tom replied, with a candid smile. "Why?" "Well, sir, this craft represents the height of my dreams. The 'Panther' is twice the length and about four times the total size of any boat I've ever commanded before." "Are you afraid it's too big an undertaking for you?" asked Mr. Baldwin, regarding his young sailing master keenly. "No, sir!" came the prompt answer. "Hm! I'm glad of that. But I wasn't worrying. I've known Delavan a long time. I told him what I wanted, and knew I could bank on his choice. Are all your friends satisfied?" "They're delighted," Tom nodded. "All they're aching for now, sir, is to get out on the first cruise." "They'll have their wish this evening," laughed Mr. Baldwin. "Is there anything you want to ask me, Captain?" "Nothing, unless you'll permit me to be a bit curious." "That's a bad fault on this yacht," replied Joseph Baldwin, with a slight frown that quickly disappeared. "What is it you want to know?" "I'm wondering, sir, why you had to send all the way east for officers for the 'Panther'?" "Because I've had to get rid of two sets of officers," replied Mr. Baldwin, crisply. "One captain was too inquisitive, the other was incapable. Then I began to hear a good deal about your famous Motor Boat Club. That set me to corresponding with Delavan. He told me a lot more about you young men, and I couldn't get it out of my head that _you_ were the sort of people I wanted." "You weren't afraid on account of our being so--well, youthful?" "I knew, if you'd suit Frank Delavan, you'd suit me. And I'm just as sure after having seen you all. Now, Captain Halstead, you'll be ready to sail at any time after seven this evening. That is the hour when my guests and I sit down to dinner aboard. At the time I'll give you your general sailing instructions. Remember, Mr. Costigan must be your pilot until you're out through the Golden Gate and clear of the coast." "Yes, sir," assented Halstead, rising. "Any further orders, sir?" "That is all, for the present, Captain." Tom Halstead left the owner's suite and walked forward, filled with a wonderful sense of elation. He passed the pilot house just in time to see Joe Dawson coming up forward. "Say, are we going to wake up, chum?" breathed young Dawson in his friend's ear. "I don't believe we'll have to," laughed the young skipper, happily. "We're all right, I'm pretty sure, if we don't do something that greatly displeases the boat's owner. Thanks to Mr. Delavan, the owner of this craft is willing to believe, at the start, that we're all that's good and wonderful. But come into my cabin, old fellow, if you have the time. We'll dine together to-night." Both motor boat boys sighed their supreme contentment as they dropped into arm-chairs facing each other. It was now so dark that Tom switched on the electric lights. "How are the engines, Joe?" asked Tom, dropping into his old, friendly manner. "Ready to start at a second's notice. And Jed's on duty there, waiting for the word." "Gasoline?" "Tanks bulging with it. Tom, this is a beautifully appointed boat below, and every store of every description is in place." "That's the kind of a man I'm pretty sure Mr. Baldwin is," nodded Halstead. Joe surveyed a row of speaking tubes that hung against the forward wall of the captain's room. He picked out one labeled "engine-room," pressing the button beneath it. "Hello, sir," came the quick response, in Jed Prentiss's unmistakable tones. "Hello, Mr. Prentiss," Joe returned. "How do you like it down there, on duty?" "It's perfect!" responded Jed, almost dreamily. "Everything here but my own personal steward. I ain't sure but what _he'll_ blow in, in a minute, and ask me what I'll have for dinner." "Tell him we're scheduled to start at seven," suggested Halstead. "I can start in seven seconds, if I'm asked to," promised Prentiss. "Anyway, I can have the propellers turning fast before you can get the anchor up. Crackey! I forgot that I have to supply even the power for hoisting anchor." Twenty minutes later the two chums, who had begun their career by patching up an old steam launch down at the mouth of the Kennebec River, in Maine, were seated at table in the captain's cabin, doing justice to a meal that was but little short of sumptuous. The chief steward himself, a man named Parkinson, served the young captain and chief engineer. He hovered about, as attentive as any hotel waiter or private butler could have been. It was the second steward, however, who came in with the dessert for the two chief officers of the "Panther." "What has become of the other steward?" inquired the young captain. "Time for him, sir, to put on the finishing touches in the dining saloon," replied Collins, the second steward, who served also the junior officers and the crew. "If we eat like this at every meal, Joe," sighed Halstead, contentedly, when the second steward had removed the last of the things, "we'll have to devote all the rest of the time to exercising off extra flesh. Let's get out on deck." "All right. But I mean to be in the engine-room when the start is made." At the side gangway the chums stepped quickly past, to make way for half a dozen men who were coming up over the side, while Mr. Costigan stood respectfully by to receive them. They were guests of the owner just coming on board for the night's cruise. One of these newcomers went directly to Mr. Baldwin's suite. "Owner's compliments, sir," called Parkinson, softly, as he came hurrying after the young sailing master. "Mr. Baldwin wishes to see Captain Halstead on the jump, sir." The call had come for the brisk beginning of the strangest duties in which young Halstead had ever been employed. CHAPTER IV HALSTEAD IS LET INTO A SECRET "Captain Halstead, my friend, Mr. Jason Ross," announced Mr. Baldwin, crisply, as soon as the young skipper had closed the owner's door behind him. Mr. Ross was a man of forty-five, and looked like a man who might be of much importance in the financial world. Yet _he_ was presented to Halstead, for on a yacht the captain is considered next in importance to the owner. Tom modestly greeted Mr. Ross. "Sit down, Captain," snapped out the owner, though not unkindly. "Now, I've got to take you into my confidence a bit. Delavan's word for you makes me feel that I can safely do it." Tom had only time to nod ere Mr. Baldwin went on, crisply: "My guests are on board, with one exception. In a way, the exception is the most important one of us all. He isn't so very important in himself, but Gaston Giddings, though a very weak, foolish young man, happened to succeed his father in the principal control and presidency of the Sheepmen's National Bank. Young Giddings and the funds his bank can supply are of the utmost importance to my associates and myself in some big enterprises we are putting through. Do I make myself clear?" "Wholly so, sir," Tom answered, quietly. "Now, Giddings, besides being several kinds of plain and ornamental fool--no, I won't quite say that, but this weak young man has one fearful fault for the head of a bank----" Joseph Baldwin paused in his rapid speech. He looked sharply at Mr. Ross an instant, then continued: "Oh, well, Frank Delavan told me I could trust you and Dawson with anything from my yacht to my reputation. You understand that what I'm telling you, Captain, is absolutely confidential?" "Of course, sir," responded Tom, quietly. "Well, then, within the last three months young Giddings has, in some way we can't understand, fallen a victim to the opium habit. The young man is all but totally wrecked by the vile drug. How, or why, he started, none of us can understand. You see, a good many of us older men, who were fast friends of his father, have tried to stand by the young man. Two of to-night's party are directors in the Sheepmen's Bank. We've tried to get the bank's funds placed in interests that we control, so that young Giddings couldn't go very far wrong, by not having enough money left in his charge to wreck the bank. You follow me?" "I--I think so, Mr. Baldwin." "Truth to tell," pursued the owner, "I had planned--my friends on board with me--to go out ostensibly for one night, but really to be gone for several days. One of our friends is a specialist in the opium habit--Dr. Gray. We had hoped, on this trip, to plan some financial enterprises that would use up, for the present, the dangerously large balance at the Sheepmen's Bank. At the same time we were going to try to force young Giddings to agree to heroic medical treatment in order to overcome his fearful vice." Tom Halstead remained silent, but attentive. "Now, at the last moment," pursued Mr. Baldwin, "we hear that Giddings was seen in a closed carriage, evidently headed for Chinatown, that vile Oriental section of San Francisco, where the opium vice flourishes at its worst. And in Chinatown a man can disappear so completely that his friends can't find him again in years. Giddings was to be here to-night, but he's in a Chinatown opium den instead. If we appeal to the police, it'll all be in the newspapers. There'll be a scandal that will disgrace Giddings forever, start a run on the Sheepmen's Bank, and--though this is the least of our worries--will delay for some time the pushing of the big financial game in which my friends and myself are interested. Now, we've got to find some way of getting at Giddings, and of bringing him on board without trouble or noise. I've told you this much, Captain Halstead, so that you'll understand the need of secrecy. If we can find Giddings, and get him out here, then we _must_ bring him over the side and get him into his stateroom without his being seen by any of the crew on board, except, possibly, by one or two of your own comrades whom you think you can best trust." "I can trust every one of 'em, sir," declared Captain Tom, promptly. "So will you, when you know them better." "Then, Captain, before we make any move to find Giddings in his Chinatown hiding-place, and attempt to get him aboard this yacht, we must have all of the crew safely out of the way, save for your own personal friends among the officers." "I can plan for the crew to go ashore," declared Tom Halstead. "I have only to state that you've decided to delay putting out to sea, and that you've been good enough to grant the men a night on shore at the theatre at your expense. That will take every one of them over the side. Do you want Mr. Costigan to go?" "Why, I think Costigan is all right, but he isn't needed here, anyway, so he'd better go ashore also." "Easily settled, then, Mr. Baldwin. I can send Mr. Costigan off in charge of the shore party. At what hour do you wish them all to return, sir?" "Not a minute before midnight!" "Very good, sir. I can tell Mr. Costigan that you've been called ashore, that you will dine there, and that you are very glad of this opportunity to give the older members of the crew a chance to enjoy themselves ashore." "Excellent, indeed!" cried Mr. Baldwin, in a low tone. "What do you say, Ross?" "If Captain Halstead can vouch so heartily for the silence and discretion of his own friends, then the plan ought to clear the decks so that we can get Giddings aboard--if we find him--without any comment or scandal at all," agreed Jason Ross. Joseph Baldwin employed himself stripping a few banknotes from a roll that he drew from a trousers pocket. "Give this money to Mr. Costigan, Captain, and tell him to see to it that the men have a good time on shore--though no drunkenness! And you, Captain Halstead, I trust to see to it that none but your own friends remain aboard." Ten minutes later Captain Tom returned to the owner's suite to report that Third Officer Costigan and the crew, including the stewards and cooks, had gone ashore in the tender, Jeff Randolph running the boat in. "How soon will Randolph be back?" asked Mr. Baldwin. "Within ten minutes, sir." "Then I shall want him to put Mr. Ross and myself ashore. We two must take up the seemingly impossible task of locating young Giddings in the heart of Chinatown's slums, and bring him here by force, yet without noise. Once we get him on board, and below, we can keep the young man quiet until morning, when we'll be well out on the ocean. Dr. Gray will attend to that." "Are your friends going to remain on board, without dinner?" asked Halstead. "No; they can go ashore and get dinner at a restaurant, returning presently. Mr. Randolph can keep the tender at the landing stage until they return. Then, as soon as he has brought our other friends aboard, Mr. Randolph can return for Ross and myself, when we get back. But Mr. Randolph must not let Costigan or the crew get aboard until after we've returned." "I'll make his instructions clear on that point," nodded Tom. "That is all, then. Let me know when the tender returns." "Hold on, a moment, Baldwin," interposed Mr. Ross. "Well?" "Baldwin, neither of us is in what might be called the pink of condition, and young Giddings may put up a fight in his half-crazed way. Don't we need a little real brawn with us?" "Taking Captain Halstead with us, do you mean?" "That was the idea that had come into my head," nodded Mr. Ross. "Yes; it would be an excellent idea. Captain, you will go with us. Leave your first officer in command here until we return." "Very good, sir." Tom Halstead saluted, then withdrew. He gave his orders quickly, not deeming it necessary to mention any phase of the story of young Gaston Giddings to his comrades of the Motor Boat Club. As soon as the launch was alongside Tom hastened to inform Mr. Baldwin. The entire party thereupon came out on deck, gathering at the side gangway. They speedily embarked in the tender, in which Jeff sat where he could handle both engine and steering gear. "Your instructions are clear, Mr. Perkins?" called Tom Halstead, softly, from the launch. "Quite clear, sir," Ab replied. "The instructions will be followed to the letter." "Shove off, then," Tom commanded. "To the landing stage, Mr. Randolph." It would have been almost laughable, to anyone who had witnessed the frolicsome motor boat boys going through their hazing affair of the forenoon, had he now been at hand to hear them using the stately "mister" and "sir" with all the gravity of naval officers. Jeff speedily had the party ashore. Twenty minutes later a closed cab rolled slowly in at one corner of gayly-lighted, malodorous Chinatown. The vehicle contained Messrs. Baldwin and Ross and young Captain Tom Halstead. In this poisonous atmosphere they sought a young human wreck, Gaston Giddings. CHAPTER V A HUNT IN THE UNDER-WORLD During the ride from the water front Captain Tom Halstead had sat on the front seat of the cab, quiet and reserved. Now, as they entered the outer confines of Chinatown, Halstead leaned slightly forward, peering out at the shops and at the queer Oriental jumble, mixed here and there with white people, that thronged the narrow sidewalks. "Are you headed for any particular place, sir?" queried the young skipper, after a few moments. "No," admitted Mr. Baldwin. "I know nothing of Chinatown. We must drive through, first of all, at a venture. Presently an idea may come to us. Whatever we do, our plans must soon be formed. If I dared speak to a police officer--but the risk is too great." "There's a restaurant," murmured the boy, suddenly. "It looks like a big and clean place. Why don't you and Mr. Ross slip in there, have some tea or something, and let me prowl about in these queer, crooked streets for a few minutes? Chinatown is only a few blocks in extent, I understand. I may be able to learn something that way, unless you have a better plan, sir." "I am afraid you'll run into danger, alone in this barbarous crowd," objected Mr. Baldwin. "I'm not in the least afraid," smiled Tom, confidently. "Two prosperous looking men like you might attract attention, but, as for me, the people hereabouts will think only that I'm some young sailor ashore for a lark. Shall I stop the cab, sir?" "Yes," agreed Joseph Baldwin, though he spoke doubtfully. Tom's hand shot up at once, grabbing the check string. The driver pulled up his horses, then came to the door, opening it. "This will be as good a place for you to remain, driver, as anywhere," said Halstead, as he stepped out. Then he turned, waiting for Messrs. Baldwin and Ross to alight. "Shall I find you in that restaurant, sir?" the young skipper inquired. "Yes; but don't be too long away, Halstead, or we shall be more uneasy than ever." "Trust a sailor to take care of himself in any crowd, sir," laughed Tom Halstead, jauntily. With that he stepped off, at a more rolling gait than he usually employed on shore. The young motor boat captain carried in his mind a good personal description of Gaston Giddings. He had secured this from Mr. Baldwin before leaving the yacht. "Ugh! The smell here is worse than in New York's Chinatown," Tom told himself, disgustedly. From upper windows of some of the buildings that lined the narrow, dirty streets came the squawkings of Chinese fiddles and other discordant "musical" instruments of a wholly Oriental type. There seemed to be two or three joss-houses, or temples, in every short block. On the street floors, however, stores offering all kinds of Chinese merchandise were most common. Tom suspected that the gambling places and opium joints lay in the rear of these stores. "Want a guide to Chinatown? Show ye everything, boss, for two dollars. Show ye every real sight in Chinatown," appealed a seedy, dirty, young white man who now held Tom by one sleeve. "Anything really worth seeing?" asked Halstead, smilingly. "Oh, _everything_ worth seeing," responded the seedy guide, with a wide wave of one arm. "Best two dollars' worth you ever had. Most curious sights you ever saw in any part of the world. Sailor, ain't ye?" "Yes." "Sailors are my specialty," declared the seedy guide, grimly. "Come, ye'd better haul up the two dollars and let me take you about." "What about opium joints, for instance?" asked Tom Halstead, speaking as though he had not enthused much as yet. "I know 'em all," asserted the seedy guide, eagerly. "Want to smoke the opium pipe?" "Can't say," replied Tom, vaguely. "Yet, if I do go around with you, you've got to take me to the really swell opium places." "Oh, I can do it--better'n any other guide in Chinatown," promised the fellow, quickly. "Come, just hand over the two dollars, and see what I can show you." With a great pretense of reluctance Captain Tom produced four half dollars, which he handed to the guide. "Remember, now," he said, "I want what you might call the aristocratic places." "If ye ain't satisfied," promised the guide, glibly, "then ye'll get your money back." "Go ahead, then, but mind what I told you." Through dark alleyways, or through stores into rear apartments, Halstead followed his conductor. In rapid succession he passed in and out of half a dozen opium joints. One was as much like another as two kernels of wheat resemble each other. In each place there was the same outer room, then the same bunk-room, an apartment fitted up with bunks at the sides. It was in these rooms that the smoking was done. The intending smoker stretched himself out in a bunk, while a Chinese attendant brought lamp and kit. A tiny ball of opium was quickly lighted--"cooked"--at the lamp's flame. Then this glowing pellet of opium was thrust into the bowl of an opium pipe, and the latter handed to the smoker in the bunk. The smoker consumed his pellet after two or three whiffs. After smoking three or four pipes, most of the smokers succumbed, falling back in a torpid sleep. The air was heavy, disgusting in these places. Degraded white men and women were occasionally to be seen, though most of the smokers were Orientals, generally Chinese. Heart-sick and dizzy, Tom Halstead still kept on, though, whenever he reached outer air, he took pains to inflate his lungs several times before again entering one of the wretched, squalid "joints." Off the bunk-rooms several of these dens had "private" sleeping apartments, for white smokers who desired more privacy. Wherever he noted doors to such private rooms Tom Halstead thrust them open, glancing inside. Nor was his conduct resented. The opium smokers were too far gone to show or feel anger. "You haven't shown me any very swell places yet," protested the young skipper, after leaving the seventh place. The guide, a thin, undersized, slovenly man in his early thirties, turned to look the motor boat boy over keenly. Tom noticed that the fellow's eyes had a look in them much like the look in the eyes of several of the smokers they had just seen. "This fellow is an opium-user himself," decided Tom Halstead. "Say, young feller," remarked the guide, in a cautious undertone, "you're looking for _someone_." "Perhaps I am," the young skipper half admitted. "Who is he?" "No matter. But do you know any of the men who come here to Chinatown often to use the pipe?" "Say, if there's any white hop-fiend that I don't know, then he's a brand-new one," rejoined the guide. "Do you know a young man of twenty-four or five, about five-eight tall, dark, slim, rather fine-looking, smooth faced and with a slight scar under his right ear?" "I guess that must be young Doc Gaston," whispered the guide. Gaston? That was Giddings's first name. Tom Halstead started, though he strove to conceal his excitement. "Where does Doc Gaston go?" he demanded. "What'll you pay to find out?" insisted the guide, cunningly. "Ten dollars." "Make it fifty, and I'll do it for you." Tom, however, stuck to his original price, though three or four minutes were lost in haggling. "Ten dollars is the highest price," Tom declared, flatly. "That pays you for standing by me until I get Doc Gaston--if he's the one I'm looking for--outside of Chinatown." "Well, gimme the money now, then," demanded the guide. "Oh, no," retorted the young skipper, tartly. "You get the money after we're through and on the edge of Chinatown in a cab. Now, don't haggle any more, or I'll drop the matter altogether. Are you going to take my offer, or not?" "Say, you'll sure pay the ten, will ye?" whined the fellow. "As sure as there's a sky above us." "Then come along." "Where's the place?" questioned Tom Halstead. "Around the next corner." "Do you know where Yum Kee's restaurant is?" "O' course. They call Yum Kee the Chinatown Delmonico." "Lead me back there, then, and we'll get the carriage." Tom Halstead had been around so many corners in this crowded, complex quarter of San Francisco that he had lost his bearings. The guide, however, piloted him back to the waiting cab within two minutes. First of all, however, the young skipper peered in at the restaurant. Messrs. Baldwin and Ross were at one of the rear tables, eating. "Tell the driver where to go, now, and we'll make the start," Tom instructed the guide. Soon afterwards they alighted before a brightly-lighted Chinese grocery store. Besides the proprietor, there were three or four clerks and a dozen yellow-skinned, pig-tailed customers in the place. The guide, with an air of being at home here, led the way straight back, pushing ajar a door at the rear. The instant they entered this rear compartment the sickening odor of sizzling opium greeted Captain Tom's nostrils. This proved to be the inevitable outer room, but the guide led into the adjoining bunk-room. In this latter apartment were half a dozen doors. "Just look through 'em," whispered the guide. "Don't talk to me none. Remember, if there's a row here, I've got to make up a yarn that will square things for me." Two of the private rooms into which Halstead boldly intruded proved to be empty. In the third room a weazened little old Chinaman crouched over a lamp and a tray holding an outfit. He was preparing to remove these things. In the bunk, sprawled out, with glassy eyes, was a young man whom Tom Halstead recognized in a flash--weak, vice-ridden Gaston Giddings! CHAPTER VI FACING THE YELLOW BARRIER "Maybe what you likee here?" demanded the little old Chinaman, looking up with a snarl. "Looking around," retorted Tom, grimly. "Allee same--_git_!" The guide had approached, taking a swift, shifty look in at the bunk. "That's Doc Gaston, isn't it?" whispered Tom, over his shoulder. "Don't ye know him?" queried the guide, suspiciously. "He looks strange, with that glassy look in his eyes." "That's Doc Gaston, all right. 'Least, that's what he calls himself in Chinatown." "You allee same git--chop-chop," snarled the Chinaman, savagely. He had put the smoking outfit on the floor once more, and now pushed against the motor boat boy with both hands, trying to force him from the room. Tom, however, coolly and gravely picked the short Chinaman up off his feet, wheeled and put him down again on the floor of the bunkroom beyond. "Now, shove off!" ordered Halstead, half gruffly. "Don't bother me again." After flashing an ugly look at the motor boat boy, the Chinaman fled in the direction of the store. "Now, whatcher going to do?" demanded the guide, nervously. "If I can't get young Gaston to walking on his own feet, then I'm going to pick him up in my arms and carry him out to the carriage," answered Tom Halstead, firmly. "Smoking joss-house!" gasped the guide. "D'ye know what'll happen? There'll be a house-full of them chinks down on us! Hatchet men--gun men--say, young feller, dontcher know that these here hop-joints are protected by the highbinders?" Tom Halstead had heard of the Chinese highbinders in New York. He knew of them as a desperate crowd of yellow-skinned thugs. The guide's own terror was too real to be feigned. "If you're afraid of this kind of a job, what did you come here for?" asked the young skipper, quickly, gruffly. "Why, I thought ye was goin' to try to _coax_ the young Doc out. But, say--taking him out by force--lemme get outer this on the jump!" "No, you don't," roared Tom Halstead, with swift and quite unlooked-for energy. "Stand by, now!" He gripped the guide by the arm, fairly forcing him over to the bunk in which the young opium smoker lay. Giddings, if it was really he, lay open-eyed, yet unheeding. "Come, get up!" ordered the boy, reaching with both hands under the opium smoker's shoulders and raising him. "Out on your feet!" A drowsy, unintelligible protest came from the stranger. But Tom fairly lifted him out onto his feet, then threw a strong, supporting arm about him. "Now, walk! Come along!" ordered Halstead, briskly, taking hold of the young man with his other hand. "Sufferin' joss-sticks!" wailed the guide. "Here come the chinks--number-one man and all!" The door of the bunkroom burst open. Through the doorway rapidly advanced the gorgeously-dressed Chinaman whom Tom had supposed to be the proprietor of the store beyond. Back of him came four plainly-attired Chinamen with as hard-looking, evil faces as could be found in all Chinatown's quagmire of vice. "This ain't my doings, Ling!" wailed the guide, quailing before the stern glances of the yellow leader--the "number-one man." "I told this young fellow he'd have to quit. Let us out." "Yes; let us out!" repeated Tom Halstead, staring undauntedly into the eyes of Ling. "Put him down," ordered Ling, nodding scowlingly at the stranger whom Halstead supported. "Then, maybe, we see what we do with you." The air was full of danger of the most awesome kind. Though not a weapon showed, as yet, each of the four Chinese behind the proprietor stood with his hands thrust up into his sleeves. A Chinaman always carries his weapons up his sleeves, whence he can bring them down, into action, with incredible rapidity. "Now, don't think you've got me frightened," uttered Tom Halstead, sturdily, gazing undauntedly at the Chinese. "There isn't any scare in me when I'm dealing with people like you. If you make one single false move you'll be the ones who'll be sorry for it. Ling, I'm going to take this young man out of here. His friends know where he is, and they've sent me here to get him. I'm going to take him out of here, chop-chop. If I'm not out of here in another minute or so, then this young man's friends will bring down police enough on you to clean the place out." Ling laughed contemptuously. "Oh, you may think you have money enough, and 'pull' enough, to keep the police from troubling you," jeered young Halstead. "But, if this young man's friends get after you, it'll make a noise that the police can't shut their ears to." Two of the men behind Ling stood blocking the doorway. The other two, by now, were edging around to get on either side of the unflinching boy. "You yellow scoundrels, get back, and stay back!" commanded Tom, glaring at them sternly. There comes into notice, now and then, a man who has enough of the magnetic quality of bravery to hold a mob back. Tom Halstead was possessed of the grit needed for such an undertaking. "Get out of the way, Ling--you and your heathen hatchet men," commanded the young skipper, resolutely. "I'm going past you. If I find any fellow in my way I'll knock him down. If you fight back, it'll be the finish of you and of this place. _Gangway, you yellow idiots!_" [Illustration: "Gangway, You Yellow Idiots."] Still supporting, half dragging, the dazed young banker, Tom Halstead grittily pressed his way to the doorway and through it. One of Ling's henchmen attempted to stand immovable, but Halstead, with a quick blow of his open hand, sent the fellow stumbling backward. "If you're thinking of creeping up behind me, don't try it," advised Halstead, as coolly as ever, as he started across the outer room. He gained the closed door connecting with the outer store. Pausing here, a moment, he beheld two of Ling's yellow-visaged fellows creeping toward him. "Back for yours--that'll keep you out of trouble," barked the young skipper, coolly, without raising a hand to defend himself. Then he threw the door open, calling backward over his shoulder: "Don't you dare let this young man in here again, Ling. If you do, it'll wind you up." With that the motor boat boy contrived to pilot his charge swiftly through the store. He was not safe until he had passed the last of these yellow men, and the young skipper knew it. Yet, at last, he had the stranger out on the sidewalk, one hand up to signal the driver of the cab. The guide, keeping close to the motor boat boy, had managed to get out with him. But the little fellow was shaking as though seized with the ague. "Get into the cab, and help me take the young man in," ordered Tom, and the guide was glad, indeed, to dive inside the carriage. In another moment they were driving away. "Say, but you've got the nerve!" chattered the guide, his teeth knocking together. "Maybe you'd have some nerve if you'd learn to leave hop alone," rejoined Halstead. "Hop" is the Chinatown name for opium. Halstead sat on the rear seat, supporting the young banker beside him. In a little while the cab again halted in front of Yum Kee's restaurant. "Here," said Halstead, producing a ten-dollar bill. "Take this. Skip as soon as you like." "You oughter gimme more," whined the guide. "I've given you all I agreed. No use trying to get any more." The guide, thereupon, sprang out, vanishing within a few seconds. Going to the doorway of the restaurant, yet standing where he could keep a close watch on the cab, Tom uttered a long, low whistle. Messrs. Baldwin and Ross saw him instantly, and came hastening out. By the time they reached the cab the young skipper was inside again. "Is this your young man?" asked Halstead, almost in a whisper. "Yes," nodded Baldwin, a jubilant gleam showing in his eyes. "Better jump in, then, sir, so we can get away quickly." Gaston Giddings now leaned against Tom's shoulder, sleeping the sleep of drugged stupefaction. "How on earth did you find him so soon?" questioned Joseph Baldwin, leaning forward when the cab had gone beyond the confines of Chinatown. Tom told the whole story, simply and modestly. "Young man," uttered Jason Ross, solemnly, "I don't believe you have any idea, yet, of how huge a risk you ran yourself into. The Chinese criminal is desperate at all times, but ten-fold more so when he's on his own ground, surrounded only by his own crowd." "Well, I got out, didn't I?" smiled the young skipper, coolly. "Yes; but I marvel at it." "I understand more and more why Delavan recommended these youngsters to me," breathed Joseph Baldwin, gleefully. "'Ready for anything,' he told me, was the motto of the Motor Boat Club boys." When the cab rolled out onto the dock Jeff Randolph was found pacing back and forth on the landing stage. No other member of the crew was in sight, and Jeff stated that none of the others of Mr. Baldwin's party of guests had yet returned. Gaston Giddings, still unaware of his surroundings, was helped aboard the tender. A swift trip was made to the "Panther," and the unfortunate young man was immediately carried below to be put to bed in one of the stateroom berths. Half an hour later Mr. Baldwin's other guests returned from dinner. Jeff, who had gone back to meet them, brought them on board, next going back to await the arrival of Third Officer Costigan and the crew. Dr. Gray hastened below, to attend to Giddings, and to keep him quiet, also, after the crew should come on board. As for Captain Tom, after receiving Ab Perkins's report that all was well aboard, he went to his own cabin, calling Joe Dawson, through the speaking tube, to join him. Here Joseph Baldwin found both youngsters. "Captain Halstead, how much did you spend on my account, to-night?" asked the owner. "Altogether, sir, twelve dollars on the guide." "Never mind about any change, then," rejoined Mr. Baldwin, passing over a bank note. "I think I can make change for that, sir," retorted Skipper Tom, his color rising. "I'm not out after 'tips,' you know, sir," he added, with a smile. Producing a roll of money from an inner pocket, Halstead counted out eighty-eight dollars, which he handed to the owner. "You may refuse, now, but I shall be even with you later," remarked Joseph Baldwin. "And now, Captain, as soon as you can, after the crew comes aboard, I want you to put out to sea. I'll give you more explicit orders as soon as we're seven or eight miles west of the coast." "Very good, sir," replied Captain Tom, saluting as the owner turned to leave the captain's cabin. "You've been running into a bit more excitement, have you?" queried Joe, smiling. "A bit," laughed Halstead. Dawson asked no further questions. At a few minutes after midnight Mr. Costigan returned with his shore party. "It's your watch below, Mr. Costigan, until eight o'clock in the morning," First Officer Ab Perkins informed the third officer. "When you are called to turn out we'll be at sea." "Very good, sir," replied Costigan, and went below to seek his berth. Neither the third officer nor any of the crew had any suspicion that anything unusual had happened this evening. "Where's Mr. Costigan?" inquired Captain Halstead, coming forward. "Gone below to sleep, sir," Ab replied. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to rout him out. He'll have to stay on deck until he has piloted us through the Golden Gate. I want to be under way within five minutes." Somewhat chagrined, Ab Perkins sent one of the crew below for the third officer. Costigan was speedily in evidence. Now, one of the motors began to chug briskly below, and the two bow anchors came speedily up, being stowed by the watch. Joe was in the engine room with Jed Prentiss, while Captain Tom Halstead, feeling prouder and happier than ever in his life before, climbed to the bridge up behind the pilot house. After him went Dick Davis, whose watch it was to stand. Mr. Costigan, after seeing the anchors stowed, started for the bridge also. "Give the engine room slow speed ahead, Mr. Davis," directed Tom. Dick gave the bell-pull at the bridge rail the required jerk. The "Panther" began to move gracefully ahead, while Mr. Costigan, with the pilot-house speaking tube in his hand, called down the helmsman's orders. "Dick, this is the real thing!" whispered Tom Halstead, jubilantly, in his comrade's ear while Costigan was busy at the speaking tube. "It's as fine as bossing a liner," rejoined Dick Davis, enthusiastically. "Better!" declared Halstead. Dick presently signaled the engineer for more speed. The "Panther" ploughed through the waters of the bay, toward the Golden Gate. As Tom Halstead peered through the night ahead he felt another ecstatic thrill. It was all so fine, so glorious! No doubt it was better for him, at this moment, that he could not foresee all that lay ahead of him. CHAPTER VII DICK TAKES THE RESCUE BOAT TRICK It wasn't long before First Officer Ab Perkins also climbed the stairs to the bridge. "If this craft runs on the rocks, it won't be for want of officers at their post," laughed Skipper Tom, gleefully. "I couldn't keep away," confessed Ab. "It's the first time in my life I've ever stood on a real bridge by right. Oh, but this is a different thing altogether from the tiny bridge-deck of a fifty-foot boat!" Third Officer Costigan paid no heed to the motor boat boys. Though Costigan had never held higher rank than he now enjoyed, standing watch on a bridge was no new sensation for him. The young Irishman thought, mainly, of the time when he would have the "Panther" through the Gate and well off the coast. Then he could turn in below. Presently a fifth person joined the little squad on the bridge. It was Joseph Baldwin. "You've a clear night and an easy sea, Captain," smiled the owner. "It's a fortunate sort of start for you." "Yes, sir." "When you're well clear of the Gate, Captain, look in on me down in the main cabin, and I'll give you your sailing orders for the night." "Yes, sir." Halstead knew his own dignity on the bridge. He was on duty, and did not attempt to engage the owner in any conversation other than that which concerned his present duties. Mr. Baldwin went below just after the "Panther's" prow was turned into the beginning of the Golden Gate, that magnificent approach to San Francisco harbor. The Gate is some two miles long, and nearly a mile wide, with an abundance of deep water for the passage of the largest craft afloat. "What speed, sir?" asked Dick Davis. "Ten miles is fast enough in this channel, isn't it, Mr. Costigan?" inquired the young captain. "About as much as is best, sir." Dick, at a sign from Halstead, communicated the order to the engine room. Twelve minutes later the "Panther" was clearing the Gate, leaving a track of foam behind her as Davis signaled for increased speed. Joe, leaving his first assistant below at the motors, now joined the bridge squad. "If there's nothing more, Captain," suggested Dawson, "I'll turn in below for the night." Captain Halstead nodded. Soon afterwards he went below, to the main cabin. "I've come to report for orders, Mr. Baldwin," he announced. "They're simple enough," replied the owner. "Clear the coast by some twenty miles; then cruise south, at not too great speed--say, about twelve miles an hour." "Do these orders hold until changed, sir?" "Yes, Captain." Tom saluted, then turned as though to leave the cabin, but Mr. Baldwin called him back. "You're not needed on the bridge yet, Captain. Remain with us a little while, if you feel like it. You can see that Dr. Gray is keeping his own watch down here in the main cabin." At that moment the physician, an elderly man, stepped out of a stateroom, closing the door after him. "There! My patient will sleep for some hours, I think. I'll take the upper berth in his room to-night, so that I can hear him and attend to him if he wakes. Ah, good evening, Captain. Or is it good morning? I have been told of your fine work--on land, at that." "Is Giddings going to be in anything like his right mind when he wakes?" asked Mr. Baldwin. "Oh, in a general way, I think he'll know what he's saying," replied the physician. "But he won't be at all bright before thirty-six hours have passed. Even then I can't guarantee him. Opium drives him to the verge of mania." When several of the others had engaged in conversation, and the doctor had taken a seat near the young captain, Tom asked: "Is opium smoking a very great evil in San Francisco, Doctor? That is, do very many take to it?" "Not a very large proportion of the white population, I am glad to say," responded the physician. "Still, when the hop habit does get hold of our white people it works fearful havoc with them. Opium and morphine streak all the crime in San Francisco. These habits are the horrible revenge that the Chinaman has taken upon the city for the persecution the Chinaman once suffered at the hands of our hoodlums." "Then opium and morphine are largely responsible for the crime and vice in the big city we have just left?" asked Halstead. "No; I won't say they're responsible," replied Dr. Gray. "But they color the wickedness of San Francisco in their own way. There's a heap of wickedness in every large city, but the crimes and vices here take on aspects that are tremendously due to the use of opium and morphine by the criminal classes. A very large percentage of our San Francisco jailbirds use either opium or morphine. These drugs give them a lower order of intelligence, and make them more cowardly, though often more desperate when they find themselves driven into a corner. Captain Halstead, be sure you never allow yourself to be tempted to use either of those drugs." "Thank you; I don't believe I shall," smiled the young skipper. "Especially, after what I've seen to-night." "Great as the curse of alcohol is," added Dr. Gray, "the bane of opium is ten-fold greater. In two or three generations it would ruin any race." "Then why isn't the Chinese nation destroyed?" asked Halstead. "Because, although we have imported these dread habits from China, only a small proportion of the Chinese people use the drugs. Those who do are the outcasts of China." It was growing late, so the young skipper rose, inquiring whether the owner had any further orders for him. "None, thank you, Captain," replied Mr. Baldwin. Tom thereupon took his leave, returning to deck. The "Panther" was now miles westward of the coast. "Ugh!" shivered young Halstead, as he stepped out on deck. Though it was February, the air had been all but balmy in town. Out on the bay there had been a little more chill in the air. But now, out on the wide expanse of the ocean, there was a cold, damp wind blowing that seemed to bite to the marrow after the bright warmth of the main cabin. Tom promptly stepped into his own cabin, taking down his deck ulster and donning it. Then he made his way to the bridge, where Dick Davis was pacing from side to side. "No; I don't want any ice cream, thank you," grinned Dick, as his captain joined him. Davis, who wore a reefer, was beating his arms against his sides as though to keep warm. "I've been wishing, Captain, I could get below for my ulster." "Go ahead," nodded Halstead. "I'll walk the bridge until you return." Dick needed no urging, but made speed for his stateroom below. When he came back he looked more contented. "Queer climate, this," he remarked. "Yes," agreed the young skipper. "I'm told the thermometer never shows a very low marking, but that the night air chills one down to the marrow of his bones." For five minutes more young Halstead remained on the bridge, then went below, after having left the customary instructions to call him to the bridge in case he was needed. "Well, it's great to walk the bridge of as fine a craft as puts out of San Francisco," Dick told himself, later on in the night. "But at night it's mighty lonesome. I almost wish I could call one of the deckhands up here to talk to." Of the seven seamen of the crew, one was assigned to work under the first officer's orders during the daytime. The remaining six were divided between the two watches. Of the three now at Davis's orders, one was in the pilot house, for the purpose of relieving the quartermaster whenever required. A second seaman, at night, stood out far forward as bow-watch. The third made regular trips of inspection around the yacht, unless ordered to some other duty. Jed Prentiss, sitting all alone down in the motor room, made the sixth of those who were now awake on board the "Panther." At starboard and port the colored running lights gleamed; a third light, white, twinkled from the foremast-head. On the bridge stood a powerful searchlight whose rays could be turned on at will. Thus manned, the "Panther" swept on steadily over the ocean, now headed south. The solitary, boyish figure pacing the bridge, represented in the night the brains and the present master-hand of this yacht, which, equipped with a single three-inch cannon at the bow, could have outrun or destroyed all the navies, combined, of ancient times. Through the night the sea roughened a good deal. The wind blew more freshly, coming down off the land from the northeast. Still, the yacht was in no labor in the sea, and the sky remained bright overhead. So the second officer did not feel it necessary to disturb the rest of the captain. At a quarter of eight in the morning, however, with the sun hidden behind a haze, Dick pressed the button that sounded the electric vibrating bell over Tom Halstead's berth. Then Davis picked up the mouthpiece of the speaking tube to the pilot house. "Call the port watch," directed Dick, when the seaman had answered. Captain Tom came up on the bridge, pulling on his ulster as he came. He greeted Dick, then stood looking about at the sky. "It has freshened up a good deal in the night," remarked the young skipper. "Yes; I thought, sir, you'd want to see the weather while the watch was changing." Third Officer Costigan was not long in appearing, greeting his two superior officers as he reached the bridge. "Does this weather spell trouble coming on this coast, Mr. Costigan?" questioned Halstead. "It'll most likely turn rougher, sir. Sometimes we get a gale out of the northeast in February, though not as often as you do on the Atlantic. That's all I can say, sir. How's the glass? The barometer, you see, sir, is behaving like a gentleman at present." As Dick left the bridge at the changing of the watch, Tom followed him. Halstead went to his own cabin, where he ordered his breakfast served. This meal eaten, the young skipper, who still felt the fatigue of late hours the night before, threw himself down on a divan. Though he had not intended to sleep, in less than five minutes Tom Halstead had traveled all the way to the land of Nod. Nor did the increased rolling and pitching of the "Panther" disturb him; if anything, it lulled the young skipper into sounder slumber. By ten o'clock the gale was going more than forty miles an hour. At eleven Ab Perkins turned the knob of the door, stepping inside. As Ab stood there looking at the occupant of the divan, moisture dripped from the ulster of the first officer. "I guess we need you on deck, sir," roared Ab, shaking the young captain's shoulder. In a twinkling, Halstead was awake. In another instant he was on his feet. "Weather is booming a bit, eh?" cried Captain Tom, eagerly. "Nothing near as much, sir, as this craft can stand with comfort," Ab responded. "But we're coming up with a schooner under bare poles and wallowing badly. Foretop-mast blown away, too, and some of the bowsprit missing." "Then you did right to call me," rejoined Halstead, pulling on his shoes swiftly, and standing up to don his cap and reefer. "I'll go on the bridge at once." Baldwin and three of the passengers were on deck as Captain Tom appeared. Halstead nodded their way, then hurriedly climbed the bridge stairs. Now, he turned to take a look at the schooner. She lay dead ahead, for Costigan had ordered the "Panther's" course altered so as to speak the craft in distress. She was still about a mile distant, but for a keen-eyed sailor it needed no glass to make out the fact that the three-master was in utter distress. "Hard luck, that, in only a forty-mile blow," muttered Tom. "Wind-gauge shows forty-eight, sir," replied Mr. Costigan. "Anyway, someone must have been dozing on that schooner, to let her canvas be blown away in such a wind," contended the young skipper. Then Tom picked up the marine glasses, for a good look at the craft. "Why, confound it, she has nothing left but a dinghy at the stern davits," muttered Captain Halstead. "I'm afraid, Mr. Costigan, we've got to get out our own boat." "I'm afraid so, sir." "Then tumble out the starboard watch." The order was given through the pilot house speaking tube. The sailor down there with the quartermaster went below at lively speed, routing out the sleeping watch. By the time they were on deck Tom Halstead was manoeuvring the motor yacht around to leeward of the wreck. "Schooner, ahoy!" he bellowed through a megaphone, from the bridge end. "Yacht ahoy!" came back the faint answer on the breeze. "This is the schooner 'Alert,' Seattle; Jordrey, master." "What help do you want, 'Alert'?" "We're ready to abandon our vessel. Send us a boat, if you can." "Boat it is, then, Captain," Tom bawled back, lustily. "Stand by to help our boat make fast alongside your lee quarter!" Then, turning, glancing down at the deck, Tom called: "Mr. Davis, the rescue boat is the second officer's trick!" "Glad of it, sir," retorted Dick, his eyes glistening. "Lower the port life-boat. Take four men at the oars and one for the bow. You'll have to row. The power tender would be worthless in this sea. Mr. Perkins will take the bridge. Mr. Costigan and the quartermasters will help you off, Mr. Davis." Officers and men all moved with perfect discipline. With a merry roar they lowered the life-boat. A boarding gangway was lowered at the side, and down this the crew of the life-boat scrambled. Dick Davis took his place at the tiller. "Cast off," he commanded. "Shove off. Let fall oars. Now, then--at it, hearties!" From owner and passengers a cheer went up as the boat put off in such famous style. In another instant, however, the boat tossed like a cork on a high, rolling wave. Then it went down in the hollow between two billows. It was up in sight, an instant later. The men at the oars were doing their work with a will. Over the water struggled the life-boat, and then turned to come up under the lee quarter of the schooner. Suddenly Captain Tom Halstead clutched desperately at the bridge rail, his face going deathly white. "Merciful heaven!" he quivered, staring hard. For, near the crest of a wave, the life-boat heeled. Another big wave caught her. Dick Davis and the boat's crew had been hurled from the overturning boat! CHAPTER VIII THE REAL KENNEBEC WAY The young skipper of the "Panther" brushed his hand past his eyes. It was no dream, no trick of the vision. The life-boat was overturned, riding keel upward, while two of its crew clung desperately to the keel. A third head could be seen bobbing on the water. What had become of the other three human beings? "Mr. Perkins, take command of the 'Panther,'" ordered Tom, hoarsely. "Mr. Dawson, you and Mr. Prentiss, with two of the quartermasters and the remaining seaman, stand by the starboard life-boat. I'll go in charge." All those ordered sprang to their posts. Like a flash the davits were swung around outward, other hands loosening the lowering tackle. "Captain, this is madness," remonstrated Mr. Baldwin. "If that boat couldn't ride the water, this one can't." "This one must," retorted Captain Tom. "They're our own shipmates in the water over there. Stand by to lower!" "Captain, I protest!" cried Baldwin. "Get out of the way, then, sir, and do your protesting in private," came, sternly, from the young skipper. Before those flashing eyes Mr. Baldwin took a step backward. At sea the captain, not the owner, commands, and Joseph Baldwin quickly realized it. "Captain!" roared down Ab Perkins's voice from the bridge. On the point of giving the lowering-away order, Tom turned to look where the first officer pointed. In another second Captain Halstead commanded, hoarsely: "Stand by your posts at the davits!" Then he darted forward along the rail, taking in the inspiring sight that greeted his eyes. Though Dick Davis had met with bad luck, he did not mean to let it turn into disaster. Seeing two of his boat's crew safe for the moment, Dick succeeded in helping two more sailors to gain the boat. Still another was making stubborn headway over the waves toward the side of the schooner, where one of the crew of the wreck stood ready to cast a rope. And now the master of the "Alert" made a splendid cast with a line that shot far out, uncoiling until it lay across the overturned boat. "Good old Dick!" breathed young Halstead, as he saw his second officer catch the rope and pass the end quickly back past the others who clung to the keel of the overturned life-boat. The swimmer had now succeeded in reaching the rope, and was being helped up to the schooner's deck. Dick and the remaining men, besides holding onto the overturned boat, were slowly aiding those at the schooner's rail to haul them to greater safety. When Halstead saw the overturned boat made fast along under the schooner's lee he turned to shout back: "Swing in the davits, but stand by. We may need our boat yet." Dick Davis, however, aided by his own men and those on the derelict, was working hard to right the life-boat. When they succeeded a great cheer went up from the watchers on the "Panther." "Shall I go in closer, sir?" The question came from Parkinson, the chief steward, who, when Captain Tom made such a draft for a second crew, had been sent to the wheel house. "Get your orders from the bridge," Tom called back to him. Though Davis had lost his oars in the upset, the master of the "Alert" was able to supply others. Now the loading of the life boat began. On the return trip Dick was able to have six oarsmen. All hands stowed themselves away in the life-boat, Captain Jordrey coming last of all, with his log, papers and instruments. Then Davis gave the order to shove off. "Our friend is taking a big passenger contract, on such a rough sea," Tom muttered, uneasily, to Joe Dawson, who had joined him. "But Dick will pull it through, if anyone can." The life-boat, which was not of the largest size, lay low in the water as she set out on her return. Every now and then one of the waves broke with a choppy crest, to be succeeded by a long, rolling mass of water that threatened to fill and overwhelm the boat. Dick Davis, however, standing up, with one hand on the tiller and one knee against it, handled his little craft with a master's skill. "Your friend is a wonderfully good officer, Captain," cried Joseph Baldwin, enthusiastically. "Any of my other officers could do as well, sir," Tom replied, calmly. "It's the way of the Motor Boat Club training, and its effect on boys of sea-roving stock." Yet there were half a dozen times, on that perilous return trip, when those on the deck of the "Panther" held their breath, their pulses moving faster. At just the right moment Ab Perkins swung the craft around somewhat to starboard, then headed in so that Dick Davis was able more quickly to have the life-boat up under the yacht's broad lee. Then, in a moment of relief, falls and tackle were made fast to the boat, and the rescued men began coming up over the side like so many squirrels. "Where's your captain?" demanded Master Jordrey, as he came over the side. "I want to tell him that that boy officer of his is worth a dozen of some kinds of men I've seen." "I'm captain here, at your service, sir," Tom announced, with a smile. Jordrey stared hard, for Tom was plainly much younger than Davis. "What is this?" gasped the master of the "Alert." "A juvenile orphan asylum afloat, without the teachers? But no matter who you are, you know how to handle boats, large and small. My respects, Captain." The two mates, cook and crew of the schooner were pressing forward. Costigan returned to the bridge, while Ab came down to the deck again, attending to the hoisting and stowing of the life-boat. Halstead grasped the hand of Dick Davis as he came over the side, looking at him with a gaze full of appreciation. "Where are you bound, Captain Halstead?" inquired Captain Jordrey, a man of some forty years. "Cruising," Tom replied. "According to the owner's whim or orders. But we can stow your people away somewhere on the boat until we make port, or pass some other craft in smoother water. There's an extra stateroom forward, below, Captain Jordrey, that you can have." There were also three berths, not in use, in the forecastle. For the rest mattresses were laid, at need, on the forecastle floor. "It serves my owners right to lose the schooner," grumbled Jordrey. "The canvas was worn out. I put in a requisition for new sets of sails before leaving port, but they wouldn't let me have them." Joseph Baldwin approached Davis while he and Tom were talking on the deck. "All I want to say, Mr. Davis," explained the owner, "is that, every time I see you Motor Boat Club boys do anything new it only makes me more and more glad that you're on my craft." CHAPTER IX THE CHASE OF THEIR LIVES It was Saturday forenoon when the officers and men of the "Alert" were taken from the wreck. By Sunday morning the sea was running smoothly after the short gale. On this latter morning the steamer from San Diego to San Francisco was sighted and hailed, and Captain Jordrey and his men were transferred to her. At this time the "Panther" was cruising leisurely, first north, then south, out of sight of land, and at a mean distance of some two hundred miles from the Golden Gate. On this Sunday morning young Gaston Giddings appeared on deck. He appeared to have entirely recovered from his late debauch, though his eyes lacked their natural luster. He was tastefully attired in a new suit and topcoat taken from his wardrobe on board. He and Joseph Baldwin walked much together, talking, and once in a while Mr. Ross joined them. "Captain," called the owner, as young Halstead stepped on deck. "Yes, sir," responded Tom, approaching. "Mr. Giddings understands the part you played Friday night," went on Mr. Baldwin, in a low voice. "And I wish to thank you, of course," put in Giddings, holding out his hand, though it seemed to the young skipper that his own pressure was not very cordially returned. "You're welcome, of course, Mr. Giddings," smiled Halstead, "though I hope I shall never have a chance to render the same service again." "I hope not," sighed the young man. Though Tom did not stare impertinently, he looked into the young man's face long enough to note the lifelessness depicted there, and the weakness of the mouth. "It seems queer to think of such a young fellow, and such a pulseless piece of putty, being president of a great bank," thought Tom to himself. "However, of course, if he inherited the controlling stock, he could see to it that he was elected to the post." Dr. Gray, though he did not often speak to Giddings, hovered on deck, keeping a rather watchful look over the young man. During the afternoon Tom had occasion to go to the main cabin briefly. Mr. Baldwin looked around from the table at which he sat with his guests. He nodded to the young captain, then turned back to the pile of papers that he had evidently been discussing with his guests. "You needn't go, Captain," called the owner over his shoulder. "We are talking business, but we know you have no ears, away from your duties. Now, Giddings, as I've been explaining to you, we need ten million dollars in cash to put this matter in motion. Your bank, the Sheepmen's, then, will advance five millions on the collateral we have been discussing, and the syndicate of banks that I have named will put up the other five millions. That will start the matter in motion. Then, when we come to the second step in the game, we shall have to be ready with fifteen millions, and of this money the Sheepmen's----" Tom Halstead heard, yet didn't hear. It was all a matter of listless indifference to him what these men of the money world were planning in the way of new and big enterprises. The young captain would have been much more interested in reading the "Panther's" patent log. "Are you certain, Giddings, that you have facilities for turning over the five millions to us at once?" asked Mr. Ross. "Why, we've been calling in cash for some days," replied Gaston Giddings. "We've been preparing for this demand of yours for money. Then, you know, we secured the whole of the Treasury Department's last apportionment of thousand-dollar Treasury notes. We have three million dollars' worth of these notes locked in our vaults at this moment. That's good enough money for you, isn't it?" demanded the young bank president, boastfully. "Yes," muttered Ross, "if it's all there when we get back." "What do you mean?" demanded Giddings, flushing. "I guess you know how highly I esteem your cashier, Rollings?" "He's all right," declared Giddings, hotly. "As long as I don't own any stock in your bank I'm not worrying," replied Ross, rather shortly. "It's none of my business, young man; yet, as one of your father's friends, I can't help being uneasy over the thought that Rollings has the combination of your main vault." "If he didn't have, I could hardly take these jaunts out to sea," retorted the young man. "Yes, you could; Hawkins, your vice-president and your father's before you, is a man to be trusted with anything. Hawkins could go to the main vault whenever necessary. For Rollings to have that combination----" "I don't want to hear any more of this!" cried Giddings, hotly, rising from the table. "You don't need to, then," rejoined Mr. Ross, coolly. "You know what I _think_." "Don't get in a huff, Gaston," put in Joseph Baldwin, briskly. "Ross has told you, plainly, in so many words, just what other friends of yours think of Rollings. He's an able banking man, but none of us think too highly of his honesty. You'll find that two of your own directors, Mr. Pendleton and Mr. Howe, who are here, agree with Mr. Ross and myself." Mr. Howe remained silent, tapping the table with a pencil, but Mr. Pendleton said, slowly: "Oh, I guess Frank Rollings is all right. Still, I wish, with the others, that he didn't have such easy access to three millions of dollars in bills of such large denomination that the whole sum could be carried off in a satchel." "Gentlemen," announced Giddings, rather stiffly, "when we reach San Francisco to-morrow morning, and find that the money is all safe, I shall consider that I have the apology of each one of you for the doubts thrown at my friend, Frank Rollings, behind his back." That was the last that Tom Halstead heard, for he left the cabin. At eight o'clock that evening, however, the young skipper received his orders from Mr. Baldwin to make San Francisco at ten the following forenoon. Almost to the minute the yacht's bow anchors were let go at her usual moorings in San Francisco Bay. The power tender was lowered over the side, to take Mr. Baldwin and his guests ashore, Quartermaster Bickson going along to handle the boat. "Come along with us, if you like, Captain," invited Mr. Baldwin. "After we get through our business at the bank our party will lunch at one of the clubs. It ought to be pleasant for you." Tom gratefully accepted, making a swift change from his uniform to ordinary street dress. Gaston Giddings held his head a good deal higher than usual when he led the party from carriages into the sombre, solid old building in which the Sheepmen's Bank was housed. The young president conducted his party through the long counting room and into the president's office at the rear. Here Giddings took command, as by right. Showing his guests to seats, he stepped over to a massive roll-top desk, unlocking it and throwing the roll up. Then he pressed a button on his desk. One of the bank's messengers entered. "Ask Mr. Rollings to come in," desired Giddings. The messenger soon returned, to report: "Mr. Rollings is out at this moment. Mr. Conroy, the first assistant cashier, is at his desk." "Mr. Conroy will do, then." The first assistant cashier was soon in the president's office. To him Giddings explained about the loan that had been decided upon. "I will prepare a list, Mr. Conroy, of stable securities on which I wish you to raise two million dollars in cash at once. But, first of all, get Mr. Hawkins to go to the main vault with you. Tell Mr. Hawkins that I wish the three millions in thousand-dollar notes brought here. You come back here with Mr. Hawkins." "Can it be delayed for just a little while, sir?" inquired Conroy. "Two of the United States bank examiners are here, prepared to go over our assets." "Bring that three million here at once," rapped out Gaston Giddings, rather sharply. "The bank examiners may come in here and help in counting it here in my office. Now, go; carry out my orders, precisely." Mr. Conroy departed in haste. While he was gone the two bank examiners entered the president's room. Giddings greeted them, asking them to take seats. Cigars were passed about by a messenger. The air was rather thick with smoke when Conroy returned, accompanied by the aged vice-president, Mr. Hawkins. The latter carried a satchel, which he took to the large centre table. "The money there?" inquired Giddings. "Yes, sir," responded Mr. Hawkins. "I understood that you wished to look it over here." As Giddings laid down his cigar, moving over to the table, the two bank examiners joined the bank's officers. Not a very imposing-looking pile was revealed when Mr. Hawkins opened the satchel, drawing forth the contents--three not very large packages covered with numerous heavy seals. "As I'll probably never see three million dollars again in my life, I'll try to get a good look now," thought Tom Halstead, keenly alive with interest. He sat at some distance from the table, but had a good view. Gaston Giddings himself opened one of the packages. He broke the seals deliberately, then unfolded many wrappings. Suddenly the contents of the package fell to the polished mahogany surface of the table, followed by the frenzied gaze of the young president. "_Nothing but blank brown paper!_" he screamed, hoarsely. He collapsed, falling with his arms across the table, his eyes bulging as though an epileptic seizure threatened him. With a fearful gasp Henry Hawkins snatched up another package, tearing it nervously apart. Conroy did the same with the third package. In each case the result was the same. "Three million dollars worth of brown paper!" clicked one of the bank examiners. Gaston Giddings, moaning piteously, turned, tottering back to his desk, where he fell heavily into his chair, next letting his head fall forward on his arms. Messrs. Hawkins and Conroy recovered much more quickly. They darted out into the counting room, but presently came back to report. Frank Rollings had been gone more than an hour. When he left, he had carried a satchel. Some fifteen minutes before leaving the bank he had been in the main vault, the huge steel door of which he had afterwards closed. Conroy was now in that vault, with several subordinates, engaged in making a rapid survey of the other contents. In the president's room Henry Hawkins, who no longer waited to consult the almost paralyzed young president, went swiftly to the telephone. The Bankers' Protective Association, advised by telephone, swiftly had half a dozen detectives scurrying to the bayside, to take up the trail at the ferry that furnishes the sole avenue to the east. Others of these detectives covered the docks of vessels due to sail that day from the port of San Francisco. Nor did the bank examiners present fail to do their duty promptly. Within a few minutes a United States assistant district attorney and two deputy marshals arrived at the bank. From the first moment none who had knowledge of the affair believed Frank Rollings, the absent cashier, to be innocent. The assistant district attorney swiftly drew up an information, which Giddings and Hawkins signed under oath. The law's officer rushed off to get from a United States judge a brief warrant authorizing the arrest of the cashier, for the Sheepmen's was a national bank, and the robbery came under the jurisdiction of the United States courts. Then came a telephone message from the Banker's Association: "One of our detectives has learned that Rollings sailed, an hour ago, on the steam yacht, 'Victor.' An observer at the Cliff House reports that he has made out the 'Victor,' some miles from the coast, hull-down to the southwest!" That news electrified those in the bank president's office. They sprang into action. Automobiles were summoned to the door of the bank. Joseph Baldwin's same party sped back to the water front. Another 'phone message summoned the assistant district attorney and his marshals to meet them at the landing stage. It was all carried through with a rush. Hardly had the last member of the party stepped over the side of the "Panther" before Tom Halstead had the anchors up and stowed. The young skipper himself, from the bridge, rang the engine room bell for half speed ahead, quickly changing this to full speed. "Are you in the engine room, Joe Dawson?" called Skipper Tom, through the speaking tube. "Right on hand!" came the answer. "Then whoop up the speed for all you're worth. Let's have it all--every bit. We're on the chase of our lives!" Captain Tom Halstead was still on the bridge when the Golden Gate was left behind. He was still there, more than two hours later, when the upper spars of a vessel believed to be the "Victor" were made out on the far southwestern horizon. CHAPTER X COMING TO CLOSE, DANGEROUS QUARTERS "Have any of you gentlemen ever had a good, long look at the 'Victor'?" shouted Captain Tom, leaning down over the starboard bridge rail. "I have," admitted Mr. Baldwin. "Then I think you'd better come up here, sir, and take one of the glasses." "Think you've sighted her?" demanded Baldwin, eagerly, as he raced up the steps. "We've sighted some yacht. We've got to cut down a few miles of the distance between us before we can be sure about the stranger." Then, while Baldwin held the glasses to his eyes, Dick Davis showing him where to look, Halstead snatched up the engine room speaking tube. "Joe, give us more of that hot-foot, if it's in the old motors. We think we're in chase--but, oh, man, man! How we need speed now!" "I can't be sure of anything yet," complained Mr. Baldwin, in a depressed tone. "We've got to be nearer, and see the hull of the craft yonder, before I can feel sure about her." "I'm pretty near sure, now, that it's the 'Victor,'" muttered Halstead, after he had picked up his own marine glass and used it for a few seconds. "Why do you say that?" demanded the owner. "Our masts must be visible to the commander of the other craft. As if he suspected pursuit, he's crowding on steam. See that big cloud of black smoke coming up between the other craft's masts?" "Yes! You're right." "Now, unless a captain who is already moving under good speed is trying to escape something, he doesn't suddenly throw on his furnace drafts in that fashion," went on Tom, hurriedly. "So, Mr. Baldwin, I think you may feel sure that you're speeding along in the wake of the 'Victor.'" "I'll have to call Jephson up here and show him this," cried the owner, moving to the bridge rail. "All right, sir. But don't ask any others up. We've got a hard chase in hand, and don't want enough folks up here to interfere with the handling of the 'Panther.'" Jephson started quickly forward at the call. "Have you sighted the runaway craft?" called Mr. Ross, also starting forward. "We think so," Mr. Baldwin answered. "But don't come up here. Captain Halstead doesn't want a crowd on the bridge. All the space up here is needed for handling the yacht." Mr. Jephson saw what there was to see. He added his belief that they were in the wake of the "Victor." "Are you going to be able to overtake her, Captain?" he demanded, eagerly. "We're going to try," Tom responded, anxiously. "We've only four hours of daylight, or so, left to us. If we can get close enough, however, we ought to hold the 'Victor' after dark with our searchlight." "You'll overtake her, of course!" declared Joseph Baldwin, abruptly. "Yet the 'Victor' is said to be a very fast boat, sir." "So is the 'Panther,'" retorted the owner. "Besides, Captain Halstead, we've _got_ to overtake her!" Tom Halstead took up the mouth-piece of the engine room speaking tube. "That you, chief?" he asked. "I think you'd better come to the bridge, watch the chase, and see what you have to beat." Joe Dawson came immediately to the bridge. Presently he used the tube, calling down very definite instructions to Jed Prentiss, whose trick it was at the motors. "Keep a close eye on your helmsman's work, Mr. Davis," the young captain directed. "See to it that he doesn't waver a hair's breadth in bearing down on the stranger. Any speed lost in steering would be a useless waste." While Joe remained on the bridge, Halstead soon went to the deck below. Mr. Baldwin followed him. "If you can make the 'Panther' show all I think there is in her, Captain," commented the owner, "then we should overtake that other craft and have this chase ended in a few hours." "The 'Panther' is doing, now, sir, all that she is capable of doing under her motors alone. The result of this race depends mainly on how well the steam yacht is handled, for she seems very nearly, if not quite, as speedy as your yacht." "Is the 'Panther' going at absolutely her last quarter of a mile?" "Chief Engineer Dawson informs me that he might get a little more speed out of the motors, but that he feels it wouldn't be altogether safe to try." "Wouldn't a hoist of sail help us?" "Not with the wind from the present quarter," Tom replied, thoughtfully. "I have already been considering that." "It seems hard to be beaten," sighed Joseph Baldwin. "It is hard, even, not to find ourselves racing right up on the 'Victor.'" "We haven't been beaten yet, sir," smiled Halstead. "Nor are we beaten as long as we have the other boat in sight." As Baldwin turned and stepped over to the rail, he saw Skipper Tom moving away. "Where are you going, Captain?" "To my cabin, sir, to take a nap." "Nap?" echoed the owner, in great amazement. "Yes, sir; I am afraid I shall be up about all night. Just now there's a chance for me to store up some sleep." "But the chase?" "Mr. Davis will have his orders to call me if we appear to be losing ground at all." Mr. Baldwin looked his astonishment. He did not yet know the Motor Boat Club boys as well as he might have done. Dick Davis was up on the bridge, keen-eyed and alert. Dick knew well enough what to do, and he could call the young captain at need. Besides, Joe Dawson was up there with the second officer, watching the relative speeds of the two boats. When Tom Halstead turned out again he had put two hours of sleep into his supply of reserve force. "How do we stand, now, Mr. Davis?" asked the young skipper, reaching for the speaking tube. "We've been gaining, sir. We can make out the upper hull, now. Mr. Baldwin is here on the bridge, and declares the stranger is the 'Victor.' One of the deputy marshals, who knows the boat well, is also certain." "Is the 'Victor' burning coal as hard as ever?" "Just as hard, sir." "And we're gaining? That shows we can overhaul the other craft in time. How's the weather?" "Slight haze, Captain, but fine weather," reported Dick Davis. So Captain Tom Halstead felt that he could still safely take his time, for he expected to be all night on duty. He indulged in the luxury of a bath, dressed comfortably, drew on his reefer, then leisurely left his cabin, ascending the stairs to the bridge. "I've hardly been away from here," announced Mr. Baldwin. "I doubt if I shall be, to-night, sir," Tom answered. "You speak of to-night as though you thought the chase would last through the hours of darkness." "And doesn't it seem likely to you that it will, Mr. Baldwin, unless something happens to the 'Victor'?" "I fear I was never built for slow, patient work like this," sighed the financier. "Gaining one second in every hour would wear me out in time." Before dark Captain Halstead had the hull clearly in sight. The "Victor," however, was still some five miles in the lead, nor did the "Panther" appear to be gaining, much more than half a mile an hour. It was Third Officer Costigan's watch on the bridge, by this time. Dick Davis, however, did not feel like turning in, and spent much of his time pacing the deck forward, keeping a sharp lookout. Just before dark the motor yacht's searchlight was turned on. A few minutes later its thin, bright ribbon of light was kept almost constantly turned on the craft ahead. Tom Halstead and Joe spent a comfortable amount of time over their dinner at table in the captain's cabin. "I guess Mr. Baldwin wonders that we can take any comfort at this sort of thing," laughed Joe. "I'll wager he doesn't give much time to his supper to-night." "Perhaps we wouldn't, either, if we owned considerable stock in the Sheepmen's Bank, as Mr. Baldwin does," murmured Halstead. "For him, and for some of the others aboard, this race is for tremendously heavy stakes. I wish, though, that Mr. Baldwin could realize that, even if we do eat, and even nap, we are straining every nerve to catch up with the other boat." Just then the buzzer for the bridge speaking tube sounded. Tom was able to reach the mouthpiece without leaving the table. "Captain," reported Mr. Costigan, "the craft ahead seems to be making somewhat less speed." "Does it look like a break-down?" asked the young skipper. "Can't say, sir. But the 'Victor' must be going two miles an hour slower than she was ten minutes ago." "That's the best news I've heard, Mr. Costigan. Watch your helmsman's work. Let me know if anything more happens. Anyway, I'll be on the bridge as soon as I've finished dinner." Joe, who had jumped up while he heard his chum speaking, now looked astonished. "Going to finish your dinner, Tom, after hearing such news as that?" "Yes. Why not? Oh, I'm enthusiastic enough, but it takes gasoline, not enthusiasm, to keep motors going. You might call the news down to Jeff Randolph, though, and see whether he thinks he can put on any more spurt without danger." Jeff Randolph reported that the motors were going at top speed. Chief Steward Parkinson came in to remove the dishes for that course. His face was glowing. "Mr. Baldwin's up on the bridge, Captain," reported the steward. "I thought he would be," nodded the young skipper, coolly. Twenty minutes later, when Captain Tom Halstead had finished the last of the meal, he rose, donning his cap, then pulling on his deck ulster. "Now," he remarked, quietly, "I think I'll go above and have a look." Joe Dawson followed at his heels. The long beam of the searchlight trailed out over the water, its further end resting across the stern of the "Victor." Mr. Costigan had ordered a sailor to the bridge, whose sole duty was to keep the searchlight trained. "This race can't last much longer," cried Mr. Baldwin, gleefully. "The present indications, sir," Tom replied, "are that it will last more than long enough for you to go below and have your dinner, Mr. Baldwin, if you want it." "I think I will go," laughed the owner. "Standing up here, watching, watching all the time, my nerves are getting thready. You'll call me, of course, if----" "When we get near enough to hail the other boat, sir," Tom Halstead replied, gravely. Dinner was not quite over in the main cabin when Skipper Tom uttered a sudden exclamation that made Costigan wheel about. The "Victor" was palpably slowing down. "What can that mean?" demanded Halstead. "A crank-pin loose, or some other trouble with the machinery, sir?" suggested the third officer. Tom Halstead quickly summoned the sailor who was with the quartermaster in the pilot house. "Go to the main cabin, with my compliments, and tell Mr. Baldwin that the other craft is slowing down," ordered Tom. There was a rush from below. The assistant from the United States district attorney's office took but a brief look, then dived below to find his two deputy marshals. These two officers followed their superior to the deck, stationing themselves in the bow. "Captain," shouted Mr. Jephson, "will you go up close enough so that I can hail them?" "When we overtake the steam yacht," Captain Halstead shouted back, "I shall run up to starboard of her, and as close as I can without danger of collision." "That will do excellently, Captain," assented the district attorney's assistant. The "Panther" was now rapidly closing in on the distance that separated the two craft. As yet, however, the motor yacht remained almost fairly astern. Suddenly, from one of the stern port-holes of the steam yacht there came two red flashes. A bullet crashed through the glass in the front window of the "Panther's" pilot house. Captain Tom was standing with his head some two feet from the searchlight. The second bullet whizzed between his head and the light. Almost instantly two more flashes showed ahead. CHAPTER XI GASTON GIDDINGS MAKES TROUBLE THE second pair of bullets passed overhead, though close enough for their whistling song to be heard. In a jiffy there was a mad scramble to get away from the bridge. Captain Tom Halstead and Third Officer Costigan had that place to themselves. "Throw the wheel over three points to the starboard! Hold to a course three points off the present one," called Halstead, sharply. "You men answer with your revolvers," was Mr. Jephson's order. "Our revolvers wouldn't carry that far, sir," objected one of the deputy marshals. "I know it, but let those scoundrels discover that we have firearms too," retorted the district attorney's assistant. So the futile revolver shots flashed out. In answer a rifle bullet carried away the hat of one of the deputies. "That's confounded close shooting," coolly uttered the unhatted one, running down the deck after his head gear. Another shot flew by close to the searchlight. "That's the mark the scoundrels are aiming at," muttered the young skipper, angrily. "Turn off the current, Mr. Costigan, and I'll unship the light." This done, the big reflector and the bulb behind it were taken down to the pilot house by one of the sailors. "You confounded pirates!" roared the district attorney, shaking his fist in the direction of the "Victor." "That _was_ actual piracy, wasn't it?" questioned Mr. Baldwin. "Nothing else!" retorted the assistant, angrily, as he came down aft to place the wheel house between himself and that other craft. "If we ever get that captain and crew on shore we'll make 'em smart in a trial for piracy!" Having veered off the course of direct pursuit, Captain Halstead was now steering ahead, meaning to run parallel with the "Victor." He kept half a mile away, but, even had the other craft lowered its running lights, the starlight was bright enough to enable the bridge officer to keep the "Victor" in sight. "Try to keep just this distance, Mr. Costigan," directed Tom Halstead. "Aye, aye, sir." Tom then descended to the deck, where he sauntered up to the excited group. "What's your guess, Halstead, as to the meaning of those shots?" questioned Mr. Baldwin. "Well, of course," replied Tom, slowly, "the master of that other yacht would be glad to see our searchlight smashed. That was one reason for the firing." "And another?" "Why, I imagine, sir, those people want us to know that they carry rifles. They want to show us the folly of thinking we can pursue and board them." "This pursuit should really have been undertaken by a naval vessel or revenue cutter," said Mr. Jephson, rather disgustedly. "One shot from the bowgun of an armed vessel would bring that yacht lying to in a jiffy." "Humph!" grunted the practical Mr. Baldwin. "There isn't a cutter or gunboat in San Francisco waters fast enough to overtake either of these boats." "I don't understand, sir," put in Halstead, quietly, "why you haven't had a wireless telegraph apparatus installed aboard this yacht. Why, even the little fifty-five foot boat that Dawson and I own has a wireless installation." "What would you do with one, if you had it on board now?" asked Mr. Baldwin. "Do?" repeated Halstead. "Why, we could signal in all directions. There may be some fast cruiser or torpedo boat destroyer, out of our sight, yet within reach by wireless. If we could pick up one such vessel now, we could soon end this chase, and without bloodshed. Even any foreign war vessel would answer, for all war vessels have the right to overhaul and capture pirates. Any warship of any nation in the world would act, now, on a request from Mr. Jephson, who represents the United States. And such help may be not twenty miles off, but we have no wireless with which to find out." "As we haven't a wireless installation," pursued Mr. Baldwin, "what are we going to do now, Mr. Jephson?" "I trust you'll continue to keep that other yacht in sight," replied the assistant district attorney. "We may yet meet a warship or a revenue cutter." "Any kind of a vessel we meet may have a few rifles on board that we could borrow or buy," suggested Captain Tom. "Anyway," decided Mr. Baldwin, "we'll keep that pirate craft right in sight if we can, and as long as we can. We'll trust for something to turn up that will throw luck in our way." The "Victor" which was of some ten feet greater length than the "Panther," looked like a boat which, despite her speed, was built to carry a good deal of coal. Yet, through the next few hours that followed, no attempt was made by those handling the steam craft to get her best speed out of her. It looked as though her sailing master and engineer meant to save some coal, now that the "Panther" had caught up and could keep up. Both vessels continued at a speed of some sixteen miles per hour. Mr. Baldwin and his guests remained on deck. So did young Halstead, who had decided that he must now do with but little sleep while the chase continued in its present phase. "Any sharp little sea-trick might enable the other fellows to slip away from us," he declared to the owner. "Every man on board ought to help in the good work on hand." At about eleven o'clock the young skipper left Mr. Costigan on the bridge, and went below, though he did not turn in. Nor had any of the passengers sought their berths. All of Mr. Baldwin's friends were on deck. Young Gaston Giddings, however, paced nervously, apart from the rest. "He's fretting over his folly in keeping Rollings in such an important post, and giving the rascal the chance to run away with all that money, I suppose," thought the young skipper. Somehow, Tom could not help watching Giddings a good deal. It was the nervous hitch in the young man's gait that first caught Halstead's eye. Presently the young captain of the "Panther" strolled slowly by Gaston Giddings. "Confound it, what a queer, restless look there is in the fellow's eyes," thought Tom, uneasy, though he could hardly have explained why. After that Halstead watched the young bank president even more closely, though he took pains to hide the scrutiny. A request from Mr. Jephson called the cabin party over to the port rail to watch the "Victor." The instant the last of his companions had gone forward, and had passed around the pilot house, Giddings, after a swift look about him, stole into the dining saloon. Tom Halstead, ostensibly lounging behind one of the life-boats, saw this move. "Now, what's he up to?" muttered Tom. "Mischief, judging by his queer antics. We've mischief enough to deal with, without having it take place right on board our own boat!" Halstead stole forward in time to see Giddings darting down the staircase into the main cabin. "I'll just get down where I can watch this," muttered Tom. Concealed near the foot of the staircase, he saw Giddings, with some sort of a small tool, prying the lock of Dr. Gray's medicine case open. "Oho!" muttered Halstead, as he saw young Mr. Giddings abstract a small, screw-capped vial. "There's morphine in that doctor's outfit, and Giddings has guessed it!" Tossing the medicine case back into the doctor's stateroom, Gaston Giddings stole up the after-companionway to the deck aft. "With all our other troubles aboard, I don't believe we want any morphine maniacs here!" muttered Tom Halstead, excitedly. Giddings, quivering with eagerness, trembling with aggravated nervousness, leaned against the stern rail, glancing out over the water as he drew the screw-capped vial from his pocket. Just as he started to remove the cap from the bottle, a hand shot around him from the rear. The young skipper of the "Panther" snatched the vial, remarking coolly: "Mr. Giddings, you don't need that stuff, and no one on board wants you to have it." With a swift movement, Halstead dropped the vial into one of his pockets. "You confounded thief!" hissed Gaston Giddings. Swift as a flash, in his rage, the young man sprang at the youthful skipper of the yacht. "You'll give that back to me, or go overboard!" snarled the victim of the drug habit. "If you get it, it'll be after I'm overboard," snapped back Tom. In another instant Giddings's fingers were wrapped in a tight hold about Tom's throat. The drug maniac seemed possessed, for the instant, of the strength of half a dozen men. The young skipper himself was no weakling, but now he had his hands full. Even had he been so minded, he could not have called for help. Backward and forward the pair struggled for a few seconds. Then the young skipper found himself growing weaker for lack of air. With a triumphant snarl Gaston Giddings forced his antagonist to the stern rail. Still Tom Halstead fought furiously, silently, with that tight grip at his throat making his brain reel. He realized that Gaston Giddings was winning the victory! CHAPTER XII TOO-WHOO-OO! IS THE WORD IN that last desperate moment Tom Halstead employed the trick he had hesitated to use. He raised one of his feet, kicking smartly at the left knee-cap of his assailant. With a groan, Giddings weakened his hold, for the pain following the kick was intense. Throwing both his arms tightly around the young man, Halstead held on, drawing himself back to the deck as Giddings fell back. "You're not going to fool me that way!" snarled the young drug maniac. He made another spring, trying to forget the pain in his knee. But Halstead had regained his footing fully. Now, he dodged, then closed in, tripping Giddings and throwing him heavily to the deck. "What's this? What's this going on?" demanded Joseph Baldwin, running back along the port side, followed by Mr. Ross and Dr. Gray. Halstead was now on top of his assailant, and, though Giddings still tried to fight with fury, his strength was deserting him. "One of you hold him," urged Captain Tom, "and I'll get up and explain." "Did he attack you?" insisted Mr. Baldwin. "Well, rather," grunted Halstead. "Let him up. He won't dare attack you again, with so many about." "No; but he may try to jump overboard," retorted Halstead. "Mr. Giddings has another drug streak on him. He's not responsible for what he does." "I guess that's right," nodded Dr. Gray. "Baldwin, you and Mr. Ross hold him, while the captain gets up and tells us what has happened." The young skipper quickly explained, producing the vial he had snatched from the young bank president. "That's all the morphine I have with me," remarked Dr. Gray. "I'll make sure of keeping that, hereafter, where no one but myself can find it. Mr. Baldwin, you'd better get the young man below. Use force, if you find it necessary." They accomplished this without having attracted the attention of any of the sailors or stewards. Mr. Giddings was then unceremoniously thrust into his stateroom, and the door locked, though this was not until the physician had searched the young man, removing his pocket knife and also the tool that the drug victim had used in forcing the lock of the medicine case. "I did what I thought was right," Halstead explained. "And I'm mighty glad you saw him, and acted so promptly," replied the physician. Through the rest of the night the physician had a battle with his patient, working hard to keep a more pronounced streak of mania from coming on. It is to such fearful torments that "hop-fiends" and morphine users are always exposed in the end. At midnight Dick Davis again went on the bridge, beginning his eight hours' watch. Though Halstead had the utmost faith in the skill and judgment of his friend, he, also, remained up until nearly four o'clock in the morning. Then he turned to leave the bridge. "I'm going to my cabin now, Mr. Davis, to turn in on my sofa for a while. If I am needed for anything at all, don't hesitate to call me instantly." "Aye, aye, Captain," Dick replied. Barely two hours had the young skipper slept when the sharp, jarring tones of the vibrating electric bell from the bridge rang over his head. Tom was up in an instant, pulling on his shoes. As he reached for his deck ulster and cap there came from overhead a note that told him at once why he was wanted. Too-whoo-oo-oo! "Fog!" gasped the young yacht captain. "Of all the confounded luck!" With his ulster over his arm he threw open the door of his cabin, making for the bridge steps. The mist was yet light and curling as Captain Halstead reached the open. Second Officer Dick Davis met him at the head of the steps. "How long has this been coming on?" demanded Halstead. "The first little puffs rolled in half an hour ago," replied Dick. "You see, I've put in closer to the enemy. We're still well in sight, or I'd have called you earlier." The motor yacht was now running along abreast of the "Victor," and less than three hundred yards distant. The steam yacht's lights were in plain sight, save when occasional puffs of fog obscured them briefly. Tom groaned with excitement. "This is going to get heavier," he muttered. "Yes, sir," nodded Davis. "Still, I didn't believe it necessary to call you until I had to use the whistle." Too-whoo-oo-oo! sounded the auto fog-horn, controlled by the sailor on watch in the pilot-house with the quartermaster. "You did right, Mr. Davis," the young skipper nodded. "But we're going to be up against it in half an hour. Where's your extra man of the watch?" Davis blew a thrilling blast on his mate's whistle. In answer the third sailor of the watch came running to the bridge steps. "My man," called down Halstead, "go at once to Mr. Baldwin's stateroom door, and tell him, with my compliments, that I believe he'd better come to the bridge at once." Even with so imperative a summons as this, five or six minutes passed before the owner appeared on the scene. "Good heavens, Captain!" gasped Joseph Baldwin. "And this white curtain is thickening all the time, isn't it?" "The fog is beginning to roll in fast, now, sir. Mr. Davis, alter the course so as to bring us a hundred yards closer to the 'Victor.' We've got to keep her in sight to the last moment." "We've got to keep that other boat in sight all the time," retorted Mr. Baldwin. "As close as we can go without running her down," Halstead answered. "We've the rules of the sea to obey, sir, at any cost." "Go and call Mr. Jephson here," shouted down Mr. Baldwin, to the sailor, who was still standing by at the port rail. In another five minutes the representative of the United States district attorney at San Francisco was beside them on the bridge. Dick Davis had now manoeuvred the "Panther" in within one hundred and fifty yards of the "Victor." Closer than that Tom Halstead did not dare to go. Even this he considered almost too little sea-way. "May the furies consume the luck!" growled the man of the law. "Yet, of course, we might have looked for this! It's bound to happen on this coast. A genuine, four-ply, real old 'Frisco fog reaching out to encompass us and let those blackguards yonder get away!" Aboard the other yacht few signs of human life showed. One figure, wrapped in a great coat and topped by a sou'wester, huddled in the bow. That was the bow watch of the "Victor." As the light of coming morning began to filter through the increasing fog, it was possible, now and then, to make out a figure in the steam yacht's wheel house. A watch officer tramped the bridge. No other figures appeared. Once the steam yacht's watch officer looked directly over at his foes, and a cunning grin illumined his face. "That's a great face to show above the hangman's noose!" bellowed Mr. Jephson, angrily, through the megaphone that he snatched up. Captain Tom suddenly darted from the bridge, running to his cabin. When he came back he carried a pair of revolvers, one of which he handed to Dick Davis. "Mr. Jephson, the fellows on that craft may open fire on us, at any moment, hoping to make us drop back into the fog. If they do, we'd better shoot back, eh, sir?" "If they open fire on us," replied the assistant district attorney, promptly, "I order Mr. Davis and yourself to return it." To make matters more emphatic, Mr. Jephson passed the word to have his two deputy marshals aroused at once and ordered to the deck. Still, though the day broadened, the fog rolled in so thick and heavy that the steam yacht, nearby though it was, became more and more obscured. Both yachts sounded their fog-horns simultaneously just as a final big, thick, white blanket of mist rolled in and shut them out of each other's view. "Done! Beaten out!" groaned Mr. Jephson, savagely. "It's only a question of minutes, now, when we shall have lost all trail of that craft on this hidden waste of water!" "Only a question of minutes?" repeated Tom Halstead, grimly. "Is it?" CHAPTER XIII THE CALL FROM OUT OF THE FOG Out of the dense fog to port came a chorus of derisive yells, then a prolonged blast of the "Victor's" fog-horn. "That's as much as saying it's the last time we'll hear their toot," burst, savagely, from Mr. Baldwin. "Maybe it _is_ the last time," admitted Tom. Mr. Jephson and the owner began to talk excitedly. "Sh!" warned the young skipper. "We don't want a tone aboard louder than a whisper. If we can keep this interval, or pretty near it, we can follow the steam yacht by the sound of her machinery. Mr. Davis, keep your ears strained for it, and shape our course accordingly." In the hush that followed the keen-eared listeners could hear the now invisible "Victor" slowing down her speed. Captain Tom, the engine room speaking tube at his mouth, called down the orders softly for a similar slowing of speed. The "Panther" fell back close to the "Victor." "Captain, they're likely to stop altogether, soon," whispered Mr. Jephson. "Then we won't hear a sound to guide us." "We'd do the same," murmured Halstead. "Then the yachts would be likely to drift together and bump. No; I hardly believe the steam yacht's captain will try that trick. If he does, we must match it." The two craft engaged in this marine game of blind man's buff were now going forward along their respective courses at not more than eight miles an hour. Greater speed was not advisable, for they were in the possible track of vessels plying between San Francisco and Hawaii, New Zealand or Australia. For the next ten minutes there was no sound from the "Victor's" fog-horn. To run without this precaution was all but tantamount to piracy in itself. Skipper Tom and Second Officer Davis, however, managed to keep within sound of the steam craft's machinery. So, presently, the "Victor's" steam fog-horn again sounded on the air. Breakfast was served late, that morning, on board the motor yacht. All hands were too much interested in the difficult chase to think of eating before Nature made her demands clamoring. At eight o'clock, when Third Officer Costigan again came up on the bridge to take his watch trick, Dick Davis declared he had no interest in sleep. "You'd better go below," advised Tom. "This search through the fog may be a long one. We'll want all hands to be fresh and bright. Get four or five hours' sleep, anyway. I shall be on the bridge most of the time until you're called again." So Dick went below and turned in, though almost with a grumble. For the next three hours Halstead was almost constantly on the bridge. The blind pursuit kept up along the same lines. The steam yacht's machinery still sent its dull clatter across the waters. The quartermaster of the "Panther," with the help of the mate's orders, still steered by that sound. "It'd be fierce to have a big, noisy liner rumble up close to us now, making noise enough to drown out the sound of our enemy," grumbled Captain Tom to the owner. Mr. Jephson, standing close by, heard, and his eyes snapped. "I hadn't thought of that," he growled. "Since that would be the toughest sort of luck, that's what is almost sure to happen." "Don't complain of your luck," advised the young skipper, gravely. "We've been able to keep right along with the steam craft for some hours now. If we can do so for a few hours more, we're highly likely to run out of this fog and be under a clear sky again. So far, Mr. Jephson, our luck has been wondrously kind to us." Halstead remained on deck until nearly two o'clock. Then he passed word for Ab Perkins. To that young first officer, in the presence of Baldwin, Ross and Jephson, he said: "Mr. Perkins, my eyes are getting heavy, and I expect to be on deck most of the night. I'm going to turn in, now, for an hour or two. Call me, anyway, at the changing of the watches. You know the general orders, and I look to you not to let the 'Victor' slip away from us." "If I do let her slip," affirmed Ab, "I'll eat the starboard life-boat." "Mr. Perkins used to be the most famous 'hoodoo' at the mouth of the Kennebec," Tom laughed, softly, as he turned to Mr. Baldwin. "His luck changed, however, the day he went into the motor boating business. He's about the luckiest young navigator afloat these days." Nor did Ab, left in temporary full command, intend to lose his later laurels. He soon left the bridge, however, feeling that he could listen more effectively from the port rail forward. Occasionally he turned to signal, silently, to Third Officer Costigan, who still kept to the bridge. Part of the time the "Victor" sounded its fog-horn with pauses longer than the rules of the sea permitted in so deep a fog. It looked as though those aboard the steam yacht were willing to leave it to the "Panther" to warn away other craft from them both. However, thus far in the day, no other vessel had sounded through the fog. Apparently, these two craft had all of this part of the sea to themselves. In the silence and under the white pall even the interest of the chase could not prevent the time from passing with deadly monotony for Ab Perkins. Quite plainly it impressed also the others that way, for the cabin passengers, two or three at a time, disappeared below. Messrs. Baldwin and Ross remained on deck more than any of the cabin party, though even they went inside, restlessly, every now and then. At last the deck was bare, save for Ab Perkins and the bow watch. In the pilot house stood the quartermaster and his seaman helper. On the bridge Mr. Costigan paced back and forth, glad that the fog was not too thick for him to make out the first officer forward. One of Ab's reasons for being well up forward was that he might more readily hear the sound of fog-horn or of bell from any other vessel hidden away in this white gloom. It was a long while before he heard anything, but at last it came: "Help! Don't run me down!" The voice came from low down upon the water, somewhat ahead and barely to port. Quick as a flash the bow watch turned to see if the first officer and the bridge watch had heard. Both Perkins and Costigan had sprung to see what might come to them out of the fog. "Careful!" warned Ab, in a steady voice. "Take the sound of my voice for your guide. I'm at the port rail, moving toward you." Suddenly, out of the fog, there came into view, near at hand, a ship's yawl. It contained a single man, dark, rather tall and about thirty years of age. He was dressed carelessly, yet had much the air of a gentleman. His clothing seemed to be soaked with moisture, as though he had been long exposed to the elements. With his back to the bow of the yawl, the man turned to glance over his shoulder as he handled a pair of oars. "Don't run me down!" shouted the stranger. "Stop and take me aboard in heaven's name." Ab Perkins had already swiftly caught up a coil of rope, which he deftly poised for a clean throw. "We stop for nothing--mark that!" called First Officer Perkins, firmly. "Catch this rope, or we've got to leave you behind!" The yawl was drifting by, and barely thirty feet from the motor yacht's hull, when Ab made the throw. He was a master at such feats. The coil unspread as it went whirling through the air, and a length lay across the yawl. "Get it! Grab it!" panted sympathetic Ab. The stranger just managed the feat, leaping up and holding on as though for dear life, while the yawl, checked in its headway, was swung around. Desperately the stranger bent down, taking a hitch with the rope. The bow watch had sprung to help Ab make fast the inside end of the line. "There you've got it," called Ab, cheeringly. As the "Panther" was going but eight miles an hour the stranger was able, without risk, to haul the small boat in alongside. "Can you climb?" Ab called down, in a low voice. "I--I think so." "Only a few feet needed, then we can reach your arm-pits," Ab called, encouragingly. It was not long ere young Perkins and the bow watch were able to help the stranger aboard. The young first officer's first thought, on seeing the yawl sweep into view, was that a trick had been attempted by the enemy, for the "Victor" had recently slipped ahead. But Ab's first glimpse at the stern of the yawl showed the name, painted in goodly black letters, "S. S. Dolbear." In the bottom of the yawl lay two life preservers bearing the same name. "How on earth do you come to be away out here at sea, in a small boat?" demanded Ab of the stranger. "I was a freight clerk aboard the liner 'Dolbear,' bound from Auckland, New Zealand, to San Francisco," replied the rescued one. "What happened to the 'Dolbear'?" "Foundered, five days ago. Life boats crowded, so that the last three of us had to take to the yawl. We tried to keep up with the other boats, but fell behind the first night. Next morning we were alone on the ocean. After two days one man in our party became crazed and jumped over into the sea. Last night the other man with me did the same. Oh, it was a gruesome experience, I assure you." "It must have been," returned Ab Perkins, sympathetically. "Sir, that yawl is bumping alongside," broke in the bow watch. "Cut her loose, then, and let her drift," ordered Ab. "We can't be encumbered with any useless lumber. Then return to your watch. Mr. Costigan, warn the engine room to increase our speed as much as you find necessary. We can't let the 'Victor' go on getting ahead of us. Run right up parallel again." "Yes, sir," from the third officer. "You're hungry, I suppose," suggested Ab, looking at the stranger. "I'll pass word for our second stew----" "I guess I shall be hungry when I get it fully through my head that I'm safe," laughed the rescued one. "Just at present I'd rather go below and warm myself." Ab blew his mate's whistle for the third seaman of the watch. "My man," he directed, "take this man down to the motor room. Tell Mr. Randolph it will be all right for Mr.----" "Cragthorpe is my name," supplied the stranger. "Tell Mr. Randolph it will be all right for Mr. Cragthorpe to dry himself off in the engine room," continued First Officer Perkins. "When you get hungry, come up on deck. Mr. Costigan will see that you're fed if I'm not here." The rescued one, after offering profuse thanks, was led below by the seaman guide. "Mr. Costigan, what do you know about the 'Dolbear'?" called up Ab, softly. "She belongs to the New Zealand line, and is due in 'Frisco about this present time," replied the third officer from the bridge. "Then it's all right, as far as Cragthorpe goes?" "I think so, sir." "All I wanted," Ab finished, "was to be easy in my mind that the stranger didn't come from the 'Victor.' Don't let us get at all astern again, Mr. Costigan." "I won't, sir." In the meantime Jeff Randolph, sitting out through a long and lonely watch in the engine room, was not sorry to see company coming his way. For some time they chatted together. Cragthorpe seemed greatly interested in finding such young officers aboard the motor yacht. He asked many questions about the Motor Boat Club. At last Jeff Randolph rose, excusing himself and stepping just outside the engine room door, though lingering near enough to hear a signal from the bridge, if one came. The young assistant engineer wanted to stretch his legs after sitting a long time by the motors. No sooner was the motor boat boy out of sight than the stranger rose swiftly. Snatching up a wrench, he prowled about the motors as though looking for something. At last he evidently discovered what he wanted. Instantly he laid the wrench on a bolt-head. CHAPTER XIV MR. CRAGTHORPE IS MORE THAN TROUBLESOME Luckily, at that moment, the Florida boy turned about, glancing into the engine room. What he saw made Jeff stare, then gasp. Both operations were over in the space of a second. "Here, you infernal rascal!" shouted Jeff. "Stop it!" Nor did he content himself with that startled roar. The Florida boy carried his fighting pluck with him at all times. Though Cragthorpe was about half as large again as the young assistant engineer, Randolph made a direct spring for him. Cragthorpe didn't have time to complete his mischief to the engine just then. Instead, he swung around, aiming the wrench at Jeff's head. But young Randolph halted, instantly picked up another wrench, and sent it whizzing. Boiling with wrath, the Florida boy didn't aim particularly. He didn't care where his wrench landed, provided that it served the purpose. The flying missile struck hard against the knuckles of Cragthorpe's right hand, forcing him to let his own weapon drop. Then Jeff fairly flew at the larger stranger. "You won't play any tricks while I'm here on watch," panted Jeff Randolph, as he clinched with his adversary. So impetuous was the Florida boy's assault that he carried Cragthorpe down to the floor. There, locked in each other's arms, they rolled and fought. The pit in which the motors stood was railed off, preventing their fighting their way into the moving machinery. Both combatants displayed a good deal of staying power. For the first sixty seconds they fought without either seeming to gain any advantage. It was a grim, lonely duel, in which neither could accept less than complete victory. No word was spoken. Neither cared to waste breath in speech. Jeff fought for a strangle hold as his best chance. Cragthorpe tried to get in a blow between the boy's eyes. Once Randolph got briefly on top, but the stranger rolled over on him, and then the fighting went on more furiously than ever. However, the stranger's superior weight and a considerable advantage in muscle soon told over the Florida boy's clear, savage grit. Though he would not yield an inch, Jeff had to admit to himself that he could not hope to hold out much longer. After another sixty seconds of it, during which the Florida boy was breathing sorely, Cragthorpe managed to free one hand. Raising the clenched fist with the swiftness of lightning, he brought that fist down, aiming the blow to land on Jeff's forehead just above his eyes. The blow fell, though glancingly. Now there came a quick step behind the stranger. With a brutal oath, Cragthorpe sprang up to confront the burning glance of Captain Tom Halstead. Halstead had just come on deck again, after his nap. Learning from Ab about the stranger, and quick to suspect, under such circumstances, the young motor boat skipper had hastened below. "Caught you, you sneak, didn't I?" jeered Tom, harshly, dodging back and shedding his deck ulster with almost a single motion. Then the young captain of the "Panther" threw himself on guard. Not an instant too soon, for Cragthorpe had sprung forward to grapple with him. The two fists of the young skipper, moving with lightning-like rapidity, caused Cragthorpe to retreat, throwing up his own hands as soon as he saw it was to be a game of fisticuffs. As Tom crouched low, Cragthorpe attempted to leap in over his guard. It was good tactics for one three inches taller. Yet Halstead was no novice in boxing. He threw up his left on guard, holding back his assailant, then tried to cut under and up with his right. He landed, though not with much force, against Cragthorpe's ribs. It was enough to drive the older combatant back until he could alter his guard. In the meantime, Jeff lay on the floor, further forward in the engine room. The Florida boy had not wholly lost consciousness, but he was half-dazed, seeking to remember what had happened. Now, at it again went Halstead and his enemy, each sparring cautiously, each alternately retreating or forcing the other all around the open part of the engine room. Once Cragthorpe caught Tom near the railing, and let drive hard with both fists, seeking to push the young skipper over the railing and in among the moving machinery. But Tom dodged artfully as he parried and struck back, and in an instant more was away from his perilous position. Not once did the young skipper think of calling upon Cragthorpe to quit it and surrender. Halstead knew the fellow was there for too serious business to allow himself to be talked to a standstill. At last, as Cragthorpe retreated past him, almost stepping on the young assistant engineer's face, Jeff rallied his senses enough to recall what had happened. For a few moments Tom Halstead cleverly fought his opponent forward, putting up effective parries and raining in his blows so fast that Cragthorpe had all he could do to save himself from being floored. In those few moments Jeff managed to crawl past both, and down toward the engine room door. The tide of battle turned, now, briefly at least. Cragthorpe, stung to greater fury by a glancing blow on the end of his nose, hurled himself into the fray with so much added energy that Halstead was compelled to give ground. "Jeff, can you understand me!" panted Tom, as he retreated, an inch at a time, keeping his fists moving fast. "Y-yes," stammered the Florida boy, still a bit dazed. "Then pass the word for help, like a flash!" But Jeff lingered by the doorway, holding to the frame for support. Only one thing was plain in the Florida boy's mind--that running away wasn't in his line. "A-a-h!" vented Cragthorpe, gleefully. He had suddenly closed in quickly on Halstead, aiming a blow that it seemed must send the young captain to the floor senseless. And so it would have done--only Tom wasn't there. He ducked low, passing under Cragthorpe's extended arm, and came up behind him, forcing the stranger to wheel about. That left the rascal with his back turned to the Florida boy. Jeff's mind was becoming a bit clearer every instant. Now he left the doorway, gliding forward. Tom saw Jeff's new move, and half-guessed the meaning of it. By clever sparring the young skipper held Cragthorpe just where he stood, until---- Jeff leaped upon the big stranger from behind. He wound his arms around Cragthorpe's throat, then held on with all the strength he could summon. Another oath escaped the wretch's lips. It was stopped by Halstead's right fist landing across his mouth. "This is a gentleman's boat--no profanity allowed," mocked Tom, sending in another blow that struck his man in the region of the belt, causing him to double up in torment. Two more blows Tom drove in. Cragthorpe sank to the floor. "Let go of him, Jeff. I can handle him," ordered Captain Tom. "Get to the speaking tube and direct Mr. Costigan to send the extra deckhand down here on the jump." Cragthorpe lay on the floor. The fight was not by any means driven out of him, but the wind was, for the moment, at least. Then steps were heard. Mr. Costigan himself came in, followed by the extra deck-hand, for Ab had relieved the third mate on the bridge. "So that's what our new gentleman has been doing, is it, sir?" demanded Mr. Costigan, his Irish quickness enabling him to guess much at the first glance. "Have you handcuffs with you, Mr. Costigan?" asked Tom. "I have, sir." "Then put them on this fellow." With a right good will Mr. Costigan and the sailor rolled Cragthorpe over, not very gently at that, and forced his wrists together, manacling the wretch. Then they dragged him to his feet. "Jupiter!" muttered Tom, staring hard. "I've seen this fellow somewhere before. And now I have it! By Jove, he's the gallant fellow I had to knock from the observation platform on the Overland Mail!" "You needn't be quite so glad. We haven't quite evened our account yet," snarled the fellow. "But I'm not the man you think I am." "Do you deny you're the fellow I struck on the observation platform of a car of the Overland Mail the other day?" Tom Halstead snorted. "I can't be. I've just come from Auckland," leered the fellow. "We picked him up from a small boat that bore the name of the liner, 'Dolbear,'" interjected Mr. Costigan. "The 'Dolbear' is due about now from Auckland." "Then the boat was painted, as to her name, on board the 'Victor,'" said Tom. "I understand we ran behind her a bit at one time this afternoon." "Yes, sir." "It's from the 'Victor' this fellow came, then, boat and all," declared Captain Halstead, positively. "Now, bring the fellow up on deck and let everyone have a look at him." As it was time to call the new watch up, anyway, this was now done. Cragthorpe tried to make a fight against being taken to the deck, but, manacled as he was, he could put up no effective resistance. The cabin passengers, too, were called. Tom and Jeff stated the case against the fellow. "Of course you're justified in locking this man up in the brig, if there is one aboard," observed Mr. Jephson. "Yes; there's a brig on board," Tom nodded, "and that's where a man goes after trying to tamper with our engines on a chase like this." The "brig" is a ship's prison. On the "Panther" it was a small room, not more than five by seven feet, with two berths and two stools in it. The door was an iron grating. Even on a yacht a brig is often needed, as a place of confinement for a drunken or crazy sailor. Dick Davis ascended to the bridge to stand the new watch. "Take the fellow to the brig, Mr. Costigan, and see that he's securely locked in. Collins, see that the man gets his meals three times a day." "I'll make you mighty sorry for this, you boy skipper!" growled Cragthorpe, as he was led away. "That's the fellow I knocked from the train, isn't it, Joe?" demanded Halstead, turning to his chum. "He's not dressed as well, and he has a few days' growth of beard on his face, but I'm positive he's the same fellow," answered Joe Dawson, quietly. CHAPTER XV THE MIDNIGHT ALARM "Still the sound of machinery," muttered Dick Davis, pacing the bridge just before dark. "I imagine the skipper of that other craft wishes he could have put a mute on his engines." "He has even taken to blowing his fog-horn again," replied young Halstead. "It's just sheer luck that he hasn't been run down by some vessel coming from the opposite direction." "I guess our fog-horn has protected him," suggested Dick. "We may have passed some other craft whose fog-horns didn't carry sound as far as ours. Hearing our fog-horn, such vessels might have given us such a wide berth that the 'Victor' naturally escaped collision." It was about eight o'clock, when Tom and Joe were finishing the evening meal in the captain's cabin, that a sudden sharp blast came through the bridge speaking tube. "Right here at the other end, Mr. Davis," Captain Tom answered. "I think you'll be interested in coming to the bridge, sir. The fog is lightening a bit, and I can see a couple of stars overhead." "Whew! That's good news! Do you still hear the 'Victor's' machinery?" "Yes; I've been keeping very close to her." Halstead quickly told the news to Joe Dawson. Both reached for their ulsters, then ran out on deck. Tom's first discovery was that he could hear, distinctly, the subdued clank-clank made by the invisible steam yacht. Yes; the fog was surely lifting. Overhead, especially, things were clearing. "We seem to be running out at the edge of the fog-bank, Mr. Davis," was the young captain's greeting, as he climbed to the bridge, followed by the young chief engineer. For five minutes or more Tom Halstead stood there, watching the fog. "I'm sure enough of the news, now, to go aft and tell Mr. Baldwin," he declared, finally. Tom found all the cabin passengers at table in the deck dining saloon, aft of the owner's quarters. They were not more than two-thirds through the meal, but the table became instantly deserted. Twenty minutes later the watchers at the port rail made out, briefly, a part of the hull of the "Victor." The two craft were but little more than two hundred yards apart. Ten minutes later both craft passed almost completely out of the fog. A cheer went up from the deck of the "Panther." There was no answer from the pursued craft. Running up to the bridge, and snatching up a megaphone, Joseph Baldwin bawled lustily: "We're still with you, you pirates! You can't shake us!" Still no sound of human voice came from the steam yacht. The answer was of another sort. Great clouds of smoke began to pour from the "Victor's" funnel. "They're going to try a spurt," chuckled Halstead, gleefully. "Well, let 'em. We don't even have to get up more steam for a spurt. All we have to do is to feed in the gasoline quicker." Within five minutes the "Victor" was racing along at more than twenty miles an hour. On board the "Panther," however, Joe Dawson did not even feel it necessary to go below to look at the motors. Jed Prentiss was down there in the engine room, and Jed was a boy who knew what he was doing. Second Officer Davis gave the speed orders from the bridge; Jed carried out the orders. The "Panther," now widening the interval to four hundred yards in this clearer atmosphere, ran along parallel with the steam yacht. "They may fool us yet," chuckled Halstead, turning around to the owner. "But they'll have to do it with something better than speed." "If they get away from _you_, Captain Halstead," replied the owner, his face beaming, "I promise, in advance, to forgive you. It won't be your fault. Lord, how you've hung to them! What a report I shall have to send Delavan on the officers he sent me!" Then, suddenly, Halstead thought of the prisoner down in the brig. "Pass the word for Second Steward Collins," he directed, and that yacht's servant soon reported. "You didn't forget to feed the prisoner, Collins?" "Oh, no, sir," and the steward rattled off the names of the dishes that had been supplied the man in the brig. "He seems to have fed nearly as well as we did," laughed Skipper Tom. "Well, that's right; just because we lock a fellow up is no reason why we should starve him. The prisoner had a good appetite?" "Excellent, sir." "He's locked in tightly?" "Yes, sir." Ten minutes later Captain Halstead took the trouble to go below to the brig. It was somewhat stuffy down there, but that couldn't be helped. From the center of the ceiling a single incandescent lamp supplied the illumination of the room. As Tom Halstead peered in through the grating he saw Cragthorpe seated on a stool in the far corner. Tom did not speak. The fellow glared at him, then looked away. "The door is locked tightly, all right," murmured Captain Halstead to himself, after rattling the bars and examining the lock. No sooner had he turned away, and stepped out of sight, than Cragthorpe rose like a caged tiger. A leer expressive of the utmost cruelty parted his teeth. He shook his fist menacingly after the departing young skipper. He was able to do that much, for Mr. Costigan, following the usual course in such cases, had removed the handcuffs after depositing the prisoner in the brig. "Perhaps you think I'm here, simply awaiting your pleasure, my young salt water cub!" snarled Cragthorpe to himself. Tom Halstead, however, gave the fellow little further thought. He was too happy over the lifting of the fog. It is possible for two craft of the size of these to run all day within two hundred yards of each other through a fog, judging each other's positions only by sounds. The slow speed of fog-time makes this possible. Yet it requires splendidly expert seamanship on both craft. The ordeal is bound to be wearing on the deck and watch officers. Tom and his three mates felt utterly tired after their experience, but the passing out of the belt of the fog had brought huge relief to them. Up to ten o'clock that evening the "Victor" maintained her fast speed. The air was now thoroughly clear in every direction. Tom could have kept the other craft in sight even had the steam yacht shown no lights. But the commander of the "Victor" had all his running lights going. "You'll call us, if anything whatever happens that's worth our knowing, won't you, Captain?" asked Joseph Baldwin, joining the young sailing master, who stood close to the bridge steps on the port side. "Yes, sir. Certainly." "All of us chaps in the cabin are going to turn in soon," continued Mr. Baldwin, with a slight yawn. "We're fagged, both from the lack of sleep and the suspense. Now, however, our minds are easier. Yonder is the boat that carries Frank Rollings and the millions he stole from the bank. Our fuel will last as long as theirs will. We can follow as far as they can go." "Wouldn't it be a jarring surprise if it turned out that we've been following a dummy, Mr. Baldwin?" Halstead asked. "What if we follow for days and days, yet, and then learn that neither Rollings nor his plunder is on board?" Joseph Baldwin started, then retorted: "Yes; but it won't happen, Captain. In the first place, the detectives of the Bankers' Association found out positively that Rollings had gone aboard, and that the yacht had then got under way at once. The captain of that boat was expecting Rollings--was prepared for him--and has the defaulter on board at this moment." "I hope so, sir, for I'm satisfied that we're yet going to lay alongside of that craft and search her." "Of course we are. Good night, Captain." "Good night, sir. I'm going to turn in, myself, for a while." Half an hour later the young skipper was sound asleep. So, for that matter, were all the officers and crew who were not on duty. Sky and surrounding atmosphere continued clear through the rest of Dick Davis's watch on the bridge. That young second mate was pacing back and forth contentedly. The two yachts, now making about a fourteen-mile speed, were close together, and Davis had little to watch save the general handling of the boat. Out of a hatchway forward a head was cautiously thrust up. Davis did not happen to see that head. There was no reason why he should be looking for it. The owner of that head saw Davis turn and pace over to starboard. Swiftly, and silently, the man sprang out of the hatchway, after observing that the quartermaster's head was bent over the compass. The sailor in the wheel house with the quartermaster was not looking in Davis's direction at the moment. So the prowler gained the port side of the deck-house, and stole aft without hindrance. It was Cragthorpe, the late prisoner in the brig. Now, besides being free, he carried a five-gallon can of gasoline that he had found below deck. Away back to the after deck he ran, crouching low. There he halted, staring about him. An evil smile flickered over his lips. With little conscience, he was also without fear for himself. An instant later he began sprinkling gasoline about him. The task was quickly accomplished. He drew out a box of blazer matches, striking one of them and tossing it down where a pool of gasoline lay. There was a flare, in a second, but Cragthorpe had vanished almost as quickly as the flare appeared. Dick Davis caught a glimpse of the glow. "Quartermaster, send your man aft to investigate a blaze there. Let him run!" The blaze, however, was spreading and mounting so fast that the alert young second officer did not have to pause to guess. "Fire!" shouted the sailor, running forward. But Dick Davis had already sprung to the alarm bells. CHAPTER XVI THE FIRE DRILL IN EARNEST The sailor's cry of "Fire," the most dreaded that can rise at sea, disturbed Captain Tom Halstead's sound rest. He half awoke. Then it sounded again: "Fire!" In prompt confirmation of the cry, the electric bell began ringing in his room. Directly over it glowed an electric light in a red bulb--the fire signal to the cabin. Tom Halstead fairly leaped from his bed. He got on all the clothing needed with the speed of a fireman. Dick Davis's hand had come, first, to the bell rousing the watch below. He rang that first, but Halstead's bell immediately afterward. As Halstead burst open the door of his cabin the red glow was in his face. Down in the mates' and crew's quarters the fire-bell was ringing steadily. Officers and men came tumbling up the stairs. "Stand by the handling of the ship, Mr. Davis!" roared the young captain from the deck. "I'll have men enough for the fighting of the fire." As the first heads showed from below, Halstead roared: "Mr. Perkins, the starboard hose. Mr. Costigan, the port! Two men each and yourselves to a hose. The rest report to me." The hose lay in butts from which they were lifted and fastened to the deck hydrants. While one man was securing each hose to a hydrant, a mate and another sailor ran aft with the line along either rail. "The rest of you get fire axes," shouted Captain Halstead. "Jump up onto the bridge and go aft over the deck-house. Mr. Davis, instruct Mr. Prentiss to connect the pump in the engine room. Tell him to give us instant pressure." Though he had heard the fire call, Jed was too dependable to allow either curiosity or fear to take him from his post. When the order came, through the speaking tube, young Prentiss was standing by, ready to connect the pump with one of the motors. Through the two lengths of hose the water leaped almost instantly. Captain Tom had run with his axe-men over the deck-house. He found the after deck ablaze, and also the sides of the deck-house aft. How it had all happened the young sailing master did not trouble himself to ask, at first. It was more than enough for him to know that there was a fire aboard, and to know where it was located. "Get up close, Mr. Perkins and Mr. Costigan!" he shouted, from the top of the deck-house. "Let the flames have the water at full, direct pressure. Steady, now! Throw in every drop of water where it will hit the hottest, highest flames." Seldom had fire-drill at sea been more promptly or intelligently carried out. It was fortunate, at the very outset, that the blaze had started so near the time for the changing of the watches. The men were rested and ready for prompt rising. The slight rolling of the boat carried gasoline along the decks, bearing the flames with it. A pitching at the bow, slight though it was, brought these running streams of flame down upon the crews with the hose. They had to depress the nozzles almost at their feet, in order to assure themselves of safe standing room. "Give me one of those axes," shouted Halstead, taking the implement from a sailor. "Now, two of you jump down aft with me on the deck. Never mind the fire! Remember, we've got to fight it for our lives anyway!" Down into the clearest spot he could find young Halstead leaped. Ab Perkins, seeing him, turned the stream full on the blazing deck around the young sailing master. That was all that saved Halstead from perishing. The water kept the flames down so that he was able to lay about him, loosening several of the deck planks. One of the sailors had landed close beside the young skipper. He, too, laid about him. The second seaman, however, ran over to the other side of the deck-house, looking for some spot where he might work protected by the other hose. The hoarse shouting of orders, the running of feet overhead and the sharp, sinister hiss of water coming in contact with fire, all combined to arouse the owner of the imperiled yacht. Joseph Baldwin sprang from his bed, dashed aside the starboard curtains, and caught a reflection of the glow. "Fire!" he gasped, turning pale. "Halstead and his comrades surely have enough to handle this time." Then, with frenzied haste, the owner fell to pulling on his clothes. He, too, broke some of his own records in the matter of dressing. In a very few moments he was outside, and climbing the bridge steps. Then he dashed aft. The breeze that was blowing was unfavorable to the fire fighters. The factors in their favor, however, were the prompt discovery of the trouble and the thinness with which the gasoline was spread. The blaze was at its worst in the middle of the after deck. It was the realization of this fact that had caused young Captain Halstead to take the desperate leap and make the bold effort that now stood to his credit. "That boy has no sense of fear," cried Mr. Baldwin to himself. As a matter of fact, Halstead had escaped unscorched. His promptness, good judgment, and the protecting streams from the hose had saved him from disastrous consequences that might be expected to follow such a hazardous act. By now the hosemen were able to get far enough aft to wet down the blazing parts of the wall of the after deck-house. Within five minutes from the time it started the blaze was brought down to where it required only persistent hosing to drown it completely. From time to time a sudden gust of the light breeze fanned up the fire briefly at some point, but the fire fighters no longer feared for their safety. Mr. Ross and Dr. Gray had been aroused by the sounds of fire-fighting; the others in the cabin staterooms slept on, for Dick Davis had wisely refrained from touching the button that would have sounded the heavy gong in the main cabin. "How could the thing have started!" asked Mr. Ross, bewilderedly. "It was set, by someone," replied Tom Halstead, joining Mr. Baldwin and the latter's friends. "It was a gasoline blaze, pure and simple." "Who could have----" began Dr. Gray. "I saw myself that the prisoner was safely locked in," broke in the young skipper. "Yet he's the only one I could suspect." Almost at a run Halstead started forward, followed by Ab Perkins. Down below, these two investigators found the door of the brig open. The lock had been picked. On the floor of the brig Tom found what was left of a steel table fork such as the crew used. "He forced the tines and shank out of the handle, and worked it over into a pick-lock," muttered the young skipper. "I respect the fellow's ingenuity, if nothing else." But where was Cragthorpe himself? Two searching parties, one under Ab and the other commanded by Third Officer Costigan, searched until Dick Davis, still on the bridge past his hour, broke in with: "Why, Captain, you can guess what became of the fellow? When our blaze was under way the 'Victor' turned and steamed nearer to us. The rascal jumped overboard, of course, swam back and was picked up. It must have been all part of a plan. At any rate, when the watch officer on the steam yacht saw the blaze on board this craft, he knew well enough what it meant, and stood by to rescue the Cragthorpe fellow." "That's what has happened to him," nodded Mr. Baldwin. "He's safe again with the other rascals." So the searching parties were recalled, the new watch was set, and quiet at last settled down over the yacht. It was two o'clock in the morning when Tom Halstead again sought his rest. That fire had stirred him up so that he did not at once feel drowsy. A fire at sea, on a gasoline motor yacht, is a trebly serious affair. If the flames ever get close to the gasoline supply the blaze is almost certain to wind up abruptly in a fearful, devastating explosion. "I've had some lively times at sea, before this," the young skipper muttered, "but this voyage has already gone ahead of anything I've ever had happen at sea. I hope we're through with visitors from the 'Victor.'" At last he closed his eyes and slept, for Halstead was not a highly nervous youngster. When he was free from the demands of duty, and physically tired, he was not usually long in finding his rest. Even in his sleep the lad did not lie quietly. He began to toss and thrash, dreaming that he was fighting it out again with Cragthorpe. It was like a nightmare, for, in his dream, the young captain of the "Panther" felt himself to be getting the worst of the struggle. Then, all of a sudden, Tom Halstead awoke, roused by a sensation of choking. A man knelt over him in his bed. Halstead's hands were lashed, while a rope was noosed about his neck. On the front wall of the cabin was a ship's clock. A shaded light burned near the dial of the clock, giving illumination to enable one to read the clock's dial from the bed. That light also showed Tom the face and figure of his present oppressor--Cragthorpe, in the flesh! "Now, we're going to have a chance to talk over the other side of this question!" chuckled the wretch, in Tom's ear. "I remained aboard--risked everything--in order to have this precious meeting. Just us two here--fine, isn't it?" CHAPTER XVII CRAGTHORPE INTRODUCES HIS REAL SELF "Now, if you find you've anything to say," continued Cragthorpe, in the same low voice, "you can say it when the time comes. But don't try to call out, and don't attempt any impudence, or I'll pull this noose tight. You know what that will mean!" Undeniably Tom Halstead paled. Upon his feet, with at least a fighting chance, the young motor boat captain, while he might have feared death, would not have run away from it. He had a record for showing grit. But this was a time when no amount of courage could give him a chance. He read it in Cragthorpe's eyes that the fellow intended to keep the upper hand, and to abuse it, to the end. "You felt fine and important when you told that big Irishman to lead me off to the brig, didn't you!" began the tormentor. "What else could I do!" demanded Halstead, in a low voice. "Wouldn't you have done the same by me, if the boot had been on the other foot!" "And you struck me that cowardly blow over at Oakland the other day," cried Cragthorpe, who seemed to have nursed his wrath until it angered him to the striking point. "When you went to school," mocked Tom, his coolness returning rapidly, "you studied out of a different book of definitions from the one I had. I was never taught that it was cowardice to defend a woman." "What call had you to defend her?" insisted Cragthorpe, with a show of increasing anger. "Was it any of your affair?" "Yes; the fact that the young woman was annoyed by you was excuse enough for my act." "You spoiled my last chance with her when you humiliated me by a blow that I didn't get a chance to return at the time." "I'm glad to hear that," retorted Tom, candidly. "Oh, you are, are you?" The working of passion in Cragthorpe's face was a fearful sight to see. "And a fine thing you did for the young woman!" hissed the fellow. "I wanted to marry her. She has money enough to make her a prize," sneered the wretch. "Her brother is to go on trial for his life in a few days, and I am the only witness who could save him from the chain of evidence that the authorities are weaving about him. I made the offer to the girl to save her brother if she would wed me." "You cowardly--cur!" uttered Tom Halstead, in cool disdain. Cragthorpe started; then deeper lines of passion graved themselves in his features. "Yes," continued Tom, scornfully, "you're about the lowest sort of cur that could possibly breathe. To charge a woman such a price for her brother's life and good fame!" Cragthorpe suddenly restrained his growing anger. He leered down into the face of his straightforward young enemy. "However, I am to make money in another way," he continued, cheerfully. "Frank Rollings is my cousin. After my failure with the girl he found me so desperate and ugly that, without telling me what he was about to do, he enlisted me in his present fine enterprise." "Took you along with him to help him guard his stolen treasure, did he!" jeered Captain Tom Halstead. "Yes, if it interests you," snarled Cragthorpe. "It'll interest your precious cousin a lot more, before he gets through with you," sneered Halstead. "He'll be lucky if you don't make away with him and try to secure all the stolen money for yourself!" Cragthorpe started, almost as though the young skipper had hit on the head the nail of his intentions. "Here! Chew on this, instead of words!" flashed the wretch. He suddenly forced the young skipper's mouth open, wedging in a crumpled up handkerchief. This he followed with another, gagging his victim. Scenting more dastardly work to come, Tom Halstead fought furiously with the little chance that was left to him. His hands were secured, in front of him, but his feet and legs were free. He struggled with all his might, trying to use his bound hands, together, on the head of Cragthorpe, as that wretch again bent over him. In his struggles Halstead rolled over on his side. His lashed hands reached briefly under the edge of the bed. In this way he hoped to gain purchase enough to pull himself free and yank himself to his feet. It was a slight hope, yet the only one the motor boat boy could see. In the brief interval before Cragthorpe seized him roughly, hurling him back into the middle of the bed, Tom's hands touched something on the under side of the frame. He didn't know what it was he had touched. In that brief though furious struggle Halstead had succeeded in working out the handkerchiefs. His oppressor caught up one of them. "I'll gag you in better shape, this time," he proposed. At that instant the door of the cabin opened. Cragthorpe, busy with his scheme of revenge, did not hear it. But Halstead lay so that he saw the door move ajar; he saw the head of the sailor who, with this watch, served in the wheel-house. Over the seaman's face swept a look of the most intense amazement. He darted back into the darkness, for an instant, then returned. "One moment--wait!" spoke Tom Halstead, sharply. "Confound you--not so loud, if you value your safety!" warned Cragthorpe. Had not the rascal been so intensely absorbed he would have felt and noted the light breeze that blew in with the opening of the door. But Cragthorpe was passion-ridden at the moment. The door closed, with the sailor and Third Officer Costigan in the room. That "one moment--wait!" Mr. Costigan and the sailor had the presence of mind to understand was directed at them. "That girl--and her brother--you were lying to me about them," taunted Halstead. "You can't tell me their names." "I can't--eh?" sneered Cragthorpe, harshly. "The girl's name is Rose Gentry, and her brother's name Robert Gentry." "And the brother is accused of murder, and you could prove him innocent? Yet you refused to save the brother because Rose Gentry would not marry you and let you own her fortune! It's a lie!" "It's the truth," snarled Cragthorpe, hotly. "And you helped doom the brother when you struck me down before Rose Gentry. You made her despise me the more." "She did well to despise you," retorted Tom Halstead, bluntly. "_You ought to be clubbed_!" [Illustration: "You Ought to Be Clubbed!"] That was exactly what happened, ere Cragthorpe could open his mouth. The seaman had been crouching behind the fellow, a belaying-pin in his right hand. At the word from Halstead the sailor struck, and Cragthorpe fell to the floor, stunned. Leaving the sailor to attend to Cragthorpe, Mr. Costigan now bounded forward to free the young captain's hands. "How on earth did this happen, sir?" demanded the third officer, as he cut away the cord from the boy's wrists. "I dreamed I was fighting the fellow," laughed Tom, "but woke up to find he had slipped my hands into that noose. He had this other noose around my neck, threatening to draw it uncomfortably tight if I tried to make any outcry." Tom was now able to slip out of bed and pull on his trousers, while Mr. Costigan turned on a stronger light. "But how on earth did you two happen to come to my relief just at the right time?" the young skipper demanded. "Why, you sounded the call to the bridge," retorted the third mate. "I sounded the----wait a second." Tom bent over the edge of his bed, feeling underneath along the frame. "Why, there's a button here. Does that call to the bridge?" demanded the motor boat captain. "It certainly does," retorted the third officer. "I didn't even know the button was there," gasped the young sailing master. "In my struggles I touched it by accident." "I sent Oleson, the sailor, to see what you wanted, sir," continued Mr. Costigan. "The next thing I knew Oleson backed out of your cabin, grabbed up a belaying-pin, and signaled to me. I came quick and soft-like, sir. And now, Captain, if you've no further orders for me, sir, hadn't I better be traveling back to the bridge? The quartermaster of my watch is running the ship at this minute." "Go, then, Mr. Costigan, and thank you; but send the extra deck-hand of this watch." In another moment the third mate's whistle was sounding shrilly. It brought the extra man of the watch on the run. "Put these handcuffs on the fellow before he comes to," ordered Tom, going to his desk and taking out a pair of manacles. "There, now he won't do much harm if he does come out of it suddenly. But I'm going with you to the brig, and want to see leg irons put on the rascal, too. He won't have the use of his hands again, on this yacht. The second steward will have to feed the fellow his meals." Tom quickly finished his dressing. Just as he had done so Cragthorpe uttered a deep sigh and opened his eyes. He was still a bit dazed. Halstead waited for some moments before speaking. "If you were telling the truth, fellow, about Rose Gentry and her brother," taunted Tom, "your silence won't do you so much good, now. My third officer and one of these sailors overheard your declaration of your infernal villainy. They can testify in court in behalf of young Gentry. They'll help the case quite a bit, I guess." Cragthorpe was enough himself, by this time, to understand. He scowled blackly, but refused to speak. "Take him along down below to the brig, now," ordered Captain Halstead. As the three navigators and their captive stepped out forward of the pilot house, Tom pointed over to port. "There's the boat of your friends, my man," laughed the young motor boat skipper. "You've told me, too, that Frank Rollings _is_ aboard of her, and that he has the stolen funds with him. Oh, one way and another, you told me a lot this night that I'm glad to know!" Cragthorpe uttered some savage language under his breath as he was dragged below. Once again he found himself in the brig, and the door locked, after the leg-irons had been fitted. This time, to make doubly sure of his man, Halstead put on a double lock by means of a chain and padlock, the latter being of a pattern that could not be picked. "In one way I almost feel badly at doing this to you, Cragthorpe," Tom said to the fellow, through the grating. "You'll think I'm crowing over you, and abusing my power. I'd be easier with you--but it wouldn't be safe for anyone aboard the yacht." Halstead then returned to his cabin, where, at his desk, he wrote a note to Mr. Baldwin, advising the latter of what he had learned from the man who was once more in the brig. This note he turned over to Mr. Costigan. "Hand it to him if he comes on deck in the morning before I do," requested the young skipper. "Add anything you please, out of what you saw and heard to-night." Then the motor yacht captain walked over to the port rail for one more look at the "Victor." The "Panther" was still keeping abreast of her, less than four hundred yards away. These two craft appeared to have the sea all to themselves. "When, where and how will this all end?" wondered Tom Halstead. Then he turned in once more, this time hoping for some real rest. CHAPTER XVIII A TRICK MADE FOR TWO Just before eight o'clock in the morning Tom Halstead rolled over luxuriously in his broad bed. "One more catnap wouldn't feel half bad," he muttered to himself. "However, I reckon I feel about right. I've had some of the sleep that was coming to me." Then: "I wonder how my friend Cragthorpe is this morning? It's quite plain he hasn't found some other trick for getting out of the brig." Tom yawned a couple of times, stretched, and finally decided that he felt like getting up. While he was coming to this conclusion the whistle sounded in the bridge speaking tube. Springing out of bed, Tom took up the mouth-piece. "Well?" he called. "The 'Victor' is putting about, sir." "What's her new course?" "Going right back over the course she came out on, sir. Shall I turn and follow?" "What else? The only thing we're living for now, Mr. Costigan, is to keep close to that steam yacht. Follow her, without further orders, even if she starts to steaming in circles. I'll be out soon." "Very good, sir." Tom looked slowly about him, then headed for the bath-room. He took plenty of time in the warm water, finally dressing. Mr. Costigan's watch had gone below, the third officer having left Tom's letter with Dick Davis, to be handed to Mr. Baldwin when the latter should appear. But, so far, none of the cabin party had yet turned out. "All our people are still abed, I think, sir," smiled Davis, when the young motor boat captain appeared on deck. "They've been worn out, by the suspense as much as by their short hours of rest," Halstead replied. "Now, you guess why the steam craft has put about, don't you?" asked Halstead, after pacing the bridge for some moments while he studied the weather. "I'm not sure that I do, sir," Dick admitted, after a moment's thought. "Within three or four hours, I'm willing to wager you a night's rest, we'll be back in the fog belt," Tom replied, pointing ahead. "Now, Rollings and the captain of the 'Victor' have felt that they were getting too far off the course to their real destination, with us tagging right alongside all the way. They knew that the fog bank was a few hours astern of them as they lay on the other course, so they're putting back to get into it." "For what purpose?" asked Dick. "Why, I suppose they've figured on some plan for losing us in the fog this time. That's the way their hopes run, anyway." "I can't see any fog ahead of us, sir," proclaimed Dick. "And I thought a fellow raised on the Maine sea-coast knew all about fogs." "There's Ab just coming up for the day's work," whispered Tom, as the young first officer appeared through the companionway forward. "Just hear what he says." Leaning forward over the bridge rail, Halstead called: "Mr. Perkins, what sort of weather do you think lies ahead of us?" Ab halted, looking all about him, then peering out for some moments past the bow of the "Panther." "I think, sir," came the first officer's report, at last, "we're heading back towards another real old San Francisco fog." "I surrender, then," nodded Dick Davis. "We'll be in it by noon, or before," Tom Halstead predicted. "And then, the folks on that craft yonder have it all figured out to give us the slip, sure and easy this time," muttered Ab, as he climbed the steps to the bridge. Out of the owner's quarters stepped Joseph Baldwin and came forward, stretching and inhaling deeply the outdoor air. Captain Tom Halstead stepped down from the bridge to meet him. "Haven't the other crowd changed their course a bit?" asked Mr. Baldwin. Halstead explained the new move on the part of the navigator of the "Victor." "Going to try to lose us, are they?" chuckled Baldwin. "If they do, Captain, they are clever people. If they can get away from _you_ I'm positive it won't be your fault." Then, stretching like a man who has had a fine, long sleep, and who isn't yet over the enjoyment of it, the owner added: "Thank goodness, nothing happened during the night!" "Nothing happened in the night, eh? I'm glad it was all carried off so quietly, sir, that you weren't disturbed by it." "Why, _did_ anything happen?" "The fire, in the first place----" "Of course; but I meant, nothing after I turned in again." "Something certainly did happen," laughed Halstead. "I left a note for you with the watch officer, in case you came on deck before I did. Now, however, I can tell you about it." And that Tom Halstead proceeded to do. While he was still engaged in the narration Mr. Ross came up on deck, and had to hear the tale. Just at its finish Dr. Gray appeared, followed by Gaston Giddings. The latter young man, though wholly out of the influence of morphine now, looked seedy and sullen. Plainly, he resented his enforced abstinence from drugs. "I want to see that infernal rascal, Cragthorpe," muttered Mr. Baldwin. "Captain, won't you be good enough to have him brought on deck?" So Ab was summoned, and instructed to take the extra seaman of the watch, as well as Quartermaster Bickson, and bring the prisoner to deck. "Bring him by force, if you have to," added Captain Tom, dryly. In a short time the quartermaster and seaman appeared, all but dragging Cragthorpe, while Ab Perkins brought up the rear of the procession, giving the doubly manacled fellow an occasional shove. It was the first time that Gaston Giddings had seen the prisoner. The instant he did so, now, the young bank president looked suddenly angry. "Mr. Baldwin," demanded Gaston Giddings, "why is this gentleman under such restraint?" "_Gentleman?_" demanded Baldwin, with withering scorn. "Why, my boy, about whom are you talking?" "Why is Mr. Cragthorpe ironed, on board this yacht?" insisted Giddings, his face now white and stern with increasing anger. "Well, then, I'll tell you," sniffed Joseph Baldwin. "That fellow is in irons because he joined us from the 'Victor.' His first enterprise on board was to try to put one of our motors out of the running. His next effort was to set this yacht on fire, last night. After that, he broke into Captain Halstead's cabin, presumably with the intention of killing the navigator of this yacht; at any rate, he meant to injure Captain Halstead severely. Those are some of the reasons, Giddings, my boy, why Cragthorpe is now guarded as carefully as a mad dog might be if we didn't possess the right to kill it." While speaking, Joseph Baldwin studied the young bank president's face keenly. After a pause, the older man went on: "And now, Giddings, if you concede that I have any right to be curious, in turn, I'd like to ask you why you are so intensely interested in this scoundrel?" From the instant Cragthorpe had caught sight of the face of Gaston Giddings, the man in irons had stood more at ease, a sneer on his face. "Cragthorpe is a friend of mine," replied Giddings, stiffly. "Indeed? Then I regret to say that I can't congratulate you on your choice of friends." "I demand that you set Mr. Cragthorpe free!" cried young Giddings, in a voice passionate with anger. "That's a request, my boy, that I'm not at all inclined to grant, even had I the power," retorted Baldwin, coolly, yet speaking as though he did not wish needlessly to further rouse the anger of Giddings. "You see, I haven't any power to give the order." "No power?" snorted Giddings. "Don't you own this yacht?" "I do; but Halstead is her captain. It is one of the rules of the sea that, after a vessel leaves her anchorage, her captain commands her absolutely until port is again reached." "Do you mean to say that this boy would refuse to free Cragthorpe, if you commanded it?" demanded Giddings, hotly, a flushed spot burning in either cheek. "What would you say, Captain Halstead, if I demanded the release of the prisoner?" asked Baldwin, facing the young motor boat skipper with smiling eyes. "I'd refuse, sir," Tom replied, promptly. "In my opinion the 'Panther' isn't safe a minute when Cragthorpe is out of the brig. Take the prisoner back to the brig, Mr. Perkins." Gaston Giddings, with a wrathful cry, started forward, but Tom blocked his way. "You know you're pleasing the owner you sail for, or you wouldn't dare do this thing," choked the young bank president. The prisoner was speedily taken below. Gaston Giddings stamped angrily aft, while Joseph Baldwin's eyes followed the young man with a wondering look. "Mr. Perkins," directed Tom, when Ab came back on deck, "lock the door of the passage leading to the brig, and leave the key with the watch officer, with instructions to turn it over to his successor on the bridge." Tom's order was given for the purpose of preventing Giddings from making any attempt to reach and aid Cragthorpe. "I'm going to have Doc Gray try to find out what part Cragthorpe has been playing in the life of our young friend, Giddings," Mr. Baldwin confided to the young skipper. "I've a suspicion, already, though." "May I ask, sir, what you suspect?" "Well, since Giddings has become a confirmed 'hop-fiend,' and Cragthorpe comes to us from the Rollings crowd, I think it most likely that Rollings has been employing Cragthorpe to cultivate Giddings's acquaintance and lure him on into the opium habit. Such drugs destroy a man's will, his sense of justice--they rot his very soul!" "So, then, sir, you think Rollings has been, for some time, engaged in a deliberate plot to acquire an ascendancy over Mr. Giddings and ruin him?" "That's my suspicion, stated in a few words, Captain." Through the forenoon the chase on the course back to San Francisco continued without change. By eleven o'clock both yachts were moving through occasional light blotches of fog, though the two craft still moved in sight of each other. An hour later, however, the two yachts, with speed now down to eight miles an hour, entered a dense, white gloom in which they were soon shut out from sight of each other. Now, Captain Tom was reduced to the old trick of going by sound. Fortunately, the "Victor" sounded a fog-horn at regular intervals of sixty seconds, as did the "Panther." "I'm not going to take any chances, however, sir," Tom confided to the owner. "I'm going to keep close enough to hear her machinery, too." Passing through the fog, the unseen "Victor" was off the better part of three hundred yards to port of the "Panther." Of a sudden, however, there came a note that was new. Tom and Joe, in the captain's cabin, heard it, and ran out on deck. Davis was bending over the starboard rail of the bridge in his effort to comprehend the new sound. "Too-whoo-oo!" Nearly abeam, and some three hundred yards off to starboard, that new sound came--a fog-horn identical with the "Victor's." "What on earth is the trick, now?" wondered Joe Dawson. "I'd be willing to give a day's pay to guess it all at once," responded the young skipper. "Too-whoo-oo!" sounded the "Panther's" fog-horn. "Too-whoo-oo!" came the answer, from port, presumably from the "Victor's" fog-horn. "Too-whoo-oo!" came like an echo from starboard. "It sounds like the first move in a game to mix us up," muttered Tom Halstead, shrewdly. "But what craft can be off at starboard?" questioned young Dawson. "Probably a steam launch, put off from the 'Victor,' with a similar fog-horn," rejoined Captain Halstead. "Or a motor launch," suggested Joe. "No; I don't believe that. If it were a motor launch we'd hear the chug-chug of her exhaust. It must be a steam launch. A steam craft of small size can be run more quietly." "That's true," assented young Dawson. "Still, our power tender has a pretty silent exhaust." "Great scheme!" grinned Tom, suddenly. "What?" "I'm going to play a return trick on Rollings's captain." "How?" "We have two reserve fog-horns that are identical in sound. I'm going to rig one of 'em on the 'Panther,' using it in the place of the one we're now sounding." "Yes----" "And rig the other fog-horn on the power launch," chuckled Tom. "Then we'll put Bickson and his own deckhand in the power launch and send 'em around to cruise to port of the 'Victor.' Thus we'll keep those fellows guessing, too, what's in the wind." Joe chuckled, but he added: "Tom, you'd better ask Mr. Jephson to send one of his deputy marshals along, armed, or something might happen that our power launch and two men would be bagged." "That's a sound idea, too," Captain Tom nodded. Half an hour later the "Panther's" power launch, containing Bickson, a seaman and a deputy marshal, stole as noiselessly as possible around to the port side of the "Victor" in the great, thick fog. Now, there were four fog-horns, sounding all at once. The four power craft were moving practically in one line. "Say, that's a funny stunt, surely," chuckled Joseph Baldwin, when he heard the four fog-horns almost at once, and understood what the move meant. "It may have another good effect," suggested Halstead. "What?" "Any sailing vessel headed our way, hearing four horns, is likely to steer well out of the way of the whole fleet, thus lessening the danger of collision." Barely two minutes later another sound intensely interested the watchers aboard the "Panther." Out of the white gloom ahead, some hundreds of yards, and almost bow-on from the "Panther," came the long-drawn-out hail: "He-e-elp!" "What's that?" demanded Joseph Baldwin, starting. "He-elp!" came the appeal once more. "Sounds like the latest trick from our friends on the 'Victor,'" grinned Captain Tom Halstead. Ab Perkins, with the megaphone in his hand, had pushed his way up to the very peak of the bow. "Ahoy!" he bawled, lustily, through the voice-carrier. "Who's in need of help?" Back came the answer, faint, yet distinct: "A castaway in a dory! For heaven's sake, pick me up!" "Not a thing happened after we picked up the last castaway in a small boat," uttered Joseph Baldwin, sarcastically. "That hail sounded like a boy's voice," muttered Tom. "If you pick _anyone_ up in this fog, be careful!" cautioned the owner. "Oh, won't I be careful, though?" retorted Skipper Tom. "Yet I've half a mind to pick this chap up, just to see what the game is. My curiosity is working over-time. I'm anxious to see the newest trick from the hands that steer the 'Victor'!" CHAPTER XIX TED DYER, SAILOR BY MARRIAGE Still Ab continued to hail from the bow of the motor yacht, young Captain Tom having gone forward to stand by him and give directions. "We'll take you aboard, and have a look at you, anyway," Ab called through the megaphone. "That is, if you make us closely enough to catch a rope from us. But we won't change our course, or stop ship." "Sa-ay, that's hardly fair!" came the indignant protest. "If you want to get aboard this craft, do as we tell you," Ab Perkins retorted, doughtily. "A-all right! I can't stay out on the ocean alone any longer, anyway!" came back the answer, with a new note of determination in it. "Then stop talking," directed Ab, "and get down to your oars, so as to run just alongside of us. And stand by to catch the line that'll be thrown to you." "Aye, aye, sir!" Catching up a coil of line, Perkins ran down nearer the waist of the ship. A seaman stood by with the ship's end of a rope boarding-ladder made fast. Captain Tom remained up in the "Panther's" bow. Then, out of the fog, shot a dory into sight. In it sat a boy of about sixteen, wearing only a ragged shirt and hardly less ragged trousers. He bent at a pair of oars, his glance cast backward over one shoulder as he guided the craft so as to pass the "Panther" without being engulfed by her. It was close work, and required rather fine seamanship on the part of the boy in the boat. Had the "Panther" been going at anything like her full speed the effort to lay alongside would have ended in disaster. Even as it was, Captain Tom Halstead watched with not a little anxiety. "Ready--catch the line!" sang Ab Perkins. The young executive officer of the "Panther" possessed fine judgment and a straight eye for such work. As the coil left Ab's hand it went whirling, uncoiling, through the air. The line landed fairly across the shoulder of the other boy below. He caught the rope, then sank down to the middle seat of the dory, bracing himself and holding on hard. As the line became taut the bow of the dory was yanked about. The little craft heeled a bit, then righted, bumping in against the larger hull, then gliding off and riding rather easy. The seaman at Ab's side now dropped the rope boarding-ladder overboard so that its lower end rested fairly in the dory. "Swing onto the ladder, and kick the dory loose," directed Ab Perkins, steadily. "I reckon you can do it." "Don't you want to recover the dory, to pay for my passage to land?" inquired the boy below. "Not a bit of it," uttered Ab. "Too much truck aboard now." "Then here comes--not much of anything," laughed the boy, in a clear, cool voice, as he seized the rope ladder, and sprang up onto it. As he left the dory that little craft drifted astern, soon to be lost to sight in the great fog. In another moment the boy was aboard. No stranger was he to the sea. That much could be told by the neat, seaman-like way in which he came up the rope boarding-ladder. "I've come on board, sir," laughed the stranger, touching the make-shift for a cap which he wore. "So I see," nodded Tom Halstead, coming aft from the bow. "What's your name?" "Ted Dyer." "Hailing port?" "'Frisco." "Sailor, by trade?" "No," laughed Ted, his eyes twinkling; "a sailor by marriage." "What's that?" demanded Halstead, almost sharply. He almost suspected that the other boy was making game of him. If Dyer came from the "Victor," such levity was misplaced. "My mother's sister married a captain of a freight schooner," Ted explained, more soberly. "Oh. So you, so to speak, ran away to sea with your uncle?" "No; he ran away from me _at_ sea," answered young Dyer, more soberly. "How long has your uncle been captain of the 'Victor'?" Halstead demanded, swiftly, hoping to catch this other boy off his guard. "The 'Victor'?" repeated Ted, opening his eyes wide. If he was shamming, then it was a fine bit of acting. "Didn't you come from the steam yacht 'Victor'?" demanded Captain Tom, looking hard at the boy. "Never heard of the craft before," declared Ted. Then: "Hold on, though. I'm lying without meaning to, it would seem. Yes; I know the 'Victor.' She's a hundred and twenty-two foot steam yacht, fine and fast." "That's the 'Victor' just over to port," went on Tom, still eyeing the other youth, closely. "Is it?" asked Ted Dyer. "Then your eyesight is sharper than mine." "Don't try to get funny," warned Halstead. "I don't want to," protested Ted. "You all strike me as first-rate fellows. And, anyway, you've fished me up out of the vasty deep, so to speak. Where's your captain?" "You're looking at him," replied Halstead. "Again," laughed Ted, "you're crediting me with finer eyesight than I possess." "I am the captain," Tom replied, struggling against an inclination to like this boy. Ted was so brimming over with good humor, that it seemed almost wicked to suspect him of anything worse than being hungry. "You're the captain?" demanded Ted, taken aback, and staring hard. Then, as he took in the details of Halstead's uniform, and noted the looks on the faces of the others about him, he became convinced. "Captain----" began Ted. "Halstead," supplied Tom. "Captain Halstead, as I'll have to dead-beat my passage back to San Francisco, I shall be mighty glad if you'll assign me to some work to do." "On your word of honor you didn't come off the 'Victor'?" insisted the young skipper, still looking hard at the new arrival on board. "On my honor I didn't. Why? Is it a crime to come on board from the 'Victor'?" "Very nearly," Halstead replied, dryly. "We've got one fellow in the brig on board, charged with that very offense." "Whew!" muttered Ted, looking grave. "Then what's the sentence for coming on board from a dory?" "How did you come to be in that dory?" pressed the young skipper of the "Panther." "You might call it mainly my uncle's offense," replied Ted Dyer, more gravely. "You see, my parents are dead. They left me a little money, and put me under the guardianship of my uncle. He put the money into the freight schooner, 'Nancy.' However, even at that, some of the earnings of the schooner had to be put aside as belonging to my estate. So my uncle, being a bright man, conceived the idea, night before last, of putting me adrift in the dory you fished me out of. At the time he had only a drunken sailor named Griggs on deck with him. Griggs is a fellow my uncle, Captain Dalton, by name, can depend on. Uncle got me to go into the dory that was towing astern. Made believe he wanted me to see if anything had fouled the rudder. Then he cut the line and left me adrift. I guess he figured that there was a storm coming; that I'd never be heard from again, and that he'd get the schooner all for himself." "The infernal scoundrel!" breathed Halstead, indignantly. Then, remembering his first suspicions, he shot in, closely: "So your uncle isn't captain of the 'Victor'?" "What's the joke?" demanded Ted, gazing at those about him, a look of wonder in his innocent blue eyes. Tom Halstead was beginning to soften. Despite the grave need of caution and suspicion, Ted's honest good nature was infectious. Besides, as both the yachts were going at eight miles an hour, and the "Victor" was traveling only abeam, anyway, how could a boy in a dory put off from the steam yacht be so far ahead of the position of either boat as to come down upon the "Panther" in the fashion Ted had done? Altogether, Captain Tom felt that he might do well to drop some of his suspicions. That same idea was occurring to some of the others who listened. It was Joe Dawson, however, who first gave voice to this new idea. "I reckon Ted is all right, Captain," spoke up the young chief engineer. "At any rate, I feel willing to go bail for his good behavior on this craft." "I guess this youngster is all right, Captain," spoke Joseph Baldwin, next stepping forward. "I'll take a chance with him, if you're willing." Ted Dyer, meanwhile, was looking from one face to another, as though he wondered what kind of a crowd he had encountered. "You may think us a bit strange, Dyer," spoke Tom, with a quiet smile. "The truth is, we have the best of reasons for being suspicious of the other yacht you've heard us talking about. You can stay aboard, and we'll try to make you comfortable." "I haven't anything else to do, sir," said Joe, turning once more to the young captain. "I'll take Dyer in hand if you say so." "Go ahead," assented Halstead. "First of all, take him below, Mr. Dawson, and introduce him to the cook. I imagine that will be agreeable." "You're good at guessing, Captain," laughed the San Francisco boy, saluting. "Come along then, Ted Dyer," proposed Joe, taking him by the arm with a friendly grip. "You can come below to my cabin and chat while you eat." "I guess I can do a lot of both," admitted the San Francisco boy, going along with Joe after making a bow that was intended to include everyone. Joe, however, did not at first press the other boy to talk much, but was delighted at seeing Dyer able to stow away so much satisfying food. "Now," demanded the newcomer, pushing his chair back from the table, "what am I going to do aboard this craft to earn my way?" "What do you know best how to do?" asked Dawson. "You said you are the chief engineer?" "Yes." "If there's anything I'm crazy about," confessed Ted Dyer, "it's machinery. Why couldn't I go to work in your engine room?" "That's a rather unfortunate question," returned Joe, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "You see, the fellow who really _did_ come aboard from the 'Victor' got into the engine room and tried to put our machinery into a useless condition. So you can understand why Captain Halstead would stare if I told him I had put you in the engine room." "What's all this business about the 'Victor,' anyway?" demanded Ted Dyer, curiously. So Joe told him enough to enable the other boy to understand, including the fact that a United States assistant district attorney and two deputy marshals were aboard intent upon arresting a bank absconder believed to be on board the "Victor." "And that boat is trying to lose you in the fog, so that Mr. Absconder can get away?" asked Ted Dyer, understandingly. "That's the case, Dyer." "Then I can understand why it wouldn't look well for me to ask for a job in the engine room," pondered Ted, thoughtfully. "I suppose, though, I could go in and help the cook. I couldn't do any harm there. Yes, I could, though; I might poison the dishes or the food." Joe Dawson gave a hearty laugh, so completely was he disarmed of suspicion of the other boy. "I guess perhaps we'd better leave it all to Captain Halstead," proposed Joe Dawson. "He's a fine, splendid fellow, as you'll find." "Fine and suspicious," retorted Ted, with a grimace. "He has to be, on a strange cruise like this. But you'll find Captain Tom Halstead as good as fine gold, Ted. Halstead is my chum." "If he's your chum," vouchsafed Dyer, heartily, "then I'll take my oath he's all right." "Come up on deck," nodded Joe, moving toward the companion way. CHAPTER XX THE FIND IN THE FOREHOLD Ted Dyer's place was quickly determined upon. Bickson, the chief quartermaster, who attended to the general "policing" of the yacht--that is, the cleaning up and the sanitary care of the boat, had one seaman assigned to help him. Ted was added as an extra hand in this line, being placed at once under the orders of the quartermaster who was acting in Bickson's place while the latter was out in the launch. "It looks, now, as though Dyer is all right, from the ground up, quartermaster," Captain Tom said, in a low voice. "At the same time, of course, you'll keep a general eye on the youngster?" "I certainly will, Captain." "Above all, don't let him get anywhere near the prisoner in the brig. Don't permit any possibility of communication between Dyer and Cragthorpe." "I understand, Captain." Before he had been at work for an hour Ted Dyer was earning golden good opinions from the acting chief quartermaster. Not the slightest curiosity did the new member of the crew display about anything that didn't concern him. As a worker Ted Dyer was number one. About three o'clock the evidence of a new game on the part of the enemy came to notice. The steam launch of the "Victor" ceased sounding her whistle off at the starboard of the "Panther." Tom Halstead, who was on deck, ready to note the slightest sign, became instantly suspicious. "Mr. Davis," he called, "sound the agreed-on signal from our own fog-horn for Bickson to come in, post-haste with our power boat." From the "Panther's" fog-horn sounded four short blasts. Just a few minutes later Tom Halstead, listening at the rail, heard the "Victor's" machinery moving at faster rate. "There they go, stealing away from us," muttered the young skipper. "And not sounding their fog-horn any more, either," commented Joseph Baldwin. "It won't take 'em long to get out of our hearing, if our tender doesn't get in," predicted Halstead. "Confound Bickson! Where is he? What's he doing?" demanded the "Panther's" owner, impatiently. Barely thirty seconds later, however, the "Panther's" power tender shot in alongside. The falls and tackle were lowered swiftly. The instant when the hoisting began Halstead called sharply: "Mr. Davis, start us forward on the jump. Don't let those tricksters slip us in that fashion." Second Officer Davis gave the order for increased speed. Then, before it could be carried out, he cried, excitedly: "What has become of the 'Victor,' sir? Can you hear her machinery, now?" Tom Halstead listened intently, growing paler. Barely forty-five seconds before he had had the enemy within sound. Now, not a single trace of noise came to him over the waters. "By Jove! they've slipped us," he groaned, uneasily. "That's what," confessed Dick, in a hushed, scared voice. Joseph Baldwin's face was a study in intense anxiety. "I'm afraid the steam yacht has gotten away from us, Captain," he remarked. "If that really has happened, I don't blame you. The chances, in a game of this sort, and under these conditions, are all with the fugitive." "Perhaps it isn't a matter of blame," muttered Skipper Tom, his face chalk-white, his hands nervously gripping at the port deck rail. "But I'm chagrined--ashamed, just the same. What have those rascals done? Have they stopped speed altogether? Are they drifting, so that, if we go ahead, we are drawing further away from them all the time? Or did they shoot well ahead of us, then succeed in running with almost no noise, and on a new course, so that they are slipping further away from us every minute? Shall we stop and drift? Or, if we go ahead, what speed and which course shall we take? Confound the wretches!" "It is a big problem," admitted Joseph Baldwin, his own face as white as that of the young skipper. "Have you any orders, sir?" asked Halstead, quickly. "No," replied Joseph Baldwin, slowly. "All I can do is to guess. That's all you can do, either, Captain Halstead; but your guess is just as likely to be the right one as is my own." The "Panther" was now traveling at a speed of twelve miles, sounding her fog-horn twice in the minute. "The worst of it is that our horn betrays us to the enemy," muttered Tom. "They have no respect for the laws of the sea, so that we give them guide, while they give us nothing in return." "We won't quite give up hope," uttered Mr. Baldwin, dispiritedly. "At the same time, I fancy we're now as good as whipped. I don't see any chance for us." "The only chance that's left," replied Skipper Tom, "is the chance of luck. Until you give other orders, sir, I shall keep to the same course, and at the same speed." Baldwin nodded, turning away. Somehow, the depressing news had passed around. The cabin passengers came pouring out on deck, asking well-nigh innumerable questions of the young captain and of the sadly perplexed owner. "All I can say," replied Mr. Baldwin to his questioners, "is that we must depend upon the slender chance of--luck." "And all I can say," added Captain Tom Halstead, "is--wait!" Gaston Giddings, who, in the morning, had been so insistent on having Cragthorpe set at liberty, now underwent a complete change of feeling in the matter. "That wretch in the brig could tell us something about this latest trick," declared the young bank president, quivering with wrath. "Mr. Baldwin, why don't you have the fellow brought on deck and made to confess whatever he may know about the plans of the Rollings crowd on the 'Victor'?" "Even if Cragthorpe should know all about the enemy's plans," demanded the owner, "how could I make him confess if he didn't want to?" "Torture him, if you have to, until he talks freely," snarled Gaston Giddings. "That wouldn't do," negatived Baldwin. "This is the twentieth century, and we live under laws. We can't put men to the torture nowadays." "Then let me go down and see Cragthorpe," cried Giddings, nervously. "I'll find a way to make him talk! Give me the key to the brig." To this proposition Captain Halstead returned a most emphatic refusal. "Whoop!" sounded a jubilant voice from below. "Whoo-oo-oopee!" "Who on earth is that?" demanded Mr. Ross. "Ted Dyer, the last castaway we picked up out of the ocean," responded Captain Halstead. "What on earth can he find to be so joyous----" "Whoo-oop!" interrupted Ted himself, appearing on deck at that instant. His eyes were snapping with excitement, his face fairly glowing with delight. "Say, do you know what's down in the forehold, sir?" he demanded, facing Captain Tom Halstead. "No; and how do you?" broke in Joseph Baldwin, interrupting. "Quartermaster Bickson set me to tidying up there," explained Ted. Then, turning to the young skipper, the San Francisco boy rattled on: "There's a case there, under a lot of other stuff, marked 'shotguns,' and another case marked 'rifles.' Then there are other boxes labeled 'ammunition.'" "Great Scott! I had forgotten that stuff--didn't know it was on board, in fact," exclaimed the owner. "I heard you tell," Ted hastened on, speaking to Tom Halstead, "how you were handicapped, when right alongside the 'Victor,' by not having any firearms except the two revolvers of the deputy marshals. But, now! You've got an arsenal if those boxes are labeled straight." "I believe the boxes are labeled all right," replied Joseph Baldwin, smiling sadly. "Yet, now that we know we have weapons enough at hand we haven't any steam yacht to board!" CHAPTER XXI ON A BLIND TRAIL OF THE SEA "Those guns were put aboard six months ago, when I was planning to run the 'Panther' down to Guatemala on a jaguar-hunting trip," explained Mr. Baldwin. "Afterwards, when the trip was abandoned, the guns were taken ashore. I'll admit I didn't know the arms were now on board." "We may catch up with those rascals again, sir," suggested Ted Dyer, hopefully. "I wish I had your enthusiasm, and your belief in the future, young man," remarked Mr. Baldwin, with a shake of his head. "Anyway, since the weapons have been found," interjected Halstead, "they may as well be taken out of their cases and cleaned, and the ammunition sorted over. We should have such things where we can get at them in a moment, at need." "Right enough," nodded the owner. "I'll go down and have a look at the things," proposed the young skipper. "Lead the way, Dyer." Ted went below, jubilantly enough, pointing out the cases, which he had dragged out from under other supplies. Then Dyer went to the engine room for hammer, cold chisel and screwdriver, after which the cases were opened. "Ten splendid repeating rifles, the same number of dandy shot-guns, and ammunition enough to keep these guns firing for a week," muttered Halstead when half an hour's work had resulted in displaying all the contents of the cases. "Oh, if we had only had these the other night, or at any time when we were out of the great fog and in sight of the 'Victor'!" Regrets were, however, utterly useless. All of the weapons were taken on deck. Some were stacked in the wheel house, others in Tom's cabin and some in the owner's suite. Boxes of cartridges and shells were also placed with the guns. "I shall hate these things every time I see them," muttered Joseph Baldwin. "I should have remembered, and have had a search made. But it's no use fussing now." "Oh, if we only could meet up with those fellows, now!" sighed Tom. "Humph! If hens would only lay eggs of solid gold," snorted Mr. Baldwin, "there'd be no sense in a bank cashier running away with the stuffing of the bank's vault! Captain Halstead, we won't pick that steam yacht up again in this fog." "Then, sir, we may do it when the fog lifts," predicted Halstead, hopefully. Baldwin shook his head. "All we can do, young man, is to keep on in a general course toward San Francisco, as we're doing. This fog will probably hang to us all the way to our anchorage off Market Street. If the fog should lift before that, there isn't one chance in a thousand that we'll find the 'Victor' in sight." "I'm on this cruise, sir," rejoined the young captain, "with the notion that the cruise can't end until we've run alongside the 'Victor' somewhere. It may be that we'll sight some other vessel that has seen the steam yacht. In that way we may get the news that will send us hustling down the coast to Mexico, or across the ocean to Japan." Joseph Baldwin grinned wistfully. "Well, one thing, Captain; we have enough gasoline to go 'most anywhere. My friends thought I was almost crazy to have such big tanks put aboard to hold gasoline. But I replied that, when we didn't need the extra oil, it would serve as ballast. If we have to burn that oil we can fill the tanks with salt water and still keep ballasted." "In any clear weather we can use the sails a good deal, and save oil at that, sir," suggested the young skipper. However, they continued on through the fog the rest of that afternoon, and through the night, without discovering a sign of any other craft. The loneliness of that great ocean about them began to get somewhat on the nerves of some of the passengers. Gaston Giddings, suffering infernal tortures for want of the drug to which he had become such a pitiful slave, kept to the cabin. Through the long night the "Panther" kept plodding on her way, rolling a good deal in the sea. Tom spent much of his time on the bridge with the watch officer. So morning came around again, and it was Third Mate Costigan's deck watch. Tom, who had been below in his cabin for the last three hours, came on deck again at about nine in the morning. Somehow, he could not sleep. The sense of failure preyed upon his nerves. For some minutes Captain Tom stood at the bridge rail, one hand at his ear. He was trying to catch even the faintest sound of another foghorn than the "Panther's." At last he started. "Did you hear that, Mr. Costigan?" he demanded. "I heard nothing, sir." "Then keep perfectly quiet, and listen hard." Within two minutes both officers were sure they heard a fog-horn. "But it's the fog-horn of a sailing vessel," muttered Tom, disappointedly. "Coming this way, too, sir," replied Mr. Costigan. "The people on the 'Victor' wouldn't hesitate to use a sailing vessel's signals in order to fool us," muttered Halstead. "Shall I pass well to starboard of the sailing craft, sir?" asked the third officer. "No; get in her path. When we're near enough, signal that we want to speak the other vessel," Halstead answered. Within seven or eight minutes the "Panther" was signaling the other craft by sound for the desired marine interview. The "all right" signal came back. Then the two vessels were cautiously manoeuvred to meet each other without collision. At last a big bowsprit loomed up out of the white gloom, close at hand. "Put your helm hard-a-starboard!" roared Mr. Costigan through the wheel house speaking-tube. Then, after some further manoeuvring, during which the "Panther's" propellers reversed, the two craft lay hazily in sight of each other. The stranger proved to be a long, low, white schooner yacht hailing from San Diego as the home port, but now bound for Hawaii. "Do you know the steam yacht 'Victor' when you see her?" Tom shouted over the "Panther's" rail. "Yes," came back the testy answer. "And sometimes we see too much of her. We did this morning." "You did?" Halstead demanded, excitedly. "Where?" "Back on our course. She came along through the fog like a thief, without signaling. If my first mate hadn't been in the bow at the moment, and able to pass the order back like lightning, that infernal steam yacht would have sunk us." "How far away do you think the 'Victor' is now?" Tom demanded. "At a good guess, say twelve miles ahead of you, on a pretty straight course for the Golden Gate." "Thank you, Captain!" "You're welcome." As the schooner yacht's sails filled, and she bore away on her course, a dozen people on the "Panther's" deck let up a wild cheer. "Fog or no fog, we'll catch up with the 'Victor' if we have luck," declared Captain Tom Halstead. Then his face took on a troubled look. "I forgot," he muttered. "The captain of the 'Victor' will hear our fog horn, and--oh, confound a fog-horn on a chase like this!" "Perhaps this is where a lawyer can help you out," smiled Mr. Jephson. "You're now a dozen miles behind the 'Victor.' Well, Captain, if you tone down your fog-horn so that it can't be heard for more than half or three quarters of a mile, it will still make noise enough to warn any innocent craft out of your path. Can't you tone down the horn?" "Yes," answered Tom, rather dubiously, "if it will be strictly straightforward and legal." "As a representative of the United States courts, I'll take all the responsibility," Mr. Jephson pledged himself. "I know," he added, "that I haven't, really, a legal right to authorize you to go forward without signals. That right belongs to the Navy, and to revenue cutter commanders. But I'll take the responsibility upon myself, Captain Halstead. All innocent vessels proceed under regular signals, anyway, and that does away with the risk of collision." The young motor boat captain needed no further urging. He called Joe on deck. Together the two chums worked over the fog-horn until the hail it sent forth would not carry more than a half mile. In the meantime, Third Officer Costigan, on the bridge, had been making use of his arithmetic. Figuring that the "Victor" was twelve miles ahead of the "Panther" and still following the same course at the same speed, the third mate had to calculate the time that would elapse before the motor yacht would be just two miles astern of its quarry. At the same time Ab Perkins was briefly busy, at least. It fell to his share to see that the power tender was all in trim for lowering over the side. Provisions and water, a compass and a fog-horn had to be added to the usual equipment of the boat. Firearms were stocked aboard, as well, and a greater supply of lines than the tender usually carried. Meanwhile, of course, the "Panther" was traveling at increased speed, this speed being carefully regulated to fit in with the problems that Third Officer Costigan was so carefully solving. For the next two hours Captain Tom Halstead strolled nervously about, Mr. Jephson, Mr. Baldwin, Mr. Ross and a few others were observed to be similarly afflicted with restlessness. Just before noon Tom Halstead climbed the stairs to the bridge, consulting Mr. Costigan's figures carefully. "Slow down the speed," Halstead ordered, after a few moments of listening that brought to them no sound showing another vessel to be near. "Mr. Perkins, stand by and lower the tender." As the "Panther" slowed up there was a rush to the port rail, for the tender was to carry a goodly crew. When the little power boat lay in the water alongside, Captain Tom Halstead was the first to go over the side. He was followed by Jed Prentiss, who was to act as engineer officer of this expedition. Then came Mr. Jephson and his two deputy marshals. Next followed Joe Dawson, who did _not_ go in the capacity of engineer. Messrs. Baldwin and Ross next followed, then two of the "Panther's" seamen, and, last of all, Ted Dyer. Quartermaster Bickson had been in the power boat when it was lowered, thus making twelve altogether in the party. "Cast off," called Tom, sharply, while Joe, already at the steering seat, threw the wheel over to port. "Mr. Perkins, you're in command of the yacht." "Any signals to arrange with us, Captain?" called the young first mate. "No! I don't believe you'll see us again in a hurry," Tom replied, as the power launch darted away, "unless we come back on board the 'Victor!'" From the yacht's rail came a subdued cheer. Halstead waved his hand to his first mate. A few bucketfuls of water slopped over into the tender. The sea was running high for such a small craft. Those in the launch, however, thought of nothing but the goal ahead. CHAPTER XXII A STERN LOOMS UP IN THE FOG Joe Dawson, at the wheel of the power tender, bent grimly over the compass. There was little need for him to look about him, anyway, since it was not possible to see anything distinctly at a greater distance than three boat-lengths away. Almost immediately the "Panther" dropped back out of view. The big motor yacht was now to go along only at her slow cruising speed, but the launch was to make greater haste. Tom Halstead had taken his post well up in the bow of the rolling little craft. He was listening intently for any betraying sounds ahead in their course. "This is hardly a big enough boat for a sea like this," grumbled Mr. Jephson, who had taken up his post close to the young captain. "The sea _is_ a good deal on the roll to-day," Halstead assented, briefly. "Why, this little craft acts as though she'd turn over and dump us all in the ocean," muttered the assistant district attorney, uneasily. "The crowd we have aboard makes her sit lower than usual in the water," Tom explained. "Is there any _real_ danger of our tipping over, Captain?" insisted Mr. Jephson. "Why, it might happen, of course, sir." "Do you think it is _going_ to happen?" demanded Mr. Jephson, anxiously. There are many men, brave enough elsewhere, who are cowards on a heavy sea with only a small boat between themselves and the water. Back on the "Panther" the district attorney's representative had felt no sense of danger. "Why, I don't know whether the boat is going to heel over, or not," Tom replied. "You are right in supposing that it isn't quite a large enough craft for the job in hand, but it was the only thing we had." "I can't swim, but I'll try to keep my nerve," grimaced Mr. Jephson. Whatever the others thought of their chances of being pitched into the ocean, none of them said anything. Halstead looked back, presently, to inquire: "Mr. Prentiss, can't you deaden the noise of our exhaust still more?" "I'm trying to," replied the young assistant engineer. "Think I'm going to succeed, too." After a few moments the tender ran along all but noiselessly. Though the exhaust still gave forth some little sound, it was wholly likely that this reduced noise would not be heard above the machinery running on the "Victor" if the expedition in the tender should be so fortunate as to catch up with the steam yacht. The twelve men sat huddled there in the cramped space, trying to blind their minds to the danger of capsizing in the rolling sea. For more than half an hour the tender ran ahead at nearly its best speed, ere Tom Halstead called back: "Joe, take my signals. I think we're getting in closer--to something!" Eagerly all bent forward to listen. After a minute or two more it seemed to them that they really could hear, faintly, the rather distant sound of the moving machinery of some steam craft. Yet this noise, none too distinct, was muffled still more by the ceaseless wash of the rolling sea, whose waves broke in white crests everywhere about them. Halstead, whose ears were perhaps the keenest on board, listened and occasionally signaled for the launch to be veered a little either to port or starboard. Surely, they were creeping up on something that ran by machinery, though through the curtain of white no eye could make out the form of a vessel. Somewhere, away to starboard, a great, deep note boomed out. "That's some big vessel, like a liner," Tom whispered to Jephson. Then, from away off to port sounded the tolling bell of a sailing vessel. Both appeared to be headed toward the "Panther" launch. "They seem to be about half a mile apart," Halstead whispered. "The 'Victor,' I think, will pass between the two craft. While that deep whistle and solemn bell are going the people on the steam yacht are not so likely to hear us. Pass the word to Mr. Prentiss to increase speed a little, if he can do so without making more noise at the exhaust." A little faster spurted the power tender, and a little worse became the tossing in that rolling sea. All the members of the party were in drenched clothing by this time. The water came aboard faster under this burst of speed; the two seamen began to bail it out. "If I ever get out of this boat alive, large yachts will be small enough for me in the future," Mr. Jephson told himself, nervously. Tom Halstead was paying no heed to the incoming water. That was Joe's affair, since Joe Dawson was handling the craft. "Pass the word to Jed to watch for signals from me," whispered Tom Halstead, tensely, a few minutes later. "Then you think----" began the district attorney's assistant eagerly. "Pass the word for me, please," Tom broke in. In the gray fog ahead some craft was moving by steam power. Those in the launch could now hear the regular thump-thump, soft though it was, of machinery ahead. Yet, to most of the silent watchers it came as something of a shock when, out of the mist ahead, there suddenly loomed, indistinctly, the stern of a hull. Away to starboard sounded the deep whistle of the big steamship, while over to port the bell of that sailing vessel tolled. The noise enabled Halstead to creep in more closely with less dread of being discovered too soon. A moment's breathlessness, then "Victor--San Francisco" stood out boldly before the eyes of the people in the launch as that boat shot in by the yacht's stern. They were taking grave chances, now, of being swamped at the very door of success. None knew this better than Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson as they jointly manoeuvred to run the tender up stealthily, while Jed Prentiss, trembling inwardly, kept his hand on the lever, ready to obey the slightest signal for speed. Then, swiftly, Tom Halstead, a rifle strapped over his back, rose in the bow. In one hand he held a line to the other end of which was attached a grappling hook. With a practiced eye and hand he measured the distance, poising the coil for a throw. Just as the tender stole in closer he made the throw. All hands watched breathlessly for a second or two. Then, as straight and true as a well-aimed bullet, the grappling hook fell and caught at the "Victor's" stern rail. Not an instant did the young motor boat skipper lose. There was no time to inquire whether someone else wanted to go first. Tom Halstead seized the tautening line with both hands, and began to climb as only a sailor _can_ go up a rope. His head quickly appeared above the steam yacht's stern rail. Tom Halstead slipped onto the deck just in time to see two men walking slowly aft. One of them was in uniform--perhaps he was the captain of the steam yacht. But the other, in civilian dress, the young motor yacht captain knew instantly from the description of him which he had heard. "Frank Rollings, the absconding cashier!" flashed through Tom's mind. CHAPTER XXIII ROLLINGS'S LAST RUSE Both approaching men were regarding the deck, talking in earnest tones as they came astern. "If we should pass out of this fog," Rollings was saying, "and if the 'Panther' should prove to be close to us----" Just at this point the speaker stopped. He panted, then staggered back, clutching at his uniformed companion. In almost the same instant both caught sight of lone Tom Halstead. Though not quite alone, either, for Tom had succeeded in unlimbering his rifle, and both strangers now found themselves staring down into the muzzle. "Don't stir, please!" mocked Tom Halstead, coolly. "How in the world _did_ he get on board?" faltered Rollings, hoarsely, his face ashen with terror. The uniformed man with him saw the grappling hook resting over the stern rail, and did not need to ask. At this instant Tom Halstead felt himself being pushed from behind, and took a step forward. Then Ted Dyer bounded onto deck beside him, bringing another rifle into play. "They're boarding us!" gasped Rollings, in the voice of a man who felt himself dying from fright. The uniformed man with him did not move; neither did he show any signs of fear, though he was facing the business ends of two rifles. Joe Dawson was on deck, now. Joe turned long enough to toss down a light line. It came up again, carrying the hooks of a boarding-ladder. Joe dropped this into place, then, with a quiet grin, turned to inspect the scene on deck. Suddenly the man in uniform turned and ran, defying possible shots. "Turn out the whole crew!" he bawled. "A posse is coming on board. Stand by to fight!" "Shall I drop the fellow?" quivered Ted. "No," came Halstead's quick answer. Then, as Frank Rollings summoned the strength to wheel about as if to bolt, Halstead shouted, warningly: "Rollings, if you try to move, you won't get three steps away!" At this instant one of the United States deputy marshals came up over the rail. "Officer," called Tom, "there's the man you've cruised so far to arrest." Though he had a rifle strapped over his back, the marshal drew his revolver as he ran forward. "Frank Rollings, you're a United States prisoner. Put up your hands!" With a moan that was half a scream, Rollings, instead, sank to the deck in a huddled heap. [Illustration: Rollings Sank to the Deck in a Huddled Heap.] "A man with no more nerve than you have should not try to loot a bank," growled the officer, as he snapped handcuffs onto the wrists of the seemingly palsied wretch. The other deputy was on board, by now, and other members of the boarding party were coming up fast. Mr. Jephson was among the foremost of them. "Come forward to the bridge," he called, now taking charge. "We'll take command of this whole craft. Deputy, make it your whole business to prevent your prisoner from getting away. Hold on to him, but come forward with us." The same uniformed, bearded man appeared suddenly around the pilot house as the party swept forward along the port side of the yacht. Rollings, his knees doubling under him, had to be dragged. The uniformed man suddenly raised a rifle, shouting: "Stand by, men! We'll put a stop to this nonsense!" "Drop that gun, or we'll open fire on you!" shouted Mr. Jephson, sternly. The boarding party moved swiftly forward. Behind the captain stood a mate and four or five seamen, all looking irresolute. Of a sudden the mate wheeled, throwing a rifle over the rail at starboard. The seamen with him instantly followed his example. Even the bearded captain had lowered the muzzle of his rifle. It is easier to be brave on the side of the law than against it. "Put that captain in irons," Mr. Jephson ordered the marshal who had no prisoner to cumber him. Sullenly, the captain of the "Victor" submitted to being handcuffed. "All of the rest of the officers and crew muster up in the bow," called Mr. Jephson. "Captain Halstead, I call upon you to take command of this yacht for the present. The quartermaster of this craft may remain in the wheel house if he'll take orders straight." "Aye, aye, sir," the quartermaster called, briefly, through one of the lowered windows of the pilot house. Tom Halstead, still carrying his rifle and holding it ready, ran up to the bridge. Stepping over to the signaling apparatus, Halstead rang for speed enough to furnish bare headway. "Quartermaster," the new commander of the "Victor" called down through the wheel house speaking-tube, "you'll keep to the same course you've been following, and sound the fog whistle every thirty seconds." "Captain," called Mr. Baldwin, a few moments later, "can you put one of your party up there on the bridge? We have yet other duties to perform here." "Take the bridge, Mr. Prentiss," called Tom, for he understood instantly what other work was likely to be on hand, and he knew that Joe Dawson would want a hand in it. Aft of the captain's quarters there was a main deck house. Into this cabin Rollings and the captain of the steam yacht were taken. Mr. Jephson was now talking to the two prisoners as solemnly as though holding actual court. "Do you think the 'Panther' will overtake us here, out on the high seas, Captain?" questioned Mr. Baldwin, just as they entered this cabin. "That is, will he recognize the 'Victor's' fog-whistle?" "He'll make a good guess at it, I think," laughed Halstead. "I've just directed Mr. Prentiss, in ten minutes more, to begin sounding whole bunches of blasts in quick succession. Ab will be clever enough to guess that it is our crowd celebrating a capture." "Now, then, Rollings," declared Mr. Jephson, sternly, "it is time for you to tell us where the money stolen from the Sheepmen's Bank is hidden aboard this craft?" "You won't find five hundred dollars on board," replied the cashier, with a ghastly smile. "My man, it may save you some years on the sentence that is coming to you if you tell us promptly where to find the stolen money," warned the United States assistant district attorney, sternly. "I've said all I'm going to say," returned Rollings, sullenly. "Captain Blake," asked Jephson, turning toward the bearded one, "you also have much to answer for in the courts. Do you desire to win any leniency by telling us, now, what you can?" "All I've anything to do with here," retorted Captain Blake, "is the running of this yacht. That work you've taken from me. So I've nothing to do, and nothing to say." Mr. Jephson, however, continued to question first one prisoner, then the other, though in vain, until Mr. Baldwin broke in: "Jephson, you can't make these fellows talk. They're afraid they'd only run their necks further into the noose of the law. Besides, this rascal, Rollings, hopes that, if you can't find the money, he'll win complete pardon in the matter by restoring most of it later on. It'll save a good deal of time, I imagine, if you place both these fellows under close guard by one of your deputies, then lead us in a search through this craft." By this time Jed Prentiss, following orders, had begun to turn loose on the fog-horn, sounding it so rapidly that Ab Perkins, somewhere behind in the mist with the "Panther," must be able to guess what had happened. One of the deputies now guarded Rollings and Captain Blake, while the other had gone below to the engine room. There the engineer's crew had agreed to serve faithfully under the new command, but the deputy was there to see to it that they didn't change their minds. Quartermaster Bickson and one of his seamen had driven the crew of the "Victor" to the forecastle, and mounted guard over them. The searchers, comprising Mr. Jephson, Mr. Baldwin and the latter's captain, Halstead, were joined by Mr. Ross, Joe Dawson and Ted Dyer. "There are enough of us here," laughed Mr. Baldwin, "to turn this craft inside out in another half hour." First of all, Frank Rollings's own quarters were searched, as a matter of course. It had been learned, since coming aboard, that the absconding cashier was now the owner of the "Victor," having bought her secretly three days before his flight. There was no safe in the owner's cabin. The desk stood wide-open, with hardly a scrap of paper in it. The mattress was yanked from the bed, ripped and thoroughly searched, but not a trace of the stolen money was found. The pillows were served in the same fashion, with no better results. Other nooks and corners of the cabin were explored, without success. Nor were any better results achieved in the captain's cabin. Cabin, dining room and state-rooms below were explored. By this time the searchers had broken up into smaller parties. The more they searched the more dispirited did the hunters become. "We're not going to find the missing money with ease," announced Mr. Jephson, when he had rounded up all his searching force on deck. "We've looked in about every possible place except the forecastle, the water butts and the coal bunkers," declared Jason Ross, disgustedly. "The money isn't likely to be in any of those places," declared Mr. Jephson, shaking his head. "Hullo, what's that racket?" Off in the fog a horn was sounding frantically. Tom Halstead laughed. "You ought to know that tune, Mr. Jephson. You've heard it days enough. That's the 'Panther' coming up with us, with Ab Perkins in command. He understood our signal, as I thought he would. He'll be hailing us within two minutes." "But that won't be finding the money," broke in Joseph Baldwin, impatiently. "Nor do I believe we're going to find it--not immediately, anyway," answered Mr. Jephson. "This boat doesn't seem to be full of hiding places, and I believe we have done all the searching we can do out here at sea. We shall have to run the 'Victor' in at anchorage at San Francisco, then put aboard a force of officers under experienced detectives, and leave the search to them." "Confound it," growled Jason Ross, "I know, as well as I know I'm standing here, that there are three million dollars in actual cash somewhere within a hundred feet of us. It makes me almost frantic to think that we can't put our hands right on it." "Ahoy, there!" roared a voice off in the fog. Though the other craft was invisible, and though the voice came through a megaphone, the hearers knew it was Ab Perkins's voice. Jed snatched up a megaphone to shout back: "Ahoy, 'Panther'!" "Ahoy! Then you've found the 'Victor'?" "Aye, and captured her." "Did you find Rollings!" "He's a prisoner, under close guard." "And the money?" "That's what we all want to know," Jed admitted, sadly. "You can't find it?" "Not even a dollar bill!" There was a pause, during which those on board the steam yacht knew that their friends on the motor yacht were discussing this chilling news. "What are Captain Halstead's orders?" shouted Ab, finally. Jed bent over the bridge rail to talk with Captain Tom, then answered: "Keep about abreast of us, and a quarter of a mile off. Proceed with us, straight for the Golden Gate. Keep your fog-horn sounding at intervals of one minute, or at such other intervals as you may hear us sounding. Three sharp blasts of the whistle will mean for you to stand by to find out what we're doing in the fog." "Aye, aye," answered Ab Perkins. "Is that all?" "That's all, Mr. Perkins." The "Victor" now proceeded on her way to the home port at about eight miles an hour. Though no one on board could see the "Panther," the sound of the latter's fog-horn was always with them. "The prisoner, Rollings, wants to see you, Mr. Jephson," called the deputy marshal from the deck-house cabin. Jephson went back. "Well, Rollings, have you come to your senses? Are you going to tell us where the missing money is?" demanded the assistant district attorney. "I know nothing about any missing money," replied the bank cashier, doggedly. "See here, man, what I want to ask is: Do you intend to torture me needlessly?" "No; what do you want?" "Let me go to my own cabin, and let me have these handcuffs off," pleaded the prisoner. "I need rest; I'm nearly a wreck." "I can let you go to your cabin, and even remove the handcuffs," agreed Mr. Jephson. "But I'll have to place a guard in there with you. "All right, then," sighed the prisoner. He was taken to his own cabin, the handcuffs removed, and the cashier threw himself upon his bed, while the deputy marshal took a seat where he could watch his man. Captain Blake begged a similar privilege, which was refused. He was made to go out on deck where he could be watched by all hands. For half an hour Rollings lay on the bed, his eyes closed, as though asleep. Occasionally he twitched, or made some slight movement. That was all. The deputy seated opposite began to find the situation a dull one. At last the prisoner half sat up, to take off his shoes. "My feet are burning," he complained, as he dropped the shoes at the foot of the bed, then sank back on the pillow. "You're nervous; that's why your feet trouble you," observed the deputy, with a knowing smile. Then Rollings began to breathe heavily; bye and bye two or three snores escaped him. The deputy, finding it duller and duller, unintentionally allowed his eyes to close. Instantly the cashier's own eyes opened a trifle. At last, smiling cunningly, the cashier moved slightly, securing one of his shoes. He poised it, aimed and threw. The heel of the shoe struck the deputy on the head, causing him to drop forward out of the chair and lie apparently senseless on the floor. Suppressing a cry of exultation, Frank Rollings leaped from the bed. There was now the light of mania in his eyes. This thief, disgraced, about to be despoiled, and presently to be sent to prison for a long term, preferred to die. This he might have accomplished with the deputy's revolver, but that would not enable him to carry out all of his purpose. On one wall of the cabin stood a rack containing a water-bottle and two glasses. Over to this rack stole the captured thief. He swung the rack to one side, then pressed a certain nail in the wood-work there. Instantly a door in the wall swung open. Rollings's eyes eagerly peered into the recess thus laid bare. Then, with a nearly inarticulate cry of joy, he drew out a small though heavy-looking iron box. "Neither me nor the money shall they have!" uttered the wretch, in insane joy. With a last look at the still unconscious deputy, Frank Rollings threw his cabin door open. As he sprang to the deck three or four watchers saw him. "Look out! There's the prisoner trying to escape!" shouted Joseph Baldwin. There was not time for anyone to reach Rollings ere that crafty, unbalanced wretch, clutching desperately at the iron box, bounded to the rail, stood there tottering for an instant, and then leaped far out into the water. It was Tom Halstead who first saw the iron box and comprehended the meaning of the scene. "There he goes!" yelled Halstead. "And the box with the three millions in it will sink like a stone!" CHAPTER XXIV CONCLUSION Never slow to act, Captain Tom darted aft, intent on leaping overboard also. Ted Dyer, however, chanced to be standing close to the stern. Ted saw Rollings when the latter first leaped to the rail. As quickly as it flashed upon Dyer what was happening, the San Francisco boy scrambled to the rail. Almost at the instant that Rollings jumped Ted's own feet left the rail. The two struck the water within thirty feet of each other. Nothing but the slow speed of the steam yacht, perhaps, saved both from being dragged under by the force of suction. In a moment or two the pair were left astern. Feeling the shock of the cold water, Rollings's first instinctive act was to try to keep himself afloat. Curiously, he would not, at first, let go of the iron box, which, with its contents, weighed many pounds. Now, over the top of a rolling wave Ted Dyer's head appeared. All this had taken place in a few seconds. "You want to catch me--you want the money!" sputtered Rollings, expelling a spray of water from his mouth. "You shall do neither!" Clutching tightly at the box as an aid to his own drowning, Frank Rollings let himself go beneath the surface. Promptly Ted went down after him, swimming straight and lustily. Another figure sprang forward and downward, shark-like, through the water. This was Tom Halstead, who, with his stoutest strokes, had just reached the scene. Between them Tom and Ted succeeded in seizing the box. By a common impulse, for they could not talk, they forced it from Rollings, rising to the surface. "Blub-bub-bub--whew!" Rollings, rising to the surface, made that noise as he fought for breath. The cashier, an excellent swimmer, saw the two boys, a dozen feet away, swimming and holding up the box. "Neither me nor the money shall you have!" he roared, striking out at a strong overhand swimming gait. He was almost upon them like a flash. But there was another there, too. Joe Dawson had also leaped over from the rail of the motor yacht. Joe got along just in time to swim between Rollings and the two boys who were doing their best to keep up and hold the iron box, too. "Back for yours! Go away back and float!" cried Joe, pushing one of his fighting hands against the cashier's face. "I'll take _you_ down, then, or the box!" screamed Rollings. "Oh, all right, then. Take me," mocked Joe. "I'm used to it." Furiously the pair fought in that rolling sea. Joe devoted every energy, first of all, to keeping the cashier from winding his arms around him. Presently Rollings gave up that effort, trying to dodge around Joe and get at the other pair, who, swimming slowly, were at the same time managing to keep that precious iron box afloat. This latter task, easy at first, soon became difficult. As the minutes passed the box became more and more of a burden, until it threatened to drag both swimmers under. Yet they hung to it manfully. Up on the bridge of the "Victor" Jed Prentiss had his own hard task to perform. Almost at the outset the swimmers had vanished in the fog astern. Jed Prentiss instantly gave orders for the steam yacht to stop and reverse the screw. At the same time he ordered the "Victor" to go around hard-a-port. Even this circle had to be one of large diameter. "No hails down there on the deck!" rang Jed's voice, sternly. "No confusion of calls. Let me do all the hailing." Megaphone in hand, young Prentiss stood at the port bridge rail. "Ahoy!" he roared, through the megaphone. Again and again he repeated the call. At last he thought he heard an answer out of the deeps. "Louder!" he roared. "Give us your position." Suddenly, some sixty feet off the rail, Jed just made out the heads of Joe Dawson and Frank Boilings. The cashier was floating, now, making no resistance, for Joe had struck him a blow across the head with his clenched fist. Rollings, stunned, floated unresistingly, supported by Dawson. "We'll have a boat to you in a jiffy!" shouted Jed, while Bickson threw a life preserver with almost perfect aim. Now, the "Victor," whose speed had been slowing down, was stopped. Joe and his charge had drifted just out of sight, but a boat was quickly lowered, under command of Bickson, and reached the pair, after hailing. "Where's the captain?" demanded the quartermaster, as Joe and Rollings were hauled in. "Hail 'em. They're close at hand," Joe replied. The first hail brought an answer. In a few moments more the iron box was carefully brought over the side into the small boat. Finally Tom and Ted nimbly joined the others. "Get back to the yacht as quickly as you can. Rollings may come to, and, fighting in a small boat like this, he could make it unsafe--for the money," Captain Tom Halstead added, with a wan grin. Little time passed before strong hands bore the iron box up over the side of the "Victor." Then Frank Rollings, just beginning hazily to come to, was carried up. This time he was handcuffed, to remain so until San Francisco should be reached. It was an anxious conference that gathered in the main cabin as Assistant District Attorney Jephson proceeded to force the iron box that had come within a hair's breadth of going to the bottom of the ocean. The three boys who had gone overboard after it stood by in their dripping garments. As the lid of the sheet-iron box went up, a subdued cheer arose. This increased in volume to a din as Mr. Jephson swiftly tore the paper wrappings from one of the packages that he had lifted out. The first tightly-packed bale of crisp, new thousand-dollar bills was in view. "All of the stolen money--the whole three million dollars--appears to be here," announced Mr. Jephson, presently, as he began placing the bales back in the iron box, which, now that it was open, proved not to be as thick or solid as it looked when closed. "Then I'm off to where I can get dry and warm," muttered Tom Halstead. "Come along, fellows." It was all over but making the anchorage at San Francisco. There was a somewhat long, though uneventful cruise, through fog that lasted to the end. With the "Panther's" crew divided up between two boats, the work was hard, indeed. It was a welcome hour to all when anchorage was finally made not far from the foot of Market Street, San Francisco. Frank Rollings was afterwards tried, convicted, and sentenced to twenty years' confinement, which he is now serving. Captain Blake was convicted of firing upon the "Panther," of running without lights or signals, and of attempting to resist United States officers. He was sent to prison for twelve years. Blake confessed that the idea in turning back on the course was to elude the "Panther," and then seek a lonely point on the coast of Mexico for landing. Nor did Cragthorpe escape, his sentence being ten years for the part he had played. Yet, before he was sent away, this wretch gave the evidence which cleared Robert Gentry of the crime of which the latter stood accused. Young Gentry was released, exonerated, and Rose Gentry, whom Tom Halstead had briefly befriended on the Overland Mail at Oakland, wedded her own heart's choice, the broad-shouldered young man who had met her at the San Francisco ferry mole. Cragthorpe, as it was afterwards learned, had been serving Rollings for some time, and Cragthorpe it was who, having made the acquaintance of Gaston Giddings, lured the latter into the opium dens of Chinatown. Had Cragthorpe succeeded in wedding Rose Gentry--and her fortune--he might have discarded Rollings. As it was, he participated deeply in Rollings's crimes, and had absconded from San Francisco with him on board the "Victor" as a fighting man and trusted agent. Gaston Giddings has been broken of the fearful curse of the opium habit, but he is no longer president of the Sheepmen's Bank. He is naturally too weak-willed for prominent service in the financial world. Ted Dyer, you may be sure, became a member of the Motor Boat Club, going into its engineer squad. Ted's worthless, heartless uncle was arrested on his return to San Francisco, and a new guardian, who was appointed for Ted, secured the young man's full inheritance back out of the property of the uncle. All of our young Motor Boat Club friends remained aboard the "Panther" for the balance of the winter and well into the spring. They had many enjoyable cruises, though none as exciting as the one just closed. The reward that the directors of the Sheepmen's Bank voted to all hands for the recovery of the three million dollars, made the bank accounts of these sturdy, brave young navigators swell considerably. Not, however, that any of Captain Tom Halstead's comrades needed money, for they have that which is worth far more--the power that strong hands, brave hearts and fearless, truthful eyes bring to any human being when rightly employed. It is possible, even very likely, that we may yet again meet up with these splendid young fellows, who stand for the new type in American power of the seas in the twentieth century. In the meantime, let us hail Tom Halstead, Joe Dawson, and all the other resourceful, capable and brave lads with their own famous club yell: "_M. B. C. K.! M. B. C. K.! Motor Boat Club._ WOW!" [THE END.] 
4987	----	This eBook was produced by Jim Weiler, xooqi.com The Outdoor Girls At Rainbow Lake or The Stirring Cruise of the Motor Boat Gem by Laura Lee Hope, 1913 _________________________________________________________________ CHAPTER I A GRAND SURPRISE "Girls, I've got the grandest surprise for you!" Betty Nelson crossed the velvety green lawn, and crowded into the hammock, slung between two apple trees, which were laden with green fruit. First she had motioned for Grace Ford to make room for her, and then sank beside her chum with a sigh of relief. "Oh, it was so warm walking over!" she breathed. "And I did come too fast, I guess." She fanned herself with a filmy handkerchief. "But the surprise?" Mollie Billette reminded Betty. "I'm coming to it, my dear, but just let me get my breath. I didn't know I hurried so. Swing, Grace." With a daintily shod foot-- a foot slender and in keeping with her figure-- Grace gave rather a languid push, and set the hammock to swaying in wider arcs. Amy Stonington, who had not joined in the talk since the somewhat hurried arrival of Betty, strolled over to the hammock and began peering about in it-- that is, in as much of it as the fluffy skirts of the two occupants would allow to be seen. "I don't see it," she said in gentle tones-- everything Amy did was gentle, and her disposition was always spoken of as "sweet" by her chums, though why such an inapt word is generally selected to describe what might better be designated as "natural" is beyond comprehension. "I don't see it," murmured Amy. "What?" asked Grace, quickly. "I guess she means that box of chocolates," murmured Mollie. "It's no use, Amy, for Grace finished the last of them long before Betty blew in on us-- or should I say drifted? Really, it's too warm to do more than drift to-day." "You finished the last of the candy yourself!" exclaimed Grace, with spirit. If Grace had one failing, or a weakness, it was for chocolates. "I did not!" snapped Mollie. Her own failing was an occasional burst of temper. She had French blood in her veins-- and not of French lilac shade, either, as Betty used to say. It was of no uncertain color-- was Mollie's temper-- at times. "Yes, you did!" insisted Grace. "Don't you remember? It was one with a cherry inside, and we both wanted it, and---- " "You got it!" declared Mollie. "If you say I took it---- " "That's right, Grace, you did have it," said gentle Amy. "Don't you recall, you held it in one hand behind your back and told Billy to choose?" Billy was Mollie's "chummy" name. "That's so," admitted Grace. "And Mollie didn't guess right. I beg your pardon, Mollie. It's so warm, and the prickly heat bothers me so that I can hardly think of anything but that I'm going in and get some talcum powder. I've got some of the loveliest scent-- the Yamma-yamma flower from Japan." "It sounds nice," murmured Betty. "But, girls---- " "Excuse me," murmured Grace, making a struggle to arise from the hammock-- never a graceful feat for girl or woman. "Don't! You'll spill me!" screamed Betty, clutching at the yielding sides of the net. "Grace! There!" There would have been a "spill" except that Amy caught the swaying hammock and held it until Grace managed, more or less "gracelessly," to get out. "There's the empty box," she remarked, as it was disclosed where it had lain hidden between herself and Betty. "Not a crumb left, Amy, my dear. But I fancy I have a fresh box in the house, if Will hasn't found them. He's always-- snooping, if you'll pardon my slang." "I wasn't looking for candy," replied Amy. "It's my handkerchief-- that new lace one; I fancied I left it in the hammock." "Wait, I'll get up," said Betty. "Don't you dare let go, Amy. I don't see why I'm so foolish as to wear this tight skirt. We didn't bother with such style when we were off on our walking tour." "Oh, blessed tour!" sighed Mollie. "I wish we could go on another one-- to the North Pole," and she vigorously fanned herself with a magazine cover. Betty rose, and Amy found what she was looking for. Grace walked slowly over the shaded lawn toward her house, at which the three chums had gathered this beautiful-- if too warm-- July day. Betty, Amy, and Mollie made a simultaneous dive for the hammock, and managed, all three, to squeeze into it, with Betty in the middle. "Oh, dear!" she cried. "This is too much! Let me out, and you girls can have it to yourselves. Besides, I want to talk, and I can't do it sitting down very well." "You used to," observed Amy, smoothing out her rather crumpled dress, and making dabs at her warm face with the newly discovered handkerchief. "The kind of talking I'm going to do now calls for action-- 'business,' as the stage people call it," explained Betty. "I want to walk around and swing my arms. Besides, I can't properly do justice to the subject sitting down. Oh, girls, I've got the grandest surprise for you!" Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed; she seemed electrified with some piece of news. "That's what you said when you first came," spoke Mollie, "but we seemed to get off the track. Start over, Betty, that's a dear, and tell us all about it. Take that willow chair," and Billy pointed to an artistic green one that harmonized delightfully with the grass, and the gray bark of an apple tree against which it was drawn. "No, I'm going to stand up," went on Betty. "Anyhow, I don't want to start until Grace comes back. I detest telling a thing over twice." "If Grace can't find that box of chocolates she'll most likely run down to the store for another," said Amy. "And that means we won't hear the surprise for ever so long," said Mollie. "Go on, Bet, tell us, and we'll retell it to Grace when she comes. That will get rid of your objection," and Mollie tucked back several locks of her pretty hair that had strayed loose when the vigorous hammock-action took place. "No, I'd rather tell it to you all together," insisted Betty, with a shake of her head. "It wouldn't be fair to Grace to tell it to you two first. We'll wait." "I'll go in and ask her to hurry," ventured Amy. She was always willing to do what she could to promote peace, harmony, and general good feeling. If ever anyone wanted anything done, Amy was generally the first to volunteer. "There's no great hurry," said Betty, "though from the way I rushed over here you might think so. But really, it is the grandest thing! Oh, girls, such a time as may be ahead of us this summer!" and she pretended to hug herself in delight. "Betty Nelson, you've just got to tell us!" insisted Mollie. "Look out, Amy, I'm going to get up." Getting up from a hammock-- or doing anything vigorous, for that matter-- was always a serious business with quick Mollie. She generally warned her friends not to "stand too close." "Never mind, here comes Grace," interrupted Amy. "Do sit still, Mollie; it's too warm to juggle-- or is it jiggle?-- around so." "Make it wiggle," suggested Betty. "Do hurry, Grace," called Mollie "We can't hear about the grand surprise until you get here, and we're both just dying to know what it is." "I couldn't find my chocolates," said Grace, as she strolled gracefully up, making the most of her slender figure. "I just know Will took them. Isn't he horrid!" "Never mind, did you bring the talcum?" asked Amy. "We can sprinkle it on green apples and pretend it's fruit juice." "Don't you dare suggest such a thing when my little twins come along, as they're sure to do, sooner or later," spoke Mollie, referring to her brother and sister-- Paul and Dora-- or more often "Dodo," aged four. They were "regular tykes," whatever that is. Mollie said so, and she ought to know. "If you gave them that idea," she went on, "we'd have them both in the hospital. However, they're not likely to come to-day." "Why not?" asked Betty, for the twins had a habit of appearing most unexpectedly, and in the most out-of-the-way places. "They're over at Aunt Kittie's for the day, and I told mamma I shouldn't mind if she kept them a week." "Oh, the dears!" murmured Amy. "You wouldn't say so if you saw how they upset my room yesterday. I like a little peace and quietness," exclaimed Mollie. "I love Paul and Dodo, but-- and she shrugged her shoulders effectively, as only the French can. "Here's the talcum," spoke Grace. "I'm sorry about the chocolates. Wait until I see Will," and she shook an imaginary brother. "Never mind, dear, it's too hot for candies, anyhow," consoled Betty. "Pass the talcum," and she reached for the box that Mollie was then using. "It has the most delightful odor, Grace. Where did you get it?" "It's a new sample lot Harrison's pharmacy got in. Mr. Harrison gave me a box to try, and said---- " "He wanted you to recommend it to your friends, I've no doubt," remarked Mollie. "He didn't say so, but I haven't any hesitation in doing so. I just love it." "It is nice," said Amy. "I'm going to get some the next time I go down-town." The spicy scent of the perfumed talcum powder mingled with the odor of the grass, the trees, and the flowers, over which the bees were humming. "Come, come, Betty!" exclaimed Mollie, vigorously, when shining noses had been rendered immune from the effects of the sun, "when do we hear that wonderful secret of yours?" "Right away! Make yourselves comfortable. I'm going to walk about, and get the proper action to go with the words. Now, what did I do with that letter?" and she looked in her belt, up her sleeve, and in the folds of her waist. "Gracious, I hope I haven't lost it!" she exclaimed, glancing about, anxiously. "Was it only a letter?" asked Mollie, something of disappointment manifesting itself in her tones. "Only a letter!" repeated Betty, with proper emphasis. "Well, I like the way you say that! It isn't a common letter, by any means." "Is it from that queer Mr. Blackford, whose five hundred dollar bill we found when we were on our walking trip?" asked Amy, with strange recollections of that queer occurrence. "No, it was from my uncle, Amos Marlin, a former sea captain," was the answer "A most quaint and delightful character, as you'll all say when you meet him." "Then we are going to meet him?" interjected Grace, questioningly. "Yes, he's coming to pay me a visit." "Was that the grand surprise?" Amy wanted to know. "Indeed not. Oh, there's the letter," and Betty caught up a piece of paper from underneath the hammock. "I'll read it to you. It's quite funny, and in it he says he's going to give me the grandest surprise that ever a girl had. It---- " "But what is the surprise itself?" inquired Mollie. "Oh, he didn't say exactly," spoke Betty, smoothing out the letter. "But I know, from the way he writes, that it will be quite wonderful. Everything Uncle Amos does is wonderful. He's quite rich, and---- " "Hark!" exclaimed Amy. A voice was calling: "Miss Ford! Miss Ford!" "Yes, Nellie, what is it?" asked Grace, as she saw a maid coming towards her, beckoning. "Your brother wants you on the telephone, Miss Ford," answered the maid, "he says it's quite important, and he wants you to please hurry." "Excuse me," flung back Grace, as she hurried off. "I'll be back in a minute. I hope he's going to confess where he put those chocolates." CHAPTER II AFTER THE PAPERS "Hello, is this you, Will?" "Yes, this is Grace. What did you do with my chocolates? The girls are here, and-- Never mind about the chocolates? The idea! I like---- . What's that? You want to go to the ball game? Will I do your errand for you? Yes, I'm listening. Go on!" "It's this way, Sis," explained Will over the wire from a down-town drug store. "This morning dad told me to go over to grandmother's and get those papers. You know; the ones in that big property deal which has been hanging fire so long. Grandmother has the papers in her safe. The deal is to be closed to-day. I promised dad I'd go, but I forgot all about it, and now the fellows want me to go to the ball game with them. "If you'll go over to grandmother's and get the papers I'll buy you a two-pound box of the best chocolates-- honest, I will. And you can get the papers as well as I can. Grandmother expects one of the family over after them to-day, and she has them all ready. "You can go just as well as I can-- better, in fact, and dad won't care as long as he gets the papers. You're to take them to his office. Will you do it for me, Sis? Come on, now, be a sport, and say yes." "But it's so hot, and Betty, Amy, and Mollie are here with me. I don't want to go all the way over to grandmother's after some tiresome old papers. Besides, it was your errand, anyhow." "I know it, Sis, but I don't want to miss that game. It's going to be a dandy! Come on, go for me, that's a good fellow. I'll make it three pounds." "No, I'm not going. Besides, it looks like a thunder storm." "Say, Sis, will you go if I let you ride Prince?" "Your new horse?" asked Grace, eagerly. "Yes, you may ride Prince," came over the wire. Will was a good horseman, but for some time had to be content with rather an ordinary steed. Lately he had prevailed on his father to get him a new one, and Prince, a pure white animal, of great beauty, had been secured. It was gentle, but spirited, and had great speed. Grace rode well, but her mount did not suit her, and Mr. Ford did not want to get another just then. Will never allowed his sister to more than try Prince around the yard, but she was eager to go for a long canter with the noble animal. Now was the chance she had waited for so long. "You must want to see that ball game awfully bad, to lend me Prince," said Grace. "I do," answered Will. "But be careful of him. Don't let him have his head too much or he'll bolt. But there's not a mean streak in him." "Oh, I know that-- I can manage." "Then you'll get those papers from grandmother for me, and take them to dad?" "Yes, I guess so, though I don't like leaving the girls." "Oh, you can explain it to them. And you can 'phone down for the chocolates and have them sent up. Charge them to me. The girls can chew on them until you come back. It won't take you long on Prince. And say, listen, Sis!" "Yes, go on." "Those papers are pretty valuable, dad said. There are other parties interested in this deal, and if they got hold of the documents it might make a lot of trouble." "Trouble?" "Yes. But there's not much chance of that. They don't even know where the papers are." "All right, I'll get them. Have a good time at the game, Billy boy." "I will, and look out for Prince. So long!" and Will hung up the receiver, while Grace over the private wire, telephoned to the groom to saddle Prince. Then she went out to tell her friends of her little trip. And while she is doing this, I will interject a few words of explanation so that those who did not read the first volume of this series may have a better understanding of the characters and location of this story. The first book was called "The Outdoor Girls of Deepdale; Or, Camping and Tramping for Fun and Health." In that is given an account of how the four chums set off to walk about two hundred miles in two weeks, stopping nights at the homes of various friends and relatives on the route. At the very outset they stumbled on the mystery of a five hundred dollar bill, and it was not until the end that the strange affair was cleared up most unexpectedly. The four girls were Betty Nelson, a born leader, bright, vigorous and with more than her share of common sense. She was the daughter of Charles Nelson, a wealthy carpet manufacturer. Grace Ford, tall, willowly, and exceedingly pretty, was blessed with well-to-do parents. Mr. Ford being a lawyer of note, who handled many big cases. Mollie Billette, was just the opposite type from Grace. Mollie was almost always in action, Grace in repose. Mollie was dark, Grace fair. Mollie was quick-tempered-- Grace very slow to arouse. Perhaps it was the French blood in Mollie-- blood that showed even more plainly in her mother, a wealthy widow-- that accounted for this. Or perhaps it was the mischievous twins-- Dodo and Paul-- whose antics so often annoyed their older sister, that caused Mollie to "flare up" at times. Amy Stonington was concerned in a mystery that she hoped would some day be unraveled. For years she had believed that John and Sarah Stonington were her father and mother, but in the first book I related how she was given to understand differently. It appears that, when she was a baby, Amy lived in a Western city. There came a flood, and she was picked up on some wreckage. There was a note pinned to her baby dress-- or, rather an envelope that had contained a note, and this was addressed to Mrs. Stonington. Amy's mother was Mrs. Stonington's aunt, though the two had not seen each other in many years. Whether Amy's parents perished in the flood, as seemed likely, or what became of them, was never known, nor was it known whether there were any other children. But Mr. Stonington, after the flood, was telegraphed for, and came to get Amy. He and his wife had kept her ever since, and shortly before this story opens they had told her of the mystery surrounding her. Of course it was a great shock to poor Amy, but she bore it bravely. She called Mr. and Mrs. Stonington "uncle" and "aunt" after that. I described Deepdale and its surroundings in the previous book, so I will make no more than a passing reference to it here. Sufficient to say that the town nestled in a bend of the Argono River, a few miles above where that stream widened out into beautiful and picturesque Rainbow Lake. Then the river continued on its way again, increasing into quite a large body of water. On the river and lake plied many pleasure craft, and some built for trade, in which they competed with a railroad that connected with the main line to New York. In Rainbow Lake were a number of islands, the largest-- Triangle-- obviously so called, being quite a summer resort. Our four girls lived near each other in fine residences, that of Mollie's mother being on the bank of the river. Deepdale was a thriving community, in the midst of a fertile farming section. The summer sun glinted in alternate shadows and brilliant patches on Grace Ford as she hurried out to her friends on the lawn, after receiving the message from her brother Will. "What happened?" asked Mollie, for it was evident from the expression on the face of the approaching girl that something out of the ordinary had been the import of the message. "Oh, it was Will. He---- " "Did he 'fess up' about the chocolates?" inquired Mollie. "No, but he's going to treat us to a three-pound box. I 'phoned down for them. They'll be here soon, and you girls can enjoy them while I'm gone." "Gone!" echoed Betty, blankly. "Where are you going, pray tell?" "Oh, Will forgot to do something father told him to, and he wants me to do it for him. Get some rather important papers from Grandmother Ford. I'm going to ride Prince. I wish you all could come. Will you be angry if I run away for a little while? I shan't be more than an hour." "Angry? Of course not," said Amy, gently. "Besides, it's important; isn't it?" "I imagine so, from what Will said. But he has the baseball fever, and there's no cure for it. So if you don't mind I'll just slip into my habit, and canter over. Oh, I just love Prince! He's the finest horse!" "I'm afraid of horses," confessed Amy. "I'm not!" declared Betty, who was fond of all sports, and who had fully earned her title of "Little Captain," which she was often called. "Some day I'm going to prevail on daddy to get me one." "I should think you'd rather have an auto," spoke Mollie. "I may, some day," murmured Betty. "But hurry along, Grace. It looks as though it might storm. We'll save some of the candy for you." "You'd better!" The chocolates came before Grace was ready to start after the papers, for she discovered a rent in her skirt and it had to be mended. Then, too, Prince proved a little more restive than had been anticipated, from not having been out in two days, and the groom suggested that he take the animal up and down the road on a sharp gallop to give the excess spirit a chance to be worked off. So Grace saw to it that she had at least part of her share of chocolates before she left. "And I have just time to hear the rest about the grand surprise," she said to Betty, who had been turning and creasing in her hand the letter her uncle had written. "I'm afraid I can't go as much into detail as I thought I could," confessed Betty. "But I'll read you the letter my old sea-captain uncle sent me. It begins: 'In port; longitude whatever you like, and latitude an ice cream soda.' Then he goes on: "'Dear messmate. Years ago, when you first signed papers to voyage through life, when you weren't rated as an A. B., you used to have me spill sea-yarns for you. And you always said you were going to be a sailor, shiver my timbers, or something like that,-- real sailor-like, so it sounded. "'I never forgot this, and I always counted on taking you on a voyage with me. But your captain-- that is to say your father-- never would let me, and often the barometer went away down between him and me. "'Howsomever, I haven't forgotten how you liked the water, nor how much you wanted a big ship of your own. You used to make me promise that if ever I could tow the Flying Dutchman into port that you could have it for a toy. And I promised. "'Well, now I have the chance to get the Flying Dutchman for you, and I'm bringing it home, with sails furled so it won't get away. I'm going to give you a grand surprise soon, and you can pass it on to your friends. So if you let me luff along for a few more cable lengths I think I'll make port soon, and then we'll see what sort of a sailor you'll make. You may expect the surprise shortly.' "That's all there is to it," concluded Betty, "and I've been puzzling my brains as to just what the surprise may be." "He's going to take you on a voyage," said Amy. "He's bought you some toy ship," was the opinion of Mollie. "Oh, if he'd only bring a real boat that we could make real a trip in!" sighed Grace. "That would be-- lovely!" "Betty Nelson! Write to your uncle right away!" commanded Mollie, "and find out exactly what he means." "I can't," sighed Betty. "He's traveling, and one never knows where he is. We'll just have to wait. Besides, he is so peculiar that he'd just as likely as not only puzzle me the more. We'll just have to wait; that's all." "Well, if it should be some sort of a boat, even a big rowboat, we could have some fun," asserted Grace. "Yes, for mine isn't much account," remarked Mollie, who owned a small skiff on the river. "I was so excited and amused when I got uncle's letter," said Betty, "that I didn't know what to do. Mamma puzzled over it, but she couldn't make any more out of it than I could. So I decided to come over here." "I'm glad you did," spoke Grace, holding up her long habit in one hand and delicately eating a chocolate from the other "There comes James with Prince. Oh, he's run him too hard!" she exclaimed as she noted the hard-breathing animal. "Oh, no, Miss," said the groom, who heard her. "That was only a romp for him. He'll be much easier to handle now." He gave Grace a hand to help her mount to the saddle, and adjusted the stirrups for her. "Good-bye!" she called, as she cantered off. "Save some of the chocolates for me," and the others laughingly promised, as they went back to the shade, to rest in the hammock or lawn chairs. CHAPTER III THE RUNAWAY Grace cantered along the pleasant country road on the back of Prince. The noble animal had lost some of his fiery eagerness to cover the whole earth in one jump, and now was mindful of snaffle and curb, the latter of which Grace always applied with gentle hand. Prince seemed to know this, for he behaved in such style as not to need the cruel gripping, which so many horsemen-- and horsewomen too, for that matter, needlessly inflict. "Oh, but it is glorious to ride!" exclaimed the girl, as she urged the animal into a gallop on a soft stretch of road beneath wonderful trees that interlaced their branches overhead. "Glorious-- glorious!" "I hope those papers are not so valuable that it would be an object for-- for some one to try to take them away from me," she mused. Instinctively she glanced behind her, but the peaceful road was deserted save for the sunshine and shadows playing tag in the dust. Then Grace looked above. The sky was of rather a somber tint, that seemed to suggest a storm to come, and there was a sultriness and a silence, with so little wind that it might indicate a coming disturbance of the elements to restore the balance that now seemed so much on one side. "But if any one tries to get them away from us, we-- we'll just-- run away; won't we, Prince?" and she patted the neck of the horse. Prince whinnied acquiescence. "Grandmother will be surprised to see me," thought Grace, as she rode on. "But I'm glad I can do as well as Will in business matters. I hope papa won't be too severe with Will for not attending to this himself." She passed a drinking trough-- a great log hollowed out, into which poured a stream of limpid water coming from a distant hill through a rude wooden pipe. It dripped over the mossy green sides of the trough, and Prince stretched his muzzle eagerly toward it. "Of course you shall have a drink!" exclaimed Grace, as she let him have his head. Then she felt thirsty herself, and looked about for something that would serve as a mounting block, in case she got down. She saw nothing near; but a ragged, barefooted, freckled-faced and snub-nosed urchin, coming along just then, divined her desire. "Want a drink, lady?" he asked, smiling. "Yes," answered Grace, "but I have no cup." "I kin make ye one." Straightway he fashioned a natural flagon from a leaf of the wild grape vine that grew nearby, piercing the leaf with its own stem so that it formed a cup out of which a Druid might have quaffed ambrosia. "There's a cup," he said. "I allers makes 'em that way when I wants a drink." He filled it from the running water and held it up. Grace drank thirstily, and asked for more. "And here is something for you," she said with a smile, as she passed down some chocolates she had slipped into a small pocket of her riding habit. "Say, is it Christmas, or Fourth of July?" gasped the urchin as he accepted them. "Thanks, lady." Grace again smiled down at him, and Prince, having dipped his muzzle into the cool water again, for very pleasure in having all he wanted, swung about and trotted on. The distance was not long now, and Grace, noting the gathering clouds, was glad of it. "I'm sure I don't want to be caught in a storm," she said. "This stuff shrinks so," and she glanced down at her velvet skirt. "I wouldn't have it made up again. I hope the storm doesn't spoil Will's ball game," She urged Prince to a faster pace, and, cantering along a quiet stretch of road, was soon at the house of Mr. Ford's mother. "Why Grace!" exclaimed the elderly lady, "I expected Will to come over. Your father said---- " "I know, grandma, but Will-- well, he is wild about baseball, and I said I'd come for him." "That was good of you." "Oh, no it wasn't. I don't deserve any praise. Chocolates and Prince-- a big bribe, grandma." "Oh, you young folks! Well, come in. Thomas will see to Prince." "I can't stay long." "No, I suppose not. Your father wanted these papers in a hurry. He would have come himself, but he had some matters to attend to. And, its being rather a family affair, he did not want to send one of his law clerks. Those young men tattle so." "I wonder if they are any worse than girls, grandma?" "Oh, much-- much! But come in, and I will have Ellen make you a cup of tea. It is refreshing on a hot day. Then I will get you the papers. It is very warm." "Yes, I think we will have a shower." "Then I must not keep you. Is everyone well?" "Yes. How have you been?" "Oh, well enough for an old lady." "Old, grandma? I only hope I look as nice as you when I get---- " "Now, my dear, no flattery. I had my share of that when I was younger, though I must say your grandfather knew how to turn a compliment to perfection. Ah, my dear, there are not many like him now-a-days. Not many!" and she sighed. Tea was served in the quaint old dining room, for Mrs. Ford, though keeping up many old customs, had adopted some modern ones, and her house was perfection itself. "I suppose your brother told you these papers were rather valuable; did he not?" asked Mrs. Ford a little later, as she brought Grace a rather bulky package. "Yes, grandma." "And if they should happen to fall into other hands it might make trouble-- at least for a time." "Yes. I will take good care of them." "How can you carry them?" "In the saddle. Will had pockets, made especially for his needs. They will fit nicety. I looked before starting out." "Very good. Then I won't keep you. Trot along. It does look as though we would have a storm. I hope you get back before it breaks. I would ask you to stay, but I know your father is waiting for those papers." "Yes, Will said he wanted them quickly. Oh, well, I think I can out-race the storm," and Grace laughed. She found that she really would have to race when, a little later, out on the main road, the distant rumble of thunder was heard. "Come, Prince!" she called. "We must see what we can do. Your best foot foremost, old fellow!" The horse whinnied in answer, and swung into an easy gallop that covered the ground well. The clouds gathered thicker and faster. Now and then their black masses would be split by jagged flashes of lightning, that presaged the rumbling report of heaven's artillery which seemed drawing nearer to engage in the battle of the sky. "Prince, we are going to get wet, I'm very much afraid," Grace exclaimed. "And yet-- well, we'll try a little faster pace!" She touched the animal lightly with the crop, and he fairly leaped into greater speed. But it was only too evident that they could not escape the storm. The clouds were more lowering now, and the bursts of thunder followed more quickly on the heels of the lightning flashes. Then came a few angry dashes of rain, as though to give sample of what was to follow. "Come, Prince!" cried Grace. Suddenly from behind there came another sound. It was the deep staccato of the exhaust of an automobile, with opened muffler. It was tearing along the road. Grace glanced back and saw a low, dust-covered racing car, rakish and low-hung, swinging along. It was evident that the occupants-- two young men-- were putting on speed to get to some shelter before the storm broke in all its fury. Prince jumped nervously and shied to one side at the sound of the on-coming car. "Quiet, old fellow," said Grace, soothingly. The car shot past her, and at the same moment Prince waltzed to one side, or else the car swerved, so that only by the narrowest margin was a terrible accident averted. Grace heard the men shout, and there was a wilder burst of the opened muffler. Then she felt a shock, and she knew that the machine had struck and grazed Prince. She glanced down and saw a red streak on his off fore shoulder. He had been cut by some part of the car. The next moment, as the racing auto swung out of sight around a bend in the road, Prince took the bit in his teeth and bolted. With all her strength Grace reined him in, but he was wildly frightened. She felt herself slipping from the saddle. "Prince! Prince!" she cried, bracing herself in the stirrups, and gripping the reins with all her might. "Prince! Quiet, old fellow!" But Prince was now beyond the reasoning power of any human voice. The thunder rumbled and crashed overhead. Grace, above it, could hear the whining decrease of the exhaust of the big car that had caused her steed to run away. "Prince! Prince!" she pleaded. He did not heed. Farther and farther she slipped from the saddle as his wild plunges threw her out of it. Then there came a crash that seemed to mark the height of the storm. A great light shone in front of Grace. Myriads of stars danced before her eyes. She flashed towards a house. From it ran two little tots, and, even in that terror she recognized them as Dodo and Paul, the two Billette twins. They were visiting a relative who lived on this road, she dimly recalled hearing Mollie say. Evidently the children had run out in the storm. A nursemaid caught Paul, but Dodo eluded the girl, and ran straight for the road along which Grace was plunging. "Go back! Go back!" screamed Grace. "Go back, Dodo!" But Dodo came on. The next moment the child seemed to be beneath the feet of the maddened horse, which, a second later, slipped and fell, throwing Grace heavily. Her senses left her. All was black, and the rain pelted down while the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled and roared. CHAPTER IV THE MISSING DOCUMENTS "How do you feel now? Do you think you can drink a little of this?" Faintly Grace heard these words, as though some one, miles away, was repeating them through a heavy fog. Myriads of bells seemed ringing in her ears, and her whole body felt as though made of lead. Then she became conscious of shooting pains. Her head ached, there was a roaring in it. This was followed by a delicious drowsiness. "Try and take a little of this. The doctor does not think you are badly hurt. Fortunately the horse did not fall on you." Again it seemed as though the voice came from the distant clouds. Grace tried to think-- to reason out where she was, and discover what had happened; but when she did, that same ringing of bells sounded in her ears, her head ached and she felt she was losing that much-to-be desired drowsiness. "Try and take it." She felt some one raise her head, supporting her shoulders. She struggled with herself, resolving not to give way to that lethargy. She opened her eyes with an effort, and looked about her in wonder. She was in a strange room, and a strange woman was bending over her, holding a glass of some pleasant-scented liquid. "There, you have roused up, my dear, try to take this," said the woman, with a smile. "The doctor will be back to see you in a little while." "The doctor," stammered Grace. "Am I hurt? What happened? Oh, I remember, Prince was frightened by the auto, and ran away. Where is he?" she asked in sudden terror, as a thought came to her. "He got up and ran off after he fell with you," said the woman, as she held the glass for Grace to drink. "We had no time to try and catch him, for there were others to attend to." "Oh, but Prince must be caught!" cried Grace, trying to rise from the couch on which she was lying, but finding it too much of an effort. "He will be, my dear," said the woman. "Don't fret about the horse. He did not seem to be hurt." Oh, it isn't so much Prince himself, though Will would feel very badly if anything happened to him. It is---- " Then Grace recalled that to mention the papers in the saddle bag might not be wise, so she stopped. "There now, don't worry, my dear," spoke the woman, soothingly. "Some one will catch the horse," "Oh, he must be caught!" cried Grace. "You say the doctor was here to see me?" "Yes, we sent for one soon after a passing farmer carried you in here when you fell and fainted. You were lying out in the rain-- insensible. We managed to get off your wet dress, and I just slipped this dressing gown of mine on you." "You were very kind. I can't seem to think very clearly," and poor Grace put her hand to her head. "Then don't try, my dear: You'll be all right in a little while. Just rest. I'll see if the doctor can come to you now." "Why is he here-- in the house-- is some one else ill?" asked Grace, quickly. "Yes, my dear. Poor little Dodo was knocked down by the horse, and we fear is badly hurt." "Dodo?" and the voice of Grace fairly rang at the name. "Yes, little Dora Billette. This is her aunt's house. She and her brother Paul are visiting here." "Yes, yes! I know. They live near me in Deepdale. Their sister Mollie is one of my best friends. I am Grace Ford." "Oh yes, I know you now. I thought I recognized your face. I have seen you at Mollie's house. I am a distant relative. But rest yourself now, and the doctor will come to you as soon as he can. He has to attend to Dodo first, the little dear!" "Oh! Dodo, Dodo!" cried Grace, much affected. "You poor little darling, and to think that it was my fault! I must go to her. Mollie will never forgive me!" She tried to rise. "Lie still," commanded the woman, but gently. "It was not your fault. I saw it all. The twins persisted in running out in the storm. The girl could not stop them. Dodo got away and ran directly for the horse." "Yes, I saw that. I thought she would be terribly hurt. Oh, to think it had to be I and Prince who did it!" "It was not at all your fault. If anyone is to blame it is those autoists for going so fast, and passing you so closely. There was no excuse for that. The road was plenty wide enough and they scarcely stopped a moment after you went down, but hurried right on. They should be arrested!" "Oh, but poor Dodo! poor Dodo!" murmured Grace. "Is she much hurt?" "The doctor is not sure. He is afraid of internal injuries, and there seems to be something the matter with one of her legs. But we are hoping for the best. Here, take some more of this; the doctor left it for you." Grace was feeling easier now. Gradually it all came back to her; how she had raced to get home before the storm broke-- the pursuing auto, the injured horse and then the heavy fall. She had no recollection of the passing farmer carrying her into the house. The doctor came into the room. "Well, how are we coming on?" he asked, cheerfully. "Ah, we have roused up I see," he went on, as he noted Grace sitting up. "I guess it is nothing serious after all. Just a bump on the head; eh?" and he smiled genially, as he took her hand. "Yes, I feel pretty well, except that my head aches," said Grace, rather wanly. "I don't blame it. With that fall they say you got it is a wonder you have any head left," and he put out his hand to feel her pulse, nodding in a satisfied sort of way. "How-- how is little Dodo?" faltered Grace. Dr. Morrison did not answer at once. He seemed to be studying Grace. "How is she-- much hurt?" Grace asked again. "Well, we will hope for the best," he answered as cheerfully as he could. "I can't say for sure, but her left leg isn't in the shape I'd like to see it. I am afraid the horse stepped on it. But there, don't worry. We will hope for the best." "Little Dodo's sister is my best chum," explained Grace, the tears coming into her eyes. "Oh, when I saw her running toward Prince I thought I would faint! Poor little dear! I called to her, but she would not mind." "That was the trouble," explained Mrs. Watson, who had been ministering to Grace, "she seemed just wild to get out in the rain." "Well, it may yet come out all right," said Dr. Morrison, "but it is not going to be easy. I don't believe you need me any more-- er---- " He paused suggestively. "Miss Ford is my name," Grace supplied. "Ah, yes, I am glad to know you. Now I must go back to the little one." "Could I see her?" asked Grace, impulsively. "I had rather not-- now." Grace caught her breath convulsively. It was worse than she had feared-- not to even see Dodo! "But you can talk to Paul," went on the physician. "Probably it will do him good to meet a friend. He is rather upset. His aunt, Mrs. Carr, with whom the children were staying for a few days, has telephoned to Mrs. Billette about the accident. Word came back that Nellie-- is that the name-- the larger sister---- " "Mollie," said Grace. "Well, then, Mollie is to come to take Paul home. We cannot move Dodo yet." "Oh, is Mollie coming here?" "Yes. You can arrange to go home with her if you like. I believe Mrs. Carr asked for a closed carriage." "Then, I will go home with Mollie and Paul. Oh, will they ever forgive me?" "It was not your fault at all!" insisted Mrs. Watson." I saw the whole thing. Please don't worry." "No, you must not," said the physician. "Well, I will go back to my little patient," and he sighed, for even he was affected by Dodo's suffering. Grace sought out Paul, who was with his aunt, whom Grace knew slightly. Mrs. Carr greeted her warmly, and put her arms about her in sympathy. Paul looked up at the familiar face and asked: "Oo dot any tandy?" "No, dear," said Grace, gently, "but I'll get you some soon. Mollie will bring some, perhaps." With this promise Paul was content, and Mrs. Carr left him with Grace. Poor Grace! With all the whirl that her head was in, feeling as wretched as she did, one thought was uppermost in her mind-- the papers in the saddlebag. So much might happen to the valuable documents that were needed now-- this very instant, perhaps-- by her father. She almost wanted to go out in the storm and search for Prince. "But perhaps he ran straight home to the stable," she reasoned. "In that case it will be all right, if only they think to go out and get them from the saddle, and take them to papa. Oh, if only Will were home from that ball game. What can I do? The telephone! They will be worried when they see Prince come home, cut, and will think I am badly hurt. I must let them know at once." Mrs. Carr took her unexpected guest to the telephone, and Grace was soon talking to her mother. "Don't worry, Momsey," she said. "Prince ran away with me-- an auto hit him-- now don't faint, I am all right. I'm at Mollie's Aunt Kittie's. Poor Dodo is hurt, I'll tell you about that later. But, listen. Go out to the stable-- I suppose Prince ran there: Get those papers from the saddle, and send them to papa at once. Grandma's papers. They are very important. What? Prince has not come home? Oh, what can have become of him? Those missing papers! Oh, telephone to papa at once! He must do something," and Grace let the receiver fall from her nerveless hand as she looked out into the storm. The rain, after a long dry spell, was coming down furiously. CHAPTER V THE GEM Grace and Mollie were riding home in the carriage that had been sent to bring Mrs. Billette to the home of her relative, for the anxious mother, on hearing that Dodo could not be moved, had come to look after the injured child. Paul went home with his sister. He was munching contentedly on some candy, and all thought of the recent accident and scare had vanished in the present small and sweet happiness. "Oh, it must have been perfectly dreadful, Grace," said Mollie, sympathetically. "Perfectly terrible!" "It was! And are you sure you don't feel resentful toward me?" "The idea! Certainly not. It was poor Dodo's fault, in a way; but I blame those motorists more than anyone else. They should be found." "They certainly made a lot of trouble," admitted Grace. "But I would rather find Prince than them. I wonder where he could have run to?" "Oh, probably not far, after he got over being frightened. Doubtless you'll hear of his being found, and then you can send for him, and recover the papers." "If only the saddle doesn't come off, and get lost," said Grace. "That would be dreadful, for there would be no telling where to look for it." "Most likely it would be along some road. Prince would probably keep to the highways, and if the girth should break and the saddle come off it would be seen. Then, by the papers in the pockets, persons could tell to whom it belonged." "That is just it. Papa doesn't want anyone to see those papers. Some of them have to be kept secret. Oh, I know he will feel dreadful about the loss, and so will Grandma! It was partly her property that was involved in the transaction." "But they can't blame you." "I hope not. I'll never be forgiven by Will for letting Prince throw me and run away, though. He'll never let me take him again." "It was partly Will's fault for not doing the errand himself," declared Mollie, with energy. "Then this might not have happened. Of course I don't mean," she added hastily, "that I blame him in the least for what happened to Dodo. But I mean the papers might not have been lost, for he would likely have carried them in his coat pocket, and not in the saddle." "That is what I should have done, I suppose," spoke Grace with a sigh. "But my riding habit had no pocket large enough. Oh, dear! I'm afraid it will be spoiled by the mud and rain," for she had left it at Mrs. Carr's and had borrowed a dress to wear home in the carriage, a dress that was rather incongruous in conjunction with her riding boots and derby hat. "It can be cleaned," consoled Mollie. "No, Paul, not another bit of candy. Don't give him any, Grace. He'll be ill, and as I'll have to look after him when mamma is away I don't want to have it any harder than necessary." "Me ikes tandy," remarked Paul. "Dodo ikes tandy too. Why not Dodo come wif us?" His big eyes looked appealing at his sister, and her own filled with tears, while those of Grace were not dry. "Poor little Dodo," said Mollie. Then with a smile, and brushing away her tears, she spoke more brightly, "but we must not be gloomy. I just know she will be all right." "I shall never cease praying that she will," spoke Grace, softly. They were splashing home through the mud. The rain was still coming down, but not so hard. The long, dry spell had broken, and it seemed that a continued wet one had set in. Grace was left at her house, where she found Amy and Betty ready to sympathize with her. Her father was there also, and Will. Both looked grave. Seeing that family matters awaited discussion, Amy and Betty soon took their leave, after being assured that Grace was all right, except for a stiffness and a few cuts caused by the fall. A carriage took the two girls to their homes. Mollie had gone on with Paul. "What will happen if we can't find the papers?" asked Grace of her father, when she had explained everything. "Well, there will be a lot of trouble," he said, "and of course the whole matter will have to be held up. In the meanwhile, even if the other interests do not get the documents, they may make it unpleasant for us. I wish, Will, that you had done this errand yourself-- not that I blame you Grace," he said quickly, "but Will knew how very important it was." "I'm very sorry, Dad. I'll never cut business for a ball game again, and I'll do all I can to help out. I'm sure Prince will soon come home, though, and it will be all right. I'll go out to the stable now, and if he isn't there I'll saddle Toto and go hunting. I'll start from where the accident happened, and trace Prince. Lucky he's pure white, he'll show up well, even in the dark." "No, I don't want you to do that," objected Mr. Ford. "You may go to the stable, if you like, but don't start any search until morning. In the meanwhile we may hear something, or he may come back. It's too bad a night to go out. But let this be a lesson to you, Will." "I will; yes, sir. Poor little Sis, I can't tell you how sorry I am. Are you much hurt?" and Will laid his hand tenderly on her head. She winced, for he had touched a bruised place. "Don't worry," she said, as brightly as she could. "I am all right, and the papers may be found. It is poor little Dodo I feel so badly about. She-- she may be a cripple, the doctor says." "No!" exclaimed Will, aghast. "It seems terrible, but that is his opinion." "Oh, they can do such wonderful things in surgery now a-days," said Mrs. Ford, "that I'm sure, in such a young child, there are many chances in her favor. Don't worry, daughter dear. Now you must go to bed, or you will be ill over this. Those motorists ought to be punished, if any one is." "Yes," agreed Mr. Ford. "Now I must see what I can do to offset this loss. You don't suppose, do you Grace, that those men could have had any object in getting those papers away from you?" "What do you mean?" asked Grace, in wonderment. "I mean, did they seem to follow you-- as if they had knowledge that the papers would be transferred to-day, and were determined to get them?" "I don't think so, Daddy. I'm sure they didn't follow me. They just seemed to come out of the storm-- trying to get away from it-- as I was doing. I'm sure it was all an accident-- just carelessness. "Very likely. I was foolish to suggest it, but so much depends on those papers that I don't know just what to think. But there, Grace," as he kissed her, "you must rest yourself. I will think of a way out, I'm sure. Will, come with me. I may need you to make some memoranda while I telephone," and he and his son went to the library. Morning did not see Prince in the stable, and all that day Will searched without result. Many had seen the white horse flying wildly past, but that was all. Some said the saddle was still on, others that it had come off. Mr. Ford was much exercised over the loss of the papers. He did what he could to hold back the business, but there was a prospect of loss and considerable trouble if the documents were not eventually found. The opposing interests learned of the halt, and tried to take advantage of it. They were, however, only partly successful. In the meanwhile, after several days had passed, Dodo grew well enough to be brought home. The chief injury was to her leg, and there was grave danger of it being permanently lame. As soon as she was in better condition it was decided to have a noted specialist treat her. Prince remained missing, nor was there any report of the saddle being located, though Mr. Ford offered a liberal reward for that, or the return of the horse. Betty had telephoned for her three friends. Her voice held in it the hint of pleasure and mystery both, but to all inquiries of what was wanted she returned only the answer: "Come and see. I want you to meet some one." It was two weeks after the accident, and, in a great measure, the bitter memories of it had passed. Dodo was doing as well as could be expected, and, save for a slight limp, Grace had fully recovered. The three chums-- "graces" Will called them-- arrived at Betty's house at the same time. With sparkling eyes she led them into the parlor. "But what is it?" whispered Amy. "If it's a strange young man, I'm not going to go and meet him," said Mollie, with quick decision. "It's a man, but not young, and I think you'll be glad to meet him," answered Betty. Grace instinctively looked at her dress. "Oh, you're all right!" cried Betty. Then she threw open the parlor door. "Here they are, Uncle Amos!" she cried, gaily, and the girls beheld a rather grizzled, elderly man, with tanned face and hands, and wrinkled cheeks, like an apple that has kept all winter, with the merriest blue eyes imaginable, and when he spoke there sounded the heartiest voice that could well fit into the rather small parlor. "Avast there!" he cried, as he saw the girls. "So these are your consorts; eh, Bet? They do you proud! May I be keel-hauled if I've seen a prettier set of sails on a craft in a long while. It's good rigging-- good rigging," and he glanced particularly at the dresses. Betty presented her friends in turn, and Mr. Martin had something odd to say to each as he shook hands heartily. "Uncle Amos has brought the-- surprise," said Betty. "But even yet he won't tell me what it is." "If I did it wouldn't be a surprise!" he protested. "But I'm all prepared to pilot you down to where she is. She's in the offing, all fitted for a cruise. All she needs is a captain and crew, and I think Bet here will be the one, and you girls the other. I may ship as cook or cabin boy, if you'll have me, but that is as may be. Now, if you're ready we'll go down to the dock and see how the tide is." "But we have no tide here, Uncle Amos," spoke Betty. "What! No tide! What sort of a place is it without a tide? I'm disappointed, lass, disappointed!" "We'll try and have one made for you," said Mollie, with a laugh. "That's it! That's the way to talk. Salt water and a tide would make any place, even a desert-- er-- er-- what is it I want to say, Bet?" "I don't know, Uncle, unless that it would make the desert blossom like the rose." "That's it-- a rose. You luffed just at the right time. Well, ladies, all hands have been piped to quarters, so we'll start. It's nearly four bells, and I told the mate I'd be there by then. Let's start." And start they did. On the way toward the river, whither Mr. Marlin insisted on leading the girls, Betty explained how her uncle had arrived unexpectedly that day, and had talked mysteriously about the surprise. "It's a boat-- I'm sure it is," said Mollie. "Oh, he'd talk that same way about an automobile or an airship," said Betty. "He calls everything, 'she,' and if it was an auto he'd 'anchor' it near the river just to be close to the water he loves so much." "What if it's an airship?" asked Amy. "I shall-- learn to run it!" declared Betty. "Never!" "Yes I shall." "Let us hope it is but a rowboat then," sighed Amy. They went out on the public dock in the Argono River. At the string piece was tied what the girls saw was one of the neatest motor boats that, as Will said afterward, "ever ate a gasoline sandwich." There was a trunk cabin, an ample cockpit at the stern, a little cooking galley, a powerful motor, complete fittings and everything that the most exacting motor boat enthusiast could desire. "There she is!" cried Mr. Marlin. "There's the surprise, Bet. I got her for you! I named her the Gem-- for she is a gem. Aside from an ocean steamer there's no better boat built. I saw to it myself. I've been planning that for you for years. And there you are. The Gem is yours. I want you girls to take a cruise in her, and if you don't have a good time it will be your own fault. There's the Gem for you, Betty. Let's go aboard and see if that rascally mate has grub ready. There's the Gem!" and he led the way toward the beautiful boat. The girls simply gasped with delight, and Betty turned pale-- at least Grace said so. CHAPTER VI READY FOR A CRUISE "What a pretty cabin!" cried Mollie. "And see the places to put things!" exclaimed Betty. "Places to put things!" fairly snorted Mr. Marlin, or to give him his proper title, Captain Marlin. "Places! Huh! Lockers, young ladies! Lockers! That's where you put things. The aft starboard locker, the for'd port locker. You must learn sea lingo if you're to cruise in the Gem." The girls were still aboard the new motor boat. They could not seem to leave it since Betty had been told that it was a gift from her uncle. They inspected every part, turned the wheel, daintily touched the shining motor, and even tried the bunks. "There is room for five in the cabin," said Betty, looking about. "If we wanted to take another girl with us we could, when we go cruising." "Or a chaperone," added Grace. "We may have to do that, you know." "Well, we can," admitted Betty. "The question is, shall we go on a cruise?" "Ask us!" exclaimed Mollie with a laugh. "Just ask us!" "I do ask you," retorted the little captain of the Gem. "Girls, you are hereby invited to accompany me on a cruise to go-- Oh, where can we go?" "To Rainbow Lake, of course," said Grace, promptly. "We can go down the river into the lake, motor about it, go out into the lower river if we want to, camp on an island or two, if we like, and have a general good time." "That's the way to talk!" cried Captain Marlin. "And I'll come with you part of the time. There's some extra bunks back here maybe you didn't see," and he showed them three folding ones in the cockpit back of the trunk cabin, where awnings could be stretched in stormy weather, enclosing that part of the craft. "But what makes the boat go?" asked gentle Amy. "The motor makes it 'mote,'" spoke Betty. "It's up in front; isn't it, Uncle Amos?" "Up in front! There you go again, Bet. Up in front! You mean for'ard; up for'ard!" "That's right, Uncle, I forgot. Come, we'll show these girls where the motor is," and she led the way to where the machinery was enclosed in a large compartment in the bow, close by hinged wing-covers. The motor, one of three cylinders, was a self-starter, but by means of a crank and chain could be started from the steering platform, just aft of the trunk cabin, in case of emergency. There was a clutch, so that the motor could be set in motion without starting the boat, until the clutch, set for forward or reverse motion, had been adjusted, just as the motor of an automobile can be allowed to run without the car itself moving. "And what a dear little stove in the kitchen!" exclaimed Betty, as the girls looked in the cooking compartment-- it was not much more than a compartment. "Kitchen!" cried Captain Marlin. "That isn't a kitchen!" "What is it?" Amy wanted to know. "The galley, lass, the galley. That's where we cook aboard a ship, in the galley. There's an alcohol and oil stove combined. You can have chafing dish parties-- is that what you call them? and he laughed. "That's right, Uncle," cried Betty. "And see the-- what are we supposed to call these?" and she pointed to pots, pans, dishes and other utensils that hung around the galley. "Oh, call 'em galley truck, that's as good a name as any," said the old captain. "Do you like this, Bet?" "Like it, Uncle Amos! It's the dearest little boat in the world. I don't deserve it. You are so good to get it for me, and it was such a surprise." "Yes, I calculated it would be a surprise, all right. But I didn't forget that you always wanted to be a sailor, and so when I got the chance, I made up my mind I'd get you something worth while before I got sent to Davy Jones' locker." "Where is that?" asked Amy, innocently. "Oh, he means before he got drowned, or something like that," explained Betty. "Oh, Uncle Amos, you're a dear!" and she kissed him, somewhat to his confusion. "So I got a man to build this boat to suit my ideas," went on the old seaman. "It's equipped for salt water, if so be you should ever want to take a trip to sea." "Never!" cried Mollie. "Well, you never can tell," he said sagely. "After she was finished I had him ship her here, and then I got her into the water. I will say, that, for her size, she is a sweet little craft. And I hope you'll like her, Bet." "Like her! Who could help it? Uncle you're a---- " "No more kissing, Bet. I'm too old for that." "The idea! Oh, girls, aren't the bunks too cute for anything!" and Betty sat down on one. "And the dining room-- may I call it that?" Grace timidly asked of the captain. "Well, saloon is a better word, but let it go," he murmured. "Now, what do you say to a little run down the river? It will give you an idea of how to handle her." "Oh, how lovely!" cried Betty. "Let's go, girls." "That man is from the firm that built the craft," went on the former sailor. "He'll show you all the wrinkles," and he motioned to a man standing near. Lines were cast off, the motor started, the clutch thrown in and then, with Captain Betty at the wheel, her uncle standing near to instruct her, the Gem started down the stream, attracting not a little attention. "This is a sea wheel," explained the captain. "That is, you turn it the opposite way to what you want the boat to go. I wouldn't have a land-lubber's wheel on any boat I built. So don't forget, Bet, your boat shifts opposite to the way you turn the wheel." "I'll remember, Uncle." With dancing eyes and flushed faces, the girls sat in the cockpit back, or "aft," of the trunk cabin, and watched Betty steer. She did very well, for she had had some practice in a small motor boat the girls occasionally hired. "Oh, I couldn't have had anything in the world I wanted more than this!" she cried to her uncle. "It is just great!" "And you think you girls will go for a cruise?" "I am sure we will, and as soon as we can. It will be the very thing for the hot summer." "Wouldn't Will just love this?" sighed Grace. "Perhaps Betty will invite him and Allen Washburn and Percy Falconer to come along on a trip or two," said Mollie, with a wink at her chums as she mentioned Percy's name. The latter was a foppish young man about town, who tried to be friendly with Betty; but she would have none of him. "Never Percy!" she declared. "I'll ask Will, of course, and Frank Haley, but---- " "Not Allen?" inquired Amy, mischievously, for it was no great secret that Betty really liked Allen, a young law student, and that he was rather attentive to her. "Which way shall I steer to pass that boat, Uncle?" asked Betty, to change a subject that was getting too personal. "Port," he answered briefly. "And that is----" she hesitated. "The left," he answered quickly. "It's easy if you think that the letter L comes before the letter P and that L is the beginning of left. Port means left, always." "I'm sure it's easy to say left and right," commented Grace, who was eating a chocolate. "Hum!" exclaimed the old captain, disapprovingly. The Gem proved worthy of her name. The girls made a little trip about the river, and then Captain Marlin, on learning that there was a boat house and dock on the property of Mollie's mother, steered the craft there, where it would be tied up until the girls started on their cruise. And that they would cruise was fully decided on in the next few days. Now that the great surprise was known, plans were made to spend some time on the lake and river in the new craft. The wonder and delight of it grew. Each day the girls discovered something different about Betty's boat. It was most complete, and practical. The boys were in transports over it, and when Will and his chum Frank Haley were allowed to steer they could not talk enough about it. Preparations for the cruise went on apace. Captain Marlin oversaw them at odd times, for he was in business, and made trips between New York and Deepdale. In the meanwhile Grace fully recovered from the runaway accident. Not so poor Dodo, however, and it was feared that the little girl would have to be operated on. "When?" asked Betty, thinking that this would spoil Mollie's trip. "Oh, not for some time," was the answer. "They are going to try everything else first." Some of the mothers arranged to go along on part of the cruises, and other married ladies volunteered for the remaining days, so the girls would be properly chaperoned. Then began the final preparations. "And if you see anything of Prince on your wanderings, don't fail to catch him," begged Will, a few nights before the day set for the start. "We will," promised Grace. The telephone rang-- they were all at Grace's house. She answered. "Yes, yes. This is Mr. Ford's residence. What's that-- you have a stray white horse? Oh, Will, maybe it's Prince!" and she turned eagerly to her brother. "A man from Randall's livery stable is on the wire. He says they have a white horse that was just brought in. A farmer says he found him wandering about the country. Hurry down there!" CHAPTER VII STOWAWAYS "Then he isn't your horse, Will?" It was Mr. Randall, the livery stable keeper who asked this question as Grace's brother critically inspected an animal that was led out for view in the stable. "No, that isn't Prince," was the answer. "He looks enough like him, though, to be his brother. I'm much obliged for calling me up." Will had hastened down after the receipt of the message Grace had taken over the telephone, for Randall's, as had all livery stables in the vicinity, had been notified to be on the lookout for the strangely missing animal, who might be wandering about the country carrying valuable documents in the saddle pocket. "Two young fellows drove in here with this horse, and asked if they could put him up for a while," went on the livery man. "I didn't like the way they acted, but I didn't see how they could do me any harm, so I said they could. Then I got to thinking about your horse, and I called up. I'm sorry to disappoint you." "I'm sorry myself, Mr. Randall. I can't imagine where Prince can be." "Oh, some one has him, you may be sure of that. A valuable horse like that wouldn't go long without an owner. Maybe some one has changed his color-- dyed him, you know. That has been done. Of course the dye doesn't last forever, but in this case it might hold long enough for the excitement to subside." "Well, if they'll send back the papers, they can keep the horse, as much as I like Prince," Spoke Will, as he started home to tell his sister and the girls the details of the unsuccessful trip. He had already briefly telephoned to them of his disappointment. "Oh, isn't it too bad!" cried Horace, as Will came back. "Do you really think, Will, that some one has Prince and the papers?" "It looks so, Sis. Has dad said anything lately?" "No, I believe the other side hasn't done anything, either, which might go to show that they haven't the papers. But it's all so uncertain. Well, girls," and she turned to her guests, "I guess we can finish talking about what we will wear." "Which, means that I must become like a tree in Spring," sighed Will. "How is that?" asked Amy. "Is it a riddle?" "He means he must leave-- that's an old one," mocked Mollie. "Any candy left, Grace?" and Mollie, who had been artistically posing on a divan, crossed the room to where Grace sat near a table strewn with books and papers, a box of chocolates occupying the place of honor. "Of course there are some left," answered Grace. "Which is a wonder!" exclaimed Will, as he hurried out of the room before his sister could properly punish him. "Will we wear our sailor costumes all the while?" asked Betty, for the girls, as soon as the cruise in the Gem had been decided on, had had suits made on the sailor pattern, with some distinctive changes according to their own ideas. Betty had been informally named "Captain," a title with which she was already more or less familiar. "Well, of course we'll wear our sailors-- middy blouses and all-- while we're aboard-- ahem!" exclaimed Betty, with exaggerated emphasis. "Notice my sea terms," she directed. "Oh, you are getting to be a regular sailor," said Mollie. "I've got a book home with a lot of sea words in. I'm going to learn them, and also how to tie sailor knots." "Then maybe your shoe laces won't come undone so easily," challenged Grace, and she thrust out her own dainty shoe, and tapped the patent leather tip of Mollie's tie. "It is not!" came indignantly from Billy. "It is loose, and it may trip you," advised Amy, and Mollie, relinquishing a candy she had selected with care, bent over. The moment she did so Grace appropriated the Sweetmeat. "As I said," went on Betty, "we can wear our sailor suits when aboard. When we go ashore we can wear our other dresses." "I'm not going to take a lot of clothes," declared Grace, getting ready to defend herself against Mollie when the latter should have discovered the loss of the tidbit. "One reason we had such a good time on our 'hike,' was that we didn't have to bother with a lot of clothes. We shall enjoy ourselves much more, I think." "And I agree with you, my dear," said Betty. "Besides, we haven't room for many things on the Gem. Not that I want to deprive you of anything," she added, quickly, for she realized her position as hostess. "But really, to be comfortable, we don't want to be crowded, and if we each take our smallest steamer trunk I think that will hold everything, and then we'll have so much more room. The trunks will go under the bunks very nicely." "Then we'll agree to that," said Mollie. "Two sailor suits, so we can change; one nice shore dress, if we are asked anywhere, and one rough-and-ready suit for work-- or play." "Good!" cried Amy. "As for shoes---- " "Who took my candy?" cried Mollie, discovering the loss of the one she had put down to tie her lace. "It was the only one in the box and---- " Grace laughed, and thus acknowledged her guilt. "I've got another box up stairs," she said. "I'll get it," which she proceeded to do. "Grace, you'll ruin your digestion with so much sweet stuff," declared Betty, seriously. "Really you will." "I suppose so, my dear; but really I can't seem to help it." "As captain of the Gem I'm going to put you on short rations, as soon as our cruise begins," said Betty. "It will do you good." "Perhaps it will," Grace admitted, with a sigh. "I'll be glad to have you do it. Now, is everything arranged for?" "Well," answered Betty, "This is how it stands: We are to start on Tuesday, and motor down the river, taking our time. Aunt Kate will go with us for the first few days, and, as you know, we have arranged for other chaperones on the rest of the cruise. We will eat aboard, when we wish to, or go ashore for meals if it's more convenient. Of course we will sleep aboard, tying up wherever we can find the best place. "I plan to get to Rainbow Lake about the second day, and we will spend a week or so on that, visiting the different points of interest-- I'm talking like a guide book, I'm afraid," she apologized with a smile. "That's all right-- go on, Little Captain," said Amy. "Well, then, I thought we might do a little camping on Triangle, or one of the other islands, say, for three or four days." "Don't camp on Triangle," suggested Grace. "There are too many people there, and we can't be free. There'd always be a lot of curious ones about, looking at our boat, and our things, and all that." "Very well, we can pick out some other island," agreed Betty. "You know there is to be a regatta, and water sports, on Rainbow Lake just about the time we get there, and we can take part, if we like." "Do! And if we can get in a race we will!" cried Mollie, with sparkling eyes. "Uncle Amos has promised to be with us some of the time," went on Betty. "And I suppose we will have to invite the boys occasionally, just for the day, you know." "Oh, don't make too much of an effort," exclaimed Mollie. "Allen Washburn said he might be going abroad this summer, anyhow." "Who said anything about him?" demanded Betty, with a blush. "No one; but I can read-- thoughts!" answered Mollie, helping herself to another candy. "I meant Will and Frank," went on Betty. "They would like to come." "I'm sure of it," murmured Grace-- literally murmured-- for she had a marshmallow chocolate between her white teeth. "How about Percy Falconer?" asked Amy, mischievously. "I am sure he would wear a perfectly stunning-- to use his own word-- sailor suit." "Don't you dare mention his name!" cried Betty. "I detest him." "Let us have peace!" quoted Mollie. "Then it's all settled-- we'll cruise and camp and---- " "Cruise again," finished Betty. "For we have two months, nearly, ahead of us; and we won't want to camp more than a week, perhaps. We can go into the lower river, below Rainbow Lake, too, I think. It is sometimes rough there, but the Gem is built for rough weather, Uncle Amos says." The girls discussed further the coming trip and then, as each one had considerable to do still to get ready, they went gaily to their several homes. Will came in later, looked moodily into an empty candy box, and exclaimed: "You might have left a few, Sis." "What! With four girls? Will, you expect too much." "I wonder if I'll be disappointed in expecting a ride in Betty's boat?" "No, we are going to be very kind and forgiving, and ask you and Frank. I believe Betty is planning it." "Good for her. She's a brick! I wish, though, that we could clear up this business about the papers." "So do I. Wasn't it unfortunate?" "Yes. How is little Dodo coming on?" "Not very well, I'm afraid," and Grace sighed. The injury to the child hung like a black shadow, over her. "The specialist is going to see her soon again. He has some hopes." "That's good; cheer up, Sis! Come on down town and I'll blow you to a soda." "'Blow'-- such slang!" "It's no worse than 'hike.'" "I suppose not. Wait until I fix my hair." "Good night!" gasped Will. "I don't want to wait an hour. I'm thirsty!" "I won't be a minute." "That's what they all say." But Grace was really not very long. In answer to a telephone message next day the three chums assembled at Betty's house. "I think we will go for a little trip all by ourselves on the river this afternoon," she said. "Every time so far Uncle Amos, or one of the boys, has been with us. We must learn to depend on ourselves." "That is so," agreed Mollie. "It will be lovely, it is such a nice day." "Just a little trip," went on Betty, "to see if we have forgotten anything of our instructions." Just then a clock chimed out eight strokes, in four sections of two strokes each. "Eight o'clock!" exclaimed Amy. "Your timepiece must be wrong, Betty. It's nearer noon than eight." "That's eight bells-- twelve o'clock," said the pretty hostess, with a laugh. "That's a new marine clock Uncle Amos gave me for the Gem. It keeps time just as it is done on shipboard." "And when it's eight o'clock it's twelve," murmured Grace. "Do you have to do subtraction and addition every time the clock strikes?" "No, you see, eight bells is the highest number. It is eight bells at eight o'clock, at four o'clock and at twelve-- either at night, or in the daytime." "Oh, I'm sure I'll never learn that," sighed Amy. "It is very simple," explained Betty, "Now it is eight bells-- twelve o'clock noon. At half-past twelve it will be one bell. Then half an hour later, it will be two bells-- one o'clock. You see, every half hour is rung." "Worse and worse!" protested Mollie. "What time is it at two o'clock?" "Four bells," answered Betty, promptly. "Why, I thought four bells was four o'clock," spoke Grace. "No, eight bells is four o'clock in the after-noon, and also four o'clock in the morning. Then it starts over again with one bell, which would be half-past four; two bells, five; three hells, half-past five, and---- " "Oh, stop! stop! you make my head ache!" cried Grace, "Has anyone a chocolate cream?" They all laughed. "You'll soon understand it," said Betty. "It's worse than remembering to turn the steering wheel the opposite way you want to go," objected Mollie. "But we are young-- we may learn in time." The Gem was all ready to start, and the girls, reaching Mollie's house, in the rear of which, at a river dock, the boat was tied, went aboard. "Have you enough gasoline?" asked Amy, as she helped Betty loosen the mooring ropes. "Yes, I telephoned for the man to fill the tank this morning. Look at the automatic gauge and see if it isn't registered," for there was a device on the boat that did away with the necessity of taking the top off the tank and putting a dry stick down, to ascertain how much of the fluid was on hand. "Yes, it's full," replied Amy. "Then here we go!" cried Betty, as the other girls shoved off from the dock, and the Little Captain pushed the automatic starter. With a throb and a roar the motor took up its staccato song of progress. When sufficiently away from the dock Betty let in the clutch, and the craft shot swiftly down the stream. "Oh, this is glorious!" cried Mollie, as she stood beside Betty, the wind fanning her cheeks and blowing her hair in a halo about her face. "Perfect!" echoed Amy. "And even Grace has forgotten to eat a chocolate for ten minutes." "Oh, let me alone-- I just want to enjoy this!" exclaimed the candy-loving maiden. They had been going along for some time, taking turns steering, saluting other craft by their whistle, and being saluted in turn. "Let's go sit down on the stern lockers," proposed Grace after a while, the lockers being convertible into bunks on occasion. As the girls went aft, there came from the forward cabin a series of groans. "What's that?" cried Mollie. "Some one is in there!" added Grace, clinging to Amy. Again a groan, and some suppressed laughter. "There are stowaways aboard!" cried Betty. "Girls, we must put ashore at once and get an officer!" and she shifted the wheel. CHAPTER VIII A HINT OF GHOSTS "Who can they be?" "It sounds like more than one!" "Anyhow, they can't get out!" It was Betty who said this last, Grace and Mollie having made the foregoing remarks. And Betty had no sooner detected the presence on the Gem of stowaways than she had pulled shut the sliding door leading into the trunk cabin, and had slid the hatch cover forward, fastening both with the hasps. "They'll stay there until we get an officer," she explained. "Probably they are tramps!" "Oh, Betty!" It was a startled trio who cried thus. "Well, maybe only boys," admitted the Little Captain, as a concession. "They may have come aboard, intending to go off for a ride in my boat, and we came just in time. They hid themselves in there. That's what I think about it." "And you are exactly right, Betty!" unexpectedly exclaimed a voice from behind the closed door. "That's exactly how it happened. We're sorry-- we'll be good!" "Dot any tandy?" came in childish accents from another of the stowaways. The girls looked at one another in surprise. Then a light dawned on them. "Don't have us arrested!" pleaded another voice, with laughter in it. "That's Will!" cried Grace. "And Frank Haley!" added Amy. "And Paul!" spoke Mollie. "Little brother, are you in there?" They listened for the answer. "Ess, I'se here. Oo dot any tandy?" "The boys put him up to that," whispered Grace. Betty slid open the door, and there stood Will and Frank, with Paul between them. The boys looked sheepish-- the child expectant. "I ought to put you two in irons," spoke Betty, but with a smile. "I believe that is what is done with stowaways." "Couldn't you ship us before the mast?" asked Will, with a chuckle. "That is the very latest manner of dealing with gentlemen who are unexpectedly carried off on a cruise." "Unexpectedly?" asked Grace, with meaning. "Certainly," went on her brother. "We just happened to come aboard to look over the boat, Frank and I. Then Paul wandered down here, and before we knew it we heard you coming. For a joke we hid under the bunks, and thought to give you a little scare. We didn't think you were going for a spin, but when you started we just made up our minds to remain hidden until you got far enough out so you wouldn't want to turn back. That's what stowaways always do," he concluded. "I'm glad you do things as they ought to be done," remarked Betty, swinging the wheel over. She had changed her mind about going ashore after an officer. "Dot any tandy?" asked Paul again. "Do give him some, if you have any," begged Will. "We bribed him with the promise of some to keep quiet. Surely he has earned it." "Here," said Grace, impulsively, as she extended some to the tot, who at once proceeded to get as much outside his face as into his mouth. Then she added rather sternly: "I don't think this was very nice of you, Will. Betty didn't invite you aboard." "Oh, that's all right!" said Betty, good-naturedly. "I'm glad they're here now-- let them stay. I'm so relieved to find they aren't horrid tramps. Besides, the motor may not-- mote-- and we'd need help-- We will make them work their passage." "Aye, aye, sir!" exclaimed Frank, pulling his front hair, sailor-fashion. "Shall we holystone the decks, or scrub the lee scuppers? You have but to command us!" and he bowed exaggeratedly. "You may steer if you like," said Betty, graciously, and Frank and Will were both so eager for the coveted privilege that they had to draw lots to settle who should stand the first "trick." For Betty's boat was a beauty, and the envy not only of Will and Frank, but of every other boy in Deepdale. So it is no wonder these two stowed themselves away for the chance of getting a ride in the fine craft. "Let's go down as far as one of the lake islands," suggested Will, who was now at the wheel, his turn having come. "Can we get back in time?" asked Betty. "The river is high now, after the rains, and there's quite a current." "Oh, the Gem has speed and power enough to do it in style," declared Frank. "We'll guarantee to get you back in time for supper." "All right," agreed the captain, who had gone into the cabin with the other girls. "And perhaps we can pick out a good place to go camping," added Grace. The boys directed the course of the boat, while the girls looked after Paul. "We must stop at some place where there is a telephone," said Mollie, "and I'll send word to mamma that Paul is with me. She may be worried." "Yes, do," suggested Betty. A little later the girls saw that the boys were approaching a dock, the main one of a small town just below Deepdale. "Where are you going?" asked Grace of her brother. "Going to tie up for a minute. Frank and I want to make amends for sneaking aboard, so we thought you'd like some soda. There's a grocery store here that keeps pretty good stuff." "Oh, yes, I know Mr. Lagg!" exclaimed Mollie. "Barry Lagg is his name. He's real quaint and jolly." "Then let's go ashore for the soda ourselves, and meet him," suggested Grace. "I am very thirsty. What is Mr. Lagg's special line of jollity?" she asked Mollie. "Oh, he makes up little verses as he waits on you. You'll see," was Mollie's answer. I often stop in for a little something to eat when I am out rowing. He is a nice old gentleman, very polite, and he has lots of queer stories to tell." "Has he dot any tandy?" inquired Paul, eagerly. "Oh, you dear, of course he has!" cried his sister. "You are getting as bad as Grace," and she looked at her chum meaningly. Will skillfully laid the Gem alongside the dock and soon the little party of young people were trooping up to the store, which was near the river front. "Ah, good day to you all-- good day, ladies and gentlemen, every one, and the little shaver too!" cried Mr. Lagg, with a bow as they entered his shop. "What will you please to buy to-day? If it's coffee or tea, just walk this way," And, with this charming couplet Mr. Lagg started toward the rear of his store, where the aromatic odor of ground coffee indicated that he had spoken truly. "We'd like some of your good soda," spoke Will. "Ha, soda. I don't know that I have anything in the line of soda." "No soda?" exclaimed Frank. "I mean I haven't made up any poetry about that. I have about almost everything else in my store. Let me see-- soda-- soda---- " He seemed searching for a rhyme. "Pagoda! Pagoda!" laughed Betty. "That is it!" exclaimed Mr Lagg. "Thank you for the suggestion. Let me see, now. How would this do? "If you wish to drink of Lagg's fine soda, Just take your seat in a Chinese pagoda!" "Very good," complimented Will. "We'll dispense with the pagoda if you will dispense the soda." "Ha! Good again! You are a punster, I see!" Mr. Lagg laughed genially, and soon provided the party with bottles of deliciously cool soda, and straws through which to partake of it, glasses being voted too prosaic. There came a protest from Paul, who was sharing the treat. "I tan't dit no sody!" he cried. "It all bubbles up!" "No wonder! You are blowing down your straw. Pull up on it, just as if you were whistling backwards," said Mollie. "Whistling backwards is a distinctly new way of expressing it," commented Frank. "I dot it!" cried the tot, as the level of his glass began to fall under his efforts-- successful this time. Then, having finished that, he fixed his big eyes on Mr. Lagg, and demanded: "Oo dot any tandy?" "Candy!" cried the eccentric store keeper. "Ha, I have a couplet about that. "If you would feel both fine and dandy, Just buy a pound of Lagg's best candy!" "That is irresistible!" exclaimed Will. "Trot out a pound of the most select." "With pleasure," said Mr. Lagg. Merrily the young people wandered about the store, the girls buying some notions and trinkets they thought they would need on the trip, for Mr. Lagg did a general business. "What are all you folks doing around here?" asked the storekeeper, when he had waited on some other customers. "Getting in practice for a cruise," answered Mollie. "Betty, here, is the proud possessor of a lovely motor boat, and we are going to Rainbow Lake soon." "And camp on an island, too," added Amy. "I know I shall love that." "Any particular island?" asked Mr. Lagg. "Elm is a nice one," remarked Will "Why don't you girls try that? It isn't as far as Triangle, and it's nearly as large. It's wilder and prettier, too." "Know anything about Elm Island, Mr. Lagg?" asked Frank, as he inspected some fishing tackle. "Well, yes, I might say I do," and Mr. Lagg pursed up his lips. "Is it a good place?" "Oh, it's good all right, but----" and he hesitated. "What is the matter?" demanded Betty quickly. She thought she detected something strange in Mr. Lagg's manner. "Why, the only thing about it is that it's haunted-- there's a ghost there," and as he spoke the storekeeper slipped a generous slice of cheese on a cracker and munched it. CHAPTER IX OFF ON THE TRIP The girls stared blankly at one another. The boys frankly winked at each other, clearly unbelieving. "Haunted?" Betty finally gasped. "A ghost?" echoed Amy, falteringly. "What-- what kind?" Grace stammered. "Why, the usual kind, of course," declared Will. "A ghosty ghost, to be sure. White, with long waving arms, and clanking chains, and all the accessories." "Stop it!" commanded his sister. "You'll scare Paul," for the child was looking at Will strangely. "Oh, it's white all right," put in Mr. Lagg, "and some of the fishermen around here did say they heard clanking chains, but I don't take much stock in them. Tell me," he demanded, helping himself to another slice of cheese, "tell me why would anything as light as a ghost-- for they're always supposed to float like an airship, you know-- tell me why should they want to burden themselves with a lot of clanking chains-- especially when a ghost is so thin that the chains would fall right through 'em, anyhow. I don't take no stock in that!" "But what is this story?" asked Betty. "If we are thinking of camping on Elm Island, we do not want to be annoyed by some one playing pranks; do we, girls?" "I should say not!" chorused the three. "Well, of course I didn't see it myself," spoke Mr. Lagg, "but Hi Sneddecker, who stopped there to eat his supper one night when he went out to set his eel pots-- Hi told me he seen something tall and white rushing around, and making a terrible noise in the bushes." "I thought ghosts never made a noise," remarked Grace, languidly. She was beginning to believe now that it was only a poor attempt at a joke. "Hi said this one did," went on Mr. Lagg, being too interested to quote verses now. "It was him as told me about the clanking chains," he went on, "but, as I said, I don't take no stock in that part." "I guess Hi was telling one of his fish stories," commented Frank. "Oh, Josh Whiteby seen it, too," said Mr. Lagg. He was enjoying the sensation he had created. "Is he reliable?" asked Will. "Well, he don't owe me as much as some," was the judicious answer. "Josh says he seen the white thing, but he didn't mention no chains. It was more like a 'swishing' sound he heard. "Dot any more tandy?" asked Paul, and the laugh that followed in a measure relieved the nerves of the girls, for in spite of their almost entire disbelief in what they had heard, the talk bothered them a little. "There are no such things as ghosts!" declared Betty, with excellent sense. "We are silly to even talk about them. Oh, there is something I want for my boat," and she pointed to a little brass lantern. "It will be just fine for going up on deck with," she proceeded. "Of course the electric lights, run by the storage battery, are all right, but we need a lantern like that. How much is it, Mr. Lagg?." "That lantern to you Will cost-- just two!" "I'll take it," said Betty, promptly. "Dollars-- not cents," said the storekeeper, quickly. "I couldn't make a dollar rhyme in there, somehow or other," he added. "You might say," spoke Will, "''Twill cost you two dollar, but don't make a holler.'" "That isn't my style. My poetry is always correct," said Mr. Lagg, somewhat stiffly. The lantern was wrapped up and the young people got ready to go down to the boat. "Say, Mr. Lagg," asked Will, lingering a bit behind the others, "just how much is there in this ghost story, anyhow?" "Just what I told you," was the answer. "There is something queer on that island." "Then the girls will find out what it is!" declared Will, with conviction. "If they could find the man who lost the five hundred dollar bill, they're equal to laying the ghost of Elm Island. I'm not going to worry about them." "Let's go down a little way farther and have a look at the haunted island," proposed Grace, when they were again on board the Gem. "Have we time?" asked Betty. "Lots," declared Will. The motor boat was headed for the place. The island was of good size, well wooded, and the shore was lined with bushes. There were a few bungalows on it, but the season was not very good this year, and none of them had been rented. The girls half-planned to hire one to use as headquarters in case they camped on the island. "It doesn't look very-- ghostly," said Betty, as she surveyed it from the cockpit of her craft. "No, it looks lovely," said Grace. "Is the ghost going to keep us away?" asked Mollie. "Never!" cried the Little Captain, vigorously. "Hurray!" shouted Will, waving the boat's flag that he took from the after-socket. They made a turn of the island, and started back up the river for Deepdale, reaching Mollie's dock without incident. Busy days followed, for they were getting ready for the cruise. Uncle Amos went out with Betty and the girls several times to offer advice, and he declared that they were fast becoming good sailors. "Of course not good enough for deep water," he made haste to qualify, "but all right for a river and a lake." The girls were learning to tell time seaman fashion. Betty fairly lived aboard her new boat, her mother complained, but the Little Captain was not selfish-- she invited many of her friends and acquaintances to take short trips with her. Among the girls she asked were Alice Jallow and Kittie Rossmore, the two who had acted rather meanly toward our friends just prior to the walking trip. But Alice was sincerely sorry for the anonymous letter she had written, giving a hint of the mystery surrounding Amy Stonington, and the girls had forgiven her. Betty's Aunt Kate arrived. She was a middle-aged lady, but as fond of the great out-doors as the girls themselves. She was to chaperone them for a time. The final preparations were made, the sailor suits were pronounced quite "chicken" by Will-- he meant "chic," of course. Trunks had been packed, some provisions put aboard, and all was in readiness. Uncle Amos planned to meet the girls later, and see that all was going well. The boys were to be given a treat some time after Rainbow Lake was reached, word to be sent to them of this event. "All aboard!" cried Betty on the morning of the start. It was a glorious, sunshiny day, quite warm, but there was a cool breeze on the river. "All aboard!" "Oh, I just know I've forgotten something!" declared Grace, "Your candy?" questioned Mollie. "No, indeed. Don't be horrid!" "I'm not. Only I thought---- " "I'm just tired of thinking!" returned Betty. "Shall I cast off?" asked Will, who, with Frank, had come down to the dock to see the girls start. "Don't you dare!" cried Mollie. "I'm sure I forgot to bring my---- " She made a hurried search among her belongings. "No, I have it!" and she sighed in relief. She did not say what it was. "All aboard!" cried Betty, giving three blasts on the compressed air whistle. "Don't forget to send us word," begged Frank. "We want to join you on the lake." "We'll remember," promised Betty, with a smile that showed her white, even teeth. All was in readiness. Good-byes had been said to relatives and friends, and Mrs. Billette, holding Paul by the hand, had come down to the dock to bid farewell to her daughter and chums. "Have a good time!" she wished them. A maid hurried up to her, and said something in French. "Oh, the doctor has come!" exclaimed Mollie's mother. "The doctor who is to look at Dodo-- the specialist. Oh, I am so glad!" "Shall I stay, mother?" cried Mollie, making a move as though to come ashore. "No, dear; no! Go with your friends. I can send you word. You may call me by the telephone. Good-bye-- good-bye!" The Gem slowly dropped down the stream under the influence of the current and her own power, Betty having throttled down the motor that the farewell calls might be better heard. Mrs. Billette, waving her hand, hastened toward the house, the maid taking care of little Paul, whose last request was: "Brin' me some tandy!" CHAPTER X ADRIFT "Well, Captain Betty, what are your orders?" asked Amy, as the four girls, and Aunt Kate, stood grouped in the space aft of the trunk cabin, Betty being at the wheel, while the Gem moved slowly down the Argono River. "Just make yourselves perfectly at home," answered Betty. "This trip is for fun and pleasure, and, as far as possible, we are to do just as we please. You don't mind; do you, Aunt Kate?" "Not in the least, my dear, as long as you don't sink," and the chaperone smiled indulgently. "This boat won't sink," declared Betty, with confidence. "It has water-tight compartments. Uncle Amos had them built purposely." "It certainly is a beautiful boat-- beautiful," murmured Mollie, looking about as she pulled and straightened her middy blouse. "And it was so good of you, Bet, to ask us on this cruise." "Why, that's what the boat is for-- for one's friends. We are all shipmates now." "'Strike up a song, here comes a sailor,'" chanted Grace, rather indistinctly, for she was, as usual, eating a chocolate. The girls, standing there on the little depressed deck, their hair tastefully arranged, topped by natty little caps, with their sailor suits of blue and white, presented a picture that more than one turned to look at. The Gem was near the shore, along which ran a main-traveled highway, and there seemed to be plenty of traffic this morning. Also, a number of boats were going up or down stream, some large, some small, and often the occupants turned to take a second look at the Outdoor Girls. Certainly they had every appearance of living the life of the open, for they had been well tanned by the long walk they took, and that "berry-brown" was being added to now by the summer sun reflecting from the river. "Is this as fast as you can go?" asked Mollie, as she looked over the side and noted that they were not much exceeding the current of the river. "Indeed, no! Look!" cried Betty, as she released the throttle control that connected the gasoline supply with the motor. At once, as when the accelerator pedal of an auto is pressed, the engine hummed and throbbed, and a mass of foam appeared at the stern to show the presence of the whirling propeller. "That's fine!" cried Grace, as Betty slowed down once more. "I thought we'd take it easy," the Little Captain went on, "as we don't want to finish our cruise in one day, or even two. If I drove the Gem to the limit, we'd be in Rainbow Lake, and out of it, in too short a time. So I planned to go down the river slowly, stop at noon and go ashore for our lunch, go on slowly again, and tie up for the night." "Then we're going to sleep aboard?" asked Grace. "Of course! What would be the fun of having bunks if we didn't use them? Of course we'll sleep here." "And stand watches-- and all that sort of thing, the way your uncle told of it being done aboard ships?" Mollie wanted to know. "There'll be no need of that," declared Betty. "But we can leave a light burning." "To scare away sharks?" asked Amy, with a laugh. "No, but if we didn't some one passing might think the boat deserted and-- come aboard to take things." "I hope they don't take us!" cried Mollie. "I'm going to hide my new bracelet," and she looked at the sparkling trinket on her wrist. "Amy, want to steer?" asked Grace, after a while, and the girl of mystery agreed eagerly. But she nearly came to grief within a few minutes. A canoeist rather rashly crossed the bows of the Gem at no great distance. "Port! Port!" cried Betty, suddenly, seeing the danger. "Which is port-- right or left? I've forgotten!" wailed Amy, helplessly. "To the left! To the left!" answered Betty, springing forward. She was not in time to prevent Amy from turning the wheel to the left, which had the effect of swinging the boat to the right, and almost directly toward the canoeist, who shouted in alarm. But by this time Betty had reached the wheel, and twirled it rapidly. She was only just in time, and the Gem fairly grazed the canoe, the wash from the propeller rocking it dangerously. "We beg your pardon!" called Betty to the young man in the frail craft. "That's all right," he said, pleasantly. "It was my own fault." "Thank you," spoke Amy, gratefully. "Here, Bet, I don't want to steer any more." "No, keep the wheel. You may as well learn, and I'll stand by you. No telling when you may have to steer all alone." They stopped for lunch in a pretty little grove, and sat and talked for an hour afterward. Mollie hunted up a telephone and got into communication with her house. She came back looking rather sober. "The specialist says Dodo will have to undergo an operation," she reported. Grace gasped, and the others looked worried. "It isn't serious," continued Mollie, "and he says she will surely be better after it. But of course mamma feels dreadful about it." "I should think so," observed Betty. "They never found out who those mean autoists were, did they?" "No," answered Grace, "and we've never gotten a trace of Prince, or the missing papers. Papa is much worried." "Well, let's talk about something more pleasant," suggested Betty. "Shall we start off again?" "Might as well," agreed Grace. "And as it isn't far to that funny Mr. Lagg's store, let's stop and---- " "Get some candy and poetry," sniped Amy, with a laugh. "I was going to say hairpins, as I need them," spoke Grace, with a dignity that soon vanished, "but since you suggested chocolates, I'll get them as well." They found Mr. Lagg smiling as usual. "This fine and beautiful sunny day, what will you have-- oats or hay?" Thus he greeted the girls, who laughingly declined anything in the line of fodder. "Unless you could put some out as a bait for our horse Prince," spoke Grace. "It's the queerest thing where he can have gone." "It is strange," admitted the genial storekeeper, who had heard the story from Will. "But if I hear of him I'll let you know. And, now what can I do for you? "I've razors, soap and perfume rare, To scent the balmy summer air," He bowed to the girls in turn. "How about chewing gum?" asked Betty. "Oh, would you?" asked Grace, in rather horrified tones. "Certainly, aboard the boat where no one will see us." "Gum, gum; chewing gum, One and two is a small sum," Mr. Lagg thus quoted as he opened the showcase. The girls made several purchases, and were treated to more of the storekeeper's amusing couplets. Then they started off again, having inquired for a good place at which to tie up for the night. Dunkirk, on the western shore, was recommended by Mr. Lagg in a little rhyme, and then he waved to them from the end of his dock as the Gem was once more under way. "Look out for that big steamer," cautioned Betty a little later, to Grace, who was steering. "Why, I'm far enough off," answered Grace. "You never can tell," responded the Little Captain, "for there is often a strong attraction between vessels on a body of water. Give it a wide berth, as Uncle Amos would say." That Betty's advice was needed was made manifest a moment later, for the large steamer whistled sharply, which was an intimation to the smaller craft to veer off, and Grace shifted the wheel. They reached Dunkirk without further incident, except that about a mile from it the motor developed some trouble. In vain Betty and the others poked about in the forward compartment trying to locate it, and they might not have succeeded had not a man, passing in a little one-cylindered boat, kindly stopped and discovered that one of the spark plug wires was loose. It was soon adjusted and the Gem proceeded. "I'll always be on the lookout for that first, when there is any trouble after this," said Betty, as she thanked the stranger. "Oh, that isn't the only kind of trouble that can develop in a motor," he assured her. But Betty well knew this herself. They had passed Elm Island soon after leaving Mr. Lagg's store, but saw no sign of life on it. They intended to come back later on in their cruise and camp there, if they decided to carry out their original plans of living in a tent or bungalow. "That is, if the ghost doesn't make it too unpleasant," remarked Betty. They ate supper aboard the boat, cooking on the little galley stove. Then the work of getting ready for the night, washing the dishes, preparing the bunks, and so on, was divided among the five, though Aunt Kate wanted the girls to go ashore and let her attend to everything. "We'll take a little walk ashore after we have everything ready," suggested Betty. The stroll along the river bank in the cool of the evening, while the colors of the glorious sunset were still in the sky, was most enjoyable. "Gracious! A mosquito bit me!" exclaimed Grace, as she rubbed the back of her slim, white hand. "That isn't a capital crime," laughed Mollie. "No, but if there are mosquitoes here they will make life miserable for us to-night," Grace went on. "I have citronella, and there are mosquito nettings over the bunks," said Betty. "Don't worry." They went back to the boat, and the lanterns were lighted. "Oh, doesn't it look too nice to sleep in!" exclaimed Amy, as they gazed into the little cabin, with its tastefully arranged berths. "I'm tired enough to sleep on almost any thing," yawned Mollie. "Let's see who'll be the first to---- " "Not snore, I hope!" exclaimed Betty. "Don't suggest such a thing," came from Amy. "We are none of us addicted to the luxury." But, after all, tired as they were, no one felt like going to sleep, once they were prepared for it. They talked over the events of the day, got to laughing, and from laughing to almost hysterical giggling. But finally nature asserted herself, and all was quiet aboard the Gem, which had been moored to a private dock, just above the town. It was Betty, rather a light sleeper, who awoke first, and she could not account at once for the peculiar motion. It was as though she was swinging in a hammock. She sat up, and peered about the dimly lighted cabin. Then the remembrance of where she was came to her. "But-- but!" she exclaimed. "We're adrift! We're floating down the river!" She sprang from her berth and awakened Grace by shaking her. CHAPTER XI IN DANGER "What is it? Oh, what has happened?" Grace cried half hysterically as she saw Betty bending over her. The others awakened. "Why, we're moving!" exclaimed Amy, in wonderment. "What did you want to start off for, in the middle of the night?" Mollie asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes. "I didn't," answered Betty quickly. "We're adrift! I don't know how it could have happened. You girls tied the boat, didn't you?" "Of course," answered Grace. "I fastened both ropes myself." "Never mind about that," broke in Aunt Kate. "I don't know much about boats, but if this one isn't being steered we may run into something." "That's so!" cried Betty. "But I didn't want to go out on deck alone-- slip your raincoats on, girls, and come with me! There may be-- I mean some one may have set us adrift purposely!" "Oh, don't say such things!" pleaded Grace, looking at the cabin ports as though a face might be peering in. Quickly Betty and Mollie got into their long, dark coats, and without waiting for slippers reached the after deck. As they looked ahead they saw a bright light bearing directly for them. It was a white light, and on either side showed a gleam of red and green. Then a whistle blew. "Oh, we're going to be run down!" cried Mollie. "A steamer is coming directly for us, Betty!" "We won't be run down if we can get out of the way!" exclaimed Betty, sharply. "Push that button-- the automatic, I mean-- and start the motor. I'll steer," and Betty grasped the wheel with one hand, while with the other she pulled the signal cord, sending out a sharp blast that indicated her direction to the oncoming steamer would be to port. The steamer replied, indicating that she would take the same course. Evidently there was some misunderstanding. "And we haven't our side lamps going!" cried Betty, in alarm, as she realized the danger. "Quick, girls, come up here!" she called to Grace and Amy. "One of you switch on the electric lamps. At least they can see us, then, and can avoid us. Oh, I don't know what to do! I never thought of this!" A sudden glow told that Amy had found the storage battery switch, for the red and green lights now gleamed. Again the on-coming steamer whistled, sharply-- interrogatively. Betty answered, but she was not sure she had given the right signal. "Why don't you start the motor?" she called to Mollie. "I can't! It doesn't seem to work." "The switch is off!" exclaimed Grace, as she came out of the cabin. With a quick motion she shoved it over. "How stupid of me!" cried Betty. "I should have seen to that first. Try again, Mollie!" Again Mollie pressed the button of the self-starter, but there was no response. The Gem was still drifting, seemingly in the very path of the steamer. "Why don't they change their course?" wailed Amy. "Can't they see we're not under control? We can't start! We can't start!" she cried at the top of her voice, hoping the other steersman would hear. "The steamer can't get out of the channel-- that's the reason!" gasped Betty. "I see now. It's too shallow for big boats except in certain places here. We must get out of her way-- she can't get out of ours! Girls, we must start the motor!" "Then try it with the crank, and let the automatic go," suggested Aunt Kate, practically. "Probably it's out of order. You must do something, girls!" "Use the crank!" cried Betty, who was hobbling the wheel over as hard as she could, hoping the tug of the current would carry the Gem out of danger. But the craft hardly had steerage way on. Mollie seized the crank, which, by means of a long shaft and sprocket chain, extending from the after cabin bulkhead to the flywheel, revolved that. She gave it a vigorous turn. There was no welcome response of throbbing explosions in the cylinders. "Try again!" gasped Betty, "Oh, all of you try. I simply can't leave the wheel." The steamer was now sending out a concert of sharp, staccato blasts. Plainly she was saying, loudly: "Get out of my way! I have the right of the river! You must get out of my way! I can't avoid you!" "Why don't they stop?" wailed Grace. "Then we wouldn't bump them so hard!" As if in answer, there came echoing over the dark water the clang of the engine-room bell, that told half-speed ahead had been ordered. A moment later came the signal to stop the engines. "Oh, if only Uncle Amos-- or some of the boys-- were here!" breathed Betty. "Girls, try once more!" Together Mollie and Grace whirled the crank, and an instant later the motor started with a throb that shook the boat from stem to stern. "There!" cried Betty. "Now I can avoid them." She threw in the clutch, and as the Gem shot ahead she whistled to indicate her course. This time came the proper response, and a little later the motor boat shot past the towering sides of the river steamer. So near had a collision been that the girls could hear the complaining voice of the pilot of the large craft. "What's the matter with you fellows?" the man cried, as he looked down on the girls. "Don't you know what you're doing?" Clearly he was angry. "We got adrift, and the motor wouldn't start," cried Betty, in shrill tones. "Pilot biscuit and puppy cakes!" cried the man. "It's a bunch of girls! No wonder they didn't know what to do!" "We did-- only we couldn't do it!" shouted Betty, not willing to have any aspersions cast on herself or her friends. "It was an accident!" "All right; don't let it happen again," cried the steersman, in more kindly tones. And then the Gem slipped on down the river. "What are we going to do?" asked Mollie, as Grace steered her boat. "If we're going to stay out here I'm going to get dressed," declared Grace. "It's quite chilly." Can you find your way back to the dock?" Aunt Kate inquired. "Can you do it, Betty?" "I think so. We left a light on it, you know. I'll turn around and see if I can pick it out. Oh, but I'm all in a tremble!" "I don't blame you-- it was a narrow escape," said Mollie. "I don't see how we could have gone adrift, unless some one cut the ropes," remarked Grace. "I'm sure I tied them tightly enough." "They may have become frayed by rubbing," suggested Betty. "We'll look when we get a chance. What are you going to do, Amy?" for she was entering the cabin. "I'm going to make some hot chocolate," Amy answered. "I think we need it." "I'll help," spoke Aunt Kate. "That's a very sensible idea." "I think that is the dock light," remarked Betty a little later, when the boat was headed up stream. "Anyhow, we can't be very far from it," observed Grace. "Try that one," and she pointed to a gleam that came across the waters. "Then there's another just above." The first light did not prove to be the one on the private dock where they had been tied up, but the second attempt to locate it was successful, and soon they were back where they had been before. Betty laid the Gem alongside the stringpiece, and Grace and Mollie, leaping out, soon had the boat fast. The ends of the ropes, which had been trailing from the deck cleats in the water, were found unfrayed. "They must have come untied!" said Grace. "Oh, it was my fault. I thought I had mastered those knots, but I must have tied the wrong kind." "Never mind," said Betty, gently. CHAPTER XII AT RAINBOW LAKE Once the Gem was securely tied-- and Betty now made sure of this-- the tired and rather chilly girls adjourned to the cabin, and under the lights had the hot chocolate Aunt Kate and Amy had made. "It's delicious," spoke Betty. "I feel so much better now." "We must never let on to the boys that we came near running down a steamer," said Grace. "We'd never hear the last of it." "But we didn't nearly run down a steamer-- she came toward us," insisted Betty, not willing to have her seamanship brought into question. "If it had been any other boat, not drawing so much water, she could have steered out of the way. As it was we, not being under control, had the right of way." "It wouldn't have done any good to have insisted on it," remarked Grace, drawlingly. "No, especially as we couldn't hoist the signal to show that," went on Betty. "Uncle Amos told me there are signals for nearly everything that can happen at sea, but of course I never thought of such a thing as that we'd get adrift. I must be prepared next time." "I can't understand about those knots," spoke Grace. "Where is that book?" "What book?" "The one showing how to tie different kinds of knots. I'm going to study up on the subject." "Not to-night," objected Aunt Kate. "It's nearly morning as it is." "Well, the first thing to-morrow, then," declared Grace. "I'm going to make up for my blunder." "Oh, don't be distressed," consoled Betty. "Any of us might have made the same mistake. It was only an accident, Grace dear." "Well, I seem fated to have accidents lately. There was poor little Dodo---- " "Not your fault at all!" exclaimed Mollie, promptly. "I'll not allow you to blame yourself for her accident. It was those motorists, if any-one, and I'm not sure they were altogether to blame. Anyhow, I'm sure Dodo will be cured after the operation." "I hope so," murmured Grace. The appetizing odor of bacon and eggs came from the little galley, mingled with the aromatic foretaste of coffee. Aunt Kate was busy inside. The girls were laughing out in the cabin, or on the lowered after-deck. It was the next morning-- which makes all the difference in the world. "I'm afraid we're going to have a shower today," observed Amy, musingly, as she looked up at the sky. A light fog hung over the river. "Will you ever forget the awful shower that kept us in the deserted house all night?" asked Betty, as she arranged her hair. "I mean when we were on our walking trip," she added, looking for a ribbon that had floated, like a rose petal, under her shelf-dresser. "Oh, we'll never get over that!" declared Mollie, who was industriously putting hairpins where they would be more serviceable. "And we couldn't imagine, for the longest time, why the house should be left all alone that way." "Now I'm going to begin my lesson," announced Grace, who, having gotten herself ready for breakfast, took up the book showing how various sailor knots should be made. With a piece of twine she tied "figure-eights," now and then slipping into the "grannie" class; she made half-hitches, clove hitches, a running bowline, and various other combinations, until Amy declared that it made her head ache to look on. The girls had breakfast, strolled about on shore for a little while, and then started off, intending to stop in Dunkirk, which town lay a little below them, to get some supplies, and replenish the oil and gasoline. It was while Betty was bargaining for the latter necessaries for her motor in a garage near the river that she heard a hearty voice outside asking: "Have you men seen anything of a trim little craft, manned by four pretty girls, in the offing? She'd be about two tons register, a rakish little motor boat, sailing under the name Gem and looking every inch of it. She ought to be here about high tide, stopping for sealed orders, and---- " "Uncle Amos!" cried Betty, hurrying to the garage door, as she recognized his voice. "Are you looking for us?" "That's what I am, lass, and I struck the right harbor first thing; didn't I? Davy Jones couldn't be any more accurate! Well, how are you?" "All right, Uncle. The girls are down in the boat at the dock," and she pointed. "The man is going to take down the oil and gasoline. Won't you come on a trip with us? We expect to make Rainbow Lake by night." "Of course I'll come! That's why I drifted in here. I worked out your reckoning and I calculated that you'd be here about to-day, so I come by train, stayed over night, and here I am. What kind of a voyage did you have?" "Very good-- one little accident, that's all," and she told about getting adrift. "Pshaw, now! That's too bad! I'll have to give you some lessons in mooring knots, I guess. It won't do to slip your cable in the middle of the night." The girls were as glad to see Betty's uncle as he was to greet them, and soon, with plenty of supplies on board, and with the old sea captain at the wheel, which Betty graciously asked him to take, the Gem slipped down the river again. At noon, when they tied up to go ashore in a pleasant grove for lunch, Mr. Marlin demonstrated how to tie so many different kinds of knots that the girls said they never could remember half of them. But most particularly he insisted on all of them learning how to tie a boat properly so it could not slip away. Betty already knew this, and Mollie had a fairly good notion of it, but Grace admitted that, all along, she had been making a certain wrong turn which would cause the knot to slip under strain. They motored down the river again, stopping at a small town to enable Mollie to go ashore and telephone home to learn the condition of little Dodo. There was nothing new to report, for the operation would not take place for some time yet. Grace also called up to ask if anything had been heard of the missing horse and papers, but there was no good news. However, there was no bad news, Will, who talked to his sister, reporting that the interests opposed to their father had made no move to take advantage of the non-production of the documents. "Have a good time, Sis," called Will over the wire. "Don't worry. It doesn't do any good, and it will spoil your cruise. Something may turn up any time. But it sure is queer how Prince can be away so long." "It certainly is," agreed Grace. "And so you expect to make Rainbow Lake by six bells?" asked Betty's uncle, as he paced up and down the rather restricted quarters of the deck. "Yes, Uncle, by seven o'clock," answered Betty, who was at the wheel. "Six bells-- six bells!" he exclaimed. "You must talk sea lingo on a boat, Bet." "All right, Uncle-- six bells." "Where's your charts?" he asked, suddenly. "Charts?" "Yes, how are you sailing? Have you marked the course since last night and posted it? Where are your charts-- your maps? How do you expect to make Rainbow Lake without some kind of charts? Are you going by dead reckoning?" "Why, Uncle, all we have to do is to keep right on down the river, and it opens into Rainbow Lake. The lake is really a wide part of the river, you know. We don't need any charts." "Don't need any charts? Have you heaved the lead to see how much water you've got?" "Why, no," and she looked at him wonderingly. "Well, well!" he exclaimed. "Oh, I forgot this isn't salt water. Well, I dare say you will stumble into the lake after some fashion-- but it isn't seaman-like-- it isn't seaman-like," and the old tar shook his grizzled head gloomily. Betty smiled, and shifted her course a little to give a wide berth to some boys who were fishing. She did not want the propeller's wash to disturb them. They waved gratefully to her. The sun was declining in the west, amid a bank of golden, olive and purple clouds, and a little breeze ruffled the water of the river. The stream was widening out now, and Betty remarked: "We'll soon be in the lake now." "The boat-- not us, I hope," murmured Grace. "Of course," assented Betty, "Won't you stay with us to-night, Uncle Amos?" she asked, as she opened the throttle a little wider, to get more speed. "You can have one of the rear-- I mean after, bunks," she corrected, quickly. "That's better," and he smiled. "No, I'll berth ashore, I guess. I've got to get back to town, anyhow. I just wanted to see how you girls were getting along." The Gem was speeding up. They rounded a turn, and then the girls exclaimed: "Rainbow Lake!" In all its beauty this wide sheet of water lay before them. It was dotted with many pleasure craft, for vacation life was pulsing and throbbing in its summer heydey now. As the Gem came out on the broad expanse a natty little motor boat, long and slender, evidently built for speed, came racing straight toward the craft of the girls. "Gracious, I hope we haven't violated any rules," murmured Betty, as she slowed down, for she caught a motion that indicated that the two young men in the boat wished to speak to her. As they came nearer Grace uttered an exclamation. "What is it?" asked Mollie. "Those young men-- in the boat. I'm sure they're the same two who were in the auto that made Prince run away! Oh, what shall I do?" CHAPTER XIII CRACKERS AND OLIVES Betty grasped the situation, and acted quickly, as she always did in an emergency. "Are you sure, Grace?" she asked. She could speak without fear of the men in the racing boat overhearing her, for they had thrown out their clutch, a moment later letting it slip into reverse, and the churning propeller, and the throb of the motor, made it impossible for them to hear what was said aboard the Gem. "Are you sure, Grace?" repeated Betty. "Well, almost. Of course I only had a glimpse of them, but I have good cause to remember them." "Don't say anything now, then," suggested Betty. "We will wait and see what they say. Later we may be able to make sure." "All right," Grace agreed, looking intently at the two young men. They seemed nice enough, and were smiling in a pleasant, frank manner at the outdoor girls and Aunt Kate. The two boats were now slowly drifting side by side on Rainbow Lake, the motors of both stilled. "I beg your pardon," said the darker complexioned of the two men, "my name is Stone, and this is my friend, Mr. Kennedy. We are on the regatta committee and we'd like to get as many entries for the water pageant as we can. Is your boat entered yet?" He gazed from one girl to another, as though to ascertain who was in command of the newly arrived craft, which seemed to have attracted considerable attention, for a number of other boats were centering about her. "We have just arrived," spoke Betty in her capacity as captain. "We are cruising about, and we haven't heard of any regatta or pageant, except a rumor that one was to be held some time this summer." "Well, it's only been in process of arrangement for about a week," explained Mr. Stone. "It will be the first of its kind to be held on the lake, and we want it to be a success. Nearly all of the campers and summer cottagers, who have motor boats, have agreed to enter the parade, and also in the races. We'd like to enter you in both. We have different classes, handicapped according to speed, and your craft looks as though it could go some." "It can," Betty admitted, while Grace was intently studying the faces of the two young men. The more she looked at them, the more convinced she was that they were the ones who had been in the auto. "We saw you arrive," said Mr. Kennedy, who, Mollie said afterward, had a pleasant voice, "and we hurried over to get you down on the list the first thing." "Don't disappoint us-- say you'll enter!" urged Mr. Stone. "You don't know us, of course, but I have taken the liberty of introducing myself, If you are acquainted with any of the cottagers on the lake shore, or on Triangle Island, you can ask them about us." "Oh, we are very glad you invited us," replied Betty, quickly. She did not want the young men to think that she resented anything. Besides, if what Grace thought about them was so, they would want a chance to inquire about the young men more closely, perhaps, than the young men themselves would care to be looked after. For Betty recalled what Grace had said-- that her father had a faint idea that perhaps the motorists might have acted as they did purposely, to get possession of the papers. "Then you'll enter?" asked Mr. Kennedy. "We can't be sure," spoke Betty, who seemed to be doing all the talking. "Our plans are uncertain, we have no very definite ones, though. We intended merely to cruise about, and perhaps camp on one of the islands for a few days. But if we find we can, we will at least take part in the water pageant-- that is, in the parade with the other boats." "And we'd like you to be in the races," suggested Mr. Kennedy. "Your boat has very fine lines. What horse power have you?" "It is rated twenty," answered Betty, promptly, proud that she had the knowledge at her tongue's end, "but it develops nearer twenty-five." "Then you'd go in Class B." said Mr. Stone. "I will enter you, tentatively at least, for that race, and if you find you can't compete, no harm will be done. There are some very handsome prizes." "Oh, do enter, Bet!" exclaimed Mollie in a whisper, for she was fond of sports of all kinds. "It will he such jolly fun!" Betty looked at her aunt. Racing had not entered into their plans when they talked them over with the folks at home. "I think you might; they seem very nice, and we can easily find out if other girls are to race," said Aunt Kate, in a low voice. "You may enter my boat, then," said Betty, graciously. "Thank you!" exclaimed Mr. Stone. "The Gem goes in, and her captain's name-- ?" "Miss Nelson." "Of-- ?" again he paused suggestively, pencil poised. "Of Deepdale." "Oh, yes, I have been there. I am sure you will not regret having decided to enter the regatta. Now if you would like to tie up for the night there are several good public docks near here. That one over there," and he pointed, "is used by very few other boats, and perhaps you would like it. Plenty of room, you know." "Thank you," said Betty. "We shall go over there." "I will send you a formal entry blank to-morrow," said Mr. Stone, as his companion started the motor, and a moment later they were rushing off in a smother of foam thrown up by the powerful racing craft. "Well, what do you think of that?" gasped Mollie, when they had gone. "No sooner do we arrive than we are plunged into the midst of-- er-- the midst of-- what is it I want to say?" She laughed and looked about for assistance. "Better give it up," said Amy. "But what Grace said surprises me-- about those two young men." "Well, of course I can't be sure of it," said Grace, as all eyes were turned in her direction, "but the more I look at those two the more I really think they are the ones. I wonder if there isn't some way I could make sure?" "Yes," said practical Betty, "there is. That is why I decided to enter the Gem in the regatta. It will give us a chance to do a little quiet investigating." "But how?" inquired Grace, puzzled. "Well, if we make some inquiries, and find out that they are all right to talk to-- and they may be in spite of the mean way they acted toward you-- why, then, we can question them, and gradually lead the talk around to autos, and racing, and storms, and all that. They'll probably let out something about having been caught in a storm once, and seeing a horse run away. Then we will be sure they are the same ones, and-- well, I don't know what would be the best thing to do then, Grace." "Grace had better notify her father or brother if she finds out these are the men," suggested Aunt Kate. "They would be the best ones to act after that." "Surely," agreed Grace. "That's what I'll do. And now let's go over to the dock, and see about supper. I'm as hungry as a starved kitten." "And with all the candy she's eaten since lunch!" exclaimed Mollie. "I didn't eat much at all!" came promptly from Grace. "Did I, Amy?" "I wasn't watching. Anyhow, I am hungry, too." "I fancy we all are," spoke Betty. "Well, we will soon be there," and she started the motor, and swung the prow of the Gem over toward the dock. There were one or two small open motor boats tied there, but they were not manned. The girls made sure of their cable fastenings, and soon the appetizing odor of cooking came from the small galley. The girls donned long aprons over their sailor costumes, and ate out on the open deck, for it was rather close in the cabin. "It is as sultry as though there were going to be a storm," remarked Betty, looking up at the sky, which was taking on the tints of evening. "I am glad we're not going to be out on the lake to-night." "Aren't we ever going to do any night cruising?" asked Mollie, who was a bit venturesome at times. "Oh, of course. Why, the main water pageant takes place at night, one of those young men said, and we'll be in that. Only I'm just as glad we're tied up to-night," spoke Betty. Near where they had docked was a little colony of summer cottages, and not far off was an amusement resort, including a moving picture show. "Let's go, girls!" proposed Grace after supper, "We don't want to sit around all evening doing nothing. The boat will be safe; won't it, Betty?" "Don't say 'it'-- my boat is a lady-- speak of her as such," laughed the Little Captain. "Yes, I think she will be safe. But I will see if there is a dock watchman, and if there is I'll engage him." There proved to be one, who, for a small fee, would see that no unauthorized persons entered the Gem. Then the girls, attiring themselves in their "shore togs," as Betty expressed it, went to see the moving pictures. "What will we do to-morrow?" asked Grace, as they came out, having had two hours of enjoyment. "I was thinking of a little picnic ashore," answered Betty. "There are some lovely places on the banks of the lake, to say nothing of the several small islands. We can cruise about a bit, and then go ashore with our lunch. Or, if any of you have any other plan, don't hesitate to mention it. I want you girls to have a good time." "As if we weren't having it, Little Captain!" cried Mollie with an impulsive embrace. "The picnic by all means, and please let's take plenty of crackers and olives." "Talk about me eating candy," mocked Grace, "you are as bad on olives." "Well, they're not so bad for one as candy." "I don't know about that." "Oh, don't argue!" begged quiet little Amy. "Let's talk about the picnic." It was arranged that they should have an informal one, and the next morning, after an uneventful night-- save that Grace awakened them all by declaring someone was coming aboard, when it proved to be only a frightened dog-- the next morning they started off again, leaving word with the dock watchman, who did boat repairing, that they would be back late that afternoon. They had made some inquiries, and decided to go ashore on Eel Island, so named from its long, narrow shape. There was a small dock there, which made it easy for the Gem to land her passengers, since she drew a little too much water to get right up to shore. The girls cruised about Rainbow Lake, being saluted many times by other craft, the occupants of which seemed to admire Betty's fine boat. In turn she answered with the regulation three blasts of the air whistle. At several private docks, the property of wealthy cottagers, could be seen signs of preparation for the coming water carnival. The boat houses were being decorated, and in some cases elaborate schemes of ornamentation were under way for the boats themselves. "It looks as though it would be nice," remarked Mollie. "Yes, I think we shall enjoy it," agreed Betty. They stopped at one cottage, occupied by a Mrs. Ralston, whom Betty knew slightly. Mrs. Ralston wanted the girls and Aunt Kate to stay to lunch, but they told of their picnic plans. They wanted to inquire about Mr. Stone and Mr. Kennedy, and they were all glad to learn that the two young men were held in the highest esteem, and were given a great deal of credit for their hard work in connection with the lake pageant. "And to think they could be so unfeeling as to make Prince run away and cause all that trouble," observed Mollie, as they were again aboard the boat. "Perhaps it was not they, or there may be some explanation of their conduct," suggested Betty. "We must not judge too hastily." "That's Betty Nelson-- all over," said Amy. Eel Island proved to be an ideal picnic place, and there were one or two other parties on it when the girls arrived. They made the Gem secure, and struck off into the woods with their lunch baskets, Betty having removed a certain patented spark plug, without which the motor could not be started. It was not likely that anyone would be able to duplicate it and make off with the craft in their absence, so they felt it safe to leave the boat unguarded. "Pass the olives, Grace my dear," requested Mollie, when they were seated on a grassy knoll under a big oak tree. "I have the crackers beside me. Now I am happy," and she munched the appetizing combination. "Crackers and olives!" murmured Betty. "Our old schoolday feast. I haven't gotten over my love for them, either. Let them circulate, Mollie." The girls were making merry with quip and jest when Grace, hearing a crackling of under brush, looked back along the path they had come. She started and exclaimed: "Here come those two young men-- Mr. Stone and Mr. Kennedy." "Don't notice them," begged Amy, who was not much given to making new acquaintances. "Too late! They see us-- they're coming right toward us!" cried Grace, in some confusion. CHAPTER XIV THE REGATTA The two young men came on, apparently with the object of speaking to the girls. Evidently they had purposely sought them out. "Oh, it is Miss Nelson, and her friends from the Gem!" exclaimed Mr. Stone, which might indicate that he had expected to meet some other party of picnic lovers. "I hope we are not intruding," said Mr. Kennedy, "but we want to borrow some salt, if you have any." Betty looked at them curiously. Was this a subterfuge-- a means to an acquaintance? Her manner stiffened a trifle, and she glanced at Aunt Kate. "You see we came off on a little picnic like yourselves," explained Mr. Stone, "and Bob, here, forgot the salt." "You told me you'd put it in yourself, Harry!" exclaimed the other, "and of course I thought you did." "Well, be that as it may," said his friend, "we have no salt. We heard your voices over here and decided to be bold enough to ask for some. Do you remember us, Miss Nelson?" "Oh, yes." Betty's manner softened. The explanation was sufficient. Clearly the young men had not resorted to this trick to scrape an acquaintance with the girls. "Is there anything else you'd like?" asked impulsive Mollie. "Grace has plenty of candy, I think, and as for olives----" she tilted one empty bottle, and smiled. Mr. Kennedy smiled back in a frank manner. Betty decided that introductions would be in good form, since they had learned that the young men were "perfectly proper." Names were exchanged, and Mr. Kennedy and his friend sat down on the grass. They did not seem in any special hurry about the salt, now that it was offered. "We hope you haven't changed your minds about the race and regatta," spoke Mr. Stone, after some generalities had been exchanged. "By the way, I have the entry blanks for you," and he passed the papers to Betty, who accepted them with murmured thanks. "We shall very likely enter both the pageant and the race," she said. "When do they take place?" "The pageant will be held two nights hence. That will really open the carnival. The boats, decorated as suit the fancies of the owners, will form in line, and move about the lake, past the judges' stand. There will be prizes for the most beautifully decorated boat, the oddest, and also the worst, if you understand me. I mean by the last that some captains have decided to make their boats look like wrecks, striving after queer effects." "I should not like that," said Betty, decidedly. "But if there is time, and we can do it, we might decorate?" and she looked at her chums questioningly. "Surely," said Grace, and Mollie took the chance to whisper to her: "Why don't you start some questions?" "I will-- if I get a chance," was the answer. Betty was finding out more about the carnival when the start would be made, the course and other details. The races would take place the day after the boat parade. "There will be canoe and rowing races, as well as tub and 'upset' events," said Mr. Stone. "We are also planning to have a swimming and diving contest the latter part of the regatta week, but I don't suppose you young ladies would care to enter that." "We all swim, and we have our bathing suits," said Mollie, indefinitely. "Mollie dives beautifully!" exclaimed Amy. "I do not-- that is, I'm not an expert at it," Mollie hastened to say. "But I love diving." "Then why not enter?" asked Mr. Kennedy. "I am chairman of that committee. I'll put the names of you girls down, if you don't mind. It doesn't commit you to anything." The girls had no formal objections. "You are real out-door girls, I can see that!" complimented Mr. Stone. "You must like life in the woods and on the lake." "Indeed they do," spoke Aunt Kate. "They walked-- I think it was two hundred miles, just before coming on this cruise; didn't you, Betty?" "Yes, but we took it by easy stages," evaded the Little Captain. "That was fine!" exclaimed Mr. Kennedy. "Well, Harry, if we're gong to eat we'd better take our salt and go." "Won't you have some of our sandwiches?" asked Mollie, impulsive as usual. "We have more than we can eat," for they had brought along a most substantial lunch. Mollie looked at Betty and Aunt Kate. They registered no objections. "You are very good," protested Mr. Kennedy, "but really we don't want to deprive you---- " "It will be no deprivation," said Betty. "We will be glad not to have them wasted---- " "Oh, then by all means let us be-- the wastebaskets!" exclaimed Mr. Stone, laughing. "Oh, I didn't mean just that," and Betty blushed. "I understand," he replied, and Aunt Kate passed over a plate of chicken sandwiches. Under cover of opening another bottle of olives, Mollie whispered to Grace: "Ask him some questions-- start on motoring-- ask if they ever motored near Deepdale." "I will," whispered Grace, and, as the two young men ate, she led the topic of talk to automobiles. "Do you motor?" she asked, looking directly at Mr. Stone. She was certain now that at least he had been in the car that caused Prince to run away. "Oh, yes, often," he answered. "Do you?" "No, but I am very fond of horseback riding," she said. She was certain that Mr. Stone started. "Indeed," said he, "that is something I never cared about. Frankly, I am afraid of horses. I saw one run away once, with a young lady, and---- " "Do you mean that time we were speeding up to get out of the storm?" his friend interrupted, "and we hit a stone, swerved over toward the animal, and nearly struck it?" "Yes, that was the time," answered Mr. Stone. Grace could hardly refrain from crying out that she was on that same horse. "I have always wondered who that girl was," Mr. Stone went on, "and some day I mean to go back to the scene of the accident, and see if I can find out. I have an idea she blames us for her horse running away. But it was an accident, pure and simple; wasn't it, Bob?" "It certainly was. You see it was this way," he explained, and Grace felt sure they would ask her why she was so pale, for the blood had left her cheeks on hearing that the young men were really those she had suspected. "Harry, here, and myself," went on Mr. Kennedy, "had been out for a little run, to transact some business. We were on a country road, and a storm was coming up. We put on speed, because we did not want to get wet, and I had to be at a telegraph office at a certain time to complete a deal by wire. "Just ahead of us was a girl on a white horse. The animal seemed frightened at the storm, and just as we came racing past our car struck a stone, and was jolted right over toward the animal. I am not sure but what we hit it. Anyhow the horse bolted. The girl looked able to manage it, and as it was absolutely necessary for us to keep on, we did so." "I looked back, and I thought I saw the horse stumble with the girl," put in Mr. Stone, "but I was not sure, and then the rain came pelting down, and the road was so bad that it took both of us to manage the car. We were late, too. But we meant to go back and see if any accident happened." "Only when we got to the telegraph office," supplied his friend, "we were at once called to New York in haste, and so many things have come up since that we never got the chance. Tell me," he said earnestly, "you girls live in Deepdale. This happened not far from there. Did you ever hear of a girl on a white horse being seriously hurt?" Grace made a motion to her chums to keep silent about the whole affair, and let her answer. She had her reasons. "There was no report of any girl being seriously hurt at the time you mention," she said, a trifle coolly, "but a little child was knocked down by a horse-- a white horse. It may have been the one you scared." "But unintentionally-- unintentionally! I hope you believe that!" said Mr. Stone earnestly. "Oh-- yes-- of course," and Grace's voice was not quite so cold now. She could readily understand that the accident could have happened in just that way, and it was beginning to look so. Certainly, not knowing the girls, the young man could have no object in deceiving them, "A little child knocked down, you say!" exclaimed Mr. Kennedy. "I hope it was not badly hurt. Who was it?" "My----" began Mollie, and she was on the point of saying it was her sister Dodo, when from the lake there sounded the cry of: "Fire! Fire! Fire!" Then came a sharp explosion. Everyone arose, and Mr. Kennedy exclaimed excitedly: "That must be an explosion on a motor boat. Come on, Harry. We may he needed!" They rushed through the bushes toward the place whence the alarm came, the girls following as fast as they could. "Don't let him know it was I, or that it was your sister who was hurt!" Grace cautioned her chums. "I am going to write to papa, and he can make an investigation. Their explanation sounds all right, but they may have the papers after all. I'm going to write to-day." "I would," advised Aunt Kate." "It may amount to nothing, but it can do no harm to let your father know. And I think it wise not to let these young men know that you were in that runaway. If they really were not careless, as it seemed at first, you can tell them later, when you see how the investigation by Mr. Ford turns out." "That will be best," spoke Betty. "Oh, see, it is a boat on fire!" They had reached a place where they could see a small motor boat, not far from shore, wrapped in a pall of black smoke, through which could be observed flickering flames. "There-- he's jumped!" cried Mollie, as a figure leaped from the burning craft. "He's safe, anyhow." "There go Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Stone in their boat!" exclaimed Grace, as the slender racing craft shot out from shore. Whatever may have been the faults of the young men as motorists, they knew how to act promptly in this case. As they passed the man who had leaped from the burning boat they tossed him a life preserver. Then, nearing the burning boat, they halted their own, and began using a chemical extinguisher-- the only safe thing save sand with which to fight a gasoline blaze. The fire did not have a chance to get much headway, and it was soon out, another boat coming up and lending aid. The man who had jumped was taken aboard this second boat, and his own, rather charred but not seriously damaged, was towed to shore. Later the girls learned that there had been some gasoline which leaked from his tank. He had been repairing his motor, which had stalled, when a spark from the electric wire set fire to the gasoline. There was a slight explosion, followed by the fire. "And it came just in time to stop me from telling what might have spoiled your plans, Grace," said Mollie, when they went back to gather up their lunch baskets. "Well, I haven't any plans. I am going to let father or Will make them, after I send the information," she answered, "But I think it best to let the two young men remain in ignorance, for a while." "Oh, I do, too!" exclaimed Betty. "They will probably not refer to it again, being so busy over the regatta." There was a busy time for the girls, too. They finally decided to convert the Gem, as nearly as possible under the circumstances, into a Venetian gondola. By building a light wooden framework about it, and tacking on muslin, this could be done without too much labor. Betty engaged the help of a man and boy, and with the girls to aid the work was soon well under way. The girls saw little of Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Stone-- save passing glimpses-- after the picnic. Grace telephoned to her father, who promised to at once look into the matter. "I do hope we win a prize!" exclaimed Mollie, on the evening of the regatta. "The Gem looks lovely!" "Yes, I think it is rather nice," admitted Betty. The muslin, drawn tightly over the temporary frame, had been painted until in the dark the boat bore a striking resemblance to a gondola, even to the odd prow in front. It was arranged that Grace should stand at the stern with a long oar, or what was to pass for it, while Betty would run the motor and do the real steering. Mollie, Amy, and Aunt Kate were to be passengers. Mollie borrowed a guitar and there was to be music and singing as they took part in the water pageant. "Well, it's time to start," announced Betty after supper. "We'll light the Chinese lanterns after we get to our place in line," for the boats were to be illuminated. The Gem started off, being in the midst of many craft, all more or less decorated, that were to take part in the affair. CHAPTER XV THE RACE Like the scene from some simulated fairyland, or a stage picture, was the water pageant on Rainbow Lake. In double lines the motor boats moved slowly along from the starting point toward the float where the judges were stationed to decide which craft was entitled to the prize in its own class. "Oh, I'm so glad we entered!" cried Betty, as she stood at the wheel. Because of the cloth side of the "gondola" it appeared that she was merely reclining at her ease, as did the Venetian ladies of old, for a seat with cushions had been arranged near the steering wheel. "Oh, see that boat-- just like an airship!" exclaimed Mollie, as they saw just ahead of them a craft so decorated. "And here's one that looks just like a floating island, with trees and bushes," added Amy. "That ought to take a prize." "We ought to take one ourselves!" exclaimed Mollie. "We worked hard enough. My hands are a mass of blisters." "And my back aches!" declared Grace. "But it was worth while. I don't see any boat just like ours," and she glanced along the line of craft ahead of them, and to those in the rear, as they were making a turn just then. "Oh, there's one of the lanterns gone out!" cried Mollie. "I'll light it," and she proceeded to do so, taking it into the cabin because of the little breeze that blew over the lake. There was a band on one of the larger boats, and this played at intervals. "Let's sing!" proposed Grace, and, with guitar accompaniment, the girls mingled their voices in one of the many part songs they had practiced at school. Applause followed their rendition, for they had chosen a time when there was comparative quiet. Around the course went the flotilla of boats, past the judges' float, and back to the starting point. Then the parade was over, but a number of affairs had been arranged-- dances, suppers and the like-- by different cottagers. The girls had been invited to the dance at the headquarters of the Rainbow Lake Yacht Club, and they had accepted. They had dressed for the affair, and tying their boat to the club dock they went into the pretty little ballroom with Aunt Kate. "Congratulations!" exclaimed Mr. Kennedy, stepping up to Betty as she entered with her chums. "For what?" "Your boat won first prize for those of most original design. It is a beautiful silver cup." "Oh, I'm so glad! Girls, do you hear? We won first prize in our class!" "Fine!" cried Mollie. "Oh, isn't it nice?" said Amy. "Did we really?" asked Grace, somewhat incredulously, "You really did. I just heard the decision of the judges. Harry and I are out of it, though. We tried in the 'wreck' class, but the Rabbit, which was rigged out like the Flying Dutchman, beat us." "That's too bad," said Mollie, sympathetically. "Never mind, we've had our fun," said Mr. Stone, coming up at this point. "You girls certainly deserved the prize, if anyone did. And now I hope your dance cards aren't filled." They were not-- but they soon were, and the evening passed most delightfully. "Who said breakfast?" yawned Grace the next morning, as she looked from her bunk down on Betty. "I ate so much lobster salad last night I don't want anything but a glass of water on toast," murmured Mollie. "Oh, but we had a lovely time!" and she sighed in regret at its departure. "And those young men were lovely dancers," said Betty. "And wasn't it nice of Will, Frank, and Allen to come?" spoke Amy, for Grace's brother, and his two friends, had arrived most unexpectedly at the Yacht Club ball. Will had come to tell his sister certain things in regard to the missing papers, and had met a friend who belonged to the club. Naturally there was an invitation to the dance, which was quite informal in a way, and so the three boys from Deepdale had also had a good time. They were put up at the club over night. It developed that Mr. Ford had investigated certain matters in regard to Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Stone, and had learned that by no possibility could they have secured the missing papers. There would have been absolutely no interest in the documents for them. It was merely a coincidence that they had been on the scene. And this news made their explanation about the auto accident most plausible. Will had come to Rainbow Lake to tell his sister this, to relieve her mind. When he mentioned coming he had told Frank and Allen, asking them to go with him. All the boys expected to do was to spend the evening on board the Gem with the girls, but when they arrived, and learned of the pageant, and Will met his club friend, the plans were changed. "Too bad Percy Falconer didn't come," remarked Grace, as she slipped into her dressing gown. "Don't spoil everything," begged Betty. "You know I detest him!" Gradually the girls got breakfast, talking of the events of the night before. "I wonder when we will get our prize?" said Betty. "I am wild to see it. I hope it's that oddly shaped cup we so admired when we looked at the prizes." It proved to be that one, the trophy being sent over to the dock where the Gem was tied, by a special messenger. It was given the place of honor in the cabin. Will and his two chums went home rather late that day. "Is father much worried about the missing papers?" asked Grace, as she parted from her brother. "He sure is. He's afraid the other side may spring something on him any minute." "You mean-- take some action to get the property?" "Yes." "It's too bad. But I don't see what we can do." "Neither do I. I wish I could find Prince. I think that's the queerest thing about him." "It certainly is. Say, Will, how is poor little Dodo getting on?" "Oh, as well as you can expect. They're going to operate soon, I heard. How is Mollie standing it, Grace?" "Fairly well. Isn't it strange that we should meet the two autoists?" "Yes. Have you put them wise yet?" "Wise? What do you mean? Such slang!" "I mean told 'em who you are?" "No, and we're not going to for a while yet. We don't want to make them feel bad." "All right, suit yourselves. We're coming up and see you when you get in camp." "Yes, do. We'll write when we're settled." Preparations for the race were going on, and the Gem, as were the other boats, was being groomed for the contest. She had been converted into her own self again, and Betty had engaged a man to look over the motor, and make a few adjustments of which she was not quite capable. Uncle Amos came to Rainbow Lake to see the girls and the boat. He was not much impressed with the sheet of water, large as it was, but he did take considerable interest in the coming race, and insisted on personally doing a lot of work to the boat to get her "ship-shape." So that when the Gem was ready to go to the starting line she was prepared to make the "try of her life," as Betty expressed it. There were six boats in the class that included the Gem. Some were about the same size, one was larger and one was smaller. In horse power they rated about the same, but some handicapping had been done by the judges. The Gem was to start four minutes after the first boat got away, and of course she would have to make up this time to win. "But we can do it!" declared Betty, confidently. As they were on their way to the starting line the girls noticed two boys rowing along the shore, looking intently as they proceeded. "Say, you haven't seen a big green canoe, with an Indian's head painted in red on each end; have you?" asked one of the lads. "No; why?" asked Grace. "Someone took ours last night," spoke the other boy. "We were going in the races with it, too. It was a dandy canoe!" and he seemed much depressed. "That's too bad," spoke Betty sympathetically. "If we see anything of your canoe we'll let you know." "Just send word to Tom Cardiff, over at Shaffer's dock!" cried the elder boy eagerly. "There's a reward of two dollars for anyone who finds it." "Poor fellows!" said Betty as they rowed off. "I'd give two dollars of my own now if we could find their canoe for them. They must be dreadfully disappointed. Well, shall we start?" "Yes, let's get it over with," replied Grace, nervously. Grace and Amy were selected to look after the motor, they having been "coached" by Uncle Amos for several days. They were to see that it did not lack for oil, and if anything got out of adjustment they could fix it. They would be stationed well forward in the cabin, and the bulkhead being removed, they could easily get at the machinery. Betty and Mollie would be at the wheel. Aunt Kate declined to take part in the race, and Uncle Amos was not eligible under the rules, this being strictly a race for girls and women. Several events were run off before the Class B race was called. Then the boats, including the Gem, moved up, and were formally inspected to make sure that all the rules and regulations had been complied with. No fault was found. "Are you all ready?" asked the starter. "Ready," was the answer, and the first boat shot away. It was nervous waiting for Betty and her chums-- those four minutes-- but they finally passed. "Ready?" asked the starter again. "Ready," answered Betty, her voice trembling in spite of herself. There was a sharp crack of the pistol, and the Gem shot ahead, as Betty let the clutch slip into place. The race was on! CHAPTER XVI FIGHTING FIRE "Betty, do you think we can win?" It was Mollie who asked this as she stood beside her chum at the wheel of the Gem. The boat was churning through the water, gradually creeping up on the craft that had gotten away ahead of her. Behind came other boats, starting as the crack of the official pistol was heard. "Of course we'll win!" exclaimed Betty, as she changed the course slightly. She wanted to keep it as straight as possible, for well she knew that the shortest distance between any two points is in a straight line. "We wouldn't miss that lovely prize for anything," called Grace from up forward, where she was helping Amy look after the laboring motor. A number of prizes had been provided by the regatta committee; the chief one for this particular race was a handsome cut-glass bowl, that had been much admired when on exhibition at the club house. The course was a triangular one of three miles, and now all the craft that were competing were on the last "leg" of the triangle. "We're creeping up on her!" whispered Amy, as she directed the attention of Grace to the boat just ahead of them. It was a light, open affair, with a two-cylinder motor, but speedy, and two girls in it seemed to be working desperately over their machinery. Something seemed to have gone wrong with one of the cylinders, for Betty could detect a "miss" now and then. "Yes, we're coming up," admitted Grace, as she skillfully put a little oil on a cam shaft. "If we can only hold out!" "Oh, trust Betty for that." "It isn't that-- it's the motor. One never knows when they are not going to 'mote.' But this one seems to be coming on well," and Grace glanced critically at the various parts. They were well out in Rainbow Lake now, and many eyes were watching the race. One of the last boats to get away had given up, for the girls in charge could not remedy the ignition trouble that developed soon after they started. This left five. The Gem was second in line, but behind her a very powerful boat was gradually creeping up on her, even as she was overhauling the boat that got away first. "Can't you turn on a little more gasoline?" asked Mollie. "I think I can-- now," spoke Betty. "I wanted to give it gradually." She opened the throttle a little more, and advanced the spark slightly. The result was at once apparent. The Gem shot ahead, and the girls in the leading boat looked back nervously. "One of them is that pretty girl Will danced with so often at the ball," said Mollie, as she got a glimpse of the rival's face. "Yes, and the other is her cousin, or something," spoke Betty. "I was introduced to her. It's mean, perhaps, to beat you, girls," she whispered, "But I'm going to do it." The chugging of many motors-- the churning to foam of the blue waters of the lake-- a haze of acrid smoke hanging over all, as some cylinder did not properly digest the gasoline vapor and oil fed to it, but sent it out half consumed-- spray thrown up now and then-- the distant sound of a band-- eager eyes looking toward the stake buoys-- tense breathing-- all this went to make up the race in which our outdoor girls were taking part. Foot by foot the Gem crept up on the Bug, which was the name of the foremost boat. Drop by drop Betty fed more gasoline to her striving motor. The other girls did their duty, if it was only encouragement. Those in the Bug worked desperately, but it was not to be. The Gem passed them. "We're sorry!" called Betty, as she flashed by. The other girls smiled bravely. The Gem was now first, but the race was far from won. They were on the last leg, however, but in the rear, coming on, and overhauling Betty and her chums as they had just overhauled the others, was the speedy Eagle. She had been last to get off, but had passed all the others. "They are after us," spoke Mollie, as she held the wheel a moment while Betty tucked under her natty yachting cap some wind-tossed locks of hair. "But they shan't get us," declared the Little Captain grimly. "We haven't reached our limit yet." Once more she gave more gasoline, but the rivals in the rear were settling down now to win the race for themselves. The Eagle came on rapidly. The finish line was near at hand, but it seemed that Betty and her chums had the upper hand. Suddenly Grace cried: "One of the wires is broken. It's snapped in two, and it's spouting sparks!" There came a noticeable slowing down to the speed of the motor. The Gem lagged. The Eagle was in hot pursuit. Betty acted quickly. "Put on those rubber gloves!" she ordered. "Take a pair of pliers, and hold the ends of that wire together. That will make it as good as mended until after the race. Amy, you help. But wear rubber gloves, and then you won't get a shock. Quick, girls!" The breaking of the wire threw one cylinder out of commission. The Gem was one third crippled. There came a murmur from the pursuing boat. There was a commotion in the forward engine compartment of Betty's boat. This was caused by Grace and Amy seeking to repair the damage. A moment later the resumption of the staccato exhaust of the motor told that the break had been repaired-- temporarily, at least. The boat shot ahead again, at her former speed, and only just in time, for her rival was now on even terms with her. "Oh, Betty, we can't do it!" Mollie said, pathetically. "We're going to lose!" "We are not! I've got another notch I can slip forward the gasoline throttle, and here it goes! If that doesn't push us ahead nothing will-- and---- " "We don't get that cut glass," finished Mollie. But just that little fraction was what was needed. The Gem went ahead almost by inches only, but it was enough. The Eagle's crew of three girls tried in vain to coax another revolution out of her propeller, but it was not to be, and the Gem shot over the line a winner. A winner, but by so narrow a margin that the judges conferred a moment before making the announcement. But they finally made it. The Gem had undoubtedly won. "Oh!" exclaimed Grace as she climbed out into the cabin, and thence to the deck, followed by Amy. "Oh, my hand is numb holding the ends of that wire together. I didn't dare let go---- " "It was brave of you!" exclaimed Betty, patting Grace on the shoulder. "If you had let go we would have lost. We'll bathe your hand for you in witch hazel." "Oh, it is only cramped. It will be all right in a little while." "What a din they are making!" cried Amy, covering her ears with her hands. "They are saluting the winner," said Mollie, as she noted the tooting of many boat whistles. Betty slowed down her boat, and saluted as she swept past the boat of the judges. "Well, I'm glad it's over," sighed Grace. "It was nervous work. I'm going to make some chocolate, and have it iced. It was warm up there by the motor." "And you both need baths," remarked Mollie with a laugh. "You are as grimy as chimney sweeps." "Yes, but we don't mind," said Amy. "You won, Betty! I'm so glad!" "We won, you mean," corrected the Little Captain. "I couldn't have done it except for you girls," Many craft saluted the Gem as she came off the course. "I wish Uncle Amos could have seen us!" exclaimed Betty. "He would have been proud." The girls remained as spectators for the remainder of the carnival, and then, the day being warm, they went to their dock. Near it was a sandy bathing beach, and soon they were swimming about in the limpid waters of Rainbow Lake. "Here goes for a dive!" cried Mollie, as she climbed out on the end of the pier, and mounted a mooring post. She poised herself gracefully. "Better not-- you don't know how deep it is," cautioned Betty. "I'm only going to take a shallow dive," was the answer and then Mollie's slender body shot through the air in a graceful curve, and cut down into the water. A second later she bobbed up, shaking her head to rid her eyes of water. "That was lovely!" cried Grace. "Did I splash much?" "Not at all." "It's real deep there," said Mollie. "Some day I'm going to try to touch bottom." The girls splashed about, refreshing themselves after the race. Then came calm evening, when they sat on deck and ate supper prepared by Aunt Kate. "Now you girls just sit right still and enjoy yourselves," she told them, when they insisted on helping. "You don't win motor boat races every day, and you're entitled to a banquet." That night there was another informal dance at the Yacht Club, and the girls had a splendid time. Mr. Stone and Mr. Kennedy exerted themselves to see that our friends did not lack for partners, and Grace was rather ashamed of the suspicions she had entertained concerning the twain. The carnival came to an end with a series of water sports. There were swimming races for ladies, and Mollie won one of these, but her chums were less fortunate. The carnival had been a great success and many congratulations were showered on Messrs. Stone and Kennedy for their part in it. "We are glad it is over," said Mr. Stone, as he and his chums sat on the deck of the Gem one evening, having called to ask the girls to go to another dance. But Betty and her chums voted for staying aboard, and proposed a little trip about the lake by moonlight. Soon they were under way. It was a perfect night, and the mystic gleam of the moon moved them to song as they swept slowly along under the influence of the throttled-down engine. Suddenly Mr. Kennedy, who was sitting well forward on the trunk cabin with Grace, sprang to his feet, exclaiming: "What's that?" "It looks like a fire," said Grace. "It is a fire!" cried Mr. Stone. "Say, it's that hay barge we noticed coming over this evening, tied up at Black's dock. It's got adrift and caught fire!" "Look where it's drifting!" exclaimed Betty. "Right for the Yacht Club boathouse!" added Mollie. "The wind is taking it there. Look, the fire is increasing!" "And if it runs against the boat house there'll be no saving it!" said Mr. Kennedy. "There's no fire-boat up here-- there ought to be!" "Girls!" cried Betty, "there's just a chance to save the boat house!" "How?" demanded Amy. "If we could get on the windward side of that burning barge, throw a line aboard and tow it out into the middle of the lake, it could burn there without doing any damage!" "By Jove! She's hit the nail on the head!" declared Mr. Stone, with emphasis. "But dare you do it, Miss Nelson?" "I certainly will dare-- if you'll help!" "Of course we'll help! Steer over there!" The burning hay, fanned by a brisk wind, was now sending up a pillar of fire and a cloud of smoke. And the barge was drifting perilously near the boathouse. Many whistles of alarm smote the air, but no boat was as near as the Gem. CHAPTER XVII ON ELM ISLAND "Have you a long rope aboard, Miss Nelson?" asked Mr. Stone, when they had drawn near to the burning load of hay. "Yes, you will find it in one of the after lockers," answered Betty, as she skillfully directed the course of her boat so as to get on the windward side of the barge. "And have you a boathook? I want to fasten it to the rope, and see if I can cast it aboard the barge." "There is something better than that," went on the Little Captain. "I have a small anchor-- a kedge, I think my Uncle Amos called it." "Fine, that will be just the thing to cast! Where is it?" "In the same locker with the rope. Uncle insisted that I carry it, though we've never used it." "Well, it will come in mighty handy now," declared Mr. Kennedy, as he prepared to assist his chum. "You girls had better get in the cabin," he added, "for there is no telling when the wind may shift, and blow sparks on your dresses. They're too nice to have holes burned in them," and he gazed, not without proper admiration, at Betty and her chums. Even in this hour of stress and no little danger he could do that. "We'll put on our raincoats," suggested Mollie. "The little sparks from the hay won't burn them. Or, if they do, we can have a pail of water ready." "That's a good idea," commented Mr. Stone, who was making the kedge anchor fast to the long rope. "Have several pails ready if you can. No telling when the sparks may come aboard too fast for us." "And we have fire extinguishers, too," said Betty. "Grace, you know where they are in the cabin. Get them out." "And I'll draw the water," said Mr. Kennedy. "I can help at that," added Aunt Kate, bravely. "I know where the scrubbing pail is." She had insisted on making it one of her duties to scrub the deck every day, and for this purpose she kept in readiness a pail to which a rope was attached, that it might be dropped overboard into the lake and hauled up full. This was soon in use. Aunt Kate insisted on having several large pots and pans also filled. "You can't have too much water at a fire," she said, practically. The burning hay barge was rapidly being blown down toward the boathouse. At the latter structure quite a throng of club members, and others, had gathered in readiness to act when the time came. In the moonlight they could be seen getting pails and tubs of water in readiness, and one small line of hose, used to water the lawn, was laid. But it would be of small service against such a blaze as now enveloped the barge. Many boats were hastening to the scene, whistling frantically-- as though that helped. "Have you got a pump aboard?" some one hailed those on the Gem. "No, we're going to haul the barge away," answered Betty. "Good idea, but don't go too close!" came the warning. "It is going to be pretty warm," remarked Mr. Stone. He had the anchor made fast, and with the rope coiled so that it would not foul as he made the cast, he took his place on one of the after lockers. Betty's plan was to go as close to the burning craft as she could, to allow the cast to be made, As soon as the prongs of the anchor caught, she would head her motor and out toward the middle of the lake, towing the barge where it could be anchored and allowed to burn to the water's edge. "But what are you going to anchor it with?" asked Mr. Kennedy, when this last feature had been discussed. "That's so," spoke his chum, reflectively. "There's a heavy piece of iron under the middle board of the cabin," said Betty. "Uncle Amos said it was there for ballast in case we wanted to use a sail, but I don't see that we need it." "We'll use it temporarily, anyhow, for an anchor," decided Mr. Stone. He and his companion soon had it out, and made fast to the other end of the rope. "Get ready now!" warned Betty, when this had been done. "I'm going as close as I can." She steered her boat toward the burning barge. There came whistles of encouragement from the surrounding craft. The heat was intense, and on the suggestion of Mr. Kennedy the motor boat's decks were kept wet from the water in the pails. The girls felt their hands and faces grow warm. Those on the boathouse float and pier were all anxiety. The flames, blown by the wind, seemed to leap across the intervening space as if to reach the boat shelter. "Here she goes!" cried Mr. Stone, as he cast the anchor. It was skillfully done, and the prongs caught on some part of the barge, low enough down so that the hempen strands would not burn. Mr. Stone pulled on the rope to see if it would hold. It did, and he called: "Let her go, Miss Nelson! Gradually though; don't put too much strain on the rope at first! After you get the barge started the other way, it will be all right." Betty sent the Gem ahead. The rope paid out over the stern-- taunted-- became tight. There was a heavy strain on it. Would it hold? It did, and slowly the hay barge began to move out into the lake. "Hurray!" cried Mr. Kennedy. "That solved the problem." "You girls certainly know how to do things," said Mr. Stone, admiringly. Cheers from those in surrounding boats seemed to emphasize this sentiment. There was now no danger to the Yacht Club boathouse. A little later, when the flames in the hay were at their height, the piece of iron was dropped overboard from the Gem. This, with the rope and the kedge anchor, served to hold the barge in place. There it could burn without doing any harm. Soon the fire began to die down, and a little later it was but a smouldering mass, not even interesting as a spectacle. Betty Nelson's plan had worked well, and later she received the thanks of the Yacht Club, she and her chums being elected honorary life members in recognition of the service they had rendered. Summer days passed-- delicious, lazy summer days-- during which the girls motored, canoed or rowed as they fancied, went on picnics in the woods, or on some of the islands of Rainbow Lake, or took long walks. Mr. Stone and Mr. Kennedy, sometimes one, often both, went with the girls. Occasionally Will and his friends ran out for a day or two, taking cruises with Betty, and her chums. Aunt Kate remained as chaperone, others who had been invited finding it impossible to come. The girls' mothers made up a party and paid them a visit one day, being royally entertained at the time. "Yes, you girls certainly know how to do things," said Mr. Stone one day; after Betty had skillfully avoided a collision, due to the carelessness of another skipper. "I wish we could do something to get those papers for father," thought Grace. Not a trace had been found of Prince or the missing documents. It was very strange. Mr. Ford and his lawyer friends could not understand it. The interests opposed to him were preparing to take action, it was rumored, and if the papers were found this would be stopped. Even a detective agency that made a specialty of tracing lost articles had no success. Prince and the papers seemed to have vanished into thin air. One day as Betty and her chums were motoring about the lake, having gone to the store for some supplies, they saw the two boys who had been searching for their canoe. "Did you find it?" asked Grace. "No, not a trace of it, Too, bad, too, for we saved up our money-- four dollars, now," said the taller of the two lads. "If you find her we'll give you that money; won't we?" and he appealed to his companion. "We sure will!" "Well, if we see, or hear, anything of it we'll let you know," promised Betty. "Poor fellows," she murmured, as they rowed away. They had made a circuit of the lake, going in many coves, but without success. "It's about time to be thinking of camp, if we're going in for that sort of thing," announced Betty one day. "Shall we try it, girl?" "I'd like it," said Mollie. "We can use the boat, too; can't we?" "Of course," replied Betty. "And sleep aboard?" asked Grace. "No, let's sleep in a tent," proposed Amy. "It will be lots of fun." "But the bugs, and mosquitoes-- not to mention frogs and snakes," came protestingly from Grace. "Oh, we've done it before, and we can use our mosquito nets," said Betty. "I heard of a nice tent, and a well-fitted up camp over on Elm Island we can hire for a week or so." "But the ghost-- the one Mr. Lagg told about?" asked Mollie. "We'll 'lay' the ghost!" laughed Betty. "Seriously, I don't believe there is anything more than a fisherman's story to account for it. Still, if you girls are afraid---- " "Afraid!" they protested in chorus. "Then we'll go to Elm Island," decided Betty, and they did. The camp, near a little dock where the Gem could be tied, was well suited to their needs. "Oh, we'll have a good time here!" declared Betty as they took possession. "But we must get in plenty of supplies. Let's go over and call on Mr. Lagg," and they headed for the mainland in the motor boat. CHAPTER XVIII IN CAMP "Well, well, young ladies, I certainly am glad to see you again! Indeed I am." "Ladies, ladies, one and all, I'm very glad to have you call!" Thus Mr. Lagg made our friends welcome as they entered his "emporium," as the sign over the door had it. "What will it be to-day?" he went on. "I've prunes and peaches, pies and pills, To feed you well, and cure your ills." "Thank you, but we haven't any ills!" cried "Brown Betty," as her friends were beginning to call her, for certainly she was tanned most becomingly. "However, we do want the lottest lot of things. Where is that list, Mollie?" "You have it." "No, I gave it to you." "Grace had it last," volunteered Amy. "She said she did not want to forget---- " "Oh, we know what Grace doesn't want to forget," interrupted Mollie with a laugh. "Produce that list, Grace," and it was forthcoming. "You see we have let our supplies run low," remarked Betty as she gave her order, "Are you going on a long cruise?" Mr. Lagg, wanted to know. "To sail and sail the bounding main, And then come back to port again? "Of course I know that isn't very good," he apologized. "When I make 'em up on the spur of the moment that way I don't take time to polish 'em off. And of course Rainbow Lake isn't exactly the bounding main, but it will answer as well." "Certainly," agreed Betty, with a laugh. "I think that is all," she went on, looking at her list. "Oh, I almost forgot, we want some more of your lovely olives-- those large ones." "Yes, those are fine olives," admitted the store keeper. "I get them from New York. "Olives stuffed, and some with pits, With girls my olives sure make hits." He chanted this with a bow and a smile. "I am aware," he said, "I am aware that the foregoing may sound like a baseball game, but such is not my intention. I use hit in the sense of meaning that it is well-liked." "Too well liked-- I mean the olives," spoke Mollie. "We can't keep enough on hand. I think we'll have to buy them by the case after this." "As Grace does her chocolates," remarked Betty, with a smile that took all the sarcasm out of the words. "Well," remarked Grace, drawlingly, "I have noticed that you girls are generally around when I open a fresh box." "Well hit!" cried Amy. "Don't let them fuss you, Grace my dear." "I don't intend to." Mr. Lagg helped his red-haired boy of all work to carry the girls' purchases down to the boat. "You must be fixing for a long voyage," he remarked. "No, we are going to camp over on Elm Island," said Betty. The storekeeper started. "What! With the ghost?" He nearly dropped a package of fresh eggs. "Really, Mr. Lagg, is there-- er-- anything really there?" asked Mollie, seriously. "Well, now, far be it from me to cause you young ladies any alarm," said Mr. Lagg, "but I only repeat what I heard. There is something on that island that none of the men or boys who have seen and heard it cannot account for." "Just what is it?" asked Betty, "Do you want me to tell you?" "Certainly-- we are not afraid. Though we mustn't let Aunt Kate know," said Betty, quickly. "Well, it's white and it rattles," said Mr. Lagg. "Sounds like a riddle," commented Amy. "Let's see who can guess the answer." "White-- and rattles," murmured Betty. "I have it-- it's a pan full of white dishes. Some lone camper goes down to wash his dishes in the lake every night, and that accounts for it." "Then we'll ask the lone camper-- to scamper!" cried Grace with a laugh. "We want peace and quietness." "And you are really going to camp on Elm Island?" asked Mr. Lagg, as he put the purchases aboard. "We are," said Betty, solenmly. "And if you hear us call for help in the middle of the night---- " "Betty Nelson!" protested Amy. "And if for help you call on I-- I'll come exceeding quick and spry!" Thus spouted Mr. Lagg. "I am painfully aware," he said, quickly, "that my poem on this occasion needs much polishing, but I sometimes make them that way, just to show what can be done-- on the spur of the moment. Howsomever, I wish you luck. And if you do need help, just holler, or light a fire on shore, or fire a gun. I can see you or hear you from the end of my dock." Indeed, Elm Island was in sight. The girls went back with their supplies, and soon were in camp. The hard part of the work had been done for them by those of whom they had hired the tent and the outfit. All that remained to do was to light the patent oil stove, and cook. They could prepare their meals aboard the boat if they desired, and take them to the dining tent. In short they could take their choice of many methods of out-door life. Their supplies were put away, the camp gotten in "ship-shape," cots were made up, and mosquito bars suspended to insure a night of comfort. A little tour was made of the island in the vicinity of the camp, and, as far as the girls could see, occasional picnic parties were the only visitors. There were no other campers there. "We'll have a marshmallow roast to-night," decided Betty, as evening came on. They had gathered wood for a fire on the shore of the lake, and the candy had been provided by Grace, as might have been guessed. "I hope the ghost doesn't come and want some," murmured Mollie. "Hush!" exclaimed Betty. A noise in the woods made them all jump. Then they laughed, as a bird flew out. "Our nerves are not what they should be," said Betty. "We must calm down. I wonder did we get any pickles?" "I saw him put some in," spoke Grace. "Then let's have supper, and we'll go out for a ride on the lake afterward," suggested Betty. "Maybe the ghost will carry off our camp," remarked Amy. "Don't you dare let Aunt Kate hear you say that or she'll run away!" cried Betty. "Come on, everyone help get supper, and we'll be through early," and, gaily humming she began to set the table that stood under a canvas shelter in front of the big tent. CHAPTER XIX A QUEER DISTURBANCE "Have we blankets enough?" "It's sure to be cool before morning." "We can burn the oil stove turned down love-- that will make the tent warm." "Oh, but it makes it so close and-- er-- smelly." They all laughed at that. Betty and her chums were preparing to spend their first night in camp on Elm Island, in the tent. They had had supper-- eating with fine appetites-- and after a little run about the lake had tied up at the small dock near their tent. "A lantern would be a good thing to burn," said Aunt Kate. "That will give some warmth, too." "And we can see better, if-- if anything comes!" exclaimed Amy, evidently with an effort. "Anything-- what do you mean?" demanded Mollie, as she combed out her long hair, preparatory to braiding it. "Well, I mean-- er-- anything!" and again Amy faltered. "Oh, girls she means-- the ghost!" exclaimed Betty, with a laugh. "Why not say it?" "Don't!" pleaded Grace. "Now look here," went on practical Betty. "There's no use evading this matter. There's no such thing as a ghost, of that we are certain, and yet if we shy at mentioning it all the while it will only make us more nervous." "The idea! I'm not nervous a bit," declared Mollie. "Well, then," resumed Betty, "there's no use in being afraid to use the word, as Amy seemed to be. So talk ghost all you like-- you can't scare me. I'm so tired I know I'll sleep soundly, and I hope the rest of you will. Only, for goodness sakes, don't be talking in weird whispers. That is far worse than all the ghosts in creation." "That's what I say!" exclaimed Aunt Kate, who was an old-fashioned, motherly soul. "If the ghost comes I'm going to talk to it, and ask how things are-- er-- on the other side. Girls, it's a great privilege to have a ghostly friend. If the man who owns this island knew what was good for him he'd advertise the fact that it was haunted. If Mr. Lagg were here I'd get him to make up a poem about the ghost. That would scare it off, if anything could." "That's the way to talk!" cried Betty, cheerfully. "And now for a good night's rest. Bur-- r-- r-- r! It is cold!" and she shivered. "I'm going to get some more blankets from the boat," declared Mollie. "I know we'll be glad of them before morning. Come along with me, Grace," she added, after a moment's pause, as she took up one of the lanterns. "You can help carry them." "And scare away the----" began Amy. "Indeed, I wasn't thinking a thing about it!" insisted Mollie, with emphasis. "And I'll thank you to---- " She began in that impetuous style, that usually presaged a burst of temper, and Betty looked distressed. But Mollie corrected her fault almost before she had committed it. "Excuse me, Amy," she said, contritely. "I know what you mean. Will you come, Grace?" "Of course. I'll be glad of some extra coverings myself." The two girls were back in remarkably short time. "You didn't stay long," commented Betty, drily. "it's only a step to the dock," answered Mollie, as she and Grace deposited their arm-loads of blankets on the cots. Then after the talk and laughter had died away, quiet gradually settled down in the camp tent. The Outdoor Girls were trying to go to sleep, but one and all, afterward, even Aunt Kate, complained that it was difficult. Whether it was the change from the boat, or the talk of the ghost, none could say. At any rate there were uneasy turnings from side to side, and as each cot squeaked in a different key, and as one or the other was constantly "singing," the result may be imagined. "Oh, dear!" exclaimed Grace, impatiently, after a half-hour of comparative quiet, "I know I'll never get to sleep. Do you girls mind if I sit up and read a little? That always makes me drowsy, and I've got a book that needs finishing." Only Aunt Kate was slumbering. "Got any chocolates that need eating?" asked Mollie, with a laugh, in which they all joined, half-hysterically. "Yes, I have!" with emphasis. "But, just for that you won't get any." "I don't want them! You couldn't hire me to eat candy at night," and again Mollie flared up. "Girls, girls!" besought Betty. "This will never do! We will all be rags in the morning." "Polishing rags then, I hope," murmured Amy. "My hands are black from the oil stove-- it smoked, and I'll need a cake of sand-soap to get clean again." "Well, I can't stand this-- I'm too fidgety!" declared Grace. "I'm going to sit up a little while, and read. I'm going to eat a chocolate, too. I'll give you some, Mollie, if you like. I bought a fresh box of Mr. Lagg. "Chocolates they are nice and sweet, Good for man and beast to eat." "Give me a young lady-like brand," suggested Amy. "Why don't we all of us sit up a while, and-- I have it-- we'll make a pot of chocolate," exclaimed Mollie. "That will make us all sleep, and warm us-- it is getting real chilly already." "Perhaps that will be best," agreed Betty, as she donned her heavy dressing gown and warm slippers, for the tent was cool even in July. Soon there was the aroma of chocolate in the little cooking shelter, and the girls sat around, in various picturesque and comfortable attitudes, sipping the warm beverage and nibbling the crisp crackers. Then gradually their nerves quieted down, and even Grace, more aroused than any of the others, began to feel drowsy. One by one they again sought their cots, and finally a series of deep breathings told of much-needed sleep. It must have been long after midnight when Betty was suddenly aroused by a queer noise. She had slept heavily, and at first she was not fully aware of her surroundings, nor what had awakened her. Then she became conscious of a curious heavy breathing, as of some animal. She sat up in alarm, her heart pounding furiously. Her throat went dry. "Girls-- girls!" she gasped, hoarsely. "Aunt Kate!" The latter was the first to reply. Quickly reaching out to the lantern near her, she turned up the wick. Following the sudden illumination in the tent there was a cracking in the underbrush near it. "Oh!" screamed Grace, sitting up. "What is it?" "I'm going to look!" said Mollie, resolutely. "Don't! Don't!" pleaded Amy, but Mollie was already at the flap of the tent, which she quickly loosed. Then she screamed. "Look! It's white! It's white!" Betty, forcing herself to action, stood beside her chum. She was just in time to see some-thing big and white run down toward the lake. There was a clash and jingling as of chains, and a splashing of water. Then the white thing disappeared, and the girls stood staring at one another, trembling violently. CHAPTER XX THE STORM Grace "draped" herself over the nearest cot. Amy followed her example, with the added distinction that she covered her head with the blankets. Betty and Mollie stood clinging to each other. "Though I don't think they were any braver than we," declared Grace afterward. "They simply couldn't fall down, for Betty wanted to go one way and Grace the other. So they just naturally held each other up." "I couldn't stand," declared Amy. "My, knees shook so." Aunt Kate was the first to speak after the apparition had passed away, seeming to lose itself in the lake. "Girls, have you any idea what it was?" she asked. "The-- the--" began Amy. "Oh, I can't say it!" she wailed from beneath the covers. "Don't be silly!" commanded Betty, sharply. "If you mean-- ghost-- say so," but she herself hesitated over the word. "If that was the ghost it was the queerest one I ever saw!" declared Mollie, with resolution. "I don't just mean that, either," she hastened to add, "for I never saw a ghost before. But in all the stories I ever read ghosts were tall and thin, of the willowy type---- " "Like Grace," put in Betty, with rather a wan smile. "Don't you dare compare me to a ghost!" commanded the Gibson girl," with energy that brought the blood to her pale cheeks. She ventured to peer out from under the tent flap now. "Is it-- is it gone?" she faltered. "It's in the lake-- whatever it was," said Mollie. "But wasn't it oddly shaped, Betty?" "It was indeed. And it made plenty of noise. Real ghosts never do that." "Oh, some do!" asserted Amy. "I read the 'Ghost of the Stone Castle,' a most fascinating story, and that ghost always rattled chains, and made a terrible noise." "What did it turn out to be?" asked Aunt Kate. "The story didn't say. No one ever found out." "Well, this one is exactly like Mr. Lagg described," spoke Grace, "chains and all. What could it have been?" "I imagine," said Betty, slowly, "that it may be some wild animal---- " Grace screamed. "What is it now?" asked Betty, regarding her. "Don't say wild animals-- they're worse than ghosts!" "Nonsense! Don't be silly! I mean it may he some wild animal, like a fox or deer that has been caught in a trap. Traps have chains on them, you know. This animal may have been caught some time ago, have pulled the chain loose, and the poor thing may be going around with the trap still fastened to him. That would account for the rattling." "Yes," said Mollie, "that may be so, and there may be white foxes, but I never heard of any outside of Arctic regions. But, Betty Nelson, there never was a fox as large as that. Why it was as-- as big as our tent!" "Yes, and how it sniffed and breathed!" added Betty. "I guess it couldn't be a wild animal. It may have been a cow. I wonder if any campers here keep a white cow?" "A cow would moo," declared Grace. "But whatever it was, it was frightened at the light," said Aunt Kate, practically, "so I don't think we need to be afraid of it-- whatever it was. We'll leave a light outside the tent the rest of the night, and it won't come back." "I'm going to sleep in the boat!" declared Grace. "Nonsense!" cried Betty. "Don't be a deserter! Have some more chocolate, and we'll all go to sleep," and they finally persuaded Grace to remain. It took some little time to get their nerves quiet, but finally they all fell into a more or less uneasy slumber that lasted until morning. The "ghost" did not return. Wan, and with rather dark circles under their eyes, the girls got breakfast the next morning. The meal put them in better spirits, and when they bustled around about the camp duties they, forgot their scare of the night before. They made a partial tour of the island, though some parts were too densely wooded and swampy to penetrate. But such parts as they visited showed the presence of no other campers. They were alone on Elm Island, save for an occasional picnic party, several evidently having been there the day before. "Then that-- thing-- couldn't have been a cow," said Grace, positively. "Make up a new theory," suggested Betty, with a laugh. "One thing, though, we're not going to let it drive us away, are we-- not away from our camp?" The others did not answer for a moment, and then Mollie exclaimed: "I'm going to stay-- for one." "So am I!" declared Aunt Kate, vigorously. "A light will keep whatever animal it is away, and I'm sure it was that. Of course we'll stay!" There was nothing for Grace and Amy to do but give in-- which they did, rather timidly, be it confessed. "And now let's go for a ride," proposed Betty, after lunch. "There are some things I want to get at Mr. Lagg's store." "Will you tell him about the-- ghost?" asked Grace. "Certainly not. It may be," said Betty, "that some one is playing a joke on us. In that case we'll not give him the satisfaction of knowing that we saw anything. We will keep silent, girls." And they did. "Matches, soap and oil and butter, Business gives me such a flutter." Mr. Lagg recited this as Betty gave her order. "Have you seen the ghost?" he asked. "Oh!" cried Grace, "you have in some fresh chocolates! I must have some." "You'll find my chocolates sweet and good, To eat on lake or in the wood!" Mr. Lagg's attention being diverted to a net subject, he did not press his question. Thus the girls escaped committing themselves. "I think we are going to have a storm," remarked Betty, when they were under way again, cruising down the lake toward Triangle Island, where they expected to call on some friends. "And as Rainbow gets rough very quickly, I think we shall turn back." "Yes, do," urged Amy. "I detest getting wet." "The cabin is dry," urged Grace. "We had better go back," urged Aunt Kate, and the prow of the Gem was swung around. Other boats, too small or not staunch enough to weather the blow that was evidently preparing, had turned about for a run to shore. There passed Betty's craft the two boys whose canoe had been taken. "Any luck?" asked Betty, interestedly. "No, we haven't found a trace of it yet," the older one replied. In the West dark masses of vapor were piling up, and now and then the clouds were split by a jagged chain of lightning, while the ever-in-creasing rumble of thunder told of the onrush of the storm. "We're going to get caught!" declared Mollie. "I guess I'll close the ports, Betty." "Do; and bring out my raincoat, please." Attired in this protective garment over her sailor suit, the Little Captain stood at the wheel. With a blast that flecked the crests of the waves into foam, with a rattle and roar, and a vicious swish of rain, the storm broke over the Gem while she was yet a mile from the camp on Elm Island. The boat heeled over, for her cabin was high and offered a broad surface to the wind. "We'll capsize!" screamed Amy. "We will not!" exclaimed Betty, above the noise. She shifted the wheel to bring the boat head-on to the waves, and this made her ride on a more even keel. Then, with a downpour, accompanied by terrific thunder and vivid lightning, the storm broke. Betty bravely stood to her post, the others offering to relieve her, but she would not give up the wheel, and remained there until the little dock was reached. Then, making snug their craft, they raced for the tent. It had stood up well, for it was protected from the gale by big elm trees. Soon they were in shelter. And then, almost as suddenly as it had come up, the storm passed. The clouds seemed to melt away, and the sun came out, the shower passing to the East. Grace, who had gone out on the end of the dock, called to the others. "Oh, come on and see it!" "What-- the ghost?" inquired Mollie. "No, but the most beautiful rainbow I ever saw-- a double one!" They came beside her, and Grace pointed to where, arching the heavens, were two bows of many colors, one low down, vivid and perfect, the other above it-- a fainter reflection. As the sun came out from behind the clouds the colors grew brighter. "How lovely!" murmured Amy, clasping her hands. "Yes, it is the most brilliant bow I have ever seen," added Aunt Kate. "It seems almost like like a painted one." I would be more poetical if I were Mr. Lagg," and she laughed. "It is very vivid," went on Betty. "In fact I have heard it said that on account of the peculiar situation of this lake, the high mountains around it, and the clouds, there are brighter rainbows here than anywhere else in this country. That is how the lake got its name-- Rainbow. It was the Indians who first gave it that, I was told, though I don't know the Indian name for rainbow." "We don't need to-- this is beautiful as it is," murmured Grace. "Oh, isn't it wonderful!" and they stood there admiring the beautiful scene, and recalling the old story of the bow-- the promise of the Creator after the flood that never again would the world be submerged. Then the light gradually died from the colored arches, to be repeated again in the wonderful cloud effects at sunset. The storm had been like the weeping of a little child, who smiles before its tears-- and afterward. CHAPTER XXI THE GHOST "Girls, there are letters for each of us!" exclaimed Betty. "Any for me?" asked Aunt Kate. "Yes, a nice-- adipose-- that is to say, fleshy one," exclaimed Mollie, passing it over. It was bulky. The girls had stopped at the store of Mr. Lagg, where they had sent word to have their mail forwarded. The occasion was a morning visit several days after they had established their camp on Elm Island. "Any news?" asked Betty of Mollie, the former having finished a brief note from home, stating that all were well. "Yes, poor little Dodo is to go to the specialist to be operated on this week. Oh, it does seem as if I ought to go home, and yet mamma writes that I am to stay and enjoy myself. She says there is practically no danger, and that there is great hope of success. Aunt Kittie-- Dodo was at her house when the accident happened, you know-- Aunt Kittie has come to stay with mamma. Every one else is well, including Paul. "Oh, but I shall be so anxious until it is over! They are going to let me know as soon as it is. Are we going to stay around here, where I can get word quickly?" "Yes, we will remain on Elm Island, I think," said Betty. "There is no use in cruising about too much when we are so comfortable there, and really it is lovely in the woods." "As long as the ghost doesn't bother us," spoke Amy. "Nonsense!" exclaimed Betty. "What is your news, Grace?" "Oh, Will writes that he and Frank are coming up to camp on the island near us." "That will be fine!" exclaimed Betty. "When will they get here?" "Allen can't come up until the week-end," went on Grace. "He has to take some kind of bar examinations. For the-- high jump, I think." "Silly!" reproved Betty, with a blush. "But Will told me to tell you specially that Allen is coming," went on Grace. "They can stay a few days." "It will be fine," cried Mollie. "Any news about the papers, Grace?" "Not a word, and no trace of Prince." "That is queer," said Betty. "But we will live in hopes-- that Dodo will be all right, and that the papers will be found." "Indeed we will," sighed Grace. Mr. Lagg was bowing and smiling behind his counter while the girls were reading their letters. "What will it be? What will it be? What will it be to-day? Be pleased to leave an order, before you go away!" "Really, I don't believe we need a thing," answered Mollie, in answer to this poetical effusion. "We might have---- " "Some more olives," interrupted Grace. "They are so handy to eat, if you wake up in the night, and can't sleep." "Shades of Morpheus preserve us!" laughed Mollie. "Olives!" "Does the ghost keep you awake?" asked the storekeeper. "Not-- not lately!" answered Betty, truthfully. "The ghost! The ghost! with clanking chains, It comes out only when-- it rains!" Thus Amy anticipated Mr. Lagg. "Very good-- very good!" he commended. "I must write that down. Hank Lefferton was over setting eel pots on the island last night, and he said he seen it." "The ghost?" faltered Betty. "Yep. Chains and all." "Well, we didn't," said Aunt Kate, decidedly. "Come along, girls." They had written some souvenir cards, which they mailed, and again they went sailing about Rainbow Lake. Several days passed. The girls went on little trips, on picnics, cruised about and spent delightful hours in the woods. They thoroughly enjoyed the camp, and the "ghost" did not annoy them. Mollie waited anxiously for news from home, but none came. Then the boys arrived, with their camping paraphernalia, and in such bubbling good spirits that the girls were infected with them, for they had become rather lonesome of late. The boys pitched their tent near that of the girls, and many meals were eaten in common. Then one night it happened! It was late, and after a jolly session-- a marshmallow roast, to be exact-- they had all retired. No one remained awake now, for the girls had become used to their surroundings, and the boys-- Allen included, for he had come up-- were sound sleepers. There was a crash of underbrush, a series of snorts-- no other word describes them-- and the screaming girls, hastening to their tent flaps, cried: "The ghost! The ghost!" "Get after it, fellows!" called Will, as he recognized his sister's voice. "We'll lay this chap-- whoever he is!" There was a vision of something white, again that rattling of chains, and a plunge into the lake. Then all was still. CHAPTER XXII WHAT MOLLIE FOUND "Did you get-- it?" Betty hesitated a moment over the question. Will, Frank and Allen stood just outside the tent of the girls. They had come back from a hurried race after the white object that had again disturbed the slumbers of the campers. "We only had a glimpse of it," answered Will. "Then it seemed to melt into the water." "But it was big," said Frank. "And made lots of noise," added Allen. "That's just the way it acted before," declared Mollie. In dressing gowns, warmly wrapped up, and in slippers, the girls were talking through the opened flap of the tent to Grace's brother and his chums. "Can you imagine what it may be?" asked Aunt Kate. She had been making chocolate-- a seemingly never-failing remedy for night alarms. "Haven't the least idea," answered Will, "unless it's someone trying to play a so-called practical joke." "I'd like to get hold of the player," announced Allen. "I'd run him off---- " "Off the scale," interrupted Betty, with a laugh. "That's it," conceded Allen. "Are you girls all right?" "All but our nerves," answered Grace. The boys made a search in the gloom, but found nothing, and once more quiet settled down. Nor were they disturbed again that night. In the morning they laughed. "Oh, but it's hot!" exclaimed Mollie during the forenoon, when the question of dinner was being discussed. "I think we might go for a swim. There's a nice sandy beach at the side of our dock." "Let's!" proposed Grace. The boys had gone off fishing. Soon the girls were splashing around in the lake, making a pretty picture in their becoming bathing suits, of which they had more use than they had anticipated. "Let's try some diving!" proposed Mollie, always a daring water sprite. "It's lovely and deep here," and she looked down from the end of the dock. "I wish I dared dive," said Amy. She was a rather timid swimmer, slow and deliberate, probably able to keep afloat for a long time, but always timid in deep water. "Here goes!" cried impulsive Mollie, as she poised for a flash into the water. She went down cleanly, but was rather long coming up. Grace and Betty looked anxiously at one another. "She is----" began Betty. Mollie flashed into sight like a seal. "I-- I found something!" she panted. "Did you strike bottom?" asked Betty. "Almost. But that's all right. I'm going down again. There is something down there. Maybe it's the ghost!" "Oh, do be careful!" cautioned Betty, but Mollie was already in the water. She was longer this time coming up, and Betty was getting nervous. Then Mollie shot into view. "I-- I found it!" she gasped. "What?" chorused the others. "The missing canoe those boys have been looking for! It is down there on the bottom, freighted with stones. We will get it up for them!" CHAPTER XXIII SETTING A TRAP "Are you sure it is the canoe?" asked Betty, who did not want Mollie to take any unnecessary risks. "Of course I am," came the confident answer, as Mollie poised, in her dripping bathing suit, on the little dock. She made a pretty picture, too, with her red cap, and blue suit trimmed with white. "I could feel the edge of the gunwhale," she went on, "and the stones in it that keep it down." "But how can we get it up?" asked Grace, who was sitting on the dock, splashing her feet in the water. Grace never did care much about getting wet. Amy said she thought she looked better dry. Certainly she was a pretty girl and knew how to "pose" to make the most of her charms-- small blame to her, though, for she was unconscious of it. "We can get it up easily enough," declared Mollie, wringing the water from her skirt, "All we'll have to do will be to toss out the stones, one by one, and the canoe will almost float itself. I can tie a rope to the bow, and we can stand on shore and pull. Those boys will be so glad to get it back." "But can we lift out the heavy stones?" asked Amy, in considerable doubt. "Of course we can. You know any object is much lighter in water than out of it, we learned that in physics class, you remember. The water buoys it up. You can move a much heavier stone under water than you could if the same stone was on land. We can all try." "I never could stay under water long enough to get out even one stone," declared Grace. "Nor I," added Amy. "I'll try," spoke Betty-- she was always willing to try-- "but I'm afraid I can't be of much help, Mollie. And I'm sure I don't want you to do it all." "Well, wait until I make another inspection," said the diving girl. "It may be more than I bargained for. I'll hold my breath longer this time." "Do be careful!" cautioned Aunt Kate, coming out from the tent. "We will," promised Betty. Again Mollie dived. She had practiced the trick of opening her eyes under water, and this time she looked carefully over the sunken canoe. She stayed under her full limit, and when she came up she was panting for breath. "You must not stay under so long," warned Betty. "There-- are-- a-- lot-- of-- stones," gasped Mollie. "But I think we can do it," she added a moment later. "I'll see what I can do," spoke Betty. She was a good swimmer and diver, perhaps not so brilliant a performer as Mollie, but with more staying qualities. Down went Betty in a clean dive, and when she came up, panting and shaking the water from her eyes, she called: "I lifted out two, but I think we had better let the boys do it, Mollie." "Perhaps," was the reply. "I'm sorry you can't count on me," sail Grace, "but really I'd have nervous prostration if I went down there, even though it's only ten feet deep, as you say." "Well, getting nervous prostration under water would be a very bad idea," commented Betty. "And I'm sure I never could do it," remarked Amy. "Do let the boys manage it, Bet. The lads who own the canoe will be glad of the chance." "I'm going to move out a couple of stones, so Betty won't beat my record," laughed Mollie, diving again. She bobbed up a moment later. "Oh, dear!" she cried. "An eel slid right over me. Ugh! I'm not going down again!" and she shivered. Even the fearless Mollie had had enough of the under-water work. By means of a cord and a float the position of the sunken canoe was marked, so that the boys could locate it, and when they returned from a rather unsuccessful fishing trip, they readily agreed to raise the boat. It did not take them long to remove the stones, for Will, Frank and Allen were all expert swimmers, and could remain under water much longer than can most persons. Then a rope was made fast to the canoe, which would not rise completely because of being filled with water. It was pulled ashore and word sent to the young owners. That they were delighted goes without saying. They proffered the reward they had offered, but of course our friends would not take it. Later it was learned that the canoe had been taken by an unscrupulous fisherman, who was not above the suspicion of making a practice of such tricks. It was thought he intended to let it remain where it was until fall, when he would raise it, paint it a different color, and sell it. But Mollie's fortunate dive frustrated his plans. "Seen anything more of the ghost?" asked Will of the girls, when the canoe had been moored to the shore. "No, and we don't want to," returned Betty. "Afraid?" Allen wanted to know. "Indeed not!" she exclaimed, with a blush. "I'll tell you what let's do," suggested Frank. "Let's take a look around and see if that ghost left any footprints." "Ghosts never do," asserted Will. "Well, let's have a look anyhow. We should have done it before. Now, as nearly as I can recollect, the creature came about to here, and then rushed into the lake," and Frank went to a spot some distance from the tents. The others agreed that it was about there that the white object had been seen. Will was looking along the ground, going toward the lake. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation. "Girls! Fellows!" he cried. "Come here!" They all hastened to his side. He pointed to some marks in the sandy soil. "What are they?" he asked, excitedly. "Hoof marks!" cried Allen, dramatically. "That's right!" agreed Will. "They are the marks of a horse! Girls, that's what your ghost is-- a white horse, and-- and---- " He ceased abruptly, looked at Grace strangely, and then brother and sister gasped together: "Prince!" "What?" demanded Allen. "I'll wager almost anything that this ghost is my white horse, Prince, that has been missing so long!" went on Will. "But how in the world he could have gotten on this island, so far from the mainland, is a mystery!" "Couldn't he swim?" asked Frank. "Of course!" cried Will. "I forgot about that. And Prince was once a circus horse, or at least in some show where he had to jump into a tank of water. Prince is a regular hippopotamus when it comes to water. Strange I never thought of that before! "But this solves the ghost mystery, girls. You and the other folks have been frightened by white Prince scooting about the island." "We-- we weren't so very frightened," spoke Mollie. "But the rattling chains?" questioned Grace. "What were they?" "The stirrups, of course," answered her brother. "And, by Jove, Grace, if the stirrups are on Prince the saddle must be on him also, and the papers---- " "Oh, isn't this just fine!" cried Grace, her face alight. "Now papa can complete that business deal. I never loved a ghost before. Dear old Prince!" "Of course we are assuming a lot," said Will. "It may not be Prince after all, but all signs point to it. He must have been on this island all the while. No wonder we could get no trace of him. Probably he was so frightened at the storm and the auto, and his fall, that he ran on until he came to the lake. Then his old training came back to him, and in he plunged. There's enough fodder here for a dozen horses. He's just been running wild. I'll have my own troubles with him when I get him back." "But how are you going to do it?" asked Frank. "We'll search the island for him," replied Will. "Come on, we'll start now." Changing from their bathing suits to more conventional garments, the boys and girls at once began a tour of the island. But though it was not very large, there were inaccessible places, and it must have been in one of these that Prince hid during the day, for they neither saw, nor heard anything of him. "We've got to set a trap!" exclaimed Will. "How?" asked Grace. "Well, evidently he's been in the habit of coming around the tent to get scraps of food. We'll leave plenty out to-night, and also some oats. Then we'll watch, and when Prince comes I'll catch him." The boys voted this plan a good one. They went over to Mr. Lagg's store in the Gem to get a supply of fodder for the trap. "A horse on the island!" exclaimed Mr. Lagg. So that's the ghost; eh? Well, it's very likely, but it sort of spoils the story; "A ghostly ghost-- a ghost in white Appearing in the darkest night. That it should prove a horse to be, Most certainly amazes me." "Good!" exclaimed Will, with a laugh. "You are progressing, Mr. Lagg." A goodly supply of oats was placed in a box near the tent that evening, and then the boys and girls sat about the camp-fire and talked, while waiting for the time to retire. The boys were to make the attempt to capture Prince. CHAPTER XXIV THE GHOST CAUGHT "When do you expect to hear about little Dodo?" asked Grace, as the girls sat together on a log in front of the fire, "like roosting chickens," Will was ungallant enough to remark. "Almost any day now," replied Mollie. "They were to wait for the most favorable time for the operation, and the specialist, so mamma wrote, could not exactly fix on the day. But I am anxious to hear." "I should think you would be. Poor little Dodo! I'd give anything to hear her say now 'Has oo dot any tandy? '" "Don't," spoke Betty in a low tone to Grace, for she saw the tears in Mollie's eyes. "It was the strangest thing how Stone and Kennedy should turn out to be the two chaps in the auto," remarked Will, to change the subject. "And you have never let on that Grace was the girl on the horse?" "Never," answered Amy. "Don't say after this that girls can't keep a secret." Frank was to watch the first part of the night, to be relieved by Allen, and the latter by Will. "For, from what the girls say, Prince has been in the habit of coming rather late," Will explained, "and he's more likely to let me catch him than if you fellows tried it. So I'll take last watch." Frank's vigil was unrewarded, and when he awakened Allen, who sat up, sleepy-eyed, there was nothing to report. Allen found it hard work to keep awake, but managed to do so by drinking cold coffee. "Anything doing, old man?" asked Will, as, yawning, he got on some of the clothes he had discarded, the more comfortably to lie down on the cot. "Something came snooping around about an hour ago. At first I thought it was the horse, and went out to take a look. But it was only a fox, I guess, for it scampered away in the bushes. I hope you have better luck." "So do I. Dad wants those papers the worst way. If I could get them for him I'd feel better, for I can't get over blaming myself that it was my fault they were lost. It was, because I shouldn't have sent Grace for them when I knew how important they were." Allen went to his cot, and Will took up his vigil. For an hour he sat reading by a shaded lantern, so the light would not shine in the faces of his chums. Then, when he was beginning to nod, in spite of the attractions of the book, he heard a noise that brought him bolt upright in the chair. "Something is coming!" he whispered. He stole to the edge of the board platform, and cautiously opened the flap of the tent. The box containing oats and sugar had been placed a little distance away, in plain view. "That's Prince!" exclaimed Will, for in the moonlight he saw a white horse eating from the box. The "ghost" had arrived. Will resolved to make the attempt alone. He stepped softly from the tent, and made his way toward the horse. He had on a pair of tennis shoes that made his footsteps practically noiseless. Fortunately, Prince, should it prove to be that animal, stood sideways to the tent, his head away from it, so that he did not see Will. The boy tried to ascertain if there was a saddle on the horse, but there was the shadow of a tree across the middle of his back, and it was impossible to say for sure. Nearer and nearer stole Will. He thought he was going to have no trouble catching him, but when almost beside Prince, for Will was certain of the identity now, he stepped on a twig, that broke with a snap. With a snort Prince threw up his head and wheeled about. He saw Will, and leaped away. "Prince, old fellow! Prince! don't you know me?" called the boy, and he gave a whistle that Prince always answered. The horse retreated. Will held out some sugar he had ready for such an emergency. "Prince! Prince!" he called. The horse stopped and stretched out his head, sniping. Prank and Allen came to the tent opening. "Keep back!" called Will, in even tones. "I think I have him. Prince! Come here!" The horse took a step forward. He sensed his master now. Will advanced, speaking gently, and a moment later Prince, with a joyful whinny, was nibbling at the sugar in the boy's hand. Then Will slid the other along and caught the mane. The bridle was gone. "I have him!" cried Will. "Bring the rope, fellows." Prince was not frightened now. He stood still. Will led him into the full moonlight. Then he exclaimed: "The saddle is gone!" CHAPTER XXV THE MISSING SADDLE "Have you caught Prince?" Grace called this to her brother from the tent where she and the other girls had been aroused by the commotion. "Yes, I have him. He knew me almost at once," answered Will. "But the saddle is gone!" "And the papers?" Grace faltered. "Gone with it, I fancy. Too bad!" "Maybe he just brushed the saddle off," suggested Allen, who, with Frank, had come out with a rope halter that had been provided in case the "ghost hunt" was a success. "We'll look around. I'll get a lantern." But a hasty search in the darkness revealed nothing. There was no sign of a saddle. "We'll have to wait until morning," sighed Will, as he tied Prince to a tree. "Then we can see better, and look all around. Prince, old boy, you knew me; didn't you?" The handsome animal whinnied, and rubbed his nose against Will's arm. "And so you played the part of a ghost, you rascal! Scaring the girls---- " "We'll never admit that," called Betty from the tent. There was nothing more to do that night, after making Prince secure. The boys ate a little mid-night supper, and from the tent of the girls came the odor of chocolate, which Grace insisted on making. Then, after fitful slumbers, morning came. Will was up early to examine Prince. He found the healed cut, where the auto had struck, and there was evidence that the saddle had been on the animal until recently. The iron stirrups would account for the sound like chains. "The saddle must be somewhere on this island," declared Will. "I'm going to find it." "How?" asked Allen, who had made a careful toilet, as Betty had promised to go for a row with him. "I'll strap a pad on Prince, get on his back, and see where he takes me. The way I figure is this. Prince never liked to be in the open. I'm almost certain he has been staying in some sort of shelter-- either a cave, or an old cabin, or stable on the island. The saddle may have come off there. Now he'll most likely take me right to his stopping place. Of course he may not, but it's worth trying." "Indeed it is," agreed Prank. After a hasty breakfast Will put his plan to the test. Prince was fed well, and with Frank and Allen to follow, Will leaped on his pet's back, and gave him free rein-- or, rather, free halter, since there was no bridle. The girls said they would take a walk around the island, looking for the saddle as they went. Prince, after a little hesitation, started off with Will on his back. The splendid animal headed for the lake shore, and for a moment Will was inclined to think that Prince was going to plunge in and swim to some other island or the mainland. But Prince was only thirsty, and, slaking that desire, he ambled along the shore for a mile or so, the two young men following. "Where can he be going?" asked Frank. "Just let him alone," counseled Will. "He knows what he is about." And so Prince did. He took a path he had evidently traveled many times before, to judge by the hoof-marks, and presently came to a swampy place at which Frank and Allen balked. "Wait here," advised Will. "I'll soon be back. This is near one end of the island. It must be here that Prince has his stable." And so it proved. Splashing through the swamp, Prince ascended a little slope, pushed under some low tree branches that nearly brushed Will from his back, and came to a halt before a tumbled-down cabin, that was just about large enough for an improvised stable. Will leaped off, gave a look inside, and uttered a shout of joy, for there, trampled on and torn, broken and water-stained, was the saddle. A second later Will was kneeling before it, exploring the saddle pockets. "Here they are!" he cried, as he pulled out the missing papers. "I have them, fellows!" A hasty survey showed him that they were all there-- somewhat stained and torn, to be sure, but as good as ever for the purpose intended. "This is great luck!" cried Will. He looked about him. Then he saw the reason why Prince had made this place his headquarters. The former occupant of the deserted cabin had left behind a quantity of salt, and as all animals like, and need, this crystal, Prince had been attracted to the place. It was like the old "buffalo licks." Then, too, there was shelter from storms. "Prince, old man, you're all right!" cried Will, as he put the papers in his pockets. By dint of a little hasty repairing the saddle could be used temporarily. It was evident that Prince had kept it on until lately, and the dangling stirrups had caused the sound like rattling chains. There was no sign of the bridle, however, but the halter would answer. Will saddled his pet, and soon had rejoined Frank and Allen, to whom he had shouted the good news. Then a hasty trip was made back to camp. "Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Grace. "Now I can really enjoy camping and cruising. You must telephone papa at once." Which Will did, the whole party going over to Mr. Lagg's store in the motor boat. "Yes, I have the papers safe," Will told Mr. Ford. "Yes, I'll mail them at once. What's that-- Dodo-- tell Mollie Dodo is over the operation and is going to get well? I will-- that's good news! Hurrah!" "Oh, thank the dear Lord!" murmured Mollie, and then she sobbed on Betty's shoulder. "Well, I guess we are ready to start," announced Grace. "I have the chocolates. Who has the olives?" "Chocolates and olives-- the school girl's delight!" mocked Will, "Oh, you'll be asking for some," declared his sister. "Chocolates and olives are good for the boys, And to the girls they also bring joys." Thus remarked Mr. Lagg. The crowd of young people were in his store, stocking up the Gem for a resumption of her cruise on Rainbow Lake. It was several days after the finding of the missing saddle and the papers. The latter had been sent to Mr. Ford, Prince had been swum across to the mainland and sent home, and the news about little Dodo had been confirmed. The child would fully recover, and not even be lame. "Oh, what a fine time we've had!" exclaimed Grace, as she waltzed about the store with Amy. "Well, the summer isn't over yet by any means," spoke Mollie. "And there is the glorious Fall to come. I wonder what we shall do then?" And what they did do may be ascertained by reading the next volume of this series, to be called "The Outdoor Girls in a Motor Car; Or, The Haunted Mansion of Shadow Valley," in which we will meet all our old friends again, and some new ones. "All aboard!" called Betty, as she led the way down to the dock where the Gem awaited them. Each one was carrying a bundle of supplies, for they expected to cruise for about a week. They boarded the motor boat. Betty threw over the lever of the self-starter. The engine responded promptly. As the clutch slipped in, white foam showed at the stern where the industrious propeller whirled about. The Gem slid away from the dock. "Good-bye! Good-bye!" called the boys and girls to Mr. Lagg. "Good-bye!" he answered, waving his red handkerchief at them. Then he recited. "As you sail o'er the bounding sea, Pause now and then and think of me. I've many things for man and beast, From chocolate drops to compressed yeast." "Good!" shouted Will, laughing. And Betty swung around the wheel to avoid the two boys whose canoe Mollie had so strangely found, as the Gem, continued her cruise down Rainbow Lake. And here, for a time, we, too, like Mr. Lagg, will say farewell to our friends. THE END 
7081	----	THE MOTOR GIRLS ON CEDAR LAKE Or The Hermit of Fern Island CHAPTER I PUSHING OFF "Oh, Cora! Isn't this perfectly splendid!" exclaimed Bess Robinson. "Delightful!" chimed in her twin sister, Belle. "I'm glad you like it," said Cora Kimball, the camp hostess. "I felt that you would, but one can never be sure--especially of Belle. Jack said she would fall a prey to that clump of white birches over there, and would want to paint pictures on the bark. But I fancied she would take more surely to the pines; they are so strong--and, like the big boys--always to be depended on. But not a word about camp now. Something more important is on. My new motor boat has just arrived!" "Has it really?" This as a duet. "And truly," finished Cora with a smile. "Yes, it has, and there is not a boy on the premises to show me how to run it. Jack expected to be here, but he isn't. So now I'm going to try it alone. I never could wait until evening to start my new boat. And isn't it lovely that you have arrived in time to take the initial run? I remember you both took the first spin with me in my auto, the Whirlwind, and now here you are all ready for the trial performance of the motor boat. Now Belle, don't refuse. There is absolutely no danger." "But the water," objected the timid Belle. "We can all swim," put in her sister, "and you promised, Belle, not to be nervous this trip. Yes, Cora, I'm all ready. I saw the craft as we came up. Wasn't it the boat with the new light oak deck and mahogany gunwale? I am sure it was," "Yes, isn't she a beauty? I should have been satisfied with any sort of a good boat, but mother wanted something really reliable, and she and Jack did it all before I had a chance to interfere." "I wonder what your mother will next bestow upon you?" asked Belle with a laugh. "She has such absolute confidence in you." "Let us hope it will not be a man; we can't let Cora get married, whatever else she may do," put in Bess, as she shook the dust from her motor coat, and prepared to follow Cora, who was already leaving the camp. Belle, too, started, but one could see that she, though a motor girl, did not exactly fancy experimenting on the water. It was but a short distance to the lake's edge, for the camp had been chosen especially on account of the water advantage. "There she is! See how she stands out in the clear sunshiny water! I tell you it is the very prettiest boat on Cedar Lake, and that is saying something," exclaimed Cora, the proud possessor of the new motor craft. "Beautiful," reiterated the Robinson twins. "But what do you know about running it?" queried Belle. "Why, I have been studying marine motors in general, and have been shown about this one in particular," replied Cora. "The man who ran it up from the freight depot for me gave me a few 'pointers,' as he called them." She stepped into the trim craft and affectionately patted the shining engine. "'It is much simpler to run than a car, and besides, there isn't so much to get in your way on the water," Cora went on. "My!" exclaimed Bess as she stepped in after her hostess. "This is really--scrumptious!" "You take the seat in the stern, Belle, and Bess, you may sit here near me," said Cora, "as I suppose you will be interested in seeing how it works. Oh! There is the steamer from the train. Hurry! Perhaps there are folks aboard we know. Let us act at home, and pretend we have been running motor boats all our lives." Cora took her place at the engine and before Bess or Belle had really gotten seated she was turning on the gasoline. "You see this is the little pipe that feeds the 'gas' from the tank to the carburetor," she explained. "Now, I just throw in the switch: that makes the electrical connection: then I have to give this fly wheel--it's stiff--but I have to swing it around so! There!" and the wheel "flew" around twice slowly and then began to revolve very rapidly. "Now we are ready," and the engine started its regular chug chug. "How do you steer?" asked Bess anxiously, for the big steamer with its cargo of summer folks seemed rather near. "I can steer here," and Cora turned a wheel amidships, "or one may steer at the bow. Suppose you take the forward wheel Bess, as I may, have enough to do to look after the engine." "Very well," acquiesced the girl, "but I hope I make no mistakes." "Oh you won't. Just turn the wheel the way you want to go. Now we'll hurry. I want to show off my boat." Bess took up her place at the steering wheel and turned it so that the boat started on a clear course. Everything seemed to work beautifully, and presently Bess was so interested in the gentle swerving of the craft, as the rudder responded to her slightest touch, that she, too, thought it very much simpler than motoring on land. "There are the Blakes!" suddenly exclaimed Belle. "See, they are waving to us." "Yes," answered Cora as she snatched off her cap and fluttered a response to the folks on the steamer. "Bess, keep clear out. The landing is just over there! The steamer makes quite a swell." Bess turned, but she did it too suddenly. A wave from the steamer caught them broadside, and drenched the girls before they knew what had happened. "Oh!" screamed Belle, "--we are running right into the steamer!" "Bess! Bess!" called Cora. "Turn! I can't connect--" Shouts from the steamer added to their confusion. Would they be run down on this, their very first attempt at navigation? "They are the motor girls!" Cora heard some one on the steamer shout, and while this much has been told it may be well to acquaint the reader with further details of the situation. The Motor Girls were friends whom we have met in the four previous volumes of this series entitled respectively: "The Motor Girls," "The Motor Girls on a Tour," "The Motor Girls at Lookout Beach," and "The Motor Girls Through New England." In each of these volumes we have met Cora Kimball, the handsome, dashing girl who conquers everything within reason, but who, herself, is occasionally conquered, both in the field of sports and in the field of human endeavors. It was she who had the first automobile, her Whirlwind and while out in it she had some very trying experiences. In the first volume she managed to unravel the mystery of the road. Bess and Bell, the Robinson twins, were with her, as they were again in the second volume, the story of a strange promise. This promise, odd as it was, all three girls kept, to the delight and happiness of little Wren, the crippled child. Next the girls went to Lookout Beach, where they had plenty of good fun, as well as time enough to find the runaways, two very interesting young girls, who had decamped from the "Strawberry patch." It was like a game of hide and seek, but in the end the motor girls did capture the runaways. Then in the story "Through New England," it was Cora who was hidden away by the gypsies, and what she endured, and how she escaped were assuredly wonderful. There were brothers and friends of course, Jack Kimball being the most important person of the first variety, while Walter Pennington and Ed Foster were friends in need and friends indeed. And now we find these same girls undertaking a new role--that of running a motor boat, the gift of Mrs. Kimball to her daughter, for that mother, in her days of widowhood, had learned how safe it was to repose confidence in her two children, Cora and Jack. The camp at Cedar Lake had been taken by Cora and her friends for a summer vacation on the water, and now, after a day's run from Chelton, the home town, in their auto, the Flyaway, the Robinson girls had again joined Cora who had come up the day previous, with a maid to get the camp to rights. The steamer was indeed too close! Cora was frantically trying to turn the auxiliary steering wheel, but Bess in her fright was turning the more powerful bow wheel in the very direction of danger! "Oh! Mercy!" shrieked Belle. "We are lost!" Another wave almost submerged them. The passengers on the steamer had all run to one side of their boat. "Turn right!" shouted Cora as she jumped up and fairly jerked from Bess the forward wheel. "Turn to the right!" CHAPTER II THE HAUNTED ISLE For some seconds no one seemed to know just what had happened. The steamer was clear, and the motor boat was running safely. Three very wet girls were thanking their good fortune that the water was their only damage--and water in the shape of a shower of spray is not much of a matter to complain of, after you escape a collision. "What happened?" asked Belle, when she had the courage to uncover her eyes. "Bess turned wrong," said Cora. "I couldn't tell which way to go," put in the frightened girl. "I was simply stage-struck. But what saved us?" "I jerked the wheel just enough to get a little to one side, and then the steamer had a chance to turn away," replied Cora. "I tell you we had a close shave, but that makes our first trip all the more interesting. Bess, can I trust you now to take my place while I look at that wheel? The rope may have slipped?" "Oh, don't do anything," pleaded Belle. "Call to that boat over there, and let us have help. See, they are coming this way." "Why, it's the boys--our boys!" exclaimed Cora. "Why have they gone out without telling me, when they knew I wanted to use my boat?" In a canoe that looked like a big eel as it slipped over the water could be seen Jack, Ed and Walter. "Well!" called Jack. "I like that! Where did you get the--ocean liner, Cora?" "Don't say anything about the accident," she had a chance to whisper to the girls before replying to her brother. "I found my boat tied up at the dock," she answered gaily. "Isn't she a beauty?" "What are you going to call her?" asked Walter. "The Whirlpool, I guess," replied Cora, "that would go nicely with my Whirlwind, don't you think?" "Oh, no, don't," objected Belle. "I should always feel that we were going to be--" "Whirlpooled?" finished Jack. "Better make her the Petrel, Cora, for two reasons. We bought it from Mr. Peters, and she can walk on the water like the old original sea-fowl. Just see how she does saunter along." "All right. Petrel will do, but it will be Pet for short," said Cora as now she allowed the boat to drift a little way from beside the boys' canoe. "What was the matter with the steamer folks?" asked Ed. "Thought I heard something as we passed." "Yes, you might have heard them talking about us if your ears had on their long distance," replied Cora quickly. "The Blakes are aboard." "I saw their trunks at the station," said Jack "and they were tagged to The Burrow." "That's the hole in the hill, isn't it?" asked Walter. "Well, I'm glad they have come up--the Benny Blakeses. I like a lot of folks around here. It is apt to have a depressing effect upon me if company is scarce and fishing shy." "Or weather wet," put in Ed. "But say, Cora, I'd like to try the Pet." He remembered he was in a blue bathing suit, ever the most appropriate costume for a canoe. "But I'll wait until later, though I hate to. We have, as a matter of fact, an engagement at Far Island. Have you heard?" "No, what?" asked the girls in chorus. "Just a suspicion yet, but it may be true. We think--shall we give it away boys?" "No; sell it," suggested Jack. "They sold us on this first trip, why should we give them anything?" "Oh, Jack! You know I expected you to take me out the first time," said Cora reproachfully. "Yes, and you know all about a boat, and start out without giving a fellow the slightest warning." "But why didn't you come up when you knew the boat had arrived?" questioned the sister. "Because--but that was what Ed was going to give away. It's a mysterious secret, and it is situated on Far Island. So long girls, I suppose you know how to land." "Oh, yes indeed," said Cora in spite of the protest that was trembling on Belle's lips. "We started out, and we will get back all right. Wish you luck in whatever you are after," and she winked at Bess, who was now beside her at the engine, as Cora had concluded to guide the boat by the auxiliary steering wheel. The boys veered off. "I wonder what they are up to?" asked Cora. "As soon as we can do so, without being noticed, I think we will follow them. There must have been something important on, when Jack did not wait to take me out." "Oh, don't let us go farther out on the lake," begged Belle. "I am nervous yet." "Then suppose we take you in? Nettie is at the camp, and then Bess and I can go out to the island. There was really nothing the matter with the boat, the mistake was all due to our own nervousness." "Well, I would feel better not to sail any farther," admitted the, pretty blond Belle, as she tossed back some of her breeze stray curls. "I am subject to sickness on the water, anyhow." "On still water?" asked Bess archly. "Well, we will take you in, Twiny. And we will then go out. I want to redeem myself." "Good for you, Bess," said Cora. "There is nothing like courage, unless it be gasoline," and after starting the engine, she turned the boat toward the shore. "There are the boys heading for the other island!" she exclaimed a moment later. "They are trying to fool us. I wonder why?" asked Bess. "See, Belle. There are Nettie and Mary an shore--two of the best maids on the island. You will be all right with them, won't you, dear?" "Of course," replied the twin, rather confusedly. "I don't need attention." "But you are tired," put in Cora, "and those girls have not done a thing since lunch time. Just command them." "'Very well. But do be careful, you two girls. A bad beginning you know." "Oh, don't you worry about us," replied Cora confidently. "I feel as if this boat was a top in my hands. It is so much easier to handle than an auto. No gears, differentials or things like that. Good bye, Belle. Have supper ready when we return," and she sounded the small whistle that told of the start again. "Good bye. Be careful," cautioned Belle. Then the two girls headed the craft for the little island around which they had just seen the boys disappear. "I thought the boys looked very serious," said Bess, as she put her hand on the wheel Beside Cora's. "I wonder what is wrong?" "Jack certainly had something very important on when he neglected me," said his sister. "I hope there is nothing really wrong. There are no people on that island, I believe." "Then perhaps we had better not land?" suggested Bess. "It might be horribly lonely and we might not be able to find the boys." "Well, when we get there we will be able to judge of all that," replied Cora. "Doesn't the Petrel motor beautifully?" "And this lake," added Bess. "I never saw anything like it. Why some of those islands are big enough to inhabit." "Yes, there is one island over there," answered Cora, pointing to the extreme eastern shore of the water, "and since I have seen it I am just dying to explore it. They call it Fern Island, and the store man tells the most wonderful tales about it. But we will have to wait until we all assemble. When did Hazel say she would come?" "Tomorrow or next day. She has to take some special 'exams.' I am sorry that girl is so ambitious. It always interferes with her vacation." "Hazel will make her mark some day, if she does not spoil it all by having someone make it for her--on a flat stone. But honestly Bess, I do hope she will come up before the others. Next to you and Belle I count more on Hazel Hastings than on anyone else in our party." "And not a little on her brother Paul?" and Bess laughed in her teasing way. "Now Cora, Paul Hastings is acknowledged to be the most useful boy in all the Chelton set. He can fix an auto, fix an electric bell, fix an alarm clock--" "And no doubt could overhaul a motor boat," finished Cora, as she turned the Petrel toward land. "Well, this is Far Island, and I am sure the boys headed this way. Let's shout." Putting her hands to her mouth, funnel fashion, Cora sent out the shrill yodel known to all of the motor girls and motor boys. Bess took up the refrain; but there was no answer. "If they were ashore wouldn't their boat be about?" asked Bess. "We can see all this side of the island, but you said it was too rocky to land on the other shore." Cora looked about. Yes, one edge was all sandy and the other rocks. If the boys had come ashore they must have done so from the north side. "My, what a lot of boats!" exclaimed Bess. "Cora, just see that flock," and she pointed to a distant flotilla of various craft across the lake. "Yes, and so many canoes, we could hardly tell the boys in that throng. Do you suppose they are in that parade?" "Oh, no. They had only bathing suits on, and that really looks like some fleet," replied Bess. "Yes, see there is their club banner. My! I had no idea that Cedar Lake boasted of such style." "We may expect water picnics every day now," said Cora. "But just see that old man in the rowboat towing that pretty canoe. Do you suppose he has it for hire?" "Likely. But how would anyone hire it out here? Why not from shore?" questioned Bess. "Well, perhaps he is taking it to the dock," and Cora allowed her boat to touch the island shore. "At any rate if we are to find the boys we had better be at it, for I want to start back before that throng of boats gets in my way. I feel sure enough, but I like room." Both girls stepped ashore as Cora caught the boat hook in the strong root of a tree and pulled the craft in. Then she shouted again. "Jack! Jack!" she called. "Isn't it lonely here," she said suddenly, realizing that while she had expected the boys to be on the island, they might have gone to any of the other bits of land. "Yes," said Bess. "I never felt so far away from everything before. On an island it is so different from being on real shore!" "Yes, it is farther out," and Cora laughed at the description. "Bess, I guess I was mistaken. The boys do not seem to be here." "Then do let's go back," pleaded Bess. "I am actually afraid." "Of what? Not those 'jug-er-umms.' Just hear them. You would think the frogs were trying to drive us away from their territory." "I always did hate the noise they make," declared Bess. "It sounds like a dead, dark night. Why do they croak in the daytime?" "Night is coming," Cora explained, "and besides, it is so quiet here they do not have to wait for nightfall. But listen! Didn't you hear those dry leaves rustle?" "Oh Cora, come!" and Bess pulled at her friend's skirt. "It may be a great--snake." Cora stood and listened. "No," she said, "that was no snake. It sounded like something running." "Come on, Cora dear," begged Bess, so that Cora was obliged to agree. "See, all the boats have gone the other way. And if anything happened we might just as well be on this desert island as on that desert water." They had not ventured far into the wood, so that it was but a few steps back to the boat. Cora loosened the bow line and presently the engine was chugging away. "Oh," sighed Bess, "I felt as if something dreadful was going to happen. Ever since those gypsies took you, Cora, I am actually afraid of everything in the country. It did seem safe on the water, but in those woods--" "Now, Bess dear, you are to forget all about the gypsies. I have almost done so--that is, I have forgotten all the unpleasant part. Of course, I occasionally hear from Helka. Do you want to steer, Bess?" "I would rather not," confessed Bess, "for I am actually trembling. Where do you suppose the boys could have gone?" "Haven't the least idea, and we have no more time to speculate. There! Didn't you hear a strange noise on the island? I declare, that store man must be right. Those islands are haunted!" "Wasn't that a queer noise! Oh! I am so glad we are safe in our boat," and Bess breathed a sigh of relief. "I would have died if that noise happened while we were there." "But I should like to know what it is, and I will never be satisfied until I find out," declared Cora. "That was neither bird nor beast--it was human." But the motor boat, girls headed straight for shore--the sun seemed falling into the lake as they reached the camp to be welcomed by Belle. The story of the trip to the island and the disappearance of the boys was quickly told. CHAPTER III WHAT HAPPENED TO THE BOYS "What can have happened to the boys?" murmured Belle. "I am afraid they are drowned." "All of them?" and Cora could not repress a smile. "It would take a very large sized whale to gobble them all at once, and surely they could not all have been seized with swimming cramps at the same moment. No, Belle, I have no such fear. But I am going right out to investigate. I know Jack would never stay away if he could get here, especially when he knew this would be your first evening at the lake. Why, the boys were just wild to try my boat," and she threw her motor cape over her shoulders. "Come on girls, down to the steamer landing. There may have been some accident." Belle and Bess were ready instantly. Indeed the twins seemed more alarmed than did Cora, but then they were not used to brothers, and did not realize how many things may happen and may not happen, to detain young men on a summer day or even a summer night. "Oh dear!" sighed Belle, "I have always dreaded the water. I did promise mamma and Bess to conquer my nervousness and not make folks miserable, but now just see how things happen to upset me," and she was almost in tears. "Nothing has happened yet, Belle dear," said Cora kindly, "and we hope nothing will happen. You see your great mistake comes from what Jack calls the 'sympathy bug.' You worry about people before you know they are in trouble. I feel certain the boys will be found safe and sound, but at the same time I would not be so foolhardy as to trust to dumb luck." "You are a philosopher, Cora," answered the nervous girl, her tone showing that she meant to compliment her chum. "No, merely logical," corrected Cora, as they walked along. "You know what marks I always get in logic." "But it all comes from health," put in Bess. "Mother says Belle would be just as sensible as I am if she were as strong." "Sensible as you are?" and Cora laughed. Bess had such a candid way of acknowledging her own good points. "Why, we have never noticed it, Bess." "Oh, you know what I mean. I simply mean that I do not fuss," and Bess let her cheeks glow at least two shades deeper. "Well it is sensible not to fuss, Bess, so we will grant your point," finished Cora as they stepped on the boardwalk that led to the boat landing. "Why, I didn't suppose they would light up with that moon," she said. "That's the old watchman over there." A man was swinging a lantern from the landing. He held it above his head, then lowered it, and it was plain he was showing the light to signal someone on the water. Cora's heart did give a quickened response to her nerves as she saw that something must be wrong. But she said not a word to her companions. "What are they after?" asked Belle timidly. "Probably some fishermen casting their nets for bait," Cora answered evasively. "You stay here, while I speak with old Ben." Bess and Belle complied, although Bess felt she should have been the one to ask questions. What if anything had really happened to the boys! Jack was Cora's brother. "Have you seen anything of some boys in a canoe?" Cora asked of the man with the lantern. "They set out this afternoon, and have not yet returned." "Boys in a canoe?" repeated Ben, in that tantalizing way country folk have of delaying their answers. "Yes, my brother and two of his friends went out toward Far Island--" "Fern Island?" interrupted the man. "No, when we last saw them they were going away from Fern and toward Far Island," said Cora. "Well, if they're on Fern Island at night I pity them. There ain't never been anyone who put up there after dark who wasn't ready to die of fright, 'ceptin' Jim Peters. And the old boy hisself couldn't scare Jim. Guess he's too chununy with him," and the waterman chuckled at his joke. "But you have not heard of any accident?" pressed Cora. "I saw them young fellers myself. They was in a green canoe; wasn't they?" "Yes," answered Cora eagerly. "Well, I asked Jim Peters if he had sawed 'em, and he said--but then you can't never believe Jim." "What did he say?" excitedly demanded Cora, as Bess and Belle stepped up to where she was talking. "He said they had tied their boat up at the far dock, and had gone on the shore train to the merry-go-'round." "But they were in their bathing suits!" exclaimed Cora. "There! Didn't I tell you not to take any stock in Jim's news! I knowed he was fibbin'. But--say miss. There's this about Jim. He don't ever take the trouble to make up a yam unless he has a motive. Now I'll bet Jim knows something about them lads." "Where does this man live?" asked Cora. "He don't live no place in particular, but in general he stays at the shanty, when he ain't on the water. But he's a regular fish. The young 'uns calls him a fish hawk." "How could we get to his place? Do you think he is at the shanty now?" went on Cora, determined to find out something of the man, for she had reason to believe that the dock-hand knew what he was talking about. "Bless you, child! It ain't no place for young girls like you to go to any time, much less at night. But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll jest take a look around myself. I sort of like a girl who knows how to talk to old Ben without being sassy." "Thank you very much, Ben, but I really must hurry to trace the boys. I suppose you have no police around the island?" "Wall, there's Constable Hannon. He is all right to trace a thing when you tell him where it is, but Tom Hannon hates to think." Ben raised the lantern above his head and then, as if satisfied that the signaling was all finished, he placed the lantern on a hook that hung over the edge of the dock. "Oh, Cora," put in Bess, "it is almost eight O'clock. We must hurry along." "I know, Bess dear, but I had to find out all this man knew. Now I am satisfied to start for the other end of the lake." Cora's voice betrayed the emotion she was feeling in spite of her outward calm. The matter was now assuming a very serious aspect. "One thing seems certain," she said to all who were listening, "they could not all have been drowned. They were all expert swimmers. Nor would they go to any merry-go-'round and leave us waiting for them. The question now is, what could have detained them?" "Well, here comes Jim now," said Ben. "Just you keep quiet, and I'll pump him." A man came slouching along the dock. He had the way of seeming much younger than he pretended to be--that is he walked with his head down although his shoulders were straight and broad as those of any well trained athlete. The three girls instantly decided that this man had some strange motive in his manner. He was shamming, they thought. "Hello there, Ben," he called to the dock hand jokingly. "How's the tide?" "Not much tide on this here lake," replied Ben sharply. "Never knowed much about them tides, as I've lived at this hole most all my born days. But how was business to-day? That was quite a fleet. How'd you make out?" "Oh, same as usual," and Jim Peters looked from under his big hat at the girls. "Got company?" "Yes, a couple friends of the old lady's. They're camping here." "Oh," half-growled the man understandingly as he made his way to the water's edge. "Where're you goin' now?" asked Ben. "Up the lake," replied the man. "Oh, say," spoke Ben as if the thought had just occurred to him, "where did you say them young fellers went? The ones who started out in a canoe?" Now Cora saw that this was the man who had come down the lake with the canoe trailing behind his rowboat. He stepped into the lantern's light, and both Bess and Belle must also have recognized him, for they shot a meaning glance at Cora. "What fellows?" drawled the man in answer to Ben's question. "The ones I asked you about. You said they went to the merry-go-'round. Did they?" "Yep," replied the man sententiously. "Where is that?" asked Cora, unable to restrain herself longer. "At the Peak," he said vaguely. Then he stepped into his rowboat and before anyone could question him further he was pulling up the lake. "Well, I'll be hung! Excuse me ladies, but I am that surprised," said Ben apologetically. "Say, that fellow knows about the kids, and we've got to follow him. But how?" "In my motor boat," proposed Cora quickly. "We could overtake him in that before he had any idea we were following him!" "Have you a motor boat? Good! Where is it? Here, I'll call Dan. He kin run faster than a deer. Dan! Dan! Dan!" shouted the old man, and from a nearby rowboat, where, evidently, some boys were having some sort of a harmless game, Dan appeared. He was a tall youth, the sort that seems to grow near the water. "Hey Dan, I want you to go where this girl tells you, and fetch her boat," said Ben. "Quick now, we've got something to do." "It's up at the new camp," said Cora. "It's the new boat you must have seen come up this afternoon." "Oh, yes'm, I know it, and I know where it is," replied the lad, and then he was off, his bare feet making no sound. He called back through the darkness "Got any oil or gas?" "Yes," replied Cora, and away he ran. "Ain't he a regular dock rat," said Ben with something like pride in his voice. "I hope we do not lose sight of that man," remarked Cora. "Oh Jim can't pull as hard as he thinks, especially on a lazy day when he has been out some," affirmed Ben. "Now suppose you girls just sit on this plank while you wait? 'Twon't cost you nothin'." He dusted off the big plank with his handkerchief, and upon the board, Cora, Bess and Belle seated themselves. "I suppose Dan will haul the boat down," said Cora. "It isn't locked, but he may not want to start the motor." "Oh, you can trust to Dan to get her here. When he isn't a dock rat he's a canal mule. There! Ain't that him? Yep, there he comes and he's got her all right," said old Ben proudly. The boy could now be seen walking along the water's edge, as he pulled the motor boat by the bow rope. The girls were quick to follow Ben to the landing, and there all three, with Ben, got aboard. The girls helped Cora light the port, starboard and aft-lights; then they were ready to start. "Better let me run her," said the man, "as I know all the spots in this here lake. Besides," and he touched the engine almost fondly, "there ain't nothin' I like better than a boat, unless it's a fish line." "This is a very simple motor," explained Cora, showing how readily the gas could be turned on and how promptly the engine responded to the spark. "It's a beauty," agreed Ben, as the "chugchug" answered the first turn of the flywheel. Belle and Bess sat in the stem and Cora went forward. It was a delightful evening and, but for the urgency of their quest, the first night sail of the Petrel on Cedar Lake would have been a perfect success. "Isn't that a light?" asked Belle, loud enough for Cora to hear. "Yes. Ben see, there is a light. Do you suppose that is on Jim's boat?" asked Cora. "Never," replied Ben, "he's too stingy to light up on a moonlight night when the water's clear. Of course the law says he must, but who's goin' to back up the law?" "Which way are you going?" she questioned further. "See that track of foam over yonder? That's Jim's course. We'll just pick his trail," said Ben. "Now there! Watch him turn! He's headin' for Far Island!" At this Ben throttled down, and, a few minutes later he turned off the gas and cut out the switch. "We'll just drift a little to give him a chance to settle," he said. "We don't want to get too close--it might spoil the game." Belle and Bess were both too nervous to talk. It seemed like some pirate story, that they should be following a strange fisherman to a wild island in the night, in hopes of finding the boys--possibly captured boys! Cora listened eagerly. She, too, was losing courage--it was so slight a hope that this man would lead them to where the boys might be. "There! See that!" exclaimed Ben. "He's talking to some one on land." "Yes, I heard Jack's voice," exclaimed Cora. "Oh, I am so glad they are safe!" "But how do we know?" asked Belle, her voice trembling. "Jack's voice told me," replied Cora, "for if they were in distress he would not have shouted like that!" "But he was mad," said Ben, and in this the old fisherman made no mistake, for the voices of the boys, in angry protest, could be heard, as they argued with some one, who succeeded in keeping his part of the conversation silent from the anxious listeners. CHAPTER IV GETTING BACK A few minutes later the rowboat of Jim Peters came out from Far Island, and in it were the boys! "If we have to bale her out all the way" Ed was saying, "I can't see why we should pay you a quarter a piece. Seems to me we are earning our fare." They were now almost alongside the drifting motor boat. "Jack! Jack," called Cora. "We are here, waiting for you. What ever happened to you?" "Well," exclaimed the boys in great surprise. "Glad to see you girls--never gladder to see anyone in my life. Can you take us on?" "Of course we can," replied Cora. "My! We thought you were lost." "Not us, but our boat," answered Walter. "Some one stole our canoe and left us on the island, high and dry." "There," said Ben, "didn't I tell you?" "Well, you fellows owe me just the same as if you went all the way," growled Jim Peters. "I've lost my night hire waitin' fer you." "How'd you know about them, Jim?" asked Ben, in a joking sort of tone. "Wasn't it luck you happened up this way to-night?" The other man did not reply. Cora had stepped down to the seat in front of the engine where Ben sat. "Do you think that man stole their canoe?" she asked. "Hush! 'Taint no use to fight with Jim. He'd get the best of you sure, and besides, then he would be your enemy. Just make a joke of it, and I'll tell you more later," and Ben prepared to start as soon as the boys, who were climbing into the motor boat, were ready. "I'll pay you when we get to land," said Jack to the boatman, "I have no money in my bathing suit." "Well, see that you do," said the man in a rough voice. "I'm not goin' to leave my work to tow a couple of sports just for the fun of it." "Oh you'll get paid all right," Jack assured him, "and so will the fellow who stole our boat--when we catch him." "I'll chip in for that," said Walter. "Never saw such a trick. Hello Bess, also howdy Belle. My, isn't it fine to be rescued from a desert island by three pretty girls?" "Wallie! Wallie. There's a stranger aboard," warned Cora. "Oh yes, this is Ben--Ben--" "Just Ben," interrupted the man at the wheel, with a chuckle. "But he has been so kind," added Cora. "Only for him we should never have found out where you were." "If you hadn't taken us off that old sieve," put in Ed, "I think we would soon have had to swim back to the island. We never could have made the shore in that thing, neither could we swim that distance." "S'long Jim!" called Ben, as the old rowboat was sent off in the darkness. "See, he isn't balin' her now," he told the boys. "How's that?" all asked in chorus. "Oh, that's a great boat--leaks to order," replied Ben, as he turned over the fly wheel and Cora's craft shot swiftly away from the island. The boys were too busy talking to the girls, and the latter were too busy asking questions, to go further into the matter of the leaking boat, but Cora did not fail to notice that the craft must have "leaked to order." "What could that man have intended doing? Did he want to sink the boat?" she was wondering. "Well, if we haven't had a pretty time of it," said Ed. "First, we had to go up trees to get out of the way of something--we are not yet sure whether it was man or beast. Then when we crawled down, and made for the shore the canoe was gone clear out of sight." "Haven't you any idea who took it?" Cora asked. "Wish we had--I'll wager he would have to sleep out of doors to-night," threatened Jack. "It was the meanest trick." Cora gave Bess the signal to keep still about having seen a canoe at the back of Jim Peter's rowboat that afternoon. Cora was convinced that Ben knew what he was talking about when he warned her to be careful of Jim Peters. "But why did you go back to the island?" asked Cora. "I thought you were going to spend the afternoon with us girls?" "We were, then again we couldn't," answered her brother. "We had a very important appointment at Far Island." "Ben, don't you want one of us to run her?" asked Ed. "We were to have had a try--" "Nope. This here is the best fun I can have, and this boat is a beauty," replied the old man. "If I had one that could go like this and carry so many passengers I'd give up the dock." "Yes, a boat like this would earn its own living," agreed Jack. "Run her as long as you like to, Ben. It gives us a chance--ahem--" "To sit nearer your sisters," finished Ben, with a sly laugh. "All's well that ends well," quoted Belle to Ed, for she was scarcely able yet to draw a free breath--her anxiety had been too keen. "I cannot believe that we are all here together again." "Just pinch me," said Ed laughing, "and if I don't give our war whoop you may be sure this is not me--I am still on the Robinson ranch--there, that was an unpremeditated pun; I mean the old Robinson Crusoe and I forgot that he was great-grandfather to the present Robinson twins." "Say, Ed," put in Walter, "what do you say if we buy a houseboat? This has the camp beaten to a frazzle." "It's all right on such a night," replied Ed, "but houseboats, I believe, cost money, and our camp is rented to us for the season. Oh fickle Wallie! To fall in love with a motor boat, just because her name is Pet." Walter was talking to Cora before Ed had finished speaking to him. That was Walter's irresistible way with the girls. "No use talking, sis," said Jack, "this sail was worth being stranded for. If you are in no hurry, Ben, suppose we prolong it. Take us some place where we haven't been. You know the rounds of Cedar Lake." This plan was agreed to, and, though the boys were not dressed as they would wish to have been, it was evening on the water, and their jersey suits were not altogether out of place. "But what I would like to get at," began Ed, not being able to dismiss the subject, "is who stole our boat?" "It may have drifted away," suggested Cora wisely. "There was a great fleet on the lake to-day, and any small boy might have let your boat go." "Well, if I should lay hold of such a chap," declared Jack grimly, "he will grow up quickly. He will never be a small boy again." "Now I'll tell you," offered Ben obligingly. "There's a lot of strange things likely to happen to you young 'uns while you're at this here lake. So take my advice an' go slow. Every one here goes slow, and it's the best way. If you suspicion a feller don't go at him. Just wait and he will walk right into your hands," and Ben sounded a warning whistle as he turned a point. "He'll eat out of my hands if I get training him," prophesied Jack. "But all the same, Ben, I think that's first-rate advice. It saves us much trouble and that's the most important consideration. It takes time even to polish off such a specimen." "And when you're done, you've got dirty hands," went on Ben in rough philosophy. "All the same, there is them that can't be otherwise dealt with, and when the time's ripe I'd--help myself. I know a man or two I'd like first-rate to get at, and stay at till I'd finished." "Then, Ben," spoke Cora, "when you get your man we'll all help you, and when we get ours you can return the compliment." Cora had a way of joking that invariably turned out prophetic--and this case was no exception. "Well, if there ain't Dan sailin' around!" ex, claimed Ben suddenly. "He's lookin' fer me. Hey there, Dan! What's up?" he cried as he faced the boat with the brilliant lamp at the stern. "Everything!" yelled back Dan. "Come up to the dock! There's trouble!" Ben swung around the timer to gain more speed in a spurt of the motor. "It's that Jim Peters, I'll bet," he declared, as they headed for Center Landing. "He's there ahead of us. He cut through the shallow channel." Whether Jim Peters had taken leave of his senses or was simply unreasonably angry, folks were never able to say with certainty. At any rate, now, on this evening, the man seemed furious about something. No sooner had the motor boat come up to the dock to allow Ben to land, than Peters turned upon the young fellows he had been arguing with at the island, and in unmeasured terms spoke against all gasoline water craft. He said he couldn't see why the law allowed them to use the lake, for they made such a racket, filled the air with vile odors, and scared all the fish. "You all ought to be arrested and deported!" he stormed. "The idea of peaceful folks being bothered with such nuisances! I'm not going to stand it if there's a law in the land! Why the idea! It's not right! I'll--" He stopped for breath. "Now look here, Jim, you just quit!" said Ben quietly, as the fellow started off on another tirade, using still stronger language, and almost boiling over with rage. "Go easy," advised Ben. "There's that friend of yours, Tony Jones, comin'. Take a jab at him for a change." As Ben got out, Jones sauntered along, and it was easy to see that, personally, he was quite a contrast to Jim. The situation seemed somewhat relieved. "It's all right now," spoke Cora in a low voice, and with an easier air. "Let's go." With pleasant words for Ben and Dan she and her friends prepared to start off again. Walter gave the flywheel a few vigorous turns, but there was only a sort of apologetic sigh from the motor. "Prime it a bit," suggested Ed. With gasoline from a small oil can, Walter injected some of the fluid into the cylinder through the pet cock. "Now for it!" he exclaimed. "Cross your fingers everybody," and once more he did the street-piano act, as Ed termed it. The engine only sighed gently. Walter gave a quick glance over his shoulder toward the bow. "Is that forward switch in?" he asked a bit sharply. "Oh!" exclaimed Cora, "I accidentally pulled it out when I removed the bulkhead to look at the battery connections. There," she added after a quick motion, "it's in, Walter." "Now for it! Hold your breaths," ordered the engineer. There was a sudden motion to the wheel, a whizzing buzz, a churning of the water under the stern and the boat moved away. "We'll have to have a regular schedule--gasoline, switch, ground-wire, pet-cocks primed--oil cups up, and all that sort of thing," murmured Cora as they glided swiftly onward. "I'll print it on a card and hang it near the engine." "Thanks," whispered Walter, as he took the wheel. "Where to?" he asked. "The bath house," suggested Ed. "Our togs are there." Gracefully the craft approached the group of bath houses, whence the boys had started in their canoe that afternoon. But no lights gleamed out to welcome the returning ones. "My word!" exclaimed Walter a bit dubiously, "our togs are likely locked up in the safe, and here we are, forty miles from the pile of ready-to wear habiliments that hide behind Jack's trunk! Eh, what?" "Sure thing!" agreed Ed with a sigh. "Oh, never mind," consoled Cora. "Come over with us for a while, anyhow, if only to report progress." CHAPTER V A MAN IN THE SHADOW When the engine had been carefully covered, on arrival at the camp dock, and the boat securely tied up for the night, the party were all literally shaking hands in gratitude for the rescue. It was only a short distance along the shore path to where the lads "bunked," but the young men shivered during the trip. The girls thought of their own coats and promptly offered them, for Walter, Ed and Jack were really suffering in their bathing suits. "But we have heavy dresses on," insisted Cora, "and really Jack it is cool. Please take our coats," for her brother had objected. "Well, if you insist," replied Jack, "but it seems to me we have had more than our share of bad luck for one day. First our boat is stolen, then our clothes are locked up. Who would think that that old boathouse man would go to bed so early." "I am sure you are perfectly welcome to our coats," insisted Belle, as she and her sister divested themselves of their long automobile garments, "and they will look--" "Lovely on us," put in Walter. "Let me have the blue one, please. It is so becoming." Jack took Cora's heavy linen, Ed accepted the brown that Bess had worn, while Walter got the blue. "Not so bad," said Jack, thrusting his hands deep into the patch pockets. "Don't know but what I'll get one like this, Cora." "And I rather like the empire effect," said Ed turning around so that all, might admire the short-waisted coat he wore. "This is the Roman empire I believe, Bess; is it not?" "No, the first Empire," corrected the girl. "My but you do look nice! You have a wonderful--outline." "Yes, my nurse always complimented me on my outline. But do behold Wallie! Isn't he a peach?" "He's a picture girl," declared Cora laughing. "Well, it is a good thing that we girls all wore coats when we went on the rescuing expedition. But say boys, what do you think was the trouble at the wharf? Ben seemed quite excited." "I didn't like the looks of the fellow who offered us the boat ride," commented Ed. "And the queer part of it was, how did he know we were on the island?" "And then his boat leaked and stopped. I'll bet his game was to make us fear drowning, and then save us at so much more per save. Like the philosopher and the ferryman, don't you know?" "What philosopher?" asked Bess innocently. "Oh, that old friend of mine who went to sea with his knowledge. Don't you remember?" "I never heard of him," declared Bess falling into the trap. "Then let me tell you," and Ed slipped his arm within hers as they walked along toward Cora's camp. "There was once a boatman and at the same time there was a philosopher. The former took the latter to sea, or to cross a small body of water, it doesn't really matter. All the way as they sailed the philosopher would say: 'Did you ever study astronomy?' The ferryman had not. 'Then half your life is gone,' said the philosopher. 'Did you ever study philosophy? No? Then another quarter of your life is gone.' And so on he went, Belle dear," continued Ed, "until suddenly the boatman interrupted him with: 'Say, did you ever study swimming?' And the philosopher admitted that he had not. 'Then,' said the boatman, 'the whole of your life is gone for this boat is sinking!' So you see, Belle, our boatman might have given us that little fairy story and charged accordingly." "Yes, indeed!" put in Jack. "I think it was the luckiest thing that you girls came along. And Ben! We must give Ben a banquet or something fit." "Ben is a great friend of mine," declared Cora. "I feel we would all have gone astray but for him. We girls would never have known enough--" Then she stopped. She had no idea of telling the boys that they had followed Jim Peters with the hope of finding the missing ones whither he would lead them. Bess and Belle also had taken pains not to betray their story to the boys, for, as Cora said, Jim Peters was not a man to quarrel with, and the stolen boat was not a matter to joke about. "Here comes Nettie!" exclaimed Belle. "I wonder what's her hurry." "You've got company, miss," the maid said as she came up to the party walking toward the camp. "Miss Hasting and her brother have been waiting all evening." "Hazel and Paul!" exclaimed Cora, almost running to the bungalow. "Oh, isn't that splendid!" "And us in these!" wailed Walter. "Do you think Hazel will like me in baby blue?" The boys really did look funny in the girls' long coats, but it all added to the merry-making. Paul Hastings was waiting outside the bungalow. He stood where the porch light fell upon him, and the girls all secretly agreed that he had grown handsomer since they had last seen him. Hazel, too, looked very attractive in her plain blue dress, with its turn-over collar and Windsor tie. "What a pleasant surprise! We were afraid you would not come for some days Hazel!" said Cora in greeting. "Oh, Paul had to come up here. Of course he has taken a position." "What did I tell you!" cried Jack, folding the cloak about him in dramatic style. "Paul Hastings for the enterprise. Cedar Lake is the field; eh, Paul?" "Well, I had a fine offer," said Paul modestly. "And I have been wanting to get out this way. They say there are all sorts of things to do in this locality." "Looking for work! What do you think of that! Why, Paul dear, we are looking for a camp cook. Wallie nearly poisoned us on pancakes today," said Ed, "and if you would accept--" "Come in doors," interrupted Cora. "We have had rather a strenuous afternoon, and I am almost tired. How did you get up from the train? Or did you come by boat?" she asked the new arrivals. "A fellow rowed us up--" "Yes and charged us fifty cents each," interrupted Hazel. "Wasn't that outrageous!" "Some one like Jim Peters, I'll bet," said Ed. "But as Cora advised, let's go in doors. We really haven't dined!" "Oh! you poor boys," cried Belle. "We almost forgot that you were stranded. Let me help Nettie fix up something." "Yes, do. Fix up a lot of something," urged Jack. "That's the way I feel about it. But do we dine in these?" By this time Hazel and Paul saw the queer attire of the three young men. Then a part of the situation was explained. The bungalow was one of those roomy affairs, built with a clear idea of affording every summer comfort. Cora was to be the hostess, and with her was the trusted maid, Nettie. There the girls were to visit as they chose, while the boys had taken a camp for themselves near the fishing grounds of the big lake. "Now, make that coffee strong, girls," called Jack as the odor of the beverage came from the kitchen. "We are almost, if not quite, frozen." He cuddled up on a big couch and threatened to do damage to Cora's pretty cloak. "There's someone on the porch," suddenly whispered Bess, for a step sounded, so soft and stealthy, that she imagined someone was trying to look in the window. "Yes, I heard it," said Ed, getting up and going to the door. A man stood in the shadow, stepping out quickly at the sight of the youth. "I came for my money," he muttered. "You fellers ain't got no right to try to do me that way." "Who tried to do you?" answered Ed, in no pleasant tones. "See here, Peters! This is not our camp, and we don't carry money in our bathing suits as we told you before. If you can't wait until to-morrow for the seventy-five cents you know what you can do." "Oh I'll give it to you, Ed," said Cora, fearful that the man might become abusive. "I have plenty of small change." She went into her room and got her purse. It was a pretty little affair, too frail to have been brought to camp, and too good to have left in the locked-up Chelton house. As she went back to Ed she held out the purse. "Here," she said, "take it and help yourself. My coffee will boil over." Ed and Peters were standing near the edge of the porch. As Ed put his hand out to take Cora's purse it fell over the rail. "Well," he exclaimed, "that's too bad. I must get a match." At this Ed stepped to the door to ask for a box, while Peters hurried down the steps to look for the missing trinket. When Ed came back with a light Peters was looking industriously for the purse, but declared he had not seen it. "Now see here, Peters," cried Ed angrily. "You have picked up that purse, and I want you to hand it right over here," and Ed dropped the cloak from his shoulders. "If you don't I'll teach you a lesson." "Oh, you will, eh?" sneered the man. "Well you'd better get at it, kid," and with that he struck Ed a tantalizing blow on the cheek. Ed clutched the man by the arm. By this time the confusion had been heard within doors, and the other boys hurried out. "What's up?" asked Jack, just as Ed, with all his strength, almost bent the older man over backward. Jim Peters was fairly roaring now. He was strong, but this young giant was a surprise to him, and after the way of the cowardly class, as soon as he found out he would be bested he "quit," and begged off. "Hand me back that purse," demanded Ed. "I know you've got it as well as if I had seen you take it." "What's that over there?" snarled Peters, pointing to something bright in the grass. Ed picked it up. It was the purse, but it was empty. Ed's exclamation told them that. "My ring," cried Cora. "I had my ring--oh no. I forgot--that was not the purse," and Cora went in doors, presently returning with some small coins. "Here, Ed," she said, her voice trembling. "Do pay that man, and let him go. I--I am so frightened!" "Cora," whispered Bess, "was your ring in that purse?" "Hush," cautioned the other girl. "Let us try to make things brighter. Since that man sailed down the lake to-day with our boys' canoe we have had nothing but mishaps. Now let him go. I'll manage to reckon with him without endangering the life of anyone. He's too desperate a character to deal with in the ordinary way. Remember what Ben told us." CHAPTER VI CORA EXPLOITING There had been three delightful days at Camp Cozy. Cora managed most of the delight, with the able assistance of Belle and Bess, while Hazel did much toward discovering things that she declared all the girls ought to know, for Hazel's happiness was ever in obtaining knowledge. The boys had almost lost hope of getting back their canoe. They had searched the lake from shore to shore, offered rewards and had gone through the rest of the lost formula, but the boat was not returned. Cora kept to herself her suspicions about Jim Peters. She also said nothing of the ring that was in the purse when it left her hands, but not in it when the purse was returned to her. It was a splendid morning for a trip on Cedar Lake, and although Belle and Hazel had planned a trip to the woods, Cora and Bess were going out in the Petrel. Passing Center Landing, Cora called a pleasant good morning to Ben, who sat on the end string piece, his feet aiming at the water and his broad brimmed hat caught on halo fashion at the back of his neck. "Oh, I must ask him something," said Cora, suddenly turning her boat toward the wharf. She drew near enough to speak quietly. "Ben," she said, "where is that shanty you told me about--Jim Peter's place?" "Lands sake miss! you ain't goin' there?" asked the man in some alarm. "Why not?" demanded Cora. "Can't I take care of myself in broad daylight?" "But you don't know how ugly that feller can be," insisted Ben. "I tell you miss, I'd give him plenty of room, if I war you." "Don't go," urged Bess. "But, Ben," argued Cora, "I am afraid you have all let Jim Peters bully you. I am going to try him another way. Where does he live?" "Well a hour ago he went up the lake. He goes up there every mornin' regular. Like as if he had some important business on the island. When I asked him about it he said there was a fellow who had some dangerous disease, and was campin' out there, and Jim allowed that he had to fetch him things." "Indeed!" exclaimed Cora. "That's a queer story for a man like Peters. But I'm going to his shack first, even if he is not at home. It would suit me just as well to find him out on my first visit." "But that young feller who lives with him? He's just as sassy as Jim, when he's around the shack. Of course he don't stay there always, as Jim does." "Who is he?" questioned Cora. "I hadn't heard of such a person." "Oh, he gives the name of Jones but it don't fit him fer a cent. I wouldn't be surprised if his real name was Macaroni or even Noodles. He's foreign, sure." Cora laughed. "And he's young, you say?" "A lot younger than Jim, but he could be that and yet not be very young, fer I guess Jim has lost track of time," replied Ben. "Yes, Jones is a swell, all right." "But the shack? Where is it? I must be off," insisted Cora. "It's quite a trip down the lake. Then you come to a point. Go to the left of the point, and when you come to a place where the willows dip into the lake, get off there. The shack is straight back in the deepest clump of buttonball trees." "All right Ben, and thank you," said Cora as she started up the motor. "I feel like exploring this morning, and your directions sound interesting. I will come back this way to show you that I am safe and sound," and with that she sheered off. "I hope it will be all right," faltered Bess. "Cora, are you never afraid to risk such things?" "What is there to risk? The land is public, and we have as much right to follow that track as has Jim Peters or Mr. Jones. I wonder what Mr. Jones is like?" "Maybe he would be very nice--a complete surprise," ventured Bess, at which remark Cora laughed merrily. "You little romancer! Do you imagine that anyone very nice would chum in with Jim Peters? Isn't there something in your book about birds of the same quills?" "It's aigrettes, in my book," retorted Bess. "But it all applies to the same sort of birds. Just the same, I am interested in Mr. Jones." "I fancy perhaps that we are," said Cora. "But there is the point Ben spoke of. We are to turn to the left." Gracefully as a human thing, the boat curved around and made its path through the narrow part of the lake. "And there are the willows," announced Bess, as she saw the great green giants dipped into the water's surface. "Yes. I thought it would be much farther on. But this is an ideal spot for hiding. One could scarcely be found here without a megaphone." "Hear our voices echo," remarked Bess. "An echo always makes me feel desolate." "Don't you like to hear your own voice?" asked Cora lightly. "I rather fancy listening to mine. An echo was always a delight to me." "There's a man sitting under that tree!" almost gasped Bess. "So there is, and I am glad of it. He will be able to direct us. I shouldn't be surprised if he were Mr. Jones," said Cora turning the Petrel to shore. Under a big willow, in a sort of natural basket seat, formed by the uncovered roots of the big trees, a man sat, and as the boat grazed the shore, he looked up from some papers he held in his hands. Cora could see that he was very dark, and had that almost uncomfortable manner of affecting extreme politeness peculiar to foreigners of certain classes, for, as she spoke to him, he arose, slid the paper into his pocket, and bowed most profusely. "I am looking for the cabin of Mr. Peters," said Cora, stepping ashore toward the tree. "Can you direct me to it?" "The cabin of Mr. Peters?" and when the man spoke the foreign suspicion was confirmed. "Why, who might Mr. Peters be?" "Jim Peters; don't you know him?" asked Cora determined not to be thrown off the track. "He lives just in here--I should think in that grove--" "Oh, my dear miss no! You are mistaken. No one lives around here. I am simply a rustic, looking about. But Jim Peters?" "Are you not Mr. Jones?" blurted out Cora. In spite of himself the man started. "Mr. Jones?" he repeated. "Well, that name will do as well as any other. But allow me to tie your boat. Then I will take pleasure in showing you one of the prettiest strips of land this side of Naples." "Oh, thank you. I have secured it," said Cora. "But I would like to explore this island." Bess tugged at Cora's elbow. "Don't go too far. I am afraid of that man," she said in a whisper. "Were you drawing as we came up?" Cora asked the stranger. "This is an ideal spot for sketching." "Yes, I was drawing," he replied. "Couldn't we see your picture?" asked Cora. "I do so love an outline." "Oh, indeed it is not worth looking at. I must show you something when I have what will be worth while. This is only a bare idea." "Well," said Cora starting off through the wood, "I must look for a cabin, or something like it. I have particular business with Jim Peters." "But you will only hurt your feet miss," objected the man. "Allow me to show you the island," and he bowed again. "Such wild swamp flowers I have never seen. It is the everglades, and well worth the short journey." There was something about his insistent civility that betokened a set purpose, and since Ben (what a wonder Ben was) had told Cora that a man named Jones "hung out" with Jim Peters, Cora instantly guessed that this was the man, and that he was determined to keep her away from the shack. The situation gave zest to her purpose. Bess was fairly quaking as Cora could see, but what danger could there be in insisting upon finding that shack? "I have only a short time to be out," objected Cora, "and perhaps some other time I will come to see your everglade. Come, Bess, I see a path this way, and I fancy if we follow it we will find an end to the path," she concluded. "But may I not have the pleasure of your name?" the man called after her. "Perhaps we might meet--" "Don't," whispered Bess. "Pretend you did not hear him." "Oh, just see those flag lilies!" Cora called to Bess, covering the man's question without answering it. "Let us get some." "Oh, aren't they beautiful!" replied Bess, in a strained voice. "I certainly must secure some of those." They hurried away from the dark-browed man. He took his hand out of his pocket and upon the smallest finger his eyes rested. He sneered as he looked at a diamond ring that glittered on that slim brown finger. "Foolish maid," he said aloud, and then the web of a strange force threw its invisible yet unbreakable chains over the summer life of Cora Kimball. CHAPTER VII DEEP IN THE DARK WOOD "Cora, dear, please do not go any farther. Somehow I am afraid that man will follow us." "Why, Bess! I thought you were going to be interested in Mr. Jones," and Cora stooped to pick up a wonderful clump of flag lilies. "Jones! How could he be a Jones? He's a Spaniard." "I thought so myself, Bess. But we do not have to plant his family tree. Now don't be a baby, girlie," and Cora squeezed the plump hand that hung so close to her own. "Let us get to the shack, and see if the boys' boat is about there. I am determined to run down Jim Peters." Bess sighed. When Cora was determined! But the man had left the water's edge. "Cora, see!" said Bess. "He is getting into a boat!" "Yes and the boat belongs to Peters. There! He is surely the one who helps Jim out in all his affairs. Now we may seek the shack in safety," said Cora, as she watched the man at the water's edge push off. "I know the shack is over there, for I smell smoke in that direction. But we will turn the other way until he has cleared off," finished Cora as she and Bess stepped lightly over the dainty ferns that nestled in the damp earth. "He is quite a boatman," remarked Bess, watching the man ply his oars, and make rapid progress up the lake. "Yes, he must have been brought up near the water," replied Cora. "They say such skill as that is not accomplished on dry land. Jack always declared he could tell a fellow at college who had ever been near the water when a lad. They take to it like a duck." "You can easily see that he is a foreigner," went on Bess with her speculations. "He must either be an Italian or a Spaniard." "Now we may turn up the path. Yes this is a path, for everything is trodden down on it," declared Cora. "I hope the hut will not be too deep in the wood." "We won't go if it is," objected Bess. "I don't fancy being taken captive by any wild woods clan." "There," exclaimed Cora. "I just caught sight--of--it's a woman's skirt!" "Yes, and there is a woman in it," added Bess. "See, here she comes." "No, I don't think she does. I think she is standing still. We must have frightened her." "What a looking--woman!" "Great proportions," described Cora. "I guess wherever she lives they must feed her well." Cora led the way, and Bess timidly followed. "Don't go too near," whispered the latter. "Why, she cannot eat us," replied Cora, smiling over her shoulder to the timid one. "Well, what do you want?" roared the woman, as soon as she could be heard by the young ladies. "We are looking for Jim Peter's shack," replied Cora bravely. "I have been sent here to speak with him." "Have, eh? Well go ahead. Speak with me. I'm Mrs. Jim Peters," said the woman with a sneer. "My business is with him," again spoke Cora, not in the least frightened by the voice which she knew was made coarser just to scare her. "Well, he don't have no business that ain't mine," said the woman, "'specially with young 'uns like you, so you kin just clear off here before I--" "Come on Cora," begged Bess. "I am shaking from head to foot." "All right, dear," replied Cora, in a voice for Bess alone. "But, Mrs. Peters, can you tell me when your husband will be about here? I have some work to do on a boat and I understand he does that sort of thing." The woman's face changed. "If that's what you want I'll tell him. You see it is always best to let the woman know first, fer Jim does do some foolish things. But just now he's got one boat to do?" "I wonder if he might have a canoe to sell?" interrupted Cora, as the thought of thus trapping the woman occurred to her. "He will have one in a few days," the other 'answered. "But it has to be fixed up." "Could I see it?" asked Cora. "I may not be able to get over here again." "Well, the shack is locked and I couldn't show it to you, but when Jim comes I'll tell him. Who will I say?" Cora hesitated. "I hardly think it will be worth while really to order it," she said, "as I must have my brother look it over. I have a motor boat." "I heard it chuggin' and I thought that lazy Tony had got a new way of wastin' his time. Tony is all right at writin' letters but he's a lazy bones else ways." "Who's Tony?" asked Cora as if indifferently. "He's Jim's side partner. Say, girl, I'll just tell you. I came up here a few weeks ago from a newspaper advertisement. I never knowed Jim Peters before, but if them two fellers think I'm goin' to cook in that hut and never go no place off this dock they're foolin' themselves. They don't know all about Kate Simpson." Both girls were utterly surprised by her change of manner. Cora was quick to take advantage of it. "You are quite right," she said. "This is no place for a lone woman, and some day when I have my brother along I will fetch my boat, and show you the big islands about here. It would do you good to get out in the clear--away from these dense woods." "That it would, and I'm obliged to you miss," said the woman while Bess fairly gasped. "I want to go to one island--Fern Island they call it. Have you ever been there?" "I know where it is," replied Cora, wondering what the woman's interest in that place might be. "I have been all around it." "They say it's haunted," and the woman laughed. "It's a great game to put a haunt on a place to keep others off." "Well, some day when you can leave your work, I'll take you over there," and Cora meant it, for she had not the slightest fear, either of the woman or her rough ways. Besides, she felt instinctively that the woman's help would be valuable in the possible recovery of her ring and of the lost canoe. "I'll be goin' back to the shackt fer if Jim comes along held raise a row fer me talkin' to strangers. You'd think I was looney the way he watches me." "And is he a stranger to you?" "Well, to tell the truth my mother and Jim's was cousins, but I never knowed him to be such a poor character as he is, or I'd never have come up here. But I don't have to stay all summer,"' she finished significantly. "Well, good-bye, and I'll see you soon again," said Cora turning toward her boat. "Good-bye, miss, but say," and she half whispered, "is that girl dumb?" Cora burst out laughing. Bess a mute! "No indeed, but she always lets me do the talking," answered Cora with a sty look at the blushing Bess. "She has good sense, fer you know how to do it," declared Kate Simpson. They could hear her bend the brush as she passed up the narrow way. "What a queer creature," remarked Bess, when she felt that it was safe to try her voice. "She is queer, but I think she knows a lot about things of interest to us. What did you think of her remark about Fern Island? To that pretty little spot we will make our next voyage," declared Cora, pulling on her thick gloves and taking her place in front of the motor. "Turn out into the open lake," she told Bess as they started off. "We will make a quick run and get back to the bungalow before the others have done the marketing. I am glad it is not our turn to get the lunch for I want to make a trip to Fern Island directly after we have had a bite. Seems to me," and she increased the speed of the engine a little, "it takes more time to get a meal at camp than it does at home. The simple life certainly has its own peculiar complications." "Oh, there comes that man back! I am so glad we are away from that place," exclaimed Bess, as the boat of Jim Peters, with the smiling foreigner called "Jones" floated by. CHAPTER VIII THE HAUNT OF FERN ISLAND The four motor girls started out in the Petrel. Never had the lake seemed so beautiful, nor had the sky appeared a deeper, truer blue. The pretty Placid lake was dotted all over with summer craft, the sound of the motor boat being almost constant in its echoing, "cut-a-cuta" against the wonderful green hills that banked shore and, island. Hazel was steering, and of course Cora was running the engine. The pennant waved gaily from the bow of the boat, and of the many colors afloat it seemed that those chosen by the motor girls shone out most brilliantly on the glistening, silvery waters. "I'm not a bit afraid now," admitted Belle, "I do think it is all a matter of getting used to the water. I thought I should never breathe again after that first day we went out." "Yes," said Cora, "the water has a peculiar fascination when one is accustomed to it, and I am sure Belle will want to live on a houseboat before we break camp. There go the boys! What a fine motor boat!" "Yes," said Hazel, "that's one from Paul's garage. Paul promised Jack he would speak to Mr. Breslin, the owner, about letting it out for the summer, as the Breslin family is not coming out here until later. It's the Peter-Pan, and the fastest boat on the lake." "See them go! I guess they don't see us,"' remarked Belle. "I am glad they do not," Cora said, "for I want to do some exploring, and if the boys came along they would be sure to have other plans for us. Now, Hazel, run in there. That is Fern Island." "Oh, there's a canoe!" exclaimed Belle. "See! and a girl is paddling. What a queer looking girl!" "Isn't she!" agreed Bess. "Why she has on a man's hat!" "She sees that we are watching her. Look how she is hurrying off," remarked Cora. "I wonder how far this cove goes in?" "We had better not try to find out," cautioned Belle. "I think we have had enough of happenings around here. This is where the boy's boat was stolen from; isn't it?" "No, it was over there, but I guess we will put in at the front of the island, as there is no telling how deep the cove is," said Cora. "But see that girl go! Why she's actually gone! Where can she have disappeared to?" "This ought to be called the 'disappearing' land," suggested Hazel. "I was sure that little canoe was directly in front of us, but now it is out of sight." "Maybe that is the 'Haunt Girl of Fern Island,'" ventured Cora with a laugh. "I got a pretty good look at her, and I am willing to say she looked neither like a summer girl nor a winter girl--that is, one who might live here the year around. But just what sort of girl she might be I shouldn't like to speculate. Her hair got loose as she hurried, and she reminded me of some wild water bird." "Be careful getting out," Belle cautioned Bess. "This new boat is new to slipperiness." "Oh, I will get hold of a tree branch," Bess replied. "Then, if the boat drifts out, I can swing to safety." All were ashore but Bess, and as such things often happen when they are looked for, the Petrel did careen from the waves of a passing launch, and just as Bess grasped an overhead willow branch, the boat swung out and she sprang in. Everybody laughed, but Bess lost her breath, a condition she disliked because it always added to the deep color of her plump cheeks. "There!" cried Belle. "Didn't I tell you?" "I wish that next time, Twin, you would leave me to guess!" exclaimed the other twin, rather pettishly. "Isn't this perfectly delightful!" exclaimed Hazel, running over the soft earth where ferns were matted, and wild flowers grew tangled in their efforts for freedom. "I never saw such dainty little flowers! Oh! they are sabatial I have seen them in Massachusetts," and she fell to gathering the small pink blooms that rival the wild rose in shade and perfume. "Here are the Maiden Hair ferns," called Cora. "No wonder they call this Fern Island." "Let us see how many varieties of fern we can gather," suggested Belle. "I have ferns pressed since last year, and they look so pretty on picture mats." At this the girls became interested in the number of ferns gatherable. Belle went one way, Bess another, and so on, until each had to call to make another hear her. Cora ran along fearlessly. She was diving very deep into the ferny woods, and she was intent on coming out first, if it were only in a race to get ferns. Suddenly she stopped! What was that sound? Surely it was some one running, and it was none of the girls! Standing erect, listening with her nerves as well as with her ears, Cora waited. That running or rustling through the leaves was very close by. Should she call the girls? But before she could answer herself, she saw something dart across a big rock that was caressed by a great maple tree that grew over it. "Oh!" she screamed involuntarily. Then she saw what it was. A man, a wild looking man, with long hair and a bushy beard. He had stopped just long enough to look in the direction of Cora. She saw him distinctly. Oh! if he should run toward Bess or Belle! Hazel would not be so easily alarmed but surely this was a wild man if ever there was such a creature. "That is the ghost of Fern Island," Cora concluded. "I must get back to the girls." She turned and hurried in the direction from which she had heard voices. "If they have not seen him," she reflected, "I will not say anything until we get back to camp." "I have ten different kinds of ferns," suddenly called Belle, in a voice which plainly said that no wild man had crossed her path. "I've got eight," said Hazel. "How many have you, Cora?" Cora glanced at her empty hands. She had dropped her ferns. "I have tossed away mine. I was afraid of black spiders," she said evasively. "Isn't that too bad," wailed Bess, "and none of us picked any maiden hair because we thought you had it. Let us go and get some." "Oh, I think we had best not this time," said Cora quickly. "I really want to get to the post office landing before the mail goes out. We can come another time when I have something to kill spiders with. I never saw such huge black fellows as there are around here." This was no shading of the truth, for indeed the spiders around Cedar Lake did grow like 'turtles', Jack had declared. "Oh, all right," agreed Belle. "But this is the most delightful island and I am coming out here again. I hope the boys will come along, for there are such great bushes of huckleberries over there that we simply couldn't climb to them alone."' "We will invite them next time," said Cora, and when she turned over the fly wheel of her boat her hands that had held the ferns were still trembling. She looked uneasily at the shore as they darted off. "What's the matter, Cora?" asked Hazel. "You look as if you had seen the ghost of Fern Island." "I have," said Cora, but the girls thought she had only agreed with Hazel to avoid disagreeing. "What boat is that?" asked Bess a moment later, looking at a small rowing craft just leaving the other side of the island. "It's Jim Peters'" replied Cora, "we were lucky to get back into ours before he saw it. I wouldn't wonder but what he might like to take a motor boat ride in the Petrel." "Do you suppose he really would steal a boat?" exclaimed Belle. "He might like to try a motor, I said," replied Cora. "They say that Jim Peters tries everything on Cedar Lake, even to running a shooting gallery. But see! He is reading a letter! Where ever did he get a letter on this barren island?" "Maybe he carries the mail for the ghost," said Hazel, with a laugh. CHAPTER IX JACK AND CORA "Cora, where is your ring?" The sister looked at her finger. "Oh Jack," she replied, "I will get it--but not just now. Why?" "I thought you always wore that ring when you put on your frills, and I haven't seen you so dressed up since you came to camp. Somehow, Cora, I feared you might have lost it." "I did," she said simply. "Your new diamond!" "Yes, but I feel sure of finding it. Now, Jackie dear, please don't cross question me. I shouldn't have taken it off, but I did, so and that is how I came to lose it. But I want to tell you something while we are alone. I saw the ghost of Fern Island to-day." "Nonsense! A ghost?" sneered Jack. "Why, Cora, if the other girls said that I should laugh at them." "Well I want to tell you. We were on the island-the girls and I--and I got a little away from them when suddenly the wildest looking man rushed across the path. He had a beard like Rip Van Winkle and looked a lot like him too." "Rip might be summering out this way, though I rather thought he had taken a trip in an airship," said Jack. "But honestly, Cora, what was the man like? Paul had a story of that sort. He declares he, too, saw this famous ghost." "Do you suppose he might have taken the canoe? The wild man I mean. We saw a strange looking girl in a canoe and somehow she vanished. We could see her boat and then we couldn't, although we could not make out where she went to. It was the queerest thing. There must be some strange curves on those islands." "Oh there are, lots of them. They are as curvy as a ball-twirler's best pitch. But the ghost. That is what interests me, since--ahem--since he has a daughter. Was she pretty?" "I should say she was rather pretty," replied Cora, quite seriously, "but she did have a wild look too. I do believe she is a daughter to the wild man, whoever he may be." "Well, everyone around here declares that is land is haunted, but fisher-folk are always so superstitious. Yet we must hunt it up. I will go out with you the next time you go. Did the other girls see him?" went on the brother. "No, and I decided not to tell them. You know how timid Bess and Belle are, and if they thought there was such a creature about the island I would never get them to put foot on shore there again, and I do so want to investigate that matter. I believe Jim Peters has something to do with it for I saw him coming away from there with a letter. Now what would he be doing with a letter out on a barren island?" "Oh Jim is a foxy one. I wouldn't trust him as far as the end of my nose. But here come the others. Will you go over to the Casino this evening." "Yes, we had planned to go. That is why I am dressed up. Hazel may have to go to town to-morrow, and I want her to see something before she goes," replied Cora, just as the girls, and Walter, Ed and Paul strode up to the bungalow. "Oh! we have had the greatest time," blurted out Bess. "Cora, you should have been with us. Ben got angry with Jim Peters, and he and Dan threatened to throw Jim overboard, and--" "Jim seems to have a hankering after fights," put in Ed. "I haven't settled with him yet." "Ed, you promised me you would call that off," Cora reminded him. "You know it was all about me, and you have given me your promise not to take it up again. That Jim Peters is an ugly man." "All the same we heard that you were not afraid of him," said Walter with a tug at Cora's elbow. "Didn't you beard the lion in his den?" "Who said I did?" asked Cora flushing. "I promised--crossed my heart not to tell," said Walter. "But all the same the folks at the landing are talking about the pretty girl who went all the way up the cove, and stopped at the place where Peters and his pal land. I would advise you to be careful. They say that tribe is not of the best social standing," went on Walter quite seriously. "I won't go there again," put in Bess. "What! Were you along?" demanded Jack. "Then you must have been the pretty girl referred to at the landing." "I was a pretty scared girl," declared Bess. "I tell you, I don't want to meet any more Peters or Joneses or Kates," she finished. "But what was the trouble between Jim and Ben?" asked Cora. "Let me tell it," Belle exclaimed. "We were just standing by the boathouse, watching some men fish, when Jim Peters, came along. He stopped and took a paper out of his pocket. The wind suddenly blew up--" "And took the paper out of his hand," interrupted Hazel. "It blew across to where Dan was standing, and what was more natural than that Dan should pick it up?" "And did Jim get angry at that?" inquired Cora. "Angry! He fairly fell upon poor Dan," put in Walter, "and when Ben saw him--I tell you Ben may stand a lot of trouble on his own account, but, when it comes to anyone trying to do Dan, Ben is right there to fight for him. Didn't he almost put Jim over the rail?" "There must have been quite a lively time," said Jack. "Sorry I missed it. There is so little excitement around here that we need all we can get. And what was the answer?" "Jim took his old letter and slunk off," finished Belle. "And Dan said he couldn't have read even the name on the out side if he had tried. He said it must have been written in Greek," and Belle laughed at the idea of the classics getting mixed up in any such small affair. "Seems to me," said Cora thoughtfully, "that Jim had some very important reason for fearing that one might see that letter." "Yes," declared Hazel, "that struck me right away. I shouldn't be surprised if it had been addressed to--the ghost!" "Well, if you young ladies intend to see what is going on at the Casino this evening," Ed reminded them, "we had better make a start. This is amateur night, I believe." "And the Blake girls are going to sing," announced Jack. "Then I shall have a chance to clap my hands at pretty Mabel," and he went, through one of those inimitable boys' pranks, neither funny nor tragic, but just descriptive. "I think it is awfully nice of the Blake girls to take part," said Cora, "for in this little summer colony everyone ought to be agreeable." "But I notice you are not taking part," Ed said with a laugh. "Just fancy Cora Kimball on the Casino platform." "Don't fancy anything of the kind," objected Bess. "We are willing to be sociable but we have no ambition to shine." "Come along," called Jack, who was on ahead with Hazel, "and mind, if anything brushes up against you, it is apt to be a coon, not a cat, as Belle thought the other night." They started off for the path that led to the public pavilion on the lake shore. Cora was with Ed, Walter had Belle on one side and Bess on the other, because he declared that the twins should always go together to "balance" him. Jack and Hazel led the way. At the pavilion the seats were almost all occupied, for campers from all sides of the lake flocked there on the entertainment evenings. A band was dreaming over some tune, each musician evidently being his own leader. The elder Miss Blake, Jeannette, who sat on an end seat, arose as they entered and made room for the Chelton folks to sit beside her, meanwhile gushing over the prospect of the evening's good time, and the good luck of "meeting girls from home." Walter allowed Bess and Belle to pass to the chairs beyond Miss Blake and thus placed himself beside the not any too desirable spinster. He made a wry face aside to Jack. He liked girls but the elder Miss Blake! "Mabel is going to sing 'Dreams,'" she said sweetly. "I do love Mabel's voice in 'Dreams.'" "Yes, I think I should too," said Walter, but the joke was lost on Jeannette. "Who is that dark man over there?" he asked. "Oh that's a foreigner. They call him Jones, but that's because his name is so unpronounceable. Isn't he handsome?" asked the lady. "Rather odd looking I should say," returned Walter, "but it seems to me he is attracted in this direction. Why should he stare over this way so?" "He knows me," replied Miss Blake, bowing vigorously to "Jones" who was almost turned around in his chair in his determination to see the Chelton party. "He's mighty rude, I think," Walter complained again, leaning over to speak to Cora who was just beyond Bess. "Do you feel the draft from that window, Cora?" he asked. "Oh I--" then she stopped. Something in Walter's voice told her that it was not the window draft he was referring to. She glanced across the room, and her eyes fell upon the man she had met at Jim Peter's landing place. "I think those seats over there--up near the stage are much pleasanter," said Jack, who also saw that something was wrong. "Suppose we change?" "All right" assented Cora, taking the cue. "There are just four." "I will stay here with Hazel, while you and Wallie go over there with the girls," suggested Jack. "And say Wallie," he whispered, "if I catch you fanning that young lady in the row ahead I'll--duck you on the way home." Walter apologized profusely for leaving Miss Blake. She evidently was sorry that the window had been open for she was "so enjoying talking of dear old Chelton." The place had only been thus mentioned by herself. "Who is that dark man?" Hazel inquired of Jack, for, as if his eyes were magnets, every girl in the group felt they were riveted upon her. "I don't know," replied Jack, "but he seems to be very much interested in someone here. There, he is watching Cora. I wonder who the fellow is?" The curtain rising interrupted the speculation. A man cushioned like a cozy corner laughed at himself while waiting for his audience to do so. Then he gave a yell and started to sing a ridiculous song about the milkmaid and the summer boarder. When he had finished one verse he took another "fit" of laughter, but somehow the audience did not see it his way, and when he tried it again, he broke off with an explanation. He felt sure that the people did not quite understand the joke, and he tried to tell them how very funny it was. To relieve the situation another person came on. One side of the figure was draped in the evening garb of a lady, while the other wore the full dress suit of a gentleman. The illusion was not at all bad, especially when the "person" waltzed with himself, with his arms around the other side of the evening dress the effect was really funny. "That's Spencer," declared Jack to Hazel. "He did that at college. Isn't it great?" "Very funny," admitted Hazel, while the man made in halves bowed on one side first, then on the other, to his applause. "Mabel is going to sing now," announced Miss Blake getting a firmer hold on her chair. "I just love to hear Mabel sing." Jack said he did also, then outside the dropped curtain stepped Mabel. She was pretty, a little thing with brown eyes and brown hair. She wore the most babyish dress made in empire, and it was evident she knew something about making up for good effect on the stage. Applause instantly greeted Mabel, and Jack was not the one who first tired of clapping his hands. This pleased Miss Jeannette immensely, and she did not fail to express her pleasure to those about her. The dark man in the seat across the aisle glanced first at the stage and then at the seat where the elderly lady sat. Jack was watching him, and noted his peculiar glances. Presently Mabel started to sing. Her voice was sweet, and her stage manners attractive. "Isn't she lovely!" exclaimed Bess to Ed. "I do believe she is studying for the stage." "Shouldn't wonder," replied the young man under his breath. Then the girl finished the song and bowed with such pretty piquancy that everybody demanded more of her talent. Jack was still watching the dark man. As the girl left the platform the latter left his seat and went outside of the pavilion. Presently a messenger tapped Miss Blake on the shoulder, "Your niece wishes to speak to you," the boy said, and at that Jeanette Blake also left her seat and the room. "Something mysterious about that," said Jack to Hazel, "and I propose seeing it out if I can. I will take you over to the others, and run outside." Just as he said that, a boy appeared on the platform and announced that owing to an important message Miss Blake was obliged to leave the hall and could not accommodate with her second number, but that some one else would try to fill her place. A murmur of dissent arose from the audience. "How could she get an important message here," Cora asked Ed. "Where in the world could it come from?" Jack pushed a chair for Hazel in line with the others. "I am going outside for a moment," he said. "Take care of the girls until I come back." "All right," agreed the other young men. "But don't run after Mabel," put in Walter with a laugh. But that was exactly what Jack Kimball did. CHAPTER X MYSTERY UPON MYSTERY Cora, healthy though she was, did not sleep well that night. Jack did not return to the hall, and had left word with the doorkeeper that he could not get back in time to see his sister but would run up from his bungalow early the next morning. It was early now, and next morning, but Jack had not kept his word. No one but Cora and Hazel had any idea that this might mean anything important. "It was so strange, the way that man acted," said Hazel to Cora, as the two made their way to the spring for fresh water. "First he watched you, then when Mabel Blake appeared he kept his eye on her. And such eyes! I believe he could hypnotize any one." "I hope he did not hypnotize Mabel," replied Cora. "Or Jack," added Hazel. "No fear of the latter," declared the sister. "Jack is too level-headed to take any cue in that direction." "That's just the way I feel about Paul," spoke Hazel. "Isn't it lovely to have such splendid brothers?" "Nothing could be more satisfactory," declared Cora, "unless it would be having a sister besides. I have often wondered what I should have done if I had not had such splendid girl friends. Do you feel as if a sister would have made your life more complete?" "I have never thought of it," said Hazel. "But Cora! Look at that woman!" Almost creeping through the tall grass the form of a woman could be distinguished. She had evidently come from a boat that was lying along shore--a rowboat. Seeing the girls, the woman stood up. "It's Kate Simpson!" exclaimed Cora, "and she seems to be looking for our camp!" "Miss!" called the woman, her voice shaking. "Wait, wait for poor Kate! Oh! I'm droppin' down!" "What is it, Kate?" asked Cora kindly. "You seem exhausted." "Oh, indeed I am that," replied the woman, brushing the straggling hair from her forehead. "I am all but dead!" "What has happened?" asked Cora further. "I can't tell you here. They might find me, and they'd know the boat." "We can hide the boat in the bushes, and you may come up to the camp," suggested Cora. "That boat is not hard to lift." "If you only could, but I'm too done up to help," faltered the woman. Cora and Hazel easily shifted the light canoe up into the deep grass. Kate got on her feet again, and, following the girls, all made their way to a spot entirely closed in with heavy hemlock trees. "We may talk here," suggested Cora. "This is what we call our annex--the annex to our camp." "It's better than the shack I've been living in," murmured the woman. "I'm done with that. Here," and she slipped her hand in her dress, carefully taking from a patched place in her skirt a small article. "This is yours--I know it!" "My ring!" Cora's eyes sparkled akin to the gem at which she was gazing. Hazel looked on dumbfounded. "Yes, it's your ring, but don't ask me how I got it," said Kate, "though I'm pretty sure you can guess." "I knew who had it, and I felt I would get it back," Cora replied, "but I never dreamed how I might recover it. Mother gave it to me on my last birthday." "Well I'll tell you this much, miss," and Kate Simpson glanced furtively around her, to make sure that no one might be approaching. "If there ever was two bigger villains than Jim Peters and Tony whatever-his-other-name-is-if-he's-got one, then I never heard tell of them. They're up to some new trick every day and another new one every night. But the worst--" She seemed afraid to go on. Evidently even a woman so used to hardship as this one could be frightened. "The worst?" asked Cora. "Is the one that goes on at Fern Island," almost whispered the strange creature. "Goes on?" exclaimed Hazel, who had hitherto been silent, too interested to interrupt. "Yes, miss, it goes on, and it will go on I'm afraid while them villains live." There was a shout from the camp. The others were looking for Hazel and Cora. The familiar yodel was sent back, then Cora told Hazel: "You run over, Hazel, and do something to interest them, while I take Kate up the back way. I want to get her some of those things the last maid left, and I want to refresh her a little." "But I couldn't wait, dear," sighed Kate. "If I don't get a train or boat away from this place soon, they'll be sure to catch me." "But you have done nothing wrong! Why shouldn't you go or come as you want to?" asked Cora. "I can't tell you, miss, but them men seem to have some power and I want to get away from it. Where might I find a train or a boat?" "If you have to go, I'll take you to the landing in my motor boat," replied Cora. "It has a canopy and you will not be seen on the water." "If you could. I'd be very thankful. You see I'm not much used to the water, and rowing over from the shack nearly did me up." "But I want to give you something for getting me my ring," insisted Cora. "It is quite valuable, you know." "I heard them say so, and now that the other girl is gone I'll tell you this much. Never you go over to that shack again," and the woman raised a warning finger. "It was a good thing you met me instead of Jim Peters the day you did go over. They'll be like tigers when they find I've got the ring. It was last night that gave me the chance. They had been out very late, and Tony didn't have any letters to copy so he fell asleep and--and I slipped away with it. I slept a bit under a tree, but indeed I was glad to see daylight." "And you have been out all night? You must not think of taking a journey without first having something to eat. If you are afraid to come up to camp I'll have something put in the boat for you," declared Cora. "But let me ask you, did you overhear anything about a girl named Miss Blake? I saw Jones leave a hall where she was singing last night, and I suspect he met her as she went out. My brother followed, but I have not seen him since. He stops at the boys' camp," Cora explained. "Blake? So that was the pretty girl who sang. Well, she had better be careful that she doesn't join the ghosts at Fern Island," said the woman, mysteriously. "I know the girl. She's from my home place. And that is why my brother went to see that nothing happened to her," Cora said. "Well, you are good people, one can see that," declared Kate. "But wait. I can't read much, but I picked this up to wrap the ring in." She handed Cora a soiled and crumpled telegram blank. Upon it was made out, in message form, these words: "Can place your friend at twenty-five week. Answer at once." BENEDICT. Cora pondered for a moment. "Who could have sent Jones such a message?" she asked. "Sent it?" repeated Kate. "He sends his own messages. He can copy any handwriting. I heard him say the trick worked," she finished. The truth flashed into Cora's mind. That man somehow knew the Blakes. He was pretending to place little vain Mabel with some theatrical company. When he left the Casino it was to show her the bogus message. And Jack must have been somewhere around within hearing distance. Surely things were getting complicated and mysterious in the summer colony. But Cora had her ring back, and for the rest she felt certain that the "ghost" of Fern Island, also the wild looking girl of whom they had gotten a glimpse, were in some way being wronged by Jim Peters and his associate, the handwriting expert. CHAPTER XI THE RACES "Of course we will enter," declared Cora. "I know my boat and I think it is as good as any little motor craft on the water." "But suppose we should get stuck away out in the lake," objected Bess. "Then what would we do?" The girls and boys were talking together a few days after Cora had helped mysterious Kate to get away, and had entered the water contest. "There would be plenty of boats to give us a tow," replied Cora, "but I have not the slightest idea of getting stuck. My engine works splendidly." She found an opportunity to whisper to her brother: "What about Miss Blake?" "I'll tell you later, sis," he whispered back. "It isn't very important. Don't ask me now," and then he went on fussing over the engine and oil cups. "If we only had our canoe," wailed Jack. "That was different from any boat I have seen here. It was built on racing lines. Funny what became of it." "Funny?" repeated Ed. "Tragic I think!" and he gave his sleeves another upward turn just to be doing something. "Deplorable," added Walter. "I think I looked just sweet in that canoe. Don't you, Hazel?" "Well, when I saw you--you did," she admitted, "but three boys in a canoe are not quite as attractive--" "As one girl and one boy," he put in. "Well, that is my own opinion, but Jack and Ed are so inartistic. I never can get them to see things my way." "We will race in the Peter Pan," Ed announced. "Of course she cannot be beaten. But it is not half as much fun to depend upon an engine as to rely upon muscle. The canoe for me." "But the glory!" exclaimed Belle. "That boat is beautiful." "The boat is! Look at us," and Jack stood almost on his head. "Boats are all right, but in the beauty class we come first." "What time do they start?" Cora inquired. "I've forgotten." "Motors at three, smaller craft earlier. I am going over to the Point to see the hand-boats," said Jack. "Of course everybody is interested in them." "Then girls," advised Cora, "get ready. We will have an early lunch, and go out for the afternoon. Perhaps we will bring the cup back." "Lucky if you bring your boat back," Jack cautioned. "Don't you want me to look the engine over, Cora?" "No, indeed. That would be a dangerous thing to do, for I now have every part clear. I have put on a bigger oil cup, have had the water circulation increased so the engine can not heat so, I have had a throttle control put up at the steering wheel so that I can slow down from there, and I tell you, Jackie, I have worked out the secrets of that engine until there are no more." "I should say you had, sis. I never knew there were so many attachments. Well, I know I can depend upon you to keep up the honor of the Kimball family. Come along fellows. Let's see that the Peter Pan is not done by the 'Peter Petrel.' I noticed she was puffing out a lot of oil this morning as we came over." "Then," said Cora, "you want to be careful. Your oil will run out and the best engine made will stop short if that happens." "Whew!" exclaimed Ed. "Suppose we get Cora to look over our boat? She seems to know." "Better have Paul do it," suggested Cora. "That boat is worth three thousand dollars, and I wonder they ever allowed you boys to rent it." "They would not if Paul had not vouched for them," Hazel explained. "They have a great regard for Paul's skill." "And is he not going in the races?" asked Bess. "I haven't heard him say," replied the sister. "Bet he'll be a dark horse," suggested Ed. "Well, we can't wish Paul any too much good luck, but I do wish he would not stick so dose to his boats and tools. We scarcely see anything of him." "Nor do I," agreed Hazel with a sigh. "I miss him dreadfully." "Poor child," and Walter affected to put his big brown arm around the girl. "Let me make up for Paul. Does he kiss you very often?" and he brushed her cheek. "Walter Pennington!" gasped the circumspect Hazel, "Do have sense!" "That's what Cora taught me--to help the needy," he floundered. "Come now, no more nonsense," ordered Cora. "If we are to race we have to get ready." A few hours later Cedar Lake was alive with craft. The rowboats and canoes were lined up first and our friends from Chelton, the girls in the Petrel and the boys in the Peter Pan, kept a sharp look out for the lost canoe. Of course they knew it would be repainted, but the lines being different from those of other boats they hoped to be able to distinguish it, should it appear for the races. The judges had taken their places. The platform at the Point was gaily decorated for the occasion, and all sorts of banners were flying. The course was to cover one mile, and it ran clear out into the open lake so that the delightful view was unobstructed. Of all the canoes a bright red craft with a girl in Indian garb attracted most attention. The girl had her hair flying and was indeed a striking figure in the brilliant bark. There were many green boats, all having Indian names, and there were those of wood in the natural color. Girls vied with boys in point of numbers, and had it all their own way in point of attractiveness. "They are all ready," Cora told her friends, as the man on the bench who held the pistol allowed it to glimmer in the sunlight. The next moment a crack rent the air and the boats shot off. For some moments no one spoke. All attention was riveted on the graceful canoes that so motionlessly covered the deep blue lake. The dip of the paddles was the only sign of movement although the dainty boats were making good time in covering the courses. Suddenly when all others had left and were off a light canoe shot out from some place, and a girl with her hair flying, and dressed most peculiarly, started off after them all. "She gave them a handicap," said Cora, then something occurred to her. The same thought came to the others for each held her breath. "The ghost girl!" whispered Belle, finally. "However did she get in?" "It surely is! See her go! And there--there is that man from Peters'," exclaimed Bess to Cora, "and he, too, is in the race." "They can beat anything on the lake," declared Hazel. "See her go!" "See him go!" In a few seconds those who had so mysteriously entered, the race were far up in the line with those who had first started. The girl was wonderfully graceful, and the man showed marked skill at the paddle. He was trying to keep close to her, that was evident, but at a cheer from the shore and from the outlying boats the girl shot ahead and was soon out of hearing of the man, who evidently was her companion. "She will beat him--she will beat them all!" declared Cora, and this was the opinion of most of the thousands of spectators. "But if she does," faltered Belle, "do you suppose she will go to the stand dressed like that to receive the prize?" "We shall see," said Cora. "At any rate this combination is far more interesting than the real race." A red canoe was alongside the girl in the light one. For a few moments it seemed she would be outdone. Then, with a clever light dip of her paddle, that scarcely seemed to touch the water, the Fern Island girl was again ahead. The first course had been covered and the boats were turned back for the final run. "The man has dropped out," said Belle, "See there he is just floating along." "He wouldn't be beaten, I suppose," Cora surmised, "Any one could see that the girl would come in first." "They are coming back and she has not started," said Belle, who had the marine glasses. "But she will," declared Cora. "Yes, there she comes! Oh isn't it exciting! To have the queer girl beat all those who pride themselves on their skill. I wonder who or what she can be?" queried Hazel. "Here come our boys," said Belle, as the beautiful golden Peter Pan motored over to the smaller Petrel. "What do you think of that?" called Jack. "Look at the Wild Duck!" "Isn't she a--bird!" confirmed the voice of Ed. "A Sea Gull," added the more polite Walter. "I say, girls, do you happen to know her?" "Yes," called back Cora, "We have met her." Then there was an exchange of words understandable only to those expressing them, and to those for whom they were expressed, but any one might have guessed that the boys in the Peter Pan were asking the girls in the Petrel to let them "meet" the wild bird of the light canoe. "They are almost in," said Bess, breathlessly. "Oh I hope she does not back out." "No danger," said Cora. "One can see that she is making for the finish line." "There are two boys who have been saving themselves," Hazel remarked. "I shouldn't wonder if they could beat our friend." "Oh, I hope not," exclaimed Belle. "I should be so disappointed." "And it would be impolite of them," added the innocent Bess, whereat every one laughed. The boys had been saving their strength. Now they paddled off and their craft, one of brown and one green, seemed equal to any of the others. "Hello there!" called Jack. "Did you notice?" "What?" asked Cora. "The canoe--the Gerkin?" "He means it has lines like the lost boat," said Cora. "I have not seen it enough to know," she finished, but at the same time she took the glasses to look at the new rival of the wild girl. "Yes it has, I remember," said Bess. "I had a good look at it the afternoon that they lost it. I was waiting for you to fix up your boat Cora, and I saw the boys' canoe." "Well, I suppose they could never be certain, as there must be more than one boat built even on those lines," said Cora. "My! See how close they are--the girl and the boys!" "She's ahead!" exclaimed Belle, clapping her hands. "How I hope she wins!" "We all do!" declared Hazel. Then they were silent. The first canoe was almost in, and it was the one called the Gerkin, paddled by the boys. "Go it girl!" screamed the boys from the Peter Pan. "Beat them, girlie!" called the girls from the Petrel. For one brief second the wild-looking girl turned in the direction from which the voices had come. Hats were waved to her, handkerchiefs flaunted and then she paddled--paddled straight ahead and came into the finish first! "Hurrah! Hurrah!" went up shout after shout. "I knew it!" cried Cora joyously. "Now let us watch her." "There's that dark man!" Bess told them. "Oh! I just wish he would keep away from her." But he did not. The girl in the light canoe turned from the spectators as if she had been deaf and dumb. And it was the dark man--the fellow called Tony Jones--who went up to the judges to get their verdict. CHAPTER XII ONE WAY TO WIN "We have no time now," Jack told Cora, "but as soon as the races are over I will ask what that fellow told the judges. Certainly he must have said that he had a right to, the girl's prize, or they would not have given it to him." "But how the poor thing hurried off! Why, she hardly had a chance to know that she won," replied the sister. "I think it a shame that the creature should be treated like something really wild," and she turned to watch the foamy wake that the little canoe was tracing, as the girl from Fern Island hurried to hide herself again where ever she might go. The signal precluded the possibility of further interest just then in the strange case, but indeed Cora's mind was not so readily shifted. She wanted to know about that girl. The speed boats were next to be tried out. What a splendid showing! Who would have dreamed that such handsome craft were on the waters of Cedar Lake? Of course they were all private boats, and their flags flaunted proudly before the spellbound spectators. The Peter Pan was among the very finest. In this were our boy friends from Chelton, and as they lined up the admiration expressed was unstinted. The Sprint was another splendid speed boat, built with torpedo stern and a queer spray hood at the bow. This was being run by a girl--a young lady noted for her skill at any sort of motor. "Oh, I hope our boys win," exclaimed Bess, as if that hope needed to be made known. "They have a good chance," argued Cora. "Of course so many things may happen that there is absolutely no surety of any machinery on the water." She looked to see that the oil cup levers of the Petrel were down to prevent the lubricant flowing before it was needed and also gave a critical survey of the little wire that connected on the cylinder. It emitted a clear "fat" spark as she touched it to the metal, and this seemed to satisfy her. "I guess ours is all right; isn't it?" asked Hazel. "Wouldn't it be fine if we won something!" "I fully intend to," declared Cora. "That means that we will," responded Belle. "If Cora intends!" "They're off!" called out Hazel, "look at Jack!" He was standing over the engine evidently making sure that even at the start he should not loose a single atom of the power that twirled the propeller. Ed was at the steering wheel. Walter was at the side, and with him was Paul Hastings. "There's Paul!" exclaimed Bess, when they could make out that the fourth figure in the boat was that of the boy's friend. "I thought he would run another boat." "He wouldn't want any other to beat the Peter Pan," explained Hazel, "and at the same time he would not take the glory of it from the boys who have it for the season. That's Paul," she finished proudly. The first "leg" of the course had been covered, and the three best boats, the Peter Pan, the Sprint, and the Lady B. were all in line. A dozen others were trailing, and while they showed less speed it was not safe to say that they could not catch up with the three stars. From buoy to buoy over the triangular course the boats fairly shot, and a beautiful sight they made on the green-hilled basin of Cedar Lake. The course was covered once and then the second round was started by the boats that had qualified. These were only five in number, one of them being a very queer looking craft, built high on the sides like a huge box and showing at the bow a double point, like a pair of slippers. This of course attracted considerable attention, and it shot past the Sprint, which was run by the young lady who had hoped to meet with no rival such as a home-made boat, to say the least. "Can't that go? Look at it!" the spectators were exclaiming. "See, Paul is at the Peter Pan's engine!" said Cora, as the color of that boy's cap made it plain that he had taken Jack's place. "I hope Jack has not strained his wrist, or done anything like that." "Very likely Paul is just seeing if everything is right," said Hazel. "See, there, Jack has his place again." During the second and third trials all interest was centered on the Peter Pan, the Hague, (the home-made boat), and the Sprint. Now this would be ahead, and now that, until it seemed that there could be but little difference in the merits of any of the three. Of course most of the sympathy was with the Sprint, because a girl was striving to outdo the boys. At the same time, the Hague, being such an oddity, and the lake folks knowing that this had been built by the boys who were running it, came in for its share of applause. "There is not a boat on the lake that can fairly beat the Peter Pan," Hazel declared almost feverishly, for the others were threatening to do so. "I have heard Paul say so." "He ought to know," said Cora with a sly wink, "but that big tub, the Hague, is something new. Perhaps it has the power of a destroyer." "It is big and clumsy enough to have any sort of power," remarked Belle. "I should just be sick if it did win." "All's fair, in a fair race," remarked Cora. "See the Hague is ahead!" One more course was to be made, and every eye and every mind was centered on this, the final test. The Peter Pan shot out bravely and safely. The Sprint made a splendid second! Then the Hague! Something seemed wrong. It was "missing." That could plainly be heard from the girl's boat. Away they flew, yard after yard being made in wonderfully short time. The Sprint was doing well with the Peter Pan. The Hague suddenly shot forward, passed every thing--passed the Sprint--passed the Peter Pan and won! "Hurrah for the tub!" yelled the crowd. "Hurrah for home talent!" shouted the throng. But the young lady in the Sprint throttled down and her boat drifted over to the boys. "How was that?" she asked breathlessly. "I don't know," replied Paul "but I'm going to find out. We were second and you made a splendid run--but I'm going to look into the glories of the Tub!" So keen was the disappointment of the girls in the Petrel that they seem to have lost heart for their own race, which came next. But when Ed and Jack called out to them, and Paul waved his cap in his own quiet way, the encouragement dispelled their lost of interest. Cora spun the flywheel, and the boat took its place. She looked every inch a girl to win, while Hazel kept close to the steering wheel and the twins did their part in just looking pretty. The motor girls' boat was the cynosure of every eye, as it happened to be the only boat in that class run by girls. The signal was given and they started off. "Steady!" Jack called. "Go it, sis!" He should hardly have done this, but his boyish love for the girls and their boat could not be restrained. Then they waved, and the maroon and white flag stood out tense and defiant like some animate thing. Not a word was spoken by the girls. It seemed so important to pay all attention to the machine upon which depended the loss or gain of a victory--if we may say that a victory can be lost. "Look out!" called Hazel suddenly and a boat crossed their path so closely that Cora was obliged to throttle down, and Hazel had to run straight for a buoy to avoid a collision, and the craft hit the course marker. Then the Petrel stopped short! It simply wouldn't move! "Oh!" sighed Belle and Bess in one voice, but Cora jumped up and tried for a spark. None came! She looked at the connections. They seemed all right. "Maybe it's in the gas," she said nervously, while the other boats were passing them by. She yanked down the bulkhead board that hid the gasoline tank. Then she saw the cause of the trouble. "Short circuited!" she exclaimed. "That happened when we struck the buoy. It jarred the battery wires together," and the next instant she had adjusted the difficulty and the engine, glad to be off again, seemed to try to make up for the lost seconds. Every one in the Petrel breathed a sigh of relief. The anxiety had been intense. "I was certainly afraid we would have to row to shore," Belle said, taking a more comfortable position. "We will make up for it," declared Cora, throwing on full speed and directing Hazel as to the best way to hold the wheel exactly straight and in doing so to get all possible distance out of each explosion of the engine. They finished in a tie over the first course. This was encouraging, for the little Mischief, their closest opponent, was acknowledged a fine boat. Two more courses were to finish the race, unless there was another tie. The girls scarcely noticed the frantic efforts of the boys in the Peter Pan who were encouraging and directing at the top of their lungs. The young men in the Mischief were anxious. They could never stand it to be beaten by a couple of country girls! But, on the second trial Cora's boat won, and then came the final test. Up the lake they went again! Now the Petrel was ahead and now the Mischief until the closeness of the two became absorbing. "The best race of the day!" the judges were declaring. "Neither has it all her own way!" "Plucky girls," said another of the men at the stand. "Whatever happened when they stopped they must have been well able to handle, from the way they caught up again. I thought they were out of it that time!" "We all did," put in some one else, "but I have seen that little girl on the lake before. She knows something about a motor boat." "Here they come!" Jack yelled. "Just look at Cora! Isn't she fine!" "And Hazel!" put in Paul with a smile. "How about Bess and Belle?" asked the fickle Walter. "I think they look just sweet!" Only two more "legs," and the Petrel was still ahead! One was covered, with the Mischief so close that only those in the best position could tell which one led. "Steady, Hazel!" cautioned Cora. Straight as an arrow she directed the wheel. Then there was a splash from a nearby motor boat. A shout and screams! "Overboard!" yelled the frantic onlookers. "A child overboard!" It was just at the side of the Petrel! "Hazel! The engine! Bess, the wheel!" shouted Cora, and before any one knew what she was about, she had jumped into the water and was making for the spot were the child had gone under. The boys in the Mischief did not stop. Hazel took the engine and Bess the wheel, realizing that Cora meant for them to finish. Presently she came up with the child in her arms! "Go it, girls!" she called, "Win! Win!" The Mischief was close alongside. Cora was clinging to the side of the boat from which the child had dropped, while the almost fainting mother was recovering her little one. The others assisted Cora in, and forgot all about her race. But Cora stood spellbound in the cockpit, dripping wet. She stood there ignoring the thanks poured out on her. "Steady, Hazel!" she called. "Win--win for me!" That was enough. The motor girls, those in the Petrel, realizing that their leader was safe, now determined to "win for her." The Mischief had gained in the time that Cora swung overboard, and now was just abreast of the Petrel. The slight change of course also told in the last few yards, but now Hazel and Bess forgot everything but the call of Cora to win, and their boat, like a flash, sprang up to its opponent and passed it by the closest record made in any of the races. "Hurrah! Hurrah!" rang out in their ears. "A double victory!" shouted one of the judges. Then the Petrel was turned back to get Cora who was in the other motor boat. The boys in the Peter Pan had not seen Cora dive over for the child, but as quickly as they heard the report, that was now being spread about, they made for the boat from which the accident occurred. Back with them went the boat of the accident crew, and when Cora finally returned to her own craft she had an escort of honor to the judges stand. "First prize for the Petrel!" announced the head judge. "And the honor medal for life-saving to Miss Cora Kimball, the leader of our brave little crew of motor girls." CHAPTER XIII VICTORS AND SPOILS "Wasn't it exciting!" Belle was saying to the little party that had gathered around Cora as she received their praise and congratulations after it was all over. "I never dreamed that boat races could furnish so many kinds of excitement." "I don't call it all delightful," objected Bess putting her arms around the still wet form of the girl who had made the rescue, "and I don't want to see Cora jump overboard that way again. I shall never forget it." "A good way to find out how much folks think of me" replied Cora. "I really didn't mind it a bit, once I knew that I could get the child before she got under a boat. That was all that worried me." "Your cup is a beauty though, sis," said Jack, who was examining the trophy. "I think it's prettier than the one we lost. Paul is not satisfied that we lost fairly though, and he's up there now disputing it." "What good can that do now?" asked Belle. "No telling. Paul knows what he is about," replied Jack. "But say, did you know that the wild girl in the canoe is deaf and dumb?" "No!" exclaimed all the girls in one voice. "Yes that's what the dark fellow who was trailing her told the judges, and that is why, I guess, she scampered off so. Too bad! She is pretty too." "And did the man take her prize?" asked Cora. "Sure thing," replied the brother. "He said he was her guardian." Cora thought for a moment. "Seems to me," she said finally, "that she turned towards us when we shouted to her." "Sometimes deaf people know such things by instinct," Jack offered as an explanation. "I thought too, that she gave us a knowing glance." "Pure conceit," said Ed. "Wallie claimed the glance, but I saw her hair float in my direction." "She's a star canoeist," declared Jack, "and I should like to be better acquainted with her." "Can you talk with your fingers?" asked Belle. "I know a little of the sign language, but I would not be too sure that I could carry on a conversation." "But you could introduce one," insisted Jack, "and once she knew I wanted to know her--I might depend upon--true love to make known all the rest." "Here! Here! Jackie!" cautioned Cora, "you are not to talk of love--until mother comes home. You have promised to look after me." "As if Ed and Walter couldn't do that ten times better than I can. But hello! Here comes Paul--the Paul." "It's ours," called Paul, before he was dose enough to talk in the regulation tones. "Come on up! The judges want to see the crew of the Peter Pan!" "Ours!" echoed Jack, Ed and Walter. "It certainly is ours. Those fellows had the gasoline doped?" "What's that?" asked Ed. "They had camphor and some other stuff in their gas," went on Paul, "and the engine nearly kicked out of the boat." "Did they admit it?" inquired Ed. "Not until I charged them with it," replied Paul. "I knew there was something up when they got ahead on that jump. Then I asked if I might take a look at that freak engine, and they allowed me to do so. I smelled camphor the minute I stepped aboard. They even had not sense enough to hide the bottle, and it's against the present racing rules on this lake to doctor gas. So I taxed them with it, and they finally admitted it and we went together to the judges. They were pretty decent chaps and did not seem to mind, very much, relinquishing the prize. You know what it is, don't you?" "Certainly, it's a dandy canoe," said Jack, "And you really mean that it is to be ours?" "If you don't hurry along some one else may claim it," said Paul. "It isn't mine, it's yours." "And to think that we and our boys both got prizes!" exclaimed Hazel. "Isn't it too good to be true?" "And too good to be false," answered Paul. "Now, boys, let's run along. I have something to do before evening." "And I had better make for camp," said Cora. "These togs are wet." "Of course," said Belle with sympathy in her voice. "But when do you get your medal, Cora?" "I believe it comes from Philadelphia. Some wealthy man has it stored there waiting to be claimed." "It's a wonder the mother of that little girl didn't want to adopt you, Cora," said Jack, as the boys started off with Paul. "I thought from the way she hung on to you she had intentions. Well, so long. We will give you first ride in our new canoe, and let us hope we will have better luck with this one than we had with the other," and then the boys went off for the prize. "I can't get over that girl being deaf and dumb," said Hazel, as the girls made their way to the camp. "I can scarcely believe it." "Well, now we have a double interest on Fern Island," Cora answered. "If there is really such an unfortunate creature hid or hiding there she ought to be rescued. I cannot understand, either, how that foreigner can be her guardian." "That Jones?" asked Bess, as innocently as if she had not seen the girl race and heard about the man claiming her prize. "Why, yes, of course," replied Cora. "And he says she is deaf and dumb. Who's calling? Didn't you hear some one?" "Yes, there's Mabel Blake hurrying after us," said Belle. "She looks excited." The girl who was running along the path did indeed "look excited." The motor girls waited. "Oh, I thought I would never catch up to you!" Mabel panted. "You do walk at such a pace!" "Why, how are you, Mabel?" asked Cora graciously. "I heard you had gone back to Chelton." "We did intend to--but we haven't," she faltered. "Jeannette has been ill." "Ill!" exclaimed more than one voice. "Yes, that's what I want to see you about. I don't know what to do," and Mabel's pretty brown eyes filled to the lashes. "Can we help you?" Cora asked. "I would like to speak with you alone, Cora," she said. "But I know what you did this afternoon, and I see you have still to change your clothing." "They are almost dry now," Cora replied. "Yet if you could wait five minutes I could easily change in that time. Here we are. Home again. And there! Nettie has heard all about our victories; haven't you Nettie?" "Indeed yes, Miss Cora. But I was afraid for you," replied the maid. "The child's father sent a message up here to ask when he might see you?" "Oh, they make too much fuss over a trifle," replied Cora. "Sit here on the porch with the girls, Mabel. I will be out soon." Finally Mabel pressed her handkerchief to her eyes and murmuring some sort of unintelligible excuse she rushed indoors. She was met in the hall by Cora. "Why, what is it, Mabel?" she asked, putting her arms about the sobbing one. "Oh, I cannot stand it," wailed Mabel. "The disgrace!" "What disgrace?" "The--that--man!" she stammered. "But I must go back to Jeannette. I am afraid she is losing her mind. Of course, you could not go with me, Cora. It would be too much after your hard afternoon. But Jeannette got your letter." "Yes? I hope she understood it." Mabel tried to dry her eyes. "I suppose she did if any one could understand such a thing," she replied. "But to think it is in the Chelton paper!" "When was it in?" Cora asked. "It will be out to-morrow!" replied the tearful one. "To-morrow," Cora repeated thoughtfully. "Perhaps Jack could stop it. He is well acquainted with the editor." "Oh, if he only could," and Mabel brightened up. "That's what makes Jeannette feel so dreadfully." "It was very unfortunate," Cora said. "He is a dangerous man." "Dangerous! I think he should be put in jail," declared Mabel hotly. "But it is so difficult to catch such people," Cora remarked. "You could scarcely name your charge against him?" "Name it? Never!" exclaimed the girl. "There you are. One woman who might put him in jail flies off to New York. You could at least accuse him of fraud and you refuse. I myself know of one wrong doing that affected me and I prefer to keep quiet--for the present at least. You see what cowards we all are where our pride is concerned. "You are not a coward, Cora Kimball," exclaimed Mabel, "and I know perfectly well you would denounce him if you thought that safest." "At any rate, Mabel, I think it will all come out right," Cora assured her. "Just wait until I have a glass of milk and I will go over and see Jeannette." "I can never tell how it all happened," sighed Mabel, "I really think he had me hypnotized." "He is a clever rogue," agreed Cora, and she knew now more about his roguery than she cared to sum up even to herself. CHAPTER XIV TALKING IT OVER The interview with Miss Jeannette Blake was not altogether satisfactory, but Cora was too careful of the sick one's feelings to ask deliberate questions. She could not really find out how far the Blakes had gone with Tony Jones in the matter of paying him for the alleged placement of Mabel with a theatrical company, but she guessed they had either actually paid a large sum, or had given a note that might be equally compelling. Also the notices that had been prepared for the press announcing her coming "debut" were very embarrassing. It was the day after the races, and Cora sat with her brother on the porch of their bungalow. She had told him of Mabel's plight and was asking him to help her clear up some of the shades and shadows. "Tell me, Jack," she asked, "what happened the night you followed Mabel out of the pavilion--the night that man gave her the false message?" Jack thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and looked very serious--for him. "To tell the truth, Cora," he began, "I had to make love to Mabel to get her out of his clutches." "Make love to her, Jack!" "Nothing smaller would do but you know, sis, the love was only a sort of sample, the kind a fellow might safely give away to any girl." Cora laughed. "You funny boy," she said, "to flatter a girl to save her from--flattery." "But didn't you ask me to? Didn't you say to watch Mabel that time you whispered as I was leaving? You are the funny one. It was you that put the wicked plot in my fair young head," and he sighed in mock sincerity. "But honestly, did you see that man give her the telegram? It seems to me you might be a witness should there be trouble." Jack jumped up. "Oh, no, you don't, sis!" he declared. "You don't get me in any further mischief. Mabel is too fond of me now." "Jack, don't be silly! I want you to wire the editor of the Chelton paper that, owing to the sudden illness of Miss Jeannette Blake, her niece, Miss Mabel Blake, has been compelled to stop her musical studies, and postpone her debut as a singer. That is all true and if the other notice does appear you can arrange to have this given as the latest." "Foxy!" declared jack. "'Not a word of fib and not a grain of truth. Well, you would beat Jones if you went at his game, but I do think it a good idea to wire Nat Phillips. I'll go and do so at once," he added, feeling in his pocket to make sure he had with him change enough to pay for the message. "And Jack," Cora went on, "since you have been so good, don't you think it would be lovely for you to sort of keep track of Mabel for a day or two? That man, I am afraid, has her under some sort of influence, and there is no telling what he might not try to do to get some Blake money." "Make more love to her? Suppose she takes me up?" "I really cannot explain it all, Jack," said Cora gravely, "but the man has frightened more than Mabel. The woman who kept house for him and Peters was so afraid that he would find out she was leaving, that I could scarcely persuade her to wait while I changed the batteries in my boat. She kept saying she wanted to get out of his power. And now Mabel declares he had her hypnotized. Then that sort of queer girl who won the canoe race--surely he has her somehow in his power, as they express it." "Powerful man," answered Jack, "but how is it, Cora, that you talked with him and he did not hoodoo you?" "Oh I'm immune I suppose," and she smiled with her handsome face turning up in becoming hauteur. "Guess Ed thinks that, too," said the brother mischievously. "He has been growling to me about it." "Ed is a dear, nice boy," she said simply. "That's the sort of compliment a girl always pays the fellow she is going to turn down," Jack declared. "I think, brother, making love to Mabel has gone to your head. But hurry along to the station and send off the message." Cora sat there silent for a few moments. There was no one about the camp but herself, and she would soon go down to the lake for a run in her boat. She was thinking that of all the peculiar cases of other people's troubles in which she felt she had a right to interfere that of the girl who was said to be deaf and dumb and who was probably hidden somewhere on Fern Island was the case most urgent. If only she could really find her, and find that poor demented old man who had so strangely crossed her path. Cora had not the least fear of either of them and suddenly she resolved to go alone to Fern Island and try to find them. Ten minutes later, when she had left a note dangling from the hanging lamp in the dining room, saying to the girls that she would be back by supper time, Cora was gliding up Cedar Lake in the Petrel. She was glad that she did not meet any of her friends who would, of course, ask where she was going. And now she was too far away to meet any boats of summer fisher folks or pleasure seekers. "I am beginning to believe in the psychic," she mused, "for I have a feeling that a cry for help comes from that perfectly silent island." Her heart beat quickly as she throttled down her engine, stopped it, and finally stepped ashore. Her landing was made on a different side of the island than before and she saw instantly that feet had been treading down the ferns from shore to inland. This path served to guide her along. Then she noticed particles of food. "Hardly picnic folks along here," she thought. "Perhaps the canoe girl is somewhere about--" But what was her terror when she faced the shore at a dear spot in the woods and against it saw the boat of the man Peters. "Oh!" she gasped. "He must be on the island!" Then she listened. Yes, there was a step! She sank down behind a clump of thick bushes and while hiding there she saw, not Peters, but Jones saunter down to the water's edge! How she trembled! A half-fainting sensation overcame her. From a crouching attitude she sank flat on the ground and felt too weak to attempt to raise herself. Meanwhile the man had reached his rowboat and pushed off. He glanced along and saw the motor boat. "That girl!" he muttered. "She is interfering with my plans again. This would be an ideal place for a--" Then he stopped. "Bah! I'll just give her a chance to think over her courage." Cora was still under the bush, and did not hear the gentle purr of her engine as the man started down Cedar Lake in her own precious motor boat, dragging his rowboat behind. CHAPTER XV TWO GIRLS ON THE ISLE "He's gone!" Cora murmured, as creeping out from her hiding place, she could see that the rowboat had left the shore. "Well, I am safe again, for I have not the slightest fear of any one who may be on this island--now." Cora glanced about her in a dazed way. Then she noticed that the bent grass and fern led toward a hill in a deep part of the wood. "Strange," she was thinking. "I feel so absolutely certain that the young girl is about here, and that she needs help." The path was so faintly outlined that Cora could scarcely trace it, but she knew if any one was in hiding the place of concealment must be at the end of the path. Several times she looked back of her to make sure that the man Jones was not following. Then suddenly she thought she heard a faint moan! She listened. Yes, that was a sob and in a girl's weak voice. Cora quickened her steps, and forgetting now to watch the path she was covering, forgetting all except that a human creature must be in pain, and that she could probably help that person. Cora Kimball almost ran until she reached the hill, where she saw a sort of screen made from the broken branches of trees. Another moan! It was behind that screen! Quick as a flash Cora jerked down the branches, thrust her head into a cave and there beheld the one who was sobbing and moaning. It was the canoe girl! She lay on a bed of pine needles her pretty face as pale as death, and her lovely hair tangled in the pine pallet. As Cora pushed her way into the queer cave, the girl turned, and seeing her, screamed--such a scream as one might expect from the insane. At the same moment the brush was again pushed from the door and there stood the wild man! His white hair and his white beard showed Cora that he was the same person who had so strangely crossed her path in the woods the day she was fern-gathering. "I want to help you," Cora spoke timidly, while the girl on the ground moaned pitifully. "Help?" whispered the man, and his voice was as gentle and soft as a woman's. "They have killed my girl," and he knelt down beside the prostrate figure. He kissed her passionately. Then she opened her eyes. "Father, dear," she murmured, "You must go--quick!" He kissed her again; then he turned to Cora. "Young woman," he said gravely, "you must not harm my darling. She is innocent." Then he left the cave. What could she do? What should she do? This girl was neither deaf nor dumb, and for that Cora was grateful, but if that dangerous man, who had said she was both, should return, and find Cora with her! "Dear," said Cora gently, "try to trust me. Tell me what I can do for you?" "Oh, if I could but die!" the girl sobbed, "but there is father!" Then Cora saw that she was becoming unconscious. Feeling about the half-dark cave place Cora came upon a pail of water. Beside it was a tin cup and this she filled and carried to the sick girl's lips. "Try to drink," she whispered. "Then if you can stand I will take you to my house in my boat." The girl did sip some of the water. Again she opened those wonderful eyes and looked at Cora. "You are kind," she said. "He did not send you?" "No one sent me, dear, and I promise never to betray you." "At last," she murmured, "a friend!" "Yes, a friend," Cora assured her, "and I am going to prove it to you. I saw you one day as we--some girls and myself came to this island. Then I saw you win that splendid race, and since then I have been determined to find you." "'He made me do it, he made me go in the race," said the girl, "and now he brings this letter." "What has shocked you so?" Cora asked. "Was it the letter?" "Yes, he says they are coming for father!" "Who?" Cora asked, but the girl's face went so white that again she pressed the tin cup to her lips. "There," Cora went on, "we will talk of nothing now but of what we shall do to make you well again. Could you walk ever so little a distance? To my motor boat?" "If I could, what then?" asked the girl. "Then loving hands would bring back the color into your checks, and then the best boys in the world would come to help your father." "Help father!" she repeated. "But that can never be done. Father is--an outcast!" "But he has no disease," Cora said, remembering what Kate, had told her was Tony's excuse for going to see a victim of some dreadful disease, who was on Fern Island. "No, thank God, his body is well, but his soul is sick--so very sick." "Let me see if you can sit up?" asked Cora. "It will soon be night and we must try to get away." "It will, be much better to leave him, and return, soon, well and strong enough to comfort him again," Cora said, "than to stay here, and perhaps die." "You are right," said the stranger getting up on her elbow. "Oh, what it means to speak with a girl again. Heaven must have sent you." "There, you are up now," spoke Cora quickly, realizing the importance of urging the girl to get up while she felt so inclined. "See, you can stand! There, now you can walk." "But I must say good-bye to father. Oh! should I leave him?" she sobbed. "Just for a little while, dear," Cora again assured her. Then the girl put her finger to her mouth and gave a queer whistle. "I will be outside so he will know that I am better," said the girl. "Father has been so frightened." The next moment the man appeared again. "Father," said the girl, "I am going with this friend some place to get well. Should I go?" "Friend? Yes, she is all of that. Daughter go!" and the man pressed her to his breast. "And you will be all right? No one will come for you?" A look of horror swept over his face. "They shall not find me," he faltered, releasing his daughter from the embrace. "Let me tell you, sir," ventured Cora, "that the man I just saw leave this island is a villain. Don't believe one word he says." "Villain? Yes! He is that, for he would have carried off my Laurel!" "Hush father, you showed him that you had more strength than a coward can have. I feel so much better. I am almost cured since this girl has taken my hand." "My name is Cora Kimball," said our heroine, "and I have a camp at the lower end of the lake. It is there I am taking Laurel." "And she may come to see me?" almost sobbed the aged man. "My little wild Laurel." "Yes, indeed, and some day I feel that we may take you, too, away from this island. There, I do not mean anything to harm you. Come, dear, it is growing dark." "I will leave a branch of laurel to guide you back to me," the man said to his daughter. "When you come, look for it as I shall place it fresh every day." "Go now, before I go," his daughter urged. "Then I shall feel that you are safe." He turned, and the girls stood to watch the last of that queer form as it disappeared over the hill. He was going to one of his many woodland haunts. "Now we may go," said the lonely one. "Poor, dear father!" "Be brave," urged Cora, as she led her toward the shore. "I am so glad I found you." "If you had not I feel I should have gone insane. That man was always terrible, but today he wanted to take me away!" "Once in my little boat and you will almost forget all those terrible things," said Cora. "I left--it--here!" Then she stopped in dismay, as she saw that the boat was gone! CHAPTER XVI A TERRIBLE NIGHT "The boat is gone!" Cora almost gasped. Then the girl, the sick frail creature, did a remarkable thing--she came to the rescue of the stronger one. "No matter," she said calmly. "I feel so much better with a girl to speak to, that if you will put up with my strange life for a night, perhaps it will be all right in the morning. There," as Cora showed by her change of color that she felt it would be a risk, "lots of people think sleeping, out of doors is the very best sort of life. Don't you want to try it?"' and her arm stole around Cora's waist. "Why, of course we can only try, but I am afraid that you will suffer, Laurel. You are very weak," said Cora. "No, I was only frightened," and she made an effort to show that she did really feel better. "Now, when we go back we must not let father know that we are still on the island." Cora did not question this. That the girl had a good reason for keeping her presence a secret from her father she felt certain. But to turn back to those woods! And night so near! "I suppose there is absolutely no way of getting a boat?" Cora questioned. "Even my canoe is gone. That awful man is to blame," replied the girl. "Did he take it?" asked Cora. "When I refused to go with him, he said I might die here," replied Laurel. "That was to get more money from father. Oh, you cannot know how I have wished to speak with some one!" and her big, brown eyes filled with tears. "And I am so glad I did come," Cora assured her, "even if our first night must be a lonely one. I am used to queer experiences." "Then I will have no fear in showing you how I have lived here. Of course, it was for father." They retraced their steps, and in spite of all the assurances that each pledged to the other it was surely lonely. "Shall we go to your little pine cave?" Cora asked. "I think it would be better not to," replied Laurel, "for indeed, one never knows what that man might do. He might come back just to frighten me." "And he saw how ill you were?" "Oh, most men think girls get ill to order. Very likely he thought I was acting," and the strange girl almost laughed. "Our folks will be frightened about me," Cora said. "Are there no means of getting away from here?" "There is not a person on this island that I know of," replied Laurel. "Of course, Brentano took your boat." "Brentano?" Cora repeated. "Yes. Did you not know his name?" "He seems to have a collection of names. One calls him Tony, another Jones, and now it is Brentano." "But we knew him abroad. That is his name." Cora wondered, but did not feel inclined to ask further questions then. It was almost dark, and under the pine trees shadows fell in gloomy foreboding. "Hark!" exclaimed Cora. "I thought I heard an engine!" They listened. "Yes it is an engine," replied Laurel, "but I am afraid it is over at Far Island." "Couldn't we shout?" "I would rather not. You see father wants to stay here," she said hesitatingly. "You mean if any one came for us they would know we were not alone here?" "They might suspect. Or they might just happen to see father." Cora was sorry. She wanted so much to call to the possible passerby, but she saw that the other girl had some very strong motive in wishing to leave the island secretly. "Do you never go away from here?" she asked. "Only when I am forced to, as I was the day of the race. He made me race, threatening to expose father if I did not." "And then he said that you were deaf and dumb," added Cora indignantly. "I did not mind that at all. In fact it was the easiest way for me to get out of meeting people." Laurel sighed heavily. "I do wonder when our lives will change," she said finally. "Let us hope very soon," Cora said. "I, of course, do not know your story, but I feel that in some way that man is wronging you." "Yes, he has been our evil genius ever since he crossed our path. You see father's mind is not entirely clear, and I do not myself know what to believe." In the distance they could now see the lights of several boats, and behind the great hill that made Far Island look like some strange mountain place, the sun was all but lost in the forest blackness. "Oh," sighed Laurel suddenly. "I feel faint again." She sank down before Cora could support her. And they were away from the little hut where the water was! Away from every thing but the pitiless night! "Oh, how dreadful," moaned Cora. "What shall I do?" For a long time Laurel lay there so still that Cora feared she might really die. Then at last, she managed to sit up and grasp Cora's hand. "I have never been ill in my life," she said. "It was all from that shock the day he compelled me to go in the race." "Then you have every chance of getting perfectly well again," Cora assured her. "If that dreadful man had only left my boat." "Perhaps in the morning we may be able to go," Laurel said. "Now that I have made up my mind I feel it will be better for father as well as for me, for if anything happened to me I fear he would die." A light in the distance for a time gave them hope that a boat might be coming to the island, but, like a number of others, it turned toward the pleasure end of the lake. "I guess we will have to make the best of it for to-night," Cora sighed. "Shall I try to find the hut and get you some food?" "And you have not eaten! In my misery I forgot you. Of course--there now--I am better, and we will have to make our way to the pine hut. But if that man comes back!" and she shuddered. "Why does he hold such power over you?" asked Cora, as she put her arm protectingly around her companion. "Does he supply you with your things out here?" "We supply him," replied the girl bitterly. "He is never satisfied but always demanding more, until father will soon have nothing left." Cora was mystified but this was no time for the strange story. She must help the girl to the pine hut. "I believe you are more weak for want of food than from illness," Cora said. "I hope we find something to eat." "Oh, yes, he brought things, but he should have done so before. I am weak for food." It was difficult to find the way back now in the darkness, but the two lonely, frightened girls trudged on. At last Laurel was able to feel the stone on the path that gave the clue to her little hut. "Does Brentano know you?" she asked Cora suddenly. "I know him. I have been to his shack, and I have heard a lot about him from a housekeeper who left Peters. Do you know he is a handwriting expert?" "A hand-writing expert!" gasped the girl. "Does that mean he could copy a signature?" "Perfectly," replied Cora, "but how you tremble? What is it now?" "Girl! girl!" she gasped. "What that may mean to us! Oh, I must find father! He will know. I must signal to him." "Please do not to-night," begged Cora, fearing a new collapse from the excitement. "Wait until daylight. Here, now we shall get our food." They were within the pine hut and had lighted a lantern. A loaf of bread and some salt meat were easy to find in the rudely-made box that served for a closet. "I am actually starved," Cora remarked, with an effort to be pleasant. "I guess your pine trees make one hungry." "Hark!" breathed Laurel. "I heard a step!" The next moment Cora stood at the entrance to the hut, and waited. The step was coming closer and closer! And it was plainly that of a man! "Oh, what can it be?" gasped Laurel. "Or who is it?" "I--I don't know," whispered Cora, her voice trembling in spite of herself. "But we must be brave, Laurel, brave." "Oh, yes, I will be! Oh I how glad I am that some one is with me--that you are here!" Cora felt the other's frail body trembling as she put her own strong arms around the shrinking girl. Then Cora peered from the door of the hut. Still that stealthy footstep till the approach of that unknown. Cora felt as if she must scream, yet she held her fears in check--not so much for her own sake as for the other. Suddenly there was a crash in the underbrush, the crackling of brushes, the breaking of twigs. "He--he's fallen!" gasped Laurel. "Tripped over something," added Cora. "Oh, maybe he will turn back now." Them was silence for a moment and then, to the relief of the girls, they heard footsteps in retreat. Their unwelcome visitor was going away. "Oh, he's gone! He's gone!" gasped Laurel in delight. "Maybe it wasn't a man at all," suggested the practical Cora. "It might have been a bear--or--er some animal." "There are no bears on this island," replied her companion with a wan smile--"no animals bigger than coons, and they couldn't make so much a noise. Besides, I heard him grunt, or moan, as he fell. So it must have been a man." "Well, he's gone," rejoined Cora, "and, now that he's left us alone I'm going to hope that he didn't hurt himself. He interrupted our supper and now it's time we finished it," and in the dim light of the lantern they ate the coarse food and waited--waited for what would happen next. CHAPTER XVII THE SEARCHING PARTY "I know something has happened to Cora," Hazel was lamenting, "and I am afraid we have lost good time in not going with the boys. Let us get ready at once. Here Bess and Belle, you take these lanterns, Nettie carry matches--and take a strong mountain stick, and--" "Oh, mercy!" exclaimed Belle, in terror, "why should we need a strong stick!" "To make our way with," replied the practical Hazel. "It is not easy to get about in woods on a dark night like this," and she gave a look at the lights to make sure they were all right. "The boys were to send word here, or to leave word with Ben if they found her. Now let's hurry." It was a sad little party that started off from Camp Cozy. When, that evening, according to the note Cora had left on the hanging lamp, she did not appear, for some little time, there was scarcely any anxiety. Cora was so reliable, and of course they could conjecture a dozen things that might have detained her. But when an hour passed, and she then was not to be found, Jack jumped up, Ed and Walter followed, and as they hurried off, left the word that through Ben, or by message to camp, they would report to the girls. Now another whole hour had passed, and there was no message. "Which way shall we go--?" asked tenderhearted Bess. "To the landing first," Hazel replied. She was always leader in Cora's absence. This was but a short way from the camp. At the landing stood Ben with his faithful lantern. "They've got her boat," he blurted out. "Where?" asked the girls in chorus. "Just in the cove. But nothin' could hev hurt her there. She ain't drownded in that cove." "But how could her boat get there?" demanded Hazel. "No way but to be run in there," answered Ben. "I tell you, girls, this is some trick. 'Taint her fault of course, but she's all right somewhere." The thought of the man Jones flashed through Hazel's mind. And he had threatened Cora. She had interfered in taking away Kate, the house keeper, she had found out about the man and girl on Fern Island, and she had saved little Mabel Blake! Now all that-- "Trick!" repeated Bess. "That could not be called a trick." "For want of a better word," said Ben, with apology in his voice. "But when the boys found the boat they started off in her and left word you were not to follow." "But we must," insisted Hazel. "We might find her and they might not. But how can we go?" "I could get you another boat if you're set on it," offered Ben, "but I wouldn't like to displease the young men." "Oh, we will answer for that," Hazel assured him, "just get the boat. We will go up the lake." "Yes, you've got it right. Up the lake, fer I saw Tony comin' down the lake." Only Hazel understood him. He, too, suspected the man of many names. It was not more than five minutes later that Dan brought the small motor boat from the dock, and scarcely more than another five minutes passed before the girls were off. There were many small boats dotted about the water, and the girls looked keenly for the flag of the Petrel which they could have distinguished even in the darkness for the white head-light always showed up its maroon and white, but old Ben took no heed of the craft in the lower end of the cove. He headed straight for either Far or Fern Island--the twin spots of land far away. Out in the broadest part of the water they suddenly came upon a rowboat without a light. "Look out there!" shouted Ben. "Where's your light?" There was no answer. Ben turned as far out of his course as it was possible to do at the rate his own boat was running. "There is no one in that boat," declared Hazel. "See, it is just drifting." "Might be," said Ben, throttling down his gasoline so that he might turn nearer the other craft for inspection. "There does not seem to, be any one in it," declared Bess, who also looked over the edge of the smaller boat. Ben did not reply. He had recognized the other craft as that belonging to Jim Peters, and guessed that the man might be up to some trick. When he had almost stopped his motor he jumped up and peered into the rowboat. "'Low there!" he called "Sleepin--?" There was no answer. "Hum," he sniffed, "thought so. It's Jim. Say there Jim, you're not over friendly." Thus taunted the man in the other boat moved to the low seat. He growled rather than spoke, but Ben was not the sort to take offence at a fellow like Jim. "Joy riding?" persisted Ben. "Say, you smart 'un," spoke Peters, "when you want to be funny better try it on some 'un else. Leave me alone," and he picked up the oars and sculled off. "What do you suppose he was hiding for?" asked Belle. "Oh he always has somethin' up his sleeve," replied Ben with a light laugh, "and the best we can do is to follow him." "But then we cannot look farther for Cora," Objected Hazel. "The best way to find her is to make sure that he does not find her first," said Ben. "She's all right so long as we keep her away from her enemies," and he turned the boat down the lake toward the landing. CHAPTER XVIII FOUND From the finding of Cora's boat to the landing at Fern Island the boys lost little time. Somehow Jack felt the night's work had to do with the hermit and his daughter; also he feared that the man Jones might know of it, so that he lost no time in hurrying to the far end of the lake in hope of there finding his sister. Few words were spoken by the three boys as they landed, took the lanterns from the motor boat, and after detaching the batteries, to make sure no one would run off with the craft, they sought a path in the wilderness. Good fortune, or kind fate, led them in the right direction. They could see that the way had been beaten down. They walked on, one ahead of the other, when Jack, who was in the lead, stopped. "What's this?" he exclaimed, stooping to pick up a white thing from the ground. "A letter," he finished, holding out a square envelope. The other young men drew nearer to Jack, to examine what might prove to be an unexpected clew. "What do you make of it?" asked Ed. "It's--er--" Jack paused suddenly. On the envelope he had caught, in the light of a slanting ray from a lantern a girl's name--"Laurel." He had been on the point of taking the missive from its cover, but the glimpse of that name prevented him. Somehow he felt that it might have to do with the disappearance of Cora--she was always getting mixed up with girls, he reflected. And it might not be just the best thing to publish broadcast what this was Jack dissimulated. "I guess it's some shooting license a hunter has dropped," he completed his half-finished sentence. "I'll just stick it in my pocket until we get to a place where I can look at it better. I might lose something from the envelope in the woods. Come on, boys." "I think we're on the right trail," spoke Walter. "But where in the world can Cora be?" asked Jack. He was beginning to be very much disturbed and was under a great mental strain. "Let's yell!" suggested Ed. "If Cora is within hearing distance she'll hear us." "Good!" cried Jack. "All together now!" They raised their voices in a shrill cry that carried far. As the echoes died away there seemed to come, from a distance, an echo of an echo. They all started as they heard it. "Hark!" commanded Jack, standing at attention. "It's a voice all right--an answer," declared Walter. "Yes," agreed Cora's brother. "It was over this way. Come on, boys!" Together they dashed through the bushes, trampling the underbrush beneath their feet. The lanterns they carried gave but poor light and more than once they crashed into trees. But they kept on, stopping now and then to call again and listen for the answer. "Look! A light!" suddenly cried Jack, pointing off to the left. "Come on!" shouted Ed, and they changed their course. Five minutes more of difficult going, for they had gotten off the path, brought them to the pine hut. In the doorway stood two girls with their arms about each other. "Cora!" gasped Walter and Ed in one voice. "And the other may be--Laurel," murmured Jack, and then he too cried: "Cora!" The next instant he had his sister in his arms, and there arose a confused clamor of joyful voices, each person trying to talk above the others. "And--and you are really alive!" cried Jack, holding his sister off at arm's length and gazing fondly at her. "Yes, Jack," was the glad response. "You see, Jack dear, it takes a good deal to do away with me." "But--but something surely happened!" he insisted. "Of course it did, but I'm not going to tell you about it now." "Yes, make her, Jack!" insisted Walter and Ed. "And your friend," added Cora's brother in a low voice. "Oh, I almost forgot," she replied. "Boys, this is Laurel--Wild Laurel if you like. Laurel, these are the boys, including my brother. You can easily tell who he is," she added dryly. "More formal introductions can wait." "Tell us what happened," demanded Jack, and then Cora briefly related what had taken place since she came to the island, how she had discovered the loss of her boat and had found Laurel and the old hermit. She told of their parting from Laurel's father and how she and her companion had returned to the hut. "And then--then some one came toward the hut after we got here," she finished. "And, oh, how frightened we were! But whoever it was went away again and didn't bother us. Then we ate something and--and well, you know the rest." "It's all right," Ed soothed, realizing that both girls had been terribly frightened. "We just came from the lake by your path. It's splendid to find you Cora," and he went over to press her hand. "And I am sure you and your friend are glad to be found." Cora looked up, and in the dim lantern light she could be seen to smile. "It was all because someone took my boat," she said in a braver voice. "Laurel and I were just going to the main land." "As soon as you feel able we will take you to the boat," suggested Jack. "It must have been very bad here for you, and with some one else loose in the woods." "Oh, it was," said Cora. "Jack, I have been in many dreadful places, but on an island with an enemy prowling about seems to be the most fearful." "An enemy?" repeated Walter. "Yes, that man Tony, or Jones, took my boat," declared Cora, indignantly, "and this time I will not try to make the laws myself. I am sure he took your canoe, and now my boat!" "Well, we have you anyway," said Jack giving his sister a great warm embrace, "and now we are going to take you both back to civilization. Walter, can you care for Miss Laurel?" And then Jack, seeing a good chance, slipped into Laurel's hand the envelope he had picked up in the woods. The girl started, stared at him for a moment, and then hid the missive from sight. She did not speak, but looked her thanks to Jack. So happy were the girls to get away and to be in such safe company, that the shock and exhaustion following it were almost forgotten. Cora felt much stronger, and so did Laurel. They looked like two very much tossed and tousled girls, but the boys were not thinking of their looks just then. "Are we going in my own boat?" asked Cora, showing how the ownership of that boat had been so dear to her. "In the Pet!" replied Ed, "Jack, let me help Cora; you take the light." Walter, waited for Laurel. She seemed to have things to take with her from the hut. "A queer camp, isn't it?" she asked, "but it's a great little place on a warm clay." "Or a dark night," dared Walter, whereat Ed threatened to take both girls and so leave the wily Walter alone--for punishment. The girls laughed. "Walter is our champion," explained Cora. "I shouldn't wonder if it were he who found us." "Never," contradicted Jack. "I--found you." "That's a good, dear, old Jackie," replied Cora assuming something of her old-time lightheartedness. "Of course, Jack, you knew!" Laurel was fumbling in her blouse. The others noticed the movement. "Just a picture I want to take," she explained. "You see, this is quite an old camp." They saw but they did not understand. Then they started out in the darkness. "Did you ever see such a black night?" asked Cora, "I had no idea Cedar lake was so--so threatening!" "Never!" replied Ed. "But the water is just as friendly as ever," declared Jack. "Now let us try it." He untied the boat, and the party stepped in. Cora pressed Laurel's hand in silent encouragement for she saw her turning her eyes toward Fern Island. "A lovely boat," Laurel remarked too quietly for the young men to hear her. "Shall I speed her?" asked Jack opening the gas valve. "Oh, yes, let us get home," begged Cora. "The girls must be frightened to death." "They are," Walter assured her. "Belle was smelling kerosene to keep up, when we left," he went on superciliously. "And Hazel was looking for a club," Jack announced. "What about Bess, Ed?" asked Cora. "Bess--oh Bess, she was puffing--for breath. Bess had the puffs," he volunteered in a weak attempt at nonsense. They were running down the lake. It seemed as if the boat knew exactly where to go, and also that her own mistress was aboard. "Why, there's the landing!" exclaimed Cora, "how quickly we got here." "And there is a crowd around. I'll wager they are there to welcome us," said Jack happily. For a few moments all waited to see how the crowd would take the news of the finding of Cora. "There are a lot of lights," remarked Ed in puzzled tones. "And boats," added Walter. They were looking intently at the center of the crowd on the water. "What's going on over there?" asked Jack, looking up from the engine which he was slowing down. "Something must have happened," answered Cora. "Hark! There's a lot of excited talk." Across the water floated the murmur of voices, some of them raised high in discussion. "What's going on?" called Jack to a man who slipped past the side of the Petrel in a rowboat. "Fight!" was the quick answer. "Jim Peters and a fellow they call Tony. They had a quarrel about some papers and a girl, and I don't know what not." "A girl?" gasped Cora, wondering if she could be involved in the unpleasantness. "Well, that's what some say. I don't rightly know. Guess it didn't amount to much. Anyhow they've got Peters over there in his boat. They're bringing him to a doctor. It seems Tony whacked him with a boat hook, and then, thinking he'd done serious damage, he leaped overboard and swam for it. They can't find him." "And I don't believe they ever will," put in another voice, and as a second boat came up Cora recognized old Ben. "Ah, it's Miss Kimball and her friends," he added as he saw Cora and those in the Petrel. "Now here's a chance for you to use your brains, Miss Cora. Can't you find Tony for us?" "No, why should I," she answered somewhat coolly. She did not quite like this familiarity. "Oh, I didn't know," laughed Ben genially. "I just thought you always like to be doing things." "Not that kind," put in Jack. "Is Peters much hurt?" asked Ed. "It's hard to say," answered Ben. "He's pretty tough and I guess it's hard to do him much damage. I'm going over to see about it." He rowed over toward where the other boats were congregated and the Petrel with the slow progress of which he had been keeping pace, swung on to the dock. Cora and the others could see the return of the little flotilla about the boat in which was Jim Peters. CHAPTER XIX IN BRIGHTER MOOD It takes but a small happening to furnish excitement for a small place, and the fact that Jim and Tony had quarreled, and that near the landing, created quite a buzz. Of course, much disliked as Jim was, he was one of the regular fishermen, while Tony was a comparative stranger. This caused the latter to disappear when he saw that he had knocked Jim down and had perhaps seriously injured him. The landing of Cora and the meeting with her friends was almost unnoticed. It was the fight, and the possible hope of more of it, that occupied the morbid crowd. "Cora! Cora!" the girls were exclaiming, each evidently trying to be the most exclamatory. "Where have you been?" asked the ever-wise Hazel. "Why, just getting Laurel," replied Cora as Belle loosed her hold on Cora's neck. "Belle dear, be careful," she begged, "my neck is awfully sunburned." "We were scared to death," declared Bess, fanning herself with her handkerchief. "We thought you had been kidnapped." "No, it was the boat that was kidnapped," replied Cora, "A boat is more useful than--" "Now, Cora," interrupted Ed, "just be careful. Didn't we go after you? And didn't we carry you off?" Laurel had taken Jack's advice and was resting on an old beam that lay alongside the dock. She was very pale, as one could see even in the uncertain light. Yet her sudden restoration to something like strength might be accounted for by the fact that she had eaten some food in the hut, the previous fast having weakened her greatly. Or was it the letter Jack gave her? "It's wonderful to be back again," remarked Cora. "You have no idea how far away Fern Island is at night." "Oh, dreadful!" exclaimed Belle. "I would have died." "Poor place for dying," put in Ed. "'Twould be like the babes in the wood, and the birdies and the leaves and all that sort of thing. Even to die, Belle, one may do it up in style." "I don't think you should make a joke of death," objected Belle, pouting. "Oh, I didn't," declared Ed. "I was only trying to make a joke out of the idea of you being able to die--any place. You never will, Belle. You will go on being nice forever, like the brook." The crowd had now scattered, so that the girls might make their way along to camp without brushing through the throng. They had left their boat at the landing, in order to see the girls, who, Jack declared, were waiting there. They could now go aboard again and finish the journey. "Say folks," said Ed in a merry voice, "I propose that we make for the camp. We are starved, every one of us. "And Laurel must be actually weak," added Cora, "for all sorts of adventures interfered with our supper." Seeing the canoe girl, the others drew up to her. Whispered remarks were politely passed, but Jack kept winking and making queer signs toward Walter. Cora joined in the mirth as well as she could but was still nervous. As Cora's boat was setting out, Ben leaned over and whispered: "Don't listen to word from any one, and what's more, if you know anything about the cause for this fight keep it close-to yourself. I told your brother the rest," and he covered her small white hand with his own brown rough palm. "Thank you, Ben, and yes, I will remember," said Cora, with more stress in her voice than in her words. Then the Petrel puffed up to Camp Cozy. There all attention was bestowed upon Laurel. The girl had gone from shock to shock until she was really in need of rest and nourishment. Of course Cora made light of her own predicament. She admitted she had been frightened when she found the boat gone, and Laurel sick, but tried to laugh and call it just one more experience, that would add to her general knowledge. But her face was white, and even Belle and Bess who had risen from prostration to over-joy could not be deceived. "It's about that man Peters," Bess whispered to Belle. "You know she had some interest in him because she felt he knew about the hermit and the girl. But the girl is here now," she finished, unable further to explain Cora's agitation. It was Jack who made the opportunity for Cora to talk privately with him, and the sister was not averse to seizing it. Jack called her to the side porch directly after she had had some refreshments. "What's worrying you, sis?" he asked kindly, putting his arm around her. "Oh, Jack, I don't know. If you hadn't come!" and she shivered as she thought of that dire possibility. "Oh, but we did come. We found you much sooner than we thought we would, and I must say you weren't half so frightened as you had a right to be under the circumstances. You are one of the bravest girls I ever saw--that's right and so is that Wild Laurel." "Oh, I just love her Jack," said Cora warmly, "and if only this other thing about her father comes right, I shall not in the least regret the experience that brought us together. It is a great story, Jack. You know we have still to rescue her father." "The hermit?" he asked. "Yes, an outcast, for some mysterious reason. But we shall soon clear that up when Laurel is strong enough to be questioned. I feel so much better," and she kissed him as if he and she were just the babies they felt themselves to be on such occasions. "Jack," she whispered, a little later, "I am just going to think it is all right. You can count on me. I am not going to have nervous prostration from so small a thing as to-night's happenings." "Good, sis," and his second kiss was applause for her own. "Of course, you are the brickiest kind of brick. And so is Laurel, a Russet brick. Isn't she that?" "Exactly that," and Cora started toward the room. "She will be a perfectly dear girl when she gets back to civilized ways. Hush, here she comes?" "Cora," breathed Laurel, who now had on a robe that Belle insisted had been made for her, though her own mother had ordered it for Belle, "Cora, who was the man in the boat that was hurt?" Wondering how the girl could have escaped overhearing the name Peters, Cora replied: "A fisherman I believe, but he may not have been much hurt. Folks in such places as these cling to every sensation, and fix it up to suit themselves." "But how will they find his assailant?" asked the girl, interested for some unknown reason. Cora glanced at Jack. "They will look for him of course," Jack replied for his sister. "Where was he hurt?" Laurel persisted. "We have no reason to think he was hurt at all," said Jack decidedly. "It's only rumor, and if you don't mind my dictation, I should suggest that this be a forbidden subject. It is about the worst thing either of you can think of." "Right brother, always right!" said Cora. "Now let us go in and try to make the girls happy with a little part of our story. You can trust me, Laurel," she said aside. "I know just what they want to know." "Oh," breathed Bess, as Cora and Laurel entered the pretty, bright, little sitting room, "is it possible that our troubles are over for one night?" "No, I see more kinds of trouble ahead," and of course she looked at the irresistible and irrisisting Walter. "Don't they match?" aside to Belle, whose ideas of color schemes and whose regard for the beautiful were blamed for the inflection of nerves. "They do," she agreed. "Her hair is just russet-brown, and her eyes hazel. Oh, I have always loved that sort of face when it goes with the olive skin." "How did you know that I had named her Russet?" asked Jack, touching with mock concern one stray yellow curl that threatened Belle's sight. "I did not," she replied, "but I think it suits her exactly. And Walter is all of a shade." "Oh, Belle. I am going to tell him? Wallie shady!" "You know perfectly well, Jack Kimball, I said shade--in color." "Oh, yes. Color blind. Poor, afflicted Wallie. I have often wondered about his neckties. But doesn't Laurel take to him? And isn't she a beaut in that bag?" "Bag! My best kimono! Look what teeth she has when she laughs." "And you not jealous? Belle I think, after all, I shall have to return to my first love," and he slipped his arm all the way back of her steamer chair, for Jack dearly loved to tease either Bess or Belle, declaring what happened to one twin would react on the other. "Hazel cannot take her eyes off of Cora. I might be jealous there," reported the blonde twin. "You may 'jell' all you like on that score," Jack consented. "But hello! Here's Paul!" The tall, dark boy, Paul Hastings, Hazel's brother, had just entered the door. Instantly he was overcome with the welcome, for while the boys fell to kissing him and smoothing his hair in the most approved lover-like way, the girls crowded around and offered him empty plates and glasses of flowers, to say nothing of Bess, with the Japanese parasol, who stood over his chair while Cora fanned him. Laurel looked on like one who enjoys a play. There seemed in her eyes something to indicate that such a scene was not entirely new to her, but was for some time forgotten. Presently Cora remembered that Laurel had not met Paul before, and so introduced them. She merely said Laurel in mentioning names, but the omission of anything so unimportant as a last title would never be noticed among these young folks. "Say now, let a fellow breathe" begged Paul, "and also let him puff out a little. There! I feel better! And I just want to remark that I have found the lost canoe!" At the words "lost canoe" Laurel started. Cora saw her, and slipped over to her side. "You need not worry, dear. Everything is safe with us," whispered Cora, pressing the other's hand. "Our old original! You don't mean it?" exclaimed Ed. "None other," declared Paul. "And I wonder you did not find it before." "Where was it?" asked Walter. "Tied up to your own dock. I just spied it as I landed." "Oh, you go on," threatened Jack. "Do you think we are teething?" "No, jollying," vowed Paul. "I just this minute guessed it." Without more comment the entire party hurried out the door, and made for the dock. Jack won first place and so held the lantern. "She's red," he declared. "While ours was green." "Just a matter of time," said Paul in his delightfully easy way. "Most girls are green when they come up here, and--" Ed's hand was over Paul's mouth so he could not complete the joke. Jack was looking for the tell-tale piece of wood that had been inserted in the end of the canoe to mend a slight break. "Yep, sure it's her," he declared. "SHE!"' yelled the girls. "Jack!" Cora's voice came, "how can you so shock our English?" "Pardon me, ladies," he murmured. "But this is it." "Painted red," Belle was trying to realize out loud. "Yes, and it's right becoming," agreed Ed, "but where did she get the sun-burn?" "The Mystery of her Complexion, or, the Shade of Her Pretty Nose," quoth Jack. "Well, I don't mind. But I would like to get hold of The Silent Artist of Cedar Lake," he finished, in crude eloquence. Paul was looking carefully inside the canoe. Presently he stood up straight, and held a note in his hand. "Let's have the light Jack?" he asked. "I have something." Jack held the lantern so that it's gleam fell on the paper. "Miss Cora Kimball," they both read, then they handed the paper to Cora. It was enclosed in an envelope of very fine linen; Cora saw this instantly, for she felt, as well as saw, the texture. Just as she was about to tear open the missive a thought occurred to her. "I had best wait until I get indoors," she said. "I might drop something out of it here and break the charm." A murmur of disapproval followed this remark. But Cora won out, and with much apprehension carried the strange letter inside. Under the light she looked first at the signature. It was Brentano! CHAPTER XX LAUREL'S FLIGHT "What is it? What is it?" demanded the girls in chorus. Cora made light of her actions as she hid the note, but in reality she had no idea of reading it before any one. What might it not contain? "I get so few love letters," she remarked, "that I want a chance to enjoy them." "Then as that's the case," said Ed, "it's us for the Bungle. Come on, boys," and he pretended offence, "Us is hurt." "Now Ed, I said letters--not lovers," corrected Cora. "The pen and ink!" demanded Ed. "I will to thee a letter indite," and he opened the small desk in the darkest corner of the room. This was a signal for every boy to pretend to write a love letter to every girl. Jack could get nothing better than a feather from the Indian headpiece that hung on the wall. This he dipped in Belle's shoe dressing, and wrote a note on the back of Cora's best piece of sheet music. Walter sat on the floor poking his whittled stick into the dead embers in the fire-place, and managed to scratch something on a fan--it belonged to Bess. Paul did not much care for nonsense, but appropriately made Indian characters on the wooden bowl with his pen knife. The whole turned out more fun than was expected. Walter proffered his love letter to Laurel, and she surprised them all by reading this: "My Mountain Laurel: Meet me when the buds come and we will wait for the blossoms. Your Bending Bough." The cue that Laurel furnished was taken up by the others and when Jack offered his "note" to Hazel she read. "My Dear Burr: Be patient and you will loose the green, Hazelnuts are never soft! Yours, The Fellow Who Fell Down Hill with Jill." Cora read what Ed did not write: "My Reef: When stranded I know what to grab--Your larder is ever my rock of refuge. Yours, Co-Ed." Belle and Bess both partook of Paul's note, and as Paul was acknowledged the artist of them all the double missive was gladly accepted by the twins--as doubles. Belle pretended to read: "Two to one, or two in one, Double the wish and double the fun." The merry making that followed this little farce was of too varied a character to describe. Some of the boys insisted on standing on their heads while others took up a low mournful dirge that might have done credit to the days of the red men and wigwams. Finally, Cora insisted that it was late--disgracefully late--for campers to have lights burning, and the boys were obliged to leave for their own quarters. Going out, Jack whispered to Cora: "Ben told Paul to say to you that under no circumstances were you to go down to the landing to-morrow. I know he has some good reason for the warning. The row between Peters and Brentano may not have ended there," and he kissed her good night. "We have had a jolly time and to-morrow when I come you must let me see the mysterious love letter." Cora promised, and then the lights were turned out. Making sure that all, even Laurel, were sleeping Cora slipped out into the sitting room, relighted the lamp and unfolded the note that had been found in the canoe. She felt her heart quicken. Why did she fear and yet long to know what that man had to tell her? She read: "YOUNG LADY: When you receive this I shall be too far away to further meet your daring, baffling challenge of my plans. What I intend to do I can not even tell myself, for everything seemed so easy of evil until you crossed my path. So easy was it that there was even no victory in the spoils. But first you came boldly to the den of poor Peters. Then you deliberately took from us that simple-minded, harmless old woman, Kate; next you did not call out when she gave you back your ring--not call out against us. All this to me was incomprehensible. Why should a young girl not fear us? Why should she not denounce us? Then you saved that little doll, Mabel Blake, until finally I began to wonder why I, a talented high-born Italian, should pretend to love crime when a mere girl could be a noble defender? The difference made me feel like a coward, and I decided finally to go away. Before I left I had trouble with Peters. This hurried me and I have not time to write more now. I know you got back from the island--boys of your kin do not wait long to find their sisters. By to-morrow noon, if all goes well with me on the journey, I shall be able to write that to poor little Laurel which will release her from her bondage. I will send the letter care of you. Thank the boys for use of their canoe. BRENTANO." For some moments Cora sat looking blankly at that fine foreign paper. What a splendid hand! What direct diction! And her conduct had influenced him to turn away from his evil ways. She had done nothing more than others, except perhaps she had more courage, born of better and more complete experience. She sighed a sigh of satisfaction as she again hid the paper in her gown. Then with one great heart-beat of prayerful thanksgiving, she, too, sought "tired nature's sweet restorer." It was the sound of dishes and the tinkle of pans that awoke Cora next morning. Day so soon! And all the others up! "Now, we have fooled you," said Belle with a light laugh. "You have slept longest!" Cora had been dreaming very heavily, and her sleep seemed but a reflection of the previous day's troubles. Now she was awake and instantly she remembered it all about Ben telling her not to go near the landing; then about the letter. "Is Laurel up?" she asked. "No, we let her sleep to keep you company," said Hazel, "and we are going to give you such a surprise for breakfast! Don't tell, girls." Cora slipped into a robe and stepped across the room to peer into the little corner where Laurel had gone to her rest. "Laurel is up," she declared. "She is not here!" "Not there! Not in bed! Laurel--she has not gotten up yet," declared Belle, who with frying pan in hand had hurried from the kitchen when Cora spoke. "She certainly is not in bed," again declared Cora. "You may see for yourselves." "Laurel gone!" exclaimed more than one of the astonished girls. "She may have gone out," suggested Hazel. "I thought I heard someone about very early." Following this thought the girls looked around called, and again returned to the empty room. "What is this?" asked Bess, seeing a piece of ribbon-tied paper floating from the night lamp. Hazel was first to handle it. She saw that it was a note addressed to Cora. "It's for you, Cora," she said as she snapped the fragile ribbon from its fastening. Cora read aloud: "Forgive me for going this way but I could not wait longer to know about my father. I will return before dark and bring with me the canoe I have borrowed. You may, trust me and need not be anxious. Gratefully, LAUREL STARR." "Gone in the canoe!" "I know why, girls," Cora admitted, "and if you will all come in here together I will tell you as much, as I myself know. The real story I have not yet been able to learn, but must do so very soon." Then she told of the first discovery of the man on Fern Island, following with the account of her second and third visits there, and finally of how she found poor Laurel in such distress the night of her own exile. The loss of her boat they all knew about, and that part was a certain kind of clear mystery. "Laurel has gone back to see about her father," she finished. "It is only natural, and I should have thought it strange had she not done so." "Of course," added Bess, brushing away a tear. "Poor little wild Laurel had to go back, it was almost as cruel to keep her as to pen up a brown bunny." In spite of the seriousness of the moment every one smiled. First Laurel was russet, now compared to a little brown rabbit. "We had just gotten acquainted with her," murmured Belle. "I thought her so romantic." "And I thought her so intelligent," put in the ever-studious Hazel. "Even Paul took the trouble to notice her." "Well, we will have her back again," promised Cora. "I am positive she will keep her word. I think her a splendid girl. All she needs is the chance to get over the state of chronic fright she has been living in. Then she will be just as normal as any of us." "Then, that being the case," said Hazel, with a jump, "I propose we keep normal by eating our breakfast. I am famished, and those boys almost emptied the ice-box." "Nettie had to go away into town for eggs," Bess orated, "and therefore we had to do all the cooking." "It smells all right," Cora said, as they pulled the chairs to the table. "Let us hope we will get through one meal without interruption. My appetite is positively canned." "And I took the trouble to gather those morning glories," Belle announced. "I thought Laurel would like them." "They are beautiful, Belle," said Cora, looking with admiration at the dainty green vines with their freshly-blown, colored bells that trailed from the glass bowl in the center of the table. "Nothing could be more artistic, and we enjoy them even if Laurel has missed them," Cora finished. "But the food," demanded Hazel. "It is of that we sing. Food, food! Isn't it good; a girl is a loon who can't eat what she could," sang Hazel, with more mirth than English. "Eggs, eggs, bacon and eggs." "She eats all she can, then sits up and begs," sang Cora helping herself to that portion of the fare, and keeping time with the humming toast. Bess was taking her third slice of bread. That inspired Belle. "Bread, bread, Nettie's good bread--" "When Bess took the loaf, we nearly fell dead," sang out Belle, rescuing the much-worn loaf from which Bess was trying to get a slice. "The toasts are very well as far as they go," commented Cora, "but I notice that the food stuffs go farther." "And the boys are coming at ten," remarked Hazel. "I'm glad I cooked. I don't have to wash the dishes." "But the boys were going out in the canoe and now it's gone," Belle reminded them. "They were going to take the prize canoe, and the red one, and we would all then have a chance to float out together. Now, of course, we won't be able to go." "We can go in our own boat," Cora said, "and really the lake is quite rough for canoeing this morning. When Laurel comes back she will likely bring her own boat and then we will have three in our fleet." "Why couldn't you, and she come home in her canoe when you found your boat gone, Cora?" asked Bess suddenly. "Hers was not at the dock--someone had borrowed it," Cora explained without explaining. They had about finished their meal. Belle was already snatching the dishes, in spite of protests that there was some perfectly good eating which had not yet been eaten. "There come the boys now," announced Hazel. "They look sort of-gloomy." Cora glanced out of the window and saw Ed, Jack and Walter strolling along the path. She, too, thought they looked "gloomy," but it was not her practice to anticipate trouble. The "hellos" were exchanged before the young men had time to enter the camp. Then Belle asked: "Aren't we going canoeing?" "Guess not to-day," replied Ed, his handsome black hair almost sparkling in the sunshine as he tossed his head in nonchalance. "We are still too cramped up. Had to sleep on the roof last night." "Why?" demanded Cora. "Choosin' that. My little joke," he replied, "Girls, I'm cuttin' up," and he tried to hide a serious air with a ridiculous remark. "But we'll do something. We'll go fishin"' he declared. "We thought it best to keep out in the cove this morning," Jack was explaining to Cora. "There is so much going on around the landing." "What is going on?" she asked rather nervously. "Oh, that Peter's affair," replied her brother with assumed indifference. "They are looking him over to-day to see how much he's hurt." "Oh!" said Cora vaguely. Then she went indoors from the porch to prepare for the fishing trip. CHAPTER XXI MOTOR TROUBLES "It is strange Laurel does not come back," remarked Bess, as the girls sat on the porch after a most unsuccessful fishing trip (as far as fish were concerned), "Somehow I feel she would if she could." "That's it exactly," Cora corroborated. "If she could get back here this afternoon, we would have seen her. But then her father may have been too lonely without her, or any of many other things may have detained her." Cora jumped up suddenly, and skipped down the path to where her motor boat was fastened. She would look over the engine. The wire connections had slipped, and she would tighten them, and make some other minor adjustments. Cora found more to do on her boat than she had expected. The boys had had the craft out latest and had neglected to put down the oil cup levers. This caused the cylinder to be flooded with lubricant, and if there was one thing Cora disliked more than another it was to run an oil puffing boat, and "inhale the fumes." She pulled on her heavy gloves and got to work to drain out the oil through the base cock. Bending over her task she did not see, neither did she hear, an approaching person. It was Ben. "Busy, eh?" he said in his splendid, candid way. Cora was so glad it was only Ben. "Oh yes," she replied, "the boys never seem to know how to leave a boat. This is thoroughly oil-soaked." "They're careless that way," admitted Ben, stepping into the boat to see what the trouble was. "If I were you I would make some rules and tack 'em down by the license card." "They would never read them," Cora declared. "There--just look at that oil," as she collected some in a funnel. "This would have made the muffler smoke like a locomotive." Ben looked at the oil cups. "There isn't any thing meaner than running a boat that throws out soft coal smoke," he admitted. "Those boys left the plungers up. But I say, girl, where's your new friend?" "Laurel?" asked Cora as she put the wrench in the tool box. "Yes. I thought she had come down here to stay." "Well, we thought so too, but then she could not be expected to leave the island--all at once," and Cora wondered if she were saying too much. "It's queer to me," went on Ben. "Them fellows have something to do with that," and he nodded his head toward the landing. "You mean--Peters and Tony?" "Yes. And what I want to say, Miss, is this. You had best keep clear of them. The row at the landing isn't exactly fixed up. I think it had to do with something at Fern Island." "About Laurel?" "Yes. I have suspected for a long time that the little runs that Peters makes up there must have paid him pretty well. Now that he has fallen out with Tony, likely it'll all come to Jim. Best thing we can do, miss, is to keep a sharp look out for the girl. If you can get her to come to camp with you I fancy all the rest will soon straighten itself." Cora wondered just how much Ben knew of the mystery of that island. She felt obliged to withhold Laurel's secret, yet she felt, too, that Ben would do everything to help her get the girl and the hermit away from their place of exile. "I'll tell you, Ben," she said finally. "I'll come to you for advice just as soon as I find it is time to act. Depend upon it we are not going to leave Cedar Lake until the mystery of Fern Island is cleared up." This seemed to satisfy Ben, for beneath the deep brown of his cheeks there showed the glow of color that came with pleasure. "All right, little girl," he said, "if you want me before I come again, just let me know. Ben will be only too glad to stick by you and all the rest of them," meaning the campers at Camp Cozy and those who bungalowed at the Bungle. He went off, shambling along with his face turned toward the sky and his feet taking care of themselves. Cora looked after him. "Dear old Ben," Cora mused, "everything seems worth while when it takes 'everything' to make such a friend as you can be." Then she went back to her engine. She must tighten the wires, and leave the craft in readiness for a quick run. "Oh, Cora!" came the voice of Bess suddenly, "you've missed it. We have had the most glorious time." Bess approached, her cheeks as red as the sumac she carried, and her eyes as bright as the very ragged sailors that hung rather dangerously from her belt. "Hasn't Laurel come yet?" "No, not yet," replied Cora, intent upon her task at the wires. "I am afraid she will hardly come to-night." "Then we have got to go after her," declared Bess. "Jack said so. He said she could not stay alone on that island all night." "Oh, did he?" Cora replied in an absent-minded way. "I have had such--a time--with this boat," and she pulled on the wires to make them taut, breaking one and necessitating a splice. "Can't we take the boat to look for Laurel?" persisted Bess, with more concern than she usually showed. "Why, of course, I suppose so," said Cora. "There, I guess that will do," and she straightened up with a sigh, for the use of the pliers made her hands ache. "Why, Cora!" exclaimed Bess, "you look actually pale. You must be awfully tired." "Me pale," and she laughed. "Now, Bess, don't get romantic. Just fancy me being pale!" "Well, you are, and I insist that you come back to camp at once and get a drink of warm milk. Cora Kimball, you--look--scared!" "Oh, I am. Think what it would mean if the boys had knocked my engine out. And it did seem for a time that there was no 'if' in it." Cora jumped lightly out of the boat and was ready to greet the other girls. Soon a discussion of color and its causes was in progress, Cora maintaining that her cause of anxiety had been that awful engine and its troubles. Ed, Walter and Jack had joined the others. "I say," began Ed, "where do we, go to look for the wild Olive or was it the mountain Laurel? Jack is in a fit, and Walter can't be held. What do you say if we all start out in a searching party? No one has been lost for twenty-four hours, and this state of affairs is getting monotonous." Without waiting for an answer the girls and boys clambered into the Petrel while Bess went to the camp with Cora who insisted upon washing her hands before making the trip. "Did anything happen, Cora, while we were away?" asked Bess kindly. "Not a thing, Bess. I only wish something real would happen; we have so many imitations of excitement." CHAPTER XXII THE LAW AND THE LIGHTS "I want to find her this time," insisted Jack. "Cora, please let me? I promise not to frighten her, and not even to speak to her if you object, but I do so want to find her." "Seems to me you found her last time," objected Walter who was looking particularly well to-night, for his suit of Khaki and his brown skin seemed all of a piece. "You nearly knocked me down in your haste to find the hut first." "But," Cora said seriously, "Laurel may not want you boys to find her. She may not even want me to do so. I am just taking chances. Suppose you allow Bess and me or Hazel or any two of us to go up to the hut first? Please do be reasonable, and not silly," Cora finished in a voice she seldom assumed. "You may come along as dose as you like, until we are just up to the hut," Bess consented, with marked good sense, "as the woods are so thick and black, but when we get to the hut--" "We can 'hut' it I suppose," snapped Jack. "All right, girls; all I can say is I hope a couple of Brownies, or a mountain lion pay their respects to you both for being so daring." The boat was running beautifully. The cleaning out that Cora gave the base, and the regulating of the oil cups together with adjusting the wires, helped to make the mechanism run more smoothly, and she glided along without "missing," which means, of course that every explosion was in perfect rhythm to every other explosion. There was a "hot fat" spark as Cora explained. "There's a big steamer," remarked Hazel, as a large boat glided along. Cora swung so that the red light of the Petrel showed she was going to the right. The steamer gave two whistles indicating a left course. Cora answered with one blast which meant right. The steamer insisted on left and gave one more signal. "What's the matter with them?" Jack demanded, taking the steering wheel from Cora. "They seem to own the lake." No sooner had he said this than the big boat came so close to the smaller craft that a huge wave swept over the small forward deck and instantly the colored lights went out, being drenched. For a moment every one seemed stunned! The shock to the Petrel was as if she had been suddenly dipped into the depths of the lake. But as quickly as it happened just as quickly was it righted, and the offending boat steamed off majestically, as if it had merely bowed to an old acquaintance. "What do you think of that!" exclaimed Walter, indignantly. "I think a lot of it," replied Ed, "but the captain of that steamer would not likely want to see my thoughts." "Small trick," declared Jack, "Even if he had the right to pass us so close, common lake manners obliged him to give in to the smaller boat." "The lights are both out," Cora said anxiously. "Well, we are almost to shore," Jack replied, "and it won't be worth while to stop here. We can light up again when we get in." This seemed reasonable enough and so they sailed along. "Hello!" exclaimed Walter, "is this another boat trying the same trick?" A launch was steering very dose to the Petrel. The lights were conspicuously bright, and the engine ran almost noiselessly. "What is it?" asked Jack, seeing that the captain wanted to speak with some one. "I want you," replied a voice of authority. "You have no lights." "Oh, you're the inspector," said Jack candidly. "Well, that steamer that just passed doused our lights, and we are going to land here to relight." "Sorry, but that's against the law," replied the officer. "You fellows always have an excuse ready, and I can't accept it. You will have to come along with me." "Arrested!" exclaimed Belle aghast. "That's about what it amounts to," replied the man coolly. "Can you get in here?" "Who?" asked Jack. "The captain," replied the officer grimly. "Where does he go?" Jack further questioned. "See here, young man," spoke the inspector rather sharply. "Do you think I've got all night to bother with you?" "I don't know as I do," replied Jack in the same voice, "but if you will just explain what you want us to do we will give you no further trouble." Jack knew one thing--to refuse to comply with the request of an officer is about the last thing to do if one values either money or liberty. "That's the way to talk," replied the inspector. "So just suppose you take this rope and I'll tow, you along. I fancy the party would, rather come than let one go alone." "Of course we would," declared Cora. "In fact I am the captain of this boat." Jack gave her a meaning bump on the arm--it meant, "let me do the talking," and Cora understood perfectly. "But where are we going?" wailed Belle, as the man threw the towline to Ed. "Not far," answered the man. "I just have to take you in, and then you have to do the rest." "What's the rest?" inquired Walter. "Oh, pay a fine," said the man carelessly. "How much?" inquired Ed. "From five to twenty-five; as the judge sees fit. There, are you fast?" "Guess so," growled Jack, to whom the arrest seemed like a case of "Captain Kidding." "And we can't go to Laurel?" Hazel inquired with a sigh. "Shame," commented Walter under his breath, "but Jack knows the best thing to do with the law is to jolly it." "Law nothing," muttered Ed, as he took the steering wheel, Jack being busy with the towing line. "Never mind," Cora suggested. "It will give us a new experience. I had the fool-hardiness to wish for some real excitement this very afternoon." "But to be arrested!" gasped Bess with a frightened look. "A distinctly new sensation," said Hazel with an attempt to laugh. "Just think of going before a real, live judge!" But evidently the other girls did not want to think of it. They would rather have thought of anything else just then. "Which way are you going?" Jack asked the man in the official boat. "I thought your judge lived on the East side?" "He does, but we may take some other fellows in yet to-night. This is only one catch," and the inspector laughed unpleasantly. "They are actually going to tour the lake with us," declared Ed. "If that isn't nerve!" "Don't complain," cautioned Cora, "perhaps the longer the run the lighter the fine. And we are just waiting for our next allowance." "And, being a pretty motor-boat, they will make it a pretty fine," mused Walter. "I would like to dip that fellow." "Yes, they are going to let us tour the lake hitched on to the police boat! The situation is most unpleasant. But there is no way out of it," said Ed, sullenly. "Suppose they won't take a fine, and want to lock us up?" asked Belle. "If it were only one night in jail, I'd take it just to fool the man who wants the money, but I am afraid it might be ten days and that would be inconvenient," Jack remarked, as the police boat steamed off with the Petrel trailing. "They call this law. It may be the law but not its intention. We were almost landed, and just about to light up. I tell you they just need the money." When they reached the bungalow, where judge Brown held his court, the three young men entered with the inspector, and when the judge had satisfied himself that he could not ask more than five dollars and costs for this "first offence" the fine was paid and the matter settled. Belle and Bess were greatly relieved when the culprits came back to the Petrel. They had a hidden fear that something else disgraceful might happen; perhaps the judge would detain the boys, or perhaps the girls would have to go in to testify. Cora's mind was pre-occupied however, and when the Petrel started off, and Jack asked her where to, she said back to Fern Island. CHAPTER XXIII A NIGHT ON THE ISLE It was too late now for Cora to think of making her way to the pine hut without the boys, too dark, too late and too uncertain, so she agreed to allow Ed and Jack to go with her while Walter and the girls followed at some distance. "There's a light," announced Jack, when they had covered the first hill. "Yes, that's in the hut," Cora said. Hurrying before her brother, Cora reached the thatched doorway. She pushed back the screen and saw Laurel leaning over the bed on the floor. As she entered Laurel motioned her not to speak. Then Cora saw that the girl was bending over her father. "They shall not take me," he murmured. "I am innocent!" "Hush, father dear," his daughter soothed. "'There is no one here, just your own Laurel," and she bathed his head with her wet handkerchief. Cora instantly withdrew. She whispered to Jack, and he turned to meet the others, to prevent them coming nearer. Laurel followed her to the open air. "Father is so changed!" she said under her breath, "while he seems worse, his mind is clearer, and I almost hope he will soon remember everything of the past." "If his mind is clearer there is every hope for him," Cora replied. "I do hope, Laurel dear, that your exile and his will soon end." Laurel put her hand to her head as if to check its throbbing. Yes, if it only would soon end! "What happened?" asked Cora. "He fell and struck his head on a rock," answered Laurel. "It was that night we were in the hut. It was he who came walking along in the darkness, and we thought it was some one else. He came to look for me after I signaled that time. It was my father!" "He slipped and fell," she resumed in a moment. "We heard him, you remember, and then--then he went away--my poor father!" Cora gasped in surprise. "Is he badly hurt?" she managed to ask. "No, hardly at all. It was only a slight cut on his head, but the shock of it brought him to him self--restored his reason that was tottering. When he got up and staggered off his mind was nearly clear, but he did not dare come to the hut where we were for fear it might contain some of his enemies. He went looking for me, but I had gone with you. "Since then he has talked of matters he has not mentioned in years and years. But he is not altogether better. Oh, Cora, if his mind would only become strong again, so he could clear up all the mystery!" 'The girls clung lovingly to each other. Then a moan from the hut suddenly called Laurel away, Cora knew Jack was waiting for her in the woods, and she hastened to him. One whispered sentence to her brother was enough to explain it all to him. "We must arrange to get him away from here--Laurel's father," he said, as he put his arms about Cora. "Do you think he is strong enough to be moved?" "I'll ask Laurel," replied Cora joyfully. If only now both the hermit and his daughter could leave that awful island. The other girls stepped to the door in answer to Cora's signal. "Oh, I am afraid he is too weak for that now," Laurel whispered. "But when he is able I will have him taken to a hospital. That man kept us in terror. Now he is gone and I feel almost free." "You have heard that he is gone?" questioned Cora. "I had a letter," replied the other simply, and this answer only served to make a new matter of query for Cora. But she could not ask it now. "He is sleeping," said Laurel. "Look!" Cora went over to the pallet and looked down at the man who lay there. Yes, he was noble looking in spite of the growth of his hair and beard, and Cora could see wherein his daughter resembled him. There seemed something like a benediction in that hut, and as the thought stole over her, Cora breathed a prayer that it should not come in the shape of death. "He's lovely," Cora said to Laurel. "Let us go out and not disturb him." Jack and the others were waiting silently outside. Cora spoke to her brother. He understood. "You girls had better go back," he said, "Ed and I will stay here to help Laurel." "Oh, no, I must stay too. Perhaps in the morning we can take him away," insisted Cora. Bess and Belle clung together. They had a fear of "the wild man" and it had not yet been dispelled. Hazel tried to induce Laurel to go back to camp and allow her and Cora to care for the father, but of course such an appeal was useless. Laurel would not think of leaving the sick man. It was finally arranged that Cora and Jack should remain, and then reluctantly the others started off with the promise of returning very early the next morning. "I have some things to eat," Laurel told them. "I thought poor father would like a change, and I got them when I was at the Point." "Oh, you save them," Jack said. "We had a good supper, and will make out all right until morning. But now tell me where I can get you fresh water." Cora knew, and she took the extra lantern and started off with her brother. They talked of many things as they stumbled on through the woods. "There's the spring. Look out! Don't fall in. My isn't that water clear even in the lantern light!" exclaimed Cora suddenly. Jack filled the pail easily and then they turned back. "But Jack," Cora began again, "you know there is some mystery about Mr. Starr. That must be his name, for Laurel signed hers so in the note she left." "Whatever the mystery is, I feet certain it is nothing disgraceful," Jack assured her. "Very likely it was some plot to injure them, concocted by that fellow Jones." The unfailing reason of this astonished Cora. How could Jack have guessed so near the facts? "At any rate I think the poor man will be able to be moved in the morning," she finished, as they made their way up the hill. "It will be a wonderful thing if, after all, it comes out all right; that he is a free man, and that his slight injury may restore his scattered faculties." "Let us hope so," said Jack fervently. Cora wanted to tell him about the letter from Jones otherwise Brentano, but there was not time to do so before they reached the hut, so she reasoned it would be best to postpone it. Laurel was sitting, holding her father's injured head when they entered the hut. He was awake now, and looking with such great, hungry eyes into his daughter's face. "Now we have fresh water, father," she said. "Do you know my friends?" "The girl, yes," he said 'feebly. "But the boy?" "Her brother," said Laurel quickly, delight showing in her voice. "Isn't it good to have friends, father?" "Good, very good," he said. Then he dosed his eyes again, and neither Cora nor Jack ventured to speak. "It does not seem possible that he can talk so rationally," Laurel whispered. "Oh, I have now such hopes that he will get well." "Of course he will," Jack assured her. "But you girls had better get some rest. I will sit up and watch." Cora added her entreaties to those of her brother, and Laurel finally agreed to throw herself down on the straw bed in the far corner of the hut. Cora found room at the other end of the same bed, and presently their young natures gave in to the urgent demands of rest. Jack sat alone watching the white faced man who tossed and turned, muttering incoherent words. "I did not do it," he would say. "I never saw the note." "There, you want a drink," said Jack kindly, pressing the tin cup to the trembling lips. "But Breslin knows! Oh, if I could only find Breslin!" "Breslin," Jack repeated, astonished. "Yes, Brendon Breslin. He knows!" "Brendon Breslin!" Jack said again. This was the name of the wealthy man for whom Paul Hastings ran the fast steam launch. "Oh, my head!" moaned the man, closing his eyes in pain. Jack realized that this remark about the millionaire might mean a sudden return of memory, and he resolved to test it further, even at the risk of giving the aching head more pain. For if the memory lapsed again it might never be awakened. "What does Breslin know?" he asked, leaning very dose to the sick man. To his surprise the hermit sat bolt upright. "He knows that I never forged the note. It was that sneaking office boy." That was the story! This man had been made to believe he had forged a note. His exile on the island was because of the supposed crime! "Of course he knows," Jack soothed. "And to-morrow he will come to see you." But the sick man was either unconscious, or sleeping. He did not reply. CHAPTER XXIV THE UNEXPECTED "I heard a boat," Cora whispered to Jack, as on the following morning, he rubbed his eyes endeavoring to put sight into them. "Well, what of it?" he asked. "It seemed to stop at this landing," replied the sister. "The girls most likely," and he got to his feet. "How is the old gentleman?" "Much stronger, and his mind, Laurel thinks, is clearing." "I think so too. It is an outrage that he has been allowed to suffer here without help. That scoundrel Jones must have fixed this up." "Did you sleep any, Jack dear?" Cora asked. "I'm afraid you had a lonely vigil." "Oh, I got a wink or two, and my patient was no trouble. Is that Laurel talking to him?" "Yes, she seems overjoyed that he can talk rationally to her. But listen Jack! There are voices." Brother and sister hurried to the door. Strangers were approaching--two men. "Is--er--Miss Cora Kimball here?" asked one of them, in rather a hesitating voice. "Yes, what is it?" asked Jack, suspiciously for somehow he did not like the appearance of the strangers. "We'll do business with her," put in the taller of the two men. Cora gave a gasp. Somehow she felt as if something unpleasant was about to happen. "No, you won't do any business with her!" exclaimed Jack, "that is, not until you tell me first. What is it? Out with it!" "Say, you're quite high and mighty for a young fellow," sneered the short man. "Who be you, anyhow, a lawyer? Because if you are you ought to have sense enough to know that we're detectives, after information, and if we can't get it peaceable we'll get it otherwise. How about that?" "It doesn't worry me a particle," declared Jack easily. "Now, Cora, leave this to me," for he saw that his sister was much affected. "I'm her brother," he went on, turning to the men, "and not a lawyer, but I guess I can do just as well in this case. Now, what do you want?" "Well, it's this way," began the tall one. "We heard that Miss Kimball might know something about the quarrel between Peters and Tony, or whatever his name was, and she might be able to put us on his track. Peters is hurt worse than we thought he was at first, and we want Tony. Does she know where he is?" "No, she doesn't!" exclaimed Jack, before his sister could speak. "Well, we have a tip about her and another girl being in a hut on Fern Island and being scared by a man," persisted the tall man. "No offense you know, only we thought she could help us out. The man who scared her and her friend may have been Tony." "I--I didn't see any one--it was dark," explained Cora, before Jack could speak. "Some one approached, fell down and went away again." "That may have been Tom!" excitedly said the short detective. "'No, it was--" began Cora. "Wait a minute," cried Jack. "Before she answers I want to know if you really have a right to the information. How do I know but you may be some one seeking to get evidence for a civil suit for Peters or Tony, and will drag us in as witnesses?" "Oh, we're not," said the tall man hastily. "Here's my court-house badge," and he displayed it. "This has nothing to do with a lawsuit. We just want to find Tony. If that wasn't him on the island who scared the girls, who was it? Surely she can't object to telling; it can't hurt her. Who was it?" Before Cora could answer there was a sound at the door of the hut and a voice exclaimed: "It was my father!" There stood Laurel, and the officers shifted their gaze from Cora to her. They started eagerly forward, hoping to get the information they sought from the new witness. "Tell us about it," urged the short man. "No, let me, Laurel dear," interrupted Cora. "I can explain, Jack, and have it all over with. Really it's very simple." Then, without at all going into the details of the mystery of the hermit, which information Cora felt the detectives had no right to possess, she told how she and Laurel had been in the hut and how the unknown man who so frightened, them had turned out to be Laurel's father, and that even now he was under care because of the injury he received. "And he lived on Fern Island all this while?" asked one of the officers. "Why did he do that?" "For his health I guess," said Jack sharply. "That doesn't concern your case against Tony, or whatever his name was, and this Peters. You've found out that my sister doesn't know anything to help you in your hunt, and you might as well skip out. This is private ground, you know." "That doesn't make any difference to the law," growled the short man. "Oh, yes it does," said Jack sweetly. "You're trespassers as much as any one else if you haven't a warrant, and I don't believe you have." "No, I guess you're right," admitted the tall man, with as good grace as possible. "Come on," this to his companion, "we can't learn anything here. Let's go see old Ben." Cora and Laurel had gone into the house. Jack did not want them annoyed again, and he wondered how the men had come to think that Cora might know something of the quarrel between Peters and Tony. "It was probably just a guess," decided Jack. "There is certainly something like a mystery about the hermit, and--" He interrupted his thoughts as he saw one of the men coming back. "Hang it all! I wonder what he wants now?" thought Jack. The man soon informed him. "I say, do you think the hermit, as you call him, would be well enough to testify in court about this case?" the detective asked. "What case?" inquired Jack, wondering if the man suspected the reason for the hermit's exile. "The Peters case." "No, I don't think he would," was the young man's answer, and once more the man went to his boat. As he and his companion started off, Jack saw the Petrel containing Bess, Hazel, Walter and Ed swinging up to the small dock. The young, folks looked closely at the two detectives. "He may have to testify whether he wants to or not!" called the short officer back to Jack who was still watching them. "The law gets what it wants you know. This isn't the only case against Tony. He is an old offender." "All right, have your own way about it," responded Jack easily, and he noted that the occupants of the Petrel seemed rather alarmed. Then they hastened to disembark as the police boat chugged away, and Jack ran down to meet them. CHAPTER XXV AWAKENED MEMORIES "Oh, where is Cora!" gasped Bess, as she landed at the island rock, and almost fell fainting into Jack's arms. "Why, she is with Laurel--in the hut. What ever is the matter, Bess?" "We thought--thought they had taken you all to jail! Oh, those horrible men! Those detectives!" "You silly," exclaimed Jack, seeing that the poor girl was really exhausted from fright. "Don't you know better than that?" "But they would not believe us! They made us tell them where you were, and Belle is sick in bed. Their boat passed ours as we were coming in. We had a delay. Oh, we've been so alarmed!" "Poor Belle," Jack murmured. "Now, Bess, just step up here and make sure for yourself that Cora is just as intact as when you last saw her. I am here to speak for myself. If anything she is better for a night's rest in the open. We expect to start a camp on this plan. It can't be beat." Ed motioned Jack aside. "Wasn't that the police boat?" he asked. "Yes, and Cora and I gave them all the clues they wanted. None at all in other words. They're after Tony." "Oh! and Cora, is she all right?" Ed questioned further. "Splendid. Did you hear the latest?" "Which?" asked Ed, significantly. "Laurel's father is almost better. The hermit, you know." "You don't say! Can he testify?" asked Ed. "He may be able to if they require it. But the queer part is it seems to have been the shock that awakened his brain. I have read of such cases." Ed was silent, for the girls were returning. Hazel had her brown arms around Cora while Bess looked at Laurel as if she expected every moment her chum might evaporate. Walter towed on behind the little party. "I must go down to the landing, Jack," Cora said. "I expect a registered letter, and it is most important that I get it at once." Now this was the very thing that Jack did not want her to do--to get into the crowd of curious ones that would be sure to be congregated about the landing. "Could I not fetch it? You don't want to leave the girls when they have just come up," Jack interposed. "I am afraid this time I will have to get my own mail," said Cora with a smile. "Ed can run me down and we will come straight back." This was finally agreed upon, although Jack did not like the arrangements. He called Ed aside and warned him not to let Cora leave the boat, not to let her speak to anyone, and not to let any one intercept her. "You can tell about those lawyer fellows," he finished. "They might think it their legal duty to interview her, for they know she has been let into the hermit's secret." Ed readily promised all Jack said, punctuating his remarks with a display of arm muscle which meant that anyone would have to pass pretty close to it to reach Cora while she was in his company. Then they left. Jack sat down on the ledge near the water. He was not given to the "glooms" but surely he had had more than his share of serious business lately. How it would end was his cause for anxiety. So he was pondering when Laurel touched his arm. "Father would like to speak to you," she said in a faint voice. "He seems to think he knows you." Jack jumped up suddenly. "He spoke to me very rationally last night," he said; "perhaps that is what he means." He followed Laurel into the hut. The old man had gotten up and was as nicely washed and fixed as a sick person is usually when loving hands hover around. "Good morning, sir," Jack said pleasantly, taking the seat beneath the opening in the boughs that served as a window. "Good morning, good morning, and a really good morning it is," said the older man. "I wanted to speak with you. Laurel dear, is there not water to fetch?" Laurel took the cue and hurried out, leaving Jack alone with the hermit. "Young man," he began, "something has happened to clear my brain. A shock some fifteen years ago, if I have not lost all track of time, almost, if not altogether, deprived me of my reason." He paused and put his hand to his brown forehead, in a motion that seemed more a matter of habit than of necessity. "Then I came here, or he brought me here. I was all alone. Little Laurel must have been a baby, when one morning I found her at my side. Dear, sweet little cherub. He told me since that her mother had died!" Jack did not venture an interruption. It all seemed too sacred for the lips of strangers to break in upon. "Then we lived here. That man--!" He clenched his fist and Jack feared the excitement might be bad for his weakened head. "Don't let us talk of him," Jack advised. "Let us consider what is best to do now." "My brave boy!" and the hermit put his arm on Jack's shoulder. "That is always the mighty question for right; what is best to do now?" A flush had stolen into his sunken cheeks, but Jack could see that it was not years, but trouble, that had marred his handsome face. "He said I would be convicted--of that... crime!" The words seemed to burn his throat, for he put, his hand up as if to, choke further utterance. "A crime you never committed," Jack ventured, without having the slightest knowledge of what it might mean to his listener. "Can you prove it? Can you prove it!" gasped the man and for the moment Jack was frightened. He felt he was again in the presence of the mad hermit of Fern Island. "Of course we can prove it. My sister has gone now for the absolute proof!" Jack was daring more and more each second. "But you spoke of Breslin. You said you knew him." "I do! Where is he! Breslin always believed in me, and he could save me now," replied the man. "Well, listen and try to be calm, or Laurel will not let me talk further to you," Jack cautioned. "Last night you mentioned the name of a wealthy banker, for whom my best friend works. This friend is a mechanical genius and he runs a racer boat for Brendon Breslin, the banker!" "Where? Here? On these shores?" and the man was panting. "Only a short distance off. But I tell you, Mr.--?" "Starr," volunteered the man. "Mr. Starr, if you will only get strong enough you can do a great deal for yourself and Laurel. The night that you fell a man was on this Island. Did you know Jim Peters?" "Jim Peters!" repeated the hermit. "Yes, he was here the night Laurel went away with that nice young lady who looks like you." Jack started at that. The night Laurel went away was the night Jim Peters had quarreled with Tony and been hurt. "Did he come to the hunt?" asked Jack. "No, but the other man did. Brentano and he quarreled, and he drove Jim Peters down to his boat. I saw them for I was wandering about wishing for Laurel, and I remember it all." "If that man, Brentano, you call him, chased Peters into the boat did he get in with him?" Jack asked anxiously. "Yes, I saw them shove off, but Peters was ugly and wanted to come back." "Did he?" "I had to hide then, as they might have injured me if they caught me. I did not see the boat go out or come back. I went to one of my many hiding places," finished the old man with evident effort. "Well, Mr. Starr, you have relieved my mind greatly, and I hope I have not taxed your brain too strongly. But the fact is the detectives are trying to find out about those men and every bit of information helps. The police, you know, like to clear things up to suit themselves," Jack said. At the word "police," the man winced. Jack noticed the change of manner, and at once turned the subject to that of the health of his listener. He urged him to get up enough strength to leave the island, for Laurel's sake, as well as for his own. "But I have lived here like a wild man," argued Mr. Starr, "in fact I fear I have grown to be one in ways and manners. Solitude may be good for some, but for those in distress--" "Exactly. But you are not going to have any more solitude. You see we have invaded your camp, and when my sister Cora makes a discovery she always insists upon developing it. I never did see the beat of Cora for finding things out," and the pride in Jack's voice matched the toss of his handsome head. "And my little girl will have a friend," mused the elder man. "Well, in moments when I could think, that torturing thought of my dragging her down with me was too much. It drove me back always to the old, old despair." The look of terror, that Jack noticed before came back into the haggard face. It was as if he feared to hope. Laurel was at the door. Her face was a picture of happiness as she stood there gazing at her father. Her skin was as dark as the leaves that outlined the entrance to the hut; her eyes lighted up the rude archway: and her lithe figure completed the bronze statuette. Jack's eyes fell upon her in unstinted admiration. Generations of culture are not easily undone even by the wild life of a forest. "You are better every minute, father," she said simply, "I think the cure you need comes from pleasant company." "None could be more pleasant than your own, my dear," he answered, "but now I want to go and see my birds. And I must feed that cripple rabbit. He was shot," to Jack, "but the leg is mending nicely. I missed him so, for he knew us so well and would eat from our hands. You see we established a little kingdom here. Laurel was queen and we, the birds and other life creatures, were all her subjects." Laurel blushed through her tan. "Yes, he had to do something," she said, "else the days would have been too long." The chug of a motor-boat interrupted them. "That's Cora," said Jack, and so it was. CHAPTER XXVI IN SEARCH OF HONOR Cora brought back with her the letter promised by Brentano in his note of mystery. This time she confided in Laurel her scheme for unraveling the tangled skein in the web of dishonor that had been woven about the strange girl's father. Ben had spoken to Cora at the Landing. He seemed to think that Cora might know more about the trouble between Peters and Tony than he had expected at first. "But I don't, Ben," she insisted, while Ed was absent getting mail. "You give me credit for being better able to solve mysteries than I am. Is he worse hurt than they thought, Ben?" "Much worse, miss. Of course, he's not dangerous, but the officers want Tony the worst way. Now if you could tell where to find him--" "But I can't," she explained. "They came to me--" And then she stopped suddenly. If Ben did not know of the visit of the detectives she was not going to tell him. She had had a faint suspicion that Ben might have sent them to her. But he evidently had not. "Yes--yes," he said eagerly. "You were sayin', Miss Cora, that--" "Oh, nothing, Ben," she answered quickly. "I think I am really so happy at having helped Laurel, that I don't know what I am saying." "Yes, indeed you can well be, Miss," and Ben looked at her with what Cora thought a strange gaze. Still, she might be mistaken. Then she made some excuse to stroll away. Walter had rambled off with Hazel and Bess. The day was now one of those so wonderful in August, when nature seems tired of her anxieties, and rests in a perfect ocean of content. The haze had cleared from the water, the hills were shimmering in the rival honors of sunlight and shadows, and Cedar Lake from far and near was glorious. Not a breeze broke the spell: "No brisk fairy feet, bend the air, strangely sweet, For nature is wedding her lover!" This line prompted Cora. Somehow the joy of relief was the one thing that had ever overcome her, and now, although nothing in all, the strange things that had happened around her, or had warped the life of Laurel and her father seemed really cleared away, still there was that odd look on old Ben's face, there was a new light in Laurel's eyes, and something like vigor in the voice of Mr. Starr. Oh, if he could and would only tell about that note! Then everything else might await time for adjustment. Cora took Jack and Laurel down under the broken chestnut tree to tell them about the letter. It was best, she concluded not to mention it yet to Mr. Starr. "You know," she began, "that Brentano, that is the man of many names," she explained to Jack, "promised to send me information that would clear Mr. Starr of his supposed crime." Laurel drew a deep breath. The word crime made her almost shudder. "And this is to-day's letter." She opened the bulky envelope. "He says so much about a girl's power of influence," Cora explained, as if not wanting to read that part of the letter. Then he says this: "'I have some excuse for my folly. When I was a very little child my mother died. My farther was an expert mathematician employed by the Mexican government. From a tiny lad I watched him make those fascinating rows of figures, and I always wanted to know what they meant. He told me money, riches, gold, and I got to believe that the way to acquire money was to make figures, and do wonderful things with pen and ink. When I was twelve years old my father died, and I was left, with considerable money, in the care of an old nurse who idolized me. Poor old Maximina! She meant no wrong, but who was to guide me? Then the money was gone and the nurse was also gone. I had to follow some occupation, and a friend coming to America brought me with him. At fifteen I was a bank runner. It was there I met Mr. Starr, the respected first clerk of the bank. He liked me, talked to me and was my friend. Then I got in with a set of so called scientific cranks. I knew something about the ways of hypnotism, and when I wanted money the temptation came." Cora stopped, for Laurel had clutched at Jack's arm. Her face was a faded yellow and her eyes were twitching. "Shall we wait for the rest, Laurel?" Cora asked. "Perhaps it is--too painful for you now!" "Oh, no! It is not pain, it is agony. This boy whom my father befriended!" "But you see he was not born a scoundrel," Jack interrupted. "He is now trying to make amends." "Yes," sighed Laurel, "please go on, Cora." Cora read: "I have kept proofs of everything, but if the authorities refuse to accept these proofs I am willing to come back to America and give myself up. You will find the papers marked 'bank records' in a chest in the back kitchen of Peters shack. They are sealed in a big tin can marked 'red paint.' What are they saying about Peters? That must be a hard nut for the Lake people to crack, but since they know so much, or they think they know, it might be a good thing to let them find out how little they really do know. I am sorry for poor Peters. He got ugly, however, and it was his own fault?" As Cora read these last few words her, eyes left the paper. What did he mean? Why did he not say more? He knew Peters' shack held the needed proofs of that forgery case. It would take many days to write to and hear from Mexico. All this was dashing before Cora's confused mind. "The thing to do," spoke Jack, "is to go to the shack at once. When we find those papers we may believe the man." "I believe him now," said Laurel, "for all that he says of my father I have heard in his ravings. Poor, dear father! And to think I was too young to help him!" "It was evidently not a question of age," said Jack, "when one is hypnotized into the belief that he has committed a crime it would take scientific treatment to restore him to his correct view of the case. To remove you from the possibility of this, I suppose, is the very reason that Brentano brought you here." "We cannot go for the papers to-day," Cora said, "for we must, if possible, get Mr. Starr either to the boys' bungalow, or to our camp. Which do you think, Jack?" "We will take him to our bungalow, certainly. And it seems to me he is smart and bright enough for the trip now. If we wait later he might have some reaction," Jack replied. Laurel agreed with him, and presently they broached the matter to Mr. Starr. "But I cannot go just now," the hermit argued. "I have that little lame rabbit--" "Why, father," and Laurel folded her arms around him, "don't you think it would be dreadful to disappoint our friends when they have waited the whole night? And they must want to get back to their comfortable quarters." "Looking at it that way," he faltered, "I suppose I ought to. But how can a man leave the woods when he has been in them for ten years?" "It must be hard," Cora agreed, "and if you want to come back we could arrange to build you a real camp out here, one in which Laurel might have some comforts. But first you must get strong. Just think of beef tea-broth--can't you smell it?" "Girl! Girl!" he exclaimed with a real smile brightening his benevolent face, "you have a way! Laurel, we have no trunks to pack," he said, half grimly, "have we?" "But we have things to take with us," 'and she jumped up so pleased, believing that he had almost, if not entirely, consented to go. "Where's that rabbit?" asked Jack. Walter and the girls were coming the other way. "It's in a mossy bed just back of where Bess stands," said Laurel. "Then he's the first thing to be packed," said Jack, walking straight for the path where the others stood. From that time until the Petrel landed at the lower end of Cedar Lake Mr. Starr, the hermit, felt that he was in a dream. At the same time he allowed himself to be guided and managed with the simplicity of a child, for his awakened memory seemed stunned by this new turn of affairs. He was weak, of course, but with all the hands that now crowded around him his every need was well looked after. "I'll get Dr. Rand," Ed volunteered. "They say he is wonderful on mental cases." "But he needs rest first," insisted the busy Cora, for she and Laurel had gone directly to the boys' bungalow with Mr. Starr. Between them all the illness seemed overwhelmed. In fact, the man's eyes, the safest signal of the brain, were as dear as those of the young persons who so eagerly watched his every move. Dr. Rand came at once. He diagnosed the case as one of mental shock, and called the patient convalescent. A nurse however was called in to hurry the recovery, and this necessitated the renting of another bungalow for the boys. There had never been more excitement around the wood camp. The boys ran this way and that, each anxious to outdo the other in the accomplishment of something important. Finally Cora suggested that they all go away to make sure that Mr. Starr would have real quiet. "Can't we go for the papers? To the shack?" Laurel ventured. "We might," Jack replied. "I see no reason why we should not." "Let us three go," proposed Cora, "I mean you and Laurel and I, Jack. It might be best not to attract attention." Once more the Petrel sailed up the lake, this time toward the Everglades. Cora thought of that day when she and Bess dared take the same journey, when the strange man sat at the willowed shore ostensibly making sketches. She thought now that his work then must have been the forging of a letter to hand the poor demented hermit of Fern Island. "The shack is just over there, Jack," she said, pointing out the willows. "There's another boat anchored there," Jack said. "It looks like an important craft too." He had seen it before. It was the very boat in which the detective and the police officer sailed up to the far island the morning they came searching for evidence in the Jones' case. "The path is narrow," Cora said, "but I happen to know it." She led the way. "There are men!" exclaimed Laurel as they neared the shack. Two men were trying to force open the low window. Cora drew back, for one of the men was in uniform. "I suppose they have not finished the case," Jack ventured, and at that very moment he would have given a great deal to have had his sister and Laurel back at camp. The men had not yet seen them. They forced open the window, and were now inside. "Let us turn back," Jack suggested. "They may ask us questions--" "But the papers," begged Laurel. "They mean so much to father. And what if those men should take them?" "They will likely take everything they can lay their hands on," Jack answered, "and I suppose it will be best for us to go on." "Certainly," Cora said, knowing well that it was on her account that Jack hesitated. "They cannot do more than ask questions." But scarcely had she uttered the words than they saw the two men walk out of the shack, and one of them had the can marked "red paint!" CHAPTER XXVII A BOLD RESOLVE Seeing their precious papers, or the receptacle that was said to contain them, in the hands of the detective, Cora and Laurel both drew back. They could not now demand them, was the thought that flashed to the mind of each, and yet to leave them in possession of the officers, was the very worst thing that could have happened, for there was always the danger of the old story coming up and then the risk to Mr. Starr, after all his years of evading the law! "They have no right to them," Jack said under his breath. "Hush!" Cora whispered, "they are going the other way!" The two men were talking. Suddenly one of them said loudly enough for the listeners to hear: "It might be dynamite. Not for me! Here goes!" and he carefully set the can down under a bush. "Yes," said the other man. "You are right. Those two fellows were up to most anything. We will get Mulligan. He could smell dynamite," and with that they turned, took a new path toward the shore, and were soon sailing off in their boat. For a few moments neither of the three, who were standing there watching, spoke. Then Cora's face brightened. "They are ours, Laurel's," she said, "and we have a right to take them." "But the law is queer on such points," Jack argued. "I have known men to be put in jail for what they call interfering with an officer when the officer could not do just what he wanted to with some spunky citizen. I should not like to touch the can of red paint." "But my father," said Laurel, in the most pleading of tones. "Think what it means! How we have suffered; and now, when this is at our very hands!" "But suppose it were something other than the papers," cautioned Jack. "Those men had a pretty bad reputation." "I will take all the risks," declared Cora, and before Jack could detain her she ran to the bush, pushed it aside, and grasped the can. Jack hurried to take it from her. "Let me have it, Cora; if there is a risk it must be mine." "All right, Jack dear," she replied, "I am sure there is nothing in it heavier than papers. Wouldn't you think those men could have guessed that?" "Perhaps they did not want to," said Jack. "You can never tell what they want or mean. They have a system even the country fellows, and it covers a multitude of failures." He shook the can, put it to his ear, rolled it a few feet, picked it up again and laughed. "Mr. Mulligan won't find this can," he said, "Somehow it is attractive, and I am anxious as you girls to see what is in it. If we get in trouble for taking it--well, we'll see," and he led the way down to the Petrel. On the water they passed the police boat, but the can of "red paint," was snugly resting under Laurel's skirts in the bottom of the boat. "Will you tell your father at once, Laurel?" Cora asked. "If he is well enough. Oh, I can scarcely wait. Coral, what wonderful good luck you brought to us," and she reached out her hand to press Cora's. "Don't be too sure," cautioned the other, "it is not all cleared up yet." "But I feel sure," she insisted. "Brentano was too clever to do anything half way." "He certainly was a star," Jack admitted. "But I hope he will not insist upon keeping up the correspondence with Cora. He might give us the hoo-doo." They were soon at their dock. The Peter Pan was tied, there, and that meant that Paul Hastings was at the bungalow. Jack thought instantly of Paul's employer, the banker, whose name Mr. Starr had mentioned. It did seem now that things were shaping themselves to tell all the story. "Who is the stranger?" Cora asked, noticing a man in a dressing robe sitting on the little rustic porch. "I--wonder--" Jack said. "It's father," almost screamed Laurel, "and he has had his hair cut and his beard taken off! Doesn't he look lovely!" "It can't be," Cora said hesitatingly. "That man is so young!" "He's my dear father, just the same," declared the delighted girl, hurrying from the boat up to the bungalow. The man did not turn his head to greet her, but she was not to be deceived by his little ruse. "What a surprise!" she exclaimed. "I scarcely knew you." "But you did know me," he replied, with a happy smile. "I feel years and years younger, my dear." "Indeed you look it," Cora said. "I wonder how you ever hid such good looks." The nurse was fetching the beef tea, Paul took the cup from her hand. Jack made a wry face at Laurel, indicating that they would have to watch Paul and the pretty new nurse. Then he took the chair nearest Mr. Starr. The can of "red paint" had been safely hidden in a locker of the Petrel. "Your friend has been telling me the wonders of his fast boat," began Mr. Starr to Jack, speaking of Paul. "Yes. This is the young man who is employed by Brendon Breslin," Jack replied. "Employed by Brendon Breslin!" exclaimed Mr. Starr. "Is Mr. Breslin around here?" "Gone to the city to-day," replied Paul, "but I take him home every night in the Peter Pan. That's what he wants the best boat on the lake for." "He always believed me, and never wanted me to go away," Mr. Starr said. "And now if I could see him--" "I don't see why you cannot," put in Jack. "He often rides by here, doesn't he Paul?" "He thinks this the prettiest end of the lake," Paul replied. "But if you ever knew him and he was your friend I am sure he would be only too glad to make a special trip to see you, for he boasts he never forgets an old friend," Paul said. "That's him--that's Brendon," exclaimed Mr. Starr, moving uneasily in his chair. "I feel I must be dreaming." There was a general pause--for realization. Everyone felt indeed it was like a dream, and almost beyond human power to grasp. Mr. Starr swept his hand over his forehead. "Laurel," he called, "I wonder if I couldn't take a ride in the Peter Pan. Ask the nurse, please--?" "Oh, no," objected that young lady. "It would not be wise for you to take another boat ride to-day. We will ask the doctor about it tomorrow." "Don't be impatient, father," pleaded Laurel. "You must not forget how weak your head has been." "All right, child. But I want it cleared up," he murmured. "I feel there is no safety for me until I'm vindicated." "Come on, Jack," whispered Cora. "We must open that can." Paul was leaving. Cora and Jack walked to the dock with him. He assured them both that Mr. Breslin would call very soon, and also promised to be on hand on the following Wednesday evening when the girls and boys were planning to have a celebration. "They will never know but that it is really paint," Cora remarked, as she and Jack walked boldly up the path with the precious tin can. "Just take it around to the back, and be careful opening it." "Dynamite?" asked Jack with a smile. "No, but you might damage something," she replied. "No worry about damaging myself?" he persisted. "Well, Cora, I hope it contains--some jewels. Wouldn't that be nice?" There was no chance for further conversation. Cora went to the porch while her brother carried out her instructions. Presently she made some excuse, and left Laurel alone, talking with her father. She found Jack sitting on the wash bench with the can opened and in his hands. "Didn't go off?" she asked, peering into the tin. "Not a go," replied Jack, "but look! What did I tell you! There's an envelope marked for Laurel, and feel! Are they not stones? Diamonds or pearls?" "You romancer!" exclaimed Cora, as she felt the bulky envelope. "I admit they do feel like stones, but they may be merely corals. But oh, Jack! Do let me see!" "Lets call Laurel," he suggested. "We cannot read any of those papers. They are for her, or her father, to open." "Oh, of course," and Cora looked rebuked. "I had no idea of reading anything, but I thought we should make sure of what was in the can before we got Laurel excited over it," and she slipped around the side of the bungalow to beckon to Laurel. The girl's face turned white when she saw why she was wanted. "I am so afraid of disappointment," she murmured with a sigh. "Well, there's something in here," Jack told her. "Look at this," and he handed her the heavy envelope. She read her name--then she tore open the paper. A necklace fell out on her lap! "Mother's!" she exclaimed, pressing the golden chain to her lips reverently. "Darling mother's!" "And the stones are amethysts!" Cora exclaimed as Laurel held up the gems. "Yes, it was father's wedding present to mother," Laurel told them. "Oh, I scarcely know how to tell him all this." "Tony was a pretty decent robber after all," remarked Jack. "He kept them for you, at any rate." "Yes, poor man. Perhaps, as he said, his one temptation was to do clever things with a pen. Let us look over the papers." "Perhaps your father had best see you do that," Jack suggested. "Oh no. I think I had better know first," Laurel insisted. "Let me open this," and she carefully broke a large red seal on a packet of documents yellow with age. Paper after paper she took out. Finally what she was looking for she found. It was a check that had been cashed and cancelled! It bore the marks also of "forgery!" "That's it," she exclaimed. "That is the ten thousand dollar check!" CHAPTER XXVIII ALL ENDS WELL-CONCLUSION "I remember it all--it's like a book open before me!" Laurel had insisted upon her father reclining in the hammock, and she was now fussing with his pillows, that he might nestle deeper in their softness. It was he who was speaking. On the porch sat Brendon Breslin, looking into Peter Starr's face like one enchanted. There was Cora moving a big fan so that apparently without her doing it, the breeze reached the man in the hammock. Jack was there and Ed was inside the bungalow teasing Walter who had "discovered" the new nurse. Hazel, Bess and Belle were busy--there was to be "something doing." A day had passed since the opening of the can of "red paint." In fact it was the evening following that eventful performance. Paul had only to say "Peter Starr"' to Mr. Breslin, and the latter was ready to be at the bungaloafers' camp. So the story was unwinding. "Do you really feel able to talk?" asked the millionaire banker. "I will insist now--you got, the better of me once, Peter." "Yes, Mr. Starr," Cora added to the request. "Do be careful." "And she asks me to be careful!" He actually seized Cora in his trembling arms. "She! Why she risked her life for us. It was she who found my Laurel! She who came to us at night to be sure we would not repel her! She who followed up that--" "Oh, please, hush!" Cora begged, "or it will be she who causes your relapse," she insisted. "Indeed no," and the man held in his hands before him the flushed face of Cora. "What you have done cannot be told of in this rude way." "Father, I'll be jealous," said Laurel, trying to relieve the tension. Cora slipped away. It was Mr. Breslin who spoke next. "And you really remember?" he asked of Mr. Starr. "How was it that you ran away?" "The bank president's name had been forged to a check for ten thousand dollars!" "Yes, I know that well," said Mr. Breslin. "And they traced the forgery to me!" "But you knew you were innocent!" "I knew it, but I was frightened by the accusation, and they had found trials of the signature in my desk!" "I have a letter that explains that," Cora imparted, and then she told how Brentano had confessed to the forgery, and to his almost hypnotic influence over Mr. Starr. "And then?" inquired Mr. Breslin. "Brentano told me I must go. He fixed everything. I have been on the island ten years," and the hermit sighed heavily. "How did you live?" asked the banker. "He fixed that," and there was bitterness in his tone. "He brought me letters regularly. These were alleged to come from those who would prosecute me if I did not keep on paying money!" At this statement the banker dashed up from his seat. "The scoundrel!" he almost hissed. "He ought to be jailed! If I had him here I'd do it too. I'm mayor of this borough." "Oh, Mr. Breslin!" exclaimed Laurel. "He must not have been entirely bad. See how he saved the papers--the proofs--and how he kept for me my mother's jewels." "That's the sentimental mire that foreign criminals wallow in," he replied with irony. "I cannot see that it mitigates the crime." "And yet," interrupted Mr. Starr, "see how the influence of a mere girl turned him to right? I did like that boy!" Cora and Laurel had crept away to the far end of the porch. Two men came up the path. "Hello!" said Mr. Breslin. "Officers!" There was surprise on the officers' faces when they saw Mr. Breslin, their superior officer, the mayor of Cedar Lake, sitting on the porch. Greetings were exchanged and finally they ventured to make known their mission. They had heard that someone saw Cora Kimball take the state's evidence--the can of "red paint!" "But what was a can of paint?" asked the mayor. "As if a girl would want that," and his voice was almost mocking. "Well, it might have been dynamite," and the man who wore brass buttons shook his head sagely. "A girl steal a can of dynamite," repeated Mr. Breslin mockingly. The officers were trying to see who was in the hammock. But the man therein sank back into the cushions, while Jack carelessly slipped his chair directly in front of him. "Why didn't you take it when you saw it?" asked the town's mayor. "Well," explained the other man, "we didn't fancy the blow-up. We went for Mulligan who knows about such things, and when we came back it was gone." "You had better tell that story before the jury," and the sarcasm in Mr. Breslin's tone was unmistakable. "Suppose you tell them that a girl took what you were afraid to touch!" Seeing that it was useless to argue with the mayor, they turned to leave. "Wait," he said good naturedly, "I have my boat here. Take a ride with me. It's better than walking the dusty roads. Good evening," he said. "Mr. Fennelly," (to Mr. Starr,) "I hope you will regain your health by the time your son has to return to college!" "Fennelly," said one officer to the other. "That's not the name, it was Starr! We're on the wrong trail." And they hurried away. Thus had Mr. Breslin saved the hermit from having to testify. "Laurel," Cora said wearily, "let us go for a little walk. My nerves are all snarled up, and only a walk will unravel them. We will have time to go as far as the hemlocks before those girls and boys make up their minds to disband." "But it is dark," objected Laurel. "All the better; the quiet will be more effective. Come on, Laurel. Surely you do not mind a dark evening." "Oh, no indeed, Cora," she replied, winding her arm, about her friend's waist, "but I was thinking it might shower." "Oh, we could beat any shower," insisted, Laurel, "Come let us get away before they miss us." It was getting very dark indeed, but they heeded it not, so interested were they in their chat. They talked of many things, as girls will, and Laurel told much of her half-wild life, on Fern Island, while Cora related some of her own experiences. Then they returned to the house, where they found the others assembled. "Let's have some fun," suggested Walter. "I vote for charades," said Jack. "I'll be a fish." "All right!" exclaimed the nurse, entering into the spirit of the fun, "here's where you swim!" and she poured a glass of water down Jack's back. He accepted the challenge and made exaggerated motions as if he were struggling in deep water. There was a gale of laughter, and that was the beginning of a gay time. The troubles of the past seemed all forgotten. The now happy party remained together for several days and in the meanwhile there were many developments. Through the efforts of Mr. Breslin everything regarding the former hermit was cleared up, and his name was once more restored to its untarnished honor. There was absolutely no charge against him, and on learning this, his health took a big change for the better. As for Laurel, she was happier than she had been in many years. The injury to Jim Peters did not amount to as much as had been feared at first and he gradually recovered. There was no trace of "Tony," as everyone called Brentano. The search for him was given up, but the officers who had been fooled by the can of "red paint" had a hard time living down the joke against them. Cora destroyed all the correspondence she had received. It was like a bad dream, all but that part about helping Laurel and her father, and she wanted to forget it. Laurel also destroyed the letter Jack had picked up the night of the search. It was one from Brentano, and she, too, wanted no remembrance of him. This epistle had a slight connection with the mystery. Old Ben proved a good friend and Cora was sorry for the momentary feeling she had had against him. He showed the boys many woodland haunts and took them to secret fishin' "holes" unknown to the general public. The lads voted him a "brick." It was a bright, beautiful day and every one was happy--happy because of the fine weather and because everything had turned out so well. "I feel just like doing something!" exclaimed Cora, who, came in from a walk in the woods. "What, sis?" asked Jack, making a grab for her which she adroitly avoided. "Oh--almost anything. Since so much of our summer was spoiled in exploring and in solving mysteries, suppose we dispel the gloom with a spell of reckless gaiety." "Suppose," agreed Hazel. "What shall it be? I vote for water fun. We can have parties and that sort of stuff all winter." "Fishing! The very thing!" exclaimed Cora, "and give prizes for fish, near fish, and no fish." "Oh, the boys would be sure to win on the fish number," said Hazel, "but let's try it. We have to have live bait, I suppose." "And we can haul the bait nets. Did you ever see them cast one of those thirty feet ones?" asked Cora. "Never," replied Hazel. "But when shall we start, and what do we start? I'll dig for worms." "To-night we will go for the bait, and you can go out with a lantern in the darkest parts of the woods to dig for worms," Cora said, knowing, that this would put an end to Hazel's offer. "In the woods? In our own back yard. I know how to turn stones over. I have often helped Paul," Hazel attested. But it was casting the big thirty foot net that really furnished the best sport. It was dropped from a rowboat by Bess and Cora while Laurel and Belle rowed. Then when it was all spread out they had to row very quickly in a circle to close the bottom and to drag in the unsuspecting little fishes that were to make the live bait. The first trial resulted in Belle resigning as oarsman. She had lost a gold-rimmed side-comb overboard, besides getting very wet when the boat turned suddenly and "took a wave." "I can row alone," insisted Laurel. "Cora and Hazel must manage the net." This time they did bring up some fish--a whole drove of wiggling, frightened little minnies. "How do we get them out?" asked Bess, more frightened than the fish. "Pick them out and put them in the bait box," Cora explained, while Bess made a negative face. "It seems a shame to use them for bait," Laurel said, as on the pier they opened the net carefully and saw the pretty silvery things slip around. "Couldn't we put them some place to grow up?" "The fish-orphans' home," suggested Cora. "But I must have a few. You know, girls, fish have no brains. That's the reason I suppose they go into the brain business when they get a chance at humans." The very next afternoon the girl's fishing party rowed out from Center Landing. Walter went along to take the fish off the hooks of Belle and Bess who declared they would never be able to do that. The other boy's composed a rival party. Ben was at the landing, and he wished them all sorts of luck besides telling them the secret spots where fish dwelt. They went deep into the cove, as Ben said the pickerel loved to lay in the grasses there. Bess and Belle insisted upon following the directions on the box of a patent "plug" they had purchased and cast near a lily pond, reeling in so slowly that Hazel and Cora had both had "strikes" before the twins saw their white make believe fish come to the surface. This sort of casting was for bass of course. "I've got one! I've got one!" shouted Cora, as she pulled in a handsome big, black bass. This won the first and last prize, for it was an exceptionally fine specimen. "We knew you would have the best luck, Cora," Hazel said without malice, as she dragged up a very small, scared sunny. "We knew it. You always do." "It isn't luck," added Laurel, "It's skill. She knew that she must pull up as soon as the fish struck. I lost something. It might have been a snake but it got away because I was not quick enough." There was quite a laugh when Jack, after a hard struggle, during which he protested that he must have the biggest pickerel in the lake, pulled in a large mud turtle. Later, however, he redeemed himself by catching one of the long fish which gave him quite a battle of the line. The other boys did well, and the girls were not far behind them. "Well," remarked Cora, during a lull in the proceedings when they had gone ashore to eat the lunch they had brought along, "we really haven't had so much fun as this since we came to the lake. There was so much excitement." "There are other vacations coming," predicted Ed. "There is no telling what may happen since she has learned to adjust a spark plug, and regulate a timer." Ed was right; there were other adventures in store for the motor girls, and what they consisted of will be related in the next volume of this series to be entitled "The Motor Girls on the Coast or The Waif from the Sea." The afternoon waned. No one felt like going fishing after lunch. Besides, as Cora said, they, had enough, and they were all cleaned up from the "mess" of baiting hooks. And now, for a time we will take leave of the girls, as they are sitting on the shady shores of Cedar Lake, talking--talking--and the boys listening, with occasional remarks. "And I'm so glad it all came out right," Cora murmured. "You are to go to school with me, Laurel--mother has planned about that." "And it was so good of Mr. Breslin to arrange to have father do clerical work for him," added the woodland maid. "Oh, how lovely everything is!" And the sun, sinking to rest, cast a rosy glow over the peaceful waters of the lake. THE END 
41434	----	THE LAUNCH BOYS SERIES The Launch Boys' Cruise In the Deerfoot BY EDWARD S. ELLIS Author of "The Flying Boys Series," "Deerfoot Series," etc., etc. ILLUSTRATED BY BURTON DONNEL HUGHES THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY PHILADELPHIA Copyright, 1912, by THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY PRINTED IN U. S. A. [Illustration: THE BIG SHIP WAS STILL COMING TOWARD HIM] CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. BETWEEN TWO FIRES 9 II. LIVELY TIMES 19 III. MIKE MURPHY 29 IV. A LOAN TO CAPTAIN LANDON 39 V. A MOTOR BOAT 50 VI. CAPTAIN AND CREW 58 VII. ONE AUGUST DAY 69 VIII. A PASSING GLIMPSE 81 IX. NO MAN'S LAND 92 X. THE LURE OF GOLD 104 XI. A MISSING MOTOR BOAT 114 XII. IN THE TELEGRAPH OFFICE 125 XIII. A SLIGHT MISTAKE 136 XIV. A FRIEND IN NEED 145 XV. A GLIMPSE OF SOMETHING 156 XVI. ON BARTER ISLAND 166 XVII. THE MAN IN GRAY 176 XVIII. AT THE INLET 186 XIX. NOT NEAR EITHER BANK 196 XX. A DISAPPOINTMENT 206 XXI. A TELEGRAM 216 XXII. FOUND 226 XXIII. CAPTAIN AND MATE 236 XXIV. "THIS IS WHERE I STOP" 247 XXV. GOOD NEWS 257 XXVI. DISQUIETING NEWS 267 XXVII. AN ALARMING FACT 277 XXVIII. THE CRY ACROSS THE WATERS 287 XXIX. MAROONED 296 XXX. A NEW ENGLAND HOME COMING 308 XXXI. THE MAN IN GRAY 319 The Launch Boys' Cruise in the Deerfoot CHAPTER I BETWEEN TWO FIRES I once heard the bravest officer I ever knew declare that the height of absurdity was for a person to boast that he did not know the meaning of fear. "Such a man is either a fool or the truth is not in him," was the terse expression of the gallant soldier. Now it would have been hard to find a more courageous youth than Alvin Landon, who had just entered his seventeenth year, and yet he admits that on a certain soft moonlit night in summer he felt decidedly "creepy," and I believe you and I would have felt the same in his situation. He was walking homeward and had come to a stretch of pine forest that was no more than an eighth of a mile in length. The road was so direct that when you entered the wood you could see the opening at the farther side, where you came again upon meadows and cultivated fields. The highway was so broad that only a portion of it was shaded and there was no excuse for one losing his way even when the moon and stars failed to give light. All you had to do was to "keep in the middle of the road" and plod straight on. But when the orb of night rode high in the sky and the course was marked as plainly as at midday, there was always the deep gloom on the right and left, into which the keenest eye could not penetrate. A boy's imagination was apt to people the obscurity with frightful creatures crouching and waiting for a chance to pounce upon him. Alvin was a student in a preparatory school on the Hudson, where he was making ready for his admission to the United States Military Academy at West Point. The appointment had been guaranteed his father, a wealthy capitalist, by one of the Congressmen of his district, but nearly two years had to pass before the lad would be old enough to become a cadet, and pass the rigid mental and physical examination required of every one enrolled in the most admirable military institution in the world. On this mild August night he was going home from the little cove where his motor boat nestled under the shed built for its protection. His chum Chester Haynes, about his own age, lived within a hundred yards of the shelter of the craft, so that it was always under his eye, when not dashing up the Kennebec or some of its tributaries, or cruising over the broad waters of Casco Bay. On their return from an all-day excursion, they reached Chester's home so late that Alvin stayed to supper. It was dark when he set out for his own home, a good half mile north, the last part of the walk leading through the odorous pines of which I have made mention. The lad had no weapon, for he needed none. His father was opposed to the too free use of firearms by boys and insisted that when a lad found it necessary to carry a pistol for protection it was time for him to stay within doors where no one could harm him. The youth was impatient because of a certain nervousness which came to him when he stepped into the pulseless gloom and saw far ahead the broad silvery door opening into the open country beyond. "About all the Indians in this part of the world," he mused, yielding to a whimsical fancy, "are at Oldtown; the others are making baskets, bows and arrows, moccasins and trinkets to sell to summer visitors. There used to be bears and panthers and wolves and deer in Maine, but most of them are in the upper part. I shouldn't dare to shoot a buck or moose if he came plunging at me with antlers lowered, for it is the close season and a fellow can't satisfy the wardens by saying he had to shoot in self-defence. As for other kinds of wild animals, there's no use of thinking of them. "I should be ashamed to let Chester know I felt creepy to-night, when I have been through these woods so often without a thought of anything wrong. But it does seem to me that some sort of mischief is brooding in the air----" "_Tu-whit-tu-whoo-oo!_" Alvin must have leaped a foot from the ground. He was sure he felt his cap rise several inches above his crown, with still an upward tendency. Then he softly laughed. "Only a screech owl, but that hoot when you are not expecting it is startling enough to make a fellow jump. It seems to me nature might have given that bird a more cheerful voice, say like the thrush or nightingale. Then it would be pleasant to listen to his music after dark. I remember when I was a little codger and was coming home late one night, near Crow's Nest, one of those things began hooting right over my head and I didn't stop running till I tumbled through the gate. I think I have a little more sense now than in those days." It did not add to his peace of mind when he glanced behind him to see a shadowy form coming toward him from the rear and keeping so close to the line of obscurity on his right that only a flitting glimpse of him was caught. Few situations are more nerve-racking than the discovery at night of an unknown person dogging your footsteps. He may be a friend or an enemy--more likely the latter--and you see only evil intent in his stealthy pursuit. But Alvin's good sense quieted his fears and he resumed his course, still holding the middle of the road, alert and watchful. "He can't mean any harm," he thought, "for every one in this part of the country is a neighbor of the others. I shall be glad to have his company and will lag so that he will soon overtake me--hello!" It was at this juncture that two ghost-like figures suddenly whisked across the road in front. They seemed to be in a hurry and acted as if they wished to escape observation--though why they should feel thus was more than Alvin could guess. It dawned upon him that he was between two fires. "It's queer that so many strangers are abroad to-night, though they have as much right to tramp through the country as I." At the time of learning the rather disquieting fact, young Landon had gone two-thirds of the way through the wood, so that the couple in front were near the open country. Striving to convince himself that he had no cause for misgiving, he still felt uneasy as he moved stealthily forward. He gave no thought to the one behind, for it was easy to avoid him. His interest centered upon the two in front, with whom he was quite sure to come in contact. They were no longer in sight, but whether they were walking in the broad ribbon of shadow at the side of the highway, or awaiting his approach, was impossible to tell. He stopped and listened. The one dismal hoot of the owl seemed to have satisfied the bird, which remained silent. The straining ear failed to catch the slightest footfall. Recalling the feathery dust upon which he was stepping, Alvin knew that no one could hear his footfalls. For the first time, he now left the band of illumination, moving into the darkness on his left. There he could be invisible to every one not less than four or five paces away. "If they don't wish me to see them, there's no reason why they should see me," was the thought which impelled him. Gradually he slackened his pace until he stood still. Then with all his senses keyed to a high tension he did some hard thinking. Despite his ridicule of his own fears, he could not shake off the suspicion that mischief was brooding over him. The two men in front and the third at the rear belonged to the same party. "They mean to rob me," muttered Alvin, compressing his lips. The belief seemed reasonable, for he was worthy of the attention of one or more yeggmen. He carried a gold watch, the gift of his father, a valuable pin in his scarf, a present from his mother, and always had a generous amount of money with him. Many a youth in his situation would have meekly surrendered his property upon the demand of a company of criminals against whom it was impossible to prevail, but our young friend was made of sterner stuff. He would not yield so long as he could fight, and his bosom burned with righteous anger at the thought that such an outrage was possible in these later days. All the same, he was too sensible to invite a physical encounter so long as there was a good chance of avoiding it. The wisest thing to do was to step noiselessly in among the pines at his side, pick his way for a few rods, and then wait for the danger to pass; or he could continue to steal forward, shaping his course so as to reach the open country, so far to one side of the highway that no one would see him. You will smile when I tell you why Alvin Landon did not follow this plan. "They may suspect what I'm doing and sneak along the edge of the wood to catch me as I come out. Then I'll have to run for it, and I'll be hanged if I'll run from all the yeggmen in the State of Maine!" He listened intensely, not stirring a muscle for several minutes. Once he fancied he heard a faint rustling a little way behind him, but it might have been a falling leaf. At the front the silence was like that of the tomb. "They're waiting for me. Very well!" Instead of keeping within the darkness, he stepped back into the middle of the road and strode forward with his usual pace. He did not carry so much as a cane or broken limb with which to defend himself. All at once he began whistling that popular college air, "When I saw Sweet Nellie Home." He would not admit to himself that it was because he felt the slightest fear, but somehow or other, the music seemed to take the place of a companion. He began to suspect that it might not be so bad after all for a frightened lad thus to cheer himself when picking his course through a dark reach of woods. "At any rate it can't tell them where I am, for all of them already know it," was his conclusion. CHAPTER II LIVELY TIMES As Alvin Landon drew near the open country he gave his thoughts wholly to the two strangers in front, ceasing to look back or listen for the one at the rear. The keen eyes strove to penetrate the silent gloom on his right and left, but they saw nothing. Probably fifty feet intervened between him and the full flood of moonlight, when, with more startling effect than that caused by the hooting of the owl, a sepulchral voice sounded through the stillness: "_Hold on there, pard!_" It was purely instinctive on the part of the youth that he made a bound forward and dashed off on a dead run. Not until he burst into the bright illumination did he awaken to the fact that he was doing the very opposite of what he intended and actually playing the coward. The fact that his natural courage had come back was proved at the same moment of his abrupt stoppage, for the sharp report of a pistol rang out from directly behind him. The space was so short that it was evident the shot had been fired not to harm him, but to check his flight. At the moment of halting, he whirled around and saw a youth who could have been no older than himself charging impetuously upon him. Alvin's halt was so instant and so unexpected on the part of his pursuer that they would have collided but for the fugitive's fist, which shot out and landed with full force upon the face of the other. Alvin knew how to strike hard, and the energy which he threw into the effort was intensified by the swift approach of his assailant. No blow could have been more effective. With a grunt, his foe tumbled headlong, flapped over on his back and lay as if dead. Had he been the only enemy, the combat would have ended then and there, for never was an antagonist knocked out more emphatically, but his companion now dashed into the fray. He was somewhat older than the one who had come to grief, but still lacked full maturity. Too cautious to make the mistake of the other, he checked himself while just beyond the fist that had done such admirable work. With an oath he shouted: "I'll teach you how to kill my pal." "I don't need any teaching; come on and I'll serve you the same way," replied Alvin, eager for the attack to be made. His opponent came on. He had learned from the rashness of his partner, for after putting up his hands, like a professional pugilist, he began feinting and circling about Alvin, in the search for an inviting opening. The latter did not forget the instruction he had received from Professor Donovan and stood on his guard, equally vigilant for an advantage. The elder had made a complete circle about Alvin, who turned as on a pivot to meet his attack, and was just quick enough to parry the vicious blow launched at him, but not quick enough to counter effectively. The next instant the fist of the taller fellow came in contact with the chest of Alvin, who was driven back several paces. His foe attempted to follow it up, but was staggered by a facer delivered straight and true. Then our young friend in turn pressed the other, who, bewildered by the rapidity and fierceness of the assault, made a rush to clinch. Nothing could have suited Alvin better and he met the effort with a storm of furious blows. The chief one was aimed at the chin, and had it landed the result would have been a knockout, but it was a trifle short. Determined not to be denied, Alvin pressed on with all the power at his command. "Keep cool and strike straight," was the motto of his instructor at the gymnasium, and though he was enraged he heeded the wise advice. Nearly a score of blows were exchanged with such rapidity that a spectator could not have kept track of them, and then Alvin "got there." The thud was followed by an almost complete somersault of the victim. The master was prompted to push his success by attacking his enemy before he could rise, but another law flashed upon Alvin. "Never strike a man when he is down," a chivalrous policy when the rules of the game govern both contestants. It was doubtful whether Alvin would have received similar consideration had the situation been reversed, but he could not feel sure of that until the proof was given. He therefore calmly waited for the other to rise, when he would be upon him like a tiger. A minute or two passed before the fallen one recovered enough to begin climbing to his feet. He could have risen sooner, but deceived his conqueror by feigning weakness and fumbled aimlessly about as if too groggy to get his bearings. But he was helping in a treacherous trick. As Alvin stood, his back was toward the first miscreant, who recovered from his stupor while his companion still lay on the ground. Our young friend gave no thought to the one, whom he believed to be out of the affair altogether. The same young man, however, gave quick thought to him. Bounding to his feet he sneaked up unseen and struck a blow that drove Alvin forward so violently that he had to make a leap over the second assailant to avoid falling upon him. It was a wonder that he was not struck down senseless. As it was, he was partially stunned, but rallied in a flash. Now it would have been sensible and no disgrace to the heroic lad, when he found himself confronted by two muscular and enraged youths, to dash at full speed for home. But he did nothing of the kind. "Come on, both of you!" he called out. "I'm not afraid and you haven't got me yet!" It would be a pleasure to record that our young friend defeated the couple, but such a triumph in the nature of things was impossible. Either of them would have given him all he could do, and the two united were sure to overcome him. With his stubborn resolve to have it out with them he must have suffered but for an unexpected turn of events. You remember that a third stranger was approaching from the other direction. In the hurricane rush of the fight, Alvin forgot about him, but he now arrived and threw himself with a vengeance into the affray. His bursting upon the scene convinced the lone defender that the time had come to show his ability as a sprinter. While quite ready to oppose two, he knew he could not stand up against three. Before he started, however, he saw with a thrill that the new arrival had attacked with unrestrainable fierceness the one who had just struck Alvin. In other words, instead of being an enemy he was a much-needed ally. This stranger did not utter a word at first, but attended strictly to business, and that he was a master of it was proved by his first blow, which sent the fellow staggering backward finally falling with his heels kicking toward the orb of night. There was no thought of chivalry on the part of the conquerer, who landed again as he was climbing to his feet. "Let up!" protested the victim. "Do you want to kill a fellow?" "Begorrah, ye guessed it right the fust time!" was the reply of the friend, who turned to Alvin: "If ye'll smash that spalpeen I'll be attending to the same wid this one." The slight diversion was enough to give the dazed victim on the ground time to come to his feet, when he turned and was off like a deer in the direction whence had come his conqueror. Determined not to be despoiled of his victory, the Irish lad--as his accent showed him to be--pursued at the highest bent of speed. But his short legs were not equal to the task, and the terrified assailant made such excellent time that a few minutes sufficed to carry him beyond all danger. The "broth of a boy" would not give up at first. The two held their places in the middle of the highway, so that both were in plain sight, with the fugitive steadily drawing away. "Howld on, ye spalpeen!" shouted the pursuer. "I'm not through wid ye!" But he who fled was glad enough to be through with the business, and kept up his desperate flight until the other ceased and turned back to learn how matters were going with the friend to whose aid he had rushed. A somewhat similar story was to be told of the second miscreant, who had seized the chance to take to flight in the opposite direction. In this case, the fleet footed Alvin proved the superior in speed and within a hundred yards overtook him. The moment he was within reach he let drive and his fist landed in the back of the other's neck. Inasmuch as he was going at his highest speed and the blow sent his head and shoulders forward with additional swiftness, the inevitable result was that he fell, his face plowing the dirt and his hat flying a dozen feet from him. Before he could rise, Alvin was upon him. The fellow threw up his hands to protect his countenance and whined: "Please don't hit me again! I'm half killed now!" The cringing appeal changed Alvin's indignation to disgusted pity. He unclenched his fingers and dropped his hands. "Get up! I won't hit you, though you deserve it." His victim seemed to be in doubt and slowly came to his feet still whining: "We didn't know it was you; it was a mistake." "It does look that way," was the grim comment of Alvin. "Get up, I say; you have nothing to fear from me." The fellow was in doubt. He slowly rose, but the instant he stood erect, he was off again as if propelled from a catapult. Alvin, instead of pursuing and overtaking him, stood still and laughed. "Come back and get your hat!" he shouted, but the fugitive did not abate his speed and made the dust fly until he vanished in the moonlight. Yielding to an impulse, Alvin walked to where the headgear lay and picked it up. It was a valuable chip hat, such as is fashionable in summer in all parts of the country. The captor was wondering whether it contained the fellow's name. The moonlight was not strong enough for him to see distinctly, and, bringing out his rubber safe from his hip pocket, he struck a match to aid in the scrutiny. CHAPTER III MIKE MURPHY Holding the tiny flicker of flame in the hollow of the hat, Alvin saw in fancy gilt letters, pasted on the silk lining, the following: "NOXON O" "That's a queer name," he reflected. "I never heard anything like it." "Do ye know ye're holding the same upside down?" The Irish lad, panting from his exertion in running, stood grinning at Alvin's elbow. "'Spose ye turns the hat round so as to revarse the same." Alvin did so and then read "O NOXON." "It's the oddest name I ever saw, for 'NOXON' reads the same upside down and backwards--Ugh!" Seized with a sudden loathing, he sent the hat skimming a dozen feet away. His feeling was as if he had grasped a serpent. Then he turned and impulsively offered his hand to the Irish lad. "Shake! You were a friend in need." "It's mesilf that's under deep obligations to yersilf." "How do you make that out?" "Didn't ye give me the finest chance for a shindy that I've had since I lift Tipperary? I haven't had so much fun since Pat Geoghaghan almost whaled the life out of me at home." "Who are you?" "Mike Murphy, at your sarvice." And the grinning lad lifted his straw hat and bowed with the grace of a crusader. "Where do you live?" "Up the road a wee bit, wid me father and mither." "Are you the son of Pat Murphy?" asked the astonished Alvin. "He has the honor, according to his own story, of being me dad." "Why, he's father's caretaker. I remember he told me some time ago that he had a boy seventeen years old that he had sent word to in Ireland to come over and join him. And you are he! Why, I'm so glad I should like to shake hands with you again." "I'm nothing loath, but I say that hat ye threw away is more of the fashion in this part of the wurruld than in Tipperary, and if ye have no objections I'll make a trade." And the Irish lad walked to where the headgear lay, picked it up and pulled it on his crown. "It's a parfect fit--as the tramp said when he bounced around the kind leddy's yard--don't I look swaat in the same?" Alvin could not help laughing outright, for the hat was at least a size too small for the proud new owner, and perched on his crown made his appearance more comical than it had been formed by nature. "I knew ye would be plased, as me uncle said when the docther towld him he would be able to handle his shillaleh inside of a waak and meet his engagement with Dennis O'Shaugnessey at Donnybrook fair. Me dad tached me always to be honest." To prove which Mike laid down his battered straw hat beside the road, where the seeker of the better headgear would have no trouble in finding it. "And if it's all the same, Alvin, we'll adjourn to our home, for I'm so hungry I could ate me own grandmither." "How did you know my name?" asked the surprised Alvin. "Arrah, now, hasn't me dad and mither been writing me since they moved into this part of the wurruld and spaking of yersilf? It was yer telling me that me dad was your dad's caretaker that towld the rist. Ef I had known it was yersilf I would have hit that spalpeen harder." "You did well as it was. But I say, Mike, when did you arrive in Maine?" "Only three days since. Having had directions from me dad, as soon as I got ashore in New York I made fur the railway station, where I wint to slaap in the cars and woke up in Portland. Thar I had time to ate breakfast and ride in the train to Bath, where I meant to board the steamboat _Gardiner_. I had half a minute to sprint down the hill to the wharf, but the time was up before I got there and the men pulled in the plank when I was twinty faat away. I'm told the Captain niver tarries ten seconds for anybody." "That's true," replied Alvin, "for I have seen him steam away when by waiting half a minute he would have gained five or six passengers." "So I had to tarry for the other steamer, which lift me off at Southport, and I walked the rist of the way to the home of me parents. I mind dad towld me the same was four or five miles, but I think it was six hundred full. I found me parents yesterday." "I remember now that your father said he expected you about this time, but it had slipped my mind, and having been away all day I had no chance to learn of your coming. But I can tell you, Mike, I'm mighty glad to know you." "The same to yersilf," was the hearty response of the Irish lad. In fact, considering the circumstances in which the two met, to say nothing of their congenial dispositions, nothing was more natural than that they should form a strong liking for each other. They walked side by side, sometimes in the dusty road or over the well-marked path on the right or left, and talking of everything that came into their minds. "How was it you happened to be passing over this road to-night when I found myself in so great need of you?" asked Alvin. "Me dad sint me this noon down to Cape Newagen to inquire for some letters he didn't ixpect, and then to keep on to Squirrel Island and buy him a pound of 'bacca and to be sure to walk all the way and be back in time for supper, which I much fear me I sha'n't be able to do." "How did you make out?" asked the amused Alvin. "As well as might be ixpected," gravely replied Mike, "being there ain't any store at Cape Newagen and I should have to walk under water for near two miles or swim to Squirrel Island, barring the fact that I can't swim a stroke to save me life." "What did your father mean by sending you on such a fool errand?" Mike chuckled. "It was a joke on me. I've tried to break him of the habit, but he can't help indulging in the same whin he gits the chance. He was so glad to have me wid him that he found an excuse for whaling me afore last night and then played this trick on me." "Didn't your mother tell you better?" "Arrah, but she's worse nor him; she said I would enj'y the walk and I may say I did though I couldn't extind the same as far as they had planned for me. Can you suggist something I kin do, Alvin, by the which I can git aven wid the owld folks fur the fun they've had wid me?" "I am not able to think of anything just now." "Ah, I have it!" broke in the Irish youth, snapping his fingers. "It has been the rule all me life that whin I got into a fight I must report the whole sarcumstances of the same to dad. If I licked the other chap, it was all right and he or mither give me an extra pratie at dinner, but if I was bested, then dad made himself tired using his strap over me back and legs. He's in high favor of me exercising my fists on others, but never will agraa that I don't do a hanus wrong when I git licked. 'It's such a bad habit,' he explains, that it's his dooty to whale it out of me." "What has your fight to-night to do with playing a joke on him?" "Why, don't you see that I'll make him think fur a time that it was mesilf that was knocked skyhigh, and after he's lambasted me till he can't do so any more, and I kin hardly stand, you and me will tell him the truth." "Where will be the joke in that? It seems to me it will be wholly on you." "Don't ye observe that he and mither will feel so bad whin they find how they have aboosed me that they'll give me two praties instid of one and then I'll have the laugh on them." "It takes an Irishman or Irish boy to think up such a joke as that," was the comment of Alvin, as the two just then came in sight of the small log structure in which Pat Murphy and his wife made their home, while a light twinkled beyond from the windows of the larger building, where Alvin lived with his parents during the summer. A half mile to the south toward Cape Newagen was the more moderate dwelling, during the sultry season, of Chester Haynes, his chum from whom he had parted an hour or two previous to making the acquaintance of Mike Murphy. As they drew near the structure, Mike stepped in front and opened the door, with Alvin at his heels. Within, sat the father calmly smoking his pipe, while his tall, muscular but pleasant-faced wife by the table in the middle of the room with spectacles on her nose was busily sewing. The light was acetylene, furnished from the same source that supplied the large bungalow only a few paces distant. "Good evening, Pat, and the top of the evening to you, Mrs. Murphy. You see I have brought Mike safely home to you." Alvin was a favorite with the couple, who warmly greeted him. The boy was fond of calling at the humble dwelling and chatting with the two. Sometimes he took a meal with them, insisting that the food was much better than was provided by the professional chef in his own home. No surer means of reaching the heart of the honest woman could have been thought of, and though she insisted that the lad had kissed the blarney stone, she was none the less pleased by his kind words. "Mither, I'm that near starved," said Mike, dropping into the nearest chair, "that I should perish if I had a dozen more paces to walk." "Yer supper has been waiting for more than an hour, and if ye'll pass into the kitchen ye may eat your fill." Mike took a step in the direction, but was halted by his father. "Where is the 'bacca I ordered ye to bring from Squirrel Island?" "They're out of the kind ye smoke, dad, and that which the storekeeper showed me was that poor I wouldn't have anything to do wid the same." "And the litters at Cape Newagen?" "They're expicting the one from King George that ye were looking fur, but it won't be in until the next steamer." CHAPTER IV A LOAN TO CAPTAIN LANDON The elder Murphy looked at his son with a quizzical expression and then glanced at the hat which had been hung on a peg behind the door. "And where did ye get that?" "Traded me owld one for it, but I had to go through a foight before the ither chap would give his consint." The father's face brightened. "So ye've been in anither foight, have ye, and only well landed in Ameriky." "I niver had a foiner one," replied the son, still standing in the open door which led to the kitchen; "it makes me heart glad when I think of the same." "And which licked?" Mike was quick to seize the opportunity for which he was waiting. With a downcast expression, he humbly asked: "Do ye expict me to win _ivery_ time, dad?" "Av coorse I do; haven't I trained ye up to that shtyle of fightin'?" "Suppose, dad, the ither chap is bigger and stronger--what do ye ixpict of me?" "Ye know yoursilf what to expict when ye disgraces the name of Murphy." Laying his pipe on the table beside which his wife was sitting, the parent grimly rose and moved toward the door on the other side of the room that opened into the small apartment where the firewood was stored from wetting by rain. The three knew the meaning of the movement: he was seeking the heavy strap that was looped over a big spike. He had brought it from Tipperary two years before and must have kept it against the coming of his heir, knowing he would have use for it. "Have done wid yer supper," he said to Mike, "and after the same, I'll do me dooty by ye." The grinning lad was still standing in the kitchen door. The action of his father turned his back toward the youth, who winked at Alvin, stepped across the threshold and sat down at the end of the table where he was in sight, but the greater portion of the table itself was hidden. Although the moonlight had given the visitor a good view of his young friend, the glow of the lamp now showed his face and features with the distinctness of midday. Alvin was sure he had never seen so homely a youth. The countenance was broad and covered with so many freckles that they showed on the tips of his large ears. The nose was an emphatic pug, and the mouth wide and filled with large white teeth, upon which no dentist could have found a pin speck. His short hair was the color of a well burned brick, stood straight up from the crown and projected like quills from the sides of his head, his complexion being of the same hue as the hair. Although of stocky build, being hardly as tall as Alvin, the frame of the Irish youth was a model of strength and grace. There were few of his age who in a rough and tumble bout could hold their own with him. The night being sultry, he wore no coat or waistcoat, but the shirt, guiltless of tie, was clean, as were the trousers supported by a belt encircling the sturdy waist. His dusty tan shoes were neatly tied and the yellow socks which matched them could not have been less soiled. The best "feature" about Mike Murphy was his good nature. His spirits were irrepressible, and he was always ready with quip and wit. Looking into the broad shining face one was reminded of the remark made about Abraham Lincoln: he was so homely that he crossed the line and became handsome. Alvin's chair being near the front door with Mike in plain sight, he kept his eyes upon him for a minute or two. He saw him reach his fork across the table and bring a huge baked potato to his plate. He twisted it apart in the middle so as to expose the flaky whiteness and then snapped the fingers of both hands at his sides. With a grin he looked at Alvin and asked: "Do ye know what's the hottest thing in the wurruld?" "How about a live coal of fire?" "Arrah, now, it's the inside of a baked pratie; a coal of fire is a cooling breeze alongside the same. Be the same towken, can ye tell me the cowldest thing on airth?" "A piece of ice will do very well." "Ye're off: it's the handle of a pitchfork on a frosty mornin'; if ye don't belave it try the expirimint for yersilf. But I must attind to plaisure, as me cousin said whin he grabbed his shillaleh and attacked his loved brother." Mike now gave his whole attention to the meal. When it is remembered that he was ravenously hungry and the provision bountiful, enough is said. His father came back into the sitting room, tossed the heavy strap on the stand, beside which his wife was still serenely sewing, picked up his pipe and by sucking vigorously upon it renewed the fire that had nearly gone out. He crossed his legs and slowly rocked to and fro, glancing hospitably at Alvin. While the latter was greatly amused by what he had seen and heard, he was also distressed for his friend Mike, whose idea of a joke was unique. There could be no mistaking the meaning of his father's actions. The son was due for a sharp castigation and was certain to receive it unless the caller interposed with a truthful statement of the recent occurrence. Alvin rose from his chair and stepping to the kitchen door, gently closed it. Mrs. Murphy looked up through her spectacles. "I don't wonder that ye wants to shet out the noise Mike makes whin aiting, fur the same is scand'lous." "It isn't that, but I don't wish him to hear what I say to you." "Shall I tell him to hold a finger of aich hand in his ears while he's aiting?" asked the mother without a smile. "He might find that inconvenient. Mike told you the truth when he said he was in a fight to-night." "I don't doubt the same, but I demands to know why he 'lowed himself to git licked?" said the father, with no little heat. "He wasn't licked: it was the other fellow who got the worst of it." "Why, thin, did the spalpeen say it was himself that was bested?" "Begging your pardon, Pat, he did not. He stated a general truth, which no one can deny, to the effect that a fellow like him takes a chance of being defeated now and then. Listen to my story." Thereupon Alvin related the incidents with which you are familiar, adding: "If it hadn't been for Mike's arrival and his brave fight in my behalf, I should have been badly beaten and robbed. The first wretch even fired a pistol during the rumpus." "Did he kill aither of ye?" asked the startled father. "The shot was not aimed at me or him, but was meant to scare me into stopping and giving up. If I had thought of it I should have taken the weapon from him and given it to Mike. Let me tell you," added Alvin impressively, "both of you ought to be proud of such a son as Mike." "So we are," quietly remarked the mother, without looking up or checking her flying needle. "There isn't a pluckier lad in the world. He came to my help like a whirlwind, and the way he sailed into the fellow who struck me from behind showed Mike to be a hero." The father reached out and grasped the loop of leather lying on the stand. Rising to his feet he passed into the small room where the stove wood was piled and hung the strap again upon the metal peg. As he came back and resumed his seat he sighed. It looked as if he was disappointed. "What do you intend to do with him, Pat?" "Train him up in the way he should go. Whin the school opens at Southport he will attind there, and whin he's at home I'll find enough to kaap him out of mischief." "School will not open until September, which is several weeks away. I want you to lend Mike to me until then." Mrs. Murphy stopped her sewing for the moment and looked at their visitor. Her husband removed the pipe from his mouth and also stared at him. "Lind him to ye!" he repeated. "And phwat would you do wid him?" "You know father bought me a motor boat, which arrived a few days ago. Chester Haynes and I have had great fun cruising up the Kennebec and different bays and streams, and we are going to keep at it until we have to go home. We want Mike to join us and share our sport, just as long as Chester and I are in this part of the world. You won't refuse me the favor?" It was evident that the parents were pleased with the request. The proud mother said: "Mike is so gintle that he'll be a good companion for anyone." "Yis; because of his gintleness," repeated the father grimly. "But it saams to me ye're too kind, Alvin; he won't be able to airn his kaap and the indulgence ye'll give him." "Won't earn them! Why, we don't intend to hire him; it's the pleasure we shall have in the company of such a good fellow as Mike. Besides," added Alvin, lowering his voice, "I have a feeling that we're not through with those two fellows who attacked me to-night. Mike won't be satisfied until he has paid the one who ran away from him and left his hat behind." "Ye're wilcome to the lad," assented his father, "and I take it as very good on yer part, which is what ivery one has a right to ixpict from yersilf and father." "No blarneying, Pat," protested their caller. "I am obliged to you for granting my request, for the favor will be wholly given to us." "Now it's yersilf that's blarneying," said Pat. The kitchen door softly opened and the grinning, red-faced Mike came into the room and sat down near his young friend. "I overheerd ivery word that was said, Captain, and it's Mike Murphy that's thankful for yer kindness. I'm wid ye to the ind." The others laughed at the use of the title by the Irish youth, who explained: "Av coorse it's 'Captain Landon,' being that ye're the owner of the motor boat, as ye calls the same." "And you shall be my first mate," said Alvin. "Won't Chister, as ye name him, be jealous and indulge in mootiny?" "No fear of that; we'll satisfy him by making him second mate, while all three will form the crew. And now I must bid you good night. I shall call for you as soon as we are through breakfast to-morrow morning." With which our young friend went to his own home. CHAPTER V A MOTOR BOAT The first time you stepped aboard a motor boat you were impressed by the looks of the engine and the numerous appliances which when rightly handled drive the craft through the water at the rate of ten, fifteen, twenty and sometimes more miles an hour. You thought it would be hard to learn to manage the boat and know how to overcome the different kinds of trouble that are almost certain to arise. But the task, after all, is simple and with patience you can soon master it. In the first place let us find out the principle which governs the smooth, swift progress of the structure. I shall be as brief and pointed as possible. As a foundation, we need a good supply of clean, strained gasoline in the tank. Unless the fluid is free from all impurities it is likely to clog and interfere with the working of the machinery. The tank is so placed that its elevation is sufficient to cause the gasoline to flow by gravity through the pipe, which is connected by an automatic valve with the carburettor, admitting just enough to answer the purpose desired. As the gasoline is sprayed into the carburettor a quantity of air is drawn in from the outside. The two mingle and form a highly explosive gas. To start, you give the fly-wheel a rapid swing, which causes the piston to move downward. This action sucks the gaseous mixture into the cylinder through the inlet valve. The further movement of the fly-wheel causes the piston to move upward, compressing the gas into small volume. While the gas is thus compressed it is exploded by means of an electric spark. The violent expansion of the burning gas drives the piston downward with great force. The movement opens the exhaust valve, the burnt gases escape through the exhaust pipe and the fresh mixture is drawn in again to be compressed and exploded as before. If the engine has more than one cylinder the same process is repeated in each one. This is the operation which is continued so long as the supply of gasoline holds out. In the steam engine the vapor acts alternately on each side of the piston head, but in motor boats and automobiles it acts only on one side. The speed with which this is done is amazing and the same may be said of the steam engine. The swift rise and fall of the piston acting through the connecting rod turns the shaft directly below, which whirls the screw around at the stern. The electric spark that explodes the vapor is generated by a dry battery or by a magneto-electric machine driven by the motor itself. There is also the "make and break" spark, to which we need give no attention. The two ends of the wires in the spark plug which is screwed into the cylinder are separated by a space barely the twentieth part of an inch, across which the spark leaps, giving out an intensely hot flash. You understand, of course, that I have given simply the principle and method of operation of the engine belonging to a motor boat. There are many parts that must operate smoothly and with the minimum of friction. Lubricating oil is as essential as gasoline; the ignition battery must be kept dry; you must know how to operate the reversing lever, to shut off, to start and to hold the desired speed. Except when racing or under some pressing necessity, the swiftest progress is rarely attained, for it is trying to all parts of the engine and consumes a good deal of fuel, which cannot be bought for a trifling price. You would be confused by any attempt on my part to give a technical description of all the motor appliances, nor is there need to do so. If you have just bought a motor boat, you will be taught how to control and manage it by a practical instructor, and such instruction is better than pages of directions. To show the truth of what I have just said, I will quote a single paragraph from the description of the boat concerning which I shall have a good deal to say in the course of my story. "The keel is of white oak, with specially bent elm frames. Planking of selected Laguna mahogany, finished thickness one-half inch, in narrow strakes and uniform seams, secured to frames by copper boat nails, riveted over copper washers, all fastenings being of bronze or copper to withstand salt water. Seams of hull caulked with special cotton payed and puttied. Outside of mahogany planking, finished in natural wood with spar varnish. Watertight bulkheads fore and aft which assist in floating the launch in case of accident. Decks and interior woodwork finished in selected Laguna mahogany. Steam bent quartered oak or mahogany coaming extending around cockpit." Alvin Landon's launch was thirty-five feet long, with six-cylinder, sixty-horse power motor and a guaranteed speed of twenty-four miles an hour. The motor was placed under the forward deck, where it was fully protected by a hinged metal deck. To become somewhat technical again let me proceed: All the valves were placed on the same side, the camshaft (operating the valves) as well as the pump shaft being mounted on ball bearings. The crankcase was of tough aluminum alloy, and lubrication was well provided for, being kept at a constant level in the crankcase by a geared oil pump. A gear-driven pump circulated the necessary cooling water for the cylinders, which passed out through the copper exhaust pipe at the stern. Only one operating lever was employed and that was placed directly at the helmsman's left hand. The gasoline tank contained fifty gallons and was under the after deck with a pan below it for safety's sake, draining overboard. The propeller wheel and shaft were of bronze. Alvin's motor boat, thus partially described, included the necessary deck hardware, "such as brass chocks and cleats, flag pole sockets and flag poles, ventilators to engine compartment, rubber matting for floor, cushions and upholstered backs for seats, three sailing lights, oars, rowlocks and sockets, compressed air whistle with tank, two pairs of cork fenders, bell, foghorn, boat hook and portable bilge pump, six life preservers (as required by the U. S. Government), a twenty-pound folding anchor and a hundred feet of strong manila rope." We must not forget the glass wind-shield. Passengers and crew were always guarded against flying spray and sweep of wind and rain. Nothing that forethought could provide for the safety and comfort of all was forgotten. Suppose young Captain Landon stepped on board the _Deerfoot_ with the intention of starting out on a cruise. He would first turn on the switch which controls the electric current for the jump spark, open the valve that allows the gasoline to flow from the tank into the carburettor, swing around the fly-wheel and then assume charge of the lever and steering gear. But lo! the engine refuses to respond. There is no motion. What is the cause? There may be a dozen of them. In the first place, the battery may be worn out; there may be a lack of compression due to leaky valves; perhaps, after all, he forgot to place the switch key in position; the spark plugs may be fouled or cracked, the gasoline shut off, the gas mixture imperfect, no gasoline in the tank, water in the cylinder caused by a leak from the water jacket, or water in the gasoline. It may be that when the launch has covered a good many miles the engine suddenly stops. The cause may be faulty ignition, because of a disconnected wire or a loose terminal, exhaustion of the gasoline, or derangement of the magneto, or poor carburettor adjustment. But I have said enough to give you an idea of what the expert handler of a motor boat must understand. It may seem almost a hopeless task, but, as I stated at the beginning of this chapter, patience and application will enable you to overcome all difficulties and make the handling of the craft an unalloyed pleasure. CHAPTER VI CAPTAIN AND CREW When the elder Landon received a report from the principal of the military school on the Hudson to the effect that Alvin led all his classmates in their studies and had not once been brought under discipline, he was glad to fulfil the promise made months before, and bought him a handsome motor launch, the selection of which was left to the youth himself. The craft was shipped to Portland, Maine, there set afloat in the capacious bay and sped northeastward for forty miles or so, to the bungalow which the banker had erected a year before on Southport Island. The retreat was to be used by him and his family as a restful refuge from the feverish work which kept him in New York most of the year, with occasional flying trips to the great cities in the West or as far as the Pacific coast. One condition the parent insisted upon: Alvin was not to run the launch alone until an expert pronounced him qualified to do so. Thus it was that when the boat headed up Casco Bay, Captain Abe Daboll, from the factory, was aboard and directed things. He had overseen the construction of the launch and knew all about it from stem to stern. He was there under engagement to deliver it to the bungalow, or rather as near as he could approach the building, and to remain and instruct Alvin in every point necessary for him to know. Several facts joined to make the youth an apt pupil. He was naturally bright and was intensely interested in all that related to motor boats. While awaiting the completion of his launch, he read and studied many catalogues, circulars and books relating to such craft, and rode in a number. He asked questions and studied the working of the machinery and handling of the launch until his instructor looked at him in wonderment. "I never saw your equal," he said admiringly; "by and by you will be answering _my_ questions and telling _me_ how to run things." The smiling youth knew this was exaggeration, for something new seemed to be turning up continually, and there were turns where he thought he knew the way, only to find when put to the test that he was totally ignorant. But as I said, he learned fast and after a week's stay at the home of Mr. Landon, during every day of which--excepting Sunday--the two went on a cruise with Alvin at the helm, the man said that nothing more remained for him to show his pupil. This remark followed a stormy day when the launch went far south beyond Damariscove Island and was caught in a rough sea. "It was the real test," said the expert to the banker. "I never raised my hand or made a suggestion when we were plunging through the big seas, for neither was necessary. You needn't be afraid to trust yourself with him anywhere and in any weather." Now that I am through with my rather lengthy, but perhaps necessary introduction, let us proceed with the story I have set out to tell. On the morning following the battle of Alvin with his assailants, and his pleasing meeting with Mike Murphy, the youth called at the home of the Irish lad, carrying in his hand a yachting cap in addition to the one he wore on his own head. Across the front were the gilt letters _Deerfoot_. "I bought an extra one when I had my suit made," he explained, "and it looks to me as if it will fit you. A straw hat isn't handy to wear when sailing, even though you may loop the string around its band into your button hole. If the season was not so far along, I should order a yachting suit for you, Mike. You know a mate ought to be in uniform. But we shall have to wait till next summer." The grinning lad gingerly took the white cap in hand, turned it about and then pulled it over his crown. He was in front of his own home, and his father as he smoked his pipe looked on, the mother being out of sight within the house. The headgear fitted perfectly. "It's a pity to waste such fine wear on the hid of so ugly looking a spalpeen," remarked the father; "in trooth it ill becomes him." "How can ye have the heart to blame me, dad, that I was born wid such a close resimblance to yersilf that if we was the same age mither couldn't till us apart?" The parent was about to reply to this personal remark, but ignored his offspring and spoke to Alvin. "Ye have a foine day for a sail, Captain." "It is perfect." "And Chister Haynes goes wid yes?" "We are partners all the way through and he's expecting me." "The sicond mate hasn't the honor of an acquaintance with the first mate, but it won't take us long to larn aich ither's ways," said Mike, bubbling over with high spirits and the promise of a day of rare enjoyment. "The mate hasn't the right to make suggistions to the captain, but if he had he would venture to obsarve that he is wasting vallyble time talking wid a gentleman who can't tell a gasoline launch from a lobster pot----" "Be the same token he can till a lobster when he sees him," exclaimed the parent in pretended wrath, making a dive for his son, who eluded him by darting into the highway. Alvin waved a good-by to Pat and the youths hurried away, anxious to be out on the water. While following the road toward the home of Chester Haynes, Mike took off his cap and admiringly surveyed it. He noted the patent leather visor, the gilt buttons to which the chin strap was attached, and then spelled out the name on the front. "I 'spose that is what your boat is called, Captain?" he remarked inquiringly. "Yes; you know it's the fashion for sailors on a man-of-war thus to show the name of the ship to which they belong." "But why didn't the sign painter git the word roight?" "What do you mean, Mike? Isn't that the correct way to spell '_Deerfoot_'?" "I 'spose the first part might go, as me uncle obsarved whin the front of his shanty fell down, but the rear is wrong." "You mean 'foot.' What is wrong about it?" "The same should be 'fut': that's the way we spell it in Ireland." "We have a different method here," gravely remarked Alvin. "And if I may ask, Captain, where did you git the name from?" "Have you ever read about Deerfoot the Shawanoe? He was such a wonderful young Indian that I guess he never lived. But Chester and I became fond of him, and when Chester thought it would be a good idea to name the boat for him I was glad to do so." "Deerfut the Shenanigan," repeated Mike. "Where can I maat the gintleman?" "Oh, he's been dead these many years,--long before you or I was born." "Wurrah, wurrah, what a pity!" and Mike sighed as if from regret. "Are you sure that isn't him that's coming up the road?" A youth of about the age of Alvin, but of lighter build, and dressed like him in yachting costume, came into sight around a slight bend in the highway. "That's Chester; he's so anxious to take advantage of this beautiful day that he has come to meet us, though he might have used the boat for part of the way since he is well able to handle it." A few minutes later Chester and Mike were introduced. No one could help being pleased with the good-natured Irish youth, and the two warmly shook hands. "Mike did me such a fine service last night that I must tell you about it," remarked Alvin as the three walked southward. "Arrah, now, ye make me blush," protested Mike, "as I said whin they crowned me Queen of May in the owld counthry." Alvin, however, related the whole story and you may be sure it lost none in the narration. Mike insisted that the Captain had done a great deal more than he to bring about a glorious victory. "I believe every word Alvin has told me," was the comment of Chester; "and I am proud to have you with us as a friend." "Such being the case," added Alvin, "I have as a slight token of my appreciation, made Mike my first mate, with you as second, and all three as the crew of the _Deerfoot_." "There couldn't be a finer appointment," assented Chester. "I suppose, Mate Murphy, you know all about sailing a boat?" "I larned the trade in the owld counthry, by sailing me mither's old shoe in a tub of water; I 'spose the same is all that is nicessary." "That is sufficient, but," and the manner of Chester was grave, "you two make light of what is a pretty serious matter. That attack upon you was a crime that ought to be punished." "I'm thinking it _has_ been," said Mike; "I belave the rapscallions are of the same mind." "No doubt they meant to rob you." "And would have succeeded but for Mike. We never saw them before, have no idea who they are, or how they came to be in this part of Maine, nor where they have gone." "Would you know either if you met him by day?" "I am not sure, though the moonlight gave me a pretty fair view. It wasn't a time for a calm inspection." "I'm sure I would know the chap that I had the run in wid," said Mike. "How?" "By his black eye and smashed nose." "They might help. They were dressed well, but I can't understand what caused them to visit Southport and to lie in wait for me." "Have there been any burglaries or robberies in the neighborhood?" "None, so far as I have heard. You know there have been a number of post office robberies among the towns to the north, but it can't be that those two fellows have had anything to do with them." "Probably not, and yet it is not impossible. I often wonder why there are not more crimes of that kind at the seaside and mountain resorts, where there are so many opportunities offered. The couple you ran against may belong to some gang who have decided to change their field of operations." "If so we shall soon hear of them again." "Arrah, now, if we could only maat them agin!" sighed the wistful Mike. "It would make me young once more." CHAPTER VII ONE AUGUST DAY "Well, here we are!" It was Captain Alvin Landon who uttered the exclamation as the three came to a halt on the shore at the point nearest the moorings of the gasoline launch _Deerfoot_, left there the night before. She made a pretty picture, with her graceful lines, shining varnish, polished brass work and cleanliness everywhere. The steersman in the cockpit was guarded by a wind-shield of thick glass. At the stern floated a flag displaying an anchor surrounded by a circle of stars with the stripes as shown in our national emblem. At the bow flew a burgee or small swallow-tailed flag of blue upon which was the word _Deerfoot_ in gold. The bunting was always taken in when the boat lay up for the night, but in daytime and in clear weather it was displayed on the launch. Not only could one sleep with some comfort on such a craft by using the convertible seats, but food could be prepared on an oil stove. In cruising, however, among the numerous islands and bays, it was so easy to go ashore for an excellent meal that Captain Landon followed the rule. The water was so deep close to land that the three easily sprang aboard, the Captain being last in order to cast off the line that held the boat in place. It was the first time that Mike Murphy had ever placed foot on a craft of that nature. While Chester hustled about, Alvin quickly joining him, he gaped around in silent amazement. He felt that in his ignorance of everything the best course for him was to do nothing without the advice of his young friends. He sank down gingerly on one of the seats and watched them. He saw the Captain thrust the switch plug into place, though with no idea of what he meant by doing so, while Chester took a peep into the gasoline tank in the stern. Then Alvin opened the hinged deck which covered the big six cylinder motor, climbed forward to the fly-wheel, and swung it back and forth until it circled over. Instantly there followed a smooth whirr, and he closed the forward deck over the motor and took his seat behind the wind-shield where he grasped the wheel which, as on an automobile, controlled the steering gear. The control lever, as has been stated, was on his left. Alvin pushed this forward until the clutch took hold, and with a churning of the screw at the stern the boat moved ahead and quickly attained a good degree of speed. The wind was so slight that the surface of the water was scarcely rippled, and no motion could be felt except the vibration of the powerful engine. The bow and stern lines having been neatly coiled down and everything being adjusted, with Captain Alvin seated and loosely grasping the steering wheel, the two mates took their places behind him, prepared to enjoy the outing to the full. Youth, high health, with every surrounding circumstance favorable--what can bring more happiness to a human being? They come to us only once and let us make the most of them. "Is it permitted to spake to the man at the wheel?" called Mike to the Captain, who, looking over his shoulder, nodded his head. "So long as you speak good sense." "Which the same is what I does always; why couldn't ye take a run over to Ireland this morning, now that ye are headed that way?" "It's worth thinking about, but we shall have to wait till another time. Better become acquainted with a part of the Maine coast first." The launch was speeding to the northeast in the direction of Squirrel Island, which has long been one of the most popular of summer resorts. This beautiful spot is not quite a mile long and has a varied scenery that surprises every one who visits the place. The deep water around the wharf is as clear as crystal, so that at high tide one can look down and see clearly the rocky bottom twenty feet below. The coast abounds with prodigious rocks tumbled together by some stupendous convulsion of nature and against which the waves dash with amazing power during a storm, and throw the spray high in air and far inland. There are shady woods of balsam and fir where one may stroll in the cool twilight over the velvet carpet, meandering along the bewitching "Lover's Walk," with which nearly every section is provided, or threading his way through the dense bushes which brush him lovingly as he follows the faintly marked paths. Overhead, when the crow sentinels catch sight of him, they caw their warnings to their comrades. There are shadowy glens, gaping fissures, whose corresponding faces show that at some remote age they were split apart by a terrific upheaval, a gray barn with its threshing machine and air of quiet country life, rows of neat cottages, a little white wooden church, perched like a rooster gathering himself and about to crow and flap his wings, the Casino, smooth, grassy slopes, and at the northern end of the island, the roomy Squirrel Inn, crowded with visitors attracted by the cool and bracing air, from the opening to the close of summer. Our young friends had no intention of calling there, but, circling to the westward of the island, headed for Boothbay Harbor nestling three miles to the northward. A number of girls loitering on the broad porch of the hotel and a group playing tennis waved their handkerchiefs; the young Captain answered with a tooting of his whistle, and Mike Murphy rising to his feet swung his cap over his head. To the right stretched Linekin Bay, to the head of Linekin Neck, beyond which courses the Damariscotta River, bristling with islets, picturesque and beautiful beyond compare. Captain Landon turned slightly to the left, still heading with unabated speed for Boothbay Harbor. He saw coming toward him a little steamer from whose bow the water spread in a foaming wake. It was the craft which makes regular trips between Boothbay Harbor and Squirrel Island through the summer season, stopping at other places when passengers wish it. One of these is Spruce Point, where little parties often go ashore over the rickety dock, and, striking into the shady woods, follow the winding path along the rocky coast known as the "Indian Trail," for more than two miles, when, after passing Mount Pisgah and crossing a long bridge, they find themselves in the town of which I have spoken. As the two boats rapidly approached, passing within a short distance of each other, the head and shoulders of the captain of the _Nellie G._ showed in the pilot-house. He was a tall, handsome man with dark whiskers, who, when saluted by the _Deerfoot_, reached up and pulled the whistle cord of his own craft. Every one knows Captain Williams of Bowdoinham and is glad to see him turn an honest penny each summer. His boat, one of the prettiest in those waters, had been built wholly by himself, and the name painted in big letters on the front of the wheelhouse is that of his wife. To the left and almost touching Southport is Capitol Island, a little nearer, Burnt, and then Mouse, all as picturesque as they can be. The pathway arched with trees completely shades the sloping walk that leads to the hotel on Mouse Island. A government light on Burnt Island throws out its warning rays at momentary intervals through the night. When fog settles down, the light gives place to a tolling bell. Entering the broad harbor, our friends saw a score or more of vessels grouped around at anchor, or moored at the wharves. There was a magnificent yacht, the property of a multimillionaire of national reputation; another luxurious craft, the representative of a Boston club, a five-masted schooner, veteran ships, two of which had voyaged from the other side of the world, a decayed and rotting hull near the long bridge, where it tipped a little to one side in the mud, and was wholly under water when the tide was in, as it had been for years. An excursion steamer from Bath was just arriving, while others were taking on passengers for some of the towns not far off. Alvin, having slowed down by lessening the amount of gas admitted to the cylinders with the throttle lever on the wheel, rounded to at one of the floats, where a man who had noted his approach caught the loop of rope tossed to him and slipped it over the mooring pile set in place for that purpose. The steersman pulled the control lever back to the vertical position, releasing the propeller shaft from connection with the motor. A further pull backward threw in the reverse gear, and the launch came to rest beside the float and the lever was returned to the vertical position. "I'll look after it while you are gone," he said and Alvin nodded. Captain and crew then attended to stopping the motor by turning the switch to the "off" position, putting out fenders to avoid scratching, making bow and stern lines fast to deck cleats and putting everything in shipshape order. The three then climbed the steps to the upper level, passed the storehouses and ascended the moderate hill to the principal street of the well-known town of Boothbay Harbor. There was little that was noteworthy in the rather long avenue, lined with the usual stores, a bank and amusement hall and a number of pretty residences, and I should make no reference to it except for an incident that befell the visitors. Having gone to the end of the street, that is, until the eastern terminal gave way to the open country, they turned about to retrace their steps to the boat, for it was much more pleasant to be skimming over the water. The temperature at Boothbay Harbor is generally five or ten degrees higher than at Squirrel Island. The three sauntered along, pausing now and then to look into the store windows, admiring the displays of Indian trinkets offered for sale, and approached the corner where they were to turn down the hill to the wharf. At that moment they saw a man of dark complexion, with a big mustache, and accompanied by a large lad, both in yachting costume, come out of Hodgdon's store, which is devoted to the sale of hats, caps, boots, shoes, clothing and other necessities. The two took the opposite course, following the main street in the direction of the ball grounds. Neither Alvin nor Chester did more than glance at the couple, for there was nothing unusual in their appearance, but Mike started. "Did ye obsarve thim?" he asked, lowering his voice. "Yes; but there are plenty others on the street that are as interesting." "Come wid me," whispered Mike, "say nothing." He whisked into the store, his wondering companions at his heels. They left the situation to him. "Will ye oblige me by saying whither the two that has just passed out bought anything of ye?" asked Mike of the rotund, smiling clerk, who, hesitating a moment, answered: "The younger one bought a yachting cap, or rather traded one for his old straw hat, for which I allowed him a nickel, which is all it's worth and more too, I'm beginning to think." He held up the dilapidated headgear which he caught up from under the counter. "Do ye recognize the same?" asked Mike, in a whisper of Alvin. "Can it be possible!" exclaimed the young Captain. "It's the identycal hat I wore last night whin we had our ilegant shindy!" CHAPTER VIII A PASSING GLIMPSE Mike Murphy, even in the flurry of the moment, could not forget his innate courtesy. He handed back the old hat to the puzzled clerk and bowed. "I thank ye very much for yer kindness, and now, lads, come wid me." He hurried out of the door, the two following closely. "What do you mean to do?" asked Alvin. "Folly the chap and finish the shindy I started wid him," replied the Irish lad, staring in the direction taken by the couple. "Ye can luk on and kaap back the man, so that I'll git fair play wid the ither." "You are not on the Southport road, Mike," warned Alvin, "and you will be arrested before you can land a blow and probably locked up." "It'll be worth it," replied the other, scenting the battle like a war horse. "Bad luck to it! where is the spalpeen?" The three were looking keenly up the street, but, brief as was the interval, the couple had vanished. There are a number of lesser streets which lead inland at right angles to the main avenue of Boothbay Harbor, and almost as many that are mere alleys on the other side, through which one may pass to the different wharves. It will be seen, therefore, that there was nothing strange in the disappearance of the strangers in whom our friends were so much interested. "They can't have gone fur," exclaimed the impatient Mike, hesitating for the moment as to what was best to do, and feeling the value of every passing minute and fearing lest the opportunity be lost. "They must have come in a boat," suggested Chester, "and have turned down one of the by-streets to the water. But what is the purpose of chasing them?" "So we may catch 'em," was the reply of Mike, who feeling there was a possibility that they might have turned the other way, addressed Chester: "Cross to the ither side of the main street and hurry by the corners, looking up aich as ye do so; if they've turned that way, they're still in sight." There was sense in the plan. Chester ran across the avenue and walked rapidly, glancing up each opening as he came to it. He meant merely to keep the couple in sight until he could learn something more of them. At the same time he was wise enough to avoid drawing attention to himself. He passed well beyond the hotel without catching sight of the man and boy and finally stopped, convinced that it was useless to go farther. Alvin Landon was of the same mind with him. As matters stood, nothing was to be gained by accusing the youth of assault and attempted robbery, for no proof could be brought forward. Moreover, his companion at that time was absent, the man now with him having been seen for the first time by Alvin and Mike a few minutes before. "It will be well to learn something of the two," the Captain thought to himself, "but it will be a mistake to make them suspect us, as they are sure to do if they find we are dogging them. As for Mike pitching in and starting another fight, it will be the height of folly. I won't allow it." The two were walking side by side and going so fast that several persons looked curiously at them. "Take it easy," advised Alvin. "The same is what I'll do whin I comes up wid the spalpeen, that stole me hat where I'd flung it in the road." "Keep cool and if you get sight of them, don't go nearer, but watch----" "There they be now!" exclaimed Mike at the first glance down one of the alleys on their left, and, before Alvin could check him, he dashed off at his best speed. His progress might have been satisfactory, but when half way down the hill some one pushed the front of a wheelbarrow through a door and across the way. Its appearance was so unexpected and close that Mike could not check himself nor had he time in which to gather for the leap that would clear it. He struck the obstacle fairly and went over, landing on his hands and knees, while the barrow in turn toppled upon him. The urchin who had caused the mischief turned and fled in a panic, before the indignant Mike could chastise him. Alvin rested his hand against the nearest building and laughed until he could hardly save himself from falling. Resuming his uncertain walk he called: "Are you hurt, Mike?" "Oh, no," replied the lad, rubbing his shins and screwing up his face with the smart of the bumps he had received; "as me second cousin said whin he fell from the steeple, I've only broke both legs, one arm and bent me head out of shape--nothin' worth the mintion. I come nigh forgettin' my arrant." And unmindful of the hurts, which were trifling, he dashed down the slope, arriving a minute later at the wharf, where a dozen men and several boys were loading or unloading craft, or boarding or coming ashore from some boat. Although Mike would not admit it, he had fixed his suspicion upon a man who when he turned his face proved to be fully fifty years old, while his companion was a lusty colored youth. He glanced here and there and at all the craft in sight. Possibly his eyes rested upon the right one, but he saw neither of the persons whom he sought, and faced about as Alvin joined him. "They have give us the slip--bad cess to 'em, for I make nothing of the spalpeens among them in sight." The two scanned all the craft that suggested ownership by the strangers, but it was in vain. Then they made their way along the wharves to where they had left the _Deerfoot_. Chester was awaiting them and shook his head as they approached. Alvin paid the man who had looked after the boat in his absence, and after casting off and starting the motor, the three headed for Christmas Cove, where the Captain said they would have dinner, though they would arrive before the regular hour for that meal. Progress was so easy that conversation kept up with the Captain while he held the steering wheel. "I suspect from what we saw awhile ago that the fellows whom Mike and I met last night belong to a gang. One of them is a man and there may be others." "It is lucky the younger did not recognize either of you," said Chester. "Do you think he would do so if you met face to face?" "There is no reason why he should not, for Mike identified him with only a passing glance. You must remember that the sky was clear and the moon bright." "It's mesilf that belaves we imprissed ourselves upon their memory," said Mike so gravely that the others knew he meant the words as a jest. Alvin was silent for a moment and then turned his head, for the wheel required little attention. "Mike, you acknowledge me as Captain and that my mate must obey orders?" The remark was a question. The youth rose promptly to his feet and touched his forefinger to the front of his cap. "I await yer orders, Captain." "If we meet that fellow whose name we believe to be 'Noxon' you must not show that you have any suspicion of his identity, nor must you make any move against him without first consulting me." Mike looked at the second mate. "Isn't that enough to timpt one to mootiny? I obsarve that Mr. Noxon's right eye was of a bootiful black and blue color and the ither should be painted to match the same. It was him that was the thaif who stole me hat." "Didn't you take _his_ cap?" "It was a fair prize of war--there's a moighty difference, as the lawyer said whin he larned it was the ither man's ox that was gored. But as I flung my tile away and he come back to git his own, I sha'n't lay it up agin him." As the _Deerfoot_ sped northeast again, the sharp cutwater splitting the wavelets to the tune of the big motor's humming, and following the main line of the Maine coast, the boys saw the small, low-lying Ram Island and its light on their right, with Linekin Neck on the left, and Inner Heron Island showing in front. Gliding between this and the ledges known as the Thread of Life, they speedily rounded to at the wharf at Christmas Cove. As elsewhere, there were yachts, sailboats and various kinds of craft at anchor or secured to the floats. To one of the latter the three friends made the launch fast and passed over the pier and by the hall where entertainments and religious services are held. The water so far north as Maine is as a rule too cold for popular bathing. At Christmas Cove this difficulty is overcome by a goodly sized pool into which the salt water is admitted at high tide, when the gates are closed and it is held until the time comes for changing it. The opportunity was too good to be lost, and the youngsters each rented a suit and a bath house, from which they emerged and plunged delightedly into the pool. It will be remembered that Mike Murphy could not swim a stroke, but the pond is prepared for such persons, and all he had to do was to keep away from the corner near the gates, which is the only place where the water is beyond one's depth. Alvin and Chester were fine swimmers and dived and frolicked until they were sated. They tried to teach the rudiments of swimming to their comrade, but he made no progress and they had to give over the attempt for the time. It was but a short climb to the Hollywood Inn, where the genial Landlord Thorpe gave them welcome and they wrote their names in the ledger. Then they walked out on the rear porch to admire the romantic scenery, while awaiting the dinner hour. On one side was the placid Cove, making up from the Damariscotta River and dotted with pleasure craft; on the other, John's Bay and the broad Atlantic. Pointing toward the historical Pemaquid Point, on the opposite side of the Bay, Alvin said to his companions: "All looks calm and peaceful now, but how different it was on that September day in 1813!" They turned inquiringly toward him. "Right off yonder the American brig _Enterprise_ of fourteen guns, commanded by Captain Burrows, fought the British _Boxer_, also of fourteen guns. It was a desperate battle in which both captains were killed and the British vessel captured. The prize was taken into Portland harbor, and the two commanders lie buried side by side in the city." CHAPTER IX NO MAN'S LAND Lying a short distance off the Maine coast is an island which belongs to nobody and is therefore referred to as No Man's Land. If you look for it on the map you will find it marked as Muscongus. It is also known as Loud's Island, in honor of the first settler. The strange state of affairs came about in this way: The Lincolnshire or Muscongus Patent, granted in 1630 by the Council of Plymouth to Beauchamp and Leverett, included the land from the seaboard, between the Muscongus and Penobscot rivers, for a certain distance inland, but made no mention of the island on the south. The grant passed to General Samuel Waldo, and was the origin of most of the land titles in that section of Maine. One of the most honored names in colonial England is that of Samoset, the Wampanoag Indian, who met the first Plymouth settlers with the English greeting, "Welcome, Englishmen!" He had picked up a few words from the fishermen who made their headquarters at Monhegan, an island ten miles farther out to sea. Samoset was accustomed to spend his summers on Muscongus. If you dig in the sand on the island you will be pretty sure to find relics of the aboriginal occupation of the place. Captain Loud commanded a privateer in the service of George III, and one day lost his temper in a dispute over some prize money. The quarrel waxed so hot that he declared in his rage he would never lift his hand again in the service of the king, even to save the monarch's head. Such _lese majesté_ was sure to bring serious consequences to the peppery old salt, so he hurriedly sailed for Boston on his brig. While coasting the province of Maine, he came upon Muscongus, and was so charmed that he spent the remainder of his life there. In some way that no one can explain, the United States surveyors overlooked this island, three miles in length and a mile broad, and the mistake has never been corrected. Muscongus therefore remains no man's land. It is well wooded and watered and has a picturesque shore, with rocky coves, white sandy beaches, and an attractive appearance from every direction. No steamer ever stops there, and it is rather ticklish business to pick your way over the crags to the dilapidated landing and so on to the firm land beyond. The unique condition of Muscongus causes some queer things. For a long time, the people, who now number a hundred and twenty-five, paid taxes to the township of Bristol on the mainland two miles away. Every year the tax collector sailed or rowed over to Muscongus and marked in chalk on each door the amount of taxes due from that family. He gave his receipt for payment of the same by rubbing out the chalked figures. This was a pleasing but one-sided arrangement. Bristol gained the sole advantage and by and by the Muscongus folks awoke to the fact. Then they refused to pay any taxes unless the collector showed legal authority for his assessment. The chalk marks were rubbed off the doors and after some spirited scenes the collector withdrew, since, as has been shown, he had no legal means of enforcing his demands. Since then Muscongus has been the only community in New England which is not taxed, except so far as it chooses to impose the burden upon itself. Among the islanders every man was a Democrat with a single exception. At the Congressional election on the mainland the Republican candidate was unpopular, but the vote of Muscongus was cast for and elected him. The canvassers, however, threw out the vote because of the refusal to pay taxes. This was just before the Civil War, and in the words of the chronicler of Muscongus: "That was the end of all things here in connection with the mainland." You need not be reminded that as the great war went on the government was forced to resort to drafting to obtain the soldiers it needed. Muscongus was included in the Bristol district, but the inhabitants warned the authorities that any attempt to enforce the draft would cause bloodshed. Some of them, however, were alarmed at the thought of fighting the national government. At a mass meeting the community voted to donate nine hundred dollars toward the expense of the war, and a number paid three hundred dollars apiece for substitutes, though none volunteered. These contributions meant many sacrifices to the poor fisher folk. A man living on Muscongus had once served in the regular army, and a certain major at Bristol determined to secure him for Uncle Sam. The officer was taken over to the island in a small sailboat, and made his way to the home of the veteran he wanted. He was absent, but his wife was in the kitchen peeling potatoes. A few minutes later the major's companions awaiting him at the shore saw him dash through the door and run at his highest speed for the boat. A few paces behind him, holding the pan of potatoes against her side with one hand, and snatching them out with the other, she bombarded the terrified fugitive. She could throw, too, with the force and accuracy of a short stop of the professional league, and every missile landed. She kept up the bombardment all the way to the waterside, by which time her ammunition was used up. When the battered major stepped ashore at Bristol he exclaimed: "Thunderation! if I had a regiment of women like her I'd capture Richmond in three days!" The foregoing facts Captain Alvin Landon related to Chester Haynes and Mike Murphy one sunshiny forenoon as the _Deerfoot_ swept past the numerous islands between Cape Newagen and Pemaquid Point, and rounded to at the rickety landing on the southern side of Muscongus. The boys stepped out upon the rocks, leaping and climbing to the wabbling support over which they picked their way to the solid earth. A few rods distant a goodly sized sailboat was moored, the passengers having already gone up the sloping bank and inland. Hardly a fair summer day goes by without bringing visitors to one of the most interesting spots on the coast of Maine. Since the excursion was likely to take most of the afternoon, our young friends brought their lunch with them. At the crest of the slope, they sat down on the grass under a group of trees, and with keen appetites ate the last morsel of their meal. Then followed a stroll, with ears and eyes open. They found the islanders courteous, hospitable and ready to answer all questions. One of the first interesting facts learned by the youthful callers was that nearly all the people were blue-eyed, and the men straight, tall, rugged and with a physique superior to that of their neighbors on the mainland. Several descendants of the Loud and other pioneers were met, one or two of whom were approaching the century mark. Contentment was everywhere, and all were proud of their independent lives with not the slightest wish to change it. Some of the men seek their wives outside of the little model republic, and more than one husband has been drawn to the island by the attraction of a pair of violet eyes and the sweet disposition of a coy maiden. It has been charged that there is a mental and physical deterioration because of intermarriages between relatives, but nothing of the kind seems to have occurred. Muscongus knows little, except by hearsay, of crime and pauperism. All the doors are left unlocked at night, and a drunken person is never seen. Should any fall in need of charity it is given cheerfully. Years ago there was an aged couple whose five sons were lost at sea, and who were unable to provide for themselves. They were supported in comfort in their own home as long as they lived. Of course there has to be some form of government. It is of the simplest nature. All general meetings are held in the little schoolhouse, the only public building on the island. The presiding officer is chosen by acclamation, and is always the school agent and superintendent of business of the community. An open discussion follows of the measures needed for the public welfare, and whatever rules are adopted are obeyed without protest. In former years the porgy industry was the chief support. But that declined and was succeeded by lobster and mackerel fishing, which does not pay so well. Every family owns a little farm, the soil is good, and all live in modest comfort. The neat, tidy houses nestling among the firs are surrounded by fruit trees trim and productive. The small library in the schoolhouse is free to all. As to religious services, a prayer meeting is held every Sunday evening in the schoolhouse and Sunday School in the afternoon, but there is no resident minister. Occasionally the clergyman at Friendship, near Bristol, comes over to preach, and the faithful coast missionary who works among remote islanders and lighthouse keepers brings reading matter and ministers to the spiritual wants of the people. Among the islanders are Free Masons, Odd Fellows, Knights of Pythias and Red Men, who conduct the funeral services. "It calls to mind the ould counthry," said Mike Murphy, when the _Deerfoot_ had started homeward. "How?" asked Chester at his side. "It's so different; think if ye can of any part of Ireland living for a waak, lit alone months and years, widout a shindy." "There are few sections in our own country of which that can be said." "It taxes me mind to thry to draw the painful picter; let us think of something else." Since the weather was favorable, Captain Landon made a circuit farther south, leaving the small White Islands on his left, the Hypocrites on his right, and so on into the broad bay, whose western boundary is Southport. "I say, Captain," suddenly called Mike. "What is it?" asked Landon, looking partly round. "If ye have no objiction I should like to take a thrick at the wheel." "All right; come over here." In a twinkling the two had changed places. As Mike assumed his duty, he added: "I've been obsarving ye so close that I belave I can run the battleship as well as yersilf. I have noted that whin ye wish to turn to the right, ye move the wheel around that way, sarving it according whin ye wish to head t'other way. 'Spose now ye find it nicessary to go backward?" "Pull over the reversing lever; the wheel has nothing to do with that." "I'll remimber the same. Hullo!" added Mike in some excitement. "I obsarve a ship ahead; do ye think it's a pirate?" His companions laughed and Alvin answered: "That is the steamer _Enterprise_, which runs from Portland to East Boothbay and back on alternate days, calling at different points." "I mustn't run her down," said Mike, swinging over the wheel so as to pass her bow; "she's right in our path." "Don't change your course; she has plenty of time to get out of your way." "Begorrah! do ye maan to say _she is moving_?" His companions scrutinized the lumbering craft for a minute as if in doubt. It was Chester who said: "I think she is." "Better make sure," remarked Mike heading the launch to the south, thus contributing his part to a joke which has been fashionable for years in that section of the Union over the sluggishness of the freight and passenger steamer named. CHAPTER X THE LURE OF GOLD It was borne in upon Gideon Landon when he rounded the half century mark that he must let up in his intense application to his vast moneyed interests or break down. He hated to think of stopping, even for a brief season, but nature gave her unerring warning and the specialist whom he consulted spoke tersely and to the point: "Take a vacation every year or die." The capitalist recalled the habit of Bismarck, the great German Chancellor, who when worn out by the crushing cares of office hied away to his cabin in the pine woods, and gave orders to the sentinels at the gate to shoot all visitors unless they came directly from the King. So Landon built him a palatial bungalow, as he called it, near the southern end of Southport Island. The logs, all with their bark on, were a foot in diameter. From the outside, the structure looked rough and rugged, and little more than a good imitation of the dwellings of the New England pioneers; but you had only to peep through the windows to note its splendid furnishings. The finest of oriental rugs covered the floor; chairs, tables and lounges were of the richest make, and the hundreds of choice books in their mahogany cases cost twice as many dollars. A modern machine furnished the acetylene light, the broad fireplace could take in a half cord of wood when the weather was too cool for comfort without it, and the beds on the upper floors were as soft and inviting as those in the banker's city residence. In short, everything that wealth could provide and for which there was a wish was at the service of the inmates. He offered to send a Chickering piano, but his wife did not think it worth while, as she had no daughter and neither she nor her husband played. Alvin had been taking lessons, for several years, but he objected to keeping up practice during vacation and his parents decided that his views were well founded. "Here I shall loaf and rest for six weeks!" exclaimed the owner, when the chauffeur carried him, his wife and two servants from the town of Southport to the new home. Alvin had gone thither the week before, and was looked after by Pat Murphy, the caretaker, and his wife, who had been long in the service of the banker. One cause of Landon taking this step was the example of his old friend Franklin Haynes, who had only one child--Chester, with whom you have become acquainted. His enthusiastic accounts of the tonic effect of the air, confirmed by his own renewed vigor and tanned skin, decided the elder in his course. The Haynes bungalow was smaller and more modest than Landon's, the two being separated by a half mile of woods and open country. This, however, was of no account, for the Landon auto skimmed over the interval in a few minutes and the interchange of visits went on day and night. The two families played bridge, dined, automobiled and cruised with each other, while the boys were inseparable. This went on for a fortnight, when a break came. Landon and Haynes were interested in a large financial deal, in which the latter believed he was wronged. There was a sharp quarrel and the friendly relations between the two, including their wives, snapped apart. All bridge playing ceased, and the long summer hours became so deadly dull for Mrs. Landon that she gladly accepted the invitation of a friend, hurried to New York and sailed with her for England and the continent. Haynes spent his time mainly in fishing and reading, but kept away from the home of his rich neighbor, who was equally careful not to approach the other's residence. Both men, however, were too sensible to let their quarrel affect their sons. Not the slightest shadow could come between those chums, who visited back and forth, just as they had always done, stopping over night wherever convenient, and as happy as two clean-minded, healthy youngsters ought to be. The Landon auto was at the disposal of the lads whenever they cared for it, but the youths had become interested in motor boating and gave little attention to the land vehicle. The unpleasant break to which I have referred occurred about a fortnight before my introduction of the two lads to you. Landon never had any liking for athletics or sport. Every favorable morning his chauffeur took him to the little cluster of houses called Southport, at the head of the island, where he got his letters, New York newspapers and such supplies as happened to be needed at the house. This used up most of the first half of the day. After lunch he read, slept and loafed, never using the auto and caring nothing for the motor launch which was continually cruising over the water. This went well enough for ten days or so, by which time the banker grew restless. Sleeping so much robbed him of rest at night. Classic works lost their charm and the "best sellers" bored him. He yawned, strolled about his place, and pitied every man who was doomed to spend his life in the Pine Tree State. True, he was gaining weight and his appetite became keen, but he smoked too much and was discontented. The lure of Wall Street was drawing him more powerfully every day. He longed to plunge into the excitement with his old time zest, and to enjoy the thrill that came when success ended a financial battle. He was lolling in his hammock at the front of the bungalow one afternoon, trying to read and to smoke one of his heavy black cigars, and succeeding in neither task, when Davis Dunning, his chauffeur, glummer than usual because there was no excuse for his taking any more joy rides, halted the machine at the side of the roadway. Throwing out the clutch, he hurried up the walk and handed his employer a telegram that had been 'phoned over from Boothbay Harbor to Southport, where the chauffeur found it awaiting him when he made his daily run thither, this time unaccompanied by his employer. No message could have been more welcome. It told the banker that the recent stir in steel and other stocks made it necessary for him to return to New York as soon as possible and to stay "a few days." He was alert on the instant. If he could reach Portland that evening he would board the express and be in New York the next morning. "It must be done!" he exclaimed, aware that there was no necessity for such haste. Consultation with Dunning, however, convinced him that the course for an automobile was too roundabout and there was too much ferrying to make the hurried journey feasible. He decided to go to Bath by steamer, and then by rail on the morrow, easily reaching Portland in time for the ride by night to the metropolis. This gave him opportunity to explain matters to Alvin, who was told to remain at Southport until the time came for him to re-enter school. The son was sorry to lose the company of his father, whose affection he returned, but it is not in boy nature to mourn for one from whom he did not expect to be parted long. The only thing in creation in which he felt pleasure and interest just then was in sailing his motor boat. At the time of leaving Southport, Mr. Landon expected to return in the course of a week and said so to his son, but the call of business was stronger than that of the fine woods and salt water of Maine. He easily found the necessity for staying in New York until the time remaining for his vacation was so brief that he wrote Alvin it was not worth while to rejoin him. So it came about that his son remained in the big bungalow, looked after by two servants, not to mention Pat Murphy the caretaker and his wife. Chester Haynes stayed with his parents in their modest home a mile to the southward, while the irrepressible Mike was at both homes more than his own. He had become as fond of boating as his two friends and set out to learn all about the craft. It did not take him long to become a good steersman and by and by he could start and stop the _Deerfoot_, though he shrank from attempting to bring her beside a wharf or float. In threading through the shipping at the different harbors, either Alvin or Chester took the wheel, one boy being almost equal in expertness to the other, both in handling the launch and taking care of the machinery. There seemed no end to the romantic excursions that tempted the young navigators forth. Sometimes they fished, but preferred to glide through the smooth inland waters, where every scene was new and seemingly more romantic than the others. They landed at Pemaquid Beach and listened to the story of the old fort as told by the local historian, who proved that the date was correct which is painted on the stone wall and says a settlement was made there before the one at Jamestown. They passed up the short wide inlet known as John's River, and turning round cut across to the Damariscotta, which they ascended to Newcastle, with picturesque scenery all the way. The boys were somewhat late in starting one morning and the sky was threatening, but with the folding top as a protection if needed, and the opportunity to halt when and wherever they choose, the agreement was unanimous that they should go up the Sheepscot to Wiscasset, eat dinner there and return at their leisure. "It is well worth the trip," said Alvin, whose eyes sparkled with the memory of the passage which he had made more than once. Chester was equally enthusiastic. "I'm riddy to sarve as a sacrifice," replied Mike, "as me friend Terry McGarrity remarked whin he entered the strife that was to prove which could ate the most mince pie inside of half an hour." CHAPTER XI A MISSING MOTOR BOAT Swinging into the broad expanse of Sheepscot Bay, the _Deerfoot_ moved smoothly up the river which bears the same name. Captain Landon held her to the moderate speed of fifteen miles or so an hour. There was no call for haste and he was wise not to strain the engine unnecessarily. To increase the rate would be imitating the man who drives his automobile at the highest clip, when he has to concentrate his attention upon the machine, with no appreciation of the beauties of the country through which he is plunging, and continually threatened by fatal accidents. Alvin held the wheel, while Chester and Mike, seated behind him, kept intelligent trace of their progress by means of the fine map of the United States Geological Survey. The first point identified was Lower Mark Island on the right and close to Southport, then came Cat Ledges, Jold, Cedarbrush, the Hendrick Light, on the same side, while across loomed the pretty station known as Five Islands, one of the regular stopping places of the steamers going north or south. Omitting the smaller places, the next point which interested our friends was the Isle of Springs, one of the best known summer resorts in Sheepscot River. The landing was crowded with passengers, waiting for the steamer _Gardiner_ from Augusta, the capital of the State, and on its way to rush through the strait north of Southport to its destination, Ocean Point beyond Squirrel Island. The peculiarity about this plucky little steamer is that no craft that ever plowed through those waters is so dependable. Again and again she has made the long trip and not been out a single minute at any of the numerous landings. She has been called the "Pony of the Kennebec," and nothing less than an explosion of her boiler or a collision with another craft would make her tardy anywhere. "There are many persons along the river and on the islands who set their watches and clocks by the _Gardiner_," said Alvin, speaking over his shoulder. He glanced at his watch. "I don't know when she is due at the Isle of Springs, but as I figure it she ought to be in sight now." "And, begorrah! there she comes!" exclaimed Mike, pointing to the left toward Goose Rock Passage, leading from Knubble Bay to Sheepscot. The foaming billows tumbled away from the prow, as the boat drove resistlessly forward, and the whistle sounded for the landing. Many a time when rounding Capitol Island to the northwest of Squirrel, with a storm raging, the spray and water have been flung clean over the pilot house and slid over the upper deck and streamed away off the stern. Chester Haynes saluted with the whistle, but the captain of the _Gardiner_ gave no heed. His eye was upon the landing toward which he was steaming. When the freight had been tumbled ashore and the waiting cargo taken aboard, the gang planks were drawn in, lines cast off, and though a dozen passengers might be pointing toward the pier, shouting and waving hats or umbrellas, all would be left. The resinous pine trees formerly including firs, larches and true cedars so thick that no spaces showed between, grew all the way down the rocky hills to the water's edge. The river, without a ripple except such as was made by passing craft, was as crystalline as a mountain spring. Here and there a rude drawing was scratched in the face of the cliffs, the work of the Indians who lived in that part of Maine before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth. It was one continuous dream which never loses its charm for those who make the trip, no matter how often. The sky remained overcast, though no rain fell, when the _Deerfoot_ drove through the Eddy, where the current narrows and is very swift and deep. A bridge connects the mainland with Davis Island. The launch sat so low that there was no call to the bridge tender to open the draw. As it shot under, the peaks of the flagstaffs showed a foot below the planking. They were now approaching the pretty town of Wiscasset, from which came the faint thrill of a locomotive whistle, as notice that at that point a traveler could change from boats to cars. The launch was sweeping round a bend in the river when Mike pointed to the right with the question: "Phwat's that?" "It is the famous blockhouse, built in 1807 for the protection of Wiscasset, four miles away, but it was never used because the town was never in danger." The interesting structure, which you may have seen when gliding past in a boat, is octagonal in form, with one window on each face of the lower story, except on the one containing a narrow door approached by a single step of wood. As was the fashion in building blockhouses, the second story overhangs the first and on each face of this upper story is a square window with a long loop-hole placed horizontally on either side. The flat roof is surmounted by a slender cupola, also octagonal, with a window occupying nearly all the space of each face. The whole building is covered with shingles and for a long time after its erection it was surrounded by an elaborate system of earthworks. The _Deerfoot_ slackened its speed as it came opposite. Mike Murphy showed special interest in the old faded building. "It suggists the palace of me grandfather, the Duke De Sassy," said he. "If ye have no great objiction, Captain, I should be glad of a closer look at it." Since the day was at their disposal, the youthful captain was quite willing to halt and inspect the historic structure. He turned the bow toward the bank, and stopped in deep water a few feet from land. Mike cleared the intervening distance in an easy jump, taking the end of the bow line which he made fast to a convenient tree. Chester at the same time had cast out the anchor from the stern and made fast the cable to a cleat on the after or stern deck. The launch was thus held immovable and safe from injury. In the meanwhile, Alvin had employed himself in shutting down the motor, turning off the gasoline and air tank valves and making ready to leave the launch in its usual good order. Mike said: "I have a brilliant suggistion to make to ye, as me uncle said when he arranged to foight six men, by taking on one each day instead of engaging them all at once. The same is that we indoolge in our noon repast on shore." The plans of the lads when they left home was to have dinner at the hotel in Wiscasset, but they had been so delayed by their leisurely ascent of the river that the meridian was past. A supply of sandwiches, ginger ale and sarsaparilla was laid in so as to be prepared for contingencies, and it need not be said that all had keen appetites. Chester remarked that it was only a brief run to the little town ahead. Moreover, it was more convenient to eat on the launch, where they could spread the food on one of the seats or the cover of the cockpit. But every boy would rather chew a venison or bear steak, though tough as leather, in preference to a tender, juicy bit of beef, and eating in the woods is tenfold more enticing than in a house or on a boat. Besides, they had been sitting so long that the change would be a relief. Accordingly, Chester and Mike gathered up the big paper bags which held the lunch, and the bottles of soft stuff, and leaped lightly ashore. The little party walked the short distance to the primitive blockhouse, and passing a little way beyond sat down on the pine burrs and grass and tackled the food. The clear air, the odorous breath of the forest, and the soft ripple of the stream flowing past, gave the repast a charm beyond that which the Waldorf-Astoria can impart to its guests. "It makes me sigh," said Mike when the last morsel of food had disappeared and he drew the napkin across his lips, "to think that only a few waaks are lift to us of this bliss of life." "Yes," replied Captain Alvin; "the days fly fast; soon I shall have to go back to school and study so hard there will be mighty little time left for play." "The same here," added Chester in a lugubrious voice. "I don't suppose there would be half as much fun in this sport if we took it straight along." "I'm willing to try the same for tin or twinty years; it's mesilf that doesn't belave I'd grow weary in less time than thot. Couldn't ye persuade your dad, you j'ining company wid him, Chister, to give the thing a thrial for that long?" Alvin shook his head. "Suppose our parents should be so foolish, do you think your father and mother would allow you to squander your time like that?" Mike removed his cap and scratched his head. "I'm afeard there'd be objiction from that side of the house. Ye see that twinty years from now dad, if he's alive, which God grant, will be an old man; thrue I'd be in me prime, and if he was too overbearing wid me, I could lay him over me knee and spank him, but I'd sorter hate to do that, bekase of the kindness he had shown me in days gone by. Besides," added Mike, with a big wink, "me mither would be sure to take dad's part, and I'm convinced that twinty years from now she'll be bigger and stronger than to-day. With the two united in battle array agin me, I'd hev no ch'ice but to take to the woods. Yes; we'll have to give up the idea which sthruck me so favorable at first. What do ye intind to do with the _Deerfoot_, Captain, when the summer is gone?" "Draw her out on land and cover her with canvas for the winter, so as to keep her in condition for a bigger outing next year." "That maans, I 'spose, ye'll carry her in the house and put her to bed and kiver her up the same as a sick baby?" "Hardly that, but she will need and will receive the best of care--hark!" The three were silent for a minute. Faintly but distinctly all caught the distant whirr from the exhaust of a speed launch. They quickly noted that the sound grew less audible--proof that the launch was speeding away from them. At first it seemed to be in the direction of Wiscasset, but when they were barely able to hear the noise, they agreed that it was from down the river. Inasmuch as they had not met any boat on their way to this point, they were puzzled to understand how the craft could have passed them without being seen. The only explanation was that it had come nearly to the blockhouse from below, and then owing to some cause had turned about and gone back. "That's queer," remarked Alvin, as a sudden suspicion flashed over him. He sprang to his feet and ran round the building, the others at his heels, for the same dread was with them. In a moment Alvin halted with the exclamation: "Some one has run off with our launch!" Such was the fact. CHAPTER XII IN THE TELEGRAPH OFFICE "Maybe it slipped free and floated off," said Chester, who did not pause until he reached the water's edge. "Mebbe she climbed out of the river and wint round t'other side of the blockhouse," suggested Mike, who regretted the next moment his ill-timed jest and joined Chester, with Alvin only a pace or two behind them. There was a brief hope that Chester was right and that the motor boat had worked free and drifted down stream, but it was quickly evident that that was impossible. The bow line and anchor would have held if not disturbed by some one. Then, too, what meant the muffled exhaust heard a few minutes before? It could have been caused only by the starting of the motor. Alvin, who showed quicker wit than his companions, examined the ground at the water's edge. He quickly read the solution. "There are the footprints of several people in the soft earth. All is as plain as day." "All what?" asked Chester. "The manner of the _Deerfoot's_ going." "Give us your explanation." "While we sat behind the blockhouse eating lunch, two or three or perhaps more persons came out of the woods and walked to this spot; they cast off the bow line, sprang aboard; one of them drew the boat out over the stern anchor and tripped it; they did not start the engine till they had drifted round the bend below; then they headed for Sheepscot Bay and are well on their way there, running at full speed as they do not need to spare the launch." "Bedad! I b'lave ye're right," said Mike, compressing his lips. "I'm off!" "What do you mean?" asked the astonished Captain. "I'm going to run a race wid the same to Cape Newagen!" "Why, you have no more chance of overtaking the boat than you have of out-swimming the _Mauretania_." But Mike made no reply. Spitting on his hands and rubbing them together, he broke into a lope and quickly passed from sight in the woods. Despite the alarming situation, Alvin and Chester looked in each other's face and laughed. "Did you ever know of anything so crazy?" asked the Captain. "Never; the idea of putting his short legs against a boat that can run twenty odd miles an hour and has a good start, is worthy of Mike Murphy alone." "But we must do something," said the puzzled Alvin; "some one has stolen the launch and should be headed off." "How shall we do it?" "The easiest way is to cross the long bridge to Wiscasset on the other side of the river and telegraph to different points down stream." They were about to start when Alvin said: "I ought not to have allowed Mike to go off as he did. He is so rash and headlong that he will be sure to run into trouble. If we go to Wiscasset, we shall be separated so long that we shall lose him altogether. If I had only put the switch plug in my pocket they could not have started the motor without a lot of time and trouble!" "Why not follow him down stream?" "That plan was in my mind. The boat hasn't had time to go far. Suppose we try Point Quarry. That is the lowest village of Edgecomb township, where Cross River turns off and runs into the Back River, which follows the course of the Sheepscot and joins it lower down. At Point Quarry the stream is so narrow that the _Deerfoot_ is sure to be seen." "Provided some one happens to be looking." "Many of these small places have telegraph lines open in the summer, but are closed in winter. A road leads from Charmount to Point Quarry, which isn't more than four or five miles away. Less than half of that distance will take us to Charmount. Come on." The boys lost no time. Both had studied their map so closely before leaving home and on their way up the Sheepscot that they had no fear of going astray. The surrounding country is sparsely settled, with prosperous farms here and there lining the highway. The walking was good and the sky had cleared within the last few hours. The lads were athletic, and were impelled by impatience and resentment toward whoever had taken such a liberty with another's property. Two miles took them to a point where a branch road led off at right angles in the direction of the Sheepscot and consequently to the meager settlement of Charmount, below the eddy, where a wooden bridge joins the mainland to Davis Island. They met no vehicles or footmen, though they passed a number of tidy looking houses and saw men at work in the fields. Their destination was less than a mile off and they reached it in due time. They found a young woman in charge of the telegraph instrument, who in answer to their inquiry said she could send a message to Point Quarry, where the station would be closed in a few weeks. The youths while on the road had formulated what to say by telegraph. Since they had no acquaintance at either place, Alvin addressed his inquiry to the operator, who happened also to be a young woman. This was the message: "Will you be good enough to tell me, if you can, whether a motor boat has passed down the river within the last few minutes?" In a brief while, an unexpectedly favorable reply was returned. It was addressed, however, to the young woman herself, who after writing it down rose to her feet and called to Alvin. "Here is your answer. Miss Prentiss says that it isn't her business to keep watch of boats passing up and down stream, her salary being so big that she has no time to give attention to anything except the affairs of her office." "I suppose that is meant as sarcasm," commented Alvin. "It does sound like it, but she adds that the fisherman, Pete Davis, came into the office directly after your message reached her, and she asked him your question. He told her that such a boat as you speak of had gone past under full speed only a few minutes before and he read the name _Deerfoot_ on her bow." "That's it!" exclaimed Alvin. "Did the fisherman say anything more?" "Probably he did, but Miss Prentiss hasn't reported it. Is there anything further I can do for you?" "Nothing--thank you." As he spoke, he passed a half dollar tip to her, whereupon she beamingly expressed her gratitude. In truth she was so pleased that she smiled more broadly than ever into the handsome face of the youth before her. Alvin suspected she was ready for a mild flirtation, but he was in no mood for such frivolity and was about to turn away, when Chester spoke in a low voice: "She has something more to say to you." "Well?" he remarked inquiringly, returning the sunny gaze of the young woman. "Do you know anyone by the name of Mike Murphy?" Alvin laughed. "I rather think we do; he came up on the boat with us, and is rushing down the river in the hope of overtaking it." "Well, he stopped in here and sent a telegram about it." "Is it possible? Let me see it." She shook her head. "Not without an order from court; the rules do not permit anything of that kind." "We won't tell anybody." "I know you won't, for you will never have anything to tell." She turned and looked down at the last sheet of yellow paper on her file. Then she grew red in the face and shook with mirth. "To whom did Mike send his message?" "I wish I dare tell you; it is the funniest thing that has ever happened in the office since I have been here. You couldn't guess in ten years." "We have hardly that much time to spend in trying, so we shall have to give it up." "When you see your friend say to him from me that his message was forwarded just as he directed." "Where did he tell you to deliver the reply?" "He said nothing of that. I have a suspicion that there won't be any reply to his telegram." Alvin was turning away again, when the miss, leaning on her desk and tapping her pretty white teeth with the end of her lead pencil smilingly asked: "Would you really like to see Mike Murphy's telegram?" "It would be of great help to us in our search for the stolen boat," replied Alvin, stepping closer to her. Chester remained standing by the outer door, with hands thrust in his pockets. He read the signs aright. "She has taken a fancy to him," he reflected, "and as there doesn't happen to be much business on hand just now is disposed to flirt a little, but Alvin isn't." "How much will you pay for a sight of the message?" "Anything in reason." "And you will never, never, never tell?" "I give you my pledge that I will not whisper it to any person." "How about your friend back there? He has a hangdog look which I don't like." "I'll answer for him; there are worse fellows, though not many. Chester!" commanded Alvin, turning abruptly upon him, "get out of sight and wait for me." "Yes, sir," meekly answered the youth, turning about and passing into the open air, where he added to himself, with a broader grin than before: "He doesn't suspect she's kidding him, but that's what she's doing." The young Captain beamed upon the miss. "Now I'm ready to have a look at my friend's telegram." "You haven't said how much you will pay," she replied, with a coquettish glance at the expectant youth. "How much do you ask?" "Is it worth five dollars?" "That's a pretty big price, but I'll give it." "It isn't enough." "Name your charge then." "Fifty thousand dollars; I can't do it for a cent less." Alvin read the pert miss aright. He soberly reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. "I haven't that much with me; will you take my promissory note?" "Nothing but cash goes here." "Some other day--good day." He lifted his cap and passed out doors to join his grinning friend. The two started off at a brisk pace and had not taken a dozen steps when they ran straight into trouble. CHAPTER XIII A SLIGHT MISTAKE An automobile chugging along at the rate of thirty miles an hour whirled around a bend in the road from the eastward and approached the youths, who halted and looked wonderingly at it. The youthful chauffeur bent over the steering wheel, and beside him sat a bearded, grim-looking man in middle life, with a big brass badge on his breast. The two were the only occupants of the car, the broad rear seat being unoccupied. The moment the constable, as he was, caught sight of the lads, he raised his hand to signify he had business with them. At the same time the chauffeur slowed up in front of Alvin and Chester. The officer leaped out before the car had hardly stopped and strode toward them. "I want you!" was his crisp remark. "What do you want of us?" asked the astonished Alvin. "I'll blame soon show you. No shenanigan! Hand over your pistols." "We haven't any; you are the only one hereabouts that's armed," said the Captain, observing that the man had drawn a revolver. "In here with you! I've no time to fool!" The lads resented his peremptory manner. Chester asked: "Why should we get into your auto? We prefer to choose our own company; we don't like your looks." "I know mighty well you don't, nor do I like _your_ looks, but that makes no difference. In with you, I say, or I'll blow your heads off!" The alarming words and action of the officer left no doubt of his earnestness. Alvin replied: "We have a right to know why you arrest us; we have done nothing unlawful." "I don't mind reminding you that the Rockledge post office was robbed last night. Banet Raymond the postmaster said it was done by three scoundrels--all wearing masks and dressed in yachting clothes. They came this way; where's the other fellow?" "We had a companion with us when we came up the Sheepscot, but he's gone in search of our boat that some one stole from us a little while ago." "You're the skeezicks I'm after; we'll soon have the third burglar." "What do you mean to do with us?" asked Alvin. "Where is your warrant?" "I don't need any." Neither he nor Chester was alarmed. The arrest could have but one issue, since sooner or later their identity would be proved; but the situation was exasperating, for it promised to interfere with their capture of the stolen boat or at least cause serious delay in making the search. It was dangerous to trifle with an officer who was in no mood to accept any excuse from the couple whom he believed to be criminals. He added: "Robbing a post office is a crime against Uncle Sam, and he's a pretty hard proposition to buck against. If you have a story to tell me, I'll give you three minutes to do it in." The two stepped beside the auto, the glum chauffeur silently watching them. "It's all well enough for you to be so bumptious in the performance of what you may think is your duty," said Alvin, looking into the iron countenance, "but I suppose you have made a mistake once or twice in your lifetime." "What's that got to do with this business? Who are you?" "My name is Alvin Landon and my friend here is Chester Haynes. Our parents each have a summer home on Southport, opposite Squirrel Island. My father made me a present of a motor boat a short time ago; we have been cruising about the bay and islands for several weeks; this morning we left home with a companion, an Irish lad named Mike Murphy; we stopped at the blockhouse up the river and went ashore to eat our lunch; while we were doing so, some one ran off with the boat; Mike has gone on a run down stream to see if he can overtake it; we walked to this place and sent a telegram to Point Quarry, inquiring about the craft and learned it had passed there a few minutes before, headed down stream. There you have our story straight and true: what have you to say about it?" "I don't believe a word of it. Anyhow, you'll have the chance to tell it in court, where you're certain to get justice done you." The officer handed his weapon to the chauffeur. "Keep your eye on 'em, Tim, and at the first move, shoot!" "Yes, sir," responded the chauffeur, showing by his looks that he would have been quite glad of an excuse for displaying his markmanship upon one or both of the prisoners. His hands thus freed, the officer ran them deftly over the clothing of each lad from his shoulders to his knees, to assure himself they carried no weapons. The search was satisfactory. "Throwed your guns away, I 'spose. Now for the bracelets." He whipped out a pair of handcuffs, at sight of which Alvin recoiled with a flush of shame. "Don't do that, please; we'll give our parole. With your pistol you are not afraid of two unarmed boys." The appeal touched the pride of the officer, who dropped the handcuffs into the side pocket of his coat. "Of course I'm not afeared of you, but you might try to give me the slip, if a chance should happen to come your way." "We will not, for we have nothing to fear." "All right. You," addressing Alvin, "will sit in front while I take your friend with me on the back seat." Brief as was the conversation between the constable and his prisoners, it attracted the attention of several men, women and young persons, who gathered round the automobile, and catching the meaning of the incident from the remarks of those concerned, naturally indulged in remarks. "Seems to me that this part of Maine has become a favorite tramping ground for yeggmen and post office robbers," said a man in white flannels, with a tennis racquet in one hand and two tennis balls in the other. "These gentlemen have begun young." "Who would think it of them?" asked the sweet girl at his side. "Can't judge a fellow by his looks." "Which is fortunate for you, Algernon." He lifted his hat in mock obeisance. An older man, probably a member of the same party of players, spoke oracularly: "You needn't say that, Gwendolen; you _can_ judge a person by his looks. Now just to look at the face of that chap on the front seat. He is rather handsome, but it is easy to see that the stamp of crime is there, as plain as the sun at noonday. Like enough he is a tough from the Bowery of New York." "And the one on the rear seat beside the officer isn't any better," said a middle-aged woman, peering through her eyeglasses. "Just think of two as young as they robbing a post office for a few paltry dollars, and almost beating the life out of the old postmaster! Ugh! it would serve them right if they were lynched." Every word of this and many more were heard by Alvin and Chester during their brief debate with the officer. It "added to the gayety of nations" and caused Alvin to turn his head and say to his friend: "Give a dog a bad name, Chester--you know the rest. We don't seem to have made a very good impression in Charmount. I never knew I looked so much like a double-dyed villain." "I have noticed it many times and it has caused me much pain." "It might distress me, if we both were not in the same boat." "We have often been in the same boat, but I don't know that we ever shall be again. Ah, you have one friend in Charmount." "Who is he?" asked Alvin, with quick interest. "It's a _she_; cast your eye toward the telegraph office." As Alvin did so, he saw the sweet-looking telegraphist in the door and watching proceedings. He could not resist the temptation to touch his fingers to his lips and waft them toward her. Nothing daunted, she replied similarly, whereat most of the spectators were shocked. "I should hold her in tender regard," said Alvin, "if she didn't ask such a big price for a look at Mike's telegram." "How much does she want?" "Fifty thousand dollars." "Why didn't you give it her?" "I didn't happen to have the change with me; can you help me out?" "I should like to help us both out, but the officer might object." The chauffeur was backing and turning, and now headed the machine over the road by which he had brought his employer to this spot. "Where to now?" asked Alvin of their gaoler. "Augusta--as straight and fast as we can travel." But Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes down to the present time have never seen the capital of the State of Maine. CHAPTER XIV A FRIEND IN NEED The automobile with the constable and two prisoners sped down the road, aiming to stride the main highway leading northward to Augusta. It was a good run, but the machine ought to make it before night closed in, for the days were long and the course was favorable. The officer could have boarded the _Gardiner_ at one of the stopping places and made the journey by water, but nothing was to be gained by so doing. The chauffeur slowed down and honked as he drew near the turn in the roadway. Just then he saw another auto coming from the north and curving about to enter the road leading to Charmount. It was similar to the car in which our friends were riding and held only one passenger who sat beside the chauffeur, the rear seat being empty. Something in the appearance of the former struck Alvin as familiar. He was middle-aged, neatly dressed, with sandy mustache and slightly stooping shoulders. He looked sharply at the youth as the machines drew nearer. A moment before they came opposite, he called out: "Hello, Alvin! where are you going? Gabe, what's up?" The latter query was addressed to the constable, the two being old acquaintances. Each ordered his chauffeur to stop, and they obeyed, with the machines side by side. It was at this juncture that Chester, who was the first to recognize the man, called to his companion: "It's Mr. Keyes Richards from Boothbay Harbor. He used to own the Squirrel Inn, but has shifted over to Mouse Island." "How do you, do, Mr. Richards?" saluted Alvin. "We are glad to meet you." "But I say what are you doing in this part of the world?" continued the puzzled Richards. "Ask _him_," replied Alvin, jerking his head toward the officer behind him. "Where did you pick up your passengers, Gabe?" inquired the other of the officer, who was somewhat puzzled by the turn matters were taking. "Do you know them?" was his question. "Well, rather; they're particular friends of mine; they are staying for the summer on Southport. Are you kidnapping them?" "That's what he is doing," Chester took upon himself to reply. Alvin, feeling the humor of the scene, clasped his hands and rolled his eyes toward heaven: "Oh save us, kind sir! Save us, for he means to eat us up, and then hang us and burn us at the stake. May I not rush to your loving arms, Mr. Richards, before it is too late?" Richards was more mystified than ever. He didn't know what to make of it all. He kept his gaze upon his old friend the officer, and waited for him to speak. The constable's face had turned crimson, for he was beginning to suspect the truth. "You have heard of the robbery of the post office at Rockledge, Keyes?" "Yes; I look for news of something of the kind every few days. What has that to do with my young friends being in a position that looks as if they are your prisoners?" "Banet Raymond tells me that that robbery was done by three men wearing yachting suits. These two are dressed that way and they admit they had another chap with them, but he's run off, so I arrested them on suspicion--what in thunder are you laughing at?" Keyes Richards had thrown back his head and his laughter might have been heard half a mile away. As soon as he could speak, he said: "So you took those two youngsters for burglars of the post office at Rockledge! The joke is on you, Gabe, and I'll make sure all your friends hear of it. Haw! haw! haw!" The poor officer squirmed and asked sullenly: "How should I know who they were? I never saw 'em before." "You've had enough experience to judge a little by looks; your own small amount of sense ought to tell you better than this." "That's what I did go by. Don't you think that they look like a couple of desperate criminals?" And the officer turned his head, scrutinized the youth at his side and then leaned over and squinted at Alvin, as if he saw both for the first time. Chester felt sympathy for the man, and waiting for Richards to recover from his renewed outburst said: "We must be hard looking fellows, for every one in the crowd who saw us leave Charmount agreed that we were a couple of villains." "And one woman thought lynching wasn't too good for us." "Well, Gabe, do you intend to carry them to Augusta?" "Of course not, now that you vouch for them--unless they want to go there," he added. "Can you take us with you, Mr. Richards?" "I am on my way to Charmount to board the boat for Boothbay. I shall be glad to have your company." "Have we your permission, officer?" asked Alvin, looking round at their guardian, as he partly rose to his feet. The constable was uneasy. Moving about in his seat, he asked: "I say, young men, you haven't any hard feelings agin me?" Keyes Richards overheard the question and his waggishness could not be repressed. "You boys have a clear case against Gabe; you ought to have no trouble in soaking him for ten or twenty thousand dollars damages." "Is that a fact?" asked Alvin, pausing in stepping from one car to another, as if suddenly impressed by the idea. "Gabe owns one of the finest farms in Lincoln county; you will have no trouble at all to get it from him." The officer would have been scared almost out of his wits had he not caught the wink of Richards and the responsive smile of Alvin. The sympathetic youth replied: "It is all right, officer, though we should have felt different if you had put those handcuffs on us. We have had a little fun and don't mind it. Good-by." Each boy shook hands with the grim fellow, who was vastly relieved by their good will. "You know we have to take chances now and then, but I always try to do my duty regardless of consequences." "You have a hard job before you, Gabe, but I hope you will win; no one deserves it more," said Richards. And the parties separated in the best of humor. The run to Charmount was quickly made. Nearly all who saw the departure of the officer with the prisoners witnessed their return in the company of Keyes H. Richards, who was well known to nearly everybody from Augusta to the mouth of the Kennebec. He saluted a number of persons and the chauffeur who had brought him to that point circled his machine about, and skimmed off after the fleeing constable, who must have been many miles up the road by that time. It was some minutes before the little group could understand the turn of affairs. Alvin lifted his cap to the woman who had thought that he and his companion deserved lynching and said: "If you feel that we should be executed we are here to receive our sentence." She stared at the impudent youngster, sniffed and flirted away without reply. The tennis player who insisted that the looks of the lads proved their villainy did not at first quite grasp the situation. He aimlessly patted his hip with his racquet and looked and wondered. Alvin with his winsome grin addressed him: "We are unlucky that our faces give us away, but it can't be helped. The constable became so disgusted with us that he turned his prisoners over to Mr. Richards." "Does he know you?" asked the other unabashed. "It looks that way, doesn't it?" "I have no doubt he was the third burglar who stuck up the Rockledge post office. You are all tarred with the same stick. However, I'll promise to drop in on you if they send you to Atlanta to keep company with Uncle Sam's guests--for I intend to make a business trip South next month." "Are you sure it is solely on _business_?" was the pointed inquiry of Chester. "That is the present outlook, but if this post office robbing industry picks up a little more, you and I might join hands and whack up." "Chester, we aren't making much here," said Alvin. "Suppose we pay our respects to the pert young lady who rattles the telegraph key." They walked into the little building, while Richards stayed outside and explained that the fathers of the boys owned about half the city of New York and most of the railway lines westward to the Rocky Mountains; that they would probably buy Southport, Squirrel, Outer Heron and a number of other islands by the close of next season; that their sons were two of the finest-grained young gentlemen that had ever honored Maine with a visit; that young Landon was the owner of the prettiest motor boat ever seen in those waters, and that it was stolen exactly as they had described, and he was going to give them all the help he could in recovering it. If any one of his listeners wished to earn a handsome reward, all he had to do was to find the boat. Suffice it to say, the story of Mr. Richards made a sensation, and Alvin and Chester became objects of profounder interest than when they were prisoners charged with the crime of robbing a post office. The young heroes never heard anything of these amazing yarns, for they had entered the telegraph office to see the bright-eyed operator who had had her fling at them. She glanced up from her table as she finished clicking off a message, and remarked: "Out on bail I suppose; the next thing no doubt, you will skip." "Would you blame us?" asked Alvin. "The punishment for that sort of thing is pretty severe." "Ten or twenty years, I believe." "Something like that, with considerable off for good behavior." "You're not likely to get any allowance for _that_--there's your boat!" she exclaimed, as the hoarse whistle of a steamer sounded from the river. Alvin would have liked to make appropriate reply to this irony, but really he had no time to think one up. He and his chum hurried out, merely calling good-by to her. CHAPTER XV A GLIMPSE OF SOMETHING The steamer was a small one running between Wiscasset and Boothbay Harbor by way of the Sheepscot. She rounded gracefully to at the wharf at Charmount, making fast with the ease of long habit, and amid the trucks, laden with freight and shoved and pulled by trotting men, nearly a dozen passengers hurried aboard, among them being Mr. Richards and his young friends. Leaving Alvin and Chester to themselves, Richards entered the pilot house where he shook hands with the captain and sat down. The visitor was welcome wherever he went, for every one knew him as among the most trustworthy of men. During the brief halt at the landing, Richards told his story to which the captain listened attentively. "I have noticed that boat," he remarked; "she is one of the prettiest in these parts; it was a daring piece of thievery, and is sure to get the scamps into trouble." "I want you to keep a lookout on the way to Squirrel." "Don't I always do that, Keyes?" "I am not certain; but a good many folks think so, and that's as good as if you really did attend to business. Now, if the launch has kept going, of course we shall see nothing of her." "And if she hasn't kept going and doesn't wish to be seen by us, she won't have any trouble in hiding. There are lots of places where you couldn't glimpse her with a telescope. I won't forget, and will give you what help I can." Just then the captain signalled to the engineer, the screw of the steamer began churning and she swung out into the crystalline current. Richards kept his seat behind the captain, the two exchanging remarks now and then and both scanning the water and banks as they glided past. Several times the caller slipped out of the small pilot house, and, shading his eyes with one hand, studied the shore like an eagle watching its prey. They passed small sailboats, exchanged toots with other steamers and made their landings nearly always on time. While Mr. Richards was scrutinizing the banks, islands and the mouths of the small bays and inlets, Alvin and Chester were similarly engaged. They seated themselves at the extreme stern under the awning where the view on the right and left was as unobstructed as it could be. They had come to the belief that the persons who robbed the Rockledge post-office included the two whom they saw at Boothbay Harbor, and that one of the couple took part in the attack upon Alvin when making his way home some nights before. "When you remember that they were the same number as ourselves and that they wore yachting suits, it is easy to understand how the constable made his mistake." "Not forgetting our villainous looks," added Chester. "I understand there have been so many post office robberies in this part of Maine that there is no doubt that a well-organized gang is at work." "And these three belong to it." "There are more beside them. It looks as if they have divided a certain part of the State among them, and our acquaintances have been given this section. There are several facts about this business which I don't understand." "It's the same with me. For instance, why should those fellows steal your boat? They have one of their own." "It may be so far off that they could reach it much sooner with the help they got from the _Deerfoot_." "I don't see how that can be, for they must have come up the river in their own craft and meant to go back to it with their booty. They would be sure to leave it at the most convenient place, which would be as near if not nearer than where we went ashore at the blockhouse." "That would seem so, but if true they must have known they would add to their danger by stealing another boat. No, Alvin, we are off in our guesses." "Can you do any better?" "No, but you remember when studying in our school history the capture of Major Andre, that the British sloop-of-war _Vulture_ went up the Hudson to take him on board after his meeting with Benedict Arnold. The spy would have been saved that way, if the sloop hadn't been forced to drop down stream, so that when Andre needed it, the vessel was not there. Now suppose it was something like that with these people." Alvin thought over this view of the situation, but shook his head. "It doesn't strike me as likely. But what's the use of guessing? The most curious part of it all to me is that they should have come along when we were sitting behind the blockhouse and find the _Deerfoot_ waiting for them. A few minutes earlier or later and nothing of the kind could have happened. Then, too, we hadn't a thought of halting there till Mike's curiosity caused us to go ashore. Do you know, Chester, I am more anxious about Mike than about the motor boat?" "I don't understand why." "We are sure to get back the launch sooner or later, but, as I said, Mike is so headlong, so fond of a shindy, as he calls it, and so eager to get another chance at the fellow who ran away from him, that he is likely to run into trouble." "He has been doing that all his life, and yet has managed to fight his way out. I haven't any fear of his not being able to do so this time." "It seems to me that if we don't get any trace of the _Deerfoot_ on the way down, we may as well get off at Southport and send despatches to all the points along the river, asking that a lookout be kept for our boat, and word be sent to me as soon as anything is picked up. I am not worrying about the launch, only that those villains are robbing us of a lot of fun which we counted upon." "We'll take the advice of Mr. Richards; he may think that Boothbay Harbor, where he lives, is the best point to send out inquiries." Now, our young friends cannot be censured because they talked in their ordinary tones, taking no pains to keep what they said from those around them. They were equally blameless in not noticing a certain gentleman who sat two or three paces away on the bench which curved around the upper deck, apparently absorbed in reading the last copy of the Lewiston _Journal_. He smoked a big black cigar and seemed to be interested solely in his paper. None the less, he had taken his seat for the purpose of hearing the conversation, and he did not allow a word to elude him. He wore a gray business suit, with a white Fedora hat, a colored shirt and a modest striped necktie. The face was strong, with clean cut features, and was shaven clean of all beard. His eyes were gray and his manner alert. Most of the time he held the paper so high above his crossed legs that his face would have been invisible to the boys had they looked at him. But there were three other men, as many women, and a couple of children near that were equally interesting to Alvin and Chester, who feeling they had nothing to conceal, made no effort to conceal it. "There would be a good hiding place for the _Deerfoot_," suddenly exclaimed Alvin, springing to his feet and indicating a part of Barter Island, whose northern end is just below Point Quarry, from which it is separated by Cross River. Thence it reaches southward for nearly five miles, not far from Sawyer Island and the Isle of Springs. The point indicated by Alvin was near the southern extremity of Barter Island, and was a small inlet, inclosed by dense pines on all sides, and curving slightly to the north a little distance from the stream. The opening was broad enough to admit any of the steamers which pass up and down the river, though none of them ever turns in, since there is no cause for doing so. Had the _Deerfoot_ chosen to make the entrance, it could have been screened from sight by the turn of the small bay, and the thickly wooded shores. As the boat glided swiftly past the boys scrutinized every part of the inlet in their field of vision, but saw nothing to give hope that it was the hiding place of the stolen launch. It was not to be wondered at, for they had already passed a score of places that offered just as safe refuge. Neither Alvin nor Chester noticed that the man in a gray suit turned partly round, dropped his paper on his knee, and also studied the little bay upon which their gaze was fixed. He wore no glasses, for his sharp eyes did not need artificial help. Even had his action been observed by the youths, they would have thought nothing of it, for the exclamation of Alvin caused several of the passengers to take the same survey. The steamer had hardly passed the bit of water and the boys were still standing, when Mr. Richards came out of the pilot house and hurried to them. "Did you see anything?" he asked. "No; did you?" asked Alvin in turn. "I am not certain, but the captain and I caught a glimpse of something which we thought might be the stern or bow of a motor boat like yours, though as likely as not it was nothing of the kind." "Can you get the captain to put us ashore?" eagerly asked Alvin. "I'll pay him for his trouble." Richards shook his head and smiled. "He wouldn't do it for a thousand dollars; there is no place to make a landing, though he might use one of the boats to have you rowed to land. He halts only at certain fixed points." "What is the best we can do?" "Do you mean to find out what it is that is lying in that inlet?" Alvin replied that such was the wish of himself and his companion. CHAPTER XVI ON BARTER ISLAND "All you have to do is to get off at Sawyer Island, our next landing, and walk back to this inlet." "Can we go by land?" asked Alvin. "No trouble. There are two or three bridges to cross and you may have a little tramping to do at the end of your journey, but it is easy." "How far is it?" "Something like three miles--perhaps a little more." "That's nothing for us; we shan't mind it." "It will carry you close to darkness, but that need make no difference. The sky has cleared somewhat, but I don't believe you will have any moonlight." "That may be an advantage; at any rate let us hope so." Sawyer Island, possibly a tenth as large as Barter, had been in sight for some time, and the steamer speedily drew up beside the rather rickety landing. It happened that no passengers and only a few boxes of freight were taken aboard. Only three persons left the boat--the two youths and the gentleman in a gray suit, who seemed to spend most of his time in reading the Lewiston _Journal_. This fact led Alvin and Chester to look at him with some interest. He carried a small handbag, and appeared to be confused after stepping ashore. He looked about for a minute or two and then addressed the agent, an elderly man with a yellow tuft of whiskers on his chin, no coat or waistcoat, a pair of trousers whose tops were tucked in his boots, and a single suspender which made the garments hang lopsided in a seemingly uncomfortable manner. "I beg your pardon, friend, but isn't this the Isle of Springs?" "Not much," replied the agent, with a grin that displayed two rows of big yellow teeth. "This is Sawyer Island." "My gracious! you don't say so!" exclaimed the new arrival in no little astonishment. "How is that?" "It's 'cause it happens to be so; can't you read?" "What do you mean by such a question?" "There are the words painted on the front of that shanty in big enough letters to read as fur as you can see 'em." The man glared at them. "Was there ever such stupidity? If I signalled the steamer do you think she would come back and take me up?" "I rayther think not, but you might try it." And he did try it. Snatching off his hat he swung it over his head and shouted at the top of his voice. "Hold on there! You've left me behind! Come back!" Several deck hands on the boat must have seen the frantic passenger, who ran to the edge of the wharf, and added his handbag to the circlings, while he kept up his shoutings. Alvin and Chester, as much amused as the agent, fancied they could see the grins on the faces of several of the men on the steamer. One of them waggishly crooked a forefinger as an invitation for him to come aboard, but none the less the boat steamed straight on to the Isle of Springs. "You might swim, stranger," suggested the agent. Ignoring the sarcasm, the other asked: "Can't I hire a boat to take me across?" "No diffikilty if you've got money." By this time the youths felt that they had had enough of the scene, and turned to follow the road nearly to the other side of the island, where it joined the one leading to Hodgdon Island and then extended across that to the bridge connection with Barter. They had made so careful a study of the map that they had no fear of going wrong. They might not have been in such haste, had not the afternoon been drawing to a close and night certain to be near when they should reach their destination. The day was comparatively cool, for be it remembered that while we are smothering with summer heat in States farther south, there is little of it on the coast of Maine, except occasionally during the middle of the day. Something more than half a mile brought the youths to the first turn, when they went due north to the skeleton-like bridge which joins the two islands that have been named. They had walked so briskly that upon reaching the farther end they paused for a brief breathing spell. Naturally they looked about them--across the comparatively narrow strait to Hodgdon Island, to the right toward the mainland, and westward in the direction of the Sheepscot River. Leaning against the railing, they next gazed back over the bridge which they had just trodden. At the end was a man resting like themselves and in the same attitude. "It's odd that he is the first person we have seen since we started," remarked Alvin. "Since we didn't meet him he must be going the same way as ourselves." "Neither of us is doing much going just now," said Chester. "Have you thought, Alvin, that we haven't a pistol between us?" "What of it?" "We may need it before we are through with this business." "I remember father telling me that when he was a young man he visited Texas and at Austin had a long talk with Ben Thomson." "Who was Ben Thomson?" asked the wondering Chester. "One of the greatest desperadoes that that State ever produced. He looked like a dandified young clerk or preacher, but it was said of him that in all his career he never missed the man at whom he fired. The governor found him a pleasant fellow to talk with and they became quite chummy. When asked his advice about carrying a revolver, Ben told him never to do it--at least while in Texas. 'If you do,' said Ben, 'it will be the death of you as sure as you are now alive. You can't draw half as quick as the bad men whom you are likely to run against, and the fact that you are carrying a gun will bring the other's acquittal in any court where the case may be tried. But if you are unarmed, no one will molest you, for only the meanest coward will attack an unarmed man.' Now, what I think is, that we are safer without a revolver than with one. Neither of us is an expert and we should have no show with these post office robbers if we got into a fight where guns were used." Chester was not satisfied with this view of the situation. "From what I have heard, such persons don't wait to find out whether another is armed before firing upon him, and in spite of what you say, I wish I had a loaded Smith and Wesson, or a Colt in my hip pocket." "Well, you haven't nor have I. The governor has no patience with this fashion among boys of carrying deadly weapons. The temptation to use them when there is no need is too great." Chester shook his head in dissent, and as they resumed their walk discussed the near future, for it was prudent to do so. After they had crossed the second bridge at the northern end of Hodgdon Island, he said: "It can't be much farther to that inlet where we may or may not find the _Deerfoot_. It is time we made up our minds what to do. Suppose we come upon your boat with the thieves in charge, shall we tell them they have been very naughty and must go away and let us have the property without making any fuss?" Alvin laughed. "Maybe that's as good a plan as any. I believe I can convince them that the wisest thing for them to do is to turn the boat over to us and clear out." "If they are desperate enough to rob post offices and steal a motor launch, they are not the ones to give it up for the asking. There!" exclaimed Chester stopping short, "we forgot something." "What is it?" "We meant to have telegrams sent out to different points from Boothbay Harbor, asking lots of persons to keep a lookout for the _Deerfoot_." "What's the need of that when we have found her?" "It isn't certain we have found her, but it can't be helped now." They resumed their walk, and in due time trod the soil of Barter Island, by crossing another long wooden bridge. They had met on the way a rickety wagon, a carriage and one automobile, but no person on foot. A mile or so farther they came upon a hamlet, where it seemed prudent to ask a few questions. Night was so near that it was important that they should make no mistake in their course. They learned that from this cluster of houses a single highway led to the western coast of Barter Island. Barely a half mile beyond the terminus of this road was the inlet upon which they had centered their hopes. Mr. Richards had told them that they would have to tramp this distance, but would probably find a path which would make the task easy. Although minute knowledge was necessary to enable one to speak definitely, yet Mr. Richards reminded them that the fact of there being dwellings at varying distances all along the coast proved that there must be means of communication between them. The boys knew they were within a half mile of the inlet when they paused more to consult than to rest. The road was lined on both sides by a vigorous growth of fir. To the rear it reached several hundred yards nearly straight, but curved sharply a little way off in front. By accident, Chester's face was turned toward the road behind them. The two had not spoken a dozen words when Chester remarked without any excitement: "I wonder who it is that's coming this way; probably some countryman or fisherman." Alvin looked back. "I don't see anyone." "He dodged to one side among the trees when he saw us." "What made him do that?" "I wish I knew." CHAPTER XVII THE MAN IN GRAY Naturally the boys were curious to know the meaning of the stranger's conduct. They could not see why anyone travelling the same way with themselves should wish to avoid observation. It would seem that he would have hurried forward for the sake of company in this lonely region. Could it be he was really trying to keep out of sight? Chester's added explanation left no doubt on this point. "It was accidental on my part. I happened to be looking at the very point where the road makes a turn, when I caught a glimpse of something moving on the edge of my field of vision as if coming this way. Before I could do more than see it was a person, he slipped to the side among the trees. That I think proves he does not wish to be seen by us." "He must have known _you_ saw _him_." "No; the chances were a hundred to one against either of us noticing him, though we might have done so had he come two steps nearer. Not doubting that he was secure, he whisked out of sight for the time." "He might have done that by leaping backward instead of sideways." "I don't see any choice between the two methods. I am beginning to suspect that for some reason he is interested in us. How is it, Alvin, that we never had a suspicion of anything of that kind?" "Because we had no reason for it." "Now it would be odd if that man is the one who rested at one end of the first bridge while we were doing the same at the other." "And has been dogging us ever since. It is easy enough to find out. Come on!" Avoiding the manner of those who had detected anything amiss, the youths faced south once more, and, neither hastening nor retarding their pace, walked along the middle of the highway until they had passed beyond the bend which hid them from the sight of the individual whose actions were anything but reassuring. "Now!" whispered Alvin. As he spoke, he stepped into the wood on their right, his companion doing the same. There was no undergrowth and they threaded their way for several rods and then were unable to find a tree with a trunk large enough to hide their bodies. Doing the best they could, they fixed their gaze upon the highway, along which they expected to see the man come within the succeeding few minutes. An impulse led Alvin to glance at his watch just at the moment he placed himself behind the trunk of a pine not more than six inches in diameter. After waiting seemingly longer than necessary, he examined his timepiece again. The minutes pass slowly to those who are in suspense, but surely the interval ought to have brought the stranger into view. But he was as yet invisible. A quarter of an hour dragged by and still nothing was to be seen of him. Alvin looked across at Chester, who was a few paces off, also partially hidden from sight of anyone passing over the highway. "What do you make of it?" asked the puzzled Captain of the _Deerfoot_. "How long have we been waiting?" "A half hour." "Then he isn't coming," said Chester, stepping forth and walking toward the road; "we are throwing away time and it is already growing dark." On the edge of the highway the two halted and peered to the right and left. Not a person was in sight. "He has turned back," said Alvin. "Why should he do that?" "He must have known we saw him." "More likely he dived into the wood and made a circle so as to come back to the road between us and the inlet. He can't be far off." "He has had plenty of time to get out of sight." "Perhaps not." Led by the hope, the boys hastened to the next turn, which gave them sight of a hundred yards or more before it wound out of view again. "There he is!" whispered Alvin excitedly. "No; it is not he." A large boy in a straw hat, with loose flapping linen duster and bare feet was strolling toward them. He kept in the middle of the road, for the walking was as good there as on either side. With his hands in his trousers pockets and whistling softly to himself he lounged forward. He started as the lads stepped out from among the trees. "Gosh! you give me a scare!" he exclaimed with a grin. "Who be you?" "Friends," Alvin took it upon himself to answer. "Who are you?" "Henry Perkins," was the prompt response from the youth, whose manner showed that he was not at ease. "Where do you live?" "Up the road, not fur, near this end of the bridge to Hodgdon Island." "Where are you coming from now?" The youth hesitated a moment and then with his unrelaxing grin answered: "I spent the day with my cousin Burt Eggles over at Westport; he rowed me across the Sheepscot, and as I told you I'm on my way hum; if I don't arriv there purty blamed soon, the old man will give me an all-fired licking." "Did you meet anybody on the road?" Henry Perkins shook his head several times. "Didn't meet nobody; there ain't many folks in this part of the kentry." "Well," said Alvin, "you may go on home now; if your 'old man' is cross with you tell him you were stopped on the road." "Haw! haw! he mought ask how long I was stopped. Wal, I'm off." He strode forward with long steps, as if anxious to get away from the couple who asked such personal questions. He had gone only a few paces when he abruptly halted, looked around at the two, who were amusedly watching him, and exclaimed: "Gosh! I furgot something--I'm sorry," he added, using the catch phrase, which was beginning to take the place of the conventional "excuse me," or "I beg pardon." "What is that?" "I _did_ meet a feller a little way down the road." The youths were interested on the instant. "Do you know who he was?" asked Alvin. "Never seen him afore; didn't ask his name; don't spose he'd told me if I had; I nodded and he nodded; neither of us didn't speak; that's all." "How was he dressed?" "Had on a soft, light hat, gray suit and carried a handbag." "Thank you, Henry, good night." "I 'spose I was so rattled at fust I didn't think of him when you asked me if I'd met anybody. Wal, so 'long." "What do you make of it now?" asked Alvin of his chum, as they resumed their walk toward the inlet. "That's the man we saw pretending to rest at the further end of the first bridge; he's the one who sat near us on the steamer reading a newspaper, and he left the boat when we did. That swinging of his hat and yelling for the steamer to come back and pick him up was a bluff. He got off because _we_ did and he has been following us ever since." Neither could doubt this self-evident fact, which was enough to make them graver than usual. The man in gray must have known from the actions of the youths that one if not both had discovered him while he was passing over the road behind them. He had, as Chester suspected, turned in among the pines and made a circuit by which he came out in advance of them. This might never have become known but for the meeting between him and Henry Perkins. But the disturbing question remained to be answered: who was he and what did he mean by his actions? "I believe he is one of the post office gang," said Alvin. "So do I," assented his companion; "he knew from what we said on the boat that we are hunting the stolen launch and he means to be on the ground when we find it." "What for?" "Aye, there's the rub; whatever it may be it doesn't mean any good to us. We have another criminal to buck against and one that's likely to get the best of us. I wish now that I had two revolvers and you a repeating rifle." "Wishing can do no good. We'll win if we can." It was characteristic of these two young Americans that to neither came a thought of turning back. It was more than probable that they would run into personal peril, but none the less they cheerfully took the risk. When they reached the end of the highway which has its beginnings on the southern point of Barter Island, it was fully dark. In the single small house that stood there a light was burning, and a form flitted between it and the curtain of the window. "Alvin, I have just found out something," said his chum. "What's that?" "I was never hungrier in my life." "The same here and have been for an hour or two." "Let's go in and get something to eat." No railings or fence showed in front of the little faded structure upon whose door Chester gently knocked. It was opened by an elderly woman, who was engaged in setting the table. In answer to her inquiring looks Chester said: "Good evening! Can we buy something to eat?" "No, sir; we don't sell food; we give it to them as needs it!" CHAPTER XVIII AT THE INLET It was not the thin, meek-looking woman who uttered these words of welcome. The tones were so thunderous that both the lads were startled, and they did not see the speaker, until they stepped across the threshold. He was an old man, one who must have been near eighty, who was sitting near the front window, smoking a corncob pipe. His face was weazened and wrinkled, his white hair thin and his shoulders stooping, but his little eyes twinkled kindly and he wore no glasses. He was in his shirt sleeves and his waistcoat hung loosely and unbuttoned down the front. His clean, coarse white shirt showed no necktie, but there was a pleasing neatness about his trousers and thick shoes. Alvin and Chester removed their caps and saluted the couple. The woman had not spoken and for a long time kept silent. "Take a cheer! take a cheer!" added the old man, holding his pipe in one hand while he waved the other toward seats; "take a couple if you like." The wonder about the old fellow was his voice. Never had the callers heard so deep and resounding a bass. It was literally like thunder. Each asked himself what it was a half century before. There was no mistaking his hospitality. Probably in his loneliness he welcomed any callers, no matter who they might be. He smiled upon the youths, who noticed that there was not a tooth visible. "Bless my heart! It does my old eyes good to look upon two such handsome chaps as you! Your faces be clean, your eyes bright, you wear purty good clothes and I don't b'lieve you use terbacker." "No," said Alvin; "we haven't begun yet." "My! my! you don't know what you've missed, but there's time 'nough; wait till you're as old as me afore you start. How old do you think I am?" The pleased lads scanned the wrinkled countenance as if trying to make up their minds. It was Chester who answered for both: "You must be past sixty-five--pretty close to seventy." The remark was diplomatic, for both knew he was a good deal older. The man threw back his head and shook with mirth. "Do you hear that, Peggy? They think I'm purty close to seventy! That's the best joke I've heerd since I was a boy. He! he! Why, young man," he added, abruptly checking his laughter, "I'll be eighty-three come next Christmas. I was a Christmas gift to my father and mother." "You don't mean it!" replied Alvin, with a shake of his head. The wife paused in crossing the floor and laughed, but without the least sound. "I don't mean it, eh? Ask Peggy." The youths looked inquiringly and she nodded several times in confirmation, but remained mute. "We can't doubt _her_," said Chester. "You are surely a wonder, Mr.----" "Folks don't call me mister; I'm Uncle Ben--Ben Trotwood. Who might you be?" There was no need of evasion, and Alvin briefly told all the important facts. Having given their names, he related how their motor boat had been stolen while they were taking lunch that day in the woods near the blockhouse. It was not worth while to mention Mike Murphy. "Consarn such scamps!" exclaimed Uncle Ben. "They oughter be made to smart. But when Peggy opened the door I think you said something 'bout devouring food." "We are hungry." "Wal," said the old man, rising briskly from his chair in answer to a nod from his wife, "supper's ready and we'll all set by. If you want to please us you won't leave a crumb on the table." "Then we'll be sure to please you." It was a most enjoyable meal of which our young friends partook, after Uncle Ben had said grace as was his invariable custom. The food was plain but excellently cooked and there was an abundance. The host was as spry as a man of half his years, and presided, his wife pouring out tea which never tasted better to Alvin and Chester. Each of the lads, when no one was watching him, slipped a dollar bill under his plate, where it was not likely to be seen until after they had gone. The kindliness of the old man as well as that of the mute wife made the guests feel at home. Toward the close of the meal Chester said: "Uncle Ben, you've got the most wonderful voice I ever heard." Plainly the old man was pleased. "It ain't a sarcumstance to what it was when I was younger. They asked me to sing bass in the church at Trevett, but I nearly busted proceedings. The folks said that when I let out my voice, they couldn't hear anybody else in the choir." "It is easy to believe that." "Then," added Uncle Ben whimsically, "they made me pay for several panes of glass that they insisted my voice had broke. I stood that, till one Sunday, a boy begun yelling that he was afeard of that big black bear in the gallery and he like to have went into fits ontil I put on the brakes. Then I quit, plumb disgusted." "Don't you find it rather lonely here?" "Sometimes when the children wait too long to visit us." "How many children have you?" "Seven boys and six girls. We lost three afore they growed up." "You are rich indeed," said Chester admiringly. And then the wife spoke for the first time: "We ought to be thankful and _we are_!" It came out that all the sons and daughters were well married and lived within a radius of little more than fifty miles. Each family had often urged the old couple to make their home with it, but they preferred to live by themselves. There was no danger of their suffering for anything that affection could provide. Alvin and Chester would have been glad to stay over night, as they were urged to do, but they decided to push on and learn what they could with the least possible delay. While daylight would have been more favorable, in many respects, for their task, they feared that the thieves would make off with the _Deerfoot_ before daylight. The intrusion of the man in gray added a zest to the search that had something to do with their haste. Since Uncle Ben rarely went beyond sight of his humble home, he could tell them nothing of the launch. He admitted that most of the time when he sat by the front window smoking, he dozed or was fully asleep. He had seen no one pass the house during the afternoon except the boy, Henry Perkins. The man in gray might have gone by, but Uncle Ben knew nothing of it. Promising to call if they ever came into the neighborhood again, the youths bade the old couple good night. They hurried, for the wife had begun clearing away the things from the table, and was sure to discover the tip that each had left. They chuckled because they got clear of the home without such mishap. It will be remembered that night had descended some time before, and the clouded sky veiled the moon. The path of which Uncle Ben told them was well defined, but in the dense gloom it was hard to keep it. Alvin, taking the lead, spread out his arms and swept them in front of his face to prevent collisions with projecting limbs. Once or twice he strayed to one side, but with the help of Chester regained the trail and they pushed on in good spirits, glad that they had not far to go. The temperature was so mild that they felt no discomfort from the lack of extra clothing. As they drew near the inlet their caution increased. Alvin in front stepped as softly as an Indian scout entering the camp of an enemy. Chester was equally careful and for some time neither spoke. With the deep gloom inclosing them on every hand, they were mutually invisible. Suddenly Chester bumped lightly into his companion. "What's the matter?" he asked in a whisper. "I'm out of the path again." "I don't see that that makes any difference; we must be close to the bay. Push on!" They felt their way in silence for a few minutes and then stopped once more. Not the slightest sound was given out by the water that was somewhere near them. Alvin hesitated, as he was afraid of a mis-step. At this juncture, when the two stood motionless and uncertain, nature, singularly enough, came to their relief. The laboring moon for a few seconds shone partly through the heavy clouds that were drifting before its face, and the dim illumination revealed that two paces farther would have taken them into the inlet. Scarcely was this discovery made when blank night again shut them in. "Well, here we are," said Alvin; "and what comes next?" After all that had been said and done, it dawned upon both at this moment that their whole venture was foolish to the last degree. Suppose they located the _Deerfoot_, they would be powerless to do anything more. Two unarmed youths could not retake it from the thieves, and they might grope around the place for the whole night without learning the truth. If they had been able to reach the spot before night, or, failing in that, had waited till the morrow, their eyes would have quickly told them all they wished to know. Standing side by side nonplussed for the moment, Alvin sniffed several times. "Do you notice it?" he asked in a guarded undertone. "Notice what?" "I smell a cigar; somebody is near us." Chester tested his smelling apparatus and replied: "You are right; the odor is in the air." "It reminds me of the kind the governor smokes; and is therefore a mighty good one." "It is the man in gray; he smoked nearly all the time on the boat." CHAPTER XIX NOT NEAR EITHER BANK Having convinced themselves that the man in gray was near at hand, the next question Alvin and Chester asked themselves was whether he knew of _their_ proximity. It would seem not, for they had moved with the silence of shadows, and spoken in the most guarded of undertones. Moreover, it was not to be supposed that he would smoke a cigar, knowing the liability of betraying himself, just as he had done. Further, there was the danger of the glowing end catching the eye of anyone in the vicinity. The youths peered here and there in the obscurity in quest of a tiny torch, but failed to see it. While speculating over the situation an unexpected shift took place. Chester laid his hand on the arm of his comrade and whispered: "Look out on the water!" A point of light glowed like a tiny star from a spot directly opposite, but quite a way from shore. It was of a neutral or yellow color, and the reflection of the rays showed a few feet from where it shone above the surface. The gleaming speck, however, was too small to tell anything more. "I believe that's on the _Deerfoot_!" whispered Chester. "It may be, but it's on the other side of the inlet; we shall not learn anything more while standing here." A new problem was thus presented. They could stay where they were until daylight told them the truth, go back to Uncle Ben's house and sleep in a comfortable bed, or pick their way through the wood and darkness to the other side of the water. After a few minutes' consultation they decided to follow the last course. Once nigh enough to the launch to touch it with outstretched hand they would have no trouble in identifying it, no matter how profound the gloom. While each youth saw the imprudence of the action, he was impelled by the dread that the thieves would give them the slip, and be almost beyond tracing within the following few hours. If they had run into this place for shelter, there was no guessing how long they would stay. The task before the lads was formidable. They did not know the width of the inlet around whose head they must thread their course in order to reach the point where the _Deerfoot_ or possibly some other motor boat was lying. The distance might be brief or prove too great to be traversed during the night. None the less they decided to try it. The star still shone a little above the silent surface which was as smooth as a mirror. The light did not seem to be far off--a fact which led our young friends to believe they would not have to walk far to reach their destination. The immediate cause for misgiving was the man with the cigar. The most careful snuffing failed to tell the direction from which the vapor floated, and not a breath of air stirred the stillness. Whether the youths moving eastward would be going toward or from him could not be guessed. They could only trust to providence. "The slightest sound will give us away," said Alvin as he took the lead. "Keep so near that you can touch me with your hand; I'll feel every inch of the way." It should not be long before they would be far enough from the man in gray to move with more freedom. The plan was to make a circuit around the head of the inlet and come back to the spot where the _Deerfoot_ nestled under the wooded bank. How long it would require to complete this semi-circle remained to be seen. When twenty minutes had gone by and they had progressed several rods, Alvin paused and said in his guarded undertone: "I don't smell the cigar; do you?" Chester called his nose into action and replied: "I don't detect any odor." "That means we have got away from him." "Or that he has finished his cigar and thrown away the stump. Push on." To avoid mishap, they kept several yards from the water. The task was so hard that it would have been impossible but for the help given by the moon. The sky had cleared considerably, so that the dim light shone at brief intervals upon the water. Another blessing was appreciated by the venturesome youths. The pine woods were free from briers and undergrowth, the ground being soft, spongy and dry under their feet, because of the cones and spines which had accumulated for many and many a year. Still again, the inlet had no tributaries--at any rate the boys did not come upon any, so they were not troubled in that respect. It was simply a cove whose sole supply of water came from the broad Sheepscot. Such being the favoring conditions, Alvin and Chester made better progress than either expected when setting out. Now and then Alvin led the way to the water's edge in quest of the beacon which had served them so well thus far. It still gleamed with a calm, unwinking clearness like the point of an incandescent light. A gratifying discovery came sooner than the youths expected--they were turning the head of the inlet and coming back on the other side from the shore first reached. If all went well they ought to arrive at the right spot within the next half hour. They ran against an unimportant difficulty, however. A vigorous growth of underbrush clogged their progress, but having left the mysterious stranger behind, they felt no need of further care with their footsteps. It was yet comparatively early in the night when they completed the broad half circle and came opposite the point of their first arrival. The occasional clearing of the moon had been of much help, and they had every reason to be satisfied with their progress. But before coming to a pause, they were puzzled by a discovery for which at first they could not account. The gleaming point that had served as a guide was nowhere near them. It seemed like an ignis fatuus that recedes as the traveller tries to approach it. So far as the lads could judge they were no closer to the light than before. "That's the queerest thing I ever saw," said Alvin, as he and his companion stood on the edge of the wood. "I thought we should run right against the boat, and now there is no chance of doing so." "It must have crossed to the other shore while we were passing round the head of the inlet," suggested Chester, as much perplexed as his chum. "Then we shall have to turn back." "And have it give us the slip again. That can't be the explanation, Alvin; we should have heard the engine in the stillness. Ah! I have it! The _Deerfoot_ is not near either bank, but anchored in the middle of the cove or beside a small island." This obviously was the explanation, but it did not improve the situation, so far as the searchers were concerned. With the partial illumination given now and then by the moon they could not catch the faintest outlines of the boat. It might have been a dozen miles away. "It looks as if we were up against it," remarked Alvin, with a sigh. "We shall have to wait until daylight and may as well go back to Uncle Ben's." Chester was silent for a minute or two. He was turning over a project in his mind. "The boat can't be far off," he said. "What do you say to my taking off my clothing and swimming out to it?" The proposal struck Alvin dumb at first. His friend added: "It will be easy; it won't take me long to go there and back." "Suppose you are seen?" "I have no fear of that; they won't be expecting anything of the kind and I shall learn something worth while." "I won't agree to it," replied Alvin decisively; "it may look simple to you, but there is more danger than you suspect. No, give it up. It is _my_ boat and if anyone chose to risk his life to recover it he should be myself, and I'll be hanged if _I'll_ try it." "All right; you are the Captain and I am only second mate, but it grieves me to have you turn down my proposition. Sh! you heard that?" From the direction of the launch came the sound of a sneeze. In the profound stillness there was no mistaking the nature of the noise. "I wonder if our friend is catching cold," was the whimsical remark of Chester; "it sounds that way," he added as the person, whoever he was, sneezed a second, third and fourth time in quick succession and then rested. "Suppose I call to him to be careful," suggested Chester. "Do so if you choose, but it strikes me that we are the ones who need to be careful." "Hello! the light is gone." Such was the fact. Not the slightest illumination pierced the gloom that was now on every hand. "I guess they have gone to bed," remarked Chester, "and that is what we might as well do. The weather is so mild that we can sleep on the soft carpet in the woods without risk; it's a long walk to Uncle Ben's and we want to be on hand at the first peep of day." "I can't say that I fancy spending the night out of doors." "It will be easy to start a fire." "And have it seen by those on the boat." "We can go so far back that there will be no danger of that." "What about breakfast?" "We can reach Uncle Ben's in time for that." "I have been suspecting, Chester, for the last hour that we have been making fools of ourselves and now I haven't any doubt of it." "I hadn't from the first. Hist! do you hear that?" CHAPTER XX A DISAPPOINTMENT Through the soft, impenetrable darkness stole the almost inaudible sound of a paddle, and strangely enough, only a single stroke was heard. The listening youths agreed that the point whence it came was to the north of the islet, and it was Chester Haynes who was keen witted enough to hit upon the explanation. "Whoever it is he is trying not to betray himself; he is using his oar as a paddle, to avoid the sound of rowing." "But _we_ heard him," said Alvin. "He made a slight slip and may do it again." They listened intently for several minutes, but the stillness was unbroken. This continued for some time, when suddenly the sound was heard, fainter than before--so faintly indeed that had not the two been closely attentive they would not have noted it. "Another slip," remarked Chester; "I guess he doesn't know how to handle a paddle very well. But he has got ahead, for he isn't where he was when we first heard him." "He seems to be between us and the islet." "He may be coming this way!" As if in answer to the thought, the few rays of moonlight which fell upon the water at that moment revealed the dim outlines of a small boat that was heading toward the very spot where the friends were standing. "Let's make a change of base," whispered Chester, hastily turning to the north, but halting where they could see the boat without being visible themselves. With the weak light, they could trace it quite clearly. The craft was of the ordinary structure, so small that it would not have carried more than two or three persons, and had nothing in the nature of a sail. A man was seated in the middle holding a single paddle which he swayed first on one side and then on the other. The observers suspected his identity before the nose of the little boat slid up the bank and it came to rest. Gently laying down the paddle, as if guarding against discovery, the man rose to his feet and stepped out. As he did so, he grasped a small handbag in one hand and moved with the alert nimbleness of a boy. He was the man in the gray suit, who seemed to have formed the habit of intruding into the plans of Alvin and Chester. They waited motionless and silent until he disappeared in the wood. "Chester," said his friend, "I'll give you eleven cents if you will explain that." "And I'll give you twelve if you'll clear it up for me." "I wonder now if he isn't acting as a sentinel for the others. He knows we are somewhere in the neighborhood and has set out to keep track of us." The theory might seem reasonable to the boys, but would not hold water, for, after all, the action of the stranger did not agree with it. They felt it idle to try to guess, and gave it up. Alvin had proposed that they should stay no longer in the wood, but return to the hospitable home of Uncle Ben. Though it would be late when they reached there, they would be welcome, but both shrank from meeting the couple after the discovery of the money they had placed under their plates. "Hold on, Alvin," whispered the other; "let's play a trick on that fellow that keeps nosing into our business." "How?" "Let's use his boat to get a closer view of the _Deerfoot_." It was a rash thing to do, but it appealed to the young Captain. "All right; I'm with you. We must hurry, for he is likely to come back any moment." Had they taken time for reflection, they probably would have given up the plan, but boys of their age and younger are not apt to "look before they leap." Without hesitation, they walked to where the frail boat lay against the bank and Alvin shoved it clear. The water seemed to be deep close to land, and the Captain took up the paddle, remarking that the craft bore some resemblance to a canoe. They half expected that the man would dash forward and call them to account, but nothing was seen or heard of him, and the gloom swallowed them from sight of any person on land. Now that the chance was theirs to settle the question which had perplexed them so long it was important to consider each step. Alvin had had experience in managing a small boat and he handled the paddle with more skill than the former occupant, for the ripple which he caused could not have been heard a dozen feet away. As the distance from shore increased, they ceased to whisper. One knew the right thing to do as well as the other, and Chester realized that he could give no directions of value. It seemed to Alvin that since those on the launch knew the direction taken by one of their number, they would expect him to return over the same course. Instead, therefore, of making straight for the motor boat, the Captain turned to the right, so as to approach the bow or stern. Before he caught sight of the craft, he made a complete circuit of the islet, keeping just near enough to trace its outlines and that of the launch. The former was merely a mass of sand, consisting of about an acre and without a tree or shrub upon it. It must have been nearly submerged when the tide was high. Seated in the prow of the small boat, Chester Haynes peered with all the power of eyesight at his command into the darkness, partly lighted up now and then by the moon. This made the illumination treacherous and uncertain and caused misgivings to both. Alvin glanced up at the rolling clouds, striving to avoid betraying himself to anyone on board. The presumption was that all had gone to sleep, leaving the duty of protection to their friend, the man in gray. A look at the masses of vapor in the sky told Alvin that the heavy obscurity would last for several minutes. He dipped the paddle deeper and stole toward the bow of the launch that was beginning to show vaguely. By and by he saw the sharp cutwater rising several feet above the water, the staff with its drooping flag, and the glass shield just aft of the motor compartment. "Sh! sh! back quick!" Chester whispered the warning, and Alvin without pausing to ask the reason swung the paddle so powerfully that the gentle forward motion was checked, and the boat moved in the other direction. Two or three strokes carried it so far that the launch and all pertaining to it were swallowed up in the gloom. Waiting till it was safe to speak, the Captain asked: "What did you see, Chester?" "A man," was the reply. "In what part of the launch?" "He was standing in front of the cockpit, about half way between it and the flagstaff." "Then he saw us." "No; for he was looking toward the shore to which this boat had gone. Had he turned his head, he must have noticed us." Alvin held the reverse motion until they felt it safe to talk without dropping into whispers. "What harm could have come if he had seen us?" asked the Captain, "I favor going straight up to the _Deerfoot_, stepping aboard and ordering the thieves to turn her over to us." "Before doing so, one thing ought to be settled." "What is that?" "Find out whether it _is_ the _Deerfoot_." "Of course it is; what other boat could it be? We act as if we were afraid to claim our own property." "_Your_ property you mean, Captain. If I may advise, it is that you make another circuit around the islet and come up to the launch from the rear. I don't think there is a second man on watch, and, if there isn't, we shall be less likely to attract the first one's notice." "I'll do as you say, though I see no sense in it." With the utmost care the islet was circumnavigated as before, and the stealthy approach from the rear was made. Alvin depended upon his companion to give him warning, and while he remained silent the small boat glided forward like a shadow cast by the moon. The man who had been seen standing near the prow would have been in sight had he held his position, and since he was invisible, he must have gone away. With the acme of caution, Alvin stole along the side of the launch, keeping just far enough off to avoid grazing her, until he came once more to the bow. This period being one of the total eclipses of the moon, he could do no more than trace the outlines of the boat, whose familiar appearance filled him with burning indignation that thieves should have dared to lay hands upon it. There was not a breath of air stirring, and Chester who still clung to his doubts, now drew his rubber safe from his pocket and scratched a match over the corrugated bottom. As the tiny flame flickered, he held it up in front of the gilt letters on the side of the prow. Each saw them plainly, long enough to note that the name painted there was not _Deerfoot_ but _Water Witch_! Alvin was astounded and disgusted beyond expression. Without a word, he turned the head of the little boat toward the shore which they had left a short time before, and did not speak until they reached land. He was impatient, because he plainly heard his companion chuckling. "Let's give up looking for the _Deerfoot_," exclaimed the Captain, "and see whether we can find Mike Murphy." "I'm with you," was the hearty response of Chester. Indeed it is high time that we, too, started upon the same errand. CHAPTER XXI A TELEGRAM You will remember that Mike Murphy, the Irish laddie, was brimful of pluck, powerful and sturdy of build and with little in the nature of fear in his make-up. His short legs, however, were not meant for fleetness, and he never would have won fame as a sprinter. When he parted company with Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes, only one purpose controlled him--that was to regain possession of the stolen motor boat _Deerfoot_ and incidentally to administer proper punishment to the thieves who had so boldly stolen the craft. He loped down the road, until he was panting from the exertion, when he dropped to a rapid walk, still burning with high resolve. With no clearly defined plan in mind, he turned off at the intersection of the highways, and soon reached Charmount, one of the regular landings where the little steamers for Boothbay Harbor halted to let off and take on passengers. "The right thing for mesilf to do is to sind a tilegram," was his conclusion. "I don't mind that I ever done anything ov the kind excipt to forward one by wireless when our steamer was in the middle of the Atlantic. Howsumiver, that was sint by other folks and I hadn't anything to do wid it excipt to listen to the crackling and spitting and sparkling of the machine and to watch for the message flying out the windy, which the same I didn't observe." His naturally red face was redder than usual, and he breathed fast, when he stepped up to the little window. "I have a message that I wish to go over the wires as fast as lightning," was his announcement, after raising his cap and saluting the young lady. "That's the way all telegrams go," she replied, looking smilingly up from her chair in front of the instrument. "Thank ye kindly." "All you have to do is to write it out and pay the cost." "And how much will the same be?" "That depends on the number of words and the distance it has to be sent. Write it out." A pile of yellow blanks lay on the inclined planed board which served as a desk, and there was a cheap pencil secured by a string, but no chair. A sender had to stand while writing his message. Mike tried to act as if he was used to such things. First he thrust the end of the pencil in his mouth to moisten the lead and began his hard task. He was so long at it that the bright young miss looked up several times to see how he was getting on. Through the narrow window she saw him laboring harder than he had ever labored in his life. His tongue was out, his eyes rolling, his cap shoved back from his perspiring forehead and he grunted, standing first on one foot and then on the other, crossing out words, writing them over again and scratching his head in sore perplexity. She made no comment, but busied herself with other work until more than a quarter of an hour had passed. Finally the toil was over and he shoved the little sheet of paper through the window. "Whew! but that was a big job, as me uncle said when he tipped over the house of Pat O'Keily. You'll excuse me bad penmanship, if you plaise." The operator took the paper from him and with wrinkled brow read the following amazing effusion: "CHARMOUNT, MAIN, Orgust---- "_General George Washington, President of the U. S. America_: "RESPICTED SIR AND BROTHER: "There has been the biggest outrage that has happened in a thousand years. A pirut ship come up the Sheepscot River to-day and while me and Captain Landon and Second Mate Haynes--it's mesilf that is first mate--was eating our frugle repast behind the blockhouse, the same piruts boarded our frigate the _Deerfut_ and run off wid her. If we had seen the thaives we would have knocked their heads off. Send one of your torpeder distroyers or a battleship and go for the piruts bald-headed. "Kind regards to the missis and hoping you are well I subscribe mesilf yours with great respict, "MIKE MURPHY." The Irish youth watched the face of the miss as she studied the message for several minutes. Mike had a fair education, and although he limped in his spelling, on the whole he did well. By and by the operator looked into his face with perplexity and asked: "Why under the sun do you address your message to General Washington?" "Isn't he Prisident of the United States? I remimber reading the same in me school history at home in Tipperary." "He was the first President, but that was a long time ago and he has been dead more than a hundred years." "Then he isn't in the City of Washington, eh?" "No, he is in heaven, where you may be sure he has a front seat." "You couldn't forward the same to him?" asked Mike, his eyes twinkling. "I am afraid not; that station isn't in our line, though I hope you and I will arrive there one of these days." She drew her pencil through the immortal name. "You wish to have this sent to the President?" "Av coorse; what might his name be?" "William H. Taft." "And his addriss is Washington?" "That's his official address, but he stops there only now and then each year." "Where might he be now?" "Somewhere out West or on the Pacific coast or down at Panama--in fact, almost anywhere except at the capital of our country." "Then can't he be raiched by telegraph?" asked Mike in dismay. "Oh, yes; all you have to do is to address your telegram to Washington, just as you have done. They know there where to find him and your message will be forwarded." "Very well. There is the money to pay for the same." Mike laid a silver quarter on the stand-up desk where she could reach it. But she was busy just then counting the words by tipping them off with the point of her pencil. When through she beamed upon him and announced that the cost would be a little more than five dollars. "Woorah! woorah! what is it you're sayin'? All the funds I have wid me is about half what you jist named." "You can save three-fourths of the cost by striking out the unnecessary words. Let me help you." She obligingly edited the copy. It seemed to Mike that every word was indispensable, but she convinced him to the contrary and finally succeeded in boiling down the message so that the cost of the transmission was reduced to a dollar and a half. Although, as the lad had intimated, his funds were moderate, he paid the sum and the miss lost no time in placing the telegram on the wire. We have no record of its fate after reaching the national capital. It may have started to find the President on his never ending travels. If so, it no doubt caused him a hearty laugh, but I am afraid he speedily forgot it and the money expended by Mike was wasted. He thanked the miss for her aid and bade her good-day. Just then the hoarse whistle of a steamer fell upon their ears. "Phwat's that?" asked Mike, stopping short and looking at her. She glanced through the window before replying. "It's the _Nahanada_ on her way to Boothbay Harbor." "Ain't that lucky now!" he exclaimed, hurrying to the landing where he joined the half dozen passengers in boarding her. The well-known steamer _Nahanada_ was returning from an excursion to Wiscasset, with a large party from Boothbay Harbor. You will bear in mind that Mike Murphy's departure down the Sheepscot from Charmount preceded that of his friends by more than an hour. Now that he had time to rest and think, he did both. Like the other two youths, he chose his seat on the upper deck at the extreme rear, where he had a good view of both shores in descending the Sheepscot. He was not in a mood for conversation, and though several were seated near him, he gave them no attention. In this respect, he had the advantage over his friends, who as you will recall not only said a good many things to each other, but were overheard, as they discovered too late, by the man dressed in gray, who mixed strangely in their affairs afterward. It was impossible that the steamer should overtake the motor boat, provided the latter held her usual speed. Mike did not expect anything of the kind, but, like Alvin and Chester, thought the _Deerfoot_ was likely to stop on its way and wait until darkness in which to continue its flight. The thieves would know that strenuous efforts would be made quickly to recover the launch, and would try to escape recognition by the simple method named. This was shrewd reasoning, and was justified by what followed. A few miles below Sawyer Island, where Chester and Alvin left the steamer, projects the southern end of Westport, which intrudes like a vast wedge between the Sheepscot on the right and Montsweag Bay and Knubble Bay on the left. The island is about a dozen miles long, with a width at its broadest part of three miles or so. Around the lower end sweeps Goose Rock Passage, through which boats make their way to the Kennebec to the westward. The width of the Sheepscot at that portion is nearly two miles. Mike Murphy was on the alert and scanned the shores to the right and left as well as every craft that suggested any resemblance to the _Deerfoot_, but saw nothing to awaken hope until the _Nahanada_ turned to call at Isle of Springs. Knowing nothing of interest was there, Mike rose to his feet and scanned the opposite shore. He saw a boat disappearing in a small bay, a little to the north of Brooks Point, as the southern extremity of Westport is called. He caught only a passing glimpse when the intervening land shut it from sight, but he exclaimed: "Begorrah! it's the _Deerfut_, or me name isn't Mike Murphy!" CHAPTER XXII FOUND You will remember that Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes landed at Sawyer Island and made their way to the lower end of Barter Island, where they failed to find the stolen launch. The point which had caught the attention of Mike Murphy was several miles distant, on the other side of Sheepscot Bay and half as far from the landing at Isle of Springs. While failure attended the efforts of the couple, it now looked as if good fortune had marked Mike Murphy for its own. He waited at Isle of Springs until the _Nahanada_ resumed her way to Boothbay Harbor, when he looked around for some means of getting to the point on Westport which deeply interested him. Among the loungers he noticed an elderly man, stoop-shouldered, thin, without coat or waistcoat, a scraggly tuft of whiskers on his chin, thumbs thrust behind the lower part of his suspenders in front, and solely occupied in chewing tobacco and frequently irrigating the immediately surrounding territory. "The top of the day to ye!" said Mike, with a military salute. "Will yer engagements allow ye to take me on a little v'yage?" The old fellow's stare showed that he did not catch the meaning of the question. "Are you axing me to take you out in a boat?" he queried in turn; "for if you be, I may say that that's 'bout my size. Where do you want to be tooken?" Mike pointed across the river. "You mean Jewett Cove, huh?" said the other. After a little further talk, Mike found that the place named was a half mile north of his destination. He explained where he wished to be landed. "Sartinly, of course. I kin take you thar, though it's a powerful row; thar ain't enough breeze to make a sail of any use, and I don't own a motor boat like some folks round here as is putting on airs. Yas; I'll take you thar; when do you want to start?" "As soon as ye can git ready--but howld on! How much do ye mean to charge for a little row like that?" "A little row!" repeated the old man scornfully. "Do you want me to bring you back?" "Begorrah! I niver thought of that; I haven't made up me mind, and ye haven't answered my respictful question." The other chewed vigorously, spat and finally said: "It's worth twenty-five cents to take you 'cross and fifteen more to bring you back." Mike was astonished. Although his funds were running low, his natural generosity would not be denied. "I will pay ye half a dollar to row me over and if ye bring me back it will be another fifty cints--but I'm not certain as to me coming back." The trip might prove a failure. In fact the more Mike pondered the more probable seemed such a result. At the wharf a wise precaution occurred to him. "Being as there's no saying whin I return, it will be wise for me to take along a snack of food. So bide ye here till I procure the same." He hurried to the nearest grocery store where he bought a couple of sandwiches and was back in a few minutes. "I should think" grinned the boatman in an attempt to be facetious, "that the best place to carry them things is inside." "Ye're right and ye can make up yer mind that's where they will find a lodging place by and by. I'm riddy." The old man bent to his oars and headed across the Sheepscot, leaving the islet of Whittom on the south, and aiming for a point due west of Isle of Springs. It was, as he had declared, a long and hard row, but those muscles had been toughened by years of toil and seemed tireless. The swaying was slow but as steady as clockwork, and Mike sitting in the stern admired the rower, who paused only once and then for but a moment in which to wrench off with his yellow teeth a chew of tobacco from the plug which he carried in his pocket. The shore in front was covered with a vigorous growth of fir, which, as is so general in Maine, found root to the very water's edge. The ground sloped upward, but the height was moderate. Mike had been half inclined to direct the boatman to row directly into the little bay. This would be the quickest way to decide whether the _Deerfoot_ was there, but he deemed it wiser to make a stealthy approach. He wished to descend upon the thieves without any notice. Besides, if they learned his purpose, they were likely, as he well knew, to elude him, as they could readily do. Standing on the shore, he turned to the old man: "As I obsarved, I'm not sure whether I'll be coming this way agin. Would ye mind waiting here for three or four days till the quistion is settled?" His face was so serious that the other thought he was in earnest. Mike hastened to explain: "Tarry until ye obsarve a motor launch comin' out of the cove; whin ye see the same, ye may go home; all ye have to mind is to wait and obsarve for mesilf." The boatman nodded and Mike departed. He moved along the inlet, which was a great deal broader and deeper than the one visited by Alvin and Chester later on the same day. He had to thread his way for two or three hundred yards through the woods where there was no path, before turning the bend which until then hid the boat from sight. He was still advancing, all the time in sight of the sweep of water, when he stopped with the sudden exclamation: "Woorah, now! but doesn't that beat all creation!" Good cause indeed had he for excitement, for he saw the stolen _Deerfoot_ not more than fifty feet away. It was his good fortune to find it with less than a tenth of the labor and pains vainly taken by his friends. He stood for some minutes studying the beautiful model, whose name he read in artistic letters on the bow. The picture was one to delight, and it expresses only a small part of his emotions to say that he was delighted beyond measure. No person was to be seen on board, and he cautiously pushed on until he came to the margin of the water. The boat was moored by a line looped about the small trunk of a tree, that seemed to be leaning out from the bank as if bending its head for that purpose, and by the anchor line made fast to the bow. The craft was as motionless and silent as a tomb. Quickly succeeding the thrill of pleasure was that of hot rage against those who had stolen the boat. He was more eager to meet them than to take possession of the property. But if on board they would be in sight, for though it was possible for two or three persons to find cramped quarters for sleep, they would not avail themselves of such unless driven by necessity. "They have gone away fur a bit," was the conclusion of Mike, who the next minute stepped lightly aboard. "It strikes me that this isn't the best place to linger, as Tim Hurley said whin the lion jumped out of the cage after him. It isn't mesilf that has kept an eye on Captain Alvin fur the past few days without larning how to handle a motor boat." Whoever had withdrawn the switch plug had left it lying on the seat used by the steersman. Mike thrust it in place, and going down into the engine compartment gave a powerful swing to the heavy fly-wheel. Instantly the engine responded in the way with which he had become familiar. He seated himself, grasped the steering wheel and having pushed the control lever forward waited for the beautiful craft to shoot forward. But though the screw revolved furiously the boat did not advance a foot. "That's mighty qu'ar," he muttered, staring about him. "What's hendering the cratur?" Still puzzled and with some misgiving, he pulled over the reversing lever. Instantly the boat drew back, but only for a pace or two when it halted again, with the prow swinging gently to one side. Then the lever was moved forward and on the instant the craft made a dive, only to fetch up so abruptly that Mike came nigh pitching from his seat. He rose and anxiously peered around. The explanation suddenly broke upon him. "Arrah, I might have knowed I'd forgot something, as Dennis Tiernan remarked whin he landed in Ameriky and found he had lift his wife behind in Ireland." Shutting off the power, Mike sprang ashore, uncoiled the rope from the trunk and tossed it aboard. He sprang after it and after taking in the anchor, set the screw revolving again. There was no trouble now. The _Deerfoot_ curved out into the bay, and sped forward with arrowy swiftness. Feeling himself master of the situation, Mike's heart rose with blissful anticipation. "It's the aisiest thing in the world to run a motor boat like the _Deerfut_. All ye have to do is to turn on the power and kaap things right. Phwat the dickens is _that_?" A stone weighing more than a pound whizzed in front of his face, missing his pug nose by a half inch, and splashed into the bay beyond. He whirled his head around to learn the meaning and instantly learned it. Two well-dressed young men were standing on the shore at the spot where the boat had been moored. One of them had hurled the missile which missed Mike so narrowly, and the other was in the act of letting fly with the other. Had not Mike ducked he would have caught it fair and square. "Bring that boat back, you thief, and take a pounding!" shouted one as he stooped to find another stone. "Begorrah, and that's what I'll do mighty quick!" called back Mike, shifting the wheel so that the boat began a wide sweeping curve that would speedily bring her to land again. "If ye'll wait there foive minutes ye may enj'y the most hivenly shindy of yer lives." How he yearned to get within reach of the miscreants, who stopped their bombardment as if as eager as he for the encounter! "Have patience, ye spalpeens, and I'll accommodate ye!" called back Mike, heading straight for the pair. CHAPTER XXIII CAPTAIN AND MATE Mike Murphy would have given the launch a speed of fifty miles an hour had it been in his power, so impatient was he to reach the thieves who had not only stolen the launch, but had insulted and defied him. He would not pause to secure the _Deerfoot_, but would leap ashore the instant he was within reach of it. Taunting and gibing him, the miscreants waited until hardly a dozen yards separated them. Then they wheeled about and dashed into the woods as fast as they could go! Though there were two and each was older than he, they dared not meet him in fair fight! Mike could have cried with rage and disappointment. He shouted his reproaches, hoping to anger them into coming back and standing their ground, and kept the launch going until her bow nearly touched the bank. Had there been any possibility of success, he would have made after them. But they buried themselves among the trees and he never saw them again. During those brief moments he had so plain a sight of their faces that he would have recognized them anywhere. He was surprised to know that he had never seen either before. They were not the couple with whom he and Alvin Landon had had the encounter some nights previous and who, both believed, were the thieves of the motor boat. Not to make a mystery of a comparatively unimportant matter, I may say that facts which afterward came to light showed that these young men had nothing to do with the robbery of the post offices in southern Maine, nor, so far as known, with any other crime, excepting the theft of the _Deerfoot_. Even in taking that they did not intend to keep or try to sell it. They were a couple of "city chaps" who, happening upon the craft by accident, yielded to the temptation to play a practical joke upon the unknown owners. Both had some knowledge of motor boating, and knowing that instant measures would be taken to recover the property, and beginning also to feel some misgivings as to the consequences, they ran into the cove with the intention of abandoning the _Deerfoot_, to be found sooner or later by the right parties. They were but a short distance off when the sound of the exhaust told them that some one had come aboard and they hastened back to learn who it was. Uncertain whether Mike Murphy had any more right to it than themselves they opened a bombardment, but when he so promptly accepted their challenge, they wasted no time in effecting a change of base, which carried them far beyond harm. Convinced that it was out of his power to bring the couple to account, Mike once more headed for the mouth of the small bay. He did not forget the boatman and swerved in to where he was patiently waiting. The youth was in high spirits over his success, barring his latest disappointment, and ran in quite close to the man. "I won't naad ye," he called, "but ye've airned yer fee all the same." Taking a half dollar from his pocket, Mike stood up. "Howld yersilf riddy!" he said, motioning to toss the coin to him. The boatman sprang to his feet and eagerly held his bony hands outspread. When the couple were nearest Mike tossed the silver piece, and he deftly caught it, though the motion of the launch came within a hair of carrying the money beyond reach. "Thank you kindly; you're a gentleman." "Which the same is what all me acquaintances remark whin they get a squar' look at me winsome countenance," said Mike, settling back in his seat. Now that he was once more plowing the waters of the broad Sheepscot, he spent a minute or two debating with himself what he ought to do. "Fortinitly I haven't any Captain or mate to consult--being that I'm both." His first thought was to head up the river in quest of his friends, but he did not know where to look for them. They would have left Charmount long before he could reach that point, and it would have taken many hours to stop at all the intermediate landings in the effort to trace them. Moreover, a not unnatural longing came over him to make the utmost of the privilege at his command. A thrilling pride filled him when he realized that he was the sole occupant of the _Deerfoot_, with no one to say nay to his plans. The handsome craft was obedient to his slightest whim and he could go whither he chose. The engine was working with perfect smoothness, and though lacking full practical knowledge, he believed he could run hither and yon for several days without trouble. Furthermore, his waggish disposition manifested itself. "I might as well give Alvin and Chester a run fur their money; they let the boat get away from them and it's mesilf that has the chance to taich them a big moral lesson; so here goes, as me second cousin said whin the bull throwed him over the fence." Midway in the channel, Mike turned the bow of the launch southward, leaving the Isle of Springs well to the left. A little later he shot past McMahans on his right, then Dog Fish Head opposite, followed by Hendrick Light, Cedarbrush Island, Cat Ledges and finally Lower Mark. He was now in Sheepscot Bay, fully four miles across. Although he did not know the names of the points and islands, his close study of the map had given him a general knowledge and he knew precisely where he was when he glided around Cape Newagen, which, as we remember, is the most southern reach of the big island of Southport. There his parents lived and Alvin and Chester made their summer home. Running close in shore he coasted northward and soon saw plainly the dwelling of Chester Haynes, but no person was in sight. A little farther the handsome residence of Mr. Landon--that is, when he chose to spend a few weeks there--rose to view. Mike preferred that his father should not see him, for he feared the consequences, but it so happened that the old gentleman had come down to the shore to fish and was seated on the rocks thus engaged. The very moment in which he caught sight of the launch he recognized it and rose to his feet. "Hello, dad!" shouted Mike, waving his hand at him. "Are ye alone?" asked the astonished parent. "That's what I am, as yer brother said whin he fell overboard." "Where are the byes?" "I left them up the river; they'll be back agin one of these days." Inasmuch as Mike showed no purpose of stopping, the father thought it time to assert his authority. "What do ye maan, ye spalpeen, by such outrageous thricks? Come right to land, and resave the whaling ye desarve. Do ye hear me?" "Thank ye, dad, for yer kind permission to take a sail; it's me intintion to return be morning or mayhap before. Don't worry, and tell mither I'm all right." "Ye'll be all right whin I lays me hands on ye!" The parent flung down his line and ran leaping along the rocks in the effort to keep abreast of the launch. He shook his fist and shouted: "Turn into land, confound ye! I'm aching to lay hands onto ye! DO YE HAAR ME?" "Ye always was a kind dad and I'll bring ye a pound of 'bacca from Boothbay or Squirrel Island. Good luck to ye!" And with a parting wave Mike turned away his head and gave his attention to guiding the craft which by a freak of fortune had come under his sole control. "I wonder if it will be aisy to make dad think the motion of the boat raised such a wind that it twisted his words so they didn't carry right. I doubt not that him and me will be obleeged to have a sittlement and I'll be the one to come out sicond best, as was the case wid all the folks that I had a shindy with." No wonder the Irish lad was exhilarated. He was seated in the cockpit of the finest motor launch seen for a long time in those waters, with his hands resting upon the wheel and the boat as obedient to his lightest touch as a gentle horse to the rein of its driver. The breeze caused by its swift motion made the flags at the prow and stern flutter and whip, and now and then give out a snapping sound. The sharp bow cut the clear cold water like a knife, sending a fanlike spread of foam that widened and lost itself behind the churning screw. The wind-shield guarded his face from so much as a zephyr, and the consciousness that among all the boats big and small in sight at varying distances, there was not one that could hold its own with the _Deerfoot_, was enough to stir his blood and make him shout for very joy. Mike was in a varying mood. His first impulse was to make for Boothbay Harbor, but he felt some misgiving about threading his way among the many craft that are always anchored or moored there. With the steamers coming and going, he might become confused over the signals and the right of way, with disastrous results to the launch. He had not yet learned the meaning of the toots of the whistle which Captain Alvin gave when crossing the bow of a larger boat, or when meeting it. He was only prudent, therefore, when he turned from the larger town and sped toward Squirrel Island. He observed the _Nellie G._ in the act of moving aside to make room for a mail steamer that had whistled its wishes, and half a hundred men, women and children were gathered on the wharf, with nothing to do but to watch the arrival and departure of boats. There were so many constantly going and coming at the height of the summer season that the only person, so far as Mike could see, who gave him a look was Captain Williams of the _Nellie G._ Mike had meant to land, but he feared he would become involved in a tangle, and sheered off. Captain Williams had backed out so far that he was brought up alongside the _Deerfoot_. He had done so often what he was now doing that it was instinctive on his part. He could have gone through the manoeuvre with his eyes shut. "Where are Alvin and Chester?" he asked from his little pilot house as he was gliding past. "I lift them behind. If ye maat them before I do, Captain, tell 'em I've slipped off on a little thrip to the owld counthry, but will soon return." "I'll tell them what you told me," said Captain Williams, giving his attention to his return to the wharf. CHAPTER XXIV "THIS IS WHERE I STOP" Night was closing in when Mike Murphy pointed the _Deerfoot_ northward and circled around the end of Squirrel Island, and turning eastward glided midway between it and Ocean Point, the lower extremity of Linekin Neck. He was now headed toward the ocean, and passed above Ram Island light. That being accomplished, he caught the swell of the Atlantic, long and heaving, but not enough so to cause him the least misgiving. He was doing a very rash thing. He ought to have gone to Southport and there awaited the return of his friends, but the reckless bent of his disposition caused him to make this excursion preparatory to returning home. "It will be something to brag about to the byes, as dad used to say whin his friends carried him home after he'd been battered up by them that engaged in a friendly dispoot with him." He decided to keep to the eastward until clear of the numerous islands, and then make a circuit and return to Southport. Now the National Motor Boat law contains a number of rigid requirements, of which Mike Murphy knew nothing. Such ignorance was excusable, since he had never been on the launch at night. His lack of knowledge on these points was almost certain to bring serious trouble. In the first place, the _Deerfoot_ belonged to what is known as the Second Class of motor boats, which includes all that are twenty-six feet or more and less than forty feet in length. Such craft are required to display at night a bright white light as near the stem as practicable and a white light aft to show all around the horizon. With these safeguards a motor boat can be easily located, except in a fog, when the foghorn must be kept going. As Mike plunged through the gloom he never thought of the necessity of displaying lights. It would be a miracle, therefore, if he was not overtaken by disaster. And yet it may be doubted whether such a precaution would have helped him, since he was equally ignorant of the rules of the road. If an approaching steamer or large craft sounded a single blast from its whistle, he would not have suspected that it was an order for him to go to starboard, or the right, or that two whistle blasts directed him to turn to port, or the opposite direction. Such are the rules by day. For government at night, the following doggerel is helpful: "When both side lights you see ahead, Port your helm and show your red, Green to green, or red to red, Perfect safety, go ahead. When upon your port is seen, A stranger's starboard light of green, There's not so much for you to do, For green to port keeps clear of you." All this, I repeat, was unknown to Mike, who having gone half a dozen miles to sea, decided it was time to circle about and return home. He retained a fair idea of his bearings. The distant glimmer of lights to the westward indicated, as he believed, Squirrel Island. Ram Island light was nearer, and the blinking star farthest away was the government warning on Burnt Island. All this was true, and the youth sitting with his hands on the wheel and gliding swiftly forward saw nothing to cause alarm. This self-complacency, however, was suddenly broken by the abrupt appearance of a white light dead ahead. A second glance told him it was not far off and was rapidly bearing down upon him. He swung over the steering wheel, so as to go to the right, but the next instant he saw that the big ship was still coming toward him as if determined to run him down. The startled Mike was so rattled for the moment, that instead of using his whistle, he sprang to his feet and shouted: "Kaap off! kaap off, or I'll run over ye!" It may be doubted whether his voice carried to anyone on the schooner, for none there could know that a small boat was directly ahead. Mike heard the rush of the water against her towering bow, saw the gleam of several lights, and for a moment believed it was all over with him. There were precious few seconds at his command, but pulling himself together, he whirled the wheel around and the next minute slid along the length of the black hull, so near that he could have touched it with his outstretched hand. One of the wondering crew chanced to catch sight of the small craft as it shot by and called out: "What boat is that?" "The _Olympic_ just come in from Cork!" "You fool! where are your lights?" "Don't need 'em. Ye may thank yer stars that I didn't run ye down and split ye in two, but don't get too gay wid me." It was a close call. Mike remembered now that he ought to have displayed lights, but he hesitated to leave the wheel for that purpose, and it seemed to him that nothing of the kind was likely to be repeated. "There'll be more lights showing by and by and I can git along without 'em." He did not dream that he was flagrantly violating the law and was liable to be punished therefore. His anxiety was now to get back to Southport without more delay. "It isn't on account of dad," he said to himself, "for he was so mad two hours ago that he can't get any madder, but it's mesilf that's beginning to feel lonely." He had been so much interested with every phase of his novel experience that, strange as it may seem, up to this time he had forgotten the lunch which he bought at the Isle of Springs before the boatman rowed him across to Westport. Suddenly it struck him that he was never in all his life so hungry. The sandwiches were somewhat mashed out of shape from having been carried so long in his pocket, but they could not have tasted better. "The one sad fayture about 'em is that there isn't a dozen times as many, as Barney O'Toole remarked whin he found he had only two Corkonians to fight. "I won't say anything about this ghost of a maal whin I arrive at home, and mither will be so touched wid pity that after reminding dad to give me a big whaling she will allow me to ate up all that happens to be in the house." A few minutes later, Mike became aware of a wonderfully strange thing: Burnt Island light instead of winking at him from the westward had danced round to the extremity of Linekin Neck, on the north. Not to be outdone, Ram Island light had whisked far up in the same direction. Other illuminations had also taken part in the mix-up till things were topsy turvy. You know that when a person is lost, the points of the compass seem to go astray, which peculiar fact will explain the mystification of Mike Murphy. He was sensible enough, however, to know that the confusion was with himself, and he held the boat to a true course. Not long after, he was startled by striking some obstruction, though so slight that it did not jar the craft. "And phwat could that be?" he asked, rising with one hand on the wheel while he peered into the gloom. "It couldn't have been that ship that got swung round and got in my way, and I run her down. If it was the same, she warn't showing any lights--ah! I mind what it is. The _Deerfut_ has run over somebody's lobster pot, which the same signifies that it's mesilf that is the biggest lobster of all fur coming thus out of me road." It will be recalled that the night was unusually dark, relieved now and then by bits of moonlight which struggled through the clouds. At no time, however, was Mike able to see more than a few rods in any direction. As a rule, he could barely make out the flag fluttering at the bow. Just beyond the point where he ran over the lobster pot, a rift in the clouds revealed the vague outlines of a small rowboat, and the head and shoulders of two men. If they carried a lighted lantern, it was in the bottom of their craft, and Mike saw nothing of it. They were so far to the right that there was no danger of collision, and he hailed them. "Ship ahoy! Where bound?" "None of yer bus'ness," was the answer. "Who are you?" "The same to yersilf; if I had ye on boord I'd hammer some good manners into ye." These threatening words evidently scared the couple, who, not knowing how many were on the larger boat, decided not to run any risk. Mike, despite his brief sojourn in Maine, had heard of the illegal practice of many persons on the coast who gathered lobsters of less length than the law prescribes. He could not avoid giving the men a parting shot: "I'll mind to report that ye are the spalpeens that are scooping in short lobsters." They made no reply, for it is not impossible that the youth spoke the truth when he made the charge. "I'm hoping that the world will soon get tired of twisting round the wrong way, for it's hard to convince mesilf that I'm not right, which the same don't often happen wid me. As I figure out it's a straight coorse to Southport. If me dad has forgot to show a signal light at home or at Mr. Landon's, I may run down the island before I obsarves the same--phwat does that maan?" The engine was plainly going badly, and the trouble steadily grew more marked. He had not the remotest idea of the cause. "I wonder now if the same is growing tired; I oughter been more marciful and give the ingine a rist." He listened closely, and a fear crept into his throat. If a breakdown should take place, he would be in bad situation, not knowing what to do and far beyond all help. Suddenly the engine came to a dead standstill. He swung the fly-wheel around but there was no response. The _Deerfoot_ was out of commission. He sighed: "Here's where I stop, as Terence O'Flaherty said whin he walked aginst the side of his house." CHAPTER XXV GOOD NEWS You will remember that Captain Alvin Landon and Second Mate Chester Haynes were disappointed, as in the nature of things was inevitable, in their search for the stolen motor boat _Deerfoot_, in the cove or small inlet at the lower end of Barter Island. The only glimpse they caught of a person on the launch, which bore a marked resemblance to their own, was when they first sighted the boat launch. Nothing was seen or heard of him afterward. With the stealthy care used in the approach, Alvin backwatered until the _Water Witch_ had faded from view in the darkness. Then he headed toward the southern shore, landing as nearly as he could at the spot where they first entered the small boat. It would have been an advantage had they taken an opposite course, thereby shortening the distance they would have to walk, but they wished to keep all knowledge of what they had done from the man in gray, and therefore returned the borrowed boat to its former place. They agreed that it was not best to spend the night in the woods as they had thought of doing. They might penetrate to a depth that would make it safe to kindle a fire, but they were without extra garments, and now that all necessity of staying in the neighborhood had passed, they were anxious to get away from it as soon as possible. The stolen launch must be sought for elsewhere, and they were concerned for the safety of Mike Murphy, whose impulsive aggressiveness was almost certain to lead him into trouble by this time. Accordingly, the two once more tramped around the head of the inlet, and with better fortune than might have been expected, struck the beginning of the highway on which stood the humble home of Uncle Ben Trotwood. The hour was so late that they were sure the couple had gone to bed long before, but were pleased to catch a twinkle of light from the front window, beside which the old man was so fond of sitting. The knock of Alvin was promptly answered by the thunderous "Come in!" and the two stepped across the threshold. "You hardly expected us back so soon," said Alvin, after the salutation, "but it was a choice of spending the night out doors or sleeping under your roof." Uncle Ben was seated in his rocking chair, slowly puffing his pipe. Peggy his wife had finished her sewing and was making ready to go upstairs. "Young chaps, you're welcome. I jedge you've been disapp'inted." "Yes," answered Alvin, who thereupon told his story. "Our motor boat is somewhere else; I don't see how anyone can go far with it, and we're sure of getting on its track to-morrow. At any rate we sha'n't rest till we have it back." "That little boat you've been telling me about b'longs to my son Jim. If I had thought I'd told you of it, for I can see it would have sarved you well. But it's a qu'ar story you tell me. Who is that man you speak of as was dressed in gray?" "He's one of the post office robbers, of course," was the confident reply of Chester. "I don't understand some of the things he's done," remarked Uncle Ben. "It looks as if he has been keeping tabs on us." Uncle Ben seemed to fall into a brown study or he was debating some question with himself. He was gazing at the cheap picture on the opposite wall, but saw it no more than he did the other three persons in the room. His wife knew his moods and studied the wrinkled countenance, as did Alvin and Chester. Finally she ended the stillness by sharply asking: "Why don't you speak, Benjamin? I know what's in your mind." He pulled himself abruptly together. "If you know, what's the use of my telling?" "That these young gentlemen may larn, though your thoughts ain't wuth much." He took a whiff or two, removed the pipe and with a whimsical grin remarked: "I was just thinking--Oh pshaw! what's the use?" He shook his head and refused to explain further. It may seem a small matter hardly worth the telling, but it would have been well had he made his explanation. The alert brain of the octogenarian had glimpsed something of which the youths had not as yet caught the faintest glimmer. "Do you know what I think?" he asked, bending his kindly eyes upon his callers. "We are waiting to learn," was Alvin's quick reply. "It's time we all went to bed; Peggy will show you your room and I'll foller as soon as I finish this and a couple of pipes more. Off with you!" The old lady lighted the candle from another that was burning in an old-fashioned candlestick on the mantel and nodded to them to follow her. At the head of the short stairs she pushed open a door leading into a small room, furnished with a bed, a rag carpet, and everything the pink of neatness. Stepping within she set the light on the small stand, and then with an odd smile on her worn countenance said almost in a whisper: "I found what you put under your plates, but didn't let _him_ know about it; he would have made me give back the money to you, and I know you didn't want me to do that." "Of course not," said Chester a little taken back, as was also his companion; "that was meant for you and we wish you to keep it." "That's what I thought. Ben is cranky. To-morrow morning at breakfast, you must be careful he doesn't catch you when you do it again. Good night and pleasant dreams." The boys looked in each other's faces, and laughed after closing the door. "Uncle Ben's wife is more thrifty than he," said Alvin; "but I am glad she kept the money, for she deserves it." "And we mustn't forget that pointed hint she let fall. But, Alvin, my supply of funds is running low. You will have to help me out if we stay here for a week." "I have enough to see us through, but I don't believe there will be much more expense on our trip home." A few minutes later they snuggled down in the soft bed and slept as sweetly as a couple of infants. It need not be said that neither forgot to slip a tip under his plate at the breakfast table and made sure that Uncle Ben did not observe the act. It may have been because Peggy was expecting it that she saw it and smiled. Alvin and Chester could feel only pleasure over the little by-play, for nothing could surpass her kindness and hospitality to them. "Wal," was the cheery remark of Uncle Ben, as he lighted his pipe the moment the morning meal was over, "I 'spose you'll be back in time for supper." "Hardly, though we should be mighty glad to come." "I'm sorry, but you know you're as welcome as the birds in spring." "We know that and we cannot thank you too much. I wish you would allow us to pay you something for all you have done." "None of that!" warned Uncle Ben, with a peremptory wave of his hand. "We don't keep a hotel, and wish more folks would come and oftener." The lads had decided upon retracing the course of the day before. That was to walk back to Sawyer Island and there take the first steamer south, keeping the same keen lookout on the way for the _Deerfoot_, but making no halt unless they actually caught sight of the motor boat. The jaunt from Barter to Sawyer Island was play for two rugged youths, accustomed to athletics and brisk exercise, and was made in a little more than an hour. The day promised to be warm and sunshiny, but would not be oppressive, and they felt no fatigue when they reached the well-known landing. Upon inquiry they were told that the _Island Belle_ on its way to Boothbay Harbor would not arrive until nearly two hours, and for that period they must content themselves as best they could. "Why not send a telegram to Mr. Richards?" asked Chester. "He knows what we are trying to do, and, like the good fellow he is, will help us all he can. He may have picked up something worth telling." "Mike would say, if he were here, the suggestion is a good one, as some of his relatives remarked when they were invited to take a hand in a shindy. I'll do it." Stepping into the little post office, which reminded them of the one at Charmount and its bright young miss, Alvin sent a brief inquiry to K. H. Richards, Boothbay Harbor: "Please let me know whether you have learned anything of the _Deerfoot_. I shall be here for not quite two hours. "ALVIN LANDON." "More than likely Mr. Richards isn't at home; he is continually on the go and may be in Portland or Augusta," said Chester. "I think the message will catch him; I remember the bank of which he is president holds a regular meeting of directors to-day and he rarely misses any of them." Barely half an hour had elapsed, when the young man who was the operator called to the youths as they strolled into the room: "Here's your answer." Alvin took the yellow slip. Chester stood at his elbow and read the message over his shoulder. "Your boat has been found. "K. H. RICHARDS." "Gee!" exclaimed the delighted Alvin; "isn't that fine? I didn't count on such good luck as that." "But why didn't he give some particulars? He could have sent several words more without extra cost. Not a thing about Mike. We have enough time to learn something. Try it again." In a twinkling, a second message flashed over the wire. Mr. Richards was begged to telegraph at Alvin's expense, giving fuller information, and especially whether Mike Murphy had had anything to do with the recovery of the motor boat. CHAPTER XXVI DISQUIETING NEWS The reply to the telegram was delayed so long that the _Island Belle_ was in sight when the operator handed it to the impatient Alvin. "Mr. Richards has gone to Mouse Island. No saying when he will return. "G. R. WESTERFIELD." "We shall have to wait till we get home," commented Chester, "and that won't be long." The well-known steamer _Island Belle_ is a good boat of moderate speed, and pursuing its winding course was moored at the wharf in Boothbay Harbor before noon. The boys had kept a sharp lookout for the stolen launch, but did not get a glimpse of it. Beyond the brief message of Mr. Richards they were wholly in the dark, and since he was absent they did not know whom to question. They could easily have hired a boat to take them to Mouse Island, less than two miles away, but the chances were that when they reached there they would learn that their friend had gone somewhere else. While the youths stood debating on the low float, they observed the _Nellie G._ coming in. The genial bewhiskered Captain Williams in the pilot house recognized them and waved his hand. Then for a few minutes he was busy making fast and seeing that his passengers landed safely. Everybody knows and likes the captain, and as soon as he was at leisure the boys stepped up to him and shook hands warmly. "I'm glad you've got your boat back," he remarked, when they had talked for a few minutes. "We heard that it had been found," said Alvin, "but we haven't seen it since it was stolen yesterday. Have you?" "I saw it yesterday afternoon when I was over at Squirrel Island." "Where?" asked the astonished Alvin. "Why, I talked with the wild Irishman who had it in charge." "Do you mean Mike Murphy?" "I'm not certain of his last name, but they call him Mike, and he is redheaded, with the most freckled face I ever saw." "That's our Mike!" exclaimed the delighted Chester. "Tell us about it." "There isn't much to tell," replied Captain Williams. "I had just backed out to make room for a steamer, when I saw the _Deerfoot_ going by and headed north. That Irish lad was at the steering wheel and was grinning so hard that the corners of his mouth touched his ears. Not seeing either of you, I asked him where you were. He said he had left you behind, and if I met you before he did I was to say he had slipped off on a little trip to the 'owld counthry.'" "That identifies him as much as his looks. Did you see anything more of him?" "I had to give attention to the _Nellie_, but I caught sight of him as he started round the upper end of Squirrel and turned to the eastward. That's the course he would follow," added Captain Williams, with a smile, "if he meant to take the voyage he spoke of." For the first time since hearing the good news, each of the youths felt misgiving. While it was impossible that Mike Murphy had any intention of going far out, he did not need to proceed many miles to run into alarming danger. His knowledge of motor boats was so limited that the slightest difficulty with the engine would render him helpless. He had done an exceedingly rash thing, though in truth no more than was to be expected of him. A full night had passed since he was met by Captain Williams, who in answer to the anxious question of Alvin repeated that he had not seen or heard of the _Deerfoot_ since late on the preceding afternoon. With his usual shrewdness, he added: "If you want my advice it is that you hire a launch and start after that boat of yours and don't throw away any time in doing so." "Your advice is good," said Alvin gratefully, "and shall be followed." Bidding good day to their friend, they set out to hire a launch--an easy thing to do during the summer season at Boothbay, when boatmen reap their harvest. The boys found exactly what they wanted in the shape of a 28-foot runabout, forty horse power, four-cylinder gasoline engine, with a guaranteed speed of twenty miles an hour. It belonged to a wealthy visitor, who having been suddenly called to New York on business, gave his man permission to pick up an honest penny or two by means of the pleasure boat left behind. Although such craft are easily provided with an automobile type of canopy as a protection against the weather, there was none on the _Shark_. But there was a plate glass wind-shield forward, which shut out the flying spray when the boat was going at high speed. The seats were athwartship and would accommodate four persons at a pinch and were tastefully upholstered in leather. The young man who had charge of the _Shark_ was glum and reserved, but inasmuch as Alvin promptly agreed to his somewhat exorbitant terms, he was anxious to oblige. Alvin thought it best to explain the situation before they started. "George" listened silently until the story was finished, when he nodded his head: "I know the _Deerfoot_; ain't a finer craft in these waters. Wish I owned her." "When did you see her last?" "Yesterday afternoon." "Where?" "Just off Southport. The Irish bonehead was talking with his father, as I suppose it was, while going past without stopping." This was interesting information. George was asked to go first to the shore of that island, as near as he could get to the home of Alvin and that of the caretaker, Pat Murphy, the father of Mike. The run was about five miles past Mouse, Burnt, Capitol and opposite the lower end of Squirrel Island. Just to show what the _Shark_ could do she covered the distance in eighteen minutes. The faint hope that the _Deerfoot_ would be found at the small landing constructed for her did not last long, for she would have been in sight almost from the first, and nothing was to be seen of her. Pat Murphy was not visible, but a few tootings of the compressed air whistle brought him from his house, where he was eating his midday meal. So great was his haste indeed that he left his hat behind. While he was hurrying to the rocks, his wife opened the door and stood apparently motionless to hear what passed. "Hello, Pat!" called Alvin. "Do you know where Mike is?" "Bedad! it's mesilf that wish I did!" called back the angry parent. "Didn't he sail by here yester afternoon, his chist sticking out and himsilf putting on airs and pretending he didn't understand what I said whin I towld him to come ashore?" "He ought to be ashamed of himself, but you mustn't feel too bitter toward him; it was the first time he had a chance to handle our boat." "And how the dooce did he git that same chance? What were ye thinking of, Alvin, to let such a blunderhead manage yer craft? Aye, he's a blunderhead and the son of a bigger one." "No one will deny what ye last said," remarked the wife in the door. Even the glum George smiled at the man who did not catch the full meaning of his own words. "Wait till the spalpeen coomes home," added Pat, with a shake of his head, "and I'll squar' things wid him." "You have seen nothing of him to-day?" "I haven't saan a smell--bad cess to him!" "Well, we hope to bring him home very soon." "It's mesilf that is hoping ye'll soon do it." Alvin gave the word to George, who set the engine going and headed to the northeast. "I wish I could find some one who met Mike and the _Deerfoot_ after his father and Captain Williams saw her." "I did," calmly spoke the boatman. "You!" exclaimed the amazed Alvin; "what do you mean?" "I saw him just as it was growing dark." "Where?" "A gentleman and lady took the walk yesterday afternoon from Boothbay over the Indian Trail to Spruce Point, where I met them late in the afternoon. Then the water being very calm, I went round to Ocean Point at the end of Linekin Neck, where they went ashore for a half hour or so. I stayed in my boat waiting for them, when I happened to look south toward Ram Island, expecting the light to show pretty soon. While I was staring I caught sight of your boat, the _Deerfoot_, heading out to sea." "Are you sure you weren't mistaken?" asked Chester. "Couldn't it have been some other boat that resembles her?" "I might have thought so if I hadn't used my glasses--them that are lying on the seat alongside of you. When I took a good look through them, everything was as plain as the nose on your face." "Did you notice the one at the wheel?" "So plain there couldn't be any mistake about it. It was that redheaded Irish chap that you've been talking about." "And he was alone?" "If there was anyone with him he kept out of sight." "Did you watch the _Deerfoot_ after that?" "For only a few minutes; my folks soon came back, not staying as long as they intended, but when they stepped aboard I cast one more look out to sea. It was so dark by that time that I could just see the boat fading from sight. She was still headed straight to the eastward, as if the fool really meant to try to cross the Atlantic. I should have used the glasses again, but I was too busy attending to my boat. As I circled about to start for home, Ram Island light flashed out, so you can know the day was pretty well gone." "And you have seen nothing of the _Deerfoot_ since?" asked Alvin, with a sinking heart. "No; I don't believe anyone else has; and," added George, dropping his voice, "I don't believe you will ever see Mike Murphy again!" CHAPTER XXVII AN ALARMING FACT Neither Alvin nor Chester asked their companion to explain his startling words, for there was no need to do so: only one meaning could be given them. "How far dare you venture out with the _Shark_?" asked Alvin of the master of the little boat. He shook his head. "She isn't built for rough weather." "I know that, but the sea is unusually calm, and there isn't the slightest danger." "Not just now, but there's no saying when a blow may come up that will swamp me before I can run to cover." "I have no wish to ask you to go into danger and will only request you to push out as far as you are willing." George must have known something of the youth who had hired him, that he was the son of a very wealthy father, and willingly paid a high price for one's services. The boatman scanned the sky and different points of the compass. So far as he could judge, the weather would remain fair for hours to come. In the hope of heartening him Chester said: "With your boat capable of making twenty miles an hour, you can turn back whenever you think best and run into one of the many harbors in half an hour." "True enough," grinned George, "if I'm within reach of 'em. I don't mind trying it a little while longer, but not for many miles." He slowed down, for the spray dashed over the wind-shield, and it was plain the swells were increasing, or rather the boat was plunging into a region where they were growing larger. The chums did not say anything to him for a considerable time. He could tell them nothing more and they ought not to distract his attention. They were in a fever of dread, for never before had the outlook been so gloomy for Mike Murphy. The youths even hesitated to speak to each other, for neither could say anything of a cheering nature. Alvin picked up the binoculars and rising to his feet and steadying himself as the prow rose and dived, carefully scanned the far-reaching half circle of the Atlantic. The form of a brig dimly observable by the naked eye, as it headed toward Pemaquid Point, was brought out with a distinctness that caused an exclamation of surprise. "What a fine instrument! It equals those our government buys from Germany for the use of the army and navy. Chester, look at that fishing boat toward Inner Heron Island." His companion stood up, balanced himself, shaded his brow and wrinkled his forehead with the strain of the attempt. "I see the two men as plainly as if they were no more than a hundred feet away." He slowly swept the horizon and enjoyed the visual feast to the full. Far out to sea the smoke of a steamer trailed against the sky, the hull hidden by the convexity of the earth, and nearer in a schooner had caught enough wind to belly her sails and cause her to heel over as she sped outward. Pemaquid Point showed clearly to the northwest. The fort, more than two centuries old, is at Pemaquid Beach several miles north. Nearer rose Thrumbcap Island, south of the Thread of Life ledges, Crow Island, and large Rutherford Island, almost cut in two by Christmas Cove. To the left was Inner Heron, and on the other side of the broad mouth of the Damariscotta River, the long, narrow Linekin Neck reaching northward to East Boothbay. Scanning the sweep of water to the south and west many other islands were seen--Ram, Fisherman, the Hypocrites, White, Outer Heron, Damariscove, Pumpkin and some so small that they are not known by any name. But nowhere on the waste of heaving water did the eager eye discern the lost _Deerfoot_, though boats of varying sizes and models trailed across the field of vision. Alvin joined in the scrutiny, but with no more success, and was thus engaged when he became aware of a sharp turn in the course of the _Shark_. Looking down at the wheelman, he saw that the boat was making a circle. "What's the matter, George?" he asked, though he knew the meaning of the movement. "It won't do to go any farther; I've already pushed too many miles out." "There's nothing to be gained by taking the same route back; turn south so as to pass below Fisherman Island." "I don't see any objection to that," muttered George, doing as requested, and holding the boat to a fairly moderate speed. The runabout was now heading southwest, with the purpose of thus continuing for a couple of miles, when she would swing round and make for Squirrel Island and so on to Boothbay Harbor. She was still driving in that direction, when George said to Alvin: "You have run your motor boat often enough to understand her pretty well." "I hope so." "There isn't much left for him to learn," was the comment of Chester. "Take the wheel for a bit; you know the course as well as me." "I am glad to relieve you," said Alvin, quickly changing places with the young man. "It isn't that, but I suspect my eyes are a little better than yours; I want to use the glass awhile." For several minutes the silence was broken only by the splash of the water against the bow of the runabout, which plowed her way with ease and grace. Chester Haynes resumed his seat and gave his chief attention to George, who was on his feet and slowly sweeping the visible horizon. The binoculars moved deliberately to and fro, with none of the three speaking a word. By and by the young man held the instrument pointed to the north, a little to the right of the narrow fringe of islands with the odd name of the Hypocrites. He was not studying this insignificant group, but, as has been said, was looking a little to one side, toward Inner Heron, three miles away. Pausing in the circling of the glasses, he held them immovable for two or three minutes. "It looks as if he sees something," reflected Chester, with his eyes on the man, while Alvin simply peered ahead and held the _Shark_ to her course. George muttered something, but Chester could not catch the words. Suddenly he lowered the binoculars and asked Alvin to change places again with him. When this was done he handed the instrument to the youth, with the direction: "Point her that way," indicating the north, "and if you study closely you'll notice something." Without reply, Alvin spread his feet apart to steady himself and levelled the glass at the point named. The next moment he exclaimed in great excitement: "By gracious! I certainly believe it's the _Deerfoot_!" Chester sprang up and reached for the binoculars, but his chum was not ready to hand them over. "It looks like her, but I'm not certain. What do you say, George?" "It's her," was the ungrammatical but emphatic response. The news almost overcame Alvin, who, passing the glasses to Chester, dropped into his seat, that he might pull himself together. The launch was a mile off and in so plain sight that the wonder was it had not been seen before. It was headed diagonally toward Linekin Neck and seemed to be going very slowly. "Let me have another look," said George, who retained his place at the wheel, while at the same time manipulating the instrument. This time he did not continue his scrutiny as long as before. While so engaged, the youths used their unassisted eyes. The _Deerfoot_, as she undoubtedly was, could be seen in the position named, though of course with less distinctness than through the binoculars. "She doesn't seem to make much progress," remarked Alvin, with an inquiring look at George, who swung the wheel over so as to head toward the motor boat. He did not reply to the words of the youth, to whom he again handed the instrument. Alvin persisted: "How do you explain it?" "She only moves as the current carries her." "Do you mean she is drifting?" "That's it." A look told Alvin the young man had spoken the truth. "That means she has broken down," suggested Chester, uttering the thought that was in both of the minds of his companions. "It can't mean anything else," said George, who evidently kept back some of his fancies. "Whistle to him," suggested Alvin. A series of tootings were sent out. They were not loud, but in the stillness must have gone beyond the _Deerfoot_. The three listened, but heard no response. "I knew there wouldn't be," commented George. "Why not?" He shook his head, but did not speak further. After another study of his own boat through the glass, Alvin remarked uneasily: "I don't see anything of Mike. George, did you notice him?" George shook his head without looking round. "What do you think, Chester?" asked his friend. "Probably he has been up all night and has fallen asleep," was the reply of Chester, spoken with so much confidence that for the moment it quieted the alarm of the other. "That would be just like Mike. Something has gone wrong with the engine and he hasn't the first idea of what he should do to repair it; so when worn out, he has lain down and gone to sleep. We shall have the joke on Mike when we see him." George's lips were compressed and he remained silent until half the intervening distance was passed; then he looked over his shoulder. "Young men, the reason you don't see Mike _is because he isn't on that boat_!" CHAPTER XXVIII THE CRY ACROSS THE WATERS The words of George struck Alvin and Chester like "the knell of doom." They looked in each other's faces, white and silent for a brief spell; then Alvin whispered: "He must have fallen overboard." "And he couldn't swim a stroke," added Chester, in the same husky undertone. They said no more, but, keeping their feet, stared at the _Deerfoot_ wallowing in the gentle sea, like a helpless wreck. A faint hope sprang up in their hearts that, after all, Mike might have been overcome by sleep and would be found curled up in the cockpit. They could not see the bottom of the compartment until quite near. Then a single searching glance told them it was empty. He might have crept under the deck forward or aft, but it was hardly possible he had done so. George ran the _Shark_ with skill close beside the other boat. The moment it was within reach Alvin leaped across, landing on the stern, from which he bounded down into the cockpit and peered into the obscurity in front. That too was devoid of a sign of life. He and his chum were the only ones on the motor boat. Now that their worst fears seemed to be confirmed a strange calmness came over both. Their voices were low but even, as are those of people in the presence of death. "What do you think stopped the boat?" asked Chester. "It is easy to find out." His first action answered the question. A glance into the gasoline tank showed that it was empty of all fluid. The source of power had been used up. "There may have been other causes, but that was enough," remarked Alvin. "I'll look into things on our way back." His first plan was to borrow enough gasoline from George to run the _Deerfoot_ on the homeward trip, but George thought he had none to spare. "I can tow you to town," he added. "That will do as well." The tow-line was passed over the bow and George made it fast to a cleat on the stern deck of the _Shark_. Then he resumed his moderate speed toward Boothbay Harbor. It was not a long run and Alvin spent much of the time in inspecting the mechanism of his motor boat. To repress so far as he could his profound grief, he kept up a running commentary or explanation to Chester, who really did not require it, for he knew a good deal about motor boats. But he listened as if it were all new to him, and asked questions. His purpose was the same as his friend's: they talked about everything else in the vain effort to keep their minds from the awful theme that bowed them both with a sorrow they had never known before. "If when the ignition system is in good order, the carburettor properly adjusted and the compression cocks closed, there is a lack of power, it may be due to carbon or some foreign substance on the seats of the exhaust or inlet valves. Even so small a thing as a flake of metal or of emery left from a former grinding may lodge on the valve seat or under the valve stem and cause loss of power, or a crack in the head of the piston or cylinder or a broken or worn piston ring may give the same result." "I have heard of those and other causes," said Chester, as the two sat side by side, "but what is the most common one?" "The valves, when they need grinding. I have not had that trouble yet with the _Deerfoot_, and when I do I shall not try to do the grinding myself. The work is so delicate that it should be done only by an expert mechanic." "What causes backfiring, through the carburettor, Alvin?" "The ignition of the gas in the inlet pipe by a flame in the cylinder left over from a former explosion after the inlet valve opens, or by too weak a mixture, by dirt in the carburettor, a leaky inlet valve, or too small a fuel pipe. I have known an open throttle and late spark to cause backfiring. If with low speed and a little more feeding of fuel the backfiring continues, you must look for carbon deposits in the combustion chamber." "Many persons are puzzled by explosions in the muffler. Are you?" "I learned from my instructor that they are produced by an unignited charge entering the muffler and being fired by the hot gases from the next explosion in the cylinder. This does no harm, and if the muffler is strong is a good thing, for it blows out the smoke and dirt that have accumulated." "The trouble with--with--_him_, you say, was the lack of fuel." "Yes, but he might have had plenty of gasoline and found the engine dead on his hands. Water or dirt in the carburettor plays the mischief." And so the questions and answers went on--so many of them that you would find their reading tedious. The pitiful part of the whole business was that, as I have said, Chester could have made clear everything asked as well as his chum and the chum knew it. It was a pathetic attempt to hold their minds from the one gruesome, oppressive truth. But they were too manly to shirk their duty. Nothing was to be gained by turning from that which sooner or later must be faced. Two of the saddest calls upon them must be answered. "Shall we search for the body before letting his father and mother know?" asked Chester, when they had passed McKown Point and were entering the harbor of Boothbay. "I don't know what is best. They will soon hear of it and will be frantic until the body is found." "It is not likely to come up and float for several days, and there's no saying where the currents will take it. A few years ago a fisherman was drowned off the eastern side of Squirrel and was found a week later several miles up the Damariscotta. Some one will come upon poor Mike sooner or later, when not looking for him." "Our search may be a short one, for I don't think the body will drift far for some time to come. We must not stop until it is found." "Now no one beside ourselves knows what has happened except George, who is towing us. We will get him to say nothing about it, until he has permission from us. In that way the secret will be safe for a few days." George gave his promise, and the boys decided not to make the woeful truth known to the parents until all hope of recovering the body through their efforts was gone. For years a huge box-like structure has floated in the harbor of Boothbay, upon which is painted in big letters the announcement that it has gasoline for sale. Towed beside this, Alvin speedily had his tank filled with the fuel. The inspection which he had made of his launch showed that nothing was the matter with it, and when put to the test the engine ran with its usual ease and smoothness. He paid George for his services, taking the occasion to remind him of his pledge to say nothing about their unfortunate friend until he received permission. Then, without going to the float or wharf, where many landings are made, Alvin whirled over the wheel, turned the boat round and headed southward toward the Atlantic Ocean. Naturally it seemed to them that their search should begin in the neighborhood of where the drifting _Deerfoot_ was discovered. It was strange that with vessels of all kinds passing at no great distance none of them had noticed the plight of the motor boat. Had it not been taken in tow by the runabout, it could not have remained an estray much longer. Passing to the eastward of Squirrel Island, Alvin continued southward until he had rounded Fisherman, when he diverged so as to leave the Hypocrites on his left and the upper of the White Islands on his right. This brought him into the section where the derelict had been sighted. "Now," said Chester, who sat directly behind his chum and close enough for both to talk freely, "if poor Mike had known how to swim there might be a faint hope that he had reached one of the small islands not far off." "I can't understand how he could have fallen overboard; it would seem that when he found himself going, he would have grasped something. He might have seized hold of one of the propeller blades." "To do that he would have had to keep himself afloat for a brief time, and we know he could not do that." Alvin always carried a pair of binoculars on the boat, though they were not the equal in excellence of those belonging on the runabout. Chester made continual use of these, while the Captain depended upon his unassisted eyes to scan the waste of waters. He held the _Deerfoot_ to a low speed, for he meant to make the search as thorough as he could. "There's no saying how far out to sea Mike went before turning back----" "_Hark!_" gasped Alvin, almost leaping from his seat. And then through the soft still air they heard the call: "_Arrah, now, ye spalpeens! Come to me arms and obsarve me give an imitation of a gintleman starving to death!_" CHAPTER XXIX MAROONED To say the least, Mike Murphy was much disquieted when the engine of the _Deerfoot_ stopped dead and the boat began drifting in the darkness, no one could say whither. Not knowing the right thing to do, he seized hold of the fly-wheel, swung it back and forth and part way round, and then suddenly let go, as he had seen Alvin Landon do many times. Since there was no fuel in the tank, it need not be said that this effort was fruitless. "Whew!" he exclaimed at last as he straightened up; "if there was somebody here to tell me the right thing to do I'd do the same mighty quick, but this part of my eddycation was niglicted, as me grandmither said when the taicher asked her if she knowed the alphabet. "I 'spose now that there be lots of handles which if I turned 'em the right way would start this old thing, but if I swung 'em the wrong way--as I'd be sure to do--I'd bust her b'iler. So I'll not try." He sat down in one of the chairs to think, and his musings ran riot, but the end was always the same: it was utterly beyond his power to help himself out of the dilemma. "I'll have to drift and drift till morning comes; then if I'm not too fur out on the ocean somebody will pick me up. I'm thinking the same is a good idee to lay low, as me cousin remarked whin he was knocked down. Some boat is likely to run into me 'cause I haven't any lights burning, and as she's going by I'll grab her--whisht! phwat's that?" he asked himself, with a new thrill of alarm. The sound that had startled him was a distinct jar of the boat. At that moment, it was so dark he could not see beyond the flag at the bow of the launch. Nothing amiss was discerned in that direction, but a second bump caused him to glance to the left, and then he received the answer to his question. The boat had drifted against a pile of rocks, which come down to the edge of the sea on one of the two little uninhabited masses of sand and stones, known as the White Islands. This was the northern one, opposite Fisherman Island, from which it is separated by more than a mile of the sea. The sudden discovery rattled Mike for the moment and caused him to do a foolish thing, which he never would have done had he taken a half minute for reflection. His dread was that the boat would be battered to pieces on the rocks. With no thought of his own safety, he sprang from the cockpit, placed one foot on the gunwale and leaped as far as he could, his purpose being to push the craft clear. With all his strength--and he possessed a good deal of it--he barely succeeded. He fell on his face and knees, and had he not clutched desperately and seized a craggy point he would have slipped back into the water. What he ought to have done, as he recalled the next instant, was to use the pole on the boat to press against the rocks and shove the launch clear. That would have been easy and effective, but it was too late now to think of it. The reactive force of his body as he leaped drove the boat back perceptibly. Inasmuch as the current had swept it forward in the first place, the action would have been repeated but for a curious condition which quickly showed itself. Had the boat struck farther south, its return after being forced away would have occurred. Had it first drifted farther north it would have cleared the islet altogether, and continued floating toward the lower end of Southport, but it so came about that when the current regained control of the launch and shoved it westward again, it just cleared the northern end of the mass of rocks and was swallowed up in the enshrouding gloom. Mike Murphy stumbled as near as he could to the _Deerfoot_ and stared out in the darkness. A moment after it disappeared a partial clearing of the clouds in front of the moon brought it dimly into sight again. This lasted but a brief interval when it vanished for good. "Good-by," called the lad. "I did the best fur ye that I knowed, and now ye must take care of yersilf, which the same has to be done by Mike Murphy." The youth was a philosopher, and with his rugged health and naturally buoyant spirits he took the rosiest view he could of his situation. It was clear that in more than one respect he was better off on this mass of rocks and sand than in the launch--that is, during the darkness. So long as he was afloat with no lights burning, he was in great danger of being run down by some larger boat. In the event of such a calamity he was liable to be caught in a crush where his life preserver could not save him. But no such fate could overtake the lad while on the islet. The _Mauretania_ or _Lusitania_ or even the _Olympic_ could not run into that collection of rocks and sand without getting the worst of it. Now, as has been shown, Mike was really safer where he had landed, for no harm could come to him on White Island, yet his situation was anything but pleasant. He was marooned and could not leave his ocean prison without help. There was little hope of anything of the kind so long as night remained with him, but the morrow ought to bring rescue. Until then he must content himself as best he could. But he was not the one to sit down with folded hands. Nature had gifted him with a powerful voice and he fancied he might turn it to use. A twinkling light gliding or bobbing over the water here and there showed that not all the world was asleep. His own experience told him he had neighbors. Accordingly he lifted up his voice and shouted with might and main: "Hilp! hilp! somebody come to me hilp!" He directed the tones toward different points of the compass, but a half hour passed, during which perforce he often rested, without any sign of success. And then he was thrilled by what resembled a lantern, twinkling from the direction of the Hypocrites to the westward. He renewed his call, and to add force to it, waved his arms and danced up and down on the rock to whose top he had climbed, though of course such antics were of no help. Fifteen minutes removed all doubt. The light, sinking and falling with the moderate waves, was drawing nearer. Although his voice had grown husky, he spared it not. "Right this way! Don't be afeard! I won't hurt ye! Hurry up, ye spalpeens!" A hundred yards or so off--too far for him to see the boat or its occupants--the rowers paused. From out the gloom came the call: "Hello there! what's the matter?" "I'm shipwrecked! Come and take me off!" The words must have sounded suspicious to those for whom they were intended. "How came you to be cast away?" "I landed here awhile ago and when I warn't looking me owld boat slipped from me, bad cess to her!" This was less satisfactory to the two men, who were probably robbing lobster pots. They talked together for a few minutes, though the anxious listener could not hear what they said. "What boat was it?" asked the one who acted as spokesman. "The _Deerfut_--a motor boat that b'longs to me friend Alvin Landon, whose dad owns half the city of New York. He'll give ye a million dollars fur taking care of Mike Murphy, which is mesilf." This announcement had an altogether different effect from what the youth expected. "If you're worth that much we'll let some one else earn the money. Good night!" It was an act of wanton cruelty, but it is a fact none the less that the couple closed their ears to the appeal and rowed away in the darkness. When certain that they were deserting him Mike changed the tenor of his prayer and urged them to come back long enough to receive the chastisement he was aching to give them. It was a bitter disappointment, but the lad felt he had more cause to be grateful to heaven that he had to repine. "I may as well make up me mind to stay here a bit, as Jim O'Toole said whin he begun his ten years sintence in jail. The weather is mild, and though it looks like rain I don't think it will come yet awhile. I'll saak me couch and go to sleep." The danger of bruises from a fall prevented his groping long for shelter. Exposed to the open sea the islet was swept by a gentle breeze which brought the ocean's coolness with it. After much care and patience, he found a place where he was quite well screened. Passing his hands over the rough surface, he said with a touch of his waggishness which seemed never to leave him: "This is softer than anywhere ilse, as me mother said whin she took her hands out of the dough and laid 'em on me head." Mike never forgot his prayers, and when he lay down he was in a thankful frame of mind despite the trying experiences through which he had passed. Quite soon he was sleeping as profoundly as if in his bed at home. Such is the reward of good habits and right living. The night must have been well along when he sank into unconsciousness. That his tired body needed the rest was proved by the fact that he did not open his eyes until half the next day was past. He felt stiff and cramped from lying so long on his hard couch, and it was several minutes before he recalled all the events of the preceding day and night. Climbing to the top of the highest rock he gazed out over the waters. He felt no concern for the _Deerfoot_, which had played him the shabby trick, for if he saw it he could expect nothing from it. His most poignant consciousness was that he never was so hungry in his life. He could not recall that he had ever gone without food so long, and his craving gave him more anxiety than did the future. In whichever direction he turned his gaze he saw small boats, schooners, brigs, steamers and various kinds of vessels, most of them too far off for him to hope to attract their attention. The nearest was a schooner, more than a mile away and gliding northward. It so happened that much the larger number of craft were heading outward. Mike shrewdly reflected: "If they pick me up they'll niver turn round to take me home, but will speed away to the ither side of the world. I must catch one of 'em that's coming in, so he won't lose time in giving me a lift." He picked his way to the southern end of the islet, where a broad sweep of water separated him from the other bit of land, and gazed out over the vast Atlantic which swept from horizon to horizon. "I would display a flag of distriss on the top of a pole, if it warn't fur two raisons. The first is I haven't any pole to erict on these rocks, and the ither is that I'd have to use me own clothes for the flag, which the same would be apt to drive away all hilp." Mike Murphy cut a strange figure, dancing, shouting, swinging his arms and waving his cap, but sad to say not a solitary person seemed to see him, or else he not did think it worth while to give further attention to the marooned youth. "It looks loike it will be a failure, as Tim Ryan said whin he tried to throw the prize bull over a stone wall." Accordingly, Mike returned to the upper end of the islet to learn whether any hope lay in that direction. His growing fear was that he was in danger of starving to death. "Anither night will doot," he said, despairing for the moment--"PHWAT!" The first look northward showed him the _Deerfoot_, speeding past barely a fourth of a mile distant. Had he not spent so much time at the other end of his refuge he would have observed her long before. He stood for a spell unable to believe the evidence of his senses. Then, when the glorious truth burst upon him, he uttered the words that have already been recorded. CHAPTER XXX A NEW ENGLAND HOME COMING The amazement of Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes was as overwhelming as that of Mike Murphy. For a brief while they stared across the water, without the Captain shifting the wheel. It is said that a person's voice is the surest means of disclosing his identity, but Mike's tones did not sound natural because of their hoarseness. There was no mistaking that sturdy figure, however, that stood on the top of one of the rocks, acting like a lunatic, as indeed he was for the moment. The boat was brought as close to shore as was safe, where Mike stood waiting. Letting go of the wheel, Alvin stepped forward and reached out his hand, which was grasped by the lad, who leaped aboard. The scene that followed would have brought moisture to the eyes of the most indifferent spectator. Alvin flung his arms about the neck of Mike, with a fervent "Thank God!" and Mike responded in kind. Then Chester did the same, and for a moment none spoke because he could not. "Arrah, now! don't be childers! Brace up the same as mesilf and be a mon! Did ye iver see me betray sich foolish waakness? It's mesilf that's ashamed----" Mike's voice suddenly broke, and dropping onto the nearest seat, he impulsively covered his face with his hands and with heaving shoulders sobbed as if the fountains of his grief were broken up. His friends smiled, but it was through their tears. The boat drifted from the rocks, and for some length of time the propeller was motionless. Mike was the first to recover his self-control. He was laughing as with his handkerchief he wiped his eyes. "Begorra! it's a fool that I am, as Jerry Connolly remarked whin he mistook a billiard ball for a pratie. I say, byes, will ye do me a favor?" "There isn't anything we wouldn't gladly do for you," replied Alvin, taking his place at the wheel and moving the lever which set the screw revolving. "Both of ye sarch yer clothes and saa whither ye haven't a few loaves of bread, some biled praties and a pound or two of maat hidden in the same." "I'm sorry to say, Mike," replied Chester, "that we haven't a mouthful of food here on board. We have already had our dinner." "And the only maal I've got is the one I've got to git." "We'll make all haste to Boothbay where you shall have the biggest feast of your life," said Alvin, giving the craft full speed with her nose pointed to the northwest. "And whin I'm through there'll be a famine started in the town, as was always the case whin dad took his dinner in any of the near-by places at home." As the _Deerfoot_ cut her way through the water with a speed that sent the spray flying over the wind-shield, Mike told his story, which you may be sure was listened to with rapt interest by his friends. They in turn gave him all the facts that were new to him, and each fervently thanked God for His great mercy. The afternoon was nearly gone when the _Deerfoot_ settled to rest beside the floating wharf, and was made fast and left in charge of the same man who had done similar duty before. Then the three walked briskly up the steps and street to the hotel. "The bist plan will be to order dinner for the thraa of us," whispered Mike; "that will be classy." "We have had our midday meal," said Alvin, "and the regular dinner time is an hour or more away." "Whist now, I'll see that none of the stuff is wasted." Suffice it to say that great as was the strain upon the resources of the hotel, it proved equal to the call, and Mike ate the biggest meal of his life. Alvin and Chester sat at the table with him, each drinking a cup of tea, but preferring no food until the usual time. You may be sure the hour was a merry one, and the guest did not stop feasting until the limit of his capacity was reached. When they passed down the main street and turned off to the landing, it had become fully dark and lights were showing in the stores and houses. Both Alvin and Chester noted a peculiar fact: most of those whom they met stared curiously at Mike Murphy. The chums observed the same thing on their way up the street, but it was more marked on their return. "I'm not to blame if I'm so much purtier than aither of ye, that I compil the admiration of others. It has been the same wheriver I strayed." This was the explanation given by the subject of the scrutiny. The youths were too modest to differ with their genial companion, but the man left in charge of the boat glanced sharply at the Irish lad, and said to Alvin: "I'm mighty glad." "Mighty glad of what?" asked the surprised Captain. "That that chap wasn't drowned." "Why should he be drowned more than we or you?" "I can't say that he should," replied the other, adding naught in the way of enlightenment. Alvin was annoyed, but said nothing further, and soon the _Deerfoot_, with lights burning, was gliding at moderate speed down the bay and along the eastern coast of Southport Island. There, as you will recall, were the homes of Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes, near the shore and almost opposite Squirrel Island. Chester had accepted his friend's invitation to spend the night with him. This made it unnecessary to run the _Deerfoot_ to the shelter provided for her near the dwelling of Chester. The promise of fair weather was so marked that there was no hesitation in mooring the launch in the open without the canvas which would have been stretched over the exposed parts to protect them from possible rain. The night was clear, with the stars shining. Later the moon would appear, but our friends were so familiar with the way that they would not have hesitated had the gloom been much deeper. They were within a mile of Alvin's home when they caught sight of the lights and outlines of a small boat on the opposite course. It was farther out than they, and they could not see distinctly until they came opposite, with barely a hundred feet between them. It was going very much faster than they themselves. "Alvin," said Chester in some excitement, "I believe that is the _Shark_." "It looks like her. What can she have been doing down here?" Chester shouted: "Hello, George!" There was no reply, though the man aboard could not have failed to hear them. "You must have been mistaken," said Alvin. "I'm sure I was not, though I can't imagine why he didn't answer. Well, it's a small matter anyway." Mike who had been silent for some time now spoke: "Byes, I'm a wee bit unaisy, as Jim Concannon said whin he found his trousers was on fire at the top and bottom." "What about?" asked Chester. "I'm fearing that the account which dad has piled up agin me is so big that he will lack the strength to square it." "He will be so glad to see you back that I'm sure he will think of naught else," assured Alvin. "Whin I say to him that I didn't understand his words at the time I was sailing by yisterday and he ordered me to come ashore, he won't cridit the same. Ye see he doesn't--ah! I have it fixed!" exclaimed Mike, delighted with the idea that had flashed into his brain. "Let's hear it." "I'll linger behind while ye two go forrid and say to dad and mither that poor Mike has been drowned." "Why in the name of common sense should we say _that_?" asked the astonished Chester. "I want ye to break the news of me coming gintly; after they have digisted the story of me drowning, ye can say yer tongue slipped and ye meant to say I come near drowning but didn't quite make it." "That's the most original way of telling news," said Alvin, with a laugh. "I can't see how it will be of much help, but I'll do what I can. What have you to suggest, Chester?" "It's clear that unless we pave the way for Mike he is in for a big trouncing. I advise that he stay on the boat while we go forward and call upon his folks. We can prove to them that he has been in great danger and soften the heart, I hope, of his father." "And thin whin the right moment comes I'll appear to 'em," said Mike, who was pleased with the scheme. "But how will I know whin that right moment arrives?" he asked. "One of us will open the front door and whistle." "Don't whistle too soon or wait too long, as Jack Mulrooney did whin he ate a green persimmon before whistlin' fur his dog." Fearing that the noise of the launch might attract the attention of the father of Mike, and bring him out doors, the son curled down in the cockpit, where he could not be seen by anyone on shore. Chester sprang out and made the launch fast and Alvin followed him. Before they left, Mike raised his head. "Are you sure the _Deerfut_ won't play me the same trick it did last night and run away wid me?" he asked. "No fear of that; if it does, you know how to run it?" "Have ye 'nough gas in the b'iler?" "Oh, keep still and don't show yourself, or I shall tell your father you are here and waiting for the licking he is saving for you." Mike dropped down out of sight, and though he immediately thought of several important questions to ask, did not do so. He must now wait with all the patience he could summon for the signal that it was prudent for him to show himself. It was only a brief walk to the care-taker's house, and the light shining through the window and the sound of voices told that the couple were at home. But in the very act of opening the door, the boys paused. "What does that mean?" asked Alvin of his companion. "I don't understand it," was the reply. Mrs. Murphy was sobbing and lamenting like a woman distracted. Her husband seemed to be silent, as if holding himself in better control. Finally they caught some of her wailing exclamations: "Poor Micky! the darlint is drowned and it's me heart that is broke! Wurrah! wurrah! woe is me!" CHAPTER XXXI THE MAN IN GRAY You know there are some people who can never keep a secret. We have all met them, much to our disgust. George, the "chauffeur" of the little runabout launch _Shark_, was such a person. Possibly when he gave his promise to Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes not to reveal what then seemed the fate of Mike Murphy, he meant to do as he said, but somehow or other he was not equal to the task. He kept mum on the dreadful subject until he had secured his boat and walked up the street past Hodgdon's well-known store, when he met an acquaintance with whom he briefly chatted. By the time they had finished, he had told him, under a solemn pledge to mention it to no one, all about the sad death of the Irish lad from drowning. Within the following hour this friend told the story to three others, all of whom agreed upon their sacred honor to say nothing about it to anyone. They kept the promise as well as George himself, who broke it three or four times more in the period named. One of the depositaries of the gruesome news was the guard who stood watch over the _Deerfoot_, while the owner and his companions went to the hotel to see that the hunger of the marooned young gentleman was appeased. This statement will explain the curious glances at the little group as they moved about the town, as well as the remark of the guard upon their return to the motor boat. As night approached, George was impressed with his duty of acquainting the parents of Mike with the dreadful blow that had befallen them. They must hear of it sooner or later, and it was best that they should get it straight. Accordingly he motored thither, completing what I fear was not an unwelcome task in time to meet the _Deerfoot_ engaged on the same errand. Of course he heard the hail of Chester. He did not reply, for he was in no mood to make explanations and receive censure for what he had done from a high sense of duty--as the offender always insists in similar circumstances. Everything was so plain to Alvin and Chester that throughout the conversation that followed their entrance into the home of Pat Murphy, they did not once ask the much afflicted parents of the source from which they had received their information. The father was sitting in his chair at the side of the room bowed and silent in grief that was too deep for him to seek solace from his pipe. The wife sat on the other side of the room, rocking to and fro, flinging her apron over her face, the tears flowing down her cheeks, and her features twisted with anguish. So absorbed were they in their sorrow that they hardly glanced at the boys and did not address them. Alvin could not restrain his sympathy at sight of the suffering of the couple, the father's none the less than the mother's because it was mute. The youth's promise to Mike was thrown to the winds and he called out: "Stop your mourning! Mike hasn't been drowned!" "Phwat's that ye say?" demanded the father, who half rising from his chair was staring at the lad as if doubting the words that had reached him. The wife, grasping each side of her apron with a hand and about to fling it upward, was equally quick in checking herself and with her mouth wide open she hoarsely exclaimed: "Phwat! Say that agin!" "Mike is alive and well as he ever was in his life." They still stared, dazed and unable for the moment to speak another word. The callers sat down. "I say again that Mike is well and safe. He spent last night on a little island not many miles away and we brought him back in the _Deerfoot_." The mother still gazed and clutched her apron. Her husband showed that he caught the meaning of what he had heard. "And where is Mike?" The question recalled Alvin's promise to pave the way for his friend's return to his home. "Before I tell you," said the Captain, "you must give me your pledge that you will not punish him for what happened last night. Will you do so?" "That I will," was the unhesitating answer. "He desarves a licking, but we'll call it square--that is," was the qualifying condition, "so far as _this_ thing is consarned." "What! lick me baby Mike!" exclaimed the glad mother; "not in a thousand years! Where is the darlint that I may kiss the hid off him?" "Remember, Pat, what you just said. Mike isn't to be blamed for what took place and you should be as thankful----" Just then a terrific crash was heard in the kitchen, the door to which was closed. The mother, in her highly wrought state, screamed and sprang to her feet. Her husband snatched up the candle from the stand in the middle of the room and ran to learn what the uproar meant, with his wife just behind him. It seemed to be a night for the general breaking of promises. It will be remembered that Mike had agreed to stay on board the _Deerfoot_ until he saw the door of his home opened by one of his friends and heard a whistle as notice that the path had been cleared and he might go forward. The two, however, had hardly entered the building when Mike changed his mind. With a refreshing forgetfulness of what he had lately passed through, he said: "It's mesilf that is in danger of catching a cowld in my hid, as Larry McCarty said after slaaping in an ice box, and in stepping ashore, I may as well step a little furder." Thus it came about that Alvin and Chester were no more than fairly inside the small house when Mike moved softly to the door and listened to the voices within. He was disappointed in not being able to distinguish everything said, though it will be recalled that no one spoke in whispers. Suddenly it occurred to the boy that he could do much better if within the house itself. The darkness of the kitchen showed that the door connecting that with the sitting room was closed. He knew he could hear more plainly from the smaller room. Being in darkness, he had to depend upon the sense of feeling. It was no trouble to raise the sash without making any noise. When lifted well up, the catch held it in place and he began crawling stealthily through. He saw the thin line of light under the door and heard what was being said on the other side. Knowing the room so well he needed no illumination to guide him. He balanced himself for a moment and then dropped lightly to the floor. More properly he tried to do so, but unaware of the chair in his way, he tumbled over that, which in turn tumbled over him, and caused the crash that startled those in the sitting room and brought his parents to learn what it all meant. One glance at the sturdy figure struggling to his feet and muttering impatient exclamations told the mother who he was. Thrusting her husband aside, she rushed forward, straightened up the overturned chair, and dropping into it, seized her boy with both arms: "Praised be! Me own darlint! Me baby! Bliss yer heart!" She was striving frantically to pull him upon her lap and would have succeeded had Mike not been larger than she and strongly opposed to acting the part of an infant. There was good-natured strife between them for a minute or two, with the laughing father and two youths looking on. Then Mike triumphed, forced his parent upon one knee, and with an arm around her ample waist began bouncing her up and down with a vigor that broke her words apart, though it did not prevent her from grasping him about his neck and crying with joy. "Arrah, mither, but it's yersilf that makes a fine barrel of jelly. Hist now! can't ye sit still," he protested, bouncing her harder than ever. Alvin and Chester held their sides, for it was the funniest spectacle upon which they had ever looked. By and by Mike released the happy victim, and all returned to the larger room, where they sat down. Alvin said: "It's been fixed, Mike. The slate is wiped out up to this night. You and your father begin over again in the morning." "Does he spake the thruth, dad?" asked the lad gravely. "Alvin always does the same, but ye can make up yer moind ye'll be in my debt afore the morrow's night." "I don't doubt it, as Barney Foord said whin he was voted the biggest fool in siven counties. Whisht!" A timid knock sounded and Mike sprang up and opened the outer door. Mollie, one of the maids, stood smiling. "There's a gintleman waiting fur ye at home," she explained. "Waiting to see me?" repeated the surprised Alvin, rising to his feet. "That's what he said and he will bide till ye returns." "Well, good night, folks!" called Alvin to the happy family. "Come, Chester." The two went out together, wondering who the caller could be. The brief distance was quickly traversed, and, passing through the front door, they turned into the handsomely furnished library. As the lads entered, a man rose. "You are Alvin Landon, I believe," he inquired, "and you," turning to his companion, "are his friend, Chester Haynes." If ever two youths were astonished, when they made courteous reply to the salutation, they were our young friends, for the caller who thus addressed them was the man in gray that had followed them to the inlet on Barter Island and had now come to Alvin's home at Southport. "If you can spare me a few minutes I have something of importance to say to you," he added as he took the seat to which Alvin waved him. It proved an important interview indeed, but the revelation made by the man in gray and the events which followed there-from will be told in the second volume of the Launch Boys Series entitled "The Launch Boys' Adventures in Northern Waters." THE END. 
7210	----	THE MOTOR GIRLS ON WATERS BLUE Or The Strange Cruise of The Tartar By Margaret Penrose CHAPTER I NEWS With a crunching of the small stones in the gravel drive, the big car swung around to the side entrance of the house, and came to a stop, with a whining, screeching and, generally protesting sound of the brake-bands. A girl, bronzed by the summer sun, let her gloved hands fall from the steering wheel, for she had driven fast, and was tired. The motor ceased its humming, and, with a click, the girl locked the ignition switch as she descended. "Oh, what a run! What a glorious run, and on a most glorious day!" she breathed in a half whisper, as she paused for a moment on the bottom step, and gazed back over the valley, which the high-setting house commanded, in a magnificent view. The leaves of the forest trees had been touched, gently as yet, by the withering fingers of coming winter, and the browns, reds, golden ambers, purples and flame colors ran riot under the hazy light of an October sun, slowly sinking to rest. "It was a shame to go alone, on this simply perfect day," murmured the autoist, as she drew off one glove to tuck back under her motoring cap a rebellious lock of hair. "But I couldn't get a single one of the girls on the wire," she continued. "Oh, I just hate to go in, while there's a moment of daylight left!" She stood on the porch, against a background of white pillars, facing the golden west, that every moment, under the now rapidly appearing tints of the sunset, seemed like some magically growing painting. "Well, I can't stand here admiring nature!" exclaimed Cora Kimball, with a sudden descent to the commonplace. "Mother will be wanting that worsted, and if we are to play bridge tonight, I must help Nancy get the rooms in some kind of shape." As Cora entered the vestibule, she heard a voice from the hall inside saying: "Oh, here she is now!" "Bess Robinson!" murmured Cora. "And she said she couldn't come motoring with me. I wonder how she found time to run over?" Cora Hung open the door to confront her chum Bess or, to be more correct, Elizabeth Robinson--the brown-haired, "plump", girl--she who was known as the "big" Robinson twin--the said Bess being rather out of breath from her rapid exit from the parlor to the hall. As might be surmised, it did not take much to put Bess out of breath, or, to be still more exact, to put the breath out of Bess. It was all due to her exceeding--plumpness--to use a "nice" word. "Oh, Cora!" exclaimed Bess. "I've been waiting so long for you! I thought you'd never come! I--I--" "There, my dear, don't excite yourself. Accidents will happen in the best of manicured families, and you simply must do something--take more exercise--eat less--did you every try rolling over and over on the floor after each meal? One roll for each course, you know," and Cora smiled tantalizingly as she removed her other glove, and proceeded to complete the restoration of her hair to something approaching the modern style--which task she had essayed while on the porch. "Well, Cora Kimball, I like your--!" "No slang, Bess dear. Remember those girls we met this summer, and how we promised never, never to use it--at least as commonly as they did! We never realized how it sounded until we heard them." "Oh, Cora, do stop. I've such a lot to tell you!" and Bess laid a plump and rosy palm over the smiling lips of her hostess. "So I gathered, Bess, from your manner. But you must not be in such a hurry. This is evidently going to be a mile run, and not a hundred yard dash, as Jack would say. So come in, sit down, get comf'y, wait until you and your breath--are on speaking terms, and I'll listen. But first I want to tell you all that happen to me. Why didn't you come for a spin? It was glorious! Perfectly 'magnificent!" "Oh, Cora, I wanted so much to come, you know I did. But I was out when you 'phoned, and mamma is so upset, and the house is in such a state--really I was glad to run out, and come over here. We are going--" "My turn first, Bess dear. You should have been with me. In the first place, I had a puncture, and you'll never in the world guess who helped me take off the shoe--" "Your shoe, Cora!" "No, silly! The tire shoe. But you'd never guess, so I'll tell you. It was Sid Wilcox!" "That fellow who made so much trouble--" "Yes, and who do you think was with him?" "Oh, Ida Giles, of course. That's easy." "No, it was Angelina Mott!" "What, sentimental Angie?" "The same. I can't imagine how in the world she ever took up with Sid enough to go motoring." "Say, rather, how he took up with her. Sid is much nicer than he used to be, and they say his new six-cylinder is a beautiful car." "So it is, my dear, but I prefer to select my chauffeur--the car doesn't so much matter. Well, anyhow, Sid was very nice. He offered to put in a new inner tube for me, and of course I wasn't going to refuse. So Angelina and I sat in the shade, while poor Sid labored. And the shoe was gummed on, so he had no easy task. But I will say this for him--he didn't even once hint that there was a garage not far off. Wasn't that nice?" "Brave and noble Sid!" "Yes, wasn't he, Bess? But I don't want to exhaust all my eloquence and powers of description on a mere puncture." "Oh, Cora! Did anything else happen?" and Bess, who had followed her chum into the library of the Kimball home, sank down, almost breathless once more, into the depths of a deep, easy chair. "There you go again!" laughed Cora, laying aside her cap and veil. "I'll have to pull you out of that, Bess, when you want to get up. Why do you always select that particular chair, of all others?" "It's so nice and soft, Cora. Besides, I can get up myself, thank you," and, with an assumption of dignity that did not at all accord with her plump and merry countenance and figure, Bess Robinson tried to arise. But, as Cora had said, she needed help. The chair was of such a depth that one's center of gravity was displaced, if you wish the scientific explanation. "Now don't you dare lean back again!" warned Cora, as her chum sat on the springy edge of the chair, in a listening attitude. "To resume, as the lecturer in chemistry says, after Sid had so obligingly fixed the puncture, I started off again, for mamma wanted some worsted and I had offered to run into town to get it for her. The next thing that happened to me, Bess dear, I saw the nicest young man, and ran right into--" "Not into him, Cora! Don't tell me you hurt anyone!" cried Bess, covering her face with her hands or at least, trying to, for her hands were hardly large enough for the completion of the task. "No, I didn't run into him, Bess, though there was a dog--but that's another story." "Oh, Cora! I do wish you'd finish one thing at a time. And that reminds me--" "Wait, Bess, dear. I didn't run into the young man, but he bowed to me, and I turned around to make sure who he was, for at first I thought him a perfect stranger, and I was going to cut him. In my excitement, I ran right into a newly oiled place on the road, and, before I knew it, I was skidding something awful! Before I could reach the emergency brake, I had run sideways right against the curbing, and it's a mercy I didn't split a rim. And the young man ran over--" "Oh, Cora Kimball! I'll never get my news in, if I don't interrupt you right here and now!" cried Bess. "Listen, my dear! I simply must tell, you. It's what I ran over for, and I know you can't have had any serious accident, and look as sweet as you do now--it's impossible!" "Thanks!" murmured Cora, with a mock bow. "After that, I must yield the floor to you. Go on, Bess. What is it? Has some one stolen your car, or have you discovered a new kind of chocolate candy? I wish I had some now; I'm simply starved! You have no idea how bracing and appetizing the air is. What was I telling you about?" "Never mind, Cora. It's my turn. You can't guess what has happened." "And I'm not going to try, for I know you're just dying to tell me. Go on. I'm listening," and Cora sat on a stool at the feet of her chum. "Well, it would take too long to tell it all, but what would you say, if I went on a long sea voyage this winter?" "What would I say? Why, my dear, I'd say that it was simply perfectly magnificent! It sounds like--like a wedding tour, almost. A sea voyage. Oh, Bess, do tell me!" and Cora leaned forward eagerly, expectantly. "Are you really going?" "It seems so, yes. Belle and I shall have to go if papa carries out his plans, and takes mamma to the West Indies. You see it's like this. He has--" A knock came at the door. Cora turned her head quickly, and called: "Come in!" A maid entered, bearing on a silver server a note, the manila envelope of which proclaimed it as a telegraph message. "Oh, a telegram!"' gasped Cora, and her fingers trembled, in spite of her, as she opened it. She gave a hasty glance at the written words, and then cried: "Oh, it was for mother, but the envelope had 'Miss Kimball' on it. However, it doesn't matter, and I'm glad I opened it first. Oh, dear!" "Bad news?" asked Bess, softly. "It's about my brother Jack," said Cora, and there was a sob in her voice. "He has suffered a nervous breakdown, and will have to leave college at once!" CHAPTER II MORE NEWS "Oh, Cora!" murmured Bess, rising from, the chair, and it was with no easy effort that she did so, for she had allowed herself to sink back again into its luxurious depths. "Oh, Cora dear! Isn't that perfectly dreadful!" Cora Kimball did not answer. She was staring at the fateful telegram, reading it over and over again; the words now meaningless to her. But she had grasped their import with the first swift glance. Jack was ill--in trouble. Bess put her arms around her chum, and slipped one plump hand up on the tresses tangled by the wind on the motor ride. "Can I do anything to help--your mother is she--" "Of course!" exclaimed Cora with a sigh. "I must tell mother at once. Yes, she's at home, Bess. Will you--do you mind coming with me?" "Of course not, my dear. I wouldn't think of letting you go alone to tell her. Is the telegram from jack himself?" "No, it's from Walter Pennington. Walter says a letter follows--special delivery." "Oh, then you'll get it soon! Perhaps it isn't so bad as you think. Dear Walter is so good!" "Isn't he?" agreed Cora, murmuringly. "I sha'n't worry so much about Jack, now that I know Wally is with him. Oh, but if he has to leave college--" Cora did not finish. Together she and Bess left the library, seeking Mrs. Kimball, to impart to her the sudden and unwelcome news. And so, when there is a moment or two, during which nothing of chronicling interest is taking place, my dear readers may be glad of a little explanation regarding Cora Kimball and her chums, and also a word or two concerning the previous books of this series. Cora Kimball was the real leader of the motor girls. She was, by nature, destined for such a position, and the fact that she, of all her chums, was the first to possess an automobile, added to her prestige. In the first volume of this series, entitled "The Motor Girls," I had the pleasure of telling how, amid many other adventures, Cora, and her chums, Bess and Belle Robinson, helped to solve the mystery of a twenty thousand dollar loss. Cora, Bess and Belle were real girl chums, but they never knew all, the delights of chumship until they "went in" for motoring. Living in the New England town of Chelton, on the Chelton River, life had been rather hum-drum, until the advent of the "gasoline gigs" as Jack, Cora's brother, slangily dubbed them. Jack, with whose fortunes we shall concern ourselves at more length presently, had a car of his own--one strictly limited to two--a low-slung red and yellow racing car, "giddy and gaudy," Cora called it. Later on, the Robinson twins also became possessed of an automobile, and then followed many delightful trips. "The Motor Girls on a Tour," the second volume of the series, tells in detail of many surprising happenings, which were added to, and augmented, at "Lookout Beach." Through New England the girls went, after their rather strenuous times at the seaside, and you may be sure Cora Kimball was in the forefront of all the happenings on that rather remarkable run. Perhaps the most romantic of all the occurrences that befell the girls were the series at Cedar Lake. There, indeed, were Cora and her chums put to a supreme test, and that they emerged, tried and true, will not be surprising news to those of you who really know the motor maids. As another summer followed the green spring, so adventures followed our friends, and those on the coast were in no whit tamer than previous happenings. Once again did Cora prove that she could "do things," if such proof were needed. "The Motor Girls on Crystal Bay, Or The Secret of the Red Oar," is the title of the book immediately preceding this one. It would hardly be fair to tell you, bold-facedly, what the "secret" was. I would not like a book spoiled for me that way, and I am sure you will agree with me. But when Cora and her friends made the acquaintance of sad little Freda Lewis, and later on of Denny Shane, the picturesque old fisherman, they had the beginnings of the mysterious secret. And in solving it, they bested the land-sharpers, and came upon the real knowledge of the value of the red oar. Those incidents had taken place during the summer. Autumn had come, with its shorter days, its longer nights, the chill of approaching frosts and winter, and the turning of leaves, and the girls I had bidden farewell to the sad, salty sea waves, and had returned to cheerful Chelton. Cheerful Chelton--I believe I never thus alliteratively referred to it before, but the sound falls well upon my ear. Cheerful Chelton--indeed it was so, and though Cora and her chums had enjoyed themselves to the utmost at Crystal Bay and in so enjoying had done it noble service still they were glad to get back. And now-- I beg your pardon! I really am forgetting, the boys, and as they always have, and seem always destined to play in important part in the lives of the girls, perhaps I had better introduce them in due form. To begin with, though not to end with, there was Cora's brother Jack. Like all other girls' brothers was Jack--a tease at times, but of sterling worth in hours of distress and trouble. Jack was a junior at Exmouth College, but, bless you! that is not nearly as important as it sounds, and none of my new readers need be on their dignity; or assume false society manners with Jack. For I warn them, if they do, the thin veneer will very soon be scratched off. A true boy was Jack! So was his chum, Walter Pennington--"Wally," the girls often called him, though it was not at all an effeminate term of endearment. Walter gave exactly the opposite impression from that. Besides, he was too athletic (which you could tell the moment you looked at him) to further such associations. Other young men there were, Ed Foster, in particular, who often went motoring with the girls, to make the third male member which caused the little parties to "come out even." Occasionally Paul Hastings, and his sister Hazel, would be included, but, of late, Paul had been too busy setting up an automobile business of his own, to ride with his friends. So much for the boys--though there were more of them, but we need not concern ourselves with them at present. Bess and Belle Robinson were the daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Perry Robinson--the "rich"' Mr. Robinson, as he was called, to distinguish him from another, and more humble, though none the less worthy, citizen of Chelton. Bess and Belle had nearly everything they wanted--which list was not a small one. But mostly they wanted Cora Kimball, and they looked up to her, deferred to her and loved her, with a devotion that comes only from sweet association since early childhood. "Cheerful Chelton!" Somehow I cannot seem to forego the temptation of using that expression again. It was a typical New England village, the nearness of it to New York not having spoiled it. Of late, the invasion of many automobiles had threatened to turn it into a "popular" resort. There was already one garage, and another in building, and to the trained and experienced motorist, no more need be said. It was to Chelton that Cora Kimball and her chums had returned, following their summer at Crystal Bay. Cora, after trying in vain to get some of her chums, by telephone, to come for a little motor run with her, had gone alone, coming back to find Best at her home, when the events narrated in the initial chapter took place. Now the two girls were on their way upstairs to impart the news contained in the telegram, to Mrs. Kimball. "Do you--do you think she'll faint?" asked Bess. "No--of course not! Mother isn't of the fainting sort," replied Cora, for Mrs. Kimball, a widow since her boy and girl were little children, was used to meeting emergencies bravely and calmly. "I wonder what could have happened to Jack?" mused Bess, as they reached the upper hall. "Do you suppose he could have been hurt playing football, Cora?" "I don't see how. The season hasn't really opened yet, and they play only light games at first. Besides, Jack has played before, and knows how to take care of himself. I can't imagine what it is--a nervous breakdown." "Probably Wally's letter will tell." "I hope so. Oh, but, Bess, I didn't hear your news. You must tell me all about it, my dear." "I will--when this excitement is over." Mrs. Kimball received the news calmly--that is, calmly after a first sharp in-taking of breath and a spasmodic motion toward her heart. For Jack was very dear to her. "Well, my dears, we must hope for the best," she said, cheerfully, to the girls. "Fortunately, his room is in order, which is more than can be said for it when he went away. Cora, can look up trains, or, better still, ask the station agent when one might get in from Exmouth. Probably Walter will bring Jack home as soon as he can. "It can't be so very serious, or Walter would have so specified in his telegram. I am anxious to get his letter, however. You might call up the post-office, Cora, and find out when the next mail gets in. Then you could go down in your car and get the special. That will be quicker than waiting for the boy to come up on his bicycle with it. Often he has half a dozen letters to deliver, and he might be delayed coming to us." "I'll do that, Mother. You seem to think of everything!" and Cora threw her arms about the neck of the gray-haired lady, in whose eyes there was a troubled look, though neither in voice nor manner did she betray it. "I can't imagine Jack ill," murmured Bess. "Nor I," said Cora. "He has always been so strong and healthful. If only it isn't some accident--" "Don't suggest it!" begged Bess. "Shall I come with you to the station, Cora?" "I'd like to have you, dear, if you can spare the time." "As if I wouldn't make time for such a thing as this. Come, do your telephoning, and we'll go." Cora learned that no train which Jack could possibly get would arrive until very late that afternoon, but at the post-office it was said a mail would be in within the hour, and there was a chance that the special delivery letter would be on it. "We'll go and see," decided Cora, now again a girl of action. "And on your way, Cora dear," requested her mother, "stop at Dr. Blake's office, and ask him to meet the train Jack comes on. While I anticipate nothing serious, it is best to be on the safe side, and Jack may be in a state of collapse after his trip. You had better explain to Dr. Blake, rather than telephone." "Yes, mother. Now are you sure you'll be all right?" "Oh, certainly. I am not alone, with the servants here. Besides, John is just outside, trimming the lawn paths. You won't be long." "No longer than we can help. Come on, Bess. Oh! and now you'll have a chance to tell me what you started to."' "Oh! It isn't so much, Cora. In fact, I don't like to mention my pleasure, after hearing of your trouble." "Then it's pleasure?" "Yes, Belle seems to think so." "Did you mention the West Indies?" "Yes, father has to go to Porto Rico on business, and we are going to make a winter cruise of it. Mamma and we girls are going, and what I came over to ask you--" The voice of Bess was rather lost in the throb of the motor as Cora thrust over the lever of the self-starter. As the two girls settled themselves in the seat, Bess resumed: "I came over to ask if you couldn't go with us, Cora? Can't you come on a winter's cruise to where there is no snow or ice, and where the waters are blue--so blue?" "Come with you?" gasped Cora. "Yes. Papa and mamma specially asked me to come and invite you. Oh, Cora, do say you'll go! It will be such fun!" "I'd love to, Bess," said Cora, after a moment's thought. "But there's poor Jack, you know. I shall probably have to stay home and nurse him. I can't leave mother all alone." "Oh, Cora!" murmured Bess, in disappointed tones. CHAPTER III THE LACE SELLER Cora, Bess and Belle were sitting on the broad, long porch of the Kimball home. It was the next day. To be exact, the day following the imparting of Cora's news to Bess, of her automobile mishaps, the day of the news which Bess retailed to her friend and chum, concerning the trip to the West Indies, and the still more news, if I may be permitted the expression, of Jack's sudden illness. Cora and Bess had gone to the post-office to get the expected special delivery letter, stopping on their way to speak to Dr. Blake, who had agreed to meet any train on which the stricken Jack might be expected. But, as it happened, his services were not required that night, for Jack did not arrive. To go back a little bit, from the point where we have left the three girls sitting on the porch, Cora and Bess did find the special delivery letter awaiting them in the post-office. "And I'm glad you called for it," said Harry Moss, whose duty it was to deliver the blue stamped epistles, "for I've got a lot of 'em this afternoon, and your place is out of my route, Miss Cora." "All right, Harry," spoke Cora, half-hearing. She was already tearing open the envelope, as the messenger rode off on his wheel, certainly at a pace to justify the old proverb that he was a rolling stone, even if he had already gathered moss. "Is it from Walter?" asked Bess. "Yes, and it isn't as bad as we feared. Jack over-trained, trying for a new position on the football eleven, and that, with some extra studies he undertook, reduced his already tingling nerves to a condition where he was not at all himself." "A long rest and a change will set him up again in fine style," Walter wrote. "There is no need worrying, Cora," for he had written to her, rather than to Mrs. Kimball, relying on Cora's discretion to explain matters. "I am bringing Jack home, and we'll come on the early afternoon train, Thursday. There is no great need of haste." It was now Thursday, just after lunch, and the girls were waiting at Cora's house to go down with her, or, rather one of them (to be decided later) to meet Jack and Walter. There was no need of a physician to help Jack home, though Dr. Blake promised his services when the sufferer should have been safely quartered in his own room. "Isn't it good of Wally to come home with him?" ventured Belle, thoughtfully gazing at her long, thin hands, that were still tanned by the summer's sun. "Perfectly fine!" exclaimed Cora. "Oh, you can always depend on Wally," and her eyes lightened up. "So you can, too, on Jack, for that matter," voiced Bess, warmly. Bess was, of late, generally regarded as having more than a mere chum's sisterly feeling for Jack. "I suppose he'll lose a term," remarked Belle. "Too bad, I say." "Better that than lose your health," declared Cora, as she put back a strand of hair that would persist in straying out from under her cap, for she, as well as the others, were attired for motoring, the Robinson twins, in fact, having come over in their car. "Oh, Cora! I think you look so different with your hair in that new close formation!" declared Bess. "I wish I could get mine to lie down flat at the sides, and over my ears. How do you do it?" "Whisper--it's a secret," said Cora, smiling. "I found a new kind of hairpin when I was shopping the other day." "Oh, do show us!" begged Belle. "I was going to have the permanent wave put in mine, but it costs twenty-five dollars, and it's awfully tiring, Hazel said. Besides, I think it's getting rather--common." "Do show us, Cora!" begged Bess. "Come inside. I'm not going to turn the porch into a hair-dressing parlor for demonstrations," laughed Cora. "It won't take a minute to show you how to do I it, and we have plenty of time before Jack's train is due." Cora obligingly let down her pretty hair, and then, by means of the new hairpins, she put it up again, in the latest "flat" mode, which, with its rather severe lines, is far from becoming to the average face. But, as it happened, Cora's face was not the average, and the different style was distinctly becoming to her. "Oh, isn't it simple--when you're shown?" cried Bess. "I wonder if I'd have time to do mine that way before--?" "Before Wally sees you!" interrupted her sister. "No, and don't think it. He's probably seen plenty of that style at college, and--" "Thank you! I wasn't thinking of Mr. Pennington!" and Bess tried to tilt her chin up in the air with an assumption of dignity that ill sat upon her, the said chin being of the plump variety which lends itself but poorly to the said tilting. "Cora, are you there?" asked the voice of Mrs. Kimball from the porch. "Yes, Mother. I was just showing the girls the new hairpins. We are going to the station directly." Cora's voice floated out of the low French windows, which opened from the library to the porch, and they were swung wide, for the fall tang in the air had vanished with the rising of the orb of day, and it was now warm and balmy. "It will be even warmer than this when we go to the West Indies," murmured Bess. "Oh, Cora, I do wish you were going!" "So do I, dear! But I don't see how I can." "Hark!" said Belle, softly. A murmur of voices came from the porch through the low, opened windows. "It's one of those Armenian lace peddlers,"' said Cora, stooping down to look as she finished making the twist at the back of her head. "There's been a perfect swarm of them around lately. Mother is talking to her, though she seldom cares for lace--such as they sell." "There is some beautiful lace work to be had on some of the West Indian islands, so mamma says," spoke Belle. "I am just crazy to get there!" "Are you going to spend all your time on Porto Rico?" asked Cora, as she finished her hair. "Well, most of it, though we shall probably cruise about some," spoke Bess, and as she paused the murmuring of the voices of Mrs. Kimball and the lace peddler could be heard. "She doesn't talk like an Armenian," ventured Belle. "She has a Spanish accent." "Yes, so she has," agreed Cora. "Oh, girls! You don't know how I envy you that trip. But duty first, you know," and she sighed. "We expect to have a perfectly gorgeous time," went on Belle, as she settled her trim jacket more snugly over her slim hips. "One trip papa has promised us is to Sea Horse Island, not far from Porto Rico. He is going there after orchids--you know he is an enthusiastic amateur collector--and he says some very rare ones grow on Sea Horse. I wish I could send you some, Cora." "It's awfully sweet of you, but--" The girls were interrupted by the darkening of one of the low windows, by a tall, slim shadow. In surprise they looked up to see staring at them a girl whose swarthy, olive-tinted face proclaimed her for a foreigner from some sunny clime. In her hand she field a bundle of lace, which she had evidently taken from her valise to show to Mrs. Kimball. Cora's mother had arisen from a porch chair, in some wonder, to follow the girl's movements. "Pardon Senoritas," began the lace seller, in soft accents, "but did I hear one of you ladies mention Sea Horse Island--in ze West Indies? I am not sure--I--" She paused, painfully self-conscious. "I spoke of it," said Belle, gently. "We are going there on a winter cruise, and--" "Pardon me--but to Sea Horse Island?" and the girl's trembling voice seemed very eager. "We are going there--among other places," put in Bess, and her voice grew rather colder than her sister's, for the manner of the lace seller was passing strange. "--Oh, to Sea Horse Island--in ze West Indies--Oh, if I could but go zere--my father--he is--he is, oh, Senoritas, I crave your pardon, but---but--" Her voice trailed off in a whisper, and swaying, she fell at the feet of Cora, who sprang forward, but too late, to catch the slim, inanimate burden. The little lace peddler lay in a crumpled up heap on the floor. CHAPTER IV JACK ARRIVES "Oh, Cora!" "The poor girl!" Belle and Bess, with clasped hands, bent over the prostrate form of the girl, whose plain, black dress showed the dust and travel stains of the highways about Chelton. From the verandah Mrs. Kimball stepped in, through the long window. "Get some water, Cora," she directed in a calm and self-possessed voice. "Also the aromatic ammonia on my dressing table. It is merely a faint. Poor girl! She seemed very weak while she was talking to me. I was just going to ask her to sit down, and let me have a cup of tea brought to her, when she suddenly turned away from me and came in where you girls were." "She heard us talking," ventured Bess, a little awed by the strange happening. "And she asked the oddest question--about Sea Horse Island--where papa is going--and she spoke of her father--I wonder what she meant?" asked Belle. "Time enough to find out after we've revived her," suggested Cora, who, like her mother, was not at all alarmed by a mere fainting fit. Belle, inspired by her chum's coolness, had stooped over and was raising the girl's head. "Don't do that!" exclaimed Cora. "The trouble is all the blood has gone from her head now. Let it remain low and the circulation will become normal, after the has had a little stimulant. I'll get the ammonia," and she hurried off, stopping long enough to ring for her mother's maid. The foreign girl opened her dark brown eyes under the reviving stimulus of the aromatic spirits of ammonia, and she tried to speak. She seemed anxious to apologize for the trouble she had caused by fainting. "That's all right, my dear," said Mrs. Kimball, soothingly. "Don't bother your poor head about it. You may stay here until you feel better." "But, senora--" she protested, faintly. "Hush!" begged Cora, touching the girl's hand gently with her own brown fingers. It was a pretty little hand, that of the lace seller--a hand not at all roughened by heavy work. Indeed, if she had made some of the dainty lace she was exhibiting, a piece of which was even now entangled about her, she needs must keep both hands unroughened. "Oh, but Senorita, I--I am of ze ashamed to be so--to be--" Again her voice trailed off into that mere faintness, which was as weak as a whisper, yet unlike it. "Now, not another word!" insisted Mrs. Kimball, in the tone of her daughter, and the Robinson twins well knew she meant to have her own good way. "You are in our hands, my dear child, and until you are able to leave them, you must do as we say. A little more of that ammonia, Cora, and then have Janet bring in some warm bouillon--not too hot. I believe the poor child is just weak from hunger," she whispered over the head of the lace seller, whose brown eyes were now veiled with the olive lids. "Oh!" gasped Bess. "Hungry!" "Hush! She'll hear you," cautioned Belle, for somehow she sensed the proudness of those who, though they toil hard for their daily bread, yet have even greater pride than those who might, if they wished, eat from golden dishes--the pride of the poor who are ashamed to have it known that they hunger--and there is no more pitiful pride. The girl did not show signs of sensing anything of that which went on around her. Even when the second spoonful of ammonia had trickled through her trembling lips, she did not again open her eyes. "Here is the bouillon," said Janet, as she came in with some in a dainty cup, on a servette. "We must try to get her to take a little," said Mrs. Kimball, who had her arm under the girl's neck. A dusky flush in the olive cheeks told of the returning blood, under the whip of the biting ammonia. Some few sips of the hot broth the girl was able to take, but she did not show much life, and, after a close look at her immobile countenance, and feeling of the cold and listless hands, Cora's mother said: "I think we had better put her to bed, and have Dr. Blake look at her when he comes for Jack." "Oh, Jack! I had almost forgotten about him!" exclaimed Cora. "We must go to the depot. It is almost time for his train." "You have time enough to help me," said her mother, gently. "I think we must look after her, Cora, at least--" "Oh, of course, Mother. We can't send her to the hospital, especially when she seems so refined. She is really--clean!" and Cora said the word with a true delight in its meaning. She had seen so many itinerant hawkers of lace who were not and neither were their wares. "Oh, she has such a sweet, sweet face," murmured Belle, who was fair, and who had always longed to be dark. "Is there a bed ready," Janet asked Mrs. Kimball. "Yes, Madam, in the blue room." The Kimball family had a habit of distinguishing chambers by the color of the wall papers. "That will do. We'll take her there. I think a little rest and food is all she needs. She looks as though she had walked far to-day." A glance at the worn and dusty shoes confirmed this. "Can we carry her, or shall I call John?" asked Cora, referring to the one man of all work, who kept the Kimball place in order. "Oh, I think we can manage," said her mother. "She is not heavy." It was not until Cora and her mother lifted the girl, that they realized what a frail burden she was in their arms. "She's only a girl, yet she has the face of a woman, and with traces of a woman's troubles," whispered Belle, as Cora and Mrs. Kimball, preceded by Janet to hold aside the draperies, left the room. "Yes. And I wonder what she meant by speaking of her father and Sea Horse Island in the way she did?" spoke Bess. "It sounds almost like a mystery!" "Oh, you and your mysteries!" scoffed Belle. "You'd scent one, if an Italian organ grinder stopped in front of the house, looked up at your window, and played the Miserere." "I might give him something to eat, anyhow," snapped Bess--that is, as nearly as Bess ever came to snapping, for she was so well "padded," both in mariners and by nature, that she was too much like a mental sofa cushion to hurt even the feelings of any one. Cora came down presently, announcing: "She is better now. She took a little of the bouillon, but she is very weak. Mother insists on her staying in bed. She really seems a very decent sort of a person--the girl, I mean," added Cora quickly, with a little laugh. "She was so afraid of giving trouble." "Did she tell anything of herself?" asked Bess. "She tried to, but mother would not hear of it until she is stronger. I really think the poor thing was starving. She can't make much of a living selling lace, though some of it is very beautiful," and Cora picked up from the library door the length that had dropped from the girl's hand. "Wasn't it strange--that she should come in and seem so worked-up over the mention of Sea Horse Island?" spoke Belle. "It was," admitted Cora. "We shall have to find out about it later--she was on the verge of telling us, when she fainted. But, girls, if I am to go get Jack, it's time I started. Are you coming?" "Suppose we go in our car," suggested Bess. "You may want all the room you have to spare in yours, Cora, to bring back some of his luggage. And perhaps some of the boys besides Walter may come on from Exmouth with Jack. In that case--"' "Exactly!" laughed Cora. "And if they do you want to be in a position to offer them your hospitality. Oh, Bess! And I thought you would be true to Jack; especially when he is so ill!" "Cora Kimball! I'll--" but Bess, her face flaming scarlet, found no words to express her, at least pretended, indignation. "Come on, Belle," she cried. "We won't let a boy or young man ride in our car, not even if they beg us!" "Oh, I didn't mean anything!" said Cora, contritely. But Bess simulated indignation. The throb of motors soon told that the three girls were on their way. Cora in her powerful car, and the twins in their new one, both heading for the railroad station, though the train was not due yet for nearly half an hour, and the run would not take more than ten minutes. "I wonder if Walter will stay on for a few days?" asked Belle of Bess, who was steering. "I should think so--yes. He'll probably want to see how Jack stands the trip. Poor Jack!" "Isn't it too bad?" "Yes, and that reminds me. I wonder if he couldn't--" "Look out, for that dog!" fairly screamed Bess, as one rushed barking from a house yard. It was only instinctive screaming on the part of Bess, for it was she herself who "looked-out," to the extent of steering to one side, and so sharply that Belle gasped. And, even at that, the dog was struck a glancing blow by the wheel and with barks changed to yelps of pain, ran, retreating into the yard whence he had come, limping on three feet. "Serves him right--for trying to bite a hole in our tires," murmured Bess, with a show of indignation. A slatternly woman, who had come to the door of the tumble-down house at the sound of the dog's yelps, poured out a volume of vituperation at the girls, most of it, fortunately, being lost in the chugging of the motor. Three or four other curs came out from various hiding places to commiserate with their fellow, and the girls left behind them a weird canine chorus. "Curious, isn't it?" observed Belle, "that the poorer the people seem, the more dogs they keep." "What were we talking of?" "Perhaps misery loves company," quoted Bess. "Jack?" suggested her sister. "No, Walter," corrected the other, and they laughed. "What's the joke?" asked Cora, who had slowed up her car to await the on-coming of her chums. "Did you try to see how near you could miss a dog?" "Something like that, yes," answered Bess, as she related the occurrence. There was a period of rather tedious waiting at the station, before a whistle was heard, announcing the approach of some train. "There it is!" cried Cora, as she jumped from her car to go to the platform. It was only a freight engine, and the girls were disappointed. But, a few minutes later, the express sounded its blast, and, amid a whirl of dust, and a nerve-racking screech of brakes, drew into the depot. "There's Jack!" cried Bess, grasping Cora's shoulder, and directing her gaze to a certain Pullman platform. "And Walter's right behind him!" added Belle. "Why, he isn't carrying Jack!" "You goose! Jack isn't as ill as all that!" laughed Cora, a bit hysterically. "Oh, Jack!" she called, waving her handkerchief. "And there's Harry Ward!" murmured Belle. "I didn't know he was coming, and, instinctively, her hands went to her hair. For Harry, whom Belle had met during the summer, had paid rather marked attention to her--marked even for a summer acquaintance. "Hello, Sis!" greeted Jack, as he came slowly forward--and in his very slowness Cora read the story of his illness, slight though it was. "It was awfully good of you to come down," he added, as he brushed her cheek in a strictly brotherly kiss. "My! Look at the welcoming delegation!" scoffed Walter. "I say, fellows, are there any cinders on my necktie?" and he pretended to be very much exercised. "Oh, it's a sight!" mocked Belle. "Isn't it, girls? How are you, Jack?" she asked, more warmly, as she shook hands. "Oh! Don't you dare--not on this platform!" she cried, as Jack leaned forward, with the evident intention of repeating his oscillatory greeting to Cora. "All right. Come on around back, I'd just as soon," offered Jack, with something of his old, joking manner. "They can't see us there." "I guess you know Harry--all of you--don't you?" put in Walter. "Oh, yes, forgetting my manners, as usual," laughed Jack, but there was little of mirth in the sound. "Harry, the girls--the girls--Harry. Pleased to meet you--and all that. Come on, Cora. I guess I'm--tired." His eyes showed it. Poor Jack was not at all himself. "But how did it happen--what's the matter?" asked Cora. "Were you suddenly stricken?" "About like that--yes," admitted Jack. "Trying to do too much, the doc said. I oughtn't to have made an effort for the double literature. Thought I'd save a term on it. But that, and training too hard, did me up. It's a shame, too, for we have a peach of an eleven!" "I know, Jack, it is too bad," said Cora, sympathetically. "Oh, it isn't that I'm actually a non-combatant, Sis, but I've lost my nerve, and what I have left is frayed to a frazzle. I've just got to do nothing but look handsome for the next three months." "It's a good time to look that way," ventured Bess. "Look how?" asked Jack. "Handsome. Tell me about the pretty stranger, Cora." "What's that?" cried Walter, crowding up. "Handsome stranger? Remember, boys, I saw her first!" "She means the lace seller," said Belle, languidly. "Tell you later," Cora promised. CHAPTER V INEZ They were at the autos, standing near the edge of the depot platform now. The porter had set down the grips of the boys, and had departed with that touching of the cap, and the expansive smile, which betokens a fifty-cent tip. They do not touch the cap for a quarter any more. "How'll we piece out?" asked Jack, and his tone was listless. "Who goes with whom?" His voice was so different from his usual joking, teasing, snapping tones that Cora looked at him again. Yes, her brother was certainly ill, though outwardly it showed only in a thinness of the bronzed cheeks, and a dull, sunken look in the eyes. A desperately tired look, which comes only from mental weariness. "You'd better ride with me, Jack," his sister said. "The car has more room." "Walter can come with us," suggested Jack. "I've been sort of leaning on him in the train, and it eases me. So if--" "Of course!" interrupted Cora quickly, and Walter, hearing his name spoken, came hurrying up, from where he had stood joking and talking with the Robinson twins at their car. "On the job, Jack, old man!" he exclaimed. "Want me to hold your hand some more?" "Wrenched my side a little at football," Jack explained to his sister. "It sort of eases it to lean against some one. The porter wanted to get me a pillow, but I'm not an old lady yet--not with Wally around." "Harry, think you'll be safe with two of them?" asked Walter, as he nodded at Bess and Belle. "Oh, sure," he answered with a laugh. "If they promise not to rock the boat." "Perhaps he thinks we can't drive?" suggested Belle, mockingly. "Far be it from me to so assume!" said Harry, bowing with his hand on his right side, and then quickly transferring it, after the manner of some stage comedian. "I'd go anywhere with you!" he affirmed. "Don't be rash!" called Jack, who had taken his place in the tonneau of Cora's car. "Come on, Walter. Leave him to his own destruction. But, I say, Cora, what's this about some new girl? Has a pretty arrival struck town? If there has, I'm glad I came home." "It's just a poor Armenian lace peddler, who fainted from lack of food as she was talking to mother," Cora explained. "She isn't Armenian--she's Spanish, I'm sure of it," declared Belle, for the cars had not yet started. "Well, Spanish then," admitted Cora. "And she's so pretty!" put in Bess. "Pretty! I suppose you'll be at home this evening, Jack, old chap?" asked Walter, pretending to straighten his tie, and arrange his hair. "Is her name Carmencita or Marita?" he asked. "We don't know, yet," Cora informed him. "The poor child wasn't able to tell us much about herself." "Child!" exclaimed Jack. "Oh, then she's a little girl! The Mater always was great on infant classes." "Wait until you see," advised Belle, loftily. "You make me very curious!" mocked the invalided young man. "Drive on, Cora, and let's get the suspense over with." Walter slipped in beside his chum, and put his arm about Jack's waist, for the wrench given Jack's side in a football scrimmage was far from healed, and often pained him severely. It was this direct cause, as much as anything else, that had pulled him down. On the way to the Kimball home, Cora driving slowly and with careful regard for Jack's weakness, the sufferer told how he had "keeled over" in a faint, while playing the last half of a hard game, and how the team physician had insisted on his being sent home. "And the boys very kindly offered to come with me," ended Jack. "It's very good of them to spare the time," said Cora, with a decidedly grateful look at Walter. "As if we wouldn't!" he said, half indignantly. And so the cars rolled on until they turned in at the gateway of the Kimball home. "Is she any better, Mother?" asked Cora, when Jack's mother had kissed him, and held him off at arms' length to get a better look at him. "Who, Cora? Oh, Inez Ralcanto? Yes, she is much better. A good meal was her most pressing need." "Inez!" murmured Jack. "Charming name. Lead me to Inez!" "Jack!" cried Cora, in shocked accents. His mother only smiled. It sounded like the Jack of old, and she was hopefully feeling that he was not as ill as she had been led to fear. "Did she say anything about herself?" asked Bess, who with Belle and Harry had now come in. "Yes, she told me her story, and I think she is anxious to repeat it to you girls," said Mrs. Kimball, looking at the Robinson twins. "Us?"' cried Belle. "Why us in particular?" "I don't know, but she said one of you had mentioned something about a West Indian Island--" "Sea Horse," explained Bess, in a low voice. "That's it--such an odd name," went on Mrs. Kimball. "And she is anxious to know more about your plan of going there. I could not tell her--having heard only the vaguest rumors about your trip, my dears." "Yes, we are going there--or, at least, father expects to get some orchids there when we are in the West Indies," explained Bess. "But we really know nothing about the island." "There seems to be some sort of mystery," put in Belle. "Just before she fainted, she spoke of her father. Is her name Inez, Mrs. Kimball?" "Yes, Inez Ralcanto. She is a Spaniard. But I had rather let her tell you herself, as she is anxious to do. As soon as yow are rested--" "Oh, we're not tired!" interrupted Walter. "That is, unless Jack feels--" "Oh, never too tired to listen to a pretty girl--especially when she is called Inez," broke in the invalided hero. "Still, perhaps Sis and the twins had better have a first whack at her. I fancy we fellows would look better with some of the car grime removed," and he sank rather wearily into a chair. "You poor boy! You are tired!" expostulated his mother, as she put her arms about him. "You had better go to your room, and lie down. We'll have a light dinner served soon. You'll stay, of course," and she included the Robinson twins as well as Walter and Harry in her invitation. "Oh, I don't know," spoke Harry, diffidently. He had not known the "Cheerful Chelton Crowd" as long as had Walter. "Perhaps I'd better put up at the hotel--" "You'll do nothing of the sort!" broke in Jack. "You and Wally will bunk in here. You forget Inez is due to give a rehearsal of the 'Prisoner of Sea Horse Island,' and you want to be here." "Don't joke, Jack! This may be serious," said Cora, in a low voice. "Don't worry, Sis! I feel very far from joking," and Jack put his hand to his head with a weary gesture. "You must go and lie down," his mother said. "Dr. Blake is coming, and wants to see you. I am also going to have him for Inez. Cora, if you'll show Walter and Mr. Ward--"' "Please call me Harry!" he pleaded. "Harry then," and she smiled. "Show them to their rooms--you know, the ones next to Jack's room. Then you girls can come up and see our little stranger." Cora, with her brother and his guests, went up stairs, but soon came down, her face flaming. "What's the matter?" asked Belle. "Oh, Jack! I don't believe he's ill at all!" she stormed. "It's only an excuse to escape college." "What did he do?" asked Bess, slyly. "Said Walter and Harry might--kiss me!" and Cora's face flushed. "And--er--did they?" asked Belle. "Belle Robinson! If you--well!" and Cora closed her lips in a firm line. Her mother smiled. "Perhaps we had better go up and see Inez," suggested Mrs. Kimball. "Yes, do!" urged Cora, eager to change the subject. The lace seller was sitting up in bed, and the white lounging gown that had been put on her, in exchange for her simple black dress, made her seem the real Spaniard, with her deep, olive complexion. She smiled at the sight of the girls. "Pardon, Senoritas!" she murmured, as Cora and her chums entered the room. "I am so sorry that I give you ze trouble. It is too bad--I am confused at my poor weakness. But I--I--" "You needn't apologize one bit!" burst out Cora, generously. "I'm sure you need the rest." "Yes, Senorita, I was weary--so very weary. It is good--to rest." "I think you had better have a little more broth," suggested Mrs. Kimball. "Then Dr. Blake will be here, and can say whether it would be wise to give you something more solid. You must have been quite hungry," she added, gently. "I--I was, Senora--very hungry," and taking the hand of Mrs. Kimball in her own thin, brown one, the girl imprinted a warm kiss on it. "Do you feel well enough to talk?" asked Cora. "These are my friends. They expect to go to Sea Horse Island soon. You mentioned that, just before you fainted, and--" "Yes, Senorita, I did. Oh! if I could find someone to take me zere--I would do anyzing! I would serve zem all, my life--I would work my fingers to ze bare bones--I would--" A flood of emotion seemed to choke her words. "We'll help you all we can," interrupted Cora. "Why are you so anxious to go there?" "Because my father--my dear father--he is prisoner zere, and if I go zere, I can free him!" and the girl clasped her hands in an appealing gesture. CHAPTER VI THE MYSTERIOUS MAN For a moment Cora and the Robinson twins looked alternately at one another, and then at the figure of the frail girl on the bed. She seemed to be weeping, but when she took her hands down from her eyes, there was no trace of tears in them--only a wild, and rather haunting look in her face. "Is she--do you think she is raving--a little out of her mind?" whispered Belle. "Hush!" cautioned Cora, but Inez did not seem to have heard. "I pray your pardon--I should not inflict my emotions on you thus," the lace seller said, with a pretty foreign accent. Only now and then did she mispronounce words--occasionally those with the hard (to her) "th" sound. "We shall be only too glad to help you," said Cora, gently. "I do not know zat you can help me, Senorita," the girl murmured, "and yet I need help--so much." She was silent a moment, as though trying to think of the most simple manner in which to tell her story. "You said your father was a--a prisoner," hesitated Bess, gently. "Did he--" "He did nozing, Senorita!" burst out the girl. "He was thrown into a vile prison for what you call 'politics.' Yet in our country politics are not what zey are here--so open, with all ze papairs printing so much about zem. Spanish politics are more in ze dark--what you call under the hand." She seemed uncertain whether she had used the right word. "Underhanded--yes," encouraged Cora, with a smile. "He had enemies," proceeded the girl. "Oh, zose politic--zose intrigues--I know nozzing of zem--but zey are terrible!" She spread her hands before her face with a natural, tragic gesture. "But I must not tire you, Senoritas," she resumed. "My father, he was arrested on ze political charges. We lived on Sea Horse Island-L, it is a Spanish possession of ze West Indies. We were happy zere (it is one grand, beautiful place). Ze waters of ze bay are so blue--so blue--ah!" She seemed lost in a flood of happy memories, and then, as swiftly, she apologized for giving away to her feelings. "I should not tire you," she said. "Oh, but we just love to hear about it," said Belle, eagerly. "We are going there--to waters blue--" "That I might go wiz you--but no, it is impossible!" the lace seller sighed. "Tell us your story--perhaps we can help you," suggested Cora. "I will make for you as little weariness as I can, Senoritas; and, believe me, I am truly grateful to you," she said. "I do not even dare dream zat I could go to my father," sighed Inez, "but perhaps you will be of so great kindness as to take him a message from me. I cannot mail it--he is not allowed to receive letters zat are not read, and we have no secret cipher we might use." "If we can get a letter to him, rest assured we shall do so," promised Belle, though her sister rather raised her eyebrows at the rashness of the pledge. "I cannot go into all ze details of ze politics, for I know zem not," went on the Spaniard. "All I painfully know is zat my father was thrown into prison, and our family and home broken up. My mother and I came to New York--to relatives, but alas! my poor mother died. I was left alone. I was desolate. "I had learned to make lace, and my friends thought I could sell it, so I began to make zat my trade. I thought I could save enough to go back to my father, and the beloved island--perhaps to free him." "How did you hope to do that?" asked Cora. "Because, in New York, I found one of his political party--himself an exile, who gave me what you call documents--I know not ze term--" "Evidence?" suggested Belle. "Zat is it. Evidence! I have evidence, zat would free my father, if I could get it to him. But I fear to send it by mail, for it would be taken--captured by his enemies." "It's rather complicated--isn't it?" suggested Cora. "Yes, Senorita--more so even zan I am telling you. Of myself I know but little, save zat if I can get ze certain papairs to my father, he might go free. But how am I to go to Sea Horse Island, when I have not even money to buy me food to keep from starving? I ask you--how can I? And yet I should not trouble you wiz my troubles, Senoritas." "Oh, but we want to help you!" declared Cora, warmly. "Surely," added Belle. "Perhaps I had better speak to my father. He may know of someone on Sea Horse Island, where he is going to gather orchids." "No, no, Senorita! If you please--not to speak yet!" broke in the Spanish girl suddenly. "It must be a secret--yet. I have enemies even here." "Enemies?" echoed Cora. "Yes. Zey followed me from New York. Listen, I haf not yet tell you all. I make ze lace in New York, but it so big a city--and so many lace sellers--not of my country. It is hard for me to make even a pittance. Some of my friends, zey say to go out in ze country. So I go. But I weary you--yes?" and with a quick, bird-like glance she asked the question. "Oh, no, indeed!" answered Cora. Then the girl told of traveling out of New York City, into the surrounding towns, plying her humble calling. She made a bare living, that was all, dwelling in the cheapest places, and subsisting on the coarsest food in order to save her money for her father's cause. Then came a sad day when she was robbed--in one of her, stopping places, of her little horde. She told of it with tears in her eyes. "The poor girl!" murmured Bess, with an instinctive movement toward her pretty, silver purse. Inez Ralcanto, for such she said was her name, her father being Senor Rafael Ralcanto, was heartbroken and well nigh discouraged at her loss. But to live she must continue, and so she did. She made barely enough to live on, by selling her laces, and since reaching Chelton the day-before, she had not sold a penny's worth. Her money was exhausted, and she was nearly on the verge of fainting when she applied at the Kimball home. Cora's mother had seemed interested in the lace, which really was beautifully worked, and while showing it on the porch, the girl had overheard the mention of her home island. The rest is known to the reader. "And so I am so silly as to faint!" said Inez, with a little tinkling laugh. "But I faint in good hands--I am so grateful to you!" she went on, warmly, her olive checks flushing. "And you want to go to Sea Horse Island?" asked Belle. "I want--Oh! so much, Senorita. But I know it is a vain hope. But you are good and kind. If you could take zese papairs wiz you--and manage to get zem to my father--he could tell you how to help him. For it is all politics--he had committed no--what you call crime--not a soul has he wronged. Oh, my poor father!" "And these papers?" asked Cora. "'What are they?" "I know not, Senorita. I am not versed in such zings. A fellow patriot of my father gave them to me." "Have you them with you?" asked Bess. The girl started up in bed, and clutched at her breast. A wild look came over her face. "I had zem in New York--I bring zem away wiz me. Zat man--he is ze enemy of my father and his party. He know I have zem, and he try to entrap me. But I am too--what you call foxy, for him! I slip through his fingernails. Ze papairs--in my valise--Oh, where is it? I--when I faint--I have it at my feet--" "It was on the porch!" exclaimed Mrs. Kimball. "I forgot all about it in the excitement. It was full of lace--Oh, if some one has taken it!" "And my papairs--zat could free my father!" cried the girl. A shout came from the front of the house. "That's Walter's voice!" exclaimed Cora, starting up. "Here, drop that satchel!" came the call. The girls swept to the window in time to see a small man running down the drive, closely pursued by Walter Pennington. And, as the man fled, he dropped a valise from which trailed a length of lace. The girl, Inez, caught a reflection of the scene in a mirror of the bedroom. "Zat is him--ze mysterious man!" she cried. "Oh, if he has taken my papairs!" and she seemed about to leap from the bed. CHAPTER VII NEW PLANS "You mustn't do that!" cried Cora. "Hold her, girls!" "But ze man--my papairs!" fairly screamed the Spanish visitor. "He has nothing--Walter is after him--he doesn't seem to have taken anything," said Belle, soothingly, as Mrs. Kimball pressed back on the pillow the frail form of the eager girl. Inez struggled for a moment, and then lay quiet. But she murmured, over and over again: "Oh, if he has--if he has--my father--he may never see ze outside of ze prison again!" "We will help you," said Cora's mother, softly. "If there has been a robbery, the authorities shall be notified. I will have one of the girls inquire. You say Walter is down there, Belle?" "Yes, and a man is running off down the road. I'll go see what it all means." "I wish you would, please." The eager gaze of Inez followed Belle as she left the room. The little excitement had proved rather good, than otherwise, for the patient, for there was a glow and flush to her dusky cheeks and her eyes had lost that dull, hopeless look of combined hunger and fear. Quiet now reigned in the little chamber where the lace seller had been given such a haven of rest. "What's it all about, Wally?" asked Belle, as she encountered the chum of Cora's brother, who was coming up the side steps bearing a black valise, from which streamed lengths of lace. "Some enterprising beggar tried to make off with this valise," he said. "I had come down from Jack's room, and was sitting in the library, when I saw him sneak up on the porch, and try to get away with it. He dropped it like a hot potato when I sang out to him. But whose is it? Doesn't look like the one Cora uses when she goes off for a week-end, that is, unless you girls have taken to wearing more lace on your dresses than you used to." "It belongs to the lace seller--Inez--you know, the one we spoke of," said Belle. "She's here--in a sort of collapse from hunger. And she has told the strangest story--all about a political crime--her father in prison--secret papers and a mysterious man after them." "Good!" cried Waker, with a short laugh. "I seem to have fitted in just right to foil the villain in getting the papers. Say, better not let Jack know about this, or he'll be on the job, too, and what he needs just now is a rest--eh, Harry?" "That's it," agreed the other college youth, whom Belle had not noticed since coming down stairs in such haste. "Wally robbed me of the honors," complained Harry. "I was just going to make after the fellow." "And was he really going to steal the papers?" asked Belle. "I don't know as to that," Walter answered. "I don't know anything about any papers. But Harry and I were sitting here, after seeing that Jack was comfortable in his room, waiting for the doctor, when I heard someone come up the steps. At first I thought it was Dr. Blake himself but when the footsteps became softer, and more stealthy, as the novels have it, I took a quiet observation. "Then I saw this Italian-looking chap reaching for the valise. I let out a yell, went after him and he dropped it. Ahem! Nothing like having a first-class hero in the family!" and Walter swelled out his chest, and looked important. "Better find out, first, whether you saved the papers, or just the empty valise," suggested Harry, with a smile. "Such things have been known to happen, you know." "That's right!" admitted Walter. "Guess I had better look," and he was proceeding to open a valise when Belle hastily took it from him. "You mustn't!" she exclaimed. "It isn't ours, and poor little Inez may not like it. Leave it up to her and she can tell if anything is missing." "Just tell that I saved it for her--I, Walter Pennington!" begged the owner of that name. "Nothing like making a good impression, from the start, on the pretty stranger," he added. "Eh?" "Just my luck!" murmured Harry, with a tragic air. "Oh, you silly boys!" laughed Belle. She hastened up the stairs to the room where Inez as resting, the lace trailing from the half-opened valise. "Oh, you have it back--my satchel!" gasped a Spanish girl. "Oh, if ze papairs are only safe!" They were, evidently, for she gave utterance a sigh of relief when she drew a bundle of crackling documents from a side pocket of the valise, under a pile of filmy lace, at the sight of which Cora and the girls uttered exclamations of delight. Inez heard them. "Take it--take it all!" she begged of them, thrusting into Mrs. Kimball's hands a mass of the beautiful cob-webby stuff. "It is all yours, and too little for what you have done for me!" "Nonsense!" exclaimed Cora's mother. "This lace is beautiful. I shall be glad to purchase some of it, and pay you well for it--I can't get that kind in the stores. You didn't show me this at first." "No, Senora, I was too tired. But it is all yours. I care not for it, now zat I have ze papairs safe. Zey are for my father!" "Do you really think some man was trying to get them?" asked Cora. "Oh, yes, Senorita," was the serious answer. "There was a man up on the stoop--he had the valise, Walter said," put in Belle. "He dropped it and ran." "Who could he be?" asked Cora. "An enemy!" fairly hissed the Spanish girl, with something of dramatic intensity. "I tried to keep secret ze fact zat I was working for my father's release. I will not tire you wiz telling you all, but some enemies know I have papairs zat prove ze innocence of Senor Ralcanto. Zis man--Pedro Valdez he call himself--has been trying to get zem from me. He tried in New York, and he said he would give me no rest until he had zem. He must have been following me--no hard task since I have traveled a slow and weary way. Zen, when he saw my valise--he must have thought it his chance." "How dreadful!" murmured Bess. "To think that such things could happen in Chelton!" "And perhaps we are not at the end of them yet," said Cora, softly. "The man got away, didn't he, Belle?" "So Walter said. Oh, dear! I'm glad we're going to the West Indies!" "Oh, zat I were going wiz you!" exclaimed Inez, clasping her thin, brown hands in an appealing gesture. "But if you will take zese papairs, Senorita, and help to free my father--I will never be able to repay your great kindness." "We shall have to ask papa about it," said Bess, cautiously. "Would you like to have him come and talk to you--he would understand about the political side of it so much better than we would." "I would gladly welcome ze senor," said Inez, with a graceful dignity. "I shall be honored if he come." "I think he'll be glad to," spoke Belle. "He loves anything about, politics--he's a reformer, you know." "And so was my father--he belong to ze reform party--but the others--zey of ze old regime--zey like not reform in Sea Horse Island," chattered Inez. "Zey lose too much money zereby. So my father he is in prison, and I am here!" she finished, softly. "Well, it's all dreadfully mixed up," sighed Cora, "and I believe it will take your father, Belle, to straighten out some of the tangle. Meanwhile, I suppose I'd better put these papers in the safe," for Inez had thrust them into Cora's rather unwilling hands. "Keep zem safe, if you can Senora," pleaded the girl. "Zat--zat villain, if I must call him such--zat Valdez may come back for zem." Mrs. Kimball started. "Don't worry, mother," said Cora. "Jack is home now, to say nothing of Walter and Harry." "Oh, my poor boy!" exclaimed his mother. "I must go to him. Dr. Blake ought to be here." "There comes his car now," volunteered Belle. "I know the sound." Several events, of no particular importance now followed each other in rapid succession. It was Dr. Blake who had arrived, and he was soon subjecting Jack to a searching medical examination, with the result of which, only, we need concern ourselves. Cora, slipping the bundle of papers the Spanish girl had given her into the house safe, begged Walter to keep a sharp lookout for the possible return of the mysterious man, and then she went back to stay with Inez until Dr. Blake should be able to see the foreign visitor. Harry and Walter talked in the library, and Bess and Belle--after a brief chat with the other boys, went home to tell their folks the news, and consult Mr. Robinson about the Spanish prisoner. "Rest--rest and a change of scene--a complete change is all he needs," had been Dr. Blake's verdict regarding Jack. "If he could go south for the winter, it would be the making of him. He'll come back in the spring a new lad. But a rest and change he must have. His nerves demand it!" "And we shall see that he gets it," said Mrs. Kimball. "Now about that girl, Doctor." "Nothing the matter with her--just starved, that's all. The easiest prescription to write in the world. Feed her. You've already got a good start on it. Keep it up." "Of course you can't advise us about her father, and the story she tells." "No. She seems sincere, though. As you say, Mr. Robinson, with his business connections, will be the best one at that end of it." "Poor girl," murmured Cora. "I do hope we can help her." "She has been helped already," the physician informed her. "And, if I am any judge by the past activities of the motor girls, she is in for a great deal more of help in the future," and he laughed and pinched Cora's tanned check. "Will you need to see Jack again?" asked his mother. "Not until just before he goes away. The less medicine he takes the better, though I'll leave a simple bromide mixture for those shrieking nerves of his--they will cry out once in a while--the ends are all bare--they need padding with new thoughts. Get him away as soon as you can." It was a new problem for the Kimball family to solve, but they were equal to it. Fortunately, money matters did not stand in the road, and since Jack was not to keep up his studies, and since Cora had "finished," there were no ties of location to hinder. "I guess we'll all have to go away," sighed Mrs. Kimball. "I had rather counted on a quiet winter in Chelton, but of course now we can't have it." "Perhaps it will be all for the best," suggested Cora. "If Bess and Belle are going away, I won't have any fun here alone." A little silence followed this remark. The Robinson twins, who had just come back for an evening call, sat looking at each other. Between them they seemed to hide some secret. "You tell her, Bess," suggested Belle. "You, you, dear!" "Is there anything?" asked Cora, smiling at her chums. "Oh, dear, it's the best thing in the world--if you'll consent to it!" burst out Bess. "Listen! Papa and mamma want you to come with us, Cora--to the West Indies. They'd love to have you and your mother." "We couldn't leave Jack!" said Cora, softly. "Bring him along!" invited Belle. "It would be just the thing for him--wouldn't it, Dr. Blake?" "The West Indies? Yes, I should say there couldn't be a better place." "Oh!" gasped Cora. "Do say yes, Mrs. Kimball!" pleaded Belle. "What about poor little Inez?" questioned Cora. "Did you tell your father, Bess?" "Yes, and he seems to think there may be something in it. He is going to make inquiries. Oh, but let's settle this first. Will you come with us, Mrs. Kimball--Cora? And bring Jack! Oh, it would be just perfect to have you with us." "Could we go, Mother?" Cora pleaded. "Why, it is all so sudden--and yet there is no good reason why we shouldn't." "Good!" cried Walter. "I'm coming, too! I never could leave old Jack! Ho, for the West Indies!" CHAPTER VIII THE DREAM OF INEZ "Oh, Walter, are you really going?" "Do you mean it?" "Are you joking?" Thus Belle, Bess and Cora questioned Jack's chum, who stood in the center of the library, one hand thrust between two buttons of his coat, and the other raised above his head like some political orator of the old school. "Mean it? Of course I mean it!" he exclaimed, while Dr. Blake chuckled. "I need a rest and change. Anyone will tell you that--er my appetite is not what it once was." "No, it's on the increase," murmured Harry. "And as for nerves--" "Nerve, you mean," Harry went on. "You have more than your share." "There, you see!" declaimed Walter, triumphantly. "I simply need some change." "Better pay back what you borrowed of me to fee the Pullman porter," went on his tormentor. "Hush!" ordered Walter, imperiously. "I'll pay you--when I come back from the West Indies." "You seem to think it's all settled," laughed Cora. "It is, as far as I'm concerned," said Walter, coolly. "If I can't go any other way I'll go as a valet to Mr. Robinson, or courier to the rest of the family. I can speak the language--habe Espanola? Oh, you simply can't get along without me--especially as I'll pay my own fare. And, Jack'll need me, too. It's all settled." Mrs. Kimball looked at Dr. Blake. There was a serious and questioning look on her face. "What do you think, Doctor?" she asked. "Professionally, I should say it was an excellent chance," he replied. "It would do Jack a world of good, and, though neither you nor Cora seems to be in need of recuperation, I have no doubt you would enjoy the trip." "Then you simply must come!" cried Belle. "I'll 'phone papa at once." "Not quite so fast, my dear," said Mrs. Kimball, gently. "I must first see if Jack would like it." "He's sure to," declared Cora, who already had visions of palm-tufted coral islands, and deep blue waters. "Just tell him he's going," suggested Dr. Blake. "Patients, such as he, don't need much urging one way or the other. The trouble is they are too little inclined to resist." He took up his, hat, as a signal that he was going, and once more expressing his professional opinion that the change would be the best possible medicine for Jack, took his leave. "Let's go up and tell Jack now," suggested Cora, who, the more she thought of the new plan, more cordially welcomed it. "It might disturb his night's rest," objected her mother. "He has had a hard day, traveling and all that--" "He seemed very bright," put in Walter. "I think it would give him something good to think of. He's been brooding too much over having to quit the football eleven and his favorite studies." "Then tell him, by all means," assented Mrs. Kimball. "May we count on you, if we make up a party to go to the West Indies?" she asked of Harry. "I'm afraid not, thank you. I'd give anything to go, but I can't spare the time from college. Some other occasion, perhaps." As Walter had predicted, Jack took fire at once oh hearing the proposal. "It'll be great!" he declared. "I've always wanted to go. I wonder what sort of a boat we could get down there, Wally? It would be immense to go on a cruise, among those hundreds of islands." "Time enough to think of that when we get there, old man. Then you'd like to go?" "I sure would. Tell Mr. Robinson thanks--a hundred times." "I'll save some of them for to-morrow; it's getting late. Now turn over, and go to sleep." "Sleep! As if I could sleep with that news! Let's talk about it!" And they did--the girls coming up with Mrs. Kimball for a brief chat. Then the invalid was ordered to quiet down for the night. Walter, with Harry, who was to remain at the Kimball residence for a few days, went home with the Robinson twins in their car, Cora trailing along in her automobile to bring back the boys. The next day nothing was talked of but the prospective trip. Walter wired his people and received permission to absent himself from college, ostensibly to help look after Jack. As Harry had said, he could not go, but Mrs. Kimball and Cora fully made up their minds to make the journey with Jack, and close up the Chelton home for the winter months. "But what about Inez and her political problem?" asked Belle, when this much had been settled. "She doesn't want to stay and be, as she says, a burden on you any longer, poor little girl." "She's far from being a burden," spoke Cora. "Why, mother says the lace she sold us was the most wonderful bargain, even though we did give her more than she asked for it. And as for making pretty things, why she's a positive genius. My pretty lace handkerchief that was so badly torn, she mended beautifully. And she is so skillful with the needle! Mother says she never need go out peddling lace again. There are any number of shops that would be glad to have her as a worker." "It's so good she fell into your hands," murmured Bess. "But, as you say, what about her? Papa has looked over her papers, and he says there is really enough evidence in them to free Mr. Ralcanto. Papa even cabled to some business friends in San Juan, and they confirmed enough of Inez's story to make him believe it all. "Of course I don't understand--I never could make head nor tail of politics, but there seems to be a conspiracy to keep Mr. Ralcanto in jail, and treat him shamefully. Inez did accidentally find the evidence to free him, and her father's enemies tried to get it away from her." "Then that man whom Walter saw," began Cora, "was--" "He might have been after the papers," interrupted Bess, "and again, he might have been only a tramp, hoping to get a valise full of lace. At any rate, he hasn't been around again."' "Mother told our man John to be on the watch for him," said Cora. "And now lets consider what we are going to do. What shall I need to take in the way of clothes?" "Only your very lightest, my dear," suggested Belle. "Of course the trip down on the steamer will be cool--at least the first day or so. Well start in about two weeks. That will bring us to Porto Rica about, the beginning of the dry season--the most delightful time." "And is your father really going to try to have the Spanish prisoner released?" asked Cora. "He says he is, my dear. And when papa makes up his mind to do a thing, it is generally done," said Bess. "Besides, he has learned that Mr. Ralcanto did some political favors for friends of papa's. That is before the poor man was put in prison. Which brings us back to Inez--what about her, Cora?" "I have just thought of something," murmured Jack's sister. "As I said, she has several times suggested going, now she is practically assured that something will be attempted for her father. But I was just wondering why we couldn't take her with us?" "Of course!" cried Belle. "Mamma was going to take Janet for a maid," Cora resumed, "but Janet isn't very keen on going. I fancy she thinks the West Indian Islands are inhabited by cannibals." "The idea!" laughed Bess. "Well, I found her reading some books on African travel," Cora went on, "and she asked me if the climate wasn't about the same. She seems to think all hot countries are the homes of cannibals. So I imagine Janet will refuse to go--at the last moment." "Would Inez go, as a maid?" asked Belle. "I fancy so. She says she has done so before, since the change in her fortunes. And mother and I like her very much. Besides, she speaks Spanish, and that would be a great help." "Why, Walter said--" began Bess, wonderingly. "He knows just two words of Spanish, and he speaks them as though he were a German comedian," declared Cora. "Wally is all right otherwise, but as a translator of the Castilian tongue, I wouldn't trust him to ask what time it was," she laughed. "But Inez would be such a help." "Then why don't you take her?" asked Bess. And, when it had been talked over with Mrs. Kimball, it was practically decided upon. "Lets go tell Inez," proposed Belle, "when the decision had been reached. It will be such a surprise to her." The Spanish girl, though not fully recovered from the long period of insufficient food and weary toil, had insisted upon taking up some of the duties, of the Kimball home. But Cora's mother required that she rest a portion of each day to recover her strength. And, as the girls sought her in her own little room (for Inez was anything but a servant), they found her just awakening from a sleep. "Oh, Senoritas!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed under their olive tint. "I have had such a beautiful dream. I dreamed I was back in my own dear country--on Sea Horse Island. Oh, but ze palms waved a welcome to me, and ze waters--ze so blue waters--zey sang a song to me. Ze blue waves broke on ze coral--as I have seen it so, often. Oh, but, Senoritas, I was sorry to awaken--so sorry--for it was but a dream." "No, Inez, it was not all a dream," said Cora, gently. "If you like, you may go back to Sea Horse Island. We will take you to Porto Rico with us, and from there you can easily go to your own island." "Oh, will you--will you take me, Senoritas?" cried Inez, kneeling at Cora's feet. "Oh, but it is magnificent of you!" and she covered Cora's hands with kisses. CHAPTER IX OFF TO WATERS BLUE "Oh, Jack! Aren't you just wild to go?" "I don't know, Cora. Anything for a change, I suppose," was the listless answer. "I'd go anywhere--do anything--just to get one good night's sleep again." "You poor boy! Didn't you rest well?" "A little better than usual, but I'm so dead tired when I wake up--I don't seem to have closed my eyes." Jack's nervous trouble had taken the turn of insomnia---that bugbear of physician and patient alike--and while the others had their night hours filled with dreams, or half-dreams, of pleasant anticipation, poor Jack tumbled and tossed restlessly. "I'm sure you will be much better when we get to San Juan," affirmed Cora. "The sea voyage will do you good, and then down there it will be such a change for you." "I suppose it will," assented her brother. "But just now I don't feel energetic enough even to head a rescue party for Senor Ralcanto." That remark seemed very serious to Cora, for her brother was of a lively and daring disposition, always the leader in any pranks. Now, his very listlessness told how strong a hold, or, rather, lack of hold, his nerves had on him. "Never mind," said Cora cheerfully. "Once we get started, and with Wally, Bess and Belle to cheer you up, I'm sure you'll be much better." "Anything for a change," again assented Jack, without enthusiasm. Arrangements were rapidly being made. The Kimball and Robinson homes in Chelton would be closed for, the winter, for the families planned to stay in the West Indies until spring should have again brought forth the North into its green attire. Walter Pennington had agreed to stay as long as Jack did, and Mrs. Kimball, being of independent means, as were Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, could prolong their cruise indefinitely, if they so desired. As for the girls, it was like standing on the threshold of a new wonderland. They did not know all the wonders they were about to see, nor did they dream of all the strange experiences and adventures in which they, would play an active part. Inez had communicated with the few distant friends she had in New York, telling them of her great joy in being able to get back to Sea Horse Island. And her father, too, might find happiness in release from his political prison. The Spanish girl would go as a maid and companion to Mrs. Kimball, and Inez rejoiced in her new duties. Cora's mother declared Inez was a jewel. The papers that it was hoped would free Mr. Ralcanto were carefully concealed for taking with the party, for, though Jack and Walter scoffed at the idea of anyone daring to try to get them, Mr. Robinson was not so sanguine. "Down there conditions are very different from up here," he said. "They haven't the same wholesome regard for law--or, rather, they take it into their own hands, as suits their fancy. And if any one of the political party opposed to Mr. Ralcanto, was to see a chance, even up north here, I don't doubt but that he'd take it, and make off with the papers. "Of course we might manage to do without them, but there is no use running unnecessary risks. So I'll just put them where they won't find them in a hurry." A search had been made in Chelton for the mysterious man who had tried to make off with Inez's valise, but all trace of him was lost. He might have been merely a passing tramp. The girls were in a constant flutter of excitement. There was so much to do, and so many new garments to secure. The two motor cars were kept in constant use, Bess, Belle and Cora darting back and forth in their respective houses, or to the Chelton shops. Occasionally they made a trip to New York for something which simply could not properly be had at the home stores. As for Jack and Walter, they declared that they we're ready to start on ten minutes notice. "All we have to do is to chuck a few things in a suit case, and buy our tickets," Walter declared. "I always carry a tooth brush with me." "Wonderful--marvelous!" mocked Bess. "Superior creatures--aren't they?" suggested Cora, smiling. And so the preparations went on. The party was to sail in a fruit steamer from New York, and would land at San Juan, where Mr. Robinson had engaged rooms at the best hotel. He expected to do considerable business there, but future plans were not all settled. "At any rate, we'll have a most glorious time!" declared Bess, "and I'm sure it will do Jack good." "I think its done him some good already just thinking about it," replied Cora. "Though he declares that he doesn't care much, one way or the other. It isn't like Jack to be thus indifferent." "He doesn't seem so very indifferent--just now," commented. Belle, dryly. "He and Walter are trying to explain to Inez how a motor car works and I do believe Jack is holding her hand much longer than he needs, to in showing her how the gears are shifted." The three girls--Cora and her chums--were in Cora's room, making a pretense at packing. They could look down to the drive at the side of the house--where Jack's car stood after a little run. As Belle had said, Jacks indifference seemed partially to have vanished. For he was enthusiastic in imparting some information to Inez. As I have explained, the position of the pretty Spanish girl was much different from that of an ordinary servant. She was more like a companion. And, now that a rest and good food had rounded out her hollow cheeks, she was distinctively pretty, with that rather bold and handsome type of beauty for which the southern women are so noted. Jack and Walter both seemed much impressed. The girls were not jealous--at least not yet--of Inez. Inez was so delighted with the prospect of getting back to her own island, and with the chance of helping free her father, that it is doubtful if she looked upon Jack and Walter with any more seeing eyes than those which she would have directed to small boys at their play. She liked them. She liked them to show her about the automobile, and she laughed frankly with them--but she was totally ingenuous. "And she could be so--so dangerous--if she chose," murmured Belle. "What do you mean?" asked Cora. "I mean--with her languorous," was the murmured reply. Cora looked sharply at her chum, but said nothing. The last gown had been delivered, and the trunks needed but the straps around them to close their lids. The Chelton houses had been put in readiness for their lonely winter, and already the tang of frost in the late October air had brought the advance message of Jack Frost. Some few purchases remained for Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Kimball to make, but these were deferred until the trip to New York to take the steamer. They would remain a day or so in the metropolis before sailing. "One last run in our cars, and then well put them away," suggested Cora to her chums. "We'll come along," Jack invited himself and Walter. They had a glorious day in the open. Then the gasoline tanks were emptied, the radiators drained, and the cars put away in the garage. "I do hope we can do some motor boating down there," said Jack, with something like a return of his former interest. "We shall, I'm sure," said Bess. "'They say it is ideal for the sport there." Inez had sent word to her father that an attempt would be made to free him. That is, she had sent the message. Whether it would reach him or not was another question, for his political enemies had him pretty well hedged about. New York was no novelty to our friends, for they often ran in during the winter. The days there were busy ones, and passed quickly. Their luggage was put aboard the steamer, the last purchases had been made, and now they were ready themselves to walk up the gang-plank. "Well, girls, are you all ready to leave?" asked Mr. Robinson, as he came on deck. "All ready--for waters blue!" half chanted Cora. "Inez," she asked, "would you mind going down and seeing if mother has everything she wants?" "I go, Senorita," murmured the Spanish girl. As she turned to make her way to Mrs. Kimball's stateroom, Inez started and drew back at the sight of a very fat man just coming aboard. "Zat man! Here!" she gasped, and Cora turned to see Inez shrink out of sight behind one of the lifeboats. CHAPTER X THE BLUE WATERS "What is the matter, my dear girl?" asked Cora, when she had recovered from the little start Inez gave her. "Did that man do anything--or speak to you?" and she looked indignantly about for a ship's officer to whom to complain. "No! No--not that!" cried the Spanish girl, quickly. "He did not speak--he did not even look!" "Then why are you so alarmed?" "It is because I know zat man--I know him when I am in New York before. He try to find out from me about my father," and a shivering, as if of fear, seemed to take possession of the timid girl. "Do you mean he belonged to the political party that put your father in prison?" "Zat is it. Oh, but zese politics! I know not what zey mean, but zey are trouble--trouble always. Now zat man he is here--he is looking for me, I am sure." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Cora, determined, whether she believed it or, not, to make light of the matter, for Inez was certainly much alarmed. "I don't believe he even knows you are on board," Jack's sister went on, "But we'll speak to Mr. Robinson about it. He'll know what to do. Do you think that man saw you?" "I know not, Senorita Cora. But I am much afraid!" There was no doubt of that; the girl's eyes and every movement, showed her alarm. "Come along!" Cora forced herself to say brightly. "We'll soon settle this matter. We'll find out who that man is, and--" "Oh, no! No, Senorita. Do not trouble. It you should do zat, zis man would only make matters worse for my poor father. Let him alone!" "And have you, and us, worrying all the time on this voyage? Indeed, I'll not." This was not Cora's way. She never shrank from doing what she considered to be her duty. In this case, her duty lay in finding out whether or not there was a real, or fancied enemy, of Mr. Ralcanto's aboard. The man who had caused this little flurry of excitement, had, by this time, gone down to his stateroom. Other belated passengers were hurrying aboard, the last consignment of freight was being brought to the dock, and preparations for leaving were multiplying. "I might as well wait until I can see him, you can point him out to me again," said Cora, "and then I'll show him to Mr. Robinson. He can speak to the captain, and find out who the big man is." "Very well, Senorita," assented Inez. "But I do not wish to give annoyance. I have already been such a burden--" "Nonsense!" Cora cried. "We've undertaken this business of getting your father out of that political prison, and we're going to do it. I think we're going to start now." There was little doubt about it. Bells were jingling, whistles were blowing and men were hoarsely shouting. Then the gang-plank was pulled to the dock, away from the steamer's side, just after a last belated passenger had run up it. Mooring ropes were cast off, and then with a blast from her siren, that fairly made the decks tremble, the ship was slowly pushed out into the river to drop down the harbor, and so on her way to Porto Rico. It was just before the pilot was about to leave, that Cora got a chance to carry out her intention of drawing the attention of Mr. Robinson to the mysterious man who had so seriously alarmed Inez. The personal baggage of our travelers had been put away in the respective staterooms, and they were all up on deck watching the scenes about the harbor. Inez, who was standing near Mrs. Kimball and Cora, suddenly gave a start, and touching Jack's sister on the arm, whispered: "There he is! And he is looking right at me!" Cora turned quickly. She did behold the gaze of the fat man directed in rather scrutinizing fashion on the Spanish girl, and, as he saw that he was attracting attention, he quickly averted his eyes. In appearance he was a Cuban or Spaniard, well dressed and prosperous looking, but not of prepossessing appearance. At that moment Mr. Robinson strolled past, talking to the captain whom he knew, for the twins' father had long been engaged in a branch of the coffee importing business, and had much to do with ships. "Now is my chance," thought Cora. "I'll find out who that man is." She whispered to Inez to keep the mysterious stranger in view, while she herself went to speak to Mr. Robinson and the captain. She had previously been introduced to the commander, and found him most agreeable. Cora quickly explained to Mr. Robinson the little alarm Inez had experienced, and requested him to find out, from the captain, who the man was. "That man?" queried the commander, in answer to Mr. Robinson's question. "Why, he is an old traveler with me. He goes up and down to Porto Rico quite often. He's a coffee merchant, Miguel Ramo by name, and very wealthy, I believe. Do you wish to meet him?" "Oh, no!" said Cora hastily, and with a meaning look at Mr. Robinson, "I--I just wanted to know who he was." "He has a very interesting personality," went on the captain. "He has been through a number of revolutions in his own native country, of Venezuela, and, I believe, has mixed up, more or less, with politics in Porto Rico. He tells some queer stories." "Perhaps I shall be glad to make his acquaintance, later," murmured Mr. Robinson, as Cora, with a meaning look, slipped away. She had found out part of what she wanted to know. While Mr. Robinson and the captain continued their stroll along deck, Cora slipped to where Inez was waiting. "Do you know a Senor Miguel Ramo?" asked Jack's sister. Inez puckered her brow in thought. "No," she said slowly, "I do not know ze name, but I am sure zat man was on Sea Horse Island when my father was taken to prison. I am fearful of him." "Well, you needn't be," declared Cora, lightly. "Remember you're with us, and under the protection of Mr. Robinson. Besides, that man seems well known to Captain Watson, and, even if he is a revolutionist, he may not be a bad one." Inez shook her head. The sad experiences through which she had passed had not tended to make her brave and self-reliant, as was Cora. But, even at that, Inez could not but feel the helpful influence of the motor girls, and already, from their influence, she, had gained much. Out of seeming confusion and chaos came order and discipline, and soon matters were running smoothly aboard the vessel. Jack and Walter came up on-deck, with Bess and Belle, and the young people, including Inez, who was regarded more as a companion than as a maid, formed one of the group that watched the shores and ships slipping past, as they went through the Narrows, and out into the bay. Cora told of the little alarm Inez had experienced, and Walter was at once anxious to establish a sort of espionage over the suspect. Jack agreed with him, and doubtless they would have constituted themselves a committee of two to "dog" the footsteps of the fat man, had not Cora firmly interfered. "Mr. Robinson is looking after him," said Jack's sister, "and he'll do all that is necessary. Besides, I don't believe that man is the one Inez thinks he is. She isn't quite so sure as she was; are you?" "No, Senorita. And yet--I know not why but I am of a fear about him." "Don't you worry--I'll look out for you!" said Jack, taking her hand, which Inez, with a pretty blush, hastily snatched away from him. The pilot was "dropped," and then began the real voyage of about fifteen hundred miles to San Juan. It was destined to be uneventful, so we shall not concern ourselves with it, except to say that though Mr. Robinson kept a close watch on Senor Ramo, he could detect nothing that could connect him with the imprisonment of the father of Inez. If the coffee merchant were in any way responsible, he betrayed no sign of it, not even when Mr. Robinson, in conversation with him, introduced the name of Senor Ralcanto. So, unless the fat man was an excellent actor, it was decided Inez had been mistaken. She herself, however, would not admit this, and continued to believe the man an enemy of her family. She avoided meeting him, and when she saw him on deck, she went back to her stateroom. The weather had been cold, sharp and rather dreary on leaving New York, and warm clothing and coats were in demand. But in a day or so the balmy winds of the south began to make themselves felt, and the travelers were glad to don lighter clothing. Mr. Robinson had been to Cuba, though not to Porto Rico, but the islands, are much the same, and his knowledge of one sufficed for the other. Inez, too, was of service to the girls and the two ladies in telling them what to wear. Mr. Robinson and the boys were comfortable in suits of thin Scotch tweed, once the southern limits were reached, and later they changed to linen of the kind they used during their stay. Mrs. Robinson, Mrs. Kimball, and the girls varied from brown silks to linens, and found them perfectly well suited to the climate. The days slipped by. The sun became warmer and warmer, and then, one morning, as the party came on, deck after breakfast, Cora, going forward, called out: "Oh, see how blue the water is!" "Isn't it!" agreed Bess. "How beautiful!" murmured Belle. "Now we are coming to my country," said Inez, softly. "Off there is Porto Rico, and beyond--beyond is Sea Horse Island--and my father!" There were traces of tears in her eyes. Cora softly slipped her hand into that of the pretty refugee. CHAPTER XI IN SAN JUAN The anchor splashed into the blue waters of San Juan Bay. The ship swung around at her cable, and came to rest, and then up came the small boats with their skippers, eager to obtain fares and the transportation of baggage. Sailing craft there were, puffing tugs, old-fashioned naphtha launches and the more modern gasoline launches, all-swarming about the steamer. "Look at that!" cried Jack, as he viewed the scene before him. "What does it all mean? Why don't we go up to the dock in regular style, and not stop away out here?" "There aren't any really good docks in San Juan, though there may be some built soon," said Mr. Robinson. "We'll have to go ashore in some of these craft. They're all right. I'll see to our luggage." "Well, this is some difference from New York," commented Jack. "Yes, and that's the beauty of it," remarked his sister. "It is the change that is going to do you good, Jack dear," and she smiled at him, brightly. "I'm beginning to feel better already, Sis," he answered, and there was a keener look in his eyes that had been so tired, while his checks were flushed with the warmth of the air, and the excitement in anticipation of new scenes. "Well, get ready, girls!" called Mr. Robinson, "Get all your furbelows and fixings together, and we'll go ashore in one of these boats. My! but it's warm!" It was hot, with the heat of the tropics, for the rainy season was not yet fully over, though it was approaching its end, and more pleasant weather might be expected. Porto Rico, I might explain, nearly resembles the climate of Florida, though it is not quite so hot in summer, nor so cold in winter. It is nearly always like June in Porto Rico, the thermometer then, and in July, reaching its maximum of eighty-six, the average being seventy-two. Mr. Robinson bargained with the skipper of a large and new motor boat to take him, his party and their baggage ashore, and when the trunks and bags had been transferred, off they started over the blue waters toward the small, docks, at which were congregated many small fishing craft. "Oh, but it is beautiful!" exclaimed Cora, as she looked down into the waters, which were of an intense blue, even close to shore. That is characteristic of this coral land, the ocean near the coast being always that blue, except where it is colored by the inflowing of some large stream. Before them lay the city itself, a city of many white buildings, the color of which met and blended with the tints of the mountains beyond, and those tints varied from olive green, into olive brown, indigo, and, in some places, even to the more brilliant ultramarine. The motor girls gazed at the scene with eager eyes, and into those of Inez came tears of joy, for she was, every minute, coming nearer and nearer to the land she loved--the land where her father was a prisoner. Up to the small dock puffed the motor boat, and when Mr. Robinson demanded to know the price, the boatman named a sum that instantly brought forth a voluble protest from the Spanish girl. At once she and the boatman engaged in a verbal duel. "Mercy!" exclaimed Bess. "What can have happened? Is he some brigand who wants to carry us off?" "Or a pirate?" suggest Jack. "He looks like one. Wally, have you a revolver with you?" "Don't you dare!" cried Belle, covering her ears with her hands. "He want to charge two pesos too much!" explained Inez, when she had her breath. "It is not lawful!" and once more she expostulated in Spanish. The boatman, with a shrug of his shoulders, as much as to ask, "How can one quarrel with a woman?" accepted the amount Inez picked out from the change Mr. Robinson held out, and then they went ashore, their luggage being put on the pier. The boatman was sullen about the failure of his trick, until Mr. Robinson, who was an experienced traveler, slipped him a coin, which must have been large enough to make up for the disappointment, for the man murmured: "Muchas gracias!" and fell to with a will to help the travelers get their belongings into a carriage. "What did he say to papa?" asked Bess, of Inez. "Many thanks," translated the Spanish girl. "I must practice that!" spoke Jack. "What else do you say in this country, Inez?" "Oh, many zings, Senor," and she blushed prettily. "It all depends on what you want. But many here speak ze English as you do. Zere is little trouble." "What would I do if I wanted a glass of ice cream soda water?" asked Walter. "And I feel like one now." "Zere is not so much of your ice-cream soda here," went on Inez, "but ozer drinks are of a goodness. Cocoanut milk is much nice. If in a store you go, say 'Quiero' (ke-a-ro), which means 'I want.' And zen name zat which you desire. You will of a soon learn ze Spanish for many zings." "And how shall we know what to pay?" asked Bess. "Say 'Cuanto?'" directed Inez. "Cuanto (koo-ahn-to) means 'how much,' and the man will soon tell you--if, indeed, he does not tell you too much. But you will soon learn." "I have a better way than all this cuanto and piero business," spoke Walter. "How?" asked Jack. "Show me." "Go in the place, make a noise like the article you want, or, better still, go pick it out from the shelves, hold out a handful of money, and let the fellow help himself," was Walter's way out of the difficulty. "He'll probably leave you enough for carfare." "Well, that is a good way, too," agreed Jack. "We'll try both." The travelers were distributed in two carriages, their heavy luggage being put in a wagon to follow them to the hotel. On the way to their stopping place, Cora and her chums were much interested in the various sights. They had come to a typical tropical Spanish city, though it was under the dominion of the United States. No one seemed in a hurry, and, though there were many whites, including Spaniards, to be seen, the majority of the inhabitants were of negro blood, the gradations being from very black to a mulatto, with a curious reddish tinge, in hair and skin, showing Spanish blood. It was quite a different hotel from the one they had stopped at in New York, there being none of that smartness of service one looks for in the metropolis. But the rooms were comfortable, and the travelers were assured of good cooking, Inez said. However, there was a penetrating odor of onion and garlic from the direction of the kitchen, that made Jack say to his mother, apprehensively: "I say, Mater, you know I can't go onions, especially since I am down on my feed. What'll I do? I can stand their red pepper, but onions never!" "You shall but ask zat none be put in your food, and none will," said Inez. "Many travelers do so. I, myself, do not like onions any more." "I'm glad of it!" said Jack. "You can sit next to me at table, Inez," whereat she blushed under her olive hue. Mr. Robinson, seeing that the ladies, girls and youths were comfortably settled in their new quarters, went off to see some business associates, promising to come back in time for an afternoon drive, following the siesta. "For everyone takes a siesta," explained Inez, speaking of the "afternoon nap." The drive about the city, and out a distance into the country, was enjoyed by all. Jack seemed to be improving hourly, and his mother and sister assured each other that no mistake had been made in bringing him to Porto Rico. "And, now that we have him in a fair way to getting better, we must see what we can do to help Inez," said Cora. "I am sure she will never be happy until she is on her way to Sea Horse Island, and is able to start measures for freeing her father." "I fancy we had better let Mr. Robinson attend to those matters," Mrs. Kimball said. "He knows best what moves to make. Poor girl! I know just how she feels." The party stopped for a while to look at the statue of Columbus, who discovered Porto Rico on his second voyage. From there, they drove about the city, admiring the various buildings of Spanish architecture, and, as a finish to the drive, went to the old morro--fort or castle--of San Juan. All signs of the bombardment by Admiral Sampson's fleet, during the Spanish-American War, had been done away with. It was a place of interest to them all, for it was very old, and had withstood many attacks. They went through the watch-tower and also the lighthouse. "Well, I think we've done enough for one day," announced Cora, as they started back for the hotel. "I'm quite done out, and I'm sure Jack must be tired." "A little," he admitted. A concert in the evening, a stroll about the plaza, watching the pretty Spanish girls, and the homely duennas, brought the day to a close. "And now for bed," sighed Cora. "I wonder if one dreams in San Juan any differently than in Chelton?" "Cheerful Chelton!" cried Bess. "Doesn't it seem far away!" All the rooms of our party were near together on the same corridor, Bess, Belle and Cora having connecting apartments. They left the doors open between, and it was due to this that Cora heard, soon after falling into a light doze, the voice of Belle calling her. "Cora! Cora!" came the entreaty. "Yes--what is it?" asked Cora, sleepily. "Some one is in my room!" hissed Belle, in a stage whisper. "Oh!" cried Cora, and she sat up suddenly, and pulled the cord of the electric light. CHAPTER XII LEFT ALONE The flood of radiance from the electric light shone from Cora's room, into that where Belle was, and with the gleam of the modern illumination, Cora's bravery grew apace. "What did you say, Belle?" she asked, now quite wide awake. "Are you ill?" "No, but, oh! I'm so frightened. There's some one in my room! I'm sure of it!" "Nonsense!" "I tell you I can hear some one walking around!" insisted Belle. "Did you get up and look?" asked Cora. "Did I get up? Indeed I did not!" was the indignant answer. "I'm scared stiff as it is." "And you want me to look?" murmured Cora. "Oh, but you have your light lit, Cora dear. And really I am afraid to get up. Do come and see what it is. Perhaps it's only one of those large fruit bats that Inez told us about." "A bat! Indeed I'll not come in and have it get tangled in my hair!" objected Cora. "I'm going to call some one of the hotel help." But there was no need, for Jack, whose room was across the corridor from that of his sister, heard the talking, and, getting into a dressing gown and slippers, he knocked at Cora's door. "What is it?" he asked. "Belle thinks she hears something in her room." "It's in mine, now," called out Bess, whose apartment was beyond that of her sister. "Open the door, and I'll have a look," suggested Jack, good-naturedly. "Wait a minute," Cora said, and, slipping into a robe, she admitted her brother. "Now we'll see what's going on," he promised. "Cover up your heads, girls," he called to Bess and Belle, as he and Cora went into the room of the latter. "If it's a villain, you won't get nervous when you see me squelch him." "Oh!" faintly murmured Belle, as she pulled the covers over her head. Jack groped for the electric switch and found it, making light Belle's room. "I don't see a thing," he announced, looking carefully about. "It is in here!" said Bess, faintly. "I can hear it walking about. It's rattling some papers in a corner of my room." Jack and Cora went on through to the farther apartment, and Jack, turning on the light there, approached a pile of paper Bess had tossed in one corner after unwrapping some purchases made during the day. "Look out!" warned Cora, while Bess adopted the same protective measures as had her sister. "It may be a rat--or--or something!" "Most likely--something," said Jack. He began picking up piece after piece of paper, and then he suddenly uttered an exclamation. "Ah! Would you!" he snapped, and, standing on one foot, he took the slipper from the other, holding his bare member carefully off the floor, while he slapped viciously at the pile of papers with his bedroom weapon. "Got him!" he announced triumphantly, after two or three blows. "What was it--a bat?" asked Bess, in muffled tones. "A centipede," answered Jack. "A big one, too. About seven inches long." "And their bite is--death!" murmured Bess, in awe-stricken tones. "Nothing of the sort, though it's very painful" said Jack, shortly. "Just as well to keep clear of them, however. I'll throw this defunct specimen out of the window." "Please do, and be sure my screen is down," begged Bess. "I wonder how he got in?" "Oh, there are more or less of them in all hotels, I guess," said Jack, cheerfully enough. "Don't you dare say so!" cried Belle. "Please look around my room, and leave the light burning. I know I'll never sleep a wink." Jack tossed out the centipede he had killed, and then looked among the waste paper for more, standing with his bare foot raised, and with ready slipper, for the bite of this insect, which grows to a large size in Porto Rico, is anything but pleasant, though it is said never to cause death, except perhaps in the case of some person whose blood is very much impoverished. Both Bess and Belle insisted on their lights being left aglow, though Jack made a careful search and could discover no more of the unpleasant visitors. How Belle had heard the one in her room, if it really had been that which she said made the noise, was a mystery, but the creature might have rattled paper as it did in the room of Bess. "Call me if you want anything more, Sis," said Jack to his sister, as he started back to his own apartment. And then, as he was about to close, Cora's door Jack looked fixedly at a place on the floor near her bureau, and with a muttered exclamation hurried toward it. "Oh! what is it?" his sister begged, alarmed at the look on his face. "Another one--trying to hide," he murmured. Off came his slipper again and there followed a resounding whack on the floor. "Got that one, too!" Jack announced, and then, as Coral made brave by the declaration of the death, came closer, she uttered a cry. "Jack Kimball!" she gasped, accusingly, "you've broken my best barrette," and she picked up from the floor the shattered fragments of a dark celluloid hair comb, which had fallen from the bureau. "Barrette," murmured Jack, in dazed tones. "Yes--a sort of side comb, only it goes in the back." "Well, it looked just like a centipede trying to hide under the bureau," Jack defended himself. "Is it much damaged?" "Damaged? It's utterly ruined," sighed Cora. "Never mind, Jack, you meant all right," and she smiled at her brother. "Oh, dear! I don't believe I'm going to like it here, even if the waters are such a heavenly blue." "What was it--another?" demanded Belle. "It was my barrette, my dear," laughed Cora. "Come, young folks! You must quiet down," came the voice of Cora's mother from the next room. "What's all the excitement about?" "Just--insects," said Jack, with a chuckle. "We are hunting the deadly barretted side comb!" "You'll have to get me another," said Cora, as she bade Jack good-night. There was no further disturbance, and the hotel clerk said, next morning, that the presence of one or two scorpions, or centipedes, could be accounted for from the fact that the rooms occupied by our friends had not recently been used. He promised to see to it that all undesirable visitors were hunted out during the day. For a week or more, life in San Juan was an experience of delight for the motor girls. They visited points of interest in and about the city, taking Inez with them. Of course Jack and Walter also went, and the change was doing the former a world of good. The mysterious "fat man," as Jack insisted on calling Senor Ramo, had not come ashore at San Juan, going on with the steamer. His destination was another of the many West Indian islands. As yet, Mr. Robinson had had no chance to communicate with, or make arrangements for rescuing the father of Inez. But he was making careful plans to do this, and now, being on the ground, he could confirm some information difficult to get at in New York. The motor girls, and their party, soon accustomed themselves to the changed conditions. They learned to eat as the Porto Ricans do--little meat making eggs take the place, and they never knew before what a variety of ways eggs could e served. The weather was growing more pleasant each day, and with the gradual passing of the hurricane season, they were allowed to take longer trips in one of the many motor boats with which the harbor abounded. Sometimes they spent whole days on the water, their dusky captain keeping a sharp watch out for hurricanes. These can be detected some hours off, and a run made for safety. Some of the whirling storms are very dangerous, and others merely squalls. It was when they had been in San Juan about a month, and Mr. Robinson had promised, in the next few days, to take some measures regarding the liberation of Senor Ralcanto, that something occurred which changed the whole aspect of the visit of the motor girls to waters blue. Mr. Robinson found that he would have to go on business to a coffee plantation near Basse Terre, on the French island of Guadeloupe, and as he had heard there were also rare orchids to be obtained them, he wanted to stay a few days after his trade matters had been attended to. "But I did want to start for Sea Horse Island, and begin my plan to liberate your father," he said to Inez. "It can wait, Senor,"' she said, softly. "A few days more will not make much of ze difference, as long as he is to be rescued anyhow. I would not have you disappointed in ze orchids." "Then I'll go when we come back," said Mr. Robinson. "I'll go to Guadeloupe, and take my wife and Mrs. Kimball with me. I want them to see the place." "And leave us here alone?" asked Bess. "Certainly, why not? You are in good hands at the hotel, especially as the boys are with you. And Inez is as good as a guide and European courier made into one." The weather, which had been fine on the evening when Mr. Robinson and the two ladies went aboard the steamer, underwent a sudden change before morning, and when Cora and her chums awoke in the hotel, and looked out, they found raging a storm that, in its fury, was little short of a hurricane. "Oh, Jack!" his sister exclaimed, as she listened to the roar of the wind and the sharp swish of the rain, "I'm so afraid!" "What about? This hotel is a good one." "I know. But mamma on that ship--they're out at sea now, and--" She did not finish. "That's so," spoke Jack, and a troubled look came over his face. CHAPTER XIII THE HURRICANE How the wind howled, and how the rain beat down! Outside the window of Cora's room, the gutters were flush, and running over with seething water. In the street below there was a river, along which bedraggled pedestrians forded their way, envying the patient donkeys drawing the market venders' carts. At times the wind rose to a fury that rattled the casements, and fairly shook the solid structure of the hotel. Then Cora, who, with Jack, had come up from the breakfast room, clung to her brother, and a look of fear came into her eyes. Nor were Jack's altogether calm. "What a storm!" murmured the girl. The door, leading into the next room, opened, and Bess came out. "Oh, Cora!" she gasped, putting the last touches to her hair, which she had arranged in a new Spanish way she had seen, and then, tiring of it, had gone to her room to put it back in its accustomed form. "Isn't this just awful!" "Terrible, I say!" came from Belle, who now entered from her apartment. "It certainly does rain," agreed Jack. "Five minutes ago there wasn't a drop in the street, and now you could float your motor boat there, if you had it, Cora." "And we may wish we had it, before we're through," chimed in the voice of Walter. They had made of Cora's room, which was the largest of the suite, a sort of gathering place. "Why so, Wally?" demanded Jack. "It looks as though we'd be flooded," was his answer. "Oh, these storms are common down here" put in Bess. "I spoke to Inez about it, and she said the natives here were used to them." "Such storms as this?" asked Cora, as a fiercer dash of rain, and a sudden blast of wind, seemed about to tear away the windows and let the fury of the elements into the room. "Well, I suppose that's what she meant," said Bess. "But it is awful, isn't it? And mamma and papa, and your mother, Cora, out on that steamer." "Oh, they'll be all right," declared Jack. "It's a big steamer, and the captain and crew must be used to the weather down here. They'll know what to do. Probably they ran for harbor when they saw the storm coining. They say skippers in the West Indies can tell when a storm's due hours ahead." But that brought little comfort to the girls, and even Walter looked worried as the day wore on and the fury of the storm did not abate. Inez, as one who had lived in the region, was appealed to rather often to say whether this was not the worst she had ever seen. "Oh, I have seen zem much worse," was her ready answer, "but zey did terrible damage. Terrible!" And, on talking with some of the old residents of San Juan, and with the hotel people, Jack and Walter learned that the storm was a most unusual one. It was of the nature of a hurricane, but it did not have the sudden sharpness and shortness of attack of those devastating storms. The real hurricane season, due to a change of climatic conditions, was supposed to have passed, and this storm was entirely unlooked for, and unexpected. It did not blow steadily, as hurricanes did, but in fits and gusts, more disconcerting than a steady blow of more power. The rain, also, came in showers. Now there would not be a drop filling, and again there would be a deluge, blinding in its intensity. For want of a better name the storm was called a hurricane, though many of the real characteristics were lacking. And, as the dreary day wore on, the motor girls, and the boys, too, felt themselves coming under the spell of fear--not so much for themselves, as for their loved ones aboard the Ramona, which was the name of the steamer on, which Mr. and Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Kimball had sailed. "Oh, if anything has happened to them!" sighed Cora. "Can't we get some news?" asked Bess, faintly. "Surely there are telegraph lines and cables," spoke Belle. "There are," the hotel clerk informed them, "but there are so many small islands hereabouts, into the harbor of any one of which the ship may have put, that it would be impossible to say where it was. And not all the islands have means of communication. So I beg of you not to worry, Senoritas. Surely they are safe." Yet even the clerk, sophisticated as he was, did not believe all he himself said. For the storm, as the girls learned afterward, was almost unprecedented in the West Indies. There was nothing they could do save to wait until it was over--until it had blown itself out, and then to wait, perhaps longer and with an ever increasing anxiety, for some news of those who had sailed. "Oh, if Senor Robinson should be lost!" half sobbed Inez, on the third day of the storm, when it showed no signs of abating. "If he should be lost, my father would be doomed forever to zat prison." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Jack, for it was in talking to Jack and Walter that the Spanish girl gave utterance to these sentiments. "Don't go saying such things around Cora and Bess and Belle, or you'll give them the fidgets. There's no sign the steamer is lost just because it has run into a storm." "I know, Senor Jack,"--for so she called him, "but zere is so much danger. And my father--he is languishing in prison." "Yes, but we'll have him out. Mr. Robinson didn't take those papers with him; did he--those papers that contain the evidence?" "No, I have them--he has only ze copies." "Well, then you needn't worry. When this storm blows over, we'll all get busy on this rescue business!" and Jack spoke with a return of his old energy. He was becoming more like himself every day now, and even the stress and danger of the storm had no hampering effects on him. "Oh, you Americans!" exclaimed Inez, with a pretty pathetic gesture. "You speak of such queer English--to rescue is no business--it demands intrigue--secrecy." "Well, we'll make it our business," said Walter, grimly, "But, Inez, don't scare the other girls. We have troubles enough without that, you know, with Mr. Robinson away. Just make a bluff at feeling all right." "A bluff, Senor--a bluff--a high hill--I am to make a high hill of feeling good?" and she looked puzzled. "Translate, Jack," begged Walter, hopelessly, and Jack, nothing loath, took Inez off into a corner of the hotel parlor to explain. But with all their assumed right-heartedness, the boys were finally genuinely alarmed. Indefinite reports came to the hotel of much danger and damage to shipping, and several large steamers were said to have gone on the reefs which abounded in that region of islands. No direct news came of the Ramona. In fact, she had not been sighted, or spoken to, since leaving San Juan. "Oh, if anything has happened to her!" sighed Cora. "There's just as much chance that nothing has happened, as that there has," declared Jack. "She might have gone into any one of a dozen harbors." "I suppose so, but, somehow, I can't help worrying, Jack." "I know, little girl," he said, sympathetically. "But I oughtn't to trouble you," Cora went on. "Are you really feeling any better, Jack?" "Heaps; yes. Water and I are going out to have a look at the water to-day. We're tired of being cooped up here." "Oh, I wish I could go!" "Why not? Come along. It will do you girls good." So it was arranged. The girls, including Inez, donned rubber coats, and, well wrapped up for it was chilling with the advent of rain, they set forth from the hotel. They made a struggling way to the sea wall, and there looked out over a foaming waste of waters. In one place where a sunken reef of coral came close to the surface the waves beat and tore at it as though to wrench it up, and cast it ashore. There the sea boiled and seethed in fury. "A ship wouldn't last long' out there," said Walter, quietly. "I should say not," agreed Jack. On the beach the waves pounded with sullen fury, making a roar that drowned the voices of the motor girls. Cora and her chums clung to one another as they leaned their bodies against the blast, and peered through the mist. "Isn't it awful," said Cora, with a shudder. "Yes--for--for those who have to be out in it," spoke Bess, and, though she mentioned no names, they all knew what she meant. CHAPTER XIV NEWS OF SHIPWRECK Cora, with an impatient, nervous gesture, laid aside the piece of lace upon which she was engaged. The long, breathing sigh which followed her rising from the chair, was audible across the room. "What's the matter?" asked Bess, who, seated near a window, where the light was best, was industriously engaged in mending a hole in one of her silk stockings. She held it off at arm's length, on her spread-out hand, as if to judge whether the repair would show when the article was worn. "I just can't do another stitch!" Cora said. "It makes me so--nervous." "It's beautiful lace--a lovely pattern," spoke Belle, as she picked it up from the table. "I don't see how Inez carries them all in her head," for Cora was working out a model set for her by the Spanish girl. "Nor I," said did Bess, "It's perfectly wonderful." She glanced at Cora, who had gone to stand by another window to watch for signs of clearing weather, that, of late, had come with more certain promise. "There! I think that will do!" announced Bess, as she cut off the silk thread. "I wonder if we shall ever get to the point where we can go without stockings, as the Spanish ladies do here." "Do they?" asked Cora, absently. "I hadn't noticed." "They do indeed, my dear," answered her chum. "I read about it, but I didn't believe it until Inez took us to call on Senora Malachita the other day--Belle and I--you didn't come, you know." "I remember." "Well, my dear, positively she didn't have any stockings on--only slippers, and she received us that way. Belle and I had all we could do not to laugh, and I wondered if she could be so poor that she couldn't afford them, though her, house, was beautiful, and the plaza, with its fountain and flowers, a perfect dream. "But Inez told me that often even the well-to-do Spanish ladies here don't wear stockings, unless they go to church or to a dance. Even then they don't put them on, sometimes, until just before they go into the church. We saw one, riding in on a donkey. She stopped just outside the church, and put on her stockings as calmly as though they were gloves." "Fancy!" cried Cora. "Then you aren't going to follow that fashion?" asked Belle. "No, indeed!" exclaimed the plump Bess, as she carefully inspected the other stocking for a possible worn place. She did not find it, and sighed in content. "Aren't you going to finish that lace, Cora?" asked Belle. "Not now, at any rate. I just can't sit here and--wait! I want to be doing something." "But there's nothing to do, dear," objected Belle. "We can't do anything but wait for news of them. And no news is always good news, you know." "Just because it has to be!" retorted Cora. "But, girls, positively, I believe the weather is clearing! Yes, there's a blue patch of sky. Oh, if this storm should be over!" Her two chums came and stood by her at the casement. Off to the west the dark and sullen sky did seem to be clearing. The rain had ceased some time ago, but the wind was still blowing half a gale, and the boys, who had come back from the docks a short while before, reported that the sea was still very high, and that no ships had ventured to leave the harbor. Then Jack and Walter went out again, saying they were going to the marina, the water plaza. "Oh, but it is going to clear!" cried Cora, in delight, an hour or so later. "Now we shall hear some news of them!" "Won't it be lovely!" exclaimed Bess. "Oh, I have been so worried!" "So have I," admitted her sister. "But of course they are safe!" "Of course," echoed Cora, and yet there was a vague fear within her--a fear that, somehow or other, in spite of her effort for self-control, communicated itself to her voice. "Let's go out,"' suggested Belle. "I'm tired of being cooped up here." "Where are the boys?" asked Cora. "Really we oughtn't to go out so much without them. We'll become talked about!" "Never!" laughed Bess. "We are Americans, and everything is possible to us." The others laughed. Before coming to Porto Rico, they had read books about the island, in which stress was laid on Spanish customs, especially about ladies going about without a male member of their family, or some one to serve as a duenna. But our friends were too sensible to be hampered by that custom, save at night. "The boys are probably off enjoying themselves," said Cora. "Jack is so much better. It has done him a world of good down here. We may meet them. Come on, let's go out. Oh, there's the sun!" It was shining for the first time since the storm began, and the girls hastened to take advantage of it. "Where's Inez?" asked Belle. "Lying down, she had a little headache," explained Bess. "We won't disturb her, and we won't be gone long." There was a great outpouring of the inhabitants, all anxious to take advantage of the clearing of the storm, and the streets were soon crowded. The girls went down to the sea wall, at a point where Jack and Walter had made a habit of taking observations from time to time, and there they found the chums. "Welcome to our city!" laughed Walter, as he greeted the girls. "Won't you come and have something cool to drink? It's going to be insufferably hot!" And so it promised after the storm, for the sun, coming out with almost tropical warmth, after all the moisture, was fairly sizzling now. "It sounds nice," spoke Cora. "Oh, Jack, do you think we can get any news of the steamer soon?" "I think so, Sis. Let's go round by the Morro, and see what the semaphore says." At the ancient Spanish fort flags were displayed to signal the expected arrival of steamers. The little party found a refreshment booth and enjoyed the iced and flavored cocoanut milk, which made a most delightful beverage. Then, going on to the fort, they saw, fluttering in the breeze that had succeeded the hurricane, the flags that told of the approach of a steamer. "I--I hope it brings news," said Cora, softly. "Good news," supplemented Belie. "Of course," added her sister. They strolled back to the marina, the business quarter of the town, fronting directly on the water. There, in the activities of the owners of several motor launches, was read the further news of the approach of the first steamer since the storm. The lighters were getting ready to go out to bring ashore the passengers and freight. As it would probably be some time before the ship came to anchor out in the harbor, the boys and girls went back to the hotel, for it was approaching the dinner hour. In spite of their anxiety to receive any possible news of the Ramona, which the incoming steamer might bring, the girls went to their rooms for a siesta after the meal--a habit that had really been forced on them, not only by the customs, but by the climate of the place. It was actually too warm to go about in the middle of the day, and especially now, since the sun had come out exceedingly hot after the storm. Jack and Walter, however, declared that they were going down to the marina to get the earliest possible news. As it chanced, the girls remaining at the hotel were the first to hear that which made so great a difference to them. Cora, Bess and Belle, with Inez, whose head had stopped aching, came down about four o'clock, dressed for a stroll. There was to be a band concert in one of the public park--the first in several days. As they went up to the desk to leave their keys, they saw standing talking to the clerk a very stout man, at the sight of whom Inez drew back behind Cora. "It is him--him again," she whispered. "Who?" "Zat man--Senor Ramo--I do not like zat he should see me." "Oh, you mustn't be so timid," declared Jack's sister. "He won't harm you." "No, but my father--" "I think you are mistaken, Inez!" went on Cora. "At any rate, he has seen us--he remembers us as from having come out on the same steamer with us," for Senor Ramo was now bowing, and is smile spread itself over his oily and expansive countenance. "Ah, Senorita Kembull!" he mispronounced. "I am charmed to see you again. Also the Senoritas Sparrow--er--I am so forget--I know it is some kind of one of your charming birds--ah!--Robinson--a thousand pardons! I am charmed!" and he bowed low to the twins. Then his eyes sought the face of Inez, but he showed no recognition, though the significant pause indicated that he expected also to address her. Clearly, if he had seen her on the steamer coming from New York, he did not remember her. There was a questioning look in his eyes. Inez pinched Cora's arm, and murmured something in her ear. Cora understood at once. Inez did not wish to meet this man, for reasons of her own. He might, or might not, be of the political party opposed to her father, and he might, or might not, have had a hand in placing Senor Ralcanto in prison. Of this Cora could only guess, but there was no mistaking the fear of Inez. Cora thought of the easiest way out of it. This was to allow Inez to assume the character she had been given--that of a maid. "Inez, I think I left my fan in my room--will you please get it for me?" requested Cora, at the same time giving the Spanish girl a meaning look. "Yes, Senorita," was the low-voiced answer, as Inez glided from the foyer. Senor Ramo seemed to understand. He turned, once more, with a smile to Cora. "And when may I have the pleasure of paying my respects to your honored mother?" he asked, "and to Senora--er--Robinson, and your father?" he inquired of the twins. "I have but just arrived, after a most stormy passage, from Barbados. Truly I thought we were lost, but we managed to weather the hurricane." "And we are hoping our folks did, too," said Cora. "We have heard nothing of them since they sailed on the Ramona, nearly a week ago. Did your steamer hear of that vessel, Senor Ramo?" she asked, eagerly. "The Ramona did you say?" he inquired, and there was that in his manner which sent a cold chill of fear to the hearts of the motor girls. "Yes," answered Cora, huskily. "Oh, has anything happened? Have you heard any news? Tell me! Oh!" and she clutched at her wildly beating heart. "The Ramona--a thousand pardons that I am the bearer of ill-tidings--the Ramona was shipwrecked!" said Senor Ramo. "We picked up some of the sailors from it! Ah, deeply do I regret to have to tell you such news!" CHAPTER XV A SEARCH PROPOSED "Cora, what's the matter? Has this man--?" It was Jack who spoke, as he suddenly entered the rotunda of the hotel, with Walter, and saw his sister faintly recoiling from the shock of the news brought by Senor Ramo. Jack had a bit of fiery temper, and it had not lessened by his recent nervousness. Then, too, he seemed to have caught some of the Spanish impetuosity since coming to Porto Rico. "Hush, Jack!" begged Belie. "It is bad news," and there was a trace of tears in her voice. "Bad news?" chorused Jack and Walter together. "Yes, Senor Kembull," again mispronounced the Spaniard, "I deeply regret to be the bearer of ill-tidings. I was just telling your sister, and her friends, that the Ramona has been wrecked." "The Ramona--the steamer mother sailed on--wrecked?" cried Jack. "How did it happen--where?" "As to where, I know not, but it happened, I assume, in the recent hurricane. Indeed, we barely escaped ourselves. I am just in from the Boldero. We picked up some refugees near St. Kitts. I did not hear their story in detail, but they said the Ramona had foundered with all on board!" "Oh!" gasped Belle, as she sank against Cora. The latter, meanwhile, had somewhat recovered from the shock. Again she was the quick-thinking, emergency-acting Cora Kimball. "We must find out exactly what happened," she said. "Belle, pull yourself together. Don't you dare faint--everyone is looking at you!" Perhaps this information, as much as the bottle of ammonia smelling salts, which Cora thrust beneath the nose of her chum, brought Belle to a realization of what part she must play. "I--I'm all right now," she faltered. "But, oh! It is so awful--terrible. Oh--dear!" "Hope for the best," said Walter kindly, leading her to the ladies' parlor, which was screened, by a grill, from the public foyer. "Often, now a days, in shipwreck, nearly all are saved, even if the vessel does founder." "Of a surety--yes!" Senor Ramo hastened to put in. "I am a stupid to blurt out my news so, but I did not think! I ask a thousand and one pardons." "It doesn't matter," said Jack. "We had to know sometime. The sooner the better. We must get busy." "Always busy--you Americans!" murmured the Spaniard. "If I can be of any service, Senor Kembull--" "You can take us, to where those sailors are that were picked up by your vessel, if you will," interrupted Jack. "I'd like to hear their story, and find out exactly where the Ramona went down. That is, if it is true that she completely foundered." "Why, if I may ask?" "Because, this is only the beginning. There may be a chance of saving some--our folks--if, by any possibility they reached some of the smaller islands. I must see those sailors." "They will most likely remain aboard the Boldero--the vessel on which I arrived," spoke Senor Ramo. "They lost everything but the clothes they wore. Doubtless you could see them on the steamer." "Then I'm going with you!" cried Cora. "I can't wait, Jack!" she pleaded, as he looked a refusal at her. "I must go!" "Oh, poor mamma and papa!" half sobbed Bess, for they were now in the seclusion of the ladies' parlor. "Oh, what will become of us?" "You mustn't give way like this!" objected Jack. "Now, if ever, is the time to be brave. There is lots to be done!" Jack was coming into his own again. The trip had worked wonders, but just this touch and spice of danger was needed to bring out his old energetic qualities. "What can be done?" asked Cora. "I don't know, yet. I'm going to find out. Maybe it isn't so bad as it sounds after all," replied Jack. "It sounds bad enough," sighed Cora. "But, Jack, I am with you in this. I simply won't be left out." "And no one wants to leave you out, Sis. Walter, just see if we can get a carriage, or a motor, to the marina. We'll take a boat from there out to the Boldero." "I will give you a letter to the captain," said Senor Ramo. "He knows me well, and he will show you every courtesy." "Surely," thought Cora, "this man cannot be a political plotter, who would put innocent men in prison. Inez must be mistaken about him. He is very kind." Some little excitement was caused by the advent of the bad news to our party of friends, and it quickly spread through the hotel. A number of the guests, whose acquaintance the motorgirls had made, offered their services, but there was little they could do. What was most needed was information concerning the wreck. Inez, who had made the getting of Cora's fan an excuse to go to her room, to escape Senor Ramo, heard the sad tidings, and came down. By this time the "fat suspect," as Jack had nicknamed him, had gone, having scribbled a note of introduction to the captain of the Boldero. "Oh, what is it, Senoritas?" gasped Inez. "Is it zat you are in sorrow?" "Yes," said Cora, sadly. "Great sorrow, Inez. We have had very bad news," and there were tears in her eyes. "I sorrow with you," said the impulsive Spanish girl, as she put her arm about Cora. "I was in sorrow myself, and you aided me. Now I must do ze same for you. Command me." "There is little that can be done until we learn more," Cora made answer. "The steamer has been wrecked." "With Senor Robinson, and with the Senoras Kimball and Robinson?" gasped Inez. "So we hear." "Ah, zat is indeed of great sorrow. I weep for you. My own little troubles are a nothing. My father may be in prison, but what of zat--he is living--and your mother--" She did not finish. Walter came in to announce that he had secured a large auto that would take them to the marina, whence they could get a boat to go out to the steamer. "I only hope those sailors haven't disappeared," murmured Jack. "Now then, are you girls ready?" "Yes," answered Belle. She, as well as Cora and Bess, had somewhat recovered their composure, after the first sudden shock. Hope had sprung up again, though they were presently to learn on what a slender thread that hope hung. Jack had regained some of his former commanding manner in the emergency. Inez went with her new friends to the docks. She seemed to have forgotten her own grief in ministering to the girls, and much of her former timid and shrinking manner had disappeared. They found a large and powerful motor boat that would take them out to the ship, and, indeed, a staunch craft was needed, since there was still a heavy swell on, from the recent storm. "Are there many boats like this in San Juan?" asked Jack of the man at the wheel, who spoke very good English. "Not many. There's only one as good, and that's much larger. She's the Tartar--and she's a beauty!" "For charter?" "Well, maybe. The same man owns her as owns this one, but only large parties engage her." "Fast and seaworthy?" "None better." "That's good," Jack said. "What are you thinking of?" asked his sister. "Tell you later," he announced briefly. "Oh, if it wasn't for the terrible news, how lovely this trip would be!" exclaimed Bess. They were gliding over the deep, blue waters of the bay, and the golden setting sun now shone aslant the harbor, pouring its beams over the tops of the distant mountains, and through the palm branches. A promise of fair weather followed on the wings of the storm. Whatever Senor Ramo might, or might not be, he certainly procured a welcome for our friends at the Boldero. Or, rather, the note Jack presented to the captain did. "Ah, yes, you desire news of the shipwrecked sailors. Well, they are still here on board. One of them is hurt, but the other can talk. But they speak no English--I had better translate for you." "First tell us what you know yourself, Captain," begged Cora. "I know little, except what I have heard, of the foundering of the Ramona," was the answer. "Then you think she did go down?" asked Bess. "I fear so--the sailors we picked up so affirm. All I can tell you is that, a day or so ago, as we were staggering along through the stress of the storm, the lookout sighted a small boat. No signs of life aboard were seen, but we stopped and picked it up. In the craft, which was one of the lifeboats from the Ramona, were two sailors, nearly dead from exposure, and one from hurts received." "How was he hurt?"' asked Jack. "He was shot, Senor." "Shot!" "Yes, it appears there was mutiny aboard the Ramona, as well as the horrors of the storm and shipwreck." "Mutiny!" murmured Cora, a look of horror in her eyes. "Poor, poor mother!" "You had better hear the story directly from the sailors," suggested Captain Ponchero. "I will summon the unwounded one. You will find that more satisfactory." He came, a sorry and unfortunate specimen of a Spanish sailor. There followed a rapid talk, in the Castilian tongue, between him and the captain, and the latter then said: "His story is this. They ran into the storm soon after leaving San Juan, and could not find, or, rather, did not dare to try, for the nearest harbor, as the seas were running too high to make it safe to go through the narrow entrance. They had to keep on, and this caused discontent among some of the crew. "There was an uprising--a mutiny, and some of them tried to leave in the boats. The brave captain would not let them, but he was overpowered, and the mutineers, in the face of certain danger, turned the ship to put back to a harbor which the captain had passed because of the danger of trying to enter it in the storm." "But how did the sailor get shot?" asked Jack. "He worked against the mutineers--he and his comrade here," the captain answered. "Then those who had revolted, and seized the ship, ordered into small boats all who would not throw in their lot with them. So these two, with only a little food and water, were put adrift in the storm. It was almost certain death, but the boat lived through it, and we saved them." "But what of the ship--the passengers?" asked Cora. "The ship most certainly foundered," declared the captain. "The next morning bits of wreckage were found by these two survivors." "Then all are lost?" half-sobbed Belle. "I fear so, Senorita," was the answer of the captain, "unless some few reached islands in small boats." "Is there a chance of that?" asked Jack. "A slight chance, yes, Senor." "Then it's a chance I'm going to take!" cried Jack. "What do you mean?" asked his sister, wonderingly. "I mean that we can go in search!" Jack went on, eagerly. "It's worth trying, isn't it, Walter?" "I should say so--yes, by all means! But what sort of a craft can we get to cruise in?" "I just heard of one!" said Jack, eagerly. "The Tartar. She's a big motor boat, and will be just the thing for us. I'm going to see about it right away. Who's with me for a cruise in the Tartar?" "I am!" came from Cora. "We're not going to be left behind," said Bess. "Count on me, of course," spoke Walter, quietly. "And, Senor Jack--may--may I go?" faltered Inez. "Of course!" "Senor--Senor Jack," she spoke in a tremulous whisper. "If you are successful--if you find ze lost ones, and we are near Sea Horse Island, would you leave me zere--wiz my father?" "Leave you there?" cried Jack. "We'll bring your father away from there, if we get the chance! Now come on! We have lots to do!" CHAPTER XVI SENOR RAMO MISSING Jack's eyes glowed with the brightness of renewed health, and determination, as he looked at his sister, at Bess and Belle, and at Walter. It was like old times, when the motor girls had proposed some novel or daring plan, and the boys had fallen in with it. This time it had been Jack's privilege to make the suggestion, and the others were only too ready to agree. "Oh, Jack, do you think we can do it?" asked Cora. "Of course we can!" her brother cried, with a growing, instead of lessening, enthusiasm. "We'll just have to do something, and I can't think of anything better to do--can you? than going off in search of the folks." "We simply must find them--if they're alive," spoke Bess, rather solemnly. "We'll find them--alive!" predicted Walter, joining his cheerful efforts to those of his college chum. "Oh, you Americans--you are so wonderful, so amazing!" whispered Inez. "I am so glad I am wiz you," and she divided her affectionate looks impartially between Jack and his sister. "What do you think of it, Captain?" asked Walter of the skipper of the steamship. "Is it possible to go about down among these islands in a big motor boat?" "Yes, if the boat be large enough, and seaworthy." "I'm thinking of the Tartar," said Jack. "I heard of her from the engineer of the boat we came out in just now." "Oh, the Tartar. Yes, she is a very fine boat, and quite safe, except in a very bad storm." "Oh!" gasped Bess. "But you are not likely to have bad blows now," the captain went on, "especially after this one we've just passed through. It is the last of the hurricane season, I hope. In fact, this was most unusual. Yes, I should say it would be very safe to make a cruise in the Tartar. I know the craft well." "And what are the chances of success?" asked Walter in a low voice of the commander, as Jack, with his sister and the Robinson twins withdrew a little apart to discuss the important question of the coming cruise. Captain Ponchero shrugged his shoulders in truly foreign fashion. "One cannot tell, Senor," he said in a low voice. "Certainly it is a dubious tale the sailors told--a tale of mutiny and shipwreck. But the sea is a strange place. Many unforeseen things happen on it and in it. I have seen shipwrecked ones come back from almost certain death, and again--" He hesitated. "Well?" asked Walter, a bit impatiently. "Might as well hear the worst with the best." "And again," resumed the captain, "I have seen what would appear to be the safest voyage result in terrible tragedy. So one who knows much of the sea, hesitates to speak with certainty about it. I should say, Senor, that the chance was worth taking." "Then we may find some of them alive?" "You may, and again--you may not. But it is worth trying. If you will come below with me, I will give you the exact longitude and latitude where we picked up the two sailors in the open boat. Then you can put for there, and make it the starting point of your search." "Good idea," commented Walter. By this time Jack and the others had finished their little discussion, and were eager to further question the captain concerning all the details he could give about the foundering of the Ramona. But there was little else that could be told. The sailors had given all the information they possessed. They repeated again how the ship had suddenly run into a storm, and how the refusal of the captain to put into a port, hard to navigate in a storm, brought on the mutiny. "But did they see any of our folks--either Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, or Mrs. Kimball?" asked Jack, while his sister and the twins hung breathless on the answer. The sailors had not especially noticed any passengers. They had been in hard enough straits themselves, not having joined the mutineers. "But they are certain the ship foundered? asked Cora. "There seems to be little doubt of it, Senorita," said the captain. "It was a fearful storm. We had three boats carried away, as well as part of our port rail." The weather was calm enough now, save for a heavy ground swell. The waters were marvelously blue, and overhead was the blue sky. Seen against the background of the wonderfully tinted hills of palms, the city of San Juan presented a most beautiful picture. "Well, let's get busy," suggested Jack, and it was only by keeping thus occupied, mentally and physically, that he and his sister, as well as the twins, were enabled not to succumb to the grief that racked them. Belle, rather more nervous and temperamental than her sister, did give way to a little hysterical crying spell, as they were on their way back to the marina from the steamer, but this was due merely to a reaction. "Don't, dear," said Cora, softly. "We'll find them, never fear!" She put her arms about her chum, and Inez slipped a slim brown hand into one of Belles. Then the wave of emotion passed, and the girl was herself again. "Are you going out for a long cruise?" asked Walter, "or shall you come back to San Juan from time to time? I ask, because I want to send word to my folks not to worry, if they don't hear from me very often." "I think we'll cruise as long as we can," said Cora, who had assumed as much of the burden of the search as had her brother. "If the Tartar is large enough to allow us to take a big enough supply--of provisions and stores, we'll cruise until we--well, until we find out for certain what has happened." Her voice faltered a little. "Oh, the Tartar's big enough, Senorita," said the engineer of the motor boat in which they were making their way to shore. "You could go for a long cruise in her." "Then we'll plan that," declared Jack. "Notify your folks accordingly, Wally." "I shall. But you'll have to have help along, if she's as big as all that, won't you?" "I suppose so," agreed Jack. "I'm not altogether up to the mark, if it comes to tinkering with a big, balky motor." "I'd like to go as engineer," said the man at the wheel. "I've often run her, and I know her ways. If you were to ask the owner, Senor Hendos, he'd let me go." The young people had taken a liking to Joe Alcandor, the obliging young engineer of the motor boat they had engaged to go out to the steamer, and Jack made up his mind, since he had to have help aboard the Tartar, to get this individual. "This is a strange ending to our happy holiday," said Cora, with a sigh, as they left the boat and walked up the steps at the water's edge of the marina. The outing, up to now, had been a most happy one, once Jack's improvement in health was noticed. "It hasn't ended yet," said Jack, significantly. "There's more ahead of us than behind us." "I hope more happiness," said Cora, softly. "Of course," whispered Jack. They told Joe they would see Senor Hendos, and arrange with him for chartering the Tartar. Then, in two hacks, they made their way back to the hotel. All of them were anxious to get started on the cruise that might mean so much. "Do you really mean you'll take me wiz you?" asked Inez, of Cora, as they entered the hotel. "Of course, my dear! I wouldn't think of leaving you," was the warm answer. "And we need you with us. Besides, you heard what Jack said about your father." "Oh, will he try to rescue him?" "I'm sure he will, if it's at all possible." Something of the news concerning the young Americans was soon current in the hotel, and Cora and her friends were favored with many strange glances, as they walked through the foyer. "We must thank Senor Ramo for his kindness in giving us the note to the captain,"' said Cora, ever thoughtful of the nice little courtesies of life. "Indeed we must," agreed Belle, who had quite recovered her composure, and, save for a suspicious redness of the eyes, showed little of the grief at her heart. Indeed, they were all rather stunned by the suddenness of the news, and only for the fact that under it lay a great hope, they would not have been able to hear up as well as they did. The blow was a terrible one--to think that their loved ones were lost in a shipwreck! But there was that merciful hope--that eternal hope, ever springing up to take away the bitterness of death or despair. There was, too, the necessity of work--hard work, if they were to go off on an unknown and uncertain cruise. And work is, perhaps, even better than hope, to mitigate grief. So, though the sorrow would have been a terrible one, and almost unbearable, were it not for the ray of light and hope, they were able to hold themselves well together--these young Americans in a strange land. "Jack, perhaps you had better go and thank Senor Ramo at once," suggested Cora. "He may be able to give you some good advice, too, about fitting up the Tartar for the cruise. He seems to know a great deal about these islands." "I'll see him at once," agreed her brother. "Just send up my card to him, please," he requested the hotel clerk. "To whom, Senor?" "To Mr. Ramo." "But he is not here--he is gone!" "Gone?" Jack looked at the clerk blankly. "Yes. He left, Senor, soon after you went away. He said business called him." "That is strange," murmured Jack. Inez, who had heard what was said, looked curiously at Cora, and then exclaimed: "Ze papairs--for my father's release!" A look of alarm showed in her face, as she hurried toward the stairway that led to her room. CHAPTER XVII OFF IN THE "TARTAR" "What's the matter?" asked Walter, quickly, as he saw Inez hurrying away. "She see alarmed about something." "She is--or fancies she is," answered Cora. "It's about those papers which she hopes will free her father of that political charge which keeps him locked up--poor man." "Did she lose them?" "No, but as soon as she heard that Senor Ramo had left suddenly, she associated it with the taking of her documents, evidently." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Walter. "That's what I say," added Cora. "But we mustn't make fun of Inez--she can't bear it." "Of course not. Besides, I guess none of us feel very much like making fun," went on Walter. "Our thanks to Senor Ramo will have to wait," said Jack, as he turned away from the hotel desk to rejoin his party. "And now let's get together, see what we have to take with us, and plan our cruise. I'll look up this man Hendos, who owns the Tartar, and see what arrangements I can make with him. Where's Inez?" "Gone to her room," answered Cora. "I fancy we'd all better get ready for dinner. It's getting late." They went up stairs, leaving the buzz of much talk behind them, for many of the hotel guests were speaking of the news concerning our friends. As Cora was entering her apartment, Inez came out into the corridor in front of her room. "Zey are gone, Senorita!" she gasped. "Gone!" "What?" asked Cora, half forgetting, in her own grief and anxiety, what the Spanish girl had gone to ascertain. "My papairs--for my father! Oh, Senorita, what shall I do?" "Gone?" echoed Cora. "Do you mean taken--stolen?" "I fear so--yes. See, my room has been entered." There was no doubt of it. A hasty glance showed Cora that, in the absence of Inez, her hotel room had been gone over quickly, but thoroughly. A small, empty valise, which Inez had trustingly hidden under the mattress of the bed lay on the floor, open. It had contained the papers which were so precious to her. Now they were gone--that was evident. "Oh, Inez!" cried Cora, and in such a voice that Jack, who was just coming along with Walter, hurried up, inquiring: "What is it? What's the matter?" "Those papers Inez had, have been stolen!" cried Cora. "And Senor Ramo is missing--has fled--" "Hold on!" exclaimed Jack, laying a cautioning finger on his sister's lips. "It won't do to make such rash statements, and draw such damaging conclusions--in such a loud voice, Sis," and he whispered the last words. "These walls are very thin, you know, and these Spanish gentlemen are very punctilious on points of honor. I don't want to be called on to fight a duel on your behalf." "Oh, Jack, how can you! Such a poor joke!" "Not a joke at all, I assure you. Now let's have the whole story--but in here," and Jack drew his sister and Inez into the room of the Spanish girl, Walter following. Bess and Belle had gone into their own apartments a little before, and had not heard, the talk. "Just in time," murmured Jack, as he closed the door, having a glimpse of a servant coming along the corridor. "Now, what is it, Inez?" and, after a quick glance about the ransacked apartment, he gazed at the girl. "My papairs--for my father--zey are gone!" With a tragic gesture she pointed to the opened valise. "Was your room this way when you came in?" asked Walter, who rather imagined he was gifted with amateur detective abilities. "Just like this--yes, Senor Jack." "Never mind the senor. Just plain Jack will do. And where were the papers?" "In the valise--in my bed. But they are gone." There was no doubt of that--also no doubt of the fact that Senor Ramo--the man who was suspected by Inez of being in the plot to keep her father in the political prison--was likewise missing. "Hum," mused Jack. "It may be merely a coincidence--or it may not." "I should say it was not!" declared Walter, positively. "And get into trouble saying it, Wally," remarked Jack. "No, the best thing to do in this case is to keep quiet about it." "But my papairs!" cried Inez. "My father--in prison. I must get him out." "Yes, and I think you can best do it by not letting it be known that you have discovered the theft," Jack said. "I think that's silly," declared Cora. "Whoever took those papers can't help but know, that their loss would be discovered at once. The condition the room was left in would make that certain. I can't see what good it is to keep quiet about it." "I'll explain," Jack went on. "The person who did the robbery of course knows he, or she, did it, and knows that we won't be long in finding it out. But the hotel people don't know it yet, nor the guests, and it's possible to keep it from them. They're the ones who will do the talking. Fortunately, the newspapers here aren't like those up home. There won't be any reporters after us, if we keep still." "But what's the advantage of it?" asked Cora. "To puzzle and alarm the thief," was Jack's answer. "No doubt he--for I'll assume for the sake of argument that it was a man--will be looking for a hue and cry. He'll expect it, and when it doesn't come, he'll begin to imagine all sort of things." "I see!" cried Walter. "He'll believe we are on his trail, have a clue and--" "Exactly!" interrupted Jack. "You're a regular 'deteckertiff,' Wally. That's my game, to puzzle the thief, make him think all sort of things, and so worry him by our very quietness, that he may betray himself." "Well, maybe that's the best plan," agreed Cora, rather doubtfully. "But how shall I get my papairs back?" asked Inez, falteringly. "Ze papairs are needed to get my poor father from prison." "Maybe not," said Jack, hopefully. "Anyhow, there are copies to be had, aren't there?" "Yes, but zese were ze originals. I need zem!" "And we'll get them back for you, if we can," broke in Jack. "We may be able to work without them, if we have a chance to get to Sea Horse Island on our cruise. I think our first duty is to try to find the missing ones." "Oh, of course, yes, Senor!" cried Inez, quickly. "I should not intrude my poor troubles on you." "Oh, that's all right," said Jack, good-naturedly. "We have a pretty big contract on our hands, and one trouble more or less isn't going to make much difference. Now don't forget--every body mum on this robbery. We'll puzzle the thief!" "Do you think it, was Ramo?" asked Cora. "I don't know. If he had any object in getting those papers we gave him the very chance he needed by all being away from the hotel," answered Jack. "And, if it wasn't he, it was some one else who has an object in keeping Mr. Ralcanto in jail. He'd have the same chance as Ramo had to get the documents. So the person we must look for is some one who really needed the papers. But, above all, we'll have to be cautious in making inquiries." "Yes," agreed Cora. "Could you find out when Ramo left, and if he was near this section of the hotel?" "I'll try," agreed Jack. "Now you girls begin to sort out the things you want to take along on the cruise. Cora, speak to Bess and Belle about it." "Why, aren't we going to take all our baggage?" "What! Fill the Tartar up with trunks full of fancy dresses, when we'll need every inch of room? I guess not! We'll all get down to light marching equipment. Just take what you can put in a suit-case. That's what Wally and I are going to do." "Oh, but boys are so different; aren't they, Inez?" "It matters not to me. A few things are all I have." The Spanish girl looked helplessly and almost hopelessly at the opened valise. And then, as Jack and Walter went out to and what they could learn by cautious questions, the two girls "tidied up" the room, and went to tell Bess and Belle the news. Jack and Walter could learn but little. Senor Ramo had departed suddenly, alleging a business call as an excuse for leaving the island on a steamer that sailed soon after the arrival of the one he had come in on. That was about all that could be safely learned. Little else could be done, now, toward making plans for the rescue of the father of Inez. When Mr. Robinson was located, he might have something to suggest, but now all energies must be bent on the rescue work. The news soon spread through the hotel that the "amazing Americans" were about to undertake a most desperate venture--that of cruising about in the blue waters of the Caribbean Sea, in search of their relatives who might have been able to save themselves from the wrecked ship. After a first glance at the map, and a consideration of the situation, Jack had voted for the inside, or Caribbean route, as being less likely to offer danger from storms. Satisfactory arrangements for chartering the Tartar were made, and the engineer, Joe Alcandor, was engaged to look after the machinery, which, on the Tartar, was not a little complicated. "With him along we can be more at ease," said Cora. "Yes, we won't always have to be worrying that one of the cylinders is missing, or that a new spark plug is needed," added Bess. "Oh, I do hope we can soon start!" sighed Belle. "This suspense is terrible!" Indeed, it was not easy for any of them, but perhaps Walter and Jack found it less irksome, for they were very busy preparing for the cruise. Plans were made to leave some of their baggage at the hotel in San Juan, and the rest would be taken with them. A goodly supply of provisions and stores were put aboard, and a complete account of the events leading up to the cruise, including the story of the missing Ralcanto papers, was written out and forwarded to Mr. Robinson's lawyers in New York. "That's in case of accident to us," said Jack. "Oh, don't speak of accidents!" cried Cora. The last arrangements were completed. Jack made final and guarded inquiries, concerning Ramo, but learned nothing. Then, one fine, sunny morning in December, the little party of motor girls and their friends, who had so often made motor boat trips on the lakes or streams of their own country, set off in the Tartar for a cruise on waters blue. "All aboard!" cried Jack, with an assumption of gaiety he did not feel. "Oh, I wonder what lies before us?" murmured Cora. "Courage, Senorita! Perhaps--happiness," said Inez, softly. CHAPTER XVIII THE SHARK Looking at a map of the West Indies, the reader, if he or she will take that little trouble, will see that the many islands lay in a sort of curved hook, extending from Cuba, the largest, down to Tobago, one of the smallest, just off Trinidad. In fact, Trinidad is a little off-set of the end of the hook, and, for the purpose of this illustration, need not be considered. The problem, then, that confronted the motor girls, and, no less, Jack and Walter, was to cruise in among these islands, in the hope of finding, on one of them, Mrs. Kimball, and Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, who, by great good fortune, might have been able to save themselves from the wreck of the Ramona. Looking at the map again, which is the last time I shall trouble you to do so, the problem might not seem so hard, for there are not so many islands shown. The difficulty is that few maps show all of them, and even on the best of navigating maps there may be one or two that are not charted. The shipwrecked ones, providing they lived to get off on a life raft, or in a boat, might as likely have been driven to one of these little islands, as to a larger one. "But we can cut out a lot of them," said Jack, when they were in the cozy cabin of the Tartar, and he and his sister, with the others, were bending over the charts. "It's like this," Jack went on, pointing with a pencil to where Porto Rico was shown, in shape and proportion not unlike a building brick. "Our folks started for Guadeloupe--that's here," and he indicated the island which bears not a little resemblance to an hour-glass on the map. Guadeloupe, in fact, consists of two islands, separated by a narrow arm of the sea--Riviere Salee--which divides it by a channel of from one hundred to four hundred feet in width. "Whether they arrived is of course open to question," said Jack. "I'm inclined to think they didn't, or we'd have heard from them. The storm came before the ship got anywhere near there. Now, then, I think we shall have to look for them somewhere between Porto Rico and Guadeloupe." "Why not near St. Kitts?" asked Walter, covering with his finger the little island that is included in the discoveries of Columbus. "That's near where the two sailors were picked up," Walter went on. "Yes--I think we ought to go there," agreed Jack. "But it's only one of many possible places where our folks may be. It's going to be a long cruise, I'm afraid." "Where is Sea Horse Island?" asked Cora, as Inez flashed an appealing look at her. "Here," replied Jack, indicating a rather lonesome spot in the watery waste, where no other islands showed. "It's about half way between Guadeloupe and Aves, or Bird Island. Speaking sailor fashion, its latitude is about sixteen degrees north of the equator, and the longitude about sixty-two degrees, fifty-one minutes west." "Oh, don't!" begged Bess. "It reminds me of my school days. I never could tell the difference between latitude and longitude." "Well, there's where Sea Horse Island is," went on Jack, "and if all had gone well, Mr. Robinson hoped to gather orchids there. Now--?" he hesitated. "And do you think we'll touch near there, Jack?" asked his sister. "I'm going to try." "Oh, it is so good of you!" murmured Inez. "Perhaps we can save my father." "At any rate, they ought to allow you to see him," put in Walter. "Political prisoners aren't supposed to be kept in solitary confinement. We'll have a try at him, anyhow; eh, Jack?" "Sure. Well, that's our problem--to search among these islands, and I think we have the very boat to do it." Indeed the Tartar was just what they could have desired. It was a powerful motor boat, and had been in commission only a short time. It could weather a fairly big sea, or a heavy blow. It had a powerful motor, many comforts, and even some luxuries, including a bathroom. The engine was located forward, where there was a sleeping room for the engineer, who could steer from a small pilot house. Or the craft could also be guided from the after deck, which was open. There was a large enclosed space, variously divided into cabins and staterooms. A kitchen provided for ample meals, the cooking being done by the exhausted and heated gases from the motor, which also warmed the boat on the few days when the weather was rainy and chilly. When the motor was not running, a gasoline stove could be used. Adjoining the kitchen was the dining cabin, which had folding seats that could be used for berths when more than could be accommodated in the regular sleeping spaces were aboard. There were two other cabins, fitted with folding berths, and the smaller of these was apportioned to Jack and Walter, while the girls took possession of the larger one. In addition, there were ample lockers and spaces for storing away food, and the other things they had brought with them. A considerable supply of gasoline had to be carried, but there were several islands where more could be purchased. "Isn't it just the dearest boat!" murmured Belle, as she made a tour of it, and had peeped into the engine compartment. "It is," agreed her sister. "Oh, Cora, wouldn't you just fairly love to run that splendid motor?" "I would, if I didn't have to start it too often," replied Jack's sister, as she looked at the heavy flywheel, which was now moving about as noiselessly as a shaft of light. The propeller was not in clutch, however. "It has a self-starter," Joe informed the girls. "It's the smoothest engine ever handled. No trouble at all." "Better knock wood," suggested Jack. "Eh? Knock wood?" asked the engineer, evidently puzzled. "Oh, Jack means to do that to take away any bad luck that might follow your boast," laughed Cora. "Oh, I see. But I carry a charm," and Joe showed a queer black pebble. "I always have it with me." "One superstition isn't much worse than the other," said Bess, with a laugh. "Now let's get settled. Oh, Cora, did you bring any safety-pins? I meant to get a paper, but--" "I have them," interrupted Belle. "I fancy we won't have much time to sew buttons on--or room to do it, either," she added, as she squeezed herself into a corner of the tiny stateroom. Suitcases had been stowed away, the boys had gotten their possessions into what they called "ship-shape" order, and the Tartar was soon chugging her way over the blue waters of the bay. The route was to be around the eastern end of the island, taking the narrow channel between Porto Rico and Vieques, and thus into the Caribbean. St. Croix was to be their first stop, though they did not hope for much news from that Danish possession. "Why don't you boys do some fishing?" asked Cora, as she and the other girls came from their stateroom, where they had been putting their things to rights. "We won't have much but canned stuff to eat, if you don't," she went on, addressing Jack and Walter, who sat on the open after deck, under an awning that shaded them from the hot December sun. "That's so, we might," assented Jack. "A nice tarpon now wouldn't go bad." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Walter. "We haven't the outfit for tarpon fishing. If we get some red snappers, we'll be doing well." The boys had brought along a fishing outfit, one of the simple sort used in those waters, and as they baited their hooks, Jack said: "Well, maybe I haven't the rod to catch a tarpon, but I can rig up a line and hook that will do the business, maybe." Accordingly he picked out what Joe said was a regular shark hook, and, baiting it with a piece of canned meat, tossed it over the side, fastening the line to the rail. Then Jack forgot about it, for Walter had a bite almost as soon as he cast in, and the two boys were soon pulling in red snappers abundantly enough to insure several meals. "Why don't you try your hand line," suggested Cora, as she went to where it was tied to the rail. "May be you'll get-a bite, Jack." As she spoke, she felt on the heavy string, and, an instant later, uttered a cry, for it was jerked from her hand with such force as to skin her knuckles, and at the same time she cried: "Jack! Jack! You've hooked a big shark! Oh, what a monster!" CHAPTER XIX CRUISING DAYS There was a sudden rush to see the tiger of the deep, of which Cora had had a glimpse. Walter, who was at the wheel, cried to Joe to steer while he, too, ran to the rail. "I don't see him," said Bess, as she peered down into the deep, blue water. "You'll see him in a minute," was Cora's opinion. "He had just taken the hook, I think, and he didn't like it. He'll come into view pretty soon." Hardly had she spoken, than, while the others were looking at the line, which was now unreeling from a spool on which it was wound, the shark came suddenly to the surface, its big triangular fin appearing first. "There it is!" cried Cora. "See it, Bess!" "Oh, the monster! I don't want to look at the horrible thing!" screamed Bess, as she covered her eyes with her hands. The shark swam close to the motor boat, and then with a threshing of the water, and by wild leaps and bounds, sought to free himself from the sharp hook. But it had gone in too deep. "No, you don't, old chap," cried Jack, as he took hold of the slack of the line. He regretted it the next instant, for the shark darted away with a speed that made the tough string cut deep into Jack's palm. "Oh!" he murmured, as he sprang back from the rail. "Better be careful!" warned Joe. "They're mighty strong." "Oh, cut him loose!" urged Cora. "Do, Walter! We don't want him aboard here." "He'd be quite a curiosity," observed Jack's chum, as he helped Cora's brother tie a rag around his cut and bleeding hand. "We could sell the fins to the Chinese for soup, and you might have a fan made from the tail." "No, thank you! It's too horrible!" and Cora could not repress a shudder as the big fish, once more, made a leap partly out of the water, showing its immense size. "Whew!" whistled Walter, for this was the first good view he had had of the sea-tiger. "We never can get him aboard, Jack. Better do as Cora says, and let him go." "Oh, I didn't intend to have him as a pet," was the rueful answer of Jack. "I just wanted to see if I could catch one. I'm satisfied to let him go," and he looked down at his bandaged hand. "Too bad to lose all that good line," mused Walter, "but we probably won't want to do any more shark-fishing, so I'll cut it." "I've seen enough of sharks," murmured Belle, who, with Inez, had taken one glance, and then retreated to the cabin. "These aren't regular man-eating sharks," affirmed Jack, after Walter, with a blow from a heavy knife, had severed the line, letting the shark swim away with the hook. "Ah, but zey are, Senor!" exclaimed the Spanish girl. "You should hear the stories the natives tell of them." "But I saw a bigger one not far from the harbor," insisted Jack, "and it seemed almost tame." "They are, near harbors," explained Cora. "One of the ladies at the hotel explained about that. The harbor sharks live on what they get near shore, stuff thrown overboard from boats, and they grow very large and lazy. But, farther out to sea, they don't get so much to eat, and they'll take a hook and bait almost as soon as it's thrown into the water. The men sometimes go shark-fishing for sport." "It might be sport, under the right circumstances," said Jack, with a rueful laugh. "Next time I'll know better, than to, handle a shark line without gloves." "So shall I," agreed Cora, as she looked at her skinned knuckles. They had made a good catch of food fishes and the boys now proceeded to get these ready for their first meal aboard, the girls agreeing to cook them, and to set the table. The meal was rather a merry one, in spite of the grief that hung over the party--a grief occasioned by the fear of what might have befallen Mrs. Kimball, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. And yet, with all their sorrow, there was that never-failing ray of hope. Without it, the days would have been dismal indeed. Joe ran the boat while the others were eating, and presently he called into the dining compartment. "Cape San Juan!" was his announcement. "Have we sighted it?" asked Jack, referring to the north easternmost point of Porto Rico. "Just ahead of us," replied Joe, who was a skillful navigator of the West Indian waters. "You said you were going to change the course there." "Oh, yes. We'll round the cape and go south, I think," went on Jack. "A little more of that red snapper, Cora. Whoever cooked it knew how to do it," and he looked at Ben, while the others laughed. "What's the joke?" Jack demanded, as he ate on, seemingly unperturbed, though his cut hand made it rather awkward to handle his knife and fork. "Honor to whom honor is due," quoted Cora. "It was Inez who cooked the fish. It's in Spanish style." "Good!" exclaimed Jack, as he flashed another look at Bess, with whom he seemed to have some understanding. "Whatever style it is, I'm for it. I don't care whether it has gores down the side, and plaits up the middle, with frills around the ruffles, or whatever you call them--it's good." The others laughed, while Inez looked very much puzzled at Jack's juggling of dressmaking terms. "Is it zat I have put too much paprika on ze fith?" asked the Spanish girl. "No, Jack is just trying to be funny," explained Cora. "He thinks it's great--don't you, Jack?" "What, to be funny?" "No, to eat the fish," said Walter. There was more laughter. Little enough cause for it, perhaps, and yet there seemed to come a sudden relaxation of the strain under which they had all been laboring the last few days, and even a slight excuse for merriment was welcomed. So the meal went on, and a good one it was. The motor girls, from having gone on many outings, and from having done much camping, were able to cook to satisfy even the sea-ravenous appetites of two young men, although Jack was not exactly "up to the mark." Then, too, the novelty of shifting for themselves, after being used to the rather indolent luxury of a tropical hotel, made a welcome change to them. Joe had his meal after the others had finished, as it was necessary for some one to stay at the wheel, for the Tartar was slipping along through the blue water at a good rate of speed. Cape San Juan was rounded, and then the prow of the powerful motor boat was turned south, to navigate the often perilous passage between Porto Rico and Vieques. "Do you think we'll find any news at St. Croix?" asked Cora, of Jack, in a low voice, when, after the meal, they found themselves for the moment by themselves. "Hard to say, Sis," he answered. "I'm always living in hope, you know." "Yes, I suppose we must hope, Jack. And yet, when I think of all they may be suffering--starving, perhaps, on some uninhabited island, it--it makes me shiver," and Cora glanced apprehensively across the stretch of blue water as though she might, at any moment, sight the lonely isle that served as a refuge for her mother, and for Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. "Don't think about it," advised the practical Jack. "There are just as many chances that the folks have been picked up, and taken to some good island, as that they're on some bad one." By the course they had laid, it was rather more than a hundred miles from San Juan harbor to St. Croix, the Danish island, and as they were going to make a careful search, and husband their supply of gasoline as much as possible, they had set their average speed at ten miles an hour. "That will bring us to St. Croix early this evening," said Jack, for they had started in the morning. "We'll stay there all night, for I don't much fancy motoring after dark in unknown waters." "Neither do I," said Cora. "And then there are the sharks!" murmured Belle. "I won't let them get you!" said Walter, it such soothing tones as one might use to a child. "The bad sharks sha'n't get little Belle," and he pretended to slip an arm about her. "Stop it!" commanded the blonde twin, with a deep blush as she fairly squirmed out of reach. CHAPTER XX ANXIOUS NIGHTS Dusk had begun to settle over the harbor of Christianstad, or Bassin, as the capital of St. Croix is locally known, when the anchor of the Tartar was dropped into the mud. The boat had threaded its way through a rather treacherous channel, caused by the then shallow parts of the basin, and had come to rest not far from shore. "What's the program?" asked Walter, as the motor ceased its throbbing. "We'll go ashore," said Jack, "and see what news we can learn. I'm not very hopeful, but we may pick up something." "Back here to sleep?" Walter went on, questioningly. "Oh, sure. We want to start early in the morning. And from now on, we'll have plenty of stopping places, for there are many small islands where survivors from the wreck might have landed." "Is there anything to see here ashore?" asked Bess. "If there is, you might take us girls. We don't want to be left alone." "Well, I suppose it could be done," Jack assented. "Only we'll have to do it in two trips, for the small boat won't hold us all. Too risky, and there might be sharks here, Bess," and he made a motion toward the waters of the harbor. "Oh, how horrible!" she screamed. A small rowboat was carried as part of the equipment of the Tartar, but, at best, it could hold only four. However, the boys and girls were saved the necessity of making two trips from the motor boat to shore, for a large launch, the pilot of which scented business, put out to them from the landing wharf, and soon bargained to land them, and bring them off again when they desired to come. Joe would stay aboard the Tartar. The travelers found Christianstad to be a picturesque town, and in certain parts of it there were many old buildings. The Danish governor was "in residence" then, and affairs were rather more lively than usual. "What's that queer smell?" asked Cora, as they were on their way to the best hotel in the place, for there they intended making their inquiries. "Sugar factory," answered Jack. "It's about all the business done here--making sugar." "How'd you know?" asked Belle. "Oh, ask Little Willie whenever you want to know anything," laughed Jack. "Listen, my children! "St. Croix is twenty-two miles long, and from one to six miles in width. It is inhabited by whites and blacks, the former sugar planters, and the latter un-planters--that is, they gather the sugar cane. "St. Croix was discovered by Columbus in 1493, and at times the Dutch, British and Spanish owned it. In 1733 Denmark bought it, and has owned it since. The average temperature is--" "That'll do you!" interrupted Walter. "We can read a guide book as well as you can. Come again, Jack." "Well, I thought you'd be wanting to know something about it, so I primed myself," chuckled Jack. Curious eyes regarded our friends as they reached the hotel. Walter and Jack left the girls in the parlor while they, themselves, went to make inquiries at the office. And more curious were the looks, when it became known that Jack and the others were seeking traces of those wrecked on the Ramona. Curious looks, indeed, were about all the satisfaction that was had. For no news--not the most vague rumor--had come in regarding the ill-fated vessel. The wreck had not even been heard of, for news from the outside world sometimes filtered slowly to St. Croix. "Well, that's our first failure," announced Jack, as, with Walter, he rejoined the girls. "We must expect that. If we found them at our first call, it would be too much like a story in a book. We have a long search ahead of us, I'm thinking." "That's right," agreed Walter. "But, Jack, if this island is twenty-two miles long, might not the refugees have come ashore somewhere else than on this particular part of the coast?" "Yes, I suppose so. But, if they did, they'd know enough to make their way to civilization by this time. It's over a week since the hurricane." "I know. But suppose they couldn't make their way--if they were hurt, or something like that?" "That's so," was the hesitating answer. "Well, we might make a circuit of the island to-morrow." "Oh, let's do it--by all means!" exclaimed Cora, catching at any stray straw of hope. "We--we might find them--Jack!" "All right, Sis!" he agreed. "You look tired," she said to him, as they sat in a little refreshment room, for Walter had offered to "stand treat" to such as there was to be had. "I am a bit tuckered out," confessed Jack, putting his hand to his head. "It was quite a strain getting things ready for the start. But, now we're at sea, I'm going to take a good rest--that is, as much as I can, under the circumstances." "You mustn't overdo it," cautioned Cora. "Remember that we came down here for your health, but we didn't expect to have such a time of it. Poor little mother!" she sighed. "I wonder where she is to-night?" "I'd like to know," said Jack, softly, and again his hand went to his head with a puzzled sort of gesture. "Does it ache?" asked Cora, solicitously. "No, not exactly," answered Jack slowly, uncertainly. They finished their little refreshment, being, about the only stranger-guests at the hotel, and then went out to view what they could of the town by lamp-light. Some of the shops displayed wares that, under other circumstances, would have been attractive to the girls, but now they did not feel like purchasing. They were under too much of a strain. "Well, no news is good news," quoted Walter. Alas! how often has that been said as a last resort to buoy up a sinking hope. No one else spoke, as they made their way to the dock where the little ferry boat awaited them. "What's the matter, Jack?" asked Walter, as he sat beside his chum on the return trip. "Matter! What do you mean?" "You're so quiet." "He doesn't feel well," put In Cora. "Oh, I'm all right!" insisted Jack, with brotherly brusqueness. "Let me alone!" "Well, this place seems nice and cozy," commented Belle, as they reached the Tartar, and stepped into the cabin, which Joe had illuminated from the incandescents, operated by a storage battery when the motor was not whirling the magneto. "Yes, it is almost like home," said Bess, softly. Jack and Walter looked carefully to the anchor rope, for though the harbor was a safe one, there were muddy flats in places, and while there was no wind at present to drag them, it might spring up in the night. "Might as well turn in, I guess," suggested Jack, with a weary yawn. "Why--yes--old man--if you--feel that way about it!" mocked Walter, pretending to gape. "Oh, cut it out!" and Jack's voice was almost snarling. Cora looked at him in some surprise, and, catching Walter's eye, made him a signal not to take any notice. Walter nodded in acquiescence, and the incident passed. As an anchor light was hoisted, and as there was no need for any particular caution, no watch was kept, every one retiring by eleven o'clock. Often, when the young people had been on outings together, Cora and her girl friends had had a "giggling-spell" after retiring to their rooms. But now none of them felt like making fun. It was rather a solemn little party aboard the Tartar. The hope and plan of the young travelers to leave early in the morning, and make a circuit of the island, for a possible sight of the refugees, was not destined to be carried out. For somewhere around two o'clock, when bodily functions are said to be at their lowest ebb, Walter heard Jack calling to him. "I say, old man, I wish, you would come here. Something's the matter with me," came in a hoarse whisper. "Eh? What's that? Something the matter?" murmured Walter, sleepily. "Yes, I feel pretty rocky,", was Jack's answer. "Would you mind getting me a little of that nerve stuff the doctor put up for me? It might quiet me so I could go to sleep." "Great Scott, man! Haven't you been asleep yet?" "No," was Jack's miserable answer. "I've just been lying here on my back, staring up at the darkness, and now I'm seeing things." "Seeing things!" faltered Walter. "Yes, blue centipedes and red sharks. It's like the time I keeled over at college, you know." "Ugh!" half grunted Walter, with no very cheerful heart, for the prospect before him, if Jack were to be ill. Jack was far from well, when the lights were turned aglow, and Cora came in to see him. It seemed to be a return of his old malady, brought on by an excess of work and worry. There was little sleep for any of them the rest of the night, for Cora insisted upon sitting up to look after Jack, and Walter made himself up a bunk in the dining compartment, being ready on call. Toward morning Cora's brother sank into an uneasy slumber under the influence of a sedative, but he awoke at seven o'clock and seemed feverish. "We must have a doctor from the island," decided Cora, as she saw her brother's condition. "We can't take any chances." The Danish physician who came out in the boat heartened them up a little by saying it was merely a relapse, and that Jack would be much better after a few days' rest. "Just stay here with him, or anchor a little farther out," was his suggestion. "The sea breezes will be the best medicine for him. I can't give him any better. Just let him rest until he gets back his nerve." This advice they followed. But there were anxious nights, and for three of them Walter and Cora divided the task of sitting up with Jack. Joe generously offered to do his share, as did Bess, Belle and Inez, but Cora would not let them relieve her. So they lingered off the coast of St. Croix until the fever left Jack, departing from his weakened body, but making his mind at rest. Then he began to mend. CHAPTER XXI A STRANGE TALE "Well, Sis, I don't see what's to keep us here any longer. We might as well get under way again." "Do you really feel equal to it, Jack?" "Surely," and the heir of the Kimball family rose from the deck chair and stretched himself. The paleness of his cheeks for the past week was beginning to give way again to the faint glow of health. "Sorry to get myself knocked out in that fashion," apologized Jack. "You couldn't help it, old man," said Walter, sympathetically. "The rest has done you good, anyhow." "Yes, I guess I needed it," confessed Jack. "All my nerves seemed to be on the raw edge." There was no need for him to admit this, since it had been very evident since reaching St. Croix. The Danish physician had given good advice, and now Jack was even better than when he received the news of the foundering of the Ramona. The balmy sea breezes, the lack of necessity for any hard work, the ministrations of Cora, and, occasionally, the other girls, set Jack in a fair way to recovery. Inez Ralcanto made many dainty Spanish dishes for the invalid, from the stock of provisions aboard the Tartar, and with what she could get from the island. Nothing gave her more delight than to know that Jack had gone to the bottom of each receptacle in which she served her concoctions. "It is so good to see you smile again, Senor Jack," she said to him, as she looked at him, on deck. "And it's good to smile again, Inez," he said to her. "You'd better look out, Bess," warned Walter. "First thing you know, she'll cut you out." "Silly!" was all the answer Bess vouchsafed. But there was a tell-tale blush on her cheeks. The anchor of the Tartar was hoisted, and once more she sailed away, this time on the cruise about St. Croix. That it would result in any news of the lost ones being obtained no one really believed, but they felt that no chance, not even the slightest, should be overlooked. So they motored around the Danish island, stopping aft little bays or inlets where it seemed likely a raft or boat from a shipwrecked vessel might most likely put in. They found no traces, however, and what few natives they were able to converse with had heard of no refugees coming ashore. "Where next?" asked Walter, when they Had completed the circuit of St. Croix, and come to anchor once more off Christianstad, to lay aboard some supplies. "St. Kitts," decided Jack, who was again able to take his part in the councils. "At least we'll head for there, and stop at any little two-by-four islands we pick up on the way. Isn't that your opinion, Cora?" "Yes, Jack. Anything to find those for whom we are looking. Oh, I wonder if we shall ever find them?" "Of course!" said Jack quickly, but, even as he spoke, he wondered if he were not deceiving himself. For when all was said and done, it seemed such a remote hope--and might be so long deferred, as, not only to make the heart sick, but to stop it's beating altogether. It was such a very slender thread that the beads of hope were strung on--it was so easy to snap. And yet they hoped on! From St. Croix to St. Kitts is about one hundred and twenty miles, measured on the most accurate charts, and while it could have easily been made in a day's sail by the Tartar, it was decided not to try for any time limit, but to cruise back and forth in a rather zig-zag fashion. "For that's the only way we'll have of picking up any small islands that might possibly be uncharted," explained Jack. "Most of the coral reefs here are noted on the maps, but there's a bare chance that we might strike an unknown one, or an island, that would serve as a haven of refuge for shipwrecked ones." His friends agreed with him, and Joe said it was probably the best plan that could be adopted. So they were once more under way. It was near St. Kitts that the two sailors from the Ramona had been picked up, to tell their story of the stressful hurricane and mutiny. And, other things being equal, as Jack put it, it was near St. Kitts that some news might be expected to be had of those for whom the search was being made. As the capital, Basseterre, was a town of more than ten thousand population, it might reasonably be expected that some news of the foundering of the Ramona would be received there. It was in that vicinity, as was evident from the rescue of the two sailors, that the ship had been torn by the wind and waves. A week was occupied in making the journey to St. Kitts from St. Croix, a week of cruising back and forth, and of stopping at many mere dots of islands. Some of these were seen at once to be not worth searching, since their entire extent could almost be seen at a single glance. They were merely collections of coral rocks, submerged at high water. Others were larger, and these were visited in the small boat which the Tartar carried with her. It was on some of these trips, over comparatively shallow water, that the beauties and mysteries of the ocean bottom were made plain to our friends. Joe, the engineer, made for them a "water glass," by the simple process of knocking the bottom out of a pail, and putting in puttied glass, instead. This, when put into the water, glass side somewhat below the surface, enabled one to see with startling clearness the bottom of the ocean, in depths from seventy-five to one hundred feet. Most wonderful was the sight. "Why, it looks like a forest, or a wonderful green-house down there," said Cora, after her first view. "Those are the coral and the sponges," explained Joe. Our friends were surprised to see that coral, instead of being stiff and hard, as it had seemed to them when they handled specimens of it on land, was, under the water, as graceful and waving as the leaves of palm trees in a gentle wind. The ocean currents waved and undulated, it, until it seemed alive. Branch coral they saw, like miniature trees, and great "fans," some nearly ten feet across. Then there were great rocks of the coral-living rocks, formed of millions and millions of the bodies of the polyps, insects who build up such marvelous formations. Sponges there were, too, though not in great enough abundance to warrant the sponge-gathering fleets coming to this section. Through the water glass, our friends could see fish swimming around under the water, darting here and there between the waving coral and under the growing sponges. It was all very wonderful and beautiful, but it is doubtful if any of the young people really appreciated it as they might have done, had their hearts been lighter. Inez did not care to look at the sea sights, for she said she had seen them too often as a child in the islands. In spite of her anxiety concerning her father und his possible fate, she did not obtrude her desires on her friends. She seldom spoke of the hope she had of going to Sea Horse Island, either to help rescue her father, or to learn some news of him, so that others might set him free. "But we'll go there, just the same!" Jack had said. "And if we can get him out of prison, we will. There must be some sort of authority there to appeal to." "You are very lucky, Senor Jack," whispered Inez, with a grateful look. "Nonsense!" exclaimed Jack, who did not like praise. They reached St. Kitts, or St. Christopher, as it is often called, from the immortal Columbus who found it in 1493, when he did so much to bring unknown lands to notice. "Now we'll see what sort of luck we'll have," spoke Walter. They anchored off Basseterre, and, going ashore, had little difficulty in confirming the story of the two shipwrecked sailors being picked up. That much as current news, since another vessel than the Boldero had been near, when the latter's captain stopped for the two unfortunates. That was all that really was learned, save that some fishing boats, later, had seen pieces of wreckage. Diligent inquiry in Old Road, and Sandy Point, the two other principal towns, failed to gain further information, and our friends were considering continuing their cruise, when, most unexpectedly, they heard a curious tale that set them, eventually, on the right course. They were coming down to the dock, one evening to take a boat out to their own craft, when an aged colored man, who spoke fairly good English, accosted them. At first Jack took him for a beggar, and gruffly ordered him away, but the fellow insisted. "I've got news for you, boss," he said, with a curious British cockney accent. "You lookin' for shipwrecked parties, ain't you?" "Yes," said Jack, a bit shortly. But that was common news. "Well, there's an island about fifty miles from here," the black went on, "and there's somethin' bloomin' stringe about it;" for so he pronounced "strange." "Strange--what do you mean?" asked Walter. "Just what I says, boss, stringe. If you was to say it'd be worth arf a crown now--" "Oh, I haven't time to bother with curiosities!" exclaimed Jack, impatiently. "Let us hear his story, Jack," insisted Cora. "What is it?" she asked, giving him a coin, though not as much as he had asked for. "'Thank ye kindly, Miss. It's this way," said, the colored Englishman. "I works on a fishin' boat, and a few days ago, comin' back, we sighted this island. We needed water, and we went ashore to get it, but--well, we comes away without it." "Why was that?" asked Walter, curiously. "Because, boss, there's a strange creature on that island, that's what there is," said the negro. "He scared all of us stiff. He was all in rage and titters, and when he found we was sheering off, without coming ashore, he went wild, and flung his cap at us. It floated off shore, and I picked it up, bein' on that side of the boat." "But how does this concern us?" asked Jack, rousing a little. "I could show you that cap, boss," the Negro went on. "I've got it here. It's dark, but maybe you can make out the letters on it. I can't read very good." Jack held the cap up in the gleam of a light on the water-front. His startled eyes saw a cap, such as sailors wear, while in faded gilt letters on the band was the name: "RAMONA." CHAPTER XXII THE LONELY ISLAND Walter, looking over Jack's shoulder, rubbed his eyes as though to clear them from a mist, and then, as he saw the faded gilt letters, he closed both eyes, opening them again quickly to make sure of a perfect vision. "Jack!" he murmured. "Do I really see it?" "I--I guess so," was the faltering answer. "Cora, look here!" The girls, who had drawn a little aside at the close approach of the negro, came up by twos, Cora and Belle walking together. "What is it?" asked Jack's sister, thinking perhaps the man had made a second charity appeal to her brother, and that he wanted her advice on it. "Look," said Jack simply, and he extended the cap. As Walter had done, Cora was at first unable to believe the word she saw there. "The--Ramona," she faltered. "The steamer mother and father sailed on?" asked Belle, her face pale in the lamp-light. "The same name, at any rate," remarked Walter, in a low voice. "And there would hardly be two alike in these waters." "But what does it mean? Where did he get the cap?" asked Cora, her voice rising with her excitement. "Tell me, Jack!" "He says it was flung to him by some sort of an insane sailor, I take it, on a lonely island." "That's it, Missie," broke in the man, his tone sufficiently respectful. "Me and my mates, as I was tellin' the boss here," and he nodded at Jack, "started to fill our water casks, but we didn't stay to do it arter we saw this chap. Fair a wild man, I'd call 'im, Missie. That's what I would. Fair a wild man!" "And he flung you this cap?" "That's what he done, Missie. Chucked it right into the tea, Missie, jest like it didn't cost nothin', and it was a good cap once." It was not now, whatever it had been, for it bore evidence of long sea immersion, and the band had been broken and cracked by the manner in which the negro fisherman had crammed it into his pocket. "Jack!" exclaimed Cora, in a strangely agitated voice. "We must hear more of this story. It may be--it may be a clue!" "That's what I'm thinking." A little knot of idlers had gathered at seeing the negro talking to the group of white 'young people, and Walter and Jack, exchanging glances mutually decided that the rest of the affair might better be concluded in seclusion. Jack gave the negro a hasty but comprehensive glance. "Shall we take him aboard, Cora?" he asked his sister. Jack was very willing to defer to Cora's opinion, for he had, more than once, found her judgment sound. And, in a great measure, this was her affair, since she had been invited first by the Robinsons, and Jack himself was only a sort accidental after-thought. "I think it would be better to take him to the Tartar," Cora said. "We can question him there, and, if necessary, we can--" She hesitated, and Jack asked: "Well, what? Go on!" "No, I want to think about it first," she made reply. "Wait until we girls hear his story." "Will you come to our motor boat?" asked Jack of the sailor, who said he was known by the name of Slim Jim, which indeed, as far as his physical characteristics were concerned, fitted him perfectly. He was indeed slim, though of rather a pleasant cast of features. "Sure, boss, I'll go," he answered. "Of course I might git a job by hangin' around here, but--" "Oh, we'll pay you for your time--you won't lose anything." Jack interrupted. Indeed the man had, from the first, it seemed, accosted him with the idea of getting a little "spare-change" for, like most of the negro population of the Antilles, he was very poor. "But what's it all about?" asked Bess, who had not heard all the talk, and who, in consequence, had not followed the significance of the encounter. "Zey have found a man, who says a sailor on some island near here, wore a cap with ze name of your mozer's steamer," put in Inez, who, with the quickness of her race, had gathered those important facts. "Oh!" gasped Bess. "Don't build too much on it," interposed Jack. "It may be only a sailor's yarn." "It's all true, what I'm tellin' you, boss!" exclaimed the negro. "Oh, I don't doubt your word," said Jack, quickly. "But let's get aboard the boat before we talk any further." Aboard the Tartar, seated in her cozy cabin, the story of Slim Jim seemed to take on added significance. He told it, too, with a due regard for its importance--especially to him--in the matter of what money it might bring to him. In brief, his "yarn" was about as I have indicated, in the brief talk with Jack. Jim and his mates had been on a protracted fishing trip, and had run short of water. One of the number knew of a lonely and uninhabited island near where they were then cruising--an island that contained a spring of good water. They were headed for the place, but when they were about to land, they had been alarmed by the appearance of what at first was supposed to be some wild beast. "He crawled on all fours, Missie," said Slim Jim, addressing Cora with such earnestness that she could not repress a shiver. "He crawled on all fours like some bloomin' beastie, begging your pardon, Missie. We was all fair scared, an' sheered orf." "Then how did you get the cap?" asked Walter. "He chucked the blessed cap to us, sir!" Jim appeared to have a different appellation for each member of the party. "Chucked it right into the water, sir. I picked it up." "What else did he do?" asked Cora. "He behaved somethin' queer, Missie. Runnin' up and down, not on four legs--meanin' his hands, Missie--and now on two. Fair nutty I'd call him." "Poor fellow," murmured Bess. "And is that all that happened?" demanded Walter. "Well, about all, sir. I picked up the cap, and we rowed away. We thought we'd better go dry, sir, in the manner of speakin', instead of facin' that chap. He was fair crazy, sir." "Did he look like a sailor?" Jack wanted to know. "Well, no, boss, you couldn't rightly say so, boss. He took on somethin' terrible when we sheered off an' left 'im." "And that's all?" inquired Belle, in a low voice. "Yes--er--little lady," answered Slim Jim, finding a new title for fair Belle. "That's all, little lady, 'cept that I kept th' cap, not thinkin' much about it, until I heard you gentlemen inquirin' for news of the Ramona. I heard some one spell out that there name in these letters for me," and he indicated the name on the cap. "Then I spoke to you, boss." "Yes, and I'm glad you did," said Jack. "'Why?" began Cora. "Do you think--" "I think it's barely possible that one of the sailors from the Ramona is marooned on that lonely island," interrupted Jack. "He may be the only one, or there may be more. We'll have to find out. Can you take us to this island?" he asked Slim Jim. "The lonely island?" "Yes." "I rackon so, boss, if you was to hire me, in the manner of speakin'" "Of course." "Then I'll go." "Off for the lonely, isle," murmured Coral softly. "I wonder what we'll find there?" CHAPTER XXIII THE LONELY SAILOR Once more the Tartar was off on her strange cruise. This time she carried an added passenger, or, rather a second member of the crew, for Slim Jim bunked with Joe, and was made assistant engineer, since the negro proved to know something of gasoline motors. After hearing the story told by the colored fisherman, and confirming it by inquiries in St. Kitts, Jack, Cora and the others decided that there was but one thing to do. That was to head at once for the lonely island where the sailor, probably maddened by his loneliness and hardship, was marooned. As to the location of the island, Slim Jim could give a fair idea as to where it rose sullenly from the sea, a mass of coral rock, with a little vegetation. The truth of this was also established by cautious inquiries before the Tartar tripped her anchor. Lonely Island, as they called it, was about a day's run from St. Kitts in fair weather, and now, though the weather had taken a little turn, as though indicating another storm, it was fair enough to warrant the try. More gasoline was put aboard, with additional stores, for Slim Jim, in spite of his attenuation, was a hearty eater. Then they were on their way. Aside from a slight excitement caused when Walter hooked a big fish, and was nearly taken overboard by it--being in fact pulled back just in time by Bess, little of moment occurred on the trip to Lonely Island. Toward evening, after a day's hard pushing of the Tartar, Slim Jim, who had taken his position in the bows, called out: "There she lies, boss!" "Lonely Island?" asked Jack. "That's her." "Since you've been there, where had we better anchor?" asked Joe, with a due regard for the craft he was piloting. "Around on the other side is a good bay, with deep enough water and good holding ground," said the negro. "If it comes on to blow, an' it looks as if it might, we'll ride easy there." Accordingly, they passed by the place where the negro fishermen had been frightened away with their empty water casks, and made for the other side of the island. Recalling the story of the queer and probably crazed man, Jack and the others, including Slim Jim, gazed eagerly for a sight of him. But the island seemed deserted and lonely. "What if he shouldn't be there?" whispered Belle to Cora. "Don't suggest it, my dear. It's the best chance we've yet had of finding them, and it mustn't fail--it simply mustn't!" It was very quiet in the little bay where they dropped anchor, though a flock of birds, with harsh cries, flew from the palm trees at the sound of the "mud hook" splashing into the water. "Now for the sailor!" exclaimed Walter. "Hush! He'll hear you," cautioned Belle. "Well, we want him to, don't we?" and he smiled at her. Eagerly they gazed toward shore, but there was no sign of a human being around there. Lonely indeed was the little island in the midst of that blue sea, over which the setting sun cast golden shadows. "Are you going ashore?" asked Walter of Jack, in a low voice. Somehow it seemed necessary to speak in hushed tones in that silent place. "Indeed we're not--until morning!" put in Cora. "And don't you boys dare go and leave us alone," and she grasped her brother's arm in a determined clasp. "I guess it will be better to wait until morning," agreed Jack. Supper--or dinner, as you prefer--was served aboard, and then the searchers sat about and talked of the strange turn of events, while Jim and Joe, in the motor compartment, tinkered with the engine, which had not been running as smoothly, of late, as could be desired. "I hope it doesn't go back on us," remarked Jack, half dubiously. "Don't suggest such a thing," exclaimed his sister. They agreed to go ashore in the morning, and search for the marooned sailor supposed to be on Lonely Island. The night passed quietly, though there were strange noises from the direction of the island. Jack, and the others aboard the Tartar, which swung at anchor in the little coral encircled lagoon, said they were the noises of birds in the palm trees. But Slim Jim shook his head. "That crazy sailor makes queer noises," he said. "If he's there," suggested Walter. In the morning they found him, after a short search. It was not at all difficult, for they came upon the unfortunate man in a clump of trees, under which he was huddled, eating something in almost animal fashion. With Jack and Walter in the lead, the girls behind them, and Joe and Jim in the rear, they had set off on their man-hunt. They had not gone far from the shore before an agitation in the bushes just ahead of them attracted the attention of the two boys. "Did you see something?" asked Walter. "Something--yes," admitted Jack. "A bird, I think." "But I didn't hear the flutter of wings." "I don't know as to that. Anyhow, there are birds enough here. Come on." They glanced back to where Bess had stopped to look at a beautiful orchid, in shape itself not unlike some bird of most brilliant plumage. "Oh, if father could only see that!" she sighed. "It is too beautiful to pick." Cora and her chums closed up to the boys, and then, as they made their way down a little grassy hill, into a sort of glade, Cora uttered a sudden and startled cry. "Look!" she gasped, clutching Jack's arm in such a grip that he winced. "Where?" he asked. "Right under those trees." And there they saw him--the lonely sailor, crouched down, eating something as--yes, as a dog might eat it! So far had he fallen back to the original scale--if ever there was one. Some one of the party trod on a stick, that broke with a loud snap-almost like a rifle shot in that stillness. The lone sailor looked up, startled, as a dog might, when disturbed at gnawing a bone. Then he remained as still and quiet as some stone. "That's him," said the negro sailor, and though he meant to speak softly, his voice seemed fairly to boom out. At the sound of it, the hermit was galvanized into life. He dropped what he had been eating, and slowly rose from his crouching attitude. Then he turned slowly, so as to face the group of intruders on his island fastness. He seemed to fear they would vanish, if he moved too suddenly--vanish as the figment of some dream. "Poor fellow," murmured Cora. "Speak to him, Jack. Say something." "I'm afraid of' frightening him more. Wait until he wakes up a bit." "He does act like some one just disturbed from a sleep," spoke Walter. "Maybe you girls--" "Oh, we're not afraid," put in Bess, quickly. Not with all this protection, and she looked from the boys to the two sturdy men. Now the lonely sailor was moving more quickly. He straightened up, more like the likeness and image of man as he was created, and took a step forward. Finding, evidently, that this did not dissipate the images, he passed his hand in front of his face, as though brushing away unseen cobwebs. Then he fairly ran toward the group. "Look out!" warned Joe. But there was nothing to fear. When yet a little distance off, the man fell on his knees, and, holding up his hands, in an attitude of supplication cried out in a hoarse voice: "Don't say you're not real. Oh, dear God, don't let 'em say that! Don't let 'em be visions of a dream! Don't, dear God!" "Oh, speak to him, Jack!" begged Cora. "He thinks it's a vision. Tell him we are real--that we've come to take him away--to find out about our own dear ones--speak to him!" There was no need. Her own clear voice had carried to the lonely sailor, and had told him what he wanted to know. "They speak! I hear them! They are real. And now, dear God, don't let them go away!" he pleaded. "We're not going away!" Jack called. "At least not until we help you--if we can. Come over here and tell us all about it. Are you from the Ramona?" "The Ramona, yes. But if--if you're from her--if you've come to take me back to her, I'm not going! I'd rather die first. I won't go back! I won't be a pirate! You sha'n't make me! I'll stay here and die first." CHAPTER XXIV THE REVENUE CUTTER The story told by Ben Wrensch--for such proved to be the name of the lonely sailor-cannot be set down as he told it. In the first place, there was little of chronological order about it, and in the second place he was interrupted so often by Cora, or one of the others, asking questions, or he interrupted himself so frequently, that it would be but a disjointed narrative at best. So, I have seen fit to abridge it, and tell it in my own. As a matter of fact, the questions Cora, her girl chums, or the boys asked, only tended to throw more light on the strange affair, whereas the interruptions of Ben himself were more dramatic. He was so afraid that it was all a dream that, he would awaken from it only to find himself alone again. "But you are real, aren't you, now?" he would ask, pathetically. "Of course," said Cora, with a gentle smile. "And you won't go away and leave me, as the others did?" he begged, but he did not couple Slim Jim with one of those. In fact, he did not pay much attention to the negro, for which Jim, a rather superstitious chap, was very grateful. "Certainly we won't leave you here," Jack said. "We'll take you wherever you want to go, Ben." "That's good. Well, as I was saying--" and then he would resume his interrupted narrative. So, instead of telling his "yarn" in that fashion, I have sought to save your time and interest by condensing it. Up to the time of the hurricane, which caught the Ramona in rather a bad stretch of water, there was nothing that need be set down. The vessel bearing the mother of Jack and Cora, and the parents of the Robinson twins, had gone on her way, until the sudden bursting of the storm, with unusual tropical fury, had thrown the seas against and over the craft with smashing fury. Boats and parts of the railing and netting, had been carried away, and one or two sailors washed overboard. Then had come the mutiny, if such it could be called--an uprising of some of the sailors, driven to almost insane anger because of the refusal of the captain to put into a port, the harbor of which could not be made in such a sea as was running, nor in the teeth of such furious wind. The only thing to do was to scud before the gale, with the engines and crew doing what they could. There had been an incipient panic, and a rush for the boats quelled hardly in time, for some had been lowered, and swamped and others had gotten away. There was an exchange of shots between the captain and some of the mutineers, and, as our friends knew, one sailor, at least, was wounded, though whether by the captain or by the mutineers was uncertain. Ben Wrensch, who appeared of better character than the usual run of West Indian sailors, had his share in the mutiny--that is, he refused to take sides with the small part of the crew who berated the captain for something he could not do. He had sided with the small part of the crew who remained loyal. "And what did they do to you?" asked Jack. For the man had come to a pause, after describing how many shouted that the ship was foundering. "The rascals drove me and some of the other to a boat, and lowered us away," was the answer. "They said they didn't want us aboard. I guess they was afraid we'd give evidence against them, if we ever got the chance, and so I would." "And did you land here?" asked Cora, indicating the lonely isle. "Not at first, Miss. We tossed about in the boat and the sea got higher and the wind stronger. And how it did rain! It seemed to beat right through your skin. The rain helped to keep the seas down, but not much. It was fearful!" He then went on to tell how, after laboring hard in the darkness of the night, the boat he was in (five other sailors being his companions) was swamped by a huge wave. He was tossed into the sea, and must have been rendered unconscious by a blow on the head, for he remembered nothing more until he found himself being washed back and forth on the beach by the waves, and at last had understanding and strength enough to crawl up beyond the reach of the water. So he had come to Lonely Island. And there he had existed ever since. Some few things--including the cap that had been of such value to our friends--had been washed ashore from the boat, or otherwise Ben might have starved at first, for he was too weak to hunt for food. Gradually he regained the power to help himself. He found mussels clinging to the rocks, he gathered some turtles eggs, and was lucky enough to kill a bird with a stone. On such food he lived. For shelter he made himself a hut of bark and vines, and so the days passed in loneliness. It had not taken him long to find that he was the only inhabitant of Lonely Island. He alone, of the company in the boat, had come ashore to be saved. Of the time he spent on the island you would not be interested to hear. One day was like another, save as he had better or worse luck in providing food. His great anxiety was to be taken off and to this end he made a signal, but it was a small one, and it is doubtful it would ever have been seen. Gradually his hardships, his exposure and the loneliness preyed on him until he was well-nigh insane. He became almost like an animal in his fight against nature. He was on the verge of madness when he saw the boat load of fishermen approaching for water, and it was his queer actions that drove them off. In his despair he threw his cap at them, the most fortunate thing he could have done. "And now you come to me!" he said, simply. "Yes, we're here," admitted Jack. "But can you give us any more news of the Ramona? That is what we want to know. Which way was she headed when you were forced to leave her? Have you any idea where she is now?" "She was headed southeast," was the answer. "And how long would you say she could keep afloat?" Walter wanted to know. "She ought to be afloat now!" was the startling reply. "Now!" cried Jack. "What do you mean?" "Why, she was in no danger of sinking," Ben went on, and Cora and the girls felt new hope springing up in their hearts. "Are you sure of this?" demanded Jack. "Very sure; yes. I was below just before I was forced into the small boat, and there wasn't a plate sprung. The engines were in good order and if the mutineers hadn't raised a hue and cry, everything would have been all right. But they wanted their way, for their own ends, I fancy." "Meaning what?" asked Jack. "That they were glad of any excuse to seize the ship. I overheard some of their plans. They would have done it, storm or no storm. There was a plot to take the Ramona, put off all who would be in the way, take her to some port, change her name and engage her in what amounted to piracy." "The plotters were going to do this?" cried Walter, aghast. "Yes, and the storm only egged them on. It was their opportunity." "Then the Ramona may be afloat now?" demanded Cora. "She very likely is, Miss, I should say. A little damaged perhaps, but not more than could be." "And what of the passengers?" asked Bess. "Well, they're either aboard her, as prisoners, or have thrown their lot in with the mutineers, or--" He did not go on. "Well?" asked Jack, grimly. "Or they were put adrift, as I was," went on Ben. "But you did not see that happen?" asked Cora, for the story was nearing its end now. "No, Miss, I didn't see that. When I was put overboard, all the passengers--and there weren't many of them--were still aboard." "Did you see any of them?" asked Bess. "Oh, yes, Miss. All of 'em, I fancy." "My father and mother--" Ben described, as well as he could, the various characteristics and appearances of the Ramona's passengers, and Mrs. Kimball and Mr. and Mrs. Robinson were easily recognized. "Then we must still keep on searching for them," decided Jack, at the conclusion of the narrative. "We'll just have to keep on!" "It looks so," admitted Cora. "Oh, we mustn't think of giving up!" cried Bess. "I know my father. He just wouldn't give in to those horrid mutineers, and he wouldn't throw in his fortunes with them, either. I can't explain it, but, somehow I feel more hopeful than at any time yet, that they are all right--Papa and Mamma, and your mother, too, Cora." "I am glad you think so, dear. I haven't given up either. But let's get away from here, Jack." "That's what I say!" murmured Belle, with a little nervous shiver. "This place gives me such a creepy feeling." "You might well say so, Miss," put in Ben. "That is, if you had to stay here all along, as I did, with nothing but them parrot birds screeching at you all day long. It was awful!" There was no use in staying longer on Lonely Island, and Ben Wrensch was only too glad to be taken from it. At first the motor girls talked of taking him with them, on the remainder of the cruise, but, as Jack pointed out, there was no need of this. He could give no further information as to the location of the Ramona, providing the steamer still was afloat. And he would only be an added, and comparatively useless, passenger. He was not exactly the sort of personage one would desire in the rather cramped quarters of the Tartar, though he was kind and obliging. He would be better off ashore, for the time being, where he could get medical treatment. So the big motor boat swept out of the blue lagoon, and headed for St. Kitts, for it was planned to leave Ben, and once more take up the search. They had not been under way more than an hour, however, before Jack, who was steering, uttered a cry. "There's a boat cording toward us!" he said. "She seems to be a small launch." "Yes, and she's signaling to us!" added Walter. "She wants to speak with us!" Joe came up from the motor room, and looked long and earnestly at the approaching craft. "That's an English revenue cutter," he said, "and she's in a hurry, too." "I wonder what she can want with us," mused Jack, as he ordered a signal to be run up on the small mast, indicating that they would speak to the approaching craft. CHAPTER XXV NEWS OF THE "RAMONA" Over the slowly heaving swell of the blue waters the swift revenue cutter came on. Those aboard the Tartar watched her with eager eyes. Did she have some news for them? This was the question in the mind of the motor girls. "Oh, perhaps they have mother aboard!" breathed Cora, her hopes running thus high. "And they might have our mother and father!" added Bess, taking bold heart as she heard Cora speak. Inez said nothing. It was too much for her to dare to think that her father might be released from his political prison. She could only wait and hope. "Some speed to her," observed Jack, admiringly, as he watched the white foam piled up in front of the bow of the oncoming craft. "But she's not very big," spoke Walter. "She's built for speed," remarked Engineer Joe. "She doesn't usually come out this far to sea; just hangs around the harbors, and tries to catch small smugglers. She couldn't stand much of a blow, and it's my opinion we're going to get one." "Oh, I hope not soon!" exclaimed Cora, with a little nervous glance up at the sky. "Well, within a day or so," went on Joe. "It's making up for a storm all right, and I guess that cutter is trying to get her job done--whatever it is--and scoot back into harbor." "But why should she want to speak to us?" asked Bess. "Of course it's interesting, and all that--almost like a story, in fact--but what does she want?" "Tell you better when she gets here," said Walter with a laugh. "Perhaps there are some ladies aboard, and they want to learn the latest styles from the United States-seeing how recently you girls came from there." "Silly!" murmured Belle, but it was noticed that she glanced at her brown linen dress, relieved with little touches of flame-colored velvet here and there--in which costume she made a most attractive picture. At least, Walter thought so. "Perhaps zey are in search of him," suggested Inez, pointing to Sailor Ben, who was lying on a coil of rope in the bow. "That's right!" exclaimed Jack, with a look of admiration at the Spanish girl. "They may have heard a story of his being on the island, and come out to rescue him. They could tell we came from that direction." "It's possible," admitted Walter. Whoever was in charge of the revenue cutter, seeing that their signals to speak the Tartar had been observed and answered, cut down the speed somewhat, so that the government vessel came on more slowly. In a short time, however, she was near enough for a hail, through a megaphone, to be heard. "What boat is that?" was the demand. "The Tartar, from San Juan," was Jack's reply. "Where bound?" "It's too long a story to yell this way," was Jack's answer. "Shall we come aboard?" "No, I'll send a boat," came back. Presently a small boat, containing three men, was lowered, for the sea was very smooth, and in a little while a trim-looking lieutenant was at the accommodation ladder of the Tartar. "Why, it's just like a play!" murmured Bess, as she saw the sword at the officer's side. "I wonder if he's going to put us all under arrest?" "Would you mind?" asked Cora. "I don't know. He has nice eyes, hasn't he?" "Hopeless!" sighed. Cora, with a little smile at her chum. A quick glance on the part of the lieutenant seemed to give him an idea of the nature of the cruise of the Tartar. "Oh! a pleasure party!" he exclaimed. "I am sorry we had to stop you, but--" "That's all right," said Cora, for she thought it would be less embarrassing if one of the feminine members gave some assurance. "It doesn't happen to be a pleasure trip." "No? You astonish me, really! I should say--" His eyes caught sight of the ragged and un-kempt figure of the marooned sailor. "Has there been a wreck? Did you save some one?" the lieutenant asked, quickly. His practiced eye told him at once that some tragedy had occurred. "Something like that--yes," Cora assented. "But the rescue is not over yet. My brother will tell you all about it," and she nodded to Jack. The lieutenant, with a courteous lifting of his cap, turned to face Walter's chum. "We rescued him from a little island back there," Jack said. "We thought you might be on the same errand." "No," the officer said, "though we would have gone if we had heard of it. But we are after bigger game. Are you going back to St. Kitts?" "Yes, and then on again. We're trying to find the Ramona, or some--" "The Ramona!" cried the lieutenant, and there was wonder in his tones. "Do you, by any possible chance, mean the Ramona of the Royal Line?" "That's the one," said Jack, something of the other's excitement 'communicating itself to him. "Why, do you know anything about her?" "I only wish we knew more of her!" snapped the lieutenant, with a grim tightening of his lips, while the girls looked on in wonder at the strange scene. "We're after her, too," the officer continued. "She's in the hands of a mutinous crew, and she's been trying to do some smuggling. We've orders to take her if we can, but first we have to find her, and that's the errand we're on now. We stopped you to ask if you had had a sight of her. But why are you interested in finding her, if I may ask?" "We're looking for my mother, who sailed on her," said Cora, quickly, "and for Mr. and Mrs. Perry Robinson, the parents of these girls," and she nodded toward the twins. "Is it possible!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "This is indeed a coincidence." "Have you sighted the Ramona?" asked Cora. "No, Miss, and I wish we would--soon," spoke the lieutenant. "We're going to have a storm, if I'm any judge, and our cutter isn't any too sea-worthy. But it's all in the line of business," and he shrugged his shapely shoulders as though preparing for the worst. He would not shirk his duty. "Well, I'm sorry we can't give you any information," Cora said. "We, too, are very anxious to find the steamer, for we are not even sure that our parents are aboard. There was a terrible storm, you know, and she may have foundered." "No, she did not. We have good evidence of that," was the officer's answer. "She had a hard time in the hurricane, and suffered some damage, Miss, but she's sound and able to navigate. We heard that some of the crew, who would not join with the mutineers, were marooned--I am glad to get confirmation of that," and he nodded at Ben, whose story had been briefly told. "But what of the passengers?" asked Bess, anxiously. "Oh, did you hear anything of father and mother?" "Not personally, I am sorry to say," was the answer of the lieutenant as he touched his cap, and smiled at the eager girl. "But did you hear anything?" asked, Cora, for somehow she fancied she detected a tone as though the officer would have been glad to answer no further. "Well, Yes, Miss, I did," he was the somewhat reluctant reply. "The story goes that all the passengers are still aboard." "Still on board!" echoed Jack. "Why, I thought they were also marooned." "Evidently not," said the lieutenant. "Either the storm must have made them change their plans, or the mutineers were afraid of evidence being given against them by the passengers, for they kept them aboard, according to the latest reports we have had. "After living through the hurricane, the Ramona was headed for a quiet harbor, where the smugglers have their headquarters, and there repairs were made. Since then the ship, under another name, has been engaged in running contraband goods. We were ordered to get after her, but, so far, we have had our trouble for our pains. We hoped you might have sighted her." "We're going to keep on trying," said Cora. "We are going back to St. Kitts, to land him," and she nodded at the sailor they had rescued. "Well, then we may see you again," the lieutenant said, with a bow, that took in the motor girls impartially. He shot a quick glance at Inez, but Cora did not think it wise to speak of the Spanish girl, nor mention her father. After some further talk, in the course of which the lieutenant said the mutineers and smugglers would be harshly dealt with when caught, he returned to the cutter, which was soon under way again. She sheered off on a new tack, while the Tartar resumed her journey to St. Kitts. "Wasn't that remarkable?" asked Bess. "Very strange," agreed Cora. "And it gave us news," spoke Belle. "We know now that your mother, Cora, and that our folks are all right." "All right?" cried Jack, questioningly. "Well, I mean they are safe on board, and not suffering on some little island," went on Belle. "They might better off on some island," murmured Jack, but only Walter heard him, and he cautioned his chum quickly. "Don't let the girls hear you say that," he whispered. "I agree with you that they might be better off on an island, than on the steamer, with the mutineers and smugglers. But if the girls hear that, they'll have all kinds of fits. Keep still about it." "Oh, I intend to. But this complicates matters doesn't it? We'll have to find a constantly moving steamer, instead of a stationary island." "It's about six of one and a half dozen of the other," spoke Walter. "But we have help in our search now," and he nodded toward the cutter, only the smoke of which could now be seen. St. Kitts was reached without further incident, and Sailor Ben was taken ashore, Cora insisting on leaving him a sufficient sum of money to insure his care until he could find another berth. Then the pursuit of the Ramona was again taken up. For two days the Tartar cruised about on her strange quest, and when the third evening came, with the sun setting behind a bank of slate-colored clouds, Cora said to Jack: "It looks like a storm." "You're right, Sis," he agreed. And, I even as he spoke, there came a strange moaning of the wind, which sprang up suddenly, whipping feathers of foam from the crests of the oily waves. At the same moment, Joe, who had come up from the motor room for a breath of fresh air, cried out: "Sail ho!" CHAPTER XXVI THE PURSUIT "What is it?" cried Cora, as she came up from the little dining cabin, where she and the other girls had been "doing" the dishes. "A small steamer, Miss," answered the engineer of the Tartar. "I can't just make out what she is--sort of misty and hazy just now." "She seems to be headed this way, too," spoke Bess, who had joined Cora on the little deck. "Oh, but doesn't the weather look queer?" She turned a questioning and rather frightened gaze at her chum. "I think we're in for a storm," Cora spoke. "But we're too good sailors to mind that--aren't we?" "I hope so," faltered Bess. It was not so much a question of sea-sickness with the motor girls, as it was a fear of damage in a comparatively small craft. They had been on the water enough, and in stressful times, too, so that they suffered no qualms. But a storm at sea is ever a frightful sensation, to even the seasoned traveler. "Why, that boat is headed right for us," observed Belle, who had also come out of the dining cabin. As for Inez, she frankly did not like the water except when the sky was blue and the sun shining, though she was far from being cowardly about it. So she remained below. "Jack! Jack!" called Cora, for Walter and her brother had gone down to their stateroom to don "sea togs," as Jack called them--meaning thereby clothes that salt water would not damage. "What is it, Sis?" he asked. "There's another boat headed for us, perhaps she wants help?" Cora suggested. "We'll give them all we can," Jack called, as he came hurrying up. Then, as he steadied himself at the rail, and looked off through the mist toward the on-coming boat, he uttered an exclamation. "Why--that's the revenue cutter again!" he cried. "I'm sure of it! How about that, Joe?" The engineer, who had left his machinery in charge of Slim Jim, for the time, cleared his eyes of the salty spray. "I guess you're right," he agreed. "Couldn't make her out at first, but that's who she is. Guess she wants to ask us if we have any more information. Shall I heave to?" "Better, I think," advised Cora, following Jack's questioning glance. For, be it known, Jack deferred more than usual to his sister on this cruise, since he had been under her direction, rather than she under his. That it was the desire of the on-coming craft to have the Tartar slow up was evident a moment later. For, as the powerful motors revolved with less speed, a hail came over the heaving blue waters, that now had turned to a sickly green under the strange hue of the setting sun. "On board the Tartar!" came the cry. Evidently the boat of our voyagers had not been forgotten. "Ahoy!" shouted Jack, using a megaphone Cora handed him. "Stand by!" was the next command. "We want to send"--there came an undistinguishable word--"aboard." "They're going to send some one aboard!" cried Bess. "Oh, if it should be our folks--mother and father-your mother, Cora dear!" A flush of excitement gathered on Cora's cheeks. Belle, too, felt that something was impending. Jack, and Walter exchanged glances. The sea was running higher now, under the influence of an ever-increasing wind, and it was no easy matter to lower a small boat from the cutter--a small boat containing three men. "It's just as it was before--when they came to us for news," exclaimed Bess. "I wonder if they bring us news, now." "They certainly aren't bringing any of our people," said Cora with a sigh, for, though she had discounted the hope that Bess had expressed, yet she could not altogether free herself from it. It was evident that none save sailors were coming toward the Tartar. And, when the small boat drew nearer, those aboard the gasoline craft saw that they were to receive the same Lieutenant Walling who had before paid them a visit. "What is it, please?" asked Cora, leaning over the rail. She was unable to withhold her question longer. "We have news for you!" exclaimed the lieutenant, the pause coming as he made an ineffectual grasp for the rail as his boat rose on the swell. "News!" gasped Cora. Her heart was beating wildly now. "Oh, we haven't rescued your people," Lieutenant Walling hastened to assure her, as this time he managed to grasp the rail of the motor boat, swinging himself over on the deck. The swells were so high that no accommodation ladder was needed. "That's all--you may go back, and say to Captain Decker that I will look after matters," he said to the sailors in the small boat. One of them fended off from the side of the Tartar, while the other pulled on the oars. Soon they were on their way back, crossing the stretch of now sullenly heaving water between the two craft. "I find myself, under the direction of my commanding officer, Captain Decker, obliged to ask for help," said Lieutenant Walling, with a smile. "Help?" repeated Jack, who, with Walter, had joined the group of girls about the officer. "Yes. We have had news that the Ramona has been seen in this vicinity, and we were after her. But there was an accident to our machinery, and we can't go on in the storm. The cutter was obliged to put back when we sighted you. "I suggested to Captain Decker that possibly you could give us the very help we needed. You have an object in finding the Ramona, not the same object as ourselves, but stronger, if anything," and the lieutenant looked at Cora. She nodded her head in assent. "So it occurred to me," Lieutenant Walling went on, "that I might continue the chase in the Tartar. It is doubtful if our cutter could manage to navigate in the storm we seem about to have, so we should have been obliged to put back in any case, even if we had not had the accident. But you can stand a pretty good blow,"' he said, referring to the Tartar. "She's a good little boat, all right," said Jack, who knew something of motor craft. "So I perceive. And now, if you will allow me to use it on behalf of the government, we will try to catch the Ramona." "Is there really a chance of doing that?" asked Cora, in her eagerness laying her hand on the sleeve of the young officer. "There really is," was his answer. "She has been sighted by a fishing schooner--we had word from the captain of it. And the Ramona seems to be crippled. She was going slowly. We ought to catch her soon--if this storm holds off long enough." "Oh, isn't it exciting, Cora!" whispered Bess. "Almost like the time when you saved the papers in the red oar at Denny Shane's cabin!" "Only I hope there are no physical encounters," spoke Cora, with a shudder, as she recalled the strenuous days spent on Crystal Bay. "I fancy you need not be alarmed," the lieutenant said. "From what we can learn, the mutineers and smugglers are rather sick of their bargain. There have been dissentions and part of the crew is ready to give up. But the others are afraid of the punishment that will be meted out." "Will it be heavy?" asked Belle. "Heavy enough," was the significant answer. "It is a high crime to mutiny on the ocean, especially in time of storm and trouble." "Then you have a good chance of catching them?" asked Jack. "We think so--yes." "'But isn't this a rather--er--small force to capture a large steamer, in possession of desperate men?" Walter wanted to know. "It isn't as risky as you might think," answered Lieutenant Walling, with a smile. "As I said, the smugglers are now divided. One-half is already to turn on the other half. Once they are commanded to surrender, in the name of the government, I fancy they'll be only too glad to." "And what of the passengers--our folks?" asked Cora. "Well, they are still aboard, as far as can be learned," was the revenue officer's reply. "If we have luck, you may be with them before another day passes. But we need luck," and as he said this, he glanced around the horizon, as if to judge how much the elements might figure in the odds against him. Truly they seemed likely to make the chances anything but easy. The wind was constantly increasing in force, and from a low moan had changed to a threatening whine and growl. The seas were running high and the swells were breaking into foam. As yet the Tartar rode easily, being now under way again, but though she might stand even heavier waves than those now rolling after her, it would not be very comfortable for those aboard. "Will you take command?" asked Jack in answer to a look from his sister. "We'll turn this boat over to you, though we're United States subjects and you're--" "British--you needn't be afraid to say it," frankly laughed the lieutenant. "But I fancy we can strike up a friendly alliance. No, I don't wish to take command. This is merely asking you for an accommodation on your part. You are after the Ramona, as I understand it, and so am I. I merely ask to be allowed to go along and help you find her. Once I get aboard I shall put under arrest all the mutineers. And you will be with your people." "Oh, if we ever are again!" "Which way was she headed when you last had information?" asked Walter. "Southeast," was the reply, "and she isn't far ahead of us now. By crowding on speed we can overtake her by morning." "Hear that, Joe?" cried Jack. "Do your best now!" "Aye, aye, sir!" was the reply. "Have you gasoline for a long run?" asked the lieutenant. "Yes," Jack answered. "We filled the tanks at St. Kitts. But won't you come below, and we'll arrange for your comfort." "And do let me make you a cup of tea!" begged Cora. "I know you Englishmen are so fond of it--" "Well, we get rather out of the habitat sea," was the reply, "but I should be glad of some--if it isn't too much trouble." Through the gathering dusk, the advent of which was hastened by the coming storm, the Tartar heaved her way over the tumbling waters. Night came, and still the storm did not break. The lieutenant proved a good seaman, and, under his direction the motor boat kept on through the hours of darkness. The motor girls did not rest much, nor did Walter or Jack. As morning came, the storm broke in all its fury--being little short, in violence, of a West Indian hurricane. On through the mist, through the smother of foam, over the big greenish-blue waves scudded the Tartar, the lieutenant, in oilskins, standing in the bows, peering ahead for a sight of the steamer. And, at noon, following a fierce burst of wind, he give a cry. "What is it?" asked Jack, struggling toward. "Ship ahead! I think it is the Ramona!" was the answer. CHAPTER XXVII SENOR RAMO Clinging to the life-lines that had been stretched along the deck, Jack made his way to a partly-sheltered spot near which the lieutenant stood. "Where is she?" asked Jack, fairly shouting the words into the officer's ear, for the noise of the storm was such as to make this necessary. "Right ahead!" was the answer. "Look when we go up on the next crest." One moment the Tartar was down in the hollow of the waves, and the next on the top of the swell, and it was only on the latter occasion that a glimpse ahead could be had. "Now's your chance!" cried Lieutenant Walling to Jack. "Look!" Eagerly Cora's brother peered through the mist, wiping the salty spray from his eyes. Just ahead, wallowing in the trough of the sea, as though she were only partly under control, was a steamer. "I see her!" Jack shouted, and then the Tartar, went down in the hollow between two waves again, and he could glimpse only the seething water as it hissed past under the force of the wind. "I think it's the Ramona--I'm not sure," was the lieutenant's next remark. "What are you going to do about it?" Jack wanted to know. "Hang on as long as I can," was the grim reply. "She doesn't look as though she were good for much more, and we are." "Yes, we seem to be making it pretty well," Jack answered. Indeed the staunch little Tartar was more than living up to her name. She was buoyant, and there was a power and thrust to her screw that kept her head on to the heavy seas, which allowed her to ride them. The chase was now on, and a chase it was, for soon after sighting the steamer ahead of them, Lieutenant Walling, by means of powerful glasses, had made sure that she was the Ramona, and, without doubt, in charge of the mutineers, unless, indeed, the half of the crew opposed to them, had risen, and taken matters into their own hands. "But we'll soon find out," said the lieutenant, grimly. "How?"' asked Cora, for, the officer had come down into the cabin. "Can you board her now?" "Hardly, in this blow, Miss Kimball. But we can hang on, and get them as soon as it lets up a little." "Won't they get away from us?" Bess wanted to know. She, as well as her more fragile sister, had thoroughly entered into the spirit of the chase now. "I think we can more than hold our own with them," answered the lieutenant. "You have a very fast craft here, and owing to the fact that they haven't much coal, and that they have probably suffered some damage, we won't let them get away very easily. We can hold on, I think." "Then you won't try to run up alongside now?" Walter wanted to know. "Indeed not! It would be dangerous. She rolls like a porpoise in a seaway, and she'd crush us like an egg shell if we got too close. All we can do is to hold off a bit, until this blows out. And it can't last very long at this season of the year. Storms never do." For all the hopeful prediction of the young officer, this blow showed no signs of an early abatement. The wind seemed to increase, rather than diminish and the seas were still very high. Through it all the Tartar behaved well. Joe, with Slim Jim, the faithful negro, to help, kept the motors up to their work, and Walters Jack and the lieutenant took turns steering, for it was too much to ask Joe or Jim to do this in addition to their other work. The afternoon was waning, and it was evident that there would be another early night, for the clouds were thick. Walter and Jack had gone up on deck, while the lieutenant remained in the cabin, taking some hot tea which Cora had prepared for him. A warm feeling of friendship sprung up between the young officer and our travelers. Inez was not feeling well, and had gone to lie down in her berth, though it was anything but comfortable there, since the boat rolled and pitched so. "I say!" called Jack, down a partly opened port into the cabin, "I think you'd better come up here, Lieutenant." "Oh, he hasn't had his tea yet!" objected Cora. "That doesn't matter--if something is up!" was the hasty rejoinder, and, leaving the table, the revenue officer hastened up on deck, buttoning his oilskins as he went. "What is it?" he asked of the two young men. "She seems to be turning," said Jack, "thought you'd better know." "That's right. I'm glad you called me. Yes, she is changing her course," said Lieutenant Walling. "I wonder what she's up to?" The Ramona--Jack and Walter had made out her name under her stem rail now--was still slowly wallowing in the sea. She appeared to have lost headway, for she was moving very slowly, having barely steerage-way on. The Tartar had no trouble in keeping up to her. "I wonder if they've seen us, and are waiting for us?" ventured Walter. "They may have seen us, but they wouldn't stop--not in this sea," was the reply of the revenue officer. "They're up to some trick, and I can't just fathom what it is." With keen eyes he watched the steamer as it tore on through the mist. It was much nearer now. "I have an idea!" suddenly exclaimed the British officer. "I'll be back in a moment." He hurried down to the cabin again, and through a port Jack and Walter saw him bending over some charts. In a few minutes the lieutenant was up on deck again. "I understand!" he cried. "I know what they're up to now." "What?" asked Jack. He did not have to shout so loudly now, as the storm seemed to be lessening in its fury. "They're going to run in under the lea of Palm Island," said Lieutenant Walling. "I guess they've had enough of it. This is the beginning of the end. They must be in bad shape." "Sinking--do you mean?" asked Walter. "No, not exactly. But they may have run out of coal, and can't keep the engines going any longer. Yes, that's what they're doing--making for Palm Island." "What sort of a place is that?" Jack wanted to know. "A mighty ticklish sort of place to run for during a storm," was the answer. "There's a bad coral reef at the entrance to the harbor, but once you pass that you're all right. I wonder if they can navigate it?" "And if they don't?" asked Jack. "Well, they'll pile her up on the reef, and she'll pound to pieces in no time in this sea." Walter and Jack followed the lieutenant to the after deck, where the wheel was. There the revenue officer relieved Joe, the latter going to his motor, which needed attention. The storm was constantly growing less in violence. As yet there was no sign of an island, but presently, through the gathering darkness, there loomed up a black mass in the swirl of white waters. Now came the hard and risky work of getting in through the opening of a dangerous coral reef to the sheltered harbor. The big steamer went first, and, for a time, it seemed she was doomed, for the current played with her like a toy ship. But whoever was in charge of the wheel had a master's hand, and soon the craft had shot into the calm waters, followed by the Tartar. It was a great relief from the pitching and tossing of the last two days. "Oh, to be quiet again!" "Isn't it delightful!" agreed Bess. "And now if we can only find our folks!" Lieutenant Walling lost no time. As the Ramona dropped her anchor, he sent the Tartar alongside, and on his official hail a ladder was lowered. Walter and Jack mounted with him. "Every mutinous member of this crew is under arrest!" was the grim announcement of the revenue officer. "Who's in charge? Are there any passengers aboard?" Anxiously Jack looked for a sign of his mother, or for Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. He saw nothing of them. "The passengers were all put ashore, sir," said sailor, with a salute. "Where?" demanded the lieutenant. Before he could answer there came on deck a fat man, at the sight of whom Jack uttered an exclamation. "Senor Ramo!" cried Cora's brother. CHAPTER XXVIII FOUND Unaware of what was taking place on the deck of the Ramona, for they were far below its level in the Tartar, Cora, Belle, Bess and Inez looked anxiously aloft. They could hear a murmur of voices, but little else. It was nearly dark now, but Joe switched on the electrics in the motor boat, and aboard the steamer lights began to gleam. "Well!" exclaimed Cora, with her usual spirit. "I'm not going to stay here and miss everything. I want to see mother just as much as Jack does." She was as yet unaware, you see, of what the sailor had said to her brother. "Where are you going?" asked Bess, as Cora started for the dangling accommodation ladder. "Up there!" was the quick answer. "Oh, Cora! Don't leave us!" begged Bess. "Come along then," suggested Jack's practical sister. "But it is so steep!" complained Bess, who was more "plump" than ever, due to the inactivity of the sea trip. "It wont be any the less steep from waiting," spoke Cora, grimly, "and it'll soon be so dark that you'll likely fall off, if you try to go up. I'm going--mother must be up there, and so must your folks." "Of course!" cried Belle. "Don't be a coward, Bess." "I'm not, but--" "I will help," said Inez, gently, as she glided up from the cabin. "Perhaps zere may be news of my father!" She had been very patient all this while regarding news of her parent--very unselfish, for though the trip was partly undertaken to aid Senor Ralcanto, if possible, nothing as yet had been done toward this. All efforts had been bent toward getting news of Mrs. Kimball, and Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, and Inez had said nothing. Even now, she was willing to help others first. "You're a dear," murmured Cora, her foot on the first step of the mounting ladder. "Oh, to think that all our worry is over now!" She had yet to learn what was in store for her and the others. "Oh, I know I'll fall in!" cried Bess, as she essayed to go up. "Don't be silly!" cautioned Cora. "Belle, you pull her from in front, and, Inez, you push. We've just got to get her up." The Tartar was made fast by a rope tossed from the deck of the Ramona, and Joe and Slim Jim stood on deck, ready to execute any commands that might come from the young navigators. Cora and the other girls safely reached the deck of the steamer. A carious sight confronted them. Jack and Walter stood confronting, in the glare of several electric lights, the portly form of Senor Ramo, who seemed ill at ease. The members of the mutinous crew stood about, rather shame-facedly, it must be confessed. Lieutenant Walling wore an air of triumph. He had brought the criminals to the end of their rope. "Jack! Where are they?" asked Cora, impulsively. "They--they're not here," her brother answered. "Not here? Then where are they? Oh, don't say they're--" Cora's voice could not frame the words. At this moment Inez caught sight of Senor Ramo. She was rather a timid girl, and her troubles and, tribulations had not made her any bolder, but now, at the sight of the man she believed had done, or who contemplated doing her father an injury, the Spanish maid's courage rushed to the fore. Inez sprang forward and began to speak rapidly in Spanish. Cora, who had managed to pick up a few words, understood that Inez was making a spirited demand for the papers which she accused the fat man of having taken from her room. Over and over again she insisted on receiving them--here, now, at once, without delay! So insistent was she that it looked, as though she meant to make a personal assault on-Senor Ramo, and take the papers from his ill-fitting frock coat. "Whew!" whistled Walter, "that's going some, isn't it?" "Walter! How can you?" remonstrated Cora. "At such a time, too!" "Just can't help it!" he murmured. "He's getting his deserts all right." Senor Ramo fairly backed away from the excited Inez, but she followed him to the very rail, where, as he could go no further, he made a stand, and continued to listen to her voluble talk. "She certainly has some spirit," murmured lieutenant Walling to Cora. "Is that the fellow she suspects?" he asked, for he had been told the story of Inez. "Yes," answered Cora. "But is my mother aboard? And Mr. and Mrs. Robinson?" "They're not!" broke in Jack. "These scoundrels have put them ashore--somewhere!" "Oh!" cried Bess and Belle in chorus. "Where?" demanded practical Cora. "I am going to institute an inquiry at once," said Lieutenant Walling. "I'll also have something to say to that fat Spaniard. Better tell your friend so," he suggested to the motor girls. "She might cause him to act hastily. He might do something desperate." "She only wants some papers she thinks he has," said Jack, "and I guess she's going to get them," for Senor Ramo was putting his hand to his inside breast pocket. "I'll soon straighten out this tangle," the lieutenant promised. "I'll have the ring-leaders locked up, and then we'll get at the bottom of the whole affair. I'd better send ashore for help, though. May I use your boat?" "Certainly," answered Cora. She was keenly disappointed at not finding the lost ones aboard. She and the others had counted so much on this when they should have come up to the Ramona. Where could the passengers be? Jim and Joe were sent, in the Tartar, to bring aboard representatives of the English government, Palm Island belonging to Great Britain. The mutinous crew had no spirit of resistance left. The erstwhile commander of the rebelling forces was locked in his stateroom, until Lieutenant Walling was reinforced, when others of the leaders were put in irons. "And I now I hope we can get some news," spoke Cora, when some sort of order had been brought out of the confusion, and the ship had been formally taken in charge by the authorities. "You shall have all there is," promised Lieutenant Walling. "First, in regard to your parents," and he looked from Cora to the twins. "They are safe, so far as can be judged, though they may be in some distress." "But where are they?" asked Cora, for Jack had found a chance to tell her that he had been informed they were put ashore. "On Double Island," answered Lieutenant Walling. "They were made prisoners when the mutineers rose and seized the ship. They were locked in their cabins, so some of those who have confessed told me, and when the storm was over, they were treated fairly well. They were forced to remain on board while the plan of entering into the smuggling game was carried on. They tried to get ashore, or to send messages for help, but were frustrated. "Then, finally, some of the crew began to grumble at the presence of the passengers. Food was running low, and a certain amount of care was required to prevent them from escaping. The upshot of it was that your parents were put ashore on Double Island, with a fairly good amount of food and other supplies." "How long ago?" "Where is a Double Island?" "Can't we start and rescue them?" "What of Inez's father?" These questions were fairly rained on Lieutenant Walling, "One at a time, please," he said, as he gazed at the young people gathered about him in the cabin of the Ramona. "It was over a week ago that the passengers were put ashore on Double Island--there were only your parents," he added, glancing again from Cora to the twins. "All the others had departed in the small boats when it was feared that the Ramona was sinking. As to the location of Double Island--it is about two days' steaming from here. We certainly can, and will, rescue them, and as for the father of Miss Inez--well that is another matter. We shall have to see Senor Ramo. He seems to know something about the prisoner--at least Miss Inez thinks that does." At that moment Inez came into the cabin. Whether she had been all this while "laying down the law," as Jack phrased it, to the Spaniard was not, for the present, disclosed. But she was greatly excited, and she flourished in her hand a package of documents. "I have ze papairs!" she cried, exultantly. "Now my father will be free. Oh, Senorita you will help me--will you not--to go to Sea Horse Island and rescue him?" "Of course," spoke Cora, in answer to this pleading. "My! but we have lots of work ahead of us!" and she sighed. "But you are equal to it, my dear," said Bess. "Oh, to see papa and mamma again!" "And to think of them living on some lonely little island!" sighed her sister. "We can't get to them quickly enough!" "You had better go ashore for the night," suggested Lieutenant Walling, "and we'll start early in the morning. I'll go with you--if you will let me," and he looked at Jack's sister. "Of course," murmured Cora, blushing slightly. "You'll need more gasoline perhaps, and other stores," the officer went on. "And the journey will be much easier made with a good morning's start." So it was decided. Supper was served for the young people aboard the Ramona, by direction of the British officer who was put in charge. There was rather more room to move about than on the Tartar. After the meal--the merriest since the strange quest had begun--explanations were forthcoming. "I want to know how Inez got those papers away from Ramo," said Walter, with a flash of admiration at the Spanish girl. "Ah, Senor, it is no secret!" she laughed. "I said I knew he had zem, and if he did not gif 'em I would tear zem from his pocket! "He gave zem to me," she finished, simply. "Good for you!" cried Jack. "What became of him?" "I believe he went ashore in a small boat," said the lieutenant. "I'm having him watched, though, for I think he had some hand in this smuggling. In fact, he may prove to be at the bottom of the whole business." And so it turned out. Senor Ramo, while pretending to be a respectable Spanish coffee merchant, had been engaged secretly in smuggling. It was he who planned the mutiny on the Ramona for purposes of his own, though the storm gave him unexpected aid. He had joined the steamer later, after having stolen the papers from the room of Inez. For it was Ramo who had taken them. His agents had sent him word that Inez had the means to free the political prisoner, and as this would have interfered with the plans of Ramo and his cronies, he determined to frustrate it. So, watching his chance, he took the papers and fled to join his mutinous and smuggling comrades. But the fates were against him. Later, it was learned that Ramo had tried, through agents in New York, to get the papers from the Spanish girl. And the tramp in Chelton was, undoubtedly, one of them. Inez said Ramo explained to her that he intended to keep her father a prisoner only a short time longer. With Senor Ralcanto free, the plans of the smugglers would have been interfered with, for the father of Inez, and his party, stood for law and order. "But now I free my father myself!" cried the Spanish girl, proudly. "No more do I wait for that fat one!" So with the papers which would eventually release the Spanish prisoner, and well fitted out for the cruise to Double Island, the party once again set forth on her cruise. "There the island is!" cried Lieutenant Walling, on the second day out. "And I think I can see a flag flying. Few ships pass this way, but, very likely, the refugees would try to call one." And, a little later, as the Tartar came nearer, Cora, who was looking through the glasses, cried out: "I can see them! They are on shore! There's mother, Jack! She's waving, though of course she doesn't know who we are. And I see your mother and father, girls! Oh, Bess--Belle--we've found them!" CHAPTER XXIX AT SEA HORSE There proved to be a good harbor at Double Island--a harbor ringed about with sand-fringed coral, with a sandy bottom which could be seen through the limpid depths of the blue water that was as clear as a sapphire-tinted crystal. And, a short way up from the beach was a line of palms and other tropical plants, while, in a little clearing, near what proved to be a trickling spring, was a rude sort of hut. "Ahoy, folks!" yelled Jack, his voice a shout with its old vigor. "Here we are!" What the three on the beach said could not be heard, but they were plainly much excited. "They don't yet know who we are," said Cora. "They only know they are being rescued," echoed Bess. "Oh, but isn't it great--we've found them!" cried Belle in delight, hugging first Cora, Bess and next Inez. Inez said nothing, but her shining eyes told of the joy she felt in the happiness of her friends. Her time for rejoicing was yet to come. So little did the beach in the coral harbor shelve that the big motor boat could come up to within a few yards of the shore. "Why it's Jack--and Cora!" cried Mrs. Robinson. "It's your son and daughter--and the girls! Oh, of all things!" Mrs. Kimball could not answer. She was softly crying on the shoulder of Mrs. Robinson, Mr. Robinson, who had been trying to catch some crabs along shore, had his trousers rolled up. He was rather a disheveled figure as he stood there--in fact, none of the refugees appeared to sartorial advantage--but who minded that? "Hurray!" yelled Mr. Robinson, waving, a piece of cloth on a stick--an improvised crab-net. "Hurray! So you've come for the Robinson Crusoes; have you?" "That's it!" shouted Jack, who was getting the small boat ready to go ashore. "I thought we'd find them," spoke Lieutenant Walling. "Oh, and we can't, thank you enough!" Cora murmured to him gratefully. "Only for you we might not have located the Ramona in a long time, and we night have been a month finding the folks. And you dear good girl!" she went on, putting her arms about Inez. "Next we are going to rescue your father." "I shall be glad--mos' glad!" said the Spanish girl, softly. Then they all went ashore, and brother and sisters were clasped in the arms of their loved ones. "But how did it all happen?" asked Mr. Robinson. "How did you know where to look for us? Did the Ramona's crew repent, and send you for us? Tell us all about it! How are you, anyhow?" He poured out a veritable flood of questions, which the girls, Jack, Walter and Lieutenant Walling tried to answer as best they could--the girls, it must be confessed, rather hysterically and tearfully. "It was Cora and Jack who had the idea," said Bess, when quiet had been a little restored. "They determined to charter a motor boat and go in search of you, after we heard that the Ramona had foundered in the storm. And of course we wouldn't be left behind." "Brave girls," murmured their mother. "Indeed they were brave," declared Jack, patting Bess on her plump shoulder. "We--we were afraid of being left behind," confessed Belle. "So we came." "But what have you done since being marooned here?" Cora wanted to know. "Wasn't it awful--just awful?" "Not so awful!" answered Mr. Robinson, with a laugh that could be jolly now. "We've had a fine time, and you should see some of the orchids I have gathered! It was worth all the hardship!" "But, really, it hasn't been so bad," said Mrs. Kimball. "The weather was delightful, except for the two storms, and we have had enough to eat--such as it was. We have been camping out, and no more ideal place for such a life can be found than a West Indian coral island in December." She looked back amid the palms, among which grew in a tropical luxuriousness many beautiful blossoms, with birds of brilliant plumage flitting from flower to flower. "And you look so well," commented Cora, for indeed, aside from traces of sunburn, the refugees were pictures of health. "We are well," declared Mrs. Robinson. "But of course we have been terribly worried about you girls, and Jack, too. How are you, Jack?" she asked, anxiously. "You needn't ask," laughed Cora. "One glance is enough." "Oh, I had a little touch of my old trouble," said Jack, in answer to his mother's questioning glance, "but I'm fine and fit now. But tell us about yourselves." "Well, we're camping out here," said Mr. Robinson, with a laugh, "waiting for some vessel to come along and take us off. We could have stood it for another month, though it was getting pretty lonesome, with all due respect to the ladies," and he made a mock bow. "That's nothing to how tiresome just one man can get, my dears!" put in his wife, to the girls. Then they exchanged stories of their adventures. As those of the motor girls are well known to our readers, there is no need to dwell further on them. As the crew of the Ramona had confessed, they had set the passengers--Mrs. Kimball and Mr. and Mrs. Robinson--ashore on Double Island, some time after the uprising. Our friends were glad enough to leave the vessel, for there were constant bickering and quarrels among the mutineers. Affairs did not go at all smoothly. So it was with comparatively small regret that the refugees found themselves set ashore. They were given a boat, and a sufficient supply of food and stores. Only in the matter of clothing were they handicapped, having only a few belongings, the mutineers keeping the remainder. "When we got ashore, and took an account of stock," said Mr. Robinson, "I found some sort of shelter would be necessary, even if we were in a land of almost perpetual June. "This wasn't the first time I had gone camping, under worse circumstances than these, so I soon put up this hut. Not bad, is it?" and he waved his hand toward the palm-leaf thatched structure. "It's great!" cried Jack. "I think I'll stay here a while myself, and camp out." "You may--I've had enough," said Mrs. Robinson. "Oh, I do hope you girls have some spare hairpins!" she exclaimed. "Perry said to use thorns, but even if Mother Eve did her hair up that way, I can't!" she sighed. "Well, to make a long story short," resumed Mr. Robinson, "we've been here ever since. And we are beginning to enjoy ourselves. We've had enough to eat, such as it is, though the tinned stuff gets a trifle palling after a time. So I've been trying to catch a few crabs." "And he hasn't had any luck--he might as well confess," said his wife. "Give me time, my dear," protested Mr. Robinson. "There's one now!" He made a swoop with the improvised net, but the crustacean flipped itself into deep water and escaped. "Never mind--you're going to leave now, Dad!" said Bess, gaily. The young folks inspected the rude hut, and were charmed by its simplicity. "Though it does leak," said Mr. Robinson. "I must admit that." "Leak!" cried Mrs. Robinson. "It's a regular sieve!" "Might as well haul down our signal," observed Mr. Robinson, for on a tall palm, at a prominent height of the island, he had raised an improvised flag. Double Island was uninhabited, and was seldom visited by any vessels, though in the course of time the refugees would have been rescued even if the motor girls had not come for them. But their experience would have been unpleasant, if not dangerous. "Well, let's go aboard and start back to civilization," proposed Belle, after Lieutenant Walling had been introduced, and his part in the affair told. "But we mustn't forget Inez's father!" cried Cora. "We still have some rescue work to do." "Oh, I'm so sorry I couldn't make any move along that line," spoke Mr. Robinson. "But now I'll attend to it, Inez." "We'll make for Sea Horse Island at once," said Cora. "Inez has the papers with her. Tell him how you threatened Senor Ramo, dear," and the tale of the fat Spaniard was related. Made comfortable aboard the Tartar, which had resumed her strange cruise, the refugees told little details of their marooning, which story there had not been time for on the island. The days were pleasant, the weather all that could be desired, and in due season Sea Horse was sighted. This was a small place, maintained by the Spanish government as a prison for political offenders. As the Tartar approached the fort at the harbor entrance, Lieutenant Walling looked through the glass at several flags flying from a high pole. "Something wrong here," he announced. "What do you mean?" asked Jack. "Some prisoner, or prisoners, have escaped," was the answer. "'The signal indicates that. We'll soon find out." A curious idea came into Jack's head. CHAPTER XXX SENOR RALCANTO Sea Horse Island was not attractive. There was no coral enclosed harbor, filled with limpid blue water--though the sea off shore was blue enough, for that matter. There were a few waving palms, and a hill or two midland. But that was all. The principal building was the political prison, and the barracks, or quarters of the commanding officer and his aides. In fact, Sea Horse Island was as little beautiful as its name. But the eyes of Inez glowed when she saw it, for once it had been home to her. "And now to see my father!" cried the Spanish girl, when preparations were made for going ashore. "Zey can hardly keep me from seeing him, can zey?" she asked Mr. Robinson and Lieutenant Walling. "I think not, my dear," said the former. "And if I am any judge of the worth of evidence, they can't refuse to let him go, after we show our documents, though it may take a little time." "Matters may not be all easy sailing now," suggested the British officer. "Why not?" demanded Cora. "Because of the fact that there has been an escape--perhaps several," was the answer. "Those signal flags are a warning to all vessels not to take aboard any refugees that seem to have escaped from here, unless they are taken as prisoners." "How horrid!" murmured Bess. "But we'll go see the commandant, and learn how matters stand," went on Mr. Robinson. "Fortunately I have letters from persons in influence that may aid me. And you have your papers, Inez?" "Yes, Senor. I have them," she answered. Our friends were stared at rather disconcertingly as they landed, and there was no little suspicion in the glances directed at them, as they made their way to the commandant's quarters. There was some delay before they were admitted, for they all went in together, all save Walter, and he had said it might be best if he remained on board the Tartar with Joe and Jim. "We have come," said Mr. Robinson to the Spanish officer, "to arrange for the release of Senor Ralcanto--the father of this young lady. We have papers which prove his innocence of the charge against him, and I may add that one, of the men responsible for his unjust arrest is himself a prisoner, and on a more serious charge than a mere political one. I refer to Senor Ramo, who is in jail at Palm Island." The commandant started. Evidently he was regarding his callers with more courtesy, for he had been a bit supercilious at first. "Senor Ramo incarcerated?" he asked. "Is it possible?" "Very much so," went on Mr. Robinson, grimly. "And now we come to demand the release of Senor Ralcanto--or at least I demand to have an interview with him--as does his daughter--that we may take measures for freeing him. If you will look at the copies of these papers, you will see what authority we have," and he tossed some letters, and copies of the documents Inez had recovered, on the table. "I am sorry, but it is impossible to grant what you request," said the commandant stiffly, hardly glancing at the papers. "Why?" asked Mr. Robinson, truculently. "Do you mean we cannot see the prisoner, or that you will not release him?" "Both!" was the surprising answer. "You cannot see Senor Ralcanto because he is not here. And I cannot release him, had I the power, for he has released himself. In other words, Senor, he has escaped!" "Escaped!" cried Jack and Cora in a breath. "My father escaped!" murmured Inez. "Oh, praise ze dear God for zat! He is free! Oh, but where is he?" "That I know not, Senorita," was the stiff answer. "I wish I did. We have searched for him, but have not found him. He must have had friends working for him on the outside," and he glanced with suspicious eyes at our friends. "Well, we probably would have worked for him, had we had the chance," said Mr. Robinson, "but we had no hand in his escape. May I ask how he got away from your prison?" "In a boat--about a week ago," was the grudging reply. "That is all I can say. He is no longer on Sea Horse Island. I have the honor to bid you good-day!" "Polite, at any rate," murmured Jack. "Bow, what's our next move?" "To find her father!" exclaimed the British officer, promptly. He had entered into this as enthusiastically as he had into the task of finding the mutineers and smugglers. "If he got away in a boat," resumed the lieutenant, "he would most likely make for some island. There are many such not far from here, but these Spaniards are so back-numbered, they wouldn't think of making a systematic search. That's for us to do." "Oh, if we can only find him!" murmured Inez. "We will--never fear!" cried Jack, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster at short notice. It was little use to linger longer on Sea Horse Island. No more information concerning the escaped man was available. It must be a "blind search" from then on. Still, the searchers did not give up hope, and once more the Tartar was under way. I shall not weary you with the details of the final part of her cruise. Suffice it to say that many islands were called at, and many vessels spoken, with a view to finding out if any of the uninhabited coral specks in that stretch of blue West Indian waters had, of late, showed signs of being inhabited by a lone man. But no helpful clue was obtained. Still the search was kept up. Mr. Robinson, his wife and Mrs. Kimball stayed with the young people, having renewed their wardrobes at the first suitable stopping place. Then the search was resumed. And, curiously enough, it was Inez who discovered the torn rag, floating from a tree, which gave the signal that help was needed at a lonely isle they reached about two weeks after the search began. "I think some one is zere," she said to Jack, pointing to the signal. "It does look so," he agreed. "We'll put in there." "A hard place to live," said Lieutenant Walling, as he came on deck and viewed the little Island. "It is very barren." "Do you--do you think it can be my father?" faltered Inez. "It is possible--it is some poor soul, at all events--or some one has been there," the officer concluded. "You mean it may be too late?" asked Cora, softly. Lieutenant Walling nodded his head in confirmation. The Tartar anchored off shore, and the small boat went to the beach. Hardly had it ground on the shingle than a tattered and ragged--a tottering figure crawled from the bushes. It was the figure of a man, much emaciated from hunger. But the eyes showed bright from under the matted hair and from out of the straggly beard. Inez, who had come ashore with the first boat-load, sprang forward. "Padre! Padre!" she cried, opening wide her arms, "I have found you at last! Padre! Padre!" The others drew a little aside. Once more the Tartar was under way. She was nearing the end of her strange cruise, for she was headed for San Juan--the blue harbor of San Juan. Seated on deck, in an easy chair, was a Spanish gentleman, about whom Inez fluttered in a joy of service. It was her father. He had, after many failures, made his escape from Sea Horse Island in a small boat, and had lived, for some time on the little coral rock, hardly worthy the name islet. He had almost starved, but he was free. Then his privations became too much for him, and he hoisted his signal for help. He would even have welcomed a Spanish party, so distressed was he. But his own daughter--and friends--came instead. And, had he but waited a few weeks, he need not have so suffered in running away from his prison. The papers Inez had secured would have brought about his freedom from the unjust charge. "But we have him anyhow!" cried Jack, "and a good job it was, too!" "Isn't Jack just splendid!" murmured Bess to Cora. "He is so well again!" "Yes, the trip, in spite of its hardships, has worked wonders for him." "And I suppose we'll have to go back North again soon," remarked Belle. "Papa's business here is practically finished." "Yes, we are going back to civilization, without smugglers and mutineers,"' said Mrs. Kimball. "Oh, I rather liked them, they were sort of a tonic," laughed Mrs. Robinson. "Sometimes one can take a little too much tonic," spoke Cora. "But it certainly has been a wonderful experience." The Tartar dropped anchor at San Juan, coming to rest in the waters blue, over which she had skimmed on so many adventuresome trips of late. "Well, are you glad to be back here?" asked Jack, of Senor Ralcanto. "Indeed, yes, I am. And you have all been so kind to me. I can never repay you for what you have done for my daughter and myself," and he stroked the dark hair of Inez, who knelt at his side. "Well, send for us again if you--er--need our services," suggested Walter. "Thank you--but I am going to keep out of prison after this," was the laughing answer. There is little more to tell of this story. Senor Ralcanto was speedily recovering from his harsh experiences, when our friends took a steamer for New York, some weeks later. The mutineers and smugglers of the Ramona, including Senor Ramo, the real, influential leader, were duty punished. After a final cruise about the blue waters of San Juan, in the Tartar, our friends bade farewell to the craft that had served them so efficiently. "Good-bye!" called Cora, as she stood on the steamer-deck, homeward bound, and waved her hand to the blue sky, the blue waters, the blue mountains and the green, waving palms. "Good-bye! Good-bye!" And we will echo her words. THE END 
40903	----	[Illustration: cover] MOTOR BOAT BOYS _ON THE_ GREAT LAKES _OR_ _Exploring the Mystic Isle of Mackinac_ _By_ LOUIS ARUNDEL [Illustration] Chicago M. A. DONOHUE & CO. COPYRIGHT 1912. M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by M. A. Donohue & Co. CONTENTS Chapter Page I. UP A TREE 7 II. THE CAMP IN THE COVE 18 III. THE BOAT IN THE FACE OF THE MOON 29 IV. CAUGHT BY THE STORM 40 V. A STRANGE SOUND 51 VI. "CARRY THE NEWS TO ANDY!" 59 VII. TIED UP AT MACKINAC ISLAND 67 VIII. GEORGE WAITS FOR HIS CHUMS 76 IX. IN TERRIBLE PERIL 85 X. MAROONED 94 XI. DOWN THE SOO RAPIDS 104 XII. WINNING AN INDIAN'S ADMIRATION 114 XIII. THE GREAT INLAND SEA 124 XIV. NICK WIPES OUT HIS DISGRACE 135 XV. HELPING AN ENEMY 145 XVI. "WIRELESS DAY" 155 XVII. CAUGHT NAPPING 164 XVIII. A NIGHT OF ANXIETY 172 XIX. PERIL RIDES THE STORM WAVES 181 XX. PAYING THE PENALTY 189 XXI. ANOTHER SURPRISE 197 XXII. TO THE RESCUE 208 XXIII. HOMEWARD BOUND 217 The Motor Boat Boys on the Great Lakes or, Exploring the Mystic Isle of Mackinac By LOUIS ARUNDEL CHAPTER I UP A TREE "What a funny cow that is, Josh! Look at the silly thing poking her bally old horns in the ground, and throwing the dirt up. Say, did you ever see anything like that? Why, the poor beast must be sick, Josh!" "Cow? Great Jupiter! Buster, you silly, don't you know a bull when you see one?" "Oh, dear! and just think of me having the nerve to put on my nice red sweater this morning, because this Michigan air was so nippy. I don't believe bulls like red things, do they, Josh?" "They sure don't. And then we had to cut across this field here, to save a few steps. He's looking at us right now; we'll have to run for it, Buster!" The fat boy, who seemed to fully merit this name, set down the bucket of fresh milk he had been carrying, and groaned dismally. "I just can't run--never was built for a sprinter, and you know it, Josh Purdue!" he exclaimed. "If he comes after us, I've got to climb up this lone tree, and wait till he gets tired." "Then start shinning up right away, Buster; for there he comes--and here I go!" With these words long-legged Josh started off at a tremendous pace, aiming for the nearest fence. Buster, left to himself, immediately commenced to try to get up the tree. He was so nervous with the trampling of the bull, together with the hoarse bellow that reached his ears, that in all probability he might have been caught before gaining a point of safety, only that the animal stopped once or twice to throw up some more soil, and thus give vent to his anger at the intrusion on his preserves. Josh got over the ground at an amazing rate, and reaching the fence proceeded to climb over the topmost rails; never once relinquishing his grip on the package of fresh eggs that had just been purchased from the farmhouse, to make a delicious omelette for a camp dinner. Meanwhile, after a tremendous amount of puffing, and frantic climbing, the fat boy had succeeded in getting a hold upon the lower limb, and pulled himself out of the danger zone just as the bull collided with the trunk of the tree. "Gosh!" exclaimed Buster, as he hugged his limb desperately; "what an awful smash that was! And hang the luck, he's just put his foot in our pail of milk too. There goes the shiny tin bucket the farmer loaned me, flying over the top of the tree, I guess." He presently managed to swing himself around so that he could sit upon the limb and look down at his tormentor. The bull was further amusing himself by tearing up a whole lot more of the turf, and bellowing furiously. "Mad just because you didn't get me, ain't you, mister?" mocked Buster; whose name was really Nick Longfellow, strange to say, considering how short and stout nature had made him. The bull did not bother answering, so after watching his antics for a minute, and wondering if he, too, would have been tossed over the tree had he been caught, Nick remembered that he had had a companion in misery. Upon looking across the field he saw Josh perched on the rail fence, surveying the situation, craning his long neck to better observe the movements of the animal, and ready to promptly drop to the ground at the first sign of danger. "Hey, Josh! ain't you goin' to help a feller?" shouted the prisoner of the lone tree in the pasture. "Course I'd like to, Buster; but tell me, what can I do?" answered the other. "Perhaps now you'd like to have me step inside, and let the old thing chase me around, while you scuttled for the fence. What d'ye take me for, a Spanish bull-baiter? Well, I ain't quite so green as I look, let me tell you." "That's right, Josh," replied the fat boy with emphasis; "and it's lucky you ain't, 'cause the cows'd grabbed you long ago for a bunch of juicy grass. But why don't you do something to help a feller out of a hole?" "Tell me what I can do, and I'll think about it, Buster," answered the other; as though not wholly relishing the remark of his comrade, and half tempted to go on his way, leaving the luckless one to his fate. "If you only had my red sweater now, Josh, you might toll the old feller to the fence, and keep him running up and down while I slipped away." "Well, send it over to me then," replied the tall boy, with a wide grin. "You just know I can't," declared the prisoner. "Don't I wish I had wings right now; or somebody'd drop down in an aeroplane, and snatch me out of this pickle? But I suppose I'll have to get up a way of escape myself. Don't I want to kick myself now for not thinking about a packet of red pepper when I was at that country store down near Pinconning yesterday. Never going to be without it after this, you hear, Josh?" Only recently Nick had read an account of how a boy, on being hard pressed by a pack of several hungry wolves, somewhere in the north, had shown remarkable presence of mind in taking to a tree, and then scattering cayenne pepper in the noses and eyes of the fierce brutes as they jumped up at his dangling feet. In that case the brutes had gone nearly crazy with the pain, and the boy easily made his way home. The story had impressed Buster greatly, and that was why he now lamented the fact that he had no such splendid ammunition to use on the bull. "Say, suppose you toss down that red sweater to him," suggested Josh, making a speaking trumpet of both his hands. "What good would that do?" demanded the captive, plaintively; for he was unusually fond of the garment in question, and gloried in wearing it; though after this experience he would be careful about how he donned it again while ashore. "Oh! he might take to tossing it around, and perhaps run to the other side of the field. Then you could sneak for the fence," called the one who was safe. "Yes, and have him come tearing after me before I was half way there," cried Nick. "I guess not. Think of something easier. Can't you coax him over there, Josh? Oh! please do. I half believe you're as much afraid of him as I am." "Who says I am?" retorted the other, at once boldly jumping down inside the fence; upon which the bull started on a gallop for that quarter, and it was ludicrous to see how the valiant boaster went up over that barricade again, sprawling flat as he jumped to the ground. Nick laughed aloud. "He near got you that time, Josh!" he cried. "Ain't he the terror though? Look at him smash at that fence. Better keep an eye out for a tree, I tell you, if he breaks through. And Josh, for goodness sake save the eggs. Our milk is gone, the tin pail is ruined; but we don't want to lose the precious eggs." A few seconds later Nick broke out into a loud wail. "Hold on, Josh," he called; "I was only fooling when I said that about you being afraid. Of course you ain't; only it stands to reason nobody wants to let that old bull get a chance to lift him with those horns. Don't go away and leave your best chum this way, Josh." "Chuck it, Buster," called back the other. "I'm not going to desert you. But somebody's got to go after the farmer, and get him to come and coax the bull to be good. You can't go, so I'm the only one left to do the job. Hold on tight, and don't talk the bull to death while I'm gone." "Oh! bless you, Josh!" called the captive of the tree. "I always knew you had a big heart. But don't be too long, will you; because if he keeps banging the trunk of this rotten old tree all the time and chipping off pieces, I'm afraid he'll get it down yet. Hurry, now, Josh! Tell the farmer what a mess I'm in; and that he's just got to bring out some feed, and coax his mountain of beef to be good. Hurry, please, Josh, hurry!" He watched the tall boy making his way leisurely along, and groaned because Josh seemed determined to let him have quite a siege of it there. The bull had come back, and was nipping the grass almost under the tree. Now and then he would move off a little distance, and deliberately turn his back on Nick, as though he had forgotten that such a thing as a boy existed. But the captive was not so easily deceived. "No you don't Mr. Bull!" he called, derisively. "I can just see you looking this way out of the corner of your eye. Like me to slip down, and try to make that old fence, wouldn't you? Guess I'd sail over the rails with ten feet to spare. But think what an awful splash there'd be when I landed. I can wait a while, till Josh takes a notion to tell what he came back for." Minutes passed, and he grew more and more nervous. Long ago had his tall chum passed out of sight behind the clump of trees that shut off all view of the farmhouse. Nick half suspected that Josh was lying down somewhere, resting, perhaps in a place where he could watch what went on in the pasture. "Oh! don't I wish I had wings now?" he kept mumbling, as he shook his head angrily, and watched the movements of the bull. "I'd fly away, and let Josh think the ugly old beast had swallowed me, that's what. He'd be sorry then he loafed, when I sent him for help. But is that him coming over yonder?" He thought he had detected something moving; but it was at a point far removed from the place where he expected Josh and assistance to show up. "Well, I declare, if it ain't George!" he exclaimed presently. "He must have begun to believe we were having too good a time at the farmhouse; and is on his way over to get his share. George is always looking for a pretty girl. I've got half a notion to let him get part way across the field, and then holler at him. When a feller is in a scrape it makes him feel better to see somebody else getting it in the neck too. There he comes across, sure enough!" The bull had evidently seen George, too; but as he happened to be standing half concealed by the trunk of the tree just then, the boy who so lightly started to cut across the pasture, meaning to head for the house among the trees, failed to discover the bull. "Oh! my, won't he be surprised though!" muttered Nick, craning his fat neck in order to see the better; for he did not want his friend to get so far along that, in a pressure, he could not gain the fence before the coming of the wild bull. Now the beast had started to paw the ground. George stopped short as he caught the sound, and looked around him. Just then the bull tore up some more turf, and tossed it in the air. That meant he was primed to start on a furious rush to overtake the newcomer. "Run, George!" shrieked the boy in the tree, at the top of his high-pitched voice. "Run for the fence! He's got his eye on you! The bull's coming like hot cakes! Go it for all you're worth, George. Oh! my! did I ever see such a great lot of sprinting! George can run pretty near as good as Josh did, and that's saying a heap." It was. George seemed to be making remarkably fine time as he shot for that friendly fence. Evidently George knew something about bulls; enough at least not to want to stay in an enclosure with an angry one, and interview him. For a very brief period of time it seemed nip and tuck as to whether George would be allowed to get over that barrier unassisted, or be helped by the willing bull. But apparently, after one look over his shoulder at the approaching cyclone, George was influenced to let out another link, for his speed increased; and he just managed to scramble over the rails when the bull came up short against the fence, to look through with his red eyes, and shake his head savagely. "Hey! where are you, Buster?" shouted George, after he had succeeded in getting his breath again. "Here, in this bally old tree, George. He chased us, and I had to hustle up here, while Josh went for help. He knocked my milkpail to flinders; but thank goodness Josh saved the eggs!" cried Nick; whose greatest failing was a tremendous appetite, that kept him almost constantly thinking of something to eat. "Say, you're a nice one," called the other. "Why didn't you warn me sooner?" "I'm real sorry now I didn't, George," replied Nick, as if penitent; though at the time he was shaking with laughter, just as a bowl of jelly quivers on being moved; "but I was in hopes you'd scare him off. When I saw him getting mad, I knew he had it in for you; and then I yelled. But George, please think of some way to coax the old rascal off, won't you. It's awful hard on me sitting up here on this limb, and he means to stay till I just starve to death. Have pity on me George and get up some plan to rescue your best chum." CHAPTER II THE CAMP IN THE COVE "Hey, Buster," cried the one on the other side of the fence, "where did you say Josh was?" "He went for help, over to the farmhouse where we got the milk and eggs," answered the boy in the tree. "Well," George went on, after looking all around. "I don't see him coming any too fast; and I wouldn't put it past that joker to take a snooze on the way, so as to make you worry a lot more." "Yes, I was just thinking that same thing myself, George. Josh has got it in for me, you know, every time. But please think up some way to toll this angry gentleman cow away, George." "If I only had that red sweater now, I believe it could be done," said George, presently. "Why, that was what Josh said too," lamented the prisoner; "but don't you see I can't get it over to you at all?" "Course not; but hold on there!" called George. "Oh! now I know you've thought of an idea. Good for you, George! You're the best friend a fellow ever had, when he was in trouble. Are you going to sneak in the pasture, and tempt the bull away?" "I am not," promptly responded George. "I've got too much use for my legs, to take the chances of being crippled. But wait and see what I'm going to do. Trust your Dutch uncle to fool that old cyclone. Look at him tossing the dirt up again. Oh! ain't he anxious to get at me, though?" "What's that you're shaking at him now?" demanded Nick. "It looks like my sweater, only I know yours is gray. Why, it must be a bandanna handkerchief; yes, I remember now, you often tie one around your neck, cowboy fashion. I can see that you're going to get me out of this nasty fix, George. It takes a lawyer sometimes to beat a bull at his own game." "It _is_ a bandanna, Buster," replied the other, "and watch me coax the old fellow along the fence, down to the other end of the field. How he shakes his head every time I wave the red flag, and tries to get at me. It's working fine, Buster. You get ready to drop down and run when I tell you." "But George, even if you coax him to the end of the pasture you know I'm so slow I never could make the fence before he caught up with me?" cried the still worried prisoner of the tree. "Yes, you are like an ice wagon, Buster; but never mind. I've got all that fixed. Just look down yonder and you'll see a nice little trap ready for Mr. Bull. It's a small enclosure, with three long rails to slide across, once he's inside. Then he's caught fast, and can't get out. That is meant for just such a purpose. See?" "Bully! bully!" shouted the delighted Nick, waving his hat in the air. "Oh! I tell you it takes a smart fellow to get on to these dodges. Why, Josh must have been blind not to see that same thing. Look at the bull following you every time you take a step. Then he turns his old head to peek back at me, as if just daring me to try and make the fence. But I know better. I can wait. Why, George, talk to me about your Spanish bull fights, this sure takes the cake!" "Don't crow too soon," answered the other boy. "Now comes the ticklish part of the game. Will he go in that enclosure, or balk?" "Wave it harder, George! Make out that you're going to climb over. That's the way to hold him. My! but wouldn't he like to pitch you higher'n a kite. Look at that piece of old fence rail go flying, would you? Now he's inside, George! Oh! if you can only get the bars across!" George proved equal to the emergency. He fastened his red handkerchief to the fence, so that the wind kept it stirring constantly, with the bull snorting just on the other side, and smelling of the flaming object. Then George slily slipped back, took hold of the upper bar, and quickly shot it in place through the opposite groove. A second immediately followed; and by the time Mr. Bull awakened to the fact that he had again fallen into the old trap, he found himself neatly caged. Nick was wild with delight. Still talking aloud, partly to himself and also addressing fulsome remarks to his chum, he started to slide down the body of the tree, landing with a heavy thump on the ground. Then he went off at a pretty good pace, for one so stout, heading for the nearest part of the friendly fence. Just about this moment, when Nick was half way across the intervening space, who should appear but Josh, followed by a farmer bearing a measure of corn as a lure intended to entrap the fighting animal. All Josh saw was his friend trotting over the field; and filled with sudden alarm lest poor Nick be overtaken by the wily bull, whom he supposed to be on the other side of the tree, he immediately broke out into a shrill shout. "Run faster, Buster! He'll sure get you! Put on another speed! Hurry, hurry!" When the fat boy heard these wild cries he became visibly excited. It was all very well to tell him to gallop along at a livelier clip; but Nature had never intended Nick Longfellow for a sprinter. When in his new alarm he attempted to increase his speed, the consequence was that his stout legs seemed to get twisted, or in each other's way; at any rate he took a header, and ploughed up the earth with his stubby nose. It gave him a chance to roll over several times, as if avoiding a vicious lunge from the wicked horns of the bull, which animal he imagined must be closing in on him. Struggling to his feet, he again put for the now near fence; and George nearly took a fit laughing to see the remarkable manner in which the fat boy managed to clamber over the rails, heedless of whether he landed on his feet or his head, so long as he avoided punishment. When Josh came running down, accompanied by George, Nick was brushing himself off, and wheezing heavily. "Give you my word, Buster," said the long-legged boy, penitently, "I never saw that the old duffer was caught in that trap when I yelled. Thought he was only hiding behind the tree, and giving you a fair start before he galloped after. George, did you do that smart trick? Well, it never came to me, I give you my word. Everybody can't have these bright ideas, you know. And Nick, I was bringing the farmer, with a measure of corn, to get the bull to the barn. Hope you don't hold it against me because I yelled. I sure was scared when I saw you trotting along so easy like." Nick was of a forgiving nature, and could not hold resentment long. "Oh! that's all right, Josh," he said. "No great harm done, even if I have torn a big hole in my trouser knee. But you stayed away a mighty long while. Seemed like a whole hour to me." "Oh!" replied Josh, with a twinkle in his eye, "not near as long as that. Course it seemed like it to you, because a feller in a tree is worried. I had some trouble finding the farmer, you know. But let's go back and get some more milk. Here's my eggs all sound. Never broke one, even when I piled over this fence in such a hurry." The rest were of the same mind; so, accompanied by the amused Michigan farmer, they walked back to the house, where another purchase was made. Not only did they get milk, and another pail; but George thought to ask about butter, and secured a supply for camp use. This time they avoided all short-cuts as tending to breed danger. "I've heard said that 'the longest way around is the shortest way to the fire,'" laughed George, as they passed the trapped bull; "but I never knew it applied to cow pastures as well. Just remember that, will you, Buster?" "Just as if I could ever forget those wicked looking horns," answered the fat boy promptly. "I guess I'll dream about that bull often. If you hear me whooping out in the middle of the night, boys, you can understand that he's been chasing me in my sleep. Ugh! forget him--never!" In about ten minutes they came out of a grove of trees, and before them lay the great lake called Huron. Although it was something of a cove in which a campfire was burning, beyond, as far as the eye could reach, stretched a vast expanse of water, glittering in the westering sun, for it was late in the afternoon at the time. Three natty little motor boats were anchored in the broad cove, back of a jutting tongue of land that would afford them shelter should a blow spring up during the night from the northeast, something hardly probable during early August. Near the fire a trio of other lads were taking things comfortably. One of these was Jack Stormways, the skipper of the _Tramp_; another Jimmie Brannagan, an Irish lad who lived in the Stormways home on the Upper Mississippi, as a ward of Jack's father, and who was as humorous and droll as any red-haired and freckled face boy on earth; while the third fellow was Herbert Dickson, whose broad-beamed boat was called the _Comfort_, and well named at that. George Rollins commanded the slender and cranky speed boat which rejoiced in the name of _Wireless_, and Josh acted as his assistant and cook; while Nick played the same part, as well as his fat build would allow, in the big launch. They had spent a month cruising about the Thousand Islands, where fortune had thrown them in the way of many interesting experiences that have been related in a previous volume. Just now they were making a tour of the Great Lakes, intending to pass up through the famous Soo canal, reach Lake Superior, knock around for a few weeks, and then head for Milwaukee; where the boats would be shipped by railroad across the country to their home town on the great river. As soon as the three wanderers arrived, laden with good things, Josh, who was the boss cook of the crowd, began to start operations looking to a jolly supper on the shore. There were a few cottages on the other side of the little bay; but just around them it was given over to woods, so that they need not fear interruption during their evening meal, and the singing feast that generally followed. Out in the bay a large power boat was anchored, a beautiful craft, which the boys had been admiring through their marine glasses. Possibly the flutter of girls' white dresses and colored ribbons may have had something to do with their interest in the costly vessel, though neither Herb nor Jack would have confessed as much had they been accused. The name of the millionaire's boat was _Mermaid_, and she was about as fine a specimen of the American boatbuilder's art as any of these amateur sailors had ever looked upon. "Me for a swim before we have supper," said Nick; who felt rather dusty after tumbling around so many times during his exciting experience with the bull. "I'm with you there, Buster," laughed Jack. "You know I've got an interest in your work, since I taught you how to swim while we were making that Mississippi cruise." On the previous Fall, the high school in their home town was closed until New Year's by order of the Board of Health, on account of a dreadful contagious disease breaking forth. These six lads, having the three staunch motor boats, had secured permission from their parents or guardians to make a voyage down the Mississippi to New Orleans. Jack really had to be in the Crescent City on December 1st, to carry out the provisions of the will of an eccentric uncle, who had left him considerable property. The other chums had gone along for the fun of the thing. And it was this trip Jack referred to when speaking of Nick's swimming. Presently both boys were sporting in the water, having donned their bathing suits. While thus engaged Jack noticed out of the corner of his eye that a boat had put out from the big vessel, and also that the two girls were passengers. Perhaps they were going ashore to take dinner with friends at one of the cottages just beyond the end of the woods; although Jack fancied that the men rowing were heading a little out of a straight course, so as to come closer to the three little motor boats, and possibly give the fair passengers a better view of the fleet. There was now a stiff wind blowing, something unusual at an hour so near sunset. The waves came into the bay from the south, it being somewhat open toward the lower end, and slapped up on the beach with a merry chorus, that made swimming a bit strenuous for the fat boy; though Jack, being a duck in the water, never minded it a particle. Intent on chasing Buster, whom he had allowed to gain a good lead, Jack was suddenly thrilled to hear a scream in a girlish voice, coming from the boat which he knew was now close by. His first thought was that one of the girls had leaned too far over the side, and fallen into the water, which at that point was very deep. And it was with his heart in his mouth, so to speak, that Jack dashed his hand across his eyes to clear his vision, and turned his attention toward the big power boat's tender. CHAPTER III THE BOAT IN THE FACE OF THE MOON A single look told Jack another story, for after all it was no human life in peril that had given rise to that girlish shriek. Upon the dancing waves he saw a pretty hat, which had evidently been snatched by the wind from the head of the golden-haired maid, who was half standing up in the boat, with her hands outstretched toward her floating headgear. The men had started to change their stroke, and try and turn the boat; but with the wind blowing so hard this was no easy matter. The chances seemed to be that possibly the hat might sink before they could get to it. Jack never hesitated an instant. No sooner did he ascertain how things lay than he was off like a shot, headed straight for the drifting hat. It chanced that the wind and waves carried it toward him at the same time; so that almost before the two men in the boat had turned the head of the craft properly, Jack was reaching out an eager hand, and capturing the prize. "Hooray!" came in a chorus from the boys ashore near the fire. Even Buster tried to wave his hands, forgetting that he had full need of them in the effort to remain afloat, with the result that he temporarily vanished from view under a wave. Jack smiled to see the two girls in the boat clapping their hands as they bore down upon him. He noticed now, that while the one who had lost her hat was slender and a very pretty little witch, her companion was almost as heavy in her way as Buster himself, and with the rosiest cheeks possible. "Oh! thank you," cried the maiden whose headgear had been rescued from a watery grave. "It was nice of you to do that. And it was my pet hat, too. Whatever would I have done if it had sunk, with poor me so far away from our Chicago home. Is one of those dear little boats yours?" "Yes, the one with the burgee floating at the bow," returned Jack, as he kept treading water, after delivering up the gay hat. "We're taking our vacation by making a trip from the Thousand Islands all through the Great Lakes. My name is Jack Stormways." "And mine is Rita Andrews. My father owns that big power boat there; and we live in Oak Park near Chicago. This is my cousin, Sallie Bliss. I'm sorry to say that we're going to leave here early in the morning; or I'd ask you to come aboard and meet my father." Nick meanwhile was approaching, making desperate efforts to hurry along before the boat passed on. For Nick had discovered that the rosy-cheeked girl was just the match for him, and he wanted to be introduced the worst kind. Unfortunately the cruel men took to rowing again, and though Nick swam after, puffing and blowing like a porpoise, he was left in the lurch. But he succeeded in waving his hand to the departing ones, and laughed joyously when he saw that Miss Sallie actually returned his salute. So the boat with its fair occupants passed away. Jack wondered whither the millionaire, whose name he remembered having heard before, was bound; and if a kind fate would ever allow him to see that charming face of Rita Andrews again. Little did he dream of the startling conditions that would surround their next meeting. "Hi! there, you fellows, come ashore and get some duds on!" called George, who had been an interested observer of this little play. "Yes," supplemented Josh, waving a big spoon as though that might be the emblem of his authority as "chief cook and bottle-washer," "supper's about ready, and my omelette eats best when taken right off the pan. Get a move on you, fellows." It was amusing to see the scramble Nick made for the shore. The jangle of a spoon on a kettle always stirred his fighting spirit; he felt the "call of the wild" as George said, and could hardly wait until the rest sat down. So the two swimmers went ashore, and hastily dressed. Nick was forever talking about the lovely roses in the cheeks of Miss Sallie. "You didn't play fair, Jack," he complained. "When you saw how anxious I was to get up, why didn't you pretend to have a cramp, or something, to detain the boat. I didn't even get introduced. She don't know what my name is. It's mean, that's what I think." Jack knew that Buster would never be happy unless he had some cause for grumbling. It was usually all put on, though, for naturally the fat boy was a good-natured, easy-going fellow, ready to accommodate any one of his chums to the utmost. While they ate the fine supper which Josh spread before them, George entertained the party with a droll account of the adventure two of their number had had with a bull. He had purposely kept silent up to now, and bound Josh to secrecy, so that he could spring the story while they sat around. Loud was the laughter as George went on in his clever way of telling things. But Nick laughed with the rest. Viewed from the standpoint of safety things really looked humorous now; whereas at one time they had seemed terrifying indeed. "Catch me wearing that blessed red sweater again when I go for milk or eggs," he declared. "Once is enough for me. Oh! if I'd only had a camera along to snap Josh as he went climbing over that fence, with the bull so close behind. I'd get that picture out every time I felt blue, and laugh myself sick." Josh assumed an injured air, as he spoke up, saying: "Now would you listen to that, fellows? Just as if I looked a quarter as funny as Nick did, trying to scramble up that tree, nearly scared to death, because he thought Johnny Bull wanted to help him rise in the world. Oh! my land! but he was a sight. When I went off to get help I wanted to laugh so bad I just fell over in the grass, where he couldn't see me, and just had it out. Couldn't help it." "That's what kept you so long, was it?" demanded Nick, reproachfully. "All right, the very next time you get in a pickle, and yell out for help, I'm going to get a crick in my leg when I try to run, see if I don't." "All the same I noticed that you could swim to beat the band when you tried to join Jack, before the sweet girlies got away," put in George, maliciously. "Nick was afraid the boat was going to upset, and he saw a chance to save that red-cheeked little dumpling from a watery grave," Herb remarked, with a grin. "Suppose something _had_ happened, Jack couldn't have rescued them both. But you can laugh all you want to, smarties, she waved her hand to me all the same, didn't she, Jack?" appealed the fat boy, stubbornly. "I saw her wave to somebody, so I suppose it was meant for you," replied Jack. "Birds of a feather flock together," chanted Josh. "That'll do for you," Nick declared sternly. "She was a fine and dandy little lady, and I hope some time in the future I'll see Sallie Bliss again." "Bliss! Oh! what d'ye think of that, fellows?" roared George. "Leave Buster alone, can't you?" Jack said, in pretended indignation. "He's all right, and honest as the day is long. None of your Crafty Clarence in his makeup, you know, fellows." Clarence Macklin was a boy who came from the same town as those around the camp fire. He was the son of a very rich man, who supplied him with almost unlimited spending money. Consequently Clarence was able to carry out any folly that chanced to crop up in his scheming mind. Learning through trickery of the intention of the motor boat boys to cruise among the Thousand Islands, he had shipped his fast speed boat, called the _Flash_ thither, and succeeded in giving them more or less annoyance. He was accompanied by his pet crony, a fellow called Bully Joe Brinker, who usually did the dirty work Clarence allowed himself to think up. "Say, speaking of that fellow, wonder what's become of him?" George remarked; for there was a standing rivalry between his boat and that of the other, both being built solely for speed, and not comfort or safety. "Didn't he hint something about coming up in this region later on?" said Jack. "I understood it that way," observed Herb. "And more than a few times, while we cruised along the southern shore of Ontario and Erie, I thought we'd see his pirate boat bob up." "I hope we don't run across that crowd again," observed Nick. "For they're sore on us, and bound to do us a bad turn if they find the chance." "Well, we can keep our eyes open," remonstrated George. "You know Clarence believes that _Flash_ can make circles around my bully boat, and I'm wanting to give him a chance to prove it." "Chuck that, George," said Josh. "You know you beat him out once handsomely." "Yes, but he said he hadn't tried to do his level best. Anyhow, if the chance comes again I'm ready to race him." "How long would we be gettin' up till the Soo now, Jack, darlint?" asked Jimmie; who being second "high notch" in the line of eaters in the crowd, had been too busy up to now to do any great amount of talking. "That depends pretty much on the weather," replied the leader of the expedition, who studied his charts faithfully, and was always ready to give what information he picked up, to his chums. "We are now something like one hundred and fifty miles sou'-east-by-south from Mackinac Island, where we expect to stop over a few days. If we pick out a good morning we ought to navigate the head of Huron and the crooked St. Mary's river to the Soo in one day. The steamers do, and we can make about as fast time." "Of course we have to hold up for the _Comfort_ pretty much all the way," said George; "not that I'm complaining, fellows, for I understand that it takes all sorts of people to make a world, and lots of different kinds of boats to please everybody. And in bad weather Herb and Josh fare better than the rest of us. Well, suppose we leave here tomorrow morning, if the weather lets us, Jack?" "We will try and make Mackinac with just one more stop," Jack replied. "That will be easy enough; though if the wind gets around and the waves increase, we'll have to run for some snug harbor, George, because your boat and mine are hardly storm craft on these big lakes." "It's been a foine trip so far, I say," observed Jimmie, reaching for another baked potato, which Josh had cooked to a turn in the ashes of the fire, somehow keeping them from blackening, as is usually the case in camp. "You're right there, Jimmie," replied Herb. "And with no serious accidents to come, we'll make a record to be proud of. Just imagine us sitting around the fire in our cozy club house that is right now building, while Jack reads the stirring log of our experiences up here. It will make us live over the whole trip again." "Yes," chimed in George, "and think of the _bliss_ that must bring." Nick colored a little, as he felt every eye on him. "Look at the moon just peeping up over yonder, fellows," he observed, meaning to distract their attention. "Just about full too," remarked Jack. "Going to be a great night for a camp." "Makes me think of that moonlight race we had with the _Flash_," George went on, his heart always set on the matter of speed and victories. Night was just closing in, and the grand full moon was rising from the watery depths, so it seemed. "There comes a motor boat down yonder," remarked Herb. "See what a fine searchlight she has. No need of that, though, as soon as the moon gets fairly up." "Say, she's just humping along to beat the band, I tell you!" declared Josh, as all eyes were turned to where the shadowy form of the advancing craft could be seen, growing plainer with every passing second. "Oh! I don't know," instantly remarked George, who was unable to see much good in any small craft when his pet _Wireless_ was around. "I should say she was doing just fairly, you know; but then she doesn't have to hold back for any elephant." "That's a mean hit, George," said Herb, though he never changed his mind about his comfortable boat because of any slurs cast by his mates, who might come to envy him in bad weather. "Look at her cut through the water, would you?" Josh went on. "The fellows aboard don't intend to turn in here to stop over. Must be in a hurry to get somewhere, I guess." "There, she's just passing the rising moon. Why, I declare, fellows, seems to me she looks kind of familiar like!" Nick exclaimed. Jack jumped up, and secured a pair of marine glasses. They were guaranteed for night work, and through them he could see the passing motor boat splendidly. "Is it, Jack?" asked George, eagerly; and the other nodded. "That's the same old _Flash_, all right," he said, looking around the circle. "Gosh!" exploded Nick, "Crafty Clarence is on the trail once more, bent on revenge for the beat George gave his pirate motor boat. I see warm times looming up ahead of us, shipmates all. And ain't I glad I know how to swim now!" CHAPTER IV CAUGHT BY THE STORM "I wonder if they know we are camping in this place right now?" Josh ventured. "The chances are, they do," replied Jack. "Both of those chaps possess eyes as sharp as they make them. And there's another reason why I think that way." "Then let's hear it, old fellow," begged Nick. "This is a nice, attractive place to haul in, and spend the night, when cruising along in a small motor boat. As evening has come, not one in ten would think of passing the cove by; and you know it, boys," Jack went on, with emphasis. "But they deliberately did that same thing," ventured Herb. "Yes, I get on to what you mean, Jack. They'd rather boom along, and take chances of being caught out on the open lake in the night, even with a storm in prospect, to stopping over near the camp of the motor boat club. Is that it?" "Just what I meant, Herb," nodded the other. "And I guess you struck it, all right," commented Josh. "But if they didn't want to say us agin, what in the dickens did they iver kim up this way for, I doan't know?" remarked Jimmie, helplessly. At that George laughed out loud. "Wake up, Jimmie!" he exclaimed. "You're asleep, you know. Why, don't you understand that Clarence Macklin never yet took a beat like a fair and square man? He won't rest easy till he's tried it again with the _Wireless_. I happen to know that he hurried his poor old boat to a builder, and had him work on the engine, hoping to stir it up a peg or two. And now he's going to sneak around till he gets the chance to challenge me again." "And," went on Nick, following up the idea, "he didn't want to drop in here with us, because in the first place he hates us like fun; and then he was afraid George might ask questions about his bally old boat." "He wants to spring a surprise!" declared Josh. "That's his play all the time. When we had snowball battles, Clarence was forever hiding with a bunch of his men, and jumping out suddenly at us. That's where he got his name of Sneaky Clarence." "Well," remarked Jack, "I hope George gets a chance to show him up again for the fraud that he is; but at the same time I don't want Clarence and Bully Joe bothering us right along. We didn't come up here just to chase around after them." "Or have the gossoons chasing around afther us, by the same token," laughed the Irish lad. They sat around the fire, and carried on in their usual jolly way, telling stories, laughing, and singing many of the dear old school songs. Six voices, and some of them wonderfully good ones too, made a volume of sound that must have carried far across the bay to the cottages, where the summer residents were doubtless sitting out in the beautiful moonlight. The boys began to think of retiring about ten or after. A couple of tents had been purchased after coming to the St. Lawrence river country; for somehow all of them became tired of sleeping aboard the boats, since there was little of comfort about it. These tents had been erected under the supervision of Jack, who knew all about how a camp should be constructed, so that in case of wind or rain no damage was likely to result. They made a pretty sight now, with the moonlight falling upon them, and the flickering fire adding to the picture. Jack had wandered down to the edge of the water. The three motor boats were all anchored close by, and everything had been made snug; but of course it was not the intention of the boys to leave things unguarded. The chances of trouble were too positive to think of such foolishness. "Too bad, Jack, that the wind has gone down," said a voice at his elbow; and turning Jack saw the grinning countenance of George. "Oh! I don't know," remarked the other, slowly and cautiously, as if wondering whether George could read his secret thoughts, and know that he was just then thinking of the pretty little girl whose hat he had rescued from the hungry maw of the lake that afternoon. "Why, I think I hear voices over yonder where they landed, and girls at that," George continued, wickedly. "No doubt the little darlings are about embarking on the return trip to the _Mermaid_. Now, if the wind would only suddenly swoop along, perhaps a boat might be upset. But Jack, with your clothes on, you'd have a tough time swimming out there and saving Rita's life, like you did her bonnet." "Oh! let up on that, will you?" laughed Jack, good naturedly; for he was used to such joking and joshing on the part of his mates, and ready to take it in the same spirit of fun that it was meant. "I was thinking about our boats here. Seems to me that whoever is on guard should take up a position where he can keep an eye on the whole outfit. At the first sign of danger he must wake up the bunch of us. Isn't that right, George?" "Sure it is; but see here, you don't really think anything _will_ happen, do you?" the other demanded, uneasily. "Because if I had any idea that way, I'd feel like going aboard, and sleeping there, uncomfortable as a narrow speed boat is. Why, it'd nearly break my heart if anything knocked my _Wireless_ just now, and spoiled the rest of my vacation." "Oh! I guess there's no real danger," said Jack, quickly; "but you know my way of being cautious. An ounce of prevention, they say, George, is better than a pound of cure. We insure our boats against explosion and loss; why not do the same about our chances for a jolly good time?" "Right you are, Jack. That's a long head you carry on your shoulders," admitted the skipper of the speed craft. "But there they come. I can see the boat, and the white dresses of the girls. She is a little angel, Jack, and seriously I don't blame you for wanting to see more of Miss Rita Andrews; but the chances are against you, old fellow." "Well, girls were the last thing we had in mind when we started on this trip," remarked Jack. "We left lots of pretty ones at home, you know; and we're getting letters from some of them right along. There, they've made the big power boat all right, and are getting aboard." "And you can go to sleep with an easy mind," laughed George, "because the young lady wasn't wrecked in port. But perhaps we might happen to catch up with 'em at the Soo, Jack. No doubt you had thought of that?" "We expect to be at Mackinac first, and people generally stop off there a day or two," remarked the pilot of the _Tramp_, falling into the little trap shrewd lawyer George had set for him; whereat the other gave him a dig in the ribs, and ran off to the camp to get his blankets ready for his first nap. But nothing out of the way did happen that night, though the motor boat boys kept faithful watch and ward, one of them being on duty an hour or more at a time up to dawn. With the coming of the sun over the water all were awake, and preparations for breakfast underway. Jack, Nick and Josh concluded to take a morning dip, while the rest were looking after the cooking of a heap of delicious flapjacks done to a brown turn as only the wonderful Josh could coax them. Smoke rising slowly from the big power boat's cook's galley pipe announced that preparations were underway there for an early start. Indeed, the vessel started to leave the harbor even while Jack and his mates were still sitting around the fire, disposing of the appetizing mess that had been so skillfully prepared for the crowd. "Jack, it's all right!" laughed George. "Yes," chimed in Nick, innocently, with a sigh of relief, "they're heading north, sure as anything." "Oh! we forgot there was a pair of 'em, sighing like furnaces," jeered Josh. But Jack and the fat boy only laughed. "Rank jealousy, Nick; don't you bother your head about such cruel remarks," said the former, winking to the stout youth. "Well, everybody get busy now," said George, jumping to his feet. "It looks like we might have a fairly decent day, if that blessed old wind keeps away. My boat rolls like fun when in a wash, and I don't like it a bit. Hope we'll have the air out of the southwest today, so we'll be shielded by the shore." He hurried off to get aboard. The others were not far behind, for tents had been taken down, and blankets stowed, while breakfast was being cooked; so that there was not a great deal to do now. Then, after a last survey of the late camp had been taken by cautious Jack, in order to make sure that nothing was forgotten and the fire dead, he too stepped into his little dinky, paddled out to where Jimmie awaited him aboard the _Tramp_; and five minutes later the little flotilla started, amid a tremendous popping of motors, and much calling back and forth on the part of skippers and crews. Once outside the protecting cape they headed due nor'-east by north, and kept just a certain distance away from the shore. It was a lovely morning, and gave promise of a fine day; but these cruisers had learned through bitter experience never to wholly trust such signs. In summer at any rate, storms can develop with suddenness on the big lakes, and a squall start to blowing without warning. Hence they had adopted as a motto, the slogan of the Boy Scouts: "Be Prepared!" George called out to the skipper of the _Tramp_, and pointed ahead, where, several miles to the north could be seen the dim shape of the big power boat, rapidly covering the distance that intervened between the cove and charming Mackinac Island. "They'll be at Mackinac tonight, all right, Jack!" shouted George, who led the little procession in his speed boat. Jack made no attempt at a reply; but Jimmie took up the cudgels at once. "Sure we'll make it by tomorry night, if all goes well," he said; "and begorra, not wan of our boats is in the same class wid the big wan. Take the three togither and they'd be only a bite for the _Mermaid_. So we bate thim aisy now." So they chugged along as time passed. In an hour all signs of the larger craft had passed from their sight. At noon they opened up Thunder Bay; and thinking to make the dangerous crossing of its broad mouth before having lunch, they kept on. It was rather rough traveling, especially for the narrow _Wireless_; and acting upon Jack's suggestion George hovered close to the others, so as to have help in case of trouble, and be partly sheltered from the rollers by keeping in their lee. But the passage was made in safety; and after that their course changed to some extent. The shore turned more toward the northwest, so that they headed into the wind, which was creating some sea, in which the small craft wallowed considerably. An hour later Jack began to cast anxious glances toward the shore, hoping to discover an opening of some sort, in which the fleet might take refuge. For the sky was darkening by degrees, and he fancied he caught the muttering of thunder in the distance. On their starboard quarter nothing could be seen but a vast heaving expanse of water; for Lake Huron at this point stretches more than fifty miles, before Grand Manitoulin Island is reached to the northeast. It would be a bad place for such small craft to be caught in a storm. Still, the shore looked strangely devoid of any indentation, and Jack's fears increased as the minutes passed without any change for the better cropping up. But he did not express these aloud, and even his boatmate Jimmie, although often casting a look of anxious inquiry at the face of his skipper, could not tell what was passing in his mind. And then, without any warning, there suddenly came a vivid flash of lightning over in the west, almost immediately followed by an ominous clap of thunder that seemed to make the very air quiver. "Say, that looks bad!" called out Josh; who was in the cranky speed boat, and had more reason to be alarmed than most of his comrades. "What shall we do, Jack?" asked Herb, whose _Comfort_ was keeping close on the port side of the boat Jack had charge of. "Push on for all we're worth," answered the other. "I think I see a harbor, if only we can make it before the storm breaks. George, you leave us, and drive ahead; for the danger is greater with you than the rest. But don't worry fellows; it's all right, we've just got to make that bay where the point sticks out, and we're going to do it too." CHAPTER V A STRANGE SOUND George recognized the wisdom of such a move as his chum suggested. If the wind kept on increasing as it seemed bound to do, and the storm broke upon them in all its mid-summer violence, the cranky speed boat would be apt to feel the effect more than either of the other craft. It was therefore of great importance that he and Josh seek the promised shelter with all haste. Much as he disliked leaving the balance of the fleet, necessity seemed to compel such a move. Accordingly, he threw on all the motive power his engine was capable of developing, and began to leave the others quickly in the lurch. Jack could easily have gone ahead of the heavy _Comfort_, but he did not mean to do so. Better that they stick together, so as to be able to render assistance if it were badly needed. Talking across the narrow abyss of water separating the two boats was altogether out of the question, unless one shouted. There was no time for an exchange of opinions, since all of them needed to keep their wits on the alert, in order to meet the dangers that impended. Already had the waves grown in size. They were getting heavier with every passing minute; and the little motor boats began to actually wallow, unless headed directly into the washing seas. It was a critical time for all concerned, and Nick could be seen with his cork life-preserver carefully fastened about his stout body under the arms, as if prepared for the very worst that could happen. It was about this time that Jimmie gave a shrill whoop. "They done it!" he yelled, regardless of the rules of grammar, such was his delight. "The ould _Wireless_ is safe beyant the p'int!" Jack saw that what he said seemed to be so. The speed boat had evidently managed to reach a spot where the jutting tongue of land helped to shield her from the oncoming waves. She no longer plunged up and down like a cork on the water, though continuing her onward progress. The sight spurred the others on to renewed zeal. If George could do it, then the same measure of success should come their way. Five minutes later Jack noticed that there was an apparent abatement of the wild fury with which the heaving billows were beating against the bow of his little craft. A look ahead told him the comforting news that already was the extreme point standing between the two boats and the sweep of the seas. "We do be safe!" shouted Jimmie; who, in his excitable way seemed ready to try and dance a jig then and there, an operation that would have been attended with considerable danger to the safety of the _Tramp's_ human cargo. "And not a minute too soon!" said Jack, as a sudden gust of wind tore past, that might have been fatal to his boat had it been wallowing in one of those seas just then. As it was, they had about all they could do to push on against the fierce gale, protected as they were by the cape of land. The spray was flying furiously over that point, as the waves dashed against its further side. But the boys knew they were safe from harm, and could stand a wetting with some degree of patience. George was waiting for them, his anchor down, at a point he considered the best they could make for the present. He had managed to pull on his oilskins, and was looking just like a seasoned old tar as the other boats drew in. Jimmie and Nick were ready with the mudhooks, under the directions of their respective skippers. Hardly had these found a temporary resting-place at the bottom, than all four lads seized upon their rainproof suits, and presently they were as well provided against the downpour as George. And the rain certainly did descend in a deluge for a short time. They had all they could do to prevent the boats from being half swamped, such was the tremendous violence with which the torrent was hurled against them by the howling wind. But after all, it was only a summer squall. In less than half an hour the sun peeped out, as if smiling over the deluge of tears. The wind had gone down before, but of course the waves were still rolling very heavily outside. "That settles our going on today!" declared George, as he pointed at the outer terminus of the cape, past which they could see the rollers chasing one another, as if in a great game of tag. "It's pretty late in the afternoon anyhow," declared Josh, who was secretly worried for fear lest his rather reckless skipper might want to put forth again. "Yes, and we might look a long way ahead without finding a chance to drop into a harbor as good as this," remarked Herb. "You're all right," laughed Jack; "and we'd be sillies to even dream of leaving this bully nook now. Besides, if tomorrow is decent, we can make an extra early start in the morning, and get to Mackinac before dark." "That suits me all right," Nick observed, as he complacently started to remove his oilskins, so that he could pay attention to the bulky cork life preserver, which he did not mean to wear all night. They found that it was possible to make a point much closer to the shore, and it was decided to do so, especially after sharp-eyed Jimmie had discovered signs of a farm near by, possibly belonging to a grower of apples, since a vast orchard seemed to cover many acres. "I hope that big power boat wasn't caught in that stiff blow," Jack remarked, as they were getting ready to go ashore in order to stretch their legs a bit and look around. "Oh! I guess they must have made Mackinac," said George. "She was a hurry-boat, all right, and the wind would not bother her like it did our small fry." "Thank you, George, for that comforting remark. I was really getting worried myself about the _Mermaid_," observed Nick. "Listen to Buster, would you, fellows?" cried Josh. "I never thought he'd go back on the girls we left behind us, and particularly Rosie!" But Nick only grinned as they joined in the laugh. "I'm a privileged character now," he asserted, stoutly. "A sailor is said to have a best girl in every port, you know, fellows. And every one of you will agree with me that Sallie Bliss is as pretty as a peach." "And just your size too, Buster," declared Herb. "Look out for an engagement with some dime museum company as the fat"--started Josh; when he had to dodge something thrown at him by the object of this persecution, and the sentence was never completed. The ground being sandy close to the water, they concluded to start a fire, so as to cook supper ashore, since it was so much more "homey" as Nick said, for them to be together at mealtimes. But all were of the opinion that it would be advisable to sleep on board. "Another hot squall might spring up during the night," observed George, "and just fancy our tents going sailing off to sea. Of course I don't hanker about putting in a night in such cramped quarters as my narrow boat affords; but it can't come anywhere near what I went through with when Buster was my shipmate, down on the Mississippi." "And then somebody ought to go after milk and eggs," suggested Herb. "Here, don't everybody look at me," Nick bridled up. "I guess it's the turn of another bunch this time. Josh and myself have served our country as haulers of the necessities." "But every farmer doesn't own a bull, Buster," remarked George. "Well, I object to bulldogs just as much. Little fellows are all right, likewise pussy cats; but deliver me from the kind that hold on to all they grab. Nixey. You and Jack try it this time, George." "That's only fair," spoke up the latter, immediately. "Well," said George, "if we're going, the sooner we start the better; because you see the old sun is hanging right over the horizon." "And I'm nearly caved in for want of proper nourishment," grumbled Nick. No one paid any particular attention to his remark; because that condition was a regular part of his lamentations several times a day. The only time Nick seemed to be in a state of absolute contentment was the half hour following a gorging bee; and then he beamed satisfaction. Accordingly the pair started forth, armed with a tin bucket for the milk. George had no great love for biting dogs himself, and as they approached the vicinity of the farm buildings he suggested to his companion that they arm themselves with stout canes, with which they might defend themselves in case of an emergency. "Looks like a prosperous place, all right," Jack observed as they saw the buildings and the neat appearance of things in general. "But seems to me it's awful lonely here," remarked George. "Where can the people all be? Don't see any children about, or women folks. Plenty of cows and chickens, but sure they can't take care of themselves." "Well, hardly," laughed Jack. "We'll run across somebody soon. Let's head for the barn first. Generally at this time you'll find the men busy there, taking care of the horses, and the pigs." "I hear hogs grunting," remarked George. "Well, I got the same sound myself; but do you know it struck me more like a groan!" Jack said, in a voice somewhat awed. "A groan! Gee; what do you mean, Jack?" exclaimed the other, turning toward his chum with a white face. "Just what I said," Jack replied. "And listen, there it is again. Now I know it was no swine you heard, George. That sound was from the barn. Come on. I'm afraid somebody's in trouble here!" CHAPTER VI "CARRY THE NEWS TO ANDY!" "Nobody here, Jack!" announced George, in a relieved tone, as the two entered the stable, and looked around. A number of horses stood in stalls, munching their oats, which in itself told the observing Jack that some one must have been there a short time before, since the animals had been recently fed. Before he could make any reply to his companion's remark, once more that thrilling sound came to their ears. And this time even George realized that it was unmistakably a human groan. "It came from over here!" exclaimed Jack, as without the slightest hesitation he sprang across the floor of the place. George following close upon his heels, saw him bending over the figure of a man, who was lying upon the floor in a doubled-up position. "What has happened? Did one of the horses kick him?" gasped George, always a bundle of nerves. "No, I don't think so," replied Jack. "I can find no sign of an injury about him. It's more likely a fit of some kind he's just recovering from. Lots of people are subject to such things, you know." "Say, that's just what;" declared George. "I had an uncle who used to drop like a rock right in the street or anywhere." "What did they do with him at such times?" demanded Jack, anxiously. "Well, nobody seemed able to do much," replied the other. "I saw my father loosen the collar of his shirt, and lay him out on his back. A little water on his face might help; but in most fits it takes some time to recover. But I thought I saw his eyelids twitch right then, Jack." "Yes, he's going to come out of it," replied Jack, as he managed to get the old man into what seemed like a more comfortable position. And presently, as the two boys still bent anxiously over him, the man opened his eyes. He stared at them for a bit, as if trying to collect his thoughts. Then a horse neighed, and he seemed to realize his position. Jack, seeing him trying to sit up, assisted him. The old man sighed heavily, and spoke in a weak tone. "Reckon I dropped in my own stable that time. Might have been under the feet of the hosses too. And both men away. Who are ye, boys? I'm beholdin' to you more'n I can say," he went on. Whereupon Jack soon explained how they belonged to a little company of cruisers who had been driven by the storm to take shelter behind the point of land; and that their present errand was to secure a supply of fresh milk and eggs, if so be they could be had. "Help me to the house, please, boys," said the farmer, trying to rise. "I'm always some weak after one of these spells. They're acomin' oftener now, and I'll have to quit bein' alone. Now more'n ever I need Andy. Oh! if they can only find him for me, I'll be so happy." Of course this was so much Greek to the two boys. But they gladly helped him to regain his feet, and walk to the house. "The men will be back soon, and you can have all the milk and eggs you want!" he declared; and even as he spoke George discovered a team coming toward the farmhouse, evidently from some nearby town, with a couple of husky men on the wagon, which was piled high with new and empty apple barrels. "That let's me out," laughed George, "for you see, I was just going to volunteer to milk Bossie; and as I've had mighty little experience in that line, perhaps she'd have kicked me into the next county for a bungler." The men came on to the house, seeing strangers present, and Jack soon explained the situation to them. He learned that the old farmer's name was Jonathan Fosdick, and that the Andy he had spoken about was his only son, with whom he had quarreled several years back, and for whom his heart was forever yearning, now that old age and disease began to grip hold of him. Supplied with the milk and the eggs the two lads started back to the camp. "Promise to come up and see me again tonight, boys," the old farmer had pleaded, as he came to the door with them, after positively refusing to accept any pay for what they had received. "I want to speak with you about something that's on my mind a heap lately. You helped me once; p'raps ye can again." "Now, what under the sun do you think he meant?" remarked George, as they plodded along with their heavy burdens toward the lake shore, where the boats lay. "Just wait, and we'll know all about it soon," replied Jack; for while he could himself give a pretty good guess what was on the mind of Mr. Fosdick, he did not care to commit himself. The others greeted the foragers with loud cries of delight. "Then there wasn't any bull handy?" said Nick, with an evident shade of disappointment in his voice; for Nick was nothing if not generous; and having tasted the delights of being chased up a tree by an angry bovine, he felt that the other fellows ought to share the experience with him. The fire was already burning briskly, and Josh employed in his customary tasks of getting things ready for cooking. At such times Josh was looked upon as a czar, and his simplest word was law. It was very pleasant for the tall, lanky lad to feel that he did have an hour or so each day, when every one bent the knee to his superior knowledge; and he certainly made the most of it. And the supper was of course a bountiful one. It could not be otherwise so long as Nick and Jimmie had a hand in its preparation. The former hovered around from time to time, suggesting that Josh add just another handful to the rice that was being cooked, or possibly wondering if they could make one big can of mullagatawny soup do for six fellows; until frequently the boss would turn and wither him with a look, backed up as it was with that big spoon. Later on, after everybody had declared themselves satisfied, Jack beckoned to the skipper of the _Wireless_. "We promised that we'd run up and see how Mr. Fosdick was getting on, fellows," remarked the latter. "Be back inside of an hour or so; long before you are thinking of going aboard." Nick started to rise, but sank back again as Jack shook his head. "This farmer keeps a black bull, Buster. I saw him in an enclosure, and seemed to me the bars looked mighty slender!" observed George, maliciously. "Excuse me, I think this fire feels mighty comfy," grinned Nick. The two boys found Mr. Fosdick waiting for them. The woman who did his household work, a black mammy, had been over at a neighbor's when they were there before; but had later on returned, and cooked supper. Things even looked a little cheerful, with the lamp-light flooding the comfortable livingroom of the big farmhouse. "Sit down, boys," said the farmer, pointing to two chairs, he himself reclining on a lounge. "You're wondering now why I wanted to see ye again. I'm beholdin' to you for the prompt assistance you gave me. But there's somethin' more'n that. Did ye say as how ye was bound for Lake Superior way soon?" "Why, we are going as far as the Soo," Jack replied, readily; "and we may take a notion to prowl along the northern shore for a short distance. I've always heard a heap about the big speckled trout to be taken around the mouth of the Agawa river and other places there, and since we have the chance I thought I'd like to try to land a whopper, if so be the rest of the boys are willing to go." "The Agawa!" repeated Mr. Fosdick, eagerly. "I wonder if that might be the place now. 'Twas somewhere along that northern shore he said he saw my Andy." "That was your son, I take it?" ventured Jack. "Yes, my only boy or child. His mother died after he ran away, and I'm gettin' old now. I want Andy to come home; but try as I would, I never could get a line to him." Then he went on to tell about his boy, and for a long time Jack and George had to listen to an account of Andy's childhood life. Gradually he came to the point where the highstrung boy had refused to be treated as a child any longer. A violent quarrel had followed, and Andy left home. "I know now I was most to blame," said the old man, contritely; "and if only I could get word to my boy I'd beg him to come back to me. I want to see him again before I foller his mother across the great divide. Just a week ago I had a letter from a party who told me he was sure he saw Andy in a fish camp up on Superior. He'd growed up, and the gentleman didn't have a chanct to speak with him; but afterward it struck him who the man was. If so be ye run across Andy, tell him I'm waitin' with my arms stretched out for him, won't ye, boys?" "To be sure we will!" declared George, heartily, for he was considerably affected by the appearance of grief on the old man's face. They soon afterward started to say goodnight, wishing to get back to where the rest of the party sat around the camp fire. "I forgot to tell ye," went on Mr. Fosdick, as he followed them to the door, "as they was a young chap here t'other day as said he'd keep an eye out for Andy. And now that I think of it, he had a little motor boat too, like them you tell me about. And he said he 'spected to cruise around Superior a bit." George and Jack exchanged glances. "And was his name Clarence Macklin?" asked the latter, quickly. "Just what it was," replied the farmer, waving them a farewell. "Now, what do you think of that?" asked George, as they strode on. "Why, that fellow is bound to crop up all the time like a jack-in-the-box. We can't even start to do a poor heartbroken old father a good turn, but he gets his finger in the pie. But there's a bully chance for me to get another race with his piratical _Flash_, and that's some satisfaction;" and Jack found himself compelled to laugh, realizing that George had his weakness just as well as Buster. CHAPTER VII TIED UP AT MACKINAC ISLAND "All aboard!" It was Nick who shouted this aloud on the following morning. They had arisen at dawn, and prepared a hasty breakfast. Josh had looked out for this on the preceding evening, for he had cooked a pot of grits, which being sliced while cold was fried in butter after being dipped in egg. Only several fryingpans were needed for the job, on account of the extreme fondness Nick had for that particular dish. But long ago his comrades had learned to view such an assertion on the part of the fat boy with suspicion; because it was discovered that the present treat was _always_ the one Buster adored most. The waves still seemed larger than might prove comfortable, but there was a fair chance of their going down later on in the day. Besides, George was gaining more confidence in his narrow boat, as he came to know it better; and he possessed something of a reckless spirit in addition. "Ain't this just glorious!" exclaimed Nick, when they had gotten fully started, and passing beyond the protecting point, felt the full force of the waves. Not a voice was raised in dissent; even Josh, while looking a little anxious, refused to put up a complaint as the _Wireless_ ducked and bowed and slid along through the troubled waters like a "drunken duck," as Nick termed it aside to Herb. But just as they had anticipated, things improved as the day advanced. The breeze grew lighter; and while it came over many miles of water, the sea was not threatening. Besides, there is such a thing as growing accustomed to such things. What in the beginning might excite apprehension, after a while would be accepted as the natural thing, and even looked upon with indifference. They kept this up until after the noon hour, and splendid progress was made, so Jack declared. As he had been elected the commodore of the fleet, and kept tab of the charts, they always depended on what he said as being positive. Finding a good opportunity to get ashore about this time the boys accepted it by a unanimous vote. So many hours aboard small boats gives one a cramp, and under such conditions a chance to stretch is always acceptable. Their stay was not long, for all of them were anxious to reach the beautiful island known as Mackinac by evening. So once more the fleet put out, and in a clump bucked into the northwest breeze and the sea. They were now heading due northwest, and about three in the afternoon George declared he could see land dead ahead which he believed must be Bois Blanc Island. "I reckon now you're just about right," said Jack, after he had consulted his map, and then in turn peeped through his marine glasses. "For the way we head, there couldn't be any other land straight on. If that's so, fellows, we'll raise the hilly island just beyond pretty soon." Before four they could get a sight of what seemed a little green gem set in the glittering sea of water. "That's Mackinac, all right," observed George. "I can see white dots among the green, that stand for the houses. We're going to get there today, fellows. Told you so, Buster. Me for a juicy steak tonight then." "Oh! don't mention it, please," gasped Nick. "You make my mouth fairly water. And if our boss cook would only suggest fried onions along with it, my cup of joy would be running over." "Sure," called out Josh, "if you promise to peel the tear-getters. We need such a heap to satisfy that enormous appetite of yours, not to mention some others I know, that I refuse to undertake the job." "Oh! all right; count on me!" cried Nick, looking around as though anxious to begin work at once, a proceeding that George vetoed on the spot. "I need my eyes to see how to steer, thank you, Buster," he declared. "You just hold in your horses. Plenty of time. Besides, most of the onions are aboard the _Comfort_ along with Josh." An hour later they were approaching the magic isle that has won a fame all its own as a picture of beauty seldom equalled, and never excelled--green with its grass and foliage, and with many snow white cottages and hotels showing through this dark background. "Did you ever see anything like it?" asked Jack, as the three boats sped onward. "Never," replied several of the others. "I'm glad we'll soon be there!" declared Nick; but everybody knew without asking, that he was thinking about that beefsteak and onions, rather than the joy of reaching such a pretty shore. "Look at the old blockhouse up on the hill!" remarked Herb. "Yes, I've been reading up on this place, and history tells about some lively times around here during the War of 1812. Seems the British thought Mackinac a good place to have possession of. They sent out an expedition, and came ashore in the night, surprising the little American garrison." "That was tough," grunted Josh. "Like to hear things the other way. Thought Americans never got taken by surprise." "Oh! well," laughed Jack; "you want to read history again, my boy. But I notice a good many steamers around. I reckon most of those bound through to Chicago stop here, as well as the Lake Superior ones. There's a boat coming in full of people. The _Islander_ she's called. That must be the boat going over to the Snow Islands every day. There's another back of her, perhaps coming down from the Soo. Seems quite a lively place, fellows." "You bet it is. We must take a run around the island tomorrow, before going on. Never do to pass this by, as we may not be here again in a hurry," Herb remarked. Approaching the shore they began to look out a suitable place where the small boats might be tied up for the time they expected to remain. This was not easy to find, since they had to take care and not get in the way of any large craft that might be going out. After all it was Nick who discovered the opening. Josh declared that the fat boy's vision was sharpened by the clamorous demands of his appetite; but Nick, as usual, paid little attention to such slurs. "Who's going ashore to find a butcher shop?" he demanded, as they began to draw close in to the shore, and get ready to tie up. "I appoint you a committee of one to secure the steak," said Jack, solemnly; "and remember, don't let it be a bit over one inch thick, and weigh more than five pounds." "Good gracious! that wouldn't be even a pound apiece!" expostulated Nick. "All right! we expect to have some other things along with it, remember," Jack continued. "You know the penalty of disobedience to orders, Buster?" "Deprived of food allowance for twenty-four hours!" broke in Josh. Nick only groaned; and presently finding a chance to creep ashore he hurried off on his delightful errand. For when there was anything connected with meals to be done, Nick was as spry as anybody in camp. It was some little time before he showed up again. "Wow! look at what's coming, would you?" shouted Josh, suddenly. Of course it was Nick, laden with various packages, and grinning amiably. "It's all right, Jack," he announced as he came ambling along. "It doesn't weigh a fraction over five pounds. Oh! I was mighty particular about that, I tell you. Had him cut off pieces of the tail till it got down to an even thing." "Here, somebody help him, or he'll take a header into the brink, and lose half of what he's hugging so tight!" called Herb, and Jimmie started to obey. "But what's in all these other packages?" asked Jack, pretending to frown. "Why, onions, just onions and then more onions!" came the bland reply; at which the others burst out into a roar, causing Nick to look at them in pity. "You fellows can laugh all you please," he said in lofty scorn; "it don't feaze me one little bit. I was afraid we might fall short, and so I bought a half peck at the butcher's. Then, while I was coming along, I saw some white ones, and couldn't resist the temptation to get a couple of quarts. They go fine raw when you feel just nippy, you see, along with a piece of pilot bread." "But there's still another package; how about that, Buster?" asked George. "Why," answered the other, slowly; "after I started off with the white ones would you believe it I discovered a lot of those fine big Spanish onions in a confectioner's store. I just couldn't resist the temptation to get half a dollar's worth. Mightn't have the chance again, you know, fellows. It's my treat this time." "Thank goodness! we've really got enough of something to satisfy Pudding for once!" cried Josh, as he received the various packages. "Look at the steak, Josh," said the provider, proudly. "Guess I ought to know a good thing in that line. It's streaked with fat, and is bound to just melt away in your mouth." Josh admitted that it did look tempting; and later on the entire party agreed that Nick had profited by his hobby. When starting upon this extended trip the motor boat boys had agreed that on no account would they sleep under the roof of a house, unless in case of sickness. So even at Mackinac they must keep to their boats. Several of them went ashore to see what the place looked like under the electric lights, returning an hour or so later, ready for bed. Those left behind had attended to all necessary arrangements, so that little time was lost. As customary, the watches were made up of two, on different boats, and so selected that Nick would be paired with Jack himself; because the commodore was suspicious of Buster's ability to remain awake with any one else as his sentry mate. It happened that while these two were taking the first turn, and Jack every once in a while would poke Buster with a setting pole he kept handy, something not down on the bills came to pass. The first thing that Jack knew about it was when Nick gave vent to a shrill screech, and scrambled to his knees, holding on to some struggling object that seemed to scratch and snarl and act in a way that was altogether mysterious. And of course the whole six boys were immediately awake, sitting up to ask all sorts of questions. CHAPTER VIII GEORGE WAITS FOR HIS CHUMS "What is it?" Josh exclaimed, as he scrambled to his knees. "Buster is on the rampage again! That's what comes of eating too much supper. He's got a bad case of indigestion, I bet!" declared George, grumblingly; for he had come very near falling over the side of his boat when Josh made that sudden move, and it startled him not a little. "But he's got hold of something, I tell you! Look at him grabbing around. Must be a wildcat or something like that," Josh went on. "Faith ye're all wrong," spoke up Jimmie. "Sure it's a monkey he's huggin' till his breast, so he be." "A monkey!" cried Herb, as he appeared behind the fat boy, holding a fryingpan threateningly in his hand. "Yes, that's what!" gasped Nick. "Don't you see, a tame monkey, and with a little red cap, and a coat on. He was going through my pockets, I tell you, when I woke up--that is when I first felt him. Give us a hand here and help me hold the little scratcher. My! but he's strong, and he tries to bite my nose every time." "Because you're hurting him," said Herb. "Wait till I get hold of that bit of rope he's trailing behind. Now let him loose, Buster, but keep him away from your face. He'd scratch your eyes out." The queer little visitor seemed to be willing to submit, once Nick stopped squeezing him; for he immediately took off his red cap, and made quite a bow. Then he snatched up a small tin cup that was attached to a belt he wore, with a tiny chain, and held it out to Herb. "Give him a penny, Herb," laughed Jack. "Yes, he recognizes an old acquaintance; help a poor fellow in distress, Herb!" Josh hastened to add. "Where under the sun d'ye suppose he came from?" asked George, suspiciously. "Must belong to some Italian organgrinder, I should say, judging from the uniform, and the piece of broken rope. Perhaps he's run away, and wanted to become a stowaway on board Herb's boat," Jack went on. "All right," the other remarked, promptly, "anyhow, he knew a good boat when he saw one. Give him credit for that. But did you hear what Buster said about him feeling in his pockets? Now, I've heard it said that often these monkeys are taught to steal, going up into second-story windows, and grabbing things. Perhaps he was sent aboard right now to pick up anything he could find." "I tell you he knew all about vest pockets, as sure as you live," announced Nick. "Looks to me as if he had got something in his pocketbook right now!" declared Herb. "What's that? A monkey have a pocketbook? You're poking fun at us!" cried Josh. "I am, eh? You observe me," said Herb, as with a dextrous movement he seized upon the monkey, and by main strength forced him to eject something from his mouth. "Say, it's a real watch, fellows!" cried Nick, astonished; "he had it right in his cheek, sure he did." "And it's my little dollar nickel watch," said Herb. "Shows he searched me before trying Buster. All the same if it'd been a hundred dollar gold repeater. He's a thief, sure enough. What'll we do with him, fellows?" "Tie him up, and if nobody comes after him, we'll keep Jocko," suggested Josh. "Think he'd be lots of fun, I suppose," grumbled Nick. "But if he stays it's got to be on another boat than this. The little fiend would have it in for me. He'd worry the life out of me; and I just can't afford to lose any flesh." "Changed your tune, eh?" taunted Josh. "Seems to me I've heard you trying all sorts of ways to get thin." "That was before I took notice of the horrible example we had along, of the living skeleton," retorted Nick. "After that I just made up my mind to remain nice and plump. Some people look best when they're fat, you know." "There, he's thinking of Sallie again," remarked Josh. "But we haven't seen a sign of the _Mermaid_," remarked George; "and I reckon she's left here for the Soo region ahead of us. But Herb, find some way to fasten the little rascal up for tonight, so he can't do any mischief. If his owner comes for him in the morning we'll give him a scare." Herb managed to do this, although Nick declared he would be afraid to take a wink of sleep for fear of being choked, or something else as dreadful. All the same when his time came to give up sentry duty, no one heard so much as a "peep" from Nick again until daylight arrived. It was arranged on the following morning that they should explore the island, in order to see its wonders and beauties, in two detachments, each consisting of three. Jack learned that bicycles could be hired close by, and mounted on these he and Herb and Josh made the grand rounds, allowing nothing to escape them. Then after lunch the others took wheel and carried out the same programme, even to visiting the old blockhouse on the hill, and viewing the charming marine spectacle from the top of the little bluff. As they gathered around late in the afternoon to compare notes, and discuss the various matters that interested them, Jack noted first of all that the shrewd little monkey, which had been dubbed Jocko, was still aboard the _Comfort_. Nobody had shown up to inquire about him. Nick was for going ashore and spreading the news of the find far and wide; but the others refused to allow him. They really believed that Jocko had been sent aboard by his master to steal; and that this party was afraid to claim him now. "If we have to take him along he'll give us lots of fun," remarked Jack. "Yes, Buster is only thinking that there'd be one more mouth to feed, and that might cut his share of the rations down a peg," asserted Josh. "Now that's where you wrong me," declared the fat boy, solemnly. "If you insist on hearing what I was thinking about, I'll tell you. Suppose we should get stormbound somewhere up on the twisting St. Mary's river, or on the biggest fresh water lake in the world--why, you see we could always turn to Jocko, and make a good meal. I remember reading that monkeys were just prime." "Oh! you cannibal!" cried the horrified Josh. "Why, that poor little innocent looks just like a baby." "Yes," retorted Nick, "your mother showed me your picture when you were six months old, and there _is_ a close resemblance." Night came on, and there was no claimant, so Jocko ate supper with the boys. He was already making good friends, and seemed very well satisfied with his new lot. Perhaps he missed the cuffing and beating he was accustomed to; but he could do without that very well; and the eating must have appealed to him strongly. In the morning they left soon after breakfast. The day opened fair, and they knew there was a long trip before them if they hoped to cross the head of Lake Huron, and follow the winding channel of the St. Mary's river so as to reach Sault Ste. Marie by night. Fortunately the breeze, what little there was, chanced to be in the north for a change. This allowed them to keep close to the southern shore of the peninsula for some hours, following its contour and avoiding the pounding that heavy seas always brought in their train. Finally they entered the narrow strait between the mainland and big Drummond Island. Here the bustling port of Detour was passed. Nick hinted about going ashore and doing a little marketing; but Jack vetoed that proposition. "Plenty of time to do all that after we get to the Soo tonight," he observed; and Nick knew there was no appeal from his decision. "Is that Canada over yonder?" asked Josh, pointing to the island off their lee. "No, Drummond belongs to Michigan," Jack replied. "Further on though, we'll strike St. Joseph's Island, and that is a part of Canada. So we'll all step ashore just to say we've been outside the U. S. for once." "And that Mud Lake you were telling us about is somewhere along there, ain't it?" Herb asked. "We'll find it, I reckon," replied the commodore, drily. They did, and had reason to remember it too. Sometimes the waterway bearing the outlet of Lake Superior to the lower lakes was very wide and imposing. Then again it would narrow until Nick expressed his firm conviction that they had taken the wrong channel, and would be stopped, and have to return over their course. But Jack kept his charts before him as he led, and was positive he had made no mistake of that sort. Occasionally George would be unable to restrain his impetuous nature. At such times he would shoot ahead of the others, to make a little rush of perhaps a mile, and then slow up to await their coming, being always careful not to lose sight of his chums. But alas, George did this prank just once too often. He heard Jack say some time before that they were passing through Mud Lake, and must be careful; but thought this referred to getting lost in some side passage that looked promising. "Wait up at the head yonder; you're too slow for me!" he called out, as the _Wireless_ left the bunch, and cut through the water like an arrow shot from an archer's bow. "Lookout!" warned Jack; but George who was quite confident concerning his own ability to manage his affairs, just waved a hand back, and continued to speed for all his racing boat was worth. Jack was sitting there where he could manage the wheel and continue to study the chart spread in front of him, when he heard a wild whoop from Jimmie. "Look! look yander!" Jack was just in time to see poor Josh take a flying header into the water, when the speed boat came to an abrupt stop on a concealed mudbank. The sound of the tremendous splash floated back to the ears of the others, causing Nick to roll over, and make the boat quiver with his riotous laughter; for that Josh should be the victim of this ridiculous accident gave the fat boy exceeding great joy. CHAPTER IX IN TERRIBLE PERIL "Just what I expected!" exclaimed Jack, grimly. "What was it?" demanded Herb; for at the moment it happened that the _Tramp_, being in front, obstructed the vision of those in the larger boat. "Oh! tell me, was that really poor old clumsy Josh?" demanded Nick, poking his red face over the side of the _Comfort_. "I saw a pair of legs up in the air, and remembered some fellow down at Mackinac telling us what big frogs they found up here along the St. Mary's. The bass just love them, he said, and the bigger the frog the larger bass you get. That one would take in a whale, I guess, eh?" "It was Josh all right, for I can see George trying to get him with his boat hook right now," said Jack, hardly knowing whether to laugh, or feel provoked on account of the possible delay. "But why did Josh jump? Was he practicing stunts?" Nick went on innocently. "Well," replied the commodore, "I imagine George made him squat up in the extreme bow, to sing out if he saw a shallow place ahead. And evidently Josh was looking all around, for he failed to discover a mudbank that was just hidden under the surface of the water." "But George found it," asserted Herb. "Trust George for findin' annything at all, at all," grinned Jimmie. "Hope he didn't go to busting his old engine again. My! what a terrible time we did have with that cranky thing on the Mississippi," observed Nick; who had been on board the speed boat during that memorable cruise down to New Orleans, and hence passed through an experience he would never, never forget. "I hope not," echoed Jack. "Perhaps the worst is yet to come. Perhaps he ran on that old mudbank so hard, going at top speed as he was, that he won't find it an easy job to work off again." "That might delay us, be the powers, so we wouldn't be able to pull into the ould Soo short of tomorry, bad cess till hasty George!" remarked Jimmie. "Well," remarked Nick, with a contented sigh, "at the worst we've got Jocko, you remember, boys. Baked or stewed he'd make a meal for the crowd." Meanwhile they were rapidly drawing closer to the stuck _Wireless_. Apparently the skipper of the stranded craft had succeeded in dragging his crew out of the mire, for there was a dripping figure on the forward deck, scraping the mud away, and evidently more or less bubbling over with various remarks. Jack cautioned Herb to slow down as they drew near. "Bad enough to have one held fast," he said. "If the whole bunch got stuck, why, we'd have to take to the dinkies, and go ashore on Canada soil. How does your engine work, George? Nothing broken I hope?" "I don't think so," came the reply from George who looked somewhat humiliated, as does every sailor when held up on a mudbank. "Give it a try, and see. Reverse, and perhaps you'll glide off backwards, the same way you went on," Jack suggested. At any rate the engine worked apparently as well as ever; but though George put it at its "best licks," as he declared, there was not a sign of anything going. Josh tried to use the setting pole, and came very near taking another header. "Say, this mud goes right along down to China, I reckon; leastways there ain't any bottom to it!" he cried, as he recovered himself just in time. "We'll take your word for it, Josh," said Nick, sweetly; "because you know you've been over to see for yourself. But I wouldn't try it again. Next time perhaps you might stick your head in and smother. Then what would I do for any fun at all?" George kept trying every way he could think of, in the effort to work his boat off the bank of sticky mud. It was in vain. Apparently many unseen hands held it tight, as though unwilling to let the reckless skipper have another chance. When an hour had passed, with several false alarms, as George thought success was coming, he turned to Jack with a blank face, upon which disgust was plainly written. "You'll have to get me out of this, commodore," he said. "I own up that I don't seem able to budge her a bit. Even with Josh in the dinky, pulling like all get-out, and her engine rattling away at full speed astern, she won't move an inch. And already we've lost enough time to make it impossible to get to the Soo by night." George was apparently penitent, so Jack did not have the heart to rub it in at that time. Later on perhaps he might force the reckless one to promise about turning over a new leaf. "All right; we'll soon yank you out of that, George. I didn't want to propose anything until you had tried every scheme you could think of. Herb, throw George your painter, and let him make fast to the stern of the _Wireless_. Then I'll do the same by you. In that way we'll be able to get both boats working. If George starts his engine at the same time, she's just got to come off, or go to pieces. Get what I mean?" "Sure I do, and it's a good idea," replied the pilot of the _Comfort_, readily. Of course George was willing enough to accept any sort of assistance now. And he readily made the painter fast to a ringbolt at the stern of the speed boat. When all things were ready, Jack asked him to get his engine moving. "Now, start yours up slowly, Herb," Jack went on; "not too fast to begin with; but gradually increase until you're applying two-thirds of your power. Stop there, and if she refuses to budge, I'll come in. We'll get her yet. She's got to come, I tell you." And she did, after the _Tramp_ added her drawing facilities to those of the others. "Hurrah!" shrilled Josh, when the speed boat started to move backwards out of her muddy berth; he had almost plunged over again, and saved himself by a quick clutch at a cleat near by. "What next?" asked Herb, after they had become disentangled again, and were in a condition to proceed. "No use thinking of making the Soo today," remarked Jack. "Too dangerous along the upper reaches of this river to try it in the night. We can move along to the upper end of this island, and camp on Canadian land tonight, for a change." "That sounds good to me," observed Nick; but only suspicious looks were cast in his direction; for well they knew that the word "camp" with Buster was another way of spelling "eat." "How far would we be from the city at the rapids, then?" asked Herb, as they once more started. "Oh, we could make it in a few hours," Jack replied, "if all went well. Keep to the right of that smaller island. That belongs to Michigan. Some use the other channel; but we'll take this one. You see, St. Joseph's Island is all of fifteen miles long, and pretty wild in parts. Ought to be good hunting here in season." "Don't I wish it was in season, then," said Nick, smacking his lips. "Always have wanted to eat some venison from Canada right in camp. Say, fellows, if a silly old deer just went and committed suicide before our very eyes, by jumping over a precipice, wouldn't we have a right to get a haunch from his bally old carcase?" "Well," laughed Jack, "if a Canadian game warden found you in possession he'd take you in. So just forget all you've ever heard about juicy venison. It's dry and tough stuff at the best, and couldn't compare with that Mackinac steak you bought." Nick sighed. "And we have to wait till tomorrow noon before we are in touch with a market, do we? I don't ever see how we're going to pull through. Tell you what, somebody ought to try for fish here when we stop. Looks like bass might hang around waiting for a chance to jump into the pan. How about that, Jack?" "Just what I had made my mind to try," smiled the other, who liked nothing better than bringing his rod into play when there was a chance for game fish. After a while George announced that he could see what looked like the end of the big island ahead. "And here's a pretty decent place to pull in," declared Herb. As they had nothing to fear from storms or hoboes in such a retired nook, the boys, having secured their boats in proper fashion against the shore, where they could not rub or get into trouble, amused themselves as they saw fit. Jack, true to his promise, got out his fishing tackle, and proceeded to try all sorts of lures in the hope of tempting a bass to bite. Finally he took his little dinky, and began to troll, using a phantom minnow. Almost immediately he had a vicious strike, and after a struggle pulled up a fine fish. "Do it some more!" called out Herb, who was lying on the shore, watching him at the sport. Five minutes afterward Jack duplicated his feat, only this was even a larger fish than the first. So the time passed. Josh was busily engaged near the tents which he, Herb and George had erected; while Jimmie was doing something aboard the _Tramp_. "Where's Nick?" asked Herb, after a long time had elapsed. "I hope the silly fellow hasn't gone and lost himself now. A fine time we'd have hunting that fat elephant through all that bush." "He was here only a little while ago," remarked George, looking up. "Looky yander, an' ye'll see him!" exclaimed Jimmie; "over beyant that dead three. Sure, he do be sneakin' up on something or other, and thryin' till coax it till kim till him. I say the baste now. Oh! murdher! by all the powers, somebody call out till him to sthop it!" "Why, what's the matter with him?" asked Josh, coming to life at the prospect of perhaps seeing his rival for high honors in the farce line duplicate his ridiculous feat of taking a header into the mud and water. "Look at him, would ye, the crazy wan!" gasped Jimmie, "thryin' till coax a baste loike that!" "Is it Jocko?" queried Josh, unable to catch sight of the other just then. "The little monk ye mane?" replied Jimmie. "Och! that would be aisy now. It's tin times worse than that. Call till him, Herb; I'm that wake I can hardly spake above a whisper. 'Tis a terrible danger he be in, for the animal is a white and black skunk; and poor innocent Nick, I do belave he thinks it be a pretty pussycat!" CHAPTER X MAROONED "Leave it alone, you Buster!" "Get behind a tree, quick!" "Run, Buster, run for your life! It'll get you!" George, Herb and Josh sent these warning cries at the top of their voices. As to whether the object of their combined concern heard, there could be no reasonable doubt; for Nick immediately waved one of his fat hands disdainfully toward them. Evidently he imagined that his chums were envious of his great good luck in finding so splendid a chance to annex a beautifully striped real Canadian pussy cat. "Oh! murdher!" ejaculated Jimmie, "look at the rickless fellow, would ye? Sure, he manes to grab it, so he do!" "But he won't, all the same!" cried George, grimly. Since shouting and gesturing seemed to have no effect upon the imperiled youth, all the four boys could do was to stand there, holding their breath, and watching the dreadful developments. Nor was that the first time or the last that they found occasion to hold their breath. Nick by now believed that he had wheedled enough, and was within proper striking distance. They saw him make a sudden forward swoop, with extended arms, as if bent upon giving the intended victim no possible chance of escape. "Wow!" yelled George, as he saw Nick stop short, throw up his arms, and almost fall to the ground. One terrified look Buster gave the object of his recent admiration. Then turning, he ran as well as he could toward camp, gripping his nose with both hands. "Keep off!" "Don't you dare come near us, do you hear!" "Now you've gone and done it, Buster! That's what you get for wanting to bake poor little Jocko!" George, as if in desperation, jumped over and picked up his gun. "Stop where you are!" he cried. "We're willing to talk this thing over; but at a proper distance, do you hear, Buster?" Poor Nick was aghast. Almost overpowered by the terrible fumes as he was, it looked like adding insult to injury when his own chums turned against him, and refused to let him enter the camp. He did come to a halt some thirty feet away, and with one hand, clung to a sapling; while the other was trying to keep the powerful scent from smothering him. "What can I do, fellows?" he asked, pitifully. George was almost bursting with laughter, but pretended to look as stern as his father when serving in his capacity as judge of the court. "First promise that you won't attempt to enter the camp without permission!" he demanded. "I promise you, sure I do," groaned Nick swaying weakly alongside his support. "Jimmie," went on George, "you go and call Jack in, if he isn't on the way here already, after all this racket. We want everybody to have a hand in deciding Buster's fate." "Good gracious!" cried the wretched Nick, "what d'ye mean, George? Do I have to be shot, because I made a little mistake? I give you my word I really thought it was a Canada species of cat. And if we had to have a menagerie along with us, I was going to match her against your monkey. Oh! why didn't I think? I ought to have known better. It was awful, fellows; shocking I tell you!" "I agree with you, Buster," remarked George, putting his fingers up to his nose, "please go a little farther away. We can talk better then." Jimmie had hardly reached the shore before he started back. And Jack was seen following close behind. Evidently, then, the fisherman must have heard the loud outcries, and speeded his little boat for the landing, anxious to know what could have happened to Nick. He had no need to be told. One hardly required to be within sixty feet of poor Buster to understand the entire story. Jack did not laugh though doubtless later on the incident would afford him more or less merriment. It was a serious matter, as he well knew, and must affect every one in the party. "Jack," called out Nick, looking beseechingly at the commodore of the fleet, "take my part, won't you? They want to shoot me, or do something as bad, just because I didn't know the gun was loaded. Please take that thing away from George. He looks so fierce I'm afraid of him!" So Jack, to ease the mind of the fat boy, who was really shivering with anticipation of dire results springing from his blunder, did take George's gun from his unresisting hands, and laid it aside. "But Jack!" exclaimed Herb, "something's just got to be done. We can't bear to have him in camp with us, you know, after this. And think of me having to stand for that dreadful smell day after day. Wow! it would knock me out. I'd want to jump over in the deepest part of Lake Superior." "I don't see what can be done," said George, "except to maroon him here on this foreign island until we come back again. By that time perhaps it won't be so very bad. Herb can keep him in the dinky towing behind, and stand it." At that poor Nick set up a fresh howl. "Don't you dare think of doing that," he cried, shaking his fat fist at the author of the suggestion. "Why, I'd starve to death in no time; not to speak of being devoured by the wild beasts. Think up some other way, won't you, please, Jack? Don't listen to George. He's got it in for me because I gave him so much bother on that Mississippi cruise. I want you to fix it up, Jack. You'll know how." Jack still looked very grave. "Well, you understand that in a case of this kind only desperate remedies will do, Buster?" he began. "Yes, yes, I know;" whimpered the other, "and I'm willing to do anything you say, Jack; but don't leave me here over in a Canadian wilderness. It ain't human, that's what!" "All right," Jack proceeded, solemnly, "if you give me your solemn promise to obey. First of all you must strip off every bit of clothes you have on." Nick began at once, and with eagerness. "Will it wash out, then? Oh! I can rub like a good fellow, I promise you; only give me a chance!" he exclaimed. "All the washing in the world wouldn't take that scent out," George declared. "There's only one way, and that is to bury the clothes!" said Jack. "What?" gasped the astonished Nick; "and me go naked? Good gracious! Jack, I just can't do that! Make it easier for me, won't you? Why, I'd get my death of cold. Besides, what would I do when we got to the Soo? Please tell me something else." At that the boys could hold in no longer, and a shout told that they were beginning to see the comical side. But Jack waved his hands. "Be still!" he said, sternly. "This is no laughing matter. Never fear Buster, but you'll be able to rake up enough clothes to last till we get to the Soo, where you can buy a new outfit. Off with every stitch, now. Then you must dig a hole and bury them; or else carry the lot deep into the bush here, as you choose." "Is that all?" asked Nick, tremulously, as he hastily tore the last remnant of his garments from his stout person. "Not quite," replied Jack. "Get rid of the stuff next. Then come back to where you are now. I'll be waiting for you with a pair of short scissors I happen to have along with me; for you see I've just got to cut all your hair off!" "Oh! what a guy I'll be, Jack," moaned poor Nick. "I'll sure never hear the last of this thing." "Think of us!" said George, sternly, "how we must remember it for days and days. You're getting off dirt cheap, Buster, let me tell you. I've heard of fellows who had to live like hermits in the woods for weeks." "Now get busy," observed Jack. "The boys will be rooting out your bag, and I'll fetch what clothes we can gather to you. We must do all we can to smother this perfumery factory." "Yes, be off wid ye!" said Jimmie, bent on having a hand in the game. Nick stared mournfully at the clothes on the ground. Then he slowly gathered them up in his arms. They noticed that as he walked away he looked around with exceeding care at every step he took, as though not for worlds would he want to renew his acquaintance with that pretty striped Canadian pussy cat. Jack was as good as his word. When George and Herb had collected an outfit calculated to serve poor Nick until they reached a land of plenty, and clothing establishments, he carried the lot to the place appointed. Here came Nick presently with a most dejected air; and groaning in spirit the fat boy allowed the other to shear off all his abundant locks. He certainly did look like a guy when the job was completed, for Jack made no pretentions towards being a barber, and there were places that had the appearance of being "chopped with an axe," as George privately declared later, when viewing the work of the commodore. After that they made Nick take a long bath. Indeed he thought he would never get out of the water, and his teeth were chattering before the embargo was finally raised. Fortunately that wonderful red sweater which had attracted the bull toward the wearer not so very long since, had been safe aboard at the time of his recent mishap, so that Nick could depend on its warmth. He was grateful for small favors just then; and quite subdued for a whole day; though nothing could keep a buoyant nature like his in subjection long. Of course he would never hear the last of the joke, and must stand for all manner of scoffing remarks, as well as uplifted noses when he came around. But Nick would live it down in time. And no doubt, when the account of the cruise was read over during the next winter, Nick would join in the general laugh when he discovered that Jack had called this temporary stopping place on Canadian soil "Kitty Kamp." It was night before Nick was allowed to come into camp; and even then they made him do penance by sitting off in a corner by himself, "just like I was a leper," as he declared, though bound to submit to the indignity. But "it's an ill wind that blows nobody good," and at least Nick escaped guard duty that night, for nobody wanted to sit up with him. George declared that the very first thing he meant to purchase when he arrived at the city at the rapids was a bottle of violet water, with which he could saturate himself for a season. But by morning the terrible effect had in part died away; though possibly familiarity bringing about contempt may have had considerable to do with their noticing the disagreeable scent less. Of course all of them were glad to get away from that camp. To Nick in particular its memory would always evoke a shiver. When brought to book in connection with the adventure he always declared that it was what a fellow got for wanting to invade foreign countries, and meddle with unfamiliar animals belonging there. But Jack and the others felt sure that Buster from that day forth would know the great American skunk a mile off, and shy at a closer acquaintance. They got away at a reasonable time, and continued their northern progress through the crooked St. Mary's River. On the way they saw numerous nooks that aroused the sportsman spirit in Jack; for he just knew the gamy bass lurked in those inviting waters, awaiting the coming of the fisherman. But there was no time to spend just then in seeking sport. At about eleven o'clock they passed the smaller rapids, a most picturesque spot, where the water rushed boiling through many channels, and innumerable lurking places for the spotted trout seemed to invite a stay. But the Soo was now close at hand, and all of them were eager to look upon the famous big rapids, unexcelled for beauty and grandeur in all the land. When the three motor boats presently reached a point where the little city on the left hand shore as well as the foamy rapids, and the railroad bridge stretching from Canada to the Michigan bank, came into view, the boys involuntarily waved their hats, and sent forth a cheer. CHAPTER XI DOWN THE SOO RAPIDS "Alabama! here we rest!" cried George, as they kept booming along up the strong current of the river, until a spot was reached just below the foot of the rapids. Not many steamers stop at the Soo, save those which run in connection with the tourist travel, between Mackinac and the rapids city. But there is a constant procession of steamers, and whaleback grain barges going in both directions, day and night, all during some seven months of the year. The tonnage of the government canal through which these boats pass around the rapids far exceeds that of the Suez Canal for the entire twelve months. After finding a responsible party in whose charge the three brave little boats could be left, the cruisers proceeded to take in the sights. Of course the rapids came first, and they viewed these from every angle. Jack was also deeply interested in the government fish hatchery on the little island; and watched with an envious eye the various pools in which scores of enormous speckled trout, weighing upward of seven pounds, were kept. "Wait till we get to the Agawa," he said, shaking his head with determination. "I want to find out how some of those whoppers feel at the end of a line." Nick had made for a clothing emporium, where he fitted himself out in some new clothes. Of course he did not explain just why this was necessary; but judging from the suspicious looks cast upon him every time he came near the clerk, the latter could give a shrewd guess concerning the truth. Jack was still watching some of those giant trout jump out of the water in the pool when he dangled a long blade of blue grass so as to make the feathery end touch the surface like a fly, when George joined him; for they had settled upon the hatchery as a sort of rendezvous where they could come together, so as to take the thrilling ride down the rapids in a big Indian canoe. "All off, Jack!" said George, trying to look sober; though there was a merry twinkle in his black eyes that belied the solemn cast of his face. "What do you mean?" asked the other. "Anything more happened to that fellow Buster? Or perhaps it's Josh who's bent on halting our expedition now, with some caper. Go on, tell me." "Oh! you're away off," grinned George. "I only meant to inform you that they're gone on ahead of us." "I suppose you mean the _Mermaid_," Jack remarked. "That's right," George responded, promptly. "Left here this very morning for a cruise through the Big Lake. Went through the canal about breakfast time. Seems as if we're just bound to keep tagging at their heels, don't it, Jack? I suppose we'll hear a howl from Buster now, because he is cheated out of seeing that fat Miss Sallie again." "Buster has enough to think of in other directions, I suspect," smiled Jack. "Well, I should guess so," added the other. "Imagine, if you please, Nick trying to call on any young lady at present. She'd be apt to have a swooning spell. For a time Buster will have to cut out all thoughts of girls' society. He can thank his lucky stars that his chums allow him to hang around." "Have you had any lunch?" asked Jack. "I think there's the rest of the bunch coming along the stone walk by the canal, right now. Perhaps we'd better postpone our little ride down the rapids until we get a bite. Buster will be starved." "There he is dogging the footsteps of the rest," remarked Jack. "Herb is being cruel to the poor old chap. He won't let him join them. I guess he's suffered about enough by now, and we'll have to let up on it." "Sure we will," agreed impulsive George. "Anyhow, we wouldn't have the nerve to make Buster take a canoe by himself, and shoot the rapids. Let's start out and join them. Perhaps Buster had discovered a good feed place, in his wanderings about the town." "Ten to one he's noticed a dozen; and perhaps had a few bites before now," and Jack led the way across the little bridge connecting the island where the hatchery was situated, with the main shore. Nick gladly admitted that he had marked a promising restaurant during his foraging expedition in search of the suit of clothes, which he had taken to the boat and donned. "It ain't a tony place, fellows," he argued; "but considering the circumstances, er--I thought we wouldn't care for style." "Why, no, not just at present, Buster;" George said. "You've got a level head for once. We're going to forgive you now, and restore you to good standing, on condition that you never, never again try to stock the camp with a menagerie of strange animals." Nick promptly held up his right hand. "I give you my word, boys, and thank you. Please overlook any slight association between myself and our recent invasion of Canada. And now come along. I tell you I feel as if I could clean out all the restaurants in the Soo. I only took a light breakfast you know, because of low spirits." Josh held up both hands in despair, though he said not a word. There are times when silence is much more suggestive than any flow of language; and every one understood. An hour or so later, before half-past two, they were on the little beach, talking with a couple of wiry-looking men, who claimed to be sons of the famous old guide of the rapids, John Boucher, who died a few years ago, after having carried thousands and thousands of summer tourists in his canoe through those swirling rapids, without ever a disaster. Then the entire bunch of six boys took their places in the big and staunch canoe, with a wielder of the paddle at either end. Jack happened to occupy a position near the man in the stern, whose post is always the more important, since he guides the destinies of the swiftly running craft, while the one in the bow fends off from impending rocks. Jack had taken this position more to observe how the experience affected his chums than for any other reason. He certainly never once dreamed that there might be a Providence in such a small thing as his choice of position. Then began the first stage of the run, with the two Indians pushing the laden craft upstream by means of stout poles. They kept close to the shore, finding a way around the numerous rocks, and other obstacles, where the water boiled madly; and by slow degrees approached the railway bridge, under which the start is generally made. "Ain't this simply glorious?" demanded Herb, as they found themselves surrounded by the churning waters, and gradually leaving the shore farther away. "Wait!" said George, "if you think this is fine, what will you have to say when we get to running the rapids in fact? I've been through some smaller than these, and can guess how it feels." "My! I'd like to keep doing it all day!" remarked Nick, feeling something like himself again, since he had been restored to favor once more. "Well, at the rate of fifty per, your bank account would soon collapse. Besides, they say that the excitement is bad on fat people, so that they lose weight right along," George observed. "You're joshing me, I know, George," declared the other. "If I believed you, I'd be tempted to stay over here while you fellows went on, and keep going all day, so I could cut off, say about thirty pounds or so. No, I wouldn't either; I forgot!" "Yes, I should think you did forget Sallie," jeered Herb. "If you got out of her class she'd never forgive you, Buster. Besides, perhaps she wouldn't even _see_ you if you wasted away to a shadow. Better leave well enough alone, and enjoy the good things of life." "Here we go now; they're heading straight out on to the river!" cried Josh, as he nervously clutched the side of the big canoe near him; for they were seated two and two, with Jack just behind and George in front, as the boat narrowed. The Indian guides were indeed pushing strenuously now, and when the water deepened both of them dropped their poles in the bottom of the canoe, to seize upon stout paddles and wield them furiously. It was intended to reach a certain point in the river before turning the prow of the craft down toward the head of the rapids. Long familiarity, every day in the week during the season, and many times a day, had made every rock and swirl known to these men. But although they knew the main channel like a book, seldom did any crew dare venture as close to the terrible jaws of the whirlpool as the veteran guide of the rapids, Old John Boucher, had always made it a practice of taking his parties. Jack had looked several times at the man in the stern. Somehow, he did not wholly like his appearance. There was something about him to signify that he must have recently arisen from a sick bed. Perhaps, tempted by an influx of tourists, and the demand for experienced guides to take them through the rapids, he had come back to work a bit too soon! "He doesn't seem as strong as the others," Jack was thinking, even as he turned his head from time to time as if to see what lay behind, while they were pushing up the sturdy current. "I can hear him pant as if short of breath. Goodness! I hope now nothing is going to happen to him while we're spinning along down through these old rapids. They say that whirlpool would swallow up anything; and that Old John was the only man whoever went into it, and came out alive. Whew!" But Jack did not whisper these fears to his comrades. It was too late to change steersman now; and why spoil all their pleasure? After all, no doubt there was not so much strength needed once they began to move swiftly along with the current, going half a mile in a couple of minutes, they had been told, though Jack doubted the accuracy of that statement at first. Apparently the guides had overshot the mark at which they aimed; for as the canoe was turned, in the shadow of the bridge, Jack saw that the man in the bow glanced apprehensively over his shoulder while he knelt there, and immediately began to paddle furiously, as though trying to bring the boat back a little toward the American shore. Had they gone too far, and were they speeding down in the track taken by the one daring prince of guides--a course that would actually skirt the verge of that whirlpool, of which such terrible things were said? Jack shut his teeth hard at the thought. Then he gave himself up to the keen enjoyment of that glorious ride, when the canoe was seized upon as by invisible hands, and borne along at lightning speed. Looking at the water alongside, foam-specked as it was, one could not believe the boat was moving at all, because both kept company. But all that was needed was for the voyager to raise his eyes, and send a look toward the shore, when he must realize the tremendous rapidity with which his frail craft was being carried along. Things just seemed to fairly flit past, as though they were aboard a fast railway train. The boys were evidently enjoying the novel experience to the full, for their heads were constantly turning from side to side, and all seemed to be talking at once. Jack was nervously looking ahead and on the left, for he knew they must now be approaching the whirlpool, where the eddying waters went furiously round and round and the center seemed to be a deep hole, like the dent a gigantic top would make in the mud. Yes, there it was beyond, and they were speeding down at a pace that made one dizzy to notice it. He could feel that both Indian guides were paddling desperately _away from the left_, as though fearing that they were too close to the verge of that death chasm! What if a paddle chanced to break right then and there? They carried spare ones fortunately--Jack had noted that; but all the same he hoped nothing of the sort would come about. Hardly had this chilly idea flashed into Jack's mind than he heard what seemed to be a groan close to his ear. At the same time he felt the boat quiver in a suspicious manner. Turning instantly the boy was horrified to see that the Indian guide in the rear had crumpled in his place, with his head fallen forward, and seemed to be gasping for breath. He had collapsed just at the most dreadful moment, when the canoe was swooping down close to the edge of the whirlpool! CHAPTER XII WINNING AN INDIAN'S ADMIRATION Fortunately for all of them, Jack Stormways was not given to fear. In emergencies he acted from intuition, rather than through thinking things out, no matter however speedily. There may come times when a second counts for everything. Jack believed such an occasion was now upon them; and he acted instantly. The man in falling forward had pushed his paddle alongside Jack. It was as plain an invitation to fill his place as could have been given. Making one swoop the boy snatched up the stout blade, and instantly dipped it over the port side. Desperately he exerted his strength to steer the canoe away from the fatal eddies that sought to draw them still further into the vortex. The Indian in the bow may have suspected something of what had occurred; but he dared not turn his head now, or take his attention away from the rocks ahead for even one lone second. As for the five boys, they were all staring at the near-by whirlpool as though actually fascinated by its terrors; and not suspecting how close they were to plunging straight into its grip. With every atom of his strength did Jack work, dipping as deeply as he could, and striving against the giant power of the mill race on which they were speeding. The edge of the circling current was horribly close; in fact they seemed to skirt its very border, closer perhaps than even the veteran guide ever carried his cargoes of tourists, when in his prime. Jack fairly held his breath as the crisis came. He did not know, could not tell whether they would win out or not. It was an experience that would doubtless continue to haunt the lad for a long time. Perhaps he would awaken in the night with a start and a low cry, having dreamed that once again he sat in the canoe with the dark skinned steersman fallen in a faint, and the hungry maw of the whirlpool yawning so very close on their left that one could have tossed a chip directly into it. "Wow! wasn't that a close shave though, boys?" shouted George, half turning his head to look at his mates; and then following his words with another cry: "Look at Jack, would you? Great governor! what happened?" And as the others twisted around to look, they were amazed to discover that Jack was wielding that paddle like a veteran, his face as white as chalk, and his eyes staring; but his teeth firmly pressed together, with a look of grim determination on his young face. Not a word was spoken until they had passed the last bristling rock, and spun out below where the foamy water took on a less violent aspect. Then Bedlam broke loose. "Sit still, all of you!" cried Jack, as he saw a movement on the part of his chums to get up; "you'll upset the canoe yet, if you try that. Wait till we reach the shore, and you'll know about it. The man has fainted, that's all; and I had to take his place." "But he was all right when we started, for I looked around and saw him," declared Herb. "That's true," Jack answered. "He keeled over just before we got to the whirlpool, and as he dropped his paddle right beside me, all I had to do was to dip it in, and exert myself a little." "A little!" echoed George, with thrilling emphasis, "look at the beads of sweat on his forehead, fellows! Jack, honest now, you must have saved all our lives. Ugh! just to think, if the boat had swerved then, where would we be right now?" They looked at each other, and turned paler than when passing through the yeasty waters of the rapids. But Jack tried to make light of it all. "Oh! shucks!" he laughed, though his voice trembled a bit in spite of his wonderful nerve; "any of you would have done the same thing. Why, there was nothing else to do, to tell the truth." "Me?" exclaimed Nick; "I'd sure have been so frozen with horror that all I could do would have been to grab hold of the boat, and shut my eyes. Kept 'em shut part of the time, anyhow. Felt like I had an awful temptation to just jump out of the boat, and into that nice water that was singing and gurgling along beside us." "I guess you'd better never try the rapids any more then, Buster," said George, "if that's the way it affected you. I remember now hearing you say you never was able to walk on the ties of a railroad bridge, or look over a precipice, because something made you dizzy." They reached the shore near the small house where Old John Boucher and his family, one of the sons said to be a preacher, lived in the days gone by. When the boys climbed out of the canoe, the Indian stepped in to help his comrade, who had by then come out of his swoon, and was able to feebly walk. To the surprise of Jack the Indian who had been in the bow stopped to hold out his hard-skinned hand, and squeeze that of the boy. "You Jack all right! Think it all over with everybody when Jim he fall. But you do right, think. Bully!" was what he said. "Hurray!" shouted Nick, waving his new hat wildly. "Three cheers and a tiger for our commodore!" exclaimed George; and they were given with a vim that caused many on the stone walk along the canal embankment to look down in wonder toward the little group. Nor would the guide accept any pay for the trip. They could not force it on him. "You ride with me all time, and not cent pay, Jack!" he declared, his black eyes sparkling with sincere admiration as he looked in the face of the white boy. Of course the voyagers had lots to talk about while they continued their exploration of the city on the great canal. They even climbed the hill near where the government barracks stood during the Spanish-American war, and obtained a fine view of the entire neighborhood. Yet nothing attracted their attention as did the ever rushing rapids, where the waters of the greatest inland sea in the world emptied into the river that was to bear them through the other lakes in the chain, and by way of the St. Lawrence River, to the far-distant sea. The thrilling adventure had apparently sobered the boys too, for there was much less horse play than usual, nor were jokes in order for the balance of that day. Having some time to spare they took the ferryboat, and crossed to the Canadian side of the river below the rapids. Here they viewed the other canal, through which considerable commerce also passes, principally Canadian. They also took advantage of their "visit abroad," as George called it, to inspect the big pulp mills, where spruce logs were ground up, and made into sheets that would later on become paper. The latter end of the day was put in securing provisions calculated to last for a week or more, since they could not tell when another chance to procure supplies might come their way, once they embarked upon the bosom of Lake Superior. Nick was once more in his element. He suggested all sorts of things that he had read about in his cook book. Had they sent him forth, with plenty of money and unlimited assurance, the chances were, as George declared, the expedition would have had to hire another boat, just to transport the stuff that fellow would have flooded them with. "I bet he'd buy out a whole grocery store, given half a chance," said Josh. "Why, we've got all the stuff right now we can stow away comfortably," declared Herb, scratching his head as he contemplated the numerous packages, and then looking toward his boat near by. "Do as we suggested before, Herb," said Josh. "What was that?" demanded Nick, suspiciously. "Make Buster take up his quarters in the dinky. It'll be a ride that might take the shine off even that dash down the rapids." "Not any," asserted the fat boy strenuously. "I'm too heavy for such monkey shines. Josh likes the water better than I do. You all saw how he can dive so gracefully just as if he had taken lessons from a granddaddy frog. If anybody has to be quartered in a dinky to make room, he's the chap, all right." But after a while the last package was put away, and places found for all. George drew Jack aside as the others were arranging things aboard the various boats. "I've been making a few inquiries as to whether another small motor boat went through here," he remarked. "Oh! yes, I'd come near forgetting Clarence," laughed Jack. "And I suppose he took the canal several days ago. He must have gained on us while we were losing time, stuck in the mud, stormbound and such things." "Well, he didn't go through here, anyhow," replied George. "And the chances are ten to one he'd never think of using the Canadian locks." "But he had a good start of us," remarked his chum. "Well, do you think the _Wireless_ is bound to monopolize _all_ the mud in the St. Mary's river?" exclaimed George, indignantly. "I guess Clarence has stuck somewhere on the way up; and as he didn't have any bully chums to pull him off he's there yet!" "We didn't see anything of him," mused Jack; "but then, there were lots of times when we had a choice of channels. Even the big boats take one of two that are buoyed and targeted. Yes, Clarence might have chosen one we let alone. But of course, if he hasn't passed through the canal, he must still be below." "I'm sorry," George remarked, gloomily. "I suppose so, because you're only thinking of that grand race you expected to pull off with your old rival, sooner or later. But the less I see of Clarence the better I'm pleased." "Do we go ashore to a restaurant tonight, Jack?" continued the other. "Let the others decide," Jack replied. "As for me, I think it would be the best thing to do. Josh is being overworked, as it is, and needs a little rest. Besides, Buster will be tickled, because that would leave more grub in the bunch for the future." Little Jocko, the monkey, had made himself quite at home with the boys. They took turns having him aboard, and he furnished considerable fun for the crowd with his antics. As yet he had not become quite reconciled to Nick, and always showed his white teeth whenever the fat boy came around. But by treating him to choice bits of food Buster was winning the little chap over by degrees. The balance were of the same mind as Jack when the proposition was put up to them. And accordingly they went to dinner in two detachments, Nick being with the first, and serving as a connecting link between both; for he was still there when Jack, Jimmie and George arrived at the eatinghouse; and sat them out in the bargain. Still, the second squad had enough, and could not complain that Nick had made a famine in that particular restaurant; which Josh had hinted was possible, when telling them how the fat boy had refused to leave when they did. It was an entirely different night they spent there at the Soo, from most of the quiet ones of the trip. Much noise continued throughout the livelong night; for the lock is lighted by electricity, and vessels can keep passing up and down the nineteen feet rise and fall at any and all hours. Frequently during the night the hoarse whistle of some big steamer, or a tug towing whaleback barges, would sound close at hand, awakening those who were not accustomed to this bustling nature of things. In the morning all of them declared that they had passed an uneasy night; and professed to be delighted because it would not be repeated. "Tonight we hope to be in camp somewhere along the quiet shore of the Big Lake," said George, yawning and stretching. "Yes," added Jack, with kindling eyes, "where those whoppers of speckled beauties are to be found, if looked for." "Yum! yum! speed the hour!" mumbled Nick; and of course no one needed to be told that already his thoughts were turning to the glowing camp fire, and the tempting odors that would arise when the coffee pot was on, and the pink trout sputtering in the several fryingpans. And shortly afterward, breakfast having been eaten at the same restaurant, which had evidently laid in a new lot of supplies since their last raid, they entered the big lock, to have the boats elevated to the upper level. CHAPTER XIII THE GREAT INLAND SEA It was just ten o'clock when the trio of little motor boats started out of the canal, and headed for the open lake far beyond. Long afterward they could look back, and see the stone electricity building between the two locks of the canal; and in imagination the picture as viewed from its top would haunt them, with the churning rapids occupying the center of the scene. Leaving the canal at its juncture with the river, they were soon in the neck of the lake. Far as the eye could reach, and many times farther, stretched the sparkling water, as clear as crystal; and cold enough to satisfy any one, even on as hot a day as this August one promised to be. At noon they found a good chance to go ashore. Nick of course was solemnly warned that this was sacred Canadian soil, and that on no account was he to try and purloin any strangely marked animals he might discover prowling around. "You know they have some queer beasts in these foreign lands, Buster," George remarked, shaking a finger before the other's stubby nose. "And make up your mind right now that you're going to let 'em all severely alone. Some time you can join an expedition sent out to Africa, to scoop up all sorts of freak cats and sich; but while you're with us we'd rather you restrained that curiosity of yours. It's going to get you in trouble, some fine day, Buster, you hear me?" "That'll do for you, George. Just wait, and see if I don't have a chance to get back on you yet," replied the other, complacently. "But would you look at Josh, what he's bringing ashore now? Fish, as sure as you live. Bully for Josh! White fish, too, the best that grow in these waters, barring none. Tell us, where did you catch 'em, Josh?" "With a silver hook, and from one of the Indian guides," replied the cook. "He netted 'em in the rapids, I guess. Heard that earlier in the season they get tons and tons of fish that way; two men in a boat, one in the bow to use the net, and the other to hold the canoe against the current with a pole. Bet you they'll eat fine, too." "I'll help you clean 'em, Josh," volunteered Nick. "All right, then; get busy, Buster. Anyhow, you know a good thing when you see it," returned the cook, only too willing to hand over the disagreeable task. "Well," remarked George, as he and Jack lay there in the shade, waiting for the lunch call; "We're well on our way to the Agawa river region. Think we'll make it today, commodore?" "I'm afraid not," replied Jack. "In the first place it looks dubious over yonder, as though we might get one of these famous Lake Superior storms you read about. If that drops in on us, we wouldn't like to be caught out on the open, you know, George." "Well, excuse me, if you please," returned the other, with a shrug of his shoulders that spoke louder than his words. "Storms and my speed boat don't seem to agree very well. When one comes hustling along I prefer to be behind some sort of shelter, where I can laugh at the wind and the waves. But you spoke as if there might be still another reason for our not getting to the river tonight?" "There is," Jack answered. "This time you may have the laugh on Herb." "Say, you don't mean to tell me that the staunch old engine in the _Comfort_ has been up to any antics?" exclaimed George; not without a touch of exultation in his voice; for Herb had jeered at him so many times, on account of his troubles, it was only natural that he should feel a little gratification to know there were others. "Yes, it developed after we left the Soo," Jack went on. "Just like these mean things always do, you know. He's been limping along for the last half hour. Of course there's no telling how serious it may be. Let's hope we can fix it in short order. Some of us had better get at it right after lunch." "If anybody can put it in apple pie order I guess you can, Jack," George said; "and if you need any help call on me, because you know Herb isn't much of a mechanic." "That's kind of you, George," said Herb, who happened to be coming over to where the two were talking at the time. "That's the best thing about the motor boat boys; they like to josh each other, and get lots of fun out of things; but when it comes right down to trouble there isn't one of them who wouldn't do everything in his power to help a chum." The call to eat caused them to make haste to gather around. In fact, there was always an involuntary sort of race to the mess table when the meals were eaten on shore, so that all partook. On this very day Josh noticed this fact particularly and made mention of it. "Say, do you know you fellows are that prompt you just seem to jump into your places?" he said. "I start to pound a fryingpan with my big spoon, and before I get in five licks all of you are in a ring waiting for grub." "Huh!" grunted George, "nothing funny about that. We have to!" Nick of course took that as a reflection on him, and bridled up at once. "That's unkind of you, George," he protested. "I was never known to take any fellow's share. An equal division is my rule always. And if some one chooses to decline a portion of his prog; and my appetite is not satisfied, what harm in commandeering the remains?" "Oh! you're all right, Pudding; George is only tapping you as he does us all, when he gets the chance," Herb said. "Well, I take my punishment decently, when my turn comes, don't I?" demanded George, as he received a generous portion of a delicious white fish, which had been rolled in egg, and cracker crumbs, and then cooked and browned in the grease from some salt pork placed in hot pans until it fried out. "Sure you do;" Jack laughingly remarked. "And now forget all your troubles, fellows, and get down to work. Look out for bones. I've eaten white fish plenty of times, and they say they're never so good unless cooked right where they're caught." "I believe it too," Josh continued. "Just like the pompano an uncle of mine used to tell us he caught down in Florida--used to jump in the boat, he said; and as they're a delicate, white-flesh fish like this, putting them on ice a week or so takes the flavor out. It also makes them crumble up when cooked." "How is it, Buster?" Herb asked; but Nick only rolled his eyes, and kept on munching as though the fate of nations depended on his ability to clear off his tin platter within a given time. When Nick was eating he wasted mighty little breath in talking, leaving all of that for more convenient times. Besides, he had a perfect horror of some time getting a fish bone in his throat. "Wouldn't matter much with a lanky fellow like Josh, you see," he once said, in commenting on this fear; "because anybody could stick his fist down, and yank the fish-bone out; but my neck is so fat I'd choke to death long before you could say Jack Robinson. So don't bother me when I'm eating fish, please." Afterwards Jack and George took a look at the engine of the _Comfort_. After doing a little tinkering they announced that it would probably run fairly well during the afternoon; but before starting on another day's trip more would have to be done to it. This was not very comforting to Herb; but he made the best of a bad bargain; and with light hearts the motor boys again started forth. Jack kept an anxious eye on the southwestern sky. He did not altogether like the looks of things in that particular quarter, and was resolved that if they discovered a promising campsite in the afternoon, they could not afford to pass it by, if it afforded an offing for the boats. That tremendous sea, stretching for several hundred miles away to the west, opened appalling possibilities in the way of a gale. The staunchest steamers that ever plied the fresh water seas would sometimes be as putty in the grasp of a summer storm; and what of the three puny mosquito craft that were as chips on the water? At three o'clock Herb announced that his engine was getting worse instead of better. And about the same time a welcome hail from George, who was moving along in the van as usual, told that he had by the aid of his glasses sighted a shelter. "Then it's us to go ashore," declared Jack; nor was any one sorry in their hearts; since a little while before a distant sound like thunder had been borne to their ears from the low-down patch of hovering clouds. The retreat promised to be all the shelter they wanted, though it would hardly have answered for larger boats. Immediately all became as busy as beavers, the two tents being raised, and stoutly secured, so that any ordinary gale could not carry the canvas off like a balloon. Jack had hardly finished his share of the work before he got out his rod, and busied himself in trying for trout; for he fancied that they were to be found in the clear waters near by this cove, where a limpid little stream emptied into the Great Lake. Nick, they all noticed, stuck close to camp. It would have to be something very attractive that could induce _him_ to wander far from his fireside, especially when the camp was pitched on Canadian soil, where they grew such queer kitties. This time it was Jimmie who seemed destined to get into a peck of trouble. Jack always declared that there seemed to be an evil spirit forever hovering around their camp, looking for chances to accomplish his work; and let there appear the least kind of an opening, and he was ready to jump in. Jimmie was not much of a hunter or fisherman, though able to do either on occasion. But he did have a little fancy for wild flowers, and liked to pry around on occasion, seeing what he could discover. Now, at this late day in the season, he knew he was not apt to run across any of these pretty gems of the woods; but there seemed to be some sort of fascination about poking here and there examining a bunch of magnificent moss of a pattern he had never set eyes on before, measuring some giant ferns, and watching the antics of a family of squirrels. These had their home in an old hollow tree close by, and seemed filled with mild curiosity concerning the intruders on two legs that had taken up quarters so boldly adjoining the cove. Herb and George were busily engaged with the balky engine, trying to find out just what ailed the thing, so that it could be remedied once and for all. In the end they felt positive that the blame could be located and effectually cured. At least it was to be hoped so; otherwise the _Tramp_ would have to tow the larger boat back to the Soo, where the trouble could be abated at the hands of a machinist. Josh, according to his custom, was pottering around the camp, making a better fireplace out of stones, at which he could carry out his part of the business with more comfort and dispatch. If they had been going to remain any length of time here, Josh would have constructed a "cooker" worth looking at; for he was an artist in this particular line. Nick was apparently quite content to lie around, "getting up an appetite for the next meal," as Josh sarcastically remarked. "Just as if that were at all necessary," was what the fat boy hurled back at him; and the argument was so clinching that Josh subsided on the spot; for no one had ever seen the time when Buster's appetite needed to be coaxed. Nick's eyes finally alighted on the repeating gun which Jack had leaned against a tree at a point where it would be out of harm's way. Now, Nick himself had seldom fired a gun, though ambitious to become a sportsman; because, as he wisely observed, "if I happened to be left in the woods some time, think I want to starve to death, with a gun in my hands, and plenty of fat game all around me? Not much!" And in that spirit he had picked up the Marlin; bringing it to his shoulder in a clumsy way, time after time, in order to get accustomed to the movement. "Keep the muzzle turned the other way, Buster!" commanded Josh, noticing that he was working the pump action of the six-shot weapon, as if he liked to see the ejector send the shell flying out at one side. "Guess I know enough for that Josh," grumbled Nick, but at the same time moving still farther around, so that the cook might lose his fears; for when a meal was being prepared the fat boy always handled Josh with gloves, as he frankly admitted. It was just as he was sitting thus that a sudden scream rang through the neighboring woods, sounding so shrill and angry that every one started as though a bolt of lightning had fallen from the clear blue vault overhead right into their midst, and exploded there! CHAPTER XIV NICK WIPES OUT HIS DISGRACE Everybody in the camp jumped up. All eyes were turned toward the point from which this racket sprang; and it was a strange sight that immediately met their astonished eyes. Jimmie was jumping about as though he had accidentally stepped into a bee's nest, and was now engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the entire swarm. Nick happened to be in a position where he could see better than any of his companions. And he immediately discovered that the troubles of the Irish lad were not at all imaginary. Something was leaping back and forth, now threatening to land on the shoulders of Jimmie, and then springing to the low limb of a tree, or it might be the ground. Nick had never before set eyes on such a strange creature, yet he realized that it was a wild animal. His late unpleasant experience was of course still fresh in his mind; and his first suspicion may have been that this was another specimen of a Canadian pussy cat. Whatever it was, Jimmie seemed to be having the time of his life fighting. True to his inherited instincts, the Irish lad had snatched up some sort of stick, to serve him as a shillalah. It was a stout bit of wood too, and he wielded it in a manner that proved him to be a "broth of a boy." Several times it landed with a resounding whack upon the flying body of his antagonist, and at each connection the unknown beast was hurled heavily backward. But evidently the furious animal was grim and determined. Instead of being cowed by these temporary setbacks it only resumed the attack with added zeal; so that Jimmie had often to throw up his left arm in addition, to fend off his foe. Now, Nick chanced to remember that at the very moment he was holding a gun in his hands. With one of his chums in grave peril it seemed to devolve upon him to engineer a rescue party. "Come on, boys! Jimmie needs help!" he shouted, starting to run forward as well as his bulk admitted. "Careful of that gun, Buster!" called Herb. "Yes, don't shoot Jimmie instead!" added Josh. "Hold your fire till you can get 'em separated!" supplemented George; who being a little farther away at the time, managed to bring up the rear. In this way then the quartette started to the assistance of Jimmie, who was still whanging away with might and main. What with the loud shouts of the aroused Irish lad, the whoops of the runners, and the angry snarling of the enraged beast, one would think a menagerie must have broken loose in the neighborhood. Just then George happened to get a good look at the beast as it jumped up on the limb, and whirling, crouched to make another leap. "It's a wildcat!" he shouted as loud as he could. "Be careful, Nick! Don't you try to grab it now, on your life!" Nick heard, but was too busy to think of replying. The cat had sprung again at the pugnacious Irish boy, to be met with another smart thump that landed with a loud thud, and sent the beast sprawling to the ground. "Ye would, hey?" howled Jimmie in derision, though the blood was streaked upon his face, where the sharp claws of the beast had scratched him. "Thry for it again, plaze! And be the powers, ye'll foind Jimmie Brannagan at home whin ye knock at the dure. Come on, ye omadhaun! I'll soon knock all the breath out of the body of ye! Wow!" The Canadian cat was a fighter. It looked it every inch, now that the defiant defense of the intruder had aroused its fury. Once more it sprang to the limb of the tree, as though recognizing that here it had a better chance to leap than from the ground. "Now! Buster! But be careful! Keep back Jimmie!" shouted George. The others held their very breath, for they saw that Nick had the Marlin repeater up at his bulky shoulder. Perhaps every one of them was mentally hoping that he would not shut his eyes while pulling the trigger; for a little swerve might bring Jimmie within range, and the result be disastrous at that short distance. Bang! Instantly a series of whoops broke forth, and every fellow started forward once more, as though meaning to be in at the death. George and Herb and Josh had each managed to possess himself of some sort of improvised weapon. The first had in his hand a hatchet which he had been using at the time; Josh was waving his favorite big spoon, with which he was wont to beat the summons to meals on a pan; and the skipper of the _Comfort_ had picked up a billet of wood while passing the fire, which he now flourished eagerly above his head. Nick himself stood there, struggling with the pump-gun. As usual with novices he could not work the mechanism; for in his excitement he was trying to fire without having ejected the used shell; and no self-respecting modern arm will stand for that sort of treatment. Fortunately all around, no second shot was needed. The animal was kicking its last upon the ground, and emitting agonizing screams of anger and pain. Whether by accident or real accuracy of aim, Nick had apparently managed to send the contents of the shell where it counted. Already Jimmie was indulging in what seemed to be a war dance, waving his stick, and singing. George was compelled to laugh just to see his antics, streaked as his freckled face was with smootches of his own gore. "Ye done it, Buster, sure ye knocked the silly gossoon clane over!" he called. "'Tis a broth of a boy ye arre, and afther me own heart. Look at the baste, would ye? If he hasn't got tassels on his ears!" "That's a fact!" declared George, now arriving to see the last kick of the animal on the ground, and note the unquenchable fury shown to the very end. "Why, I tell you what it is fellows. A Canadian lynx, that's what!" "It does look different from my cat--er, that other animal," admitted Nick, as he cautiously advanced, evidently ready to beat a hasty retreat should he discover any need. "I've heard of the missing links," spoke up Josh; "but we never lost any; so this critter couldn't belong to us." "A good shot, Buster, old man!" declared George, bending down to see where the charge had struck the beast while crouching on the limb, and preparing for still another leap at Jimmie. Nick swelled up with importance. Apparently this was one of the few occasions when he could assume an attitude, and receive congratulations. Usually it was just the other way; and like a wise fellow he believed in making hay while the sun shone. "Oh! pretty fair, considering how quick I had to shoot!" he remarked, carelessly, as much as to say that, given a little more time, and he could have done better. Jack now came running up, having of course heard all the row, and being consumed with curiosity to know its meaning. "What is it?" he called, as he ran. "Another Canada pussy cat?" "That's just what it is," replied George quickly. "And is Buster at his old tricks again?" continued the other; at which Nick was compelled to grin amiably, knowing his hour of triumph was at hand. "Buster was in the mix-up, all right," George went on; "only this time he happened to be at the other end of the gun. Buster has covered himself with immortal glory. We all must knuckle down to him after this as the great Nimrod; for he has just slain the Jabberwock. Looky here, Jack; what d'ye call that?" "Well, I declare, a big Canada lynx!" cried the newcomer, recognizing the dead beast as soon as he saw its queer tasseled ears, and its ferocious whiskers. "It tackled Jimmie here, and they were having a hot old argument of it, Jimmie pounding with his club, and the cat using its claws," Herb said, turning to the Irish boy, to see how badly he was wounded. Jack became sympathetic at once, and anxious in the bargain. "Only a few little scratches you say, Jimmie," he remarked. "That's true, they don't seem serious; but it's always dangerous to be marked with the claws of animals that live on carrion, like lions, grizzlies or wildcats. And I'm glad to say I've got something along for just such a case. Come on back to camp with me." Jimmie, still protesting, did so; while the others, dragging the lynx, made Buster head the procession, while they sang: "Lo! the Conquering Hero Comes; Sound the Trumpets, Beat the Drums!" greatly to the delight of the fat boy. When Jack applied the purple colored tincture from a small bottle to the wounds on Jimmie's face and hands, the Irish boy gave a whoop of pain. "Sure, the rimedy is worse nor the disease!" he complained. "That's all right," said Jack; "just stand the pain for a little. It's an insurance against blood poisoning. Many a hunter has lost his life from little cuts no worse than yours, when they were caused by the claws of a wild beast. My father would not let me come out unless I carried this." "What is it, Jack?" asked Herb, curiously. "A strong tincture of permanganate of potash," was the reply. "Just remember that, will you; and it's got to be powerful enough to hurt like fun; eh, Jimmie?" "Indade it did, that," was the immediate response; while the Irish boy screwed up his good humored face in a knot. Jack went back to his fishing, for he had already managed to take one pretty good specimen of the Lake Superior speckled trout that would have weighed nearly four pounds; and was eager for more. All the while he sat there, employing every device he knew of to tempt the finny denizens of the depths to bite, he kept one eye to windward. That low bank of clouds interested him; for it seemed to presage a storm. Since everything possible had been attended to in order to ward off any evil effects of a gale, Jack did not stop fishing until he had succeeded in catching a fine mess, that would please the heart of Buster. Josh was preparing the fish as fast as they were caught. Indeed, he dispatched Nick several times to see if there were any more forthcoming; when the sportsman would toss ashore his latest catch, and the cook's assistant hurry back with the prize, his hungry eyes fairly glistening with anticipation. Of course it was a royally good supper that followed. Josh cooked the trout in the same capable manner he had served the lake white fish; and every fellow declared they had never tasted anything more delicious. Still, there was plenty for all, and to spare. Even Nick had to shut his eyes with a deep sigh, because he had reached the extreme limit of his capacity; and a pan of trout remained untouched. The growling of the thunder now became more pronounced. Across the heavens the zigzag lightning shot, in a way that was as terrible as it was fascinating. Supper done, the boys clustered near the fire, talking, and watching the coming of the gale. Again and again had Jack and George gone around, to see that every tent peg was clinched in the ground. "They're going to hold, unless the wind tears the blessed things to flinders!" Jack had announced; and at the same time he had seen to it that the boats were protected by the friendly point of land from the giant waves that would soon be sweeping in from the sea beyond. Already were they rising in majestic grandeur that was awe inspiring. The storm was about to swoop down upon the shore line, and hurl the rising sea against the mighty rocky barrier, as it had done for countless ages past without success. "Oh! ain't I just glad I'm not out there!" exclaimed Nick, as he shudderingly surveyed the darkening picture of warring elements. "But look there, fellows; what d'ye call that?" cried Herb, as he pointed a quivering finger at some object that had suddenly come in sight from the east. It was a little motor boat, wallowing in the rising sea, and doomed to certain destruction unless able to make shelter immediately. And with the waves dashing wildly against the rocks, those aboard would never see the small opening through which the motor boat boys had come to their present snug harbor! "It's the _Flash_!" shouted Jack; "and unless we manage to show them the way in, it's good-bye to Clarence and Bully Joe! We must do it, fellows. Come on!" CHAPTER XV HELPING AN ENEMY Jack kept his wits about him. He had snatched up something as he ran to the very point where he might best be seen through the flying spray. It was the conch shell which, with its apex sawed off, made a horn or trumpet that could be heard a mile away, under even the most discouraging conditions. Reaching the point for which he had been aiming Jack immediately started sending a hoarse blast out over that tumultuous sea. The others waved their hats, and made suggestive motions toward the small inlet, to show that a boat could enter the cove where the stream of water emptied into the Big Lake. "They see us!" shrilled Nick, dancing up and down in his excitement; for in this moment all past animosity was forgotten, because human lives seemed in jeopardy--the lives of those who had gone to school, and played baseball with them, in the days that were past. "Yes, they're waving their hands!" declared Herb. "And now they put about!" George added. "Careful there, Clarence! You nearly keeled over then on your beam ends. That was a narrow squeak! I'd hate to have the poor old _Flash_ meet such a fate, not to speak of her crew." "It's all right now, fellows!" cried Jack. "They're heading for the inlet. Run over, and be ready to give any help needed. In times like this let's forget that Clarence and Joe have always been up against us. We're all Americans now; and we must stick together!" "Bully talk!" said Josh, hastening after George and Jack, leaving Nick to amble along in the rear. Clarence knew how to handle his boat with considerable skill; and once he drew close in, he was able to see how the ground lay. Those on shore also directed him as best they could; and the net result was that the _Flash_ finally shot around the point, arriving in the little sheltered bay that a kind nature seemed to have provided for just such emergencies. As Jack had more than once said, could they but look back hundreds of years, no doubt they would find that it had sheltered fleets of Indian canoes many a time, when the storm king rode the waves of the Great Lake. When the _Flash_ had been moored safely, her crew came ashore. Joe Brinker was looking a bit sullen, as though he did not much fancy the idea of accepting aid from these fellows, whom he had always looked upon as enemies. But Clarence walked straight up to Jack, holding out his hand. "I say it's mighty decent of you, Stormways, to throw us a line this way," he declared, with considerable feeling. "I admit I was badly rattled, and thought we were in for a wreck. Neither of us glimpsed this opening here, and we'd sure have swept by, if you hadn't signalled. I'm sorry now I ever--" "Let by-gones be forgotten while we're here, Clarence," spoke up Jack. "See, the storm is whooping things up out there now, and it's just as well you're not on the lake." Clarence did look, and shuddered at what he saw; for it was not a pleasant spectacle, with the lightning flashes, and the heaving billows, seen through the flying spray that even reached them by the tents. "Get busy, fellows!" George called. "Carry everything inside. Yes, take that pan of fish, and the coffee, Nick. I guess our callers are hungry, and will be glad of a bite. Quick now, for here she comes with a rush!" Hardly had they found shelter, and the flaps of the tents been secured, when down the rain pelted, to the accompaniment of the most tremendous thunder crashes any of them had ever heard; while the fierce wind tried its best to tear the canvas shelters from over their heads. But the work had been well done, and the tents stood, though wobbling more or less under the fierce onset of the wind. Clarence and Joe had been taken in with Jack and George, while the other four occupied the second tent. Seated on the ground, the two newcomers proceeded to break their fast, and drink what remained of the coffee. "Guess you wonder what kept us back so long?" remarked Clarence, after they had finished the meal, and while a little lull came in the tempest without. Jack and George looked at each other and smiled. "We might give a good think," remarked the latter; "seeing that I pushed the nose of my _Wireless_ boat so hard into Mud Lake that it took an hour and more for the other two to pull me off." "Huh! that's where you were lucky, then, George," continued the other. "We didn't have any chums to do the pulling act; and so we just had to flounder there for hours and hours. I reckon we must have spent the best part of two days sticking in the mud. Happened that nothing came along but some big steamers; and they wouldn't stop to help a poor little motor boat off." "Well, how did you get away finally?" asked Jack, interested. "Worked our way out of it by ourselves; and we're proud to tell it," Clarence proceeded. "I managed to climb up into a tree that hung over the boat, and threw down branches until we made a mattress that would bear our weight. Then we got out a block and tackle we carried, and fixed it in a way to get a strong pull. I kept the engine working for all she would go, while Joe bent to the tackle; and inch by inch we finally yanked the _Flash_ out of her mud berth." "Good for you!" remarked George, with real emphasis. "Looking back, there's always some satisfaction in remembering how you managed to get out of a bad hole by means of your own wits." "All the same, we wished many times we had some chums handy, who would give us a pull," said Joe, whom the meal and hot coffee had put in a better humor. All night long the storm raged on the lake. Any vessel that was so unlucky as to be caught out in it was to be pitied, or at least those aboard were. Morning saw its abatement; but the seas were beating wildly against the rock bound north shore and it was sheer folly for any one to dream of putting out while such a condition of affairs lasted. So they concluded to make a day of it. Clarence for the first time in his life began to realize what fine fellows these motor boat chums really were; and how they stood ready to forget all the trouble that he and his crony had been only too willing to shower upon them in the past. They talked of dozens of things, some of which were connected with their life in school at home, and others that bore upon the recent series of happenings on the St. Lawrence river. "Looks like we wouldn't have any more bother with Clarence after this," said Josh to Herb, as they watched Jack and the other two doing something at the camp fire that afternoon, just as though the best of friends. "I hope we won't," replied the other; "but you never can be sure of Clarence. He's tricky; and besides, impulsive. Just now he means to drop all enmity toward us; because we've fed him, and treated him white. But wait till something rubs him the other way. That's the time to see if the thing is more than skin deep." During the midst of their conversation George purposely mentioned the name of Jonathan Fosdick. "What; do you know the old apple grower, too?" demanded Clarence, looking surprised. Of course Jack told how they had found the old man sick in his stable; and helped him to his house. "And he told us all about his runaway boy, Andy, too; and how word came he was working in a fishing camp up along this shore," George went on. "Yes, we promised that if we ran across the fellow we'd tell him he was wanted at home the worst kind," Clarence remarked. "And he was that thankful he just loaded us down with stuff--eggs, butter, and such. Couldn't do enough for us," Joe added, grinning at the recollection. "History repeated itself then, for we promised the same thing," laughed Jack. "And he just wouldn't take a cent in payment for the things we got," remarked George. "But see here, Clarence, it looks like we're in for another race between the _Flash_ and the _Wireless_, to see which can get to the mouth of the Agawa first; for I hear there's a big fish camp there, run by a man at the Soo, where they take tons and tons of white fish, the trout not being for sale." "I guess I get the notion that's struck you, George; and let me say right here, I still believe the _Flash_ to be the better boat," Clarence went on, stubbornly. "Shall we try it out then, tomorrow, when we leave here; in a friendly way of course, I mean?" George asked, eagerly. "Take him up, Clarry!" said Joe. "All right then, we'll call it a go," declared the other. "Only I wish we had something worth making a run for, a prize of some sort." "It will give me some pleasure to be the one to tell Andy Fosdick that he's wanted bad at home," George observed. "Then we'll call it a go; and this time you'd better look out for yourself, because the _Flash_ has had a knot an hour added to her speed since we raced last. And besides, I didn't have any heart in that trial of speed, you know. That smuggler was forcing me to run my boat, to get him out of a pickle; and for me to win only meant that my boat would be lost to me. I was really glad to play him a trick in the end, and throw the race." Jack and George may have had their own opinions with regard to the truth of the matter; but they knew enough to keep their tongues still. While the dove of peace hovered over the camp, it would be folly to stir these fellows up again. Overhead the sun shone in a clear sky. Only for those waves the motor boat club could have easily continued on their cruise. But with the waning of the afternoon the seas began to sensibly decline. "I prophesy a good day tomorrow for our race, George," Clarence remarked, as, in company with the others he sat by the fire, enjoying a feast that Josh and his assistants, Nick and Jimmie, had prepared for the crowd. Jack and George were both of the same opinion since all the well known signs seemed to point that way. They sat up until a reasonable hour, chatting and singing; and Clarence realized as never before what a fine thing he and Joe were missing in never having found a chance to join this merry group before. The night was a peaceful one. At early dawn the camp was astir, for much had to be done ere they might put out on the calm lake. "Looks like a big mirror; didn't I tell you that wind had blown itself out?" remarked Clarence, upon casting his first glance beyond the point. At eight they were all ready to leave the snug harbor that had opened so opportunely for the storm threatened crew of the _Flash_. Clarence had charts also, and doubtless studied them eagerly when he had an opportunity to go aboard his boat again. For although this was only a friendly race, he always threw himself into whatever he did with a vim, heart and soul, that made defeat all the more bitter, should it come. Of course Jack, deep down in his heart, knew full well that this was only a temporary truce in the warfare that had always existed between himself and Clarence. Once away from their society the other would soon drift back to his old way of thinking and acting. But Jack decided that not because of any unfriendly act on the part of himself or chums should these two find cause for again digging up the buried hatchet. Leaving the cove, the four boats were soon moving along the glassy surface of the calm lake, headed almost due west. Somewhere, many miles away, lay the first goal, the mouth of the Agawa, which was to mark the expiration of the race. "Ready, both of you?" demanded Jack, as the two rival speed boats ranged alongside the _Tramp_, one on either quarter. "Ready here!" answered Clarence, briskly. "Same here, Jack!" called George, hovering over his engine, which was running at about its next to slowest notch. "Then go!" shouted the starter; and instantly both craft shot forward like arrows, while the rattle of their exhausts sounded as if a battle were in progress. CHAPTER XVI "WIRELESS DAY" "Hurrah!" shouted Josh, wildly excited, and glad for once to be on the narrow speed boat. "May the best one win!" called Jack, as he watched the rivals drawing ahead of the two slower boats. "That means us!" laughed Bully Joe. "Just wait and see!" answered Josh; between whom and Joe there had always been more or less bad blood. Herb had given his staunch engine all it could stand; and as the _Tramp_ stood by him, they were soon left far in the lurch. "Talk to me about speed," observed Herb, as Jack turned his face that way, "strikes me the _Wireless_ has her work cut out for today, to beat Clarence." "You heard what he said about the improvement made when at the machinist's. It was a knot an hour increase, I believe," Jack remarked, casting a look down at the throbbing motor of the _Tramp_. "That's right," Herb spoke up. "But you know we did some tinkering to George's engine, and he has always said that it ran better afterwards. Anyhow, it looks like a pretty race." "I think so with you, Herb," Jack admitted. "Judging from here, they're running neck and neck now." "Yes," continued the other, "but don't forget that tricky Clarence is always up to something. Two to one he's got a bit more speed held in reserve." "Well, George knows him like a book," laughed Jack. "And make up your mind he'll keep something held back himself. Don't you remember he did before? Possibly Clarence may be the one to run up against a surprise after a while." As the racers drew farther and farther away, those in the other boats began to think of other things. None of them had half the interest in the outcome of the rivalry as did George. With him there were many old accounts to square; and he meant to make a good job of it, if he had his way about the matter. For some miles the two speedy motor boats kept along, neither appearing to gain half a length on the other. If one seemed to be going ahead, the skipper immediately busied himself stopping the advantage. It was as if both were holding themselves in for the home stretch. Josh was on needles and pins all this while. He paid little attention to what lay in the rear. Part of his time was taken up in scanning the watery waste ahead, through the powerful marine glasses. And when not thus employed he sat there, quivering with suspense, wondering whether there would come a sudden stoppage of the engine, which might spring from one of its eccentric tantrums. But, strange to say, the motor seemed to be doing its best today, as if bent on meriting all the good things its builders had said in their catalogue. "I see it!" suddenly hoarsely whispered Josh, in a mysterious way, as though he did not wish those in the other craft to overhear him. "You mean the little bay at the mouth of the river?" queried George, setting his teeth hard together; for he knew that the crisis so long awaited was at hand. "Sure, look for yourself, George," handing him the glasses. "Yes, I believe you're right," returned the skipper of the _Wireless_, as he once more turned his attention to his engine. "Now, get in the middle of the boat, Josh, and don't move any more than you can help." "You're going to open up, then?" asked the tall, ungainly lad, feverishly. "I am. Are you ready?" George went on. "My hair is parted exactly in the middle, I believe," chuckled Josh. "You know Buster used to say that was one thing you made him do when he was on board here. Let her go, George! Get the jump on him; it may count in the end!" A shout from Bully Joe was the first knowledge Clarence had that his rival had taken the bit in his teeth, and shot ahead. Instantly the speed of the _Flash_ was increased; and the two powerful engines began to throb like little giants; while the sound of the exhausts, from which the mufflers had been entirely removed, was like the tattoo of a couple of snare drums calling the long roll. Josh steadied himself as best he could; though when the boat was rushing through the water at this frightful speed it did not seem so cranky as when at rest. "George, we're gaining on him!" he said, in a husky voice that trembled with the excitement under which Josh labored. "I see we are; and still I could get a bit more out of old _Wireless_ if hard pushed. Don't worry, Josh; we're bound to show Clarence up for a bluffer this time, sure." "If only something don't happen!" gasped the anxious Josh, with an intake of breath that was like a big sigh. "Make your mind easy on that score," said George, positively. "Nothing is going to break down. She's running as smooth as silk, and never missing a stroke. Oh! ain't this great, though? I've looked forward to this ever so long. Wouldn't I like to be close enough right now to see the look on Clarence's face." "It's as long as a foot rule, I warrant you!" chuckled Josh. "Don't I know them two fellows though? They take a beat hard. Ten to one that if you are ahead when we come to the bay, they'll go on past, and never enter at all." "Well, now, that wouldn't surprise me one little bit," remarked George. Slowly but surely was the _Flash_ falling behind, or rather the other boat forging ahead. Doubtless Clarence must be trying every device known to ambitious racing skippers in order to just coax a little more speed from his engine; but it was now keyed up to top-notch, and utterly incapable of doing a particle better. Already Clarence must know that he was badly beaten, unless fortune stepped in to bring about an accident to the _Wireless_. "That's what he's playing for now," said George, when his companion suggested this very thing. "But I reckon Clarence will find himself barking up the wrong tree. This race has just got to be mine. You hear me warble, Josh?" It was not often George spouted slang; but the excitement had seized upon him to such an extent now, that he hardly did know what he was saying. Minutes crept along. Now the _Flash_ was a stone's throw in the rear, and losing all the while. "Careful about the turn, George," cautioned Josh, as they came near where the bay opened up. "We don't want to lose this thing at the last stretch. Now you're safe to turn in. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! siss! boom! crash! we win!" The _Wireless_ safely made the turn, and thus Josh announced her victory. "What did I tell you," Josh went on. "Look at 'em, George! They're spinning on right past, and don't mean to come in at all. Clarence won't even look this way, but keeps staring ahead. Talk to me about taking a beat to heart, there never was a fellow as bad as Macklin, in baseball, hockey or any sport. Well, good-bye to you, fellows! Come again when you can't stay so long. It's _Wireless_ day, you know!" There was no answer to the shout with which Josh wound up his remarks. He saw Bully Joe wave his hand in a derisive way, and then the _Flash_ passed by at full speed, as though the race were still on. There was a big camp on the shore, and several boats drawn up on the beach. Many signs told that this was one of the favorite places along the north shore for the white fish men to gather. Doubtless innumerable barrels of this delicate inhabitant of the Great Lakes were shipped from this coast during each season; with the supply still undiminished. It had been agreed upon that George was not to go ashore until the rest of the little motor boat fleet arrived. This was not for half an hour or so, since the _Comfort_ was not capable of doing better than ten miles an hour, and the more speedy _Tramp_ had to accommodate her pace to that of the steady boat. Nick and the rest gave the victor a good cheer as they turned the point, and entered the bay at the mouth of the famous trout river. Then the three craft made for the beach, off which they anchored, to go ashore in the smaller boats. There were some shanties and tents in sight, with a number of rough looking men; who however seemed glad to welcome the boys. The smell of fish was everywhere, as was natural. "Do you happen to have a young fellow here in this camp by the name of Andy Fosdick?" Jack asked a man who seemed to be the boss. "Yes, but just now he's out at work. There's a boat coming in and p'raps Andy may be one of the crew," the other replied. They waited until the boat landed, and those who were in it jumped out. Jack could use his judgment, and he immediately selected a sturdy looking young chap, with a skin the color of an Indian's, as the one they sought. "Come along, fellows," he said to his chums; "and we'll find out." He made straight for the young man; who, seeing the procession approaching, and all eyes glued eagerly on him, stood there looking curious, and a bit apprehensive, Jack thought. "Are you Andrew Fosdick?" Jack asked, as they reached the spot where the other stood, one hand resting on the edge of the boat, from which his comrades were already shoveling their catch of fish. "That's my name, though I generally answer to plain Andy," replied the fisherman wondering doubtless what all this meant, and why these boys should want to see him. "Bully!" exclaimed Nick. "Found him the first shot! We're sure in great luck on this cruise, fellows!" "Tell him what you want with him, Jack," urged Herb, who saw the other was being consumed with anxiety. "We have come straight from your father, Andy," said Jack, softly. "He wants you to come home to him." Then they saw a hard look pass over the dark face of Andy Fosdick. "It ain't no use, boys," he said, bitterly. "He run me off long ago, and I don't go back there again. I'm gettin' to forget my name even is Fosdick, and that settles it." CHAPTER XVII CAUGHT NAPPING Jack was shocked at the words and manner of the young fisherman. His chums even half turned away in disgust, believing that their mission was doomed to failure. But Jack did not give up a thing so easily. "Wait," he said, quietly; "I don't believe you know, Andy. When did you hear from home last?" "Never once," gritted the other, morosely, showing that his wrongs had eaten into his very soul. "Didn't want to, neither. Made up my mind I cud take care of myself. Done it too, all these years. Got money laid up; and goin' to be married in the fall." "Then you didn't know your mother was dead?" Jack went on. "Oh!" exclaimed Andy, starting, and showing signs of emotion. "I never heard that Ma was gone! Yes, I'm sorry I didn't see her again. She was never so bitter as dad; but only weak like." Jack heard him sigh, and knew a start had been made. "Listen, Andy," he went on; "your father is subject to strokes. One of them will carry him off. It may be today, or tomorrow, but not a great while can he stay here. He is bitterly sorry for what he did. He wants to tell you so, to ask you to forgive him before he too dies." Andy's head fell on his broad chest, and Jack believed he saw his frame quiver with some sort of gathering emotion. "He has made his will, and left you everything, Andy," he continued. "If you are to be married, that will be your home. He begged us to find you, to tell you all this; and that if you would only come back to forgive him, he would die happy. Won't you do that, Andy? Once he goes, the chance can never come to you again; and you're bound to feel mighty sorry as the years go by." Nick nudged George, and whispered. "Did you ever hear the beat of that, George? Ain't our Jack the born lawyer though? He ought to be in your dad's office, studying for the bar, that's what." "Hold your horses, Buster!" answered the one addressed, eagerly waiting to see what effect Jack's logic might have upon Andy. The struggle however was short. Presently the young fisherman glanced up; and as soon as he could see the look on his bronzed face Jack knew his case was won. "I'll go back to the old man," he said, firmly. "I guess 'taint right he shud die and not have a chance to say what's on his mind. And thank ye for tellin' me." "But when will you go?" Jack continued. "There is need of haste, because nobody can say just how long he may live." "A boat'll be along this arternoon, and we ship some barrels on her. Guess the boss'll let me off when he larns the reason," Andy replied. "If you like, I'll tell him the whole story?" Jack suggested. And this he did a little later. He found the boss full of sympathy, rough man as he seemed to be. And Andy readily received permission to break the contract he had made for the season. "Well, what's doing now?" queried Herb, as the bunch wandered around, observing the various interesting phases of the fishermen's business; for a boat was loading with barrels full of the catch, which were going direct to the Soo, from where they would be carried by express to Chicago, or other distributing points. "Too late to go on today," said Jack. "Besides, I want to have a try with some of the big speckled trout that they tell me lie around here. They take plenty, but have to throw them back, or eat them, as the law does not allow any sale of trout. Think of a seven pounder on my rod." "Well, get at it then, Jack," laughed George. "You'll never be happy till you do hook a monster. We'll promise to help you eat him, all right; eh, fellows?" "All he can bring in, and then some," declared Nick; making his mouth move in a suggestive way that caused his mates to laugh. "Be careful, Buster," warned Herb. "You know you said you meant to cut down on your grub. Instead of losing, you're gaining weight every day. If you keep on like that, Rosie won't know you when we get back home." But Nick only grinned as he replied calmly: "Well, Rosie ain't the whole thing. There are others, perhaps." "Listen to the traitor, would you?" exclaimed Josh. "Won't I tell on him, though, when we get back? I bet he's thinking right now of that cute little elephant, Sallie Bliss!" "All right," admitted Nick, brazenly. "Who's got a better right, tell me? And even you admit that she is cute. Just mind your own business, Josh Purdue. The fact is, you're just green with envy because of my noble figure. Pity you couldn't have a little of my fat on your bones!" "Noble figure!" exclaimed Josh, pretending to be near a fainting spell. "Shades of my ancestors, excuse me! I may be envious, but I ain't conceited, like some people, and that's the truth." Jack left them in this sort of warm argument; but he knew that no matter what was said, Nick and Josh would not openly quarrel. He asked numerous questions as to the most likely spots for the big trout; and having secured some bait, started into business. While thus employed he saw the steamer come along, and the boat loaded with barrels go out to meet her, as she stopped her engines. "There's Andy stepping aboard, carrying his grip," Jack said to himself. "And I'm glad he proved so sensible. The old man will be wild to have him again. Yes, it was a lucky day for him in more ways than one when we started for his house to get a supply of butter, eggs and milk. Nick thought the luck was all on our side; but he can never see far beyond meal time." As the afternoon grew on, and the steamer became hazy in the distance, Jack began to have some bites. And then came the thrilling moment when he found himself engaged with one of those famous monster speckled beauties for which this region is noted, and specimens of which he had seen in the breeding ponds of the Soo government fish hatchery. It was a glorious fight, never to be forgotten; and at last Jack had his prize in his hands. Nor did the luck stop there. The fish were hungry, apparently; for in less than five minutes Number Two gave him even a harder struggle than the other victim; and in this case also Jack won out. So they did have trout galore for supper; and even Nick was surfeited for once. All of the boys declared that they had never tasted anything finer than these big Lake Superior trout, freshly taken from the icy waters of the big reservoir, and cooked as only Josh Purdue could do it. "Yum! yum!" Nick went on, after being actually pressed in vain to have another helping; "I'd like to stay right here for a month. Seems to me I'd never get tired of that pink flesh trout. Don't ever want to hear mention of a Mississippi catfish again after this." "How about Canada kitties?" asked Herb, maliciously. Nick declined to answer. That was a subject on which his comrades knew his mind full well; and he did not mean to argue it again. Mutely he pointed to the skin of the lynx which had fallen to his gun, mutilated a little, to be sure, by the charge of shot that had been the means of its death; but worth its weight in silver to the fat Nimrod; and Herb closed up like a clam. In the morning they prepared to go on again; though Herb and Jack had, when by themselves, seriously talked over the subject; and were beginning to arrive at the conclusion that this tremendous fresh water sea was hardly the best cruising ground for such small craft as the motor boats; and that they would be wise to cut short their former intention of reaching Duluth. "Better keep an eye out for dirty weather, boys!" the boss of the camp had observed, when shaking hands as they said good-bye. Nick could see no signs of anything ahead that looked like a storm; and he was inclined to believe the other must be wrong in his guess. "Must be one of them old croakers we hear so much about," he remarked to Herb, as they went on along the coast of the Big Lake. "Always expecting things to happen that don't come to pass. I don't see any storm, do you?" "Not a sign," replied the skipper of the _Comfort_; who was anxiously keeping tabs on his engine, as though he had reason to fear a repetition of the former trouble. But in the end it proved to be George who brought the little expedition to a halt. After acting so splendidly in that fierce race with the _Flash_, lo and behold, the motor of the _Wireless_ broke down during the early afternoon. They tinkered at it for an hour and more, Jack coming over to take a hand; but apparently little progress was made. Jack was worried. They were too far away from the fish camp to think of towing the disabled boat back; and a harbor did not offer within reaching distance beyond. The afternoon began to wane, and there seemed nothing for it but that the three motor boats should anchor just where they were, and pass the night on the open water. All would be well if the weather remained fair, and no strong southerly wind arose during the night. Jack did not like to think what might happen in case such a thing did come about. So as night came on they made things as snug as possible, ate supper aboard, and determined to keep up their courage, in the belief that nothing would happen to alarm them. But about an hour after midnight Jack, being on the watch, was thrilled to hear a sudden and entirely unexpected boom of thunder. Instantly everybody was awake, and stirring; loud voices began to be heard, as the others thrust their heads out of the tarpaulin covers that served as boat tents when the crews slept aboard; and excitement reigned. The very thing that Jack had dreaded most of all seemed on the verge of coming about; since they were caught on the open lake at night, with a storm threatening. CHAPTER XVIII A NIGHT OF ANXIETY "Hey! here's Nick getting into his cork jacket already!" called Herb. "All right," said the one in question, firmly. "Think I want to get washed out on that pond without something to hold me up? Remember, I'm a new beginner when it comes to swimming. And then I've got more to hold up than the rest of you." "Well, help me get this tent down first," remonstrated Herb. "We don't want to be caught by a storm with these things up, you know." "But it might rain?" Nick protested. "Let it. We've got oilskins; and perhaps there'll be plenty of time left to get into the same. Take hold there." Herb was right; and the crews of all the little motor boats had already started to stow away the big covers. Jack kept things as snug as possible aboard the _Tramp_, in case of a downpour; and that was not at all the thing he feared most. They were within fifty feet of cruel looking rocks. If the wind broke out from any quarter that would send the big billows churning against that barrier, the fate of the motor boat fleet could be easily guessed. In a little while everything had been done that seemed possible; after which they could only sit there, and await whatever was to be handed out to them. Nick and Josh were plainly nervous; and even Jimmie showed some signs of apprehension, nor could they be blamed for this timidity. "What if one of the boats is swept away?" suggested Josh; who, being in the narrow-beam _Wireless_ understood that he had much less chance for safety than those who manned the other craft. "No danger of that happening," Jack replied, quickly. "The only thing we have to fear is being smashed up against these rocks. Our boats would cave in like puff balls." "That's what," Josh went on. "Perhaps fellows, we ought to go ashore in the dinkies while we have the chance. Even if we lost the boats we'd save our lives. And I promised my folk at home I wouldn't take any unnecessary risks, you know." But George only sniffed at the idea. "Rats!" he exclaimed. "There you go just as usual, magnifying the danger, Josh. As for me, I'm going to stick like glue to this old _Wireless_. Just see me deserting her because a little squall chances to blow up. Get ashore if you feel like it. And you too, Buster; only remember, if we should be blown miles away, you two fellows would be apt to starve to death in this lonely region." "That settles it," said Nick, immediately. If there was any chance of his starving, he stood ready to accept all sorts of perils rather than face that possibility. And doubtless George knew all this when he put the case so strenuously. Josh too decided that he did not want to go ashore. If the others could stand the danger, he would too. "It may not be so bad for us, fellows," observed Jack. "Because, if you look up, you'll see that the clouds are coming from the land side. And every bang of thunder up to now has been from that direction too. The storm this time doesn't mean to cross the lake, and hit this shore. And unless it changes around, we'll be protected from it by these very rocks we feared so much!" "Bully! bully! Good for you, Jack!" cried Nick, as if greatly relieved. "I'm feeling so much better I almost believe my lost appetite is returning." "Well, it's so, ain't it?" demanded the other. "Sure it is," echoed Jimmie, with delight in his voice. "That's the best news I've heard this long while," remarked George, who despite his seeming valor, was secretly much distressed over the outlook. The thunder increased in violence. Then they heard the sweep of the wind through the pines and hemlocks on the shore. And in less than ten minutes the rain was pouring down like a deluge. They had secured things so that little harm would be done. Still, the outlook was far from attractive, with several hours of darkness ahead; during which they must keep on constant guard, not knowing at what minute the wind might take a notion to veer around to some quarter, that would send the waves dashing against the rockbound shore so near by. It seemed as severe a gale as the one they had experienced only a short time before. Indeed, Jack was of the opinion that the wind was even greater, though they did not feel it the same way, because of the shelter obtained from the land. They would never be apt to forget that night, no matter how time passed. Watching was serious business for Nick; and three times he was known to creep over to where Herb kept his cracker bag, doubtless to interest himself in a little "snack," so as to briefly forget his other troubles. Nor did Herb have the heart to take him to task about it. Their situation was so very distressing that he could think of nothing else. Every time the lightning flamed athwart the black sky the boys would look out at the troubled waters stretching as far as the eye could see; or else send an anxious glance toward the grim rocks that loomed up so very close over their bows. Hours seemed like days. Nick groaned, and declared he ached in every bone. "What d'ye think of me, then?" demanded Josh. "You're well padded; while I reckon my poor old bones are going to stick through, pretty soon. I dassent stand up, because George won't let me; and you can. I wish you had my berth, Buster." But at last Herb declared that there were certainly signs of dawn coming in the east. Every eye was turned that way; and upon learning that the news was true the boys began to take on fresh hope. "Well," George said for the tenth time, "I'm glad of one thing, and that is we managed to get my engine in working order last night before supper. Goodness knows what a fix I'd have been in otherwise, if we had to put out to sea when the wind changed." "Oh! murdher! I hope it won't do the same!" exclaimed Jimmie, who overheard the remark, and was filled with dismay as he surveyed the wild scene that stretched away off toward the southern horizon. "Can't we manage somehow to cook something warm?" asked George. "Yes, that's it," immediately echoed Nick, beginning to bustle around in the steady old _Comfort_. "We'll all feel so much better if we have breakfast. Nothing like a full stomach to put bravery in a fellow, I tell you." "Oh! how brave you must feel all the time, then!" observed Josh, sarcastically. But Jack knew that this time the fat boy spoke the truth. When people are wet and shivering things are apt to look gloomy enough; but once warm them up, and let them eat a hot meal, and somehow a rosy tinge begins to paint the picture. They knew just how to go about the matter; and those wonderful German Juwel kerosene gas stoves filled the bill to a dot; as Nick declared, after the delightful aroma of boiling coffee had begun to reach his eager nostrils. And while the wind still howled through the pines up on the high rocks, and the billows rolled away toward the south, growing in size as they drew farther off shore, the motor boat boys sat down to a tasty breakfast. "Now, this isn't so bad," observed Nick, as he started in on what had been dished out to him by Herb, who this time had done the cooking. "It will be for the boss if he don't get to work in a hurry," Josh flung across the watery space that separated the boats. "Don't worry on my account," laughed Herb. "I've got a mortgage on the balance in the fryingpan, and he'd better not touch it on his life." "Think the bally old storm is over, Jack?" asked Nick, presently. "The worst of it is, and I believe the wind seems to be dying down a little," came the ready reply, as Jack swept the heavens with anxious eyes. "I thought that last gust came out a little more toward the west," remarked one of the others. "I'd hate to know that," Jack said. "For old sailors say that when the wind backs up into the west, after being in the north, without going all the way around, it means a return of the storm, from another quarter." "Time enough to get ashore yet!" muttered Josh. "Go ahead, if you want to," George said grimly. "Take some grub along, if you make up your mind that way. But I don't stir out of this boat unless I'm thrown out. Understand that?" An hour later, and Jack saw that his worst fears were realized. "Wind's getting around fast now, fellows," he announced. "It sure is," Herb admitted; for he had been noticing the increased roughness of the water for a little while back. "What must we do, Jack?" asked George, with set teeth, and that look of determination in his eyes that stood for so much. "Hold out as long as we can," came the reply in a steady voice. "Then, when the danger of our being dashed against the rocks grows too great, we'll just have to up-anchor, and start our engines to moving. It will be safer for us out yonder than so near the shore." Another half hour went by. Then the little boats were pitching and tossing violently, as the full force of the onrushing waves caught them. "Can't stand it much longer, Jack!" called out George, who was having the most serious time of all. "Then we might as well make the move now as later!" called Jack. "So get going, both of you. And remember to stand by as close as you can, so that we may help in case an upset happens to any boat." Of course George knew his chum had the cranky _Wireless_ in mind when he said this; but the peril was not alone confined to the one boat. Accordingly the engines were started, the anchors gotten aboard after a tremendous amount of hard work; and the little motor boat fleet put to sea, with the intention of trying to ride the storm out as best they might. If the engines only continued faithful all might yet be well. CHAPTER XIX PERIL RIDES THE STORM WAVES There were anxious hearts among the young cruisers as they started to leave the vicinity of the shore, and head out upon the big heaving seas. So long as they could keep the boats' bows on the danger would not be so great as if they tried to turn; when those foam-crested waves would strike them sideways, and threaten to turn them on their beam-ends; which would mean destruction. The motors sang like angry bees whenever the little propellers chanced to be exposed after a retreating wave had passed. This was where the greatest peril lay; for the strain on the engine and shaft was terrific at such times, owing to the rapid change of pace. So Jack, Herb and George found themselves compelled to stick constantly at the job, manipulating the lever, so as to shut off power with each passing wave. They did not make fast time away from the shore; but at the end of half an hour had reached a point where it seemed the height of folly to go farther. "How is it, George?" Jack sang out. "Everything moving smoothly over here so far," came the reply. "And you, Herb?" continued the commodore of the fleet. "No fault to find, only it's hard work; and I hope we don't have to keep it up all day," replied the skipper of the _Comfort_. "I don't think that is going to happen," Jack observed. "Seems to me the wind is dying down. When that happens, the waves must gradually grow smaller. Perhaps by afternoon we may be able to proceed, and hunt for a harbor farther along." "Well, now," George remarked. "I wouldn't be sorry any, let me tell you, fellows. I've been balancing here like a circus acrobat this blessed hour and more, till my legs are stiff." "Think of me, would you!" bleated Nick. "Shucks! you're like a ball, and nothing ought to hurt you!" declared Josh. "I've got feelings, all right, though," the fat boy protested. "But I certain do hope we get our feet on solid ground right soon. I'd just love to see a fire going, and smell the hickory wood burning." "Yes, it's something more than hickory wood you're longing to smell, and we all know it for a fact," Josh fired back at him. Nevertheless, they one and all did find encouragement in what Jack had stated. The wind was certainly beginning to die out; and while as yet there could not be any appreciable difference noted in the size of the rollers upon which they mounted, to plunge into the abyss beyond, that would come in time. During the morning that followed the boys who handled the engines of those three little power boats found occasion to bless the makers of the staunch motors that stood up so valiantly under this severe test. They had taken on an additional supply of gasoline while at the Soo, and there was little danger of this giving out. Still, as Nick said, this energy was all wasted, and reminded him of soldiers "beating time." Now and then the boys were able to exchange remarks, especially the three who were not kept busy during this time. Jack listened to what was said, and while he made no attempt to break into the conversation, he gathered from it that at least Nick, Jimmie and Josh were about ready to call the westward cruise off, and turn around. So he made up his mind that the matter must be threshed out the very next time they could gather around a fire on shore. As for himself, Jack was thinking along the same lines, and ready to go back to Mackinac Island's quiet waters, in the straits between Lakes Huron and Michigan. Noon came along, to find them still buffeting the waves; but there had been a considerable change by then. "After we've had a bite," called out Jack, at which Nick instantly showed attention; "I think we'd better make a start out of this. The waves you notice no longer break, and while your boat would roll more or less, George, I don't think you'd be in any great danger of turning turtle, do you?" "Oh! I'm only too willing to put out," came the answer. "Anything but this horrible marking time. I like to see the chips fly when I use an axe. I want to see results. And here, this blessed little motor has been churning away for hours, without getting away from our old stand. Yes, let's eat and run." "That would be bad for digestion," spoke up Nick. "I don't believe in hurrying over meals. I was warned against doing it, unless I wanted to waste away to skin and bones like Josh here." "Oh! you can take as long as you like," said Herb; "only get busy now, and dish up anything you can find. There's some cold baked beans handy; and open some of that potted beef; it ought to be tasty with the crackers and cheese." "I'm on the job right off," declared Nick. "You know you never have to hurry me about getting things to eat." "Mebbe that's why your digestion is so good," said Herb, sarcastically; but the fat boy only grinned as he crawled back to where the eatables were kept. Later on they did head more toward the west, and start moving through the swinging seas. Constant watchfulness became necessary, for there was always danger that in some unguarded moment one of the billows might roll a boat over like a chip. So they kept going on, constantly varying their course to meet emergencies, and making progress along the coast. It was splendid manoeuvring for the young pilots of the motor boats; though they rather thought they had had quite enough of it, and would be only too glad to call a halt. Jack was watching the shore line ahead, whenever he could, in order to learn if a haven came in sight. He had Jimmie frequently use the glasses when they were on a wave crest; and kept hoping to hear him cry out that he believed he had sighted the harbor they hoped to make before night came on. As the waves still further diminished in size, they were enabled to make better time, since they no longer feared an upset. Indeed, about the middle of the afternoon they ceased entirely to head the boats into any billow; and all of them declared that they felt proud of what had been accomplished. "I say, Jack!" called out George, as the two boats happened to draw near each other. "Well, what is it?" answered the one addressed, popping his head up. "How does it come, d'ye suppose, that we haven't seen a blessed steamer all this morning, going in either direction?" George went on. "Why," replied Jack. "Because they had warning from the weather bureau that a storm was coming, and delayed starting out. These captains know what it is to meet up with a Lake Superior storm." "Yes," spoke up Jimmie, "it's only the nervy little boats like ours that laugh at all the blows as comes along. Look at us, would ye, smashin' through the big waves like the sassy things. Slap! bang! and come again, would ye? Sure, it's weather on'y fit for motor boats, it do be." "Yes," laughed George, "we're all mighty brave about now; but I tell you boys, I felt squeamish for hours when the storm was on. I knew what would happen to us if the wind whipped around before morning. Excuse me from another experience like that. Wonder where Clarence and Joe were then?" "That's so, they did go on," Jack remarked. "I hope they had shelter. I wouldn't want my worst enemy to be wrecked on such a terrible night." A short time later Jimmie cried out again: "There do be a steamer comin' along there, Jack!" "Steamer nothing!" echoed Josh, who happened to be using George's glasses at the same time. "I've been watching that thing for five minutes now. And do you know what I think it is, fellows?" "What?" demanded Jack, who could not leave his duties even for the minute that it would take to glance through the glasses. "A wreck!" exclaimed Josh, with thrilling emphasis. Then everybody sat up, and began to look eagerly in the direction mentioned. It was far out over the troubled waters; and the object could only be seen when it happened to be lifted on the crest of a wave. "It is that same, upon me worrd!" cried Jimmie, presently. "I cud say the thing thin as plain as the nose on me face." "And boys, there's some kind of a flag floating on it," Josh went on. "Upside down?" questioned Nick, eagerly. "Looks like it to me," came the answer. "Then it's a wreck, all right; because that's the signal of distress," Nick continued, now raising Herb's glasses for a look. "Oh! my! I believe it's them!" he ejaculated a minute later. At that Jack could stand it no longer. "Here, Jimmie, you grab hold, and run this boat," he said. "Keep her nose pointed just as she runs now, and whatever you do, don't swing around, broadside on." Then, as Jimmie took hold of the wheel, the skipper raised the glasses for a look, while George awaited his report with ill-concealed eagerness. "There, look now, Jack!" cried Josh. Presently Jack took down the glasses, and there was a grave expression on his face. "What did you see, Jack?" demanded George. "Something that's bothered you some, I can tell by the way you frown." "That's a sinking craft, all right, George," replied the other, as he turned on all the power his engine was capable of producing, and sent the _Tramp_ speeding directly into the waves. "More than that, I'm afraid I did recognize it, and, just as Nick said, it's the power boat, _Mermaid_, carrying the banker, Mr. Roland Andrews, and his party. Boys, we must hurry to their rescue before they go down!" CHAPTER XX PAYING THE PENALTY Immediately the little fleet of motor boats had taken up a course leading directly for the floating wreck. It looked like the height of folly for such miniature craft to thus put boldly out upon the bosom of that great inland sea; and nothing save a call to duty would ever have influenced Jack to make the venture. They were strangely quiet as they continued to buffet the oncoming waves. Once in a while some one would ask the wielder of the marine glasses what he could see, and in this way all were kept informed. Nick was trembling, so that there were times when he could hardly hold the glasses to his eyes. "I see her!" he suddenly shouted in rapture. "Sallie's still there, fellows! I can tell her among the lot. There, she sees me, I think, for the darling is waving her handkerchief! She wants me to hurry along, fellows; perhaps the blessed waterlogged power boat is getting ready to dip under! Can't you throw on just a little more speed, Herb? Please do, to oblige me." No one thought to laugh, nor did Josh come up true to his name just then; for somehow they seemed to understand that it was a grave matter, and no time for joking. Jack could see the figures on the partly submerged boat with the naked eye now, they were getting so close. "Do you see the other girl, Rita Andrews?" he asked Jimmie; and was more pleased than he cared to show when the Irish boy answered in the affirmative. "Oh! I only hope we get there in time!" groaned Nick, as he fumbled at the cork life preserver, as though intending to put it on again. "What are you going to do with that thing, Buster?" demanded Herb, sharply. "Get it around me," the other replied, unblushingly. "But you won't need it; there's not the least chance of our upsetting now." "All the same," Nick responded, calmly; "how do I know but I may have to jump overboard after Sallie? She might slip in her great joy at seeing her preserver so near. And a pretty fellow I'd be not to keep myself ready to do the hero act. Besides, Herb, how do we know that the bally old boat mayn't take a notion to duck under, just when we get close by? I believe in being prepared." "You're right, Buster," nodded the skipper. "Take my cork jacket too if so be you think you'll need it. But please don't go to jumping over just to show off. You might drown before her very eyes." "Oh! I'll be careful, Herb. But since you say so, I believe I will keep your cork affair handy. She might need it; because you see, Sallie is no light weight, any more than me." He crouched there waiting, doubtless counting the seconds as they passed, and anxiously taking note of all that went on in the quarter whence they were headed. Jack himself grew more nervous the closer they drew to the wreck. He realized that those on board were in extreme peril; for the powerboat seemed to be gradually sinking lower, inch by inch. At almost any time now it might give one tremendous heave, and then plunge, bow first, down in many fathoms of water, perhaps dragging some of the people aboard to death. But at the same time Jack was figuring just how he and Herb must approach the wreck on the leeward side, where it would in a measure protect the small motor boats from the sweep of the seas. Here they would be able to take aboard as many of the imperiled ones as the rescuing craft could reasonably hold. Jack also noted that there was a large lifeboat on the sinking craft. Possibly the oars had been swept away, rendering the craft helpless and useless. But if it could only be launched, the crew might occupy this, and be towed to safety by one of the little motor boats. He fashioned his hands into a megaphone, while Jimmie tended the engine for a minute, and in this way called out: "Have that boat launched. It will hold the crew, and we will give them a tow to the shore. Quick, sir; you have no time to lose!" He saw the captain of the powerboat, still wearing his uniform, though without the jaunty blue cap that had once been a part of his makeup, give hurried orders. Then the lifeboat was shoved off the low deck, being held with a rope. And a few minutes later the _Tramp_ and the _Comfort_ hauled in close under the lee of the big powerboat. "Ladies first!" sang out Nick, as he balanced himself so as to be able to render any needed assistance. Greatly to his joy Sallie seemed to choose the _Comfort_ as her refuge. Perhaps she recognized the fact that it was by all odds the largest of the three motor boats, and hence more suitable to her heft. But it would be hard to convince Nick that this was the true reason. She saw him, and was willing to entrust herself in the charge of one who bore himself so gallantly. Jack meanwhile had the pleasure of assisting the pretty and vivacious little Miss Andrews, whose first name was Rita, into his boat; to be followed by another lady passenger, and then the banker himself. The balance of the passengers managed to embark on the _Comfort_. George stood by, and offered to take one or two; but no one seemed to particularly care to entrust themselves on such a wobbly craft. The captain and his little crew entered the lifeboat. "Now, everybody get away as quick as you can!" called the man in uniform, "because she's going down any minute. Make haste, or we may be drawn under by the suction." George had taken the long rope attached to the bow of the lifeboat, and fastened it securely to a ringbolt at the stern of his _Wireless_. He now started away, as did the other rescuing craft. And none too soon was this manoeuvre accomplished. Hardly had they gone ten boat lengths before a little shriek from Sallie announced that the final catastrophe was about to take place. There was an upheaval of the sinking powerboat, a tremendous surge, and then only bubbles and foam on the surface told where the unlucky pleasure craft had vanished. Little Miss Andrews cried a bit, perhaps because of the nervous excitement; but her father cheered her up. "Never mind, Rita," he said. "The boat was insured, and we can get another and better one when we want it. But for this season I think we've had about enough of the water. I tell you we ought to think ourselves fortunate to have these fine fellows come out to us just in the nick of time. We'll never forget it, will we, girlie?" Whereupon Jack was delighted to see the tears give way to a bright smile, as Rita looked at him, and nodded. "How queer it seems," she remarked demurely, a little later. "First Jack had to save my hat from a watery grave; and now he has rescued poor little me. Yes, I mean that he won't forget us, dad. And I hope that we'll see him some time at our Oak Park home, don't you?" "We'll try and influence him, and also his brave chums, in whom I find myself deeply interested. Come to think of it, I fancy I already have something of an acquaintance with a Mr. Harvey Stormways, belonging in the town Jack calls his home. The one I met in Chicago was a banker, and a very clever gentleman." "That is my father," said Jack, rosy with pleasure to think that his parent already knew Rita's father. Later on they discovered a landing place and managed to get ashore. All of them were delighted to once more set foot on solid land after their recent harrowing experiences. And such a night they made of it. The captain had wisely secured a lot of stores before leaving the wreck of the _Mermaid_, so that there was little danger of any famine. Besides, as George said, aside, any camp that had been able to withstand the raids and assaults of a Buster all this while, would not be caught without plenty of eatables in the larder. Around the camp fire they even made merry, since no lives had been lost in the wreck. Mr. Andrews told how they had escaped the first storm, only to be caught in the second, and rammed by some floating object, the nature of which they could only guess. The pumps were manned, but by slow degrees the water had gained on them in spite of all their herculean efforts. And as we have seen, only for the coming of the motor boat boys a tragedy might have followed. In the morning Jack promised to take them out to the first steamer that could be signalled, the crew in the lifeboat being towed behind the _Comfort_. This he did, assisted by Herb. And the balance of the young cruisers stood on the wooded bank, waving their hats and cheering as long as they could make their voices heard. Nick was as happy as any one had ever seen him. Sallie had seemed to be fairly smitten with the charms of the fat boy, or else fancied having some girlish fun out of the meeting and their one trait in common; for she certainly had hovered near Buster since breakfast time, "making goo goo eyes at him," as Josh declared. And now Nick, wishing to be in a position to see better than his chums, took the trouble to laboriously climb a tree that hung far out over the water. Here, high above the heads of the rest, he sat and waved his red sweater, as an object that must attract the sparkling eyes of Miss Sallie longer than an ordinary hat, or white handkerchief. "Hurray! hurray!" he shouted at the top of his voice; but perhaps Buster may have been too violent in his gestures, or else neglected to maintain his grasp on the limb; for suddenly there was an awful splash, and the fat boy vanished out of sight in the lake, which happened to be fairly deep close up to the shore. CHAPTER XXI ANOTHER SURPRISE "Help! help!" "What's all the row about?" "Buster's fallen in again! Somebody get a rope, and lasso him!" "There he comes up! My! what a floundering time! He may be drowned, Jack!" But Jack knew better, and only laughed as he replied to Herb: "You forget that he's still wearing that lovely cork life preserver. It gives him such a manly look; and Buster thinks it adds to the admiration of a certain young lady." Meantime there was a tremendous lot of splashing going on in that little basin just under the big tree, where Nick had been perched at the time of his tumble. Both arms were working overtime, like a couple of flails in a thrashing bee; while his chubby legs shot back and forth after the manner of an energetic frog. All the while Buster was spouting water like a miniature geyser; for his mouth had happened to be wide open at the time of his unexpected submersion. "Throw me a rope, somebody!" he spluttered, as he continued to make manful efforts to keep from sinking. "What d'ye stand there gaping for? Can't you see I'm in danger of drowning? Hurry up your cakes, you sillies!" There was no doubt but that Nick believed every word he spoke; for he was making a tremendous display of energy that would long remain a topic for wonder among his comrades. Herb started to scurry around to find something that would be available in the rescue line. "Jack, the poor fellow may be partly stunned, and unable to keep up much longer. Help me find a rope, won't you?" he cried, as he passed the other. "Hold on, Herb, now watch how easy it is to save a drowning man," and as Jack said this he turned to where Nick was making a young Niagara Whirlpool Rapids of himself, and called sternly: "Buster, stand up!" Lo; and behold, when the imperiled fat boy proceeded to obey this command the water barely reached to his chest. Looking rather crest-fallen and sheepish he started to wade out of the lake; while the boys burst into a roar that must have even been heard by those on board the steamer. Nick was in a rather pugnacious humor, for him, as he arrived dripping on the bank. Perhaps the merriment of his mates had something to do with it; but the chances are he dreaded lest a pair of laughing blue eyes on the departing steamer may have witnessed his ridiculous upset. "Who pushed me in?" he demanded, as he gave vent to another upheaval of water. "Tell me that, will you? It was a mean trick, and he ought to be ducked just as bad as I was. Seems like a pity a fellow can't just sit up on the limb of a tree to wave good-bye to a pretty girl without some envious rival putting up a game on him. Who did it? I dare him to tell!" "Rats! you're away off your base, Buster!" cried George. "Quit raising the lake that way, can't you?" complained Josh. "Want to flood us out of our camp, do you?" "Buster, nobody was near you when you fell," said Jack. "I don't think there was one of us within ten feet of the tree. And besides, you were up out of reach. You let go both hands and slipped. It was your own fault. And we didn't help you out because I knew you had on that cork thing; besides, the water wasn't over your head, as I found out some time ago. So don't accuse anybody of being mean." "And next time you want to take the middle of the stage just let us know. You gave us an awful jolt," remarked George. "Why, if I'd had heart disease I'd have dropped flat," vowed Josh. "Oh! let up on me, can't you, and don't rub it in so hard?" grumbled the dripping Nick. "Now I've got to go and get these duds off. And it'll take a long while for 'em to dry. Nice way to use a new suit, ain't it?" "Well, it's lucky for the trade that you've come up here." Herb put in. "The clothing business will take on a boom soon. What with Canada pussies, and upsets into the lake, you can get away with more suits than the rest of us." "But I haven't got another bunch of clothes along," whimpered Nick, "and it's sure too chilly to run around without anything on. Jack won't you help me out?" "I guess I can lend you a pair of trousers, Buster, if you can get into them. Don't forget that fine red sweater you possess. Josh, pull it down from that branch, will you? So you see, you'll get along till these duds dry out," replied the one addressed. "But stick to the camp while you're wearing that sweater, Buster," warned Josh. "Perhaps there ain't any cows around here; but even a bull moose would want to boost you up in a tree if he ever saw that rag." "Oh! I'll hug the fire, all right; don't you worry about me, Josh Purdue," was the fat boy's reply, as he made off, the water still oozing from his soaked garments in streams. Jack wisely put in the balance of the morning fishing, and with abundant success, as was evidenced from the fact that they had another delightful fish dinner that noon, Josh serving the trout in his usual tempting manner, crisp and brown. As his clothes had meantime dried, through the action of combined sun and camp fire, Nick gradually became himself again. It took considerable to upset his good nature; and the boys never could fully decide whether he had been in earnest concerning that episode of the "great splash," or simply pretending to be indignant. "And now, what's the programme?" asked Jack, as, having eaten until they could no longer be tempted, they sat back to talk over the future activities of the motor boat club. "Fellows," remarked George, seriously. "I've come to the conclusion that we're making a mistake in cruising over such big water as this." "Hear! hear!" called Nick, clapping his hands. "Boats as small as ours seem out of their element on an ocean," continued the skipper of the _Wireless_, steadily. "They're all right in such places as the Thousand Islands, where plenty of harbors are in sight all the time. But just think what might happen up here. Suppose the wind had chopped around the other night, instead of kindly holding off till morning. What would have happened to us?" "Oh! well," remarked Herb; "we all know the answer to that riddle, George. Since we couldn't well make out into the open lake in the storm during darkness, why, every boat must have been smashed against the rocks. Makes me shiver to just think of it; and that's right, fellows." "Perhaps one or more of us might have gone under." George went on. "Now, when we got permission to make this cruise we promised not to take unnecessary risks--am I right, fellows?" "Sure you are, George. Hit up the pace, will you? Buster here is getting sleepy, waiting for the verdict," Josh said, after his customary fashion. "Then I'm going to offer a suggestion; and if Jack says so, I'll put it in the form of a motion," George continued. "Make it a motion without all this fuss and feathers," observed Herb. "I move, then, that we abandon our original intention of knocking along this north shore of Superior till we arrive at Duluth, where we could ship our boats home. It wouldn't pay us for the trouble and the danger. It's a barren country. If we had an accident there's no place to have repairs done short of several hundred miles. In a word, fellows, this is no hunting ground for little motor boats. Besides," with a sly glance toward Nick, "what if our grub gives out, as it's likely to do at any time, once Buster gets to feeling himself again; why, we might starve to death, fellows, in the midst of plenty." "You've heard the motion, fellows--that we change our programme, and give up this Lake Superior trip. All in favor say aye!" Jack remarked. A chorus of assents followed. "Contrary, no!" went on the commodore; but only silence followed. "Motion is carried unanimously," Jack went on. "And now, let's consider what is to take the place of this trip. We've still got some weeks ahead of us, the fishing's fine, and we're a long way from Milwaukee. Somebody suggest something." George and Jack had of course talked this thing over more than once recently. So no one was surprised when the former immediately jumped up, and began: "For one, I'm of the opinion we couldn't do better than return over part of the way we came. Between the Soo and Mackinac Island there's fine cruising ground to be explored. We can take a different route part of the way back through the St. Mary's River, and perhaps find new mud banks, with a few more strange animals on the Canada side. Besides Jack says the bass fishing is just great in some places they told him about at the Soo." "Hurrah! Me for the St. Mary's then," Nick shouted, to hide his confusion at mention of strange beasts, for of course he knew what that referred to. "The prospect of the merry bass frizzling over the coals coaxes Buster," declared Josh; "but on general principles, fellows, I don't see how we could improve on that programme. Count me in on it, George." "Any other suggestions?" asked Jack. "If there are, now is the time to speak up, before we decide our plans. We can settle on just the day we ought to leave Mackinac for the run down Michigan to Milwaukee, and so get home on the dot. How is it, fellows? Do I hear another scheme offered?" "Make it unanimous, Jack," said Herb. "You know we're pretty much of one mind; and we ought to get all the fun going out of that programme." "Then we start back tomorrow?" said Jack. "Right after breakfast," Josh added. "Good gracious!" exclaimed Nick. "I hope none of you would be silly enough to ever think of leaving here before breakfast!" "Oh! that will never happen, so long as we have an alarm clock in the bunch. We depend on you, Buster, to warn us when it's time to eat our three meals a day," George said blandly. "Now, I didn't expect that of you George," remarked Nick. "But if you really mean it, thank you! I'm glad to know I'm of some use to the crowd." "Why, Buster, we wouldn't know how to keep house without you," remarked Jack. "What would we be after doing with the leftovers?" ventured Jimmie. "And how would I keep my big boat evenly balanced?" demanded Herb. "Sure you fill a place in the circle, Buster, and a very important one. We'd miss you if you ever gave up the ship, and took the train back home." "Well, I promise you I won't," smiled Nick; "at least so long as you keep up the same sort of bill of fare we've had today. Yum! yum! what's the use of wasting a fine piece of browned trout like that? I call it a wicked shame. Here, Josh, don't you dare throw that away. Set it aside on that nice clean piece of birch bark. Somebody might get hungry later on, and enjoy a bite." This standing joke of Nick's clamorous appetite seemed never to lose its edge. The rest of the boys could always enjoy seeing him make way with his share of the meal. In fact, had a change come over the fat boy, they would have felt anxious, believing him sick. So Jack went back to his fishing, of which he seemed never to tire, and the others found something to employ their time and attention while the afternoon sun dropped lower toward the western horizon. By now the Big Lake looked like a lookingglass, so still had the waves become. A haze prevented them from seeing any great distance away--one of those mid-summer atmospheric happenings that are apt to develop at any time when the weather is exceedingly warm. Evening came at last, and they sat as usual around the camp fire, having enjoyed the meal Josh and his willing assistants, Jimmie and Nick, had placed before them. Everything looked favorable for getting off in the morning; and should the lake remain calm Jack believed they might be able to make the Soo by another night. Suddenly, and without the slightest warning a disturbing factor was injected into this quiet restful camp. Jack thought he heard a sound like a groan near by, and raised his head to listen. Yes, there was certainly a movement at the west side of the camp, as though something was advancing. And as he stared, his hand unconsciously creeping out toward the faithful little Marlin shotgun, a figure arose and came staggering toward the group. Loud cries broke out as the boys scrambled to their feet. And there was a good excuse for their consternation; for in this ragged, dirty, and altogether disreputable figure they recognized, not a wandering hobo, but Bully Joe, the crony of Clarence Macklin! CHAPTER XXII TO THE RESCUE Joe Brinker was a sorry sight as he staggered forward, and fell almost at the feet of Jack. He certainly looked as though he had been through a rough experience since last they saw him with Clarence aboard the _Flash_. "Why, it's Joe!" exclaimed Nick, as though he had just recognized the intruder. Jack had jumped forward, and was now bending over the newcomer. "Here, Josh, any hot coffee left in the pot?" he demanded, seeing that the other looked utterly exhausted, as though he might not have partaken of food for many hours. Josh immediately poured out a cup, and handed it to Jack. "Sit up here, and swallow this, Joe," said Jack, supporting the fellow with one arm, and holding the tin cup to his lips. Joe eagerly gulped down the warm drink. It seemed to do him a world of good right on the spot; for when a cup of hot tea or coffee is available, it is utter folly to think strong drink is necessary in reviving a chilled or exhausted person. "Oh! that tastes fine. Got any more, boys? I'm nearly starved," he exclaimed, almost crying with weakness. Already had Nick hurried over, and seized upon several cold flapjacks that possibly he had placed away, against one of his little bites between meals. Surely Nick ought to know what an awful thing hunger was. One of the most dreadful recollections of his life was a time when he had been compelled to go all of eight hours without a solitary scrap of food passing his lips! Soon Joe was devouring the flapjacks with the eagerness of a hungry dog, to the evident delight of Buster, who always found pleasure in seeing any one eat heartily. "Now tell us what happened, Joe?" said Jack, after they had watched the other make away with the last scrap, and look around for more. "Yes, don't you see we're just crazy to hear?" Josh exclaimed. "Did you get caught in that storm?" demanded George, suspecting the truth. Joe nodded his head in the affirmative, and they could see a shudder pass over his form, as though the remembrance was anything but cheerful. "Then the _Flash_ must have been wrecked?" George went on, horrified as the remembrance of Clarence's face came before him. "Gone to flinders!" muttered Joe. "Smashed on the rocks, and not a scrap left to tell the story. Gee it was tough, all right!" "W--was Clarence drowned?" Nick gasped, with awe-struck face; and quivering all over like a bowl full of jelly. "Oh! no, neither of us went under," replied Joe, promptly, to the great relief of all the boys. "But we came mighty near it, I tell you, fellers. I'm a duck in the water, you know, and I guess I helped Clarence get ashore. He said I did, anyway. And there we was, far away from everything, with not one bite to eat, or even a gun to defend ourselves against wild animals." "Wow! that was tough!" admitted Nick, sympathetically; as he remembered his own exploit when the Canada lynx invaded the camp, and how useful the shotgun proved on that occasion. "But it wasn't the worst, fellers! There's more acomin'!" Joe went on, shaking his head solemnly. "My gracious! did wild animals get poor old Clarence after all?" George asked. "No," Joe went on, with set teeth, "but a couple of men did that was as bad as any wild animals you ever heard tell of. They found us trying to make a fire to dry our wringing wet clothes; and they just treated us shameful. See this black eye I got just because I dared answer back. They kicked poor Clarence like he was a bag of oats." "Two men, you say?" Jack asked, frowning darkly. "What sort of men could they be to act like that toward a pair of shipwrecked boys?" "They looked like lumber cruisers, or prospectors that never struck it rich," Joe continued. "They had a grouch agin everybody. First thing they took what money we had, and Clarence's fine watch that was water-soaked and wouldn't run. Then they found out who we was by reading some letters he carried. I saw 'em talking it over; and then they tied us to a couple of trees." "Why, I never heard of such a wicked thing!" ejaculated the startled Nick; whose mouth kept wide open while he listened to this thrilling story of Joe's. "Do you think they meant to try and force blackmail?" asked the far-seeing George, whose father was a lawyer, it may be remembered. "They said something about him writing home for more money to buy another motor boat," Joe replied. "And Clarence said he never would do it, not even if they tortured him. But I'm afraid a few more kickings like they gave us will break down his spirit." "Then you managed to escape?" Jack went on, wishing to learn the whole thing. "Yes. I worked loose, and slipped away when neither of 'em was lookin'," answered the ragged and dirty figure. "But give me some more grub, fellers. I'm starving, I tell you. They refused to give us a bite to eat till Clarence agreed to do all they wanted of him. Anything, so's I can fill up. I've got a hole down there that feels like Mammoth Cave." Again it was Nick who hastened to procure another stock of eatables, crackers and cheese, or anything else that came handy. "When did you escape, Joe?" asked Jack, seriously as though some plan had already started to form in his active brain. "Don't know for sure," replied the exhausted one. "Sometime after noon, though. They was layin' down and snoozing when I got free. I wanted to find a knife, and cut Clarence loose too; but the risk scared me. And Clarence, he told me to hurry and get off for help. You see, one of the men was sitting up, and rubbing his eyes; so I just sneaked away." "Did they follow after you, Joe?" asked George. "Never waited to see," replied the other, "but just cut stick, and hurried off. Oh! I've had an awful time getting along near the shore. Dassent get out of sight of the lake because you see I was that scared I'd get lost. I tumbled a thousand times, cut my head and hands on the rocks, nearly slipped into the lake twice, and was just ready to lay down and die, when night came on. Then I saw a fire over here, and just managed to make the riffle. Give you my word, fellers, if it'd been half a mile more I never'd got to camp." "Then Clarence is still in the hands of those two rascals?" Jack asked. "I reckon he is, 'less they saw fit to let him go free; and from what I seen of 'em, that ain't their game." "How far do you suppose that place was away from here?" came from careful George. Joe sat silent for a minute. He seemed to be trying to figure what manner of slow progress he may have made since effecting his freedom. "I thought I'd gone nigh twenty miles, judgin' by the way I felt," he finally said; "but come to figger it out I reckon it mightn't abeen more'n five." "Toward the west, you mean; for you came from that direction?" Jack continued. "Yes, that's so, over that way," pointing as he spoke. Jack turned to his chums. "It's up to us, boys," he said soberly. "Clarence has never been one of us; but he belongs to our school. We'd never forgive ourselves if we went back to the Soo tomorrow, and left him in the hands of these scoundrels. Do you agree with me?" "That's right, Jack!" sang out George. "Sure we would be cold-blooded to think of it," Josh declared. "Them's my sentiments," Herb spoke up; and both Nick and Jimmie nodded their heads violently, to prove that they were in no way behind their comrades in wishing to do a good deed toward one who had long been an open enemy. "Then let's consider what way we ought to go about it," Jack proceeded, with an air of business. "It's out of the question for us to try and go back the way Joe came. We couldn't make it under hours; and from his looks none of us are hankering after the experience. But there is a way to get there quickly." "The boats?" George put in. "One boat ought to carry all who will go, and let that be the _Comfort_, with five of us on board, taking the two guns to make a good show," Jack proceeded. Nick immediately set up a whine. "I guess I have feelings," he declared. "Don't I know you're just going to shut me out of this rescue game? I'm ready to do my part as well as the next one, ain't I? What you want to leave me behind for?" "You've got to obey orders, Buster," said George. "And besides, with so many aboard, the bully old _Comfort_ might founder," Josh thought it necessary to remark. "Besides, you are going to have your share of the work, and along a line you always like," Jack went on; "for while we're gone, it shall be your duty to make a new brew of coffee, fill Joe here cram up with all he can eat, and have something ready for Clarence when we bring him back. So you see, Buster, your duty is as important as any of ours. Every one in their particular line. You can't fight as well as Jimmie here; but you do know how to provide against starvation." Nick smiled broadly again, entirely appeased. "Count on me, Commodore," he said, briskly. "Where's that coffeepot right now? I'll do my duty to the letter. Why, it's a pleasure to look after the wants of a hungry fellow. It gives me something of an appetite just to think of the work I've got cut out for me." Jack put Nick and Joe out of his mind, after trying to get a little information from the latter, with regard to the character of the place where the _Flash_ had been wrecked, and the two hard looking customers were supposed to be still stopping. They went aboard the _Comfort_. Jack himself decided to run the boat, with the assistance of Herb and George. Above all things, silence was of more value to them just then than speed, if they hoped to steal up on the captors of Clarence without being detected. "Good luck!" called Nick, as the broad beamed motor boat started quietly away. CHAPTER XXIII HOMEWARD BOUND "Look! isn't that a fire over there?" asked sharp-eyed George, as he gripped Jack's arm suddenly. They had been moving cautiously along for the better part of an hour, striving in every way possible to avoid any drumming sound, such as nearly always betrays the presence of a motor boat near by. And in all that time they may have only covered some four miles, or possibly five; for no effort was made to drive the _Comfort_ at even half speed. "Looks like it," Jack replied, after a quick survey. "But how is it we didn't glimpse it before?" "I think a point of rocks must stick out between, and we've just opened the pocket," George replied, in a whisper. Of course Jack had immediately shut off the power, so that old reliable _Comfort_ stopped her forward movement, lying there on the dark waters like a log; for not a light of any description did they carry aboard. "Do we go ashore now?" asked Josh, softly; for all of them had been warned not to speak above a whisper from the time they started forth on their errand of mercy. "Yes," Jack replied. "That's one reason we've been keeping so close in. I'll drop into the dinky, and use the paddle. Foot by foot I can pull the motor boat to shore, and then we'll land." "How lucky there's not a breath of wind," Herb remarked, as he helped Jack draw the small tender alongside, and then crawl over the side. Presently Jack was working away, having attached the painter of the boat to a cleat at the bow of the _Comfort_. His method of using the paddle insured utter silence. Had it been an expert hunter, moving up on a deer that was feeding on the lily pads along the border of a Canada stream, he could hardly have manipulated that little spruce blade with more care. And so, foot by foot, the motor boat was coaxed in nearer the rock-bound shore. When Jack had finally succeeded in accomplishing his end he next sought some place where those still aboard could disembark, and the _Comfort_ be tied up while they went about the business that had brought them there. "Now, what next?" asked Herb, when the entire five had reached land, and the boat was amply secured to a split rock, with little danger of any injury resulting, because there was no wind and hence no movement to the water. "We've got to advance," Jack replied. "So as to get around that point; when we'll see the camp Joe told us about. Those fellows have got a big rowboat, he said, but hate to work the oars. He said they first talked of making the boys do the rowing; and then that scheme for getting more money came up. Are you ready for the job?" "I am that," said Jimmie, promptly, flourishing a club that looked like a baseball bat; and which would be apt to prove a formidable weapon in hands that were as clever as those of the stout Irish lad. "Count me in," remarked Herb, who was carrying a hatchet; having nothing else to serve him as a threatening weapon that might strike terror to the hearts of the enemy. "And I'm only too anxious to look in on 'em. Let me eat 'em up!" Josh growled, flourishing the camp bread knife in a most dreadful fashion. George had his rifle, and of course Jack carried the repeating Marlin shotgun which had proven its value on many another occasion. "Then come on, and be mighty careful, everybody," Jack cautioned, as he led off. They remembered what Joe had said about the "rough sledding" he had found in his endeavor to keep close to the water's edge, so that he might not get lost. And every one of the five were willing to admit that Joe spoke the truth when he told this; for they made the slowest kind of progress. Still, every yard passed over took them so much closer to the goal. And so long as they did not tumble and make a noise that would warn the enemy, it mattered little or nothing about the time they took in covering the ground. After a long time spent in this sort of crawling business Jack believed he could see what seemed to be a fire flickering among the stunted trees. Calling the attention of the others to this, he changed his course a bit, in order to find an easier route, and perhaps come upon the camp from behind. For tenderfeet the five boys seemed to be making a pretty clever advance. They could now see a man stretched at full length near the fire, as if sleeping; though now and then a puff of smoke told that he was only taking it easy, and indulging in his pipe. A little farther and they glimpsed the second fellow. He towered up like a house, being all of six foot-three, and bulky in proportion. But then, as Jack well knew, a man is only a man, no matter what his size, when he is looking into the muzzle of a rifle and modern repeating shotgun. And even this giant might well quail when brought to book. The boys were now creeping through the bushes, and getting very close in. All the while Jack was eagerly trying to see what had become of Clarence. At first he could discover nothing of the other; and became chilled with a deadly fear that these cowards might have gone to extremes; though he could hardly bring himself to really believe it. George was the first to find out what had been done with the prisoner. "I see him," he whispered close to Jack's ear. "He's lying on the ground over by that stump of a tree." Guided by these directions Jack was enabled to also place Clarence. There was certainly a figure lying there, and it must be the companion of Joe; for the latter had said there were only two of the scoundrels. Jack bobbed his head back in a hurry, after he had made this little survey of the enemy's camp. For the big man had arisen to his feet, and started toward the very place where Clarence lay. "Be ready!" muttered Jack, seeming to understand that the crisis must now be very close upon them. Arriving at the spot, the giant bent over, and they could hear his growl as he spoke harshly: "Made up yer mind yet, younker? Will ye write thet letter jest as we tell ye, and let a couple o' honest though unfortunit men have a square chanct to rake in a leetle pile? Speak up, now, d'ye hear?" He accompanied his words by a brutal kick that gave Jack and George a spasm of anger. "No! no! no!" shouted the obstinate Clarence, still undismayed; for his pluck was the best part of him, and had always been. At that the big brute raised his heavy boot with ugly words. It was doubtless his full intention to dash it against the side of the helpless boy, regardless as to what the consequences might be. But he changed his mind. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, mister!" said Jack, in an even, clear voice, as he and George suddenly stood up in full sight. He had covered the giant with his gun, and George was ready to do the same for the man with the pipe the instant he bounded to his feet. "Stand still, both of you, or we'll shoot!" George shouted. This was a signal for the other three who were behind, and they suddenly made their appearance, waving their crude weapons menacingly. The two men were apparently taken completely by surprise. They saw that the tables had been suddenly turned. And somehow, although these were only boys who confronted them, there was a grim air of business about those unwavering guns that neither of the cowards fancied at all. Jack had not known what the result was going to be. He hardly anticipated that the men would dare attack them in the face of those weapons. And he had arranged with George that should they show signs of flight, no one was to raise a hand to prevent them. When therefore the giant gave vent to a whoop and turning, galloped toward the water's edge, neither of the boys pulled trigger; though Josh let out a shout as though he might be chasing after; which he was not, all the same, for he did not fancy the looks of either of the rascals. The second man took to his heels also, dodging to the right and left in a ridiculous manner, as if expecting every second to hear the crash of Jack's gun, and feel himself being peppered with bird shot. They could be seen tumbling madly into their rowboat, and pushing out on the lake with all possible speed. "Let 'em go!" said Josh, grandly, as he replaced his bread knife in the leather scabbard he had made for it, so as to avoid any chance of cutting his fingers by coming in contact with its keen edge, when rummaging in the locker aboard the _Wireless_, where the cooking things were kept. Jack was already stooping over Clarence, and in a jiffy had severed the cords that bound him hand and foot. "I'm awful glad you came, Jack!" said the other weakly. "I believe that coward would have killed me if I didn't give in to him." "Here, work your arms and legs as fast as you can, Clarence!" said George. "We've got to get out of this in a hurry now, or they might even find the _Comfort_, and run away with her. You're going back with us, you know. Joe got in and told us." The two men having put what they thought a safe distance between themselves and the boys, began to shout insulting remarks, and make the most terrible threats. Although they could not be seen out on the lake, it was not so difficult to know in what quarter they chanced to be at the time. Angered by the insults, as well as the cruel manner in which they had treated Clarence and Joe, George picked up the shot gun which Jack had lain down for a minute, and before any one could stop him had discharged it. That some of the many little lead pellets in that shell had stung the profane scoundrels in the rowboat, the boys understood from the howl that arose, followed by the splashing of oars, telling that they were pulling madly away before a second shot added to their troubles. "Now come with us, Clarence," said Jack. They did not have to be so careful making their way back to where they had left the steady going old _Comfort_. And once aboard, the return trip was quickly accomplished. In camp Clarence was soon given all the food and coffee he could manage; and he professed himself as very grateful for all the motor boat boys had done for him. Since his speed boat had met with so tragic an end, Clarence declared that he had had enough of cruising, and would start straight home as soon as they reached the Soo, if the boys would lend them enough money to buy tickets--which programme he and Joe carried out; nor were our six friends at all sorry to see them vanish from view. Leaving the Soo, Jack and his chums spent almost two weeks upon the crooked St. Mary's river, camping, fishing and enjoying themselves to the utmost. But never did they touch on Canadian soil but that poor Buster seemed to be dreadfully uneasy, sticking close to the fire, and breathing a sigh of genuine relief when once more afloat, with no unpleasant reminders wafted after them. Jack and Nick had made up a little programme for themselves, which they sprung upon their comrades later, when leaving the three boats at Milwaukee to be sent by rail to the home town on the Upper Mississippi. This was nothing more nor less than saying good-bye to the rest of the boys in Milwaukee, and taking a little run down to Chicago, "to see the sights, you know," as Nick cleverly put it. But everybody guessed that the greatest attraction which all Chicago could boast for the deserters would be found within the borders of Oak Park, and under the roof of the banker, Mr. Roland Andrews. And so the great cruise had finally come to an end. Looking back the boys found no reason to regret their course. True, there might be a number of incidents that would stand out for a long time with a bit of harshness; but time mellows all such things; and even Buster would laugh just as heartily as any of his chums when his adventure with the bull, or the pretty Canada pussy-cat, were mentioned. They had had such a glorious time of it that undoubtedly other trips must be talked over during the coming winter; and with the coming of the holiday season once again the motor boat boys would be found ready to set out again on their search for new adventures. Jocko went home with George and was a source of considerable costly amusement in the Rollins' home. We shall surely hope and expect to continue the pleasant acquaintance formed in the pages of the several books already published; and in new fields accompany Jack Stormways and his chums, with their gallant little boats, through other scenes, where true American pluck and endurance, such as they have always shown, must carry them through all perils to success. THE END Boy Scouts _SERIES_ EVERY BOY AND GIRL IN THE LAND _WILL WANT TO READ THESE INTERESTING AND INSTRUCTIVE BOOKS_ [Illustration] WRITTEN BY That Great Nature Authority and Eminent Scout Master G. HARVEY RALPHSON of the Black Bear Patrol The eight following great titles are now ready, printed from large, clear type on a superior quality of paper, embellished with original illustrations by eminent artists, and bound in a superior quality of binder's cloth, ornamented with illustrative covers stamped in two colors of foil and ink from unique and appropriate dies: 1 Boy Scouts in Mexico; or, On Guard with Uncle Sam 2 Boy Scouts in the Canal Zone; or, The Plot Against Uncle Sam 3 Boy Scouts in the Philippines; or, The Key to the Treaty 4 Boy Scouts in the Northwest; or, Fighting Forest Fires 5 Boy Scouts in a Motor Boat; or, Adventures on the Columbia River 6 Boy Scouts in an Airship; or, The Warning from the Sky 7 Boy Scouts in a Submarine; or, Searching An Ocean Floor 8 Boy Scouts on Motor Cycles; or, With the Flying Squadron The above books are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent prepaid to any address, upon receipt of 50c each, or any three for $1.15, or four for $1.50, or seven for $2.45, by the publishers M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 701-727 S. Dearborn Street, CHICAGO BEST BOOKS NOW READY Oliver Optic Series For a full generation the youth of America has been reading and re-reading "Oliver Optic." No genuine boy ever tires of this famous author who knew just what boys wanted and was always able to supply his wants. Books are attractively bound in art shades of English vellum cloth, three designs stamped in three colors. Printed from large type on an extra quality of clean flexible paper. Each book in glazed paper wrapper. 12mo. cloth. 1 All Aboard 2 Brave Old Salt 3 Boat Club, The 4 Fighting Joe 5 Haste and Waste 6 Hope and Have 7 In School and Out 8 Little by Little 9 Now or Never 10 Outward Bound 11 Poor and Proud 12 Rich and Humble 13 Sailor Boy, The 14 Soldier Boy, The 15 Try Again 16 Watch and Wait 17 Work and Win 18 The Yankee Middy 19 The Young Lieutenant ALWAYS _ASK FOR THE_ DONOHUE Complete Editions and you will get the best for the least money All of the above books may be had at the store where this book was bought, or will be sent postpaid at 75c per copy by the publishers M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 701-727 S. Dearborn St., CHICAGO ALWAYS _ASK FOR THE_ DONOHUE Complete Editions and you will get the best for the least money Thrilling, Interesting, Instructive Books, _by_ EDWARD S. ELLIS No boy's library is complete unless it contains all of the books by that charming, delightful writer of boys' stories of adventure, EDWARD S. ELLIS. The following are the titles, uniform in size, style and binding: 1. Life of Kit Carson 2. Lone Wolf Cave 3. Star of India 4. The Boy Captive 5. The Red Plume All of the above books may be had at the store where this book was bought, or will be sent postage prepaid at 75c each, by the publishers M. A. DONOHUE & CO., 701-727 S. Dearborn Street, CHICAGO _ASK YOUR BOOKSELLER FOR_ THE DONOHUE COMPLETE EDITIONS and you will get the best for the least money Alger Series For Boys [Illustration] The public and popular verdict for many years has approved of the Alger series of books as among the most wholesome of all stories for boys. To meet the continued demand for these books in the most attractive style of the binder's art, we have made this special edition in ornamental designs in three colors, stamped on side and back. Clear, large type is used on superior super-finish paper. The elaborate designs are stamped upon binder's English linen cloth, with side and back titles in large letterings. Each book in printed wrapper. 12mo. cloth. 1 Adrift in New York 2 Andy Gordon 3 Andy Grant's Pluck 4 Bob Burton 5 Bound to Rise 6 Brave and Bold 7 Cash Boy, The 8 Charlie Codman's Cruise 9 Chester Rand 10 Cousin's Conspiracy, A 11 Do and Dare 12 Driven From Home 13 Erie Train Boy 14 Facing the World 15 Five Hundred Dollars 16 Frank's Campaign 17 Grit; The Young Boatman 18 Herbert Carter's Legacy 19 Hector's Inheritance 20 Helping Himself 21 In a New World 22 Jack's Ward 23 Jed, the Poor House Boy 24 Joe's Luck 25 Julius, the Street Boy 26 Luke Walton 27 Making His Way 28 Mark Mason's Victory 29 Only an Irish Boy 30 Paul Prescott's Charge 31 Paul, the Peddler 32 Phil, the Fiddler 33 Ralph Raymond's Heir 34 Risen from the Ranks 35 Sam's Chance 36 Shifting for Himself 37 Sink or Swim 38 Slow and Sure 39 Store Boy, The 40 Strive and Succeed 41 Strong and Steady 42 Struggling Upward 43 Telegraph Boy, The 44 Tin Box, The 45 Tom, the Boot Black 46 Tony, the Tramp 47 Try and Trust 48 Wait and Hope 49 Walter Sherwood's Probation 50 Wren Winter's Triumph 51 Young Aerobat 52 Young Adventurer, The 53 Young Explorer 54 Young Miner 55 Young Musician 56 Young Outlaw 57 Young Salesman ALWAYS _ASK FOR THE_ DONOHUE Complete Editions and you will get the best for the least money All of the above books may be had at the store where this book was bought, or will be sent postpaid at 50 cents each by the publishers M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY 701-727 S. DEARBORN ST. CHICAGO ALWAYS _ASK FOR THE_ DONOHUE Complete Editions and you will get the best for the least money Henty Series _FOR BOYS_ G. A. Henty was the most prolific writer of boy's stories of the nineteenth century. From two to five books a year came from his facile pen. No Christmas holidays were complete without a new "Henty Book." This new series comprises 45 titles. They are printed on an extra quality of paper, from new plates and bound in the best quality of cloth, stamped on back and side in inks from unique and attractive dies. 12 mo. cloth. Each book in a printed wrapper. 1 Among Malay Pirates 2 Bonnie Prince Charlie 3 Boy Knight, The 4 Bravest of the Brave 5 By England's Aid 6 By Pike and Dyke 7 By Right of Conquest 8 By Sheer Pluck 9 Captain Bayley's Heir 10 Cat of Bubastes 11 Col. Thorndyke's Secret 12 Cornet of Horse, The 13 Dragon and the Raven 14 Facing Death 15 Final Reckoning, A 16 For Name and Fame 17 For the Temple 18 Friends, Though Divided 19 Golden Canon 20 In Freedom's Cause 21 In the Reign of Terror 22 In Times of Peril 23 Jack Archer 24 Lion of St. Mark 25 Lion of the North 26 Lost Heir, The 27 Maori and Settler 28 One of the 28th 29 Orange and Green 30 Out on the Pampas 31 Queen's Cup, The 32 Rujub, the Juggler 33 St. George for England 34 Sturdy and Strong 35 Through the Fray 36 True to the Old Flag 37 Under Drake's Flag 38 With Clive in India 39 With Lee in Virginia 40 With Wolfe in Canada 41 Young Buglers, The 42 Young Carthaginians 43 Young Colonists, The 44 Young Franc-Tireurs 45 Young Midshipman All of above titles can be procured at the store where this book was bought, or sent to any address for 50c postage paid, by the publishers M. A. DONOHUE & CO., 701-727 South Dearborn Street CHICAGO ALWAYS _ASK FOR THE_ DONOHUE Complete Editions and you will get the best for the least money "Jack Harkaway" [Illustration] Series of Books For Boys By Bracebridge Hemyng "=For a regular thriller commend me to 'Jack Harkaway.'=" This edition of Jack Harkaway is printed from large clear type, new plates, on a very superior quality of book paper and the books are substantially bound in binders' cloth. The covers are unique and attractive, each title having a separate cover in colors from new dies. Each book in printed wrapper, with cover design and title. Cloth 12mo. 1 Jack Harkaway's School Days 2 Jack Harkaway After School Days 3 Jack Harkaway Afloat and Ashore 4 Jack Harkaway at Oxford 5 Jack Harkaway's Adventures at Oxford 6 Jack Harkaway Among the Brigands of Italy 7 Jack Harkaway's Escape From the Brigands of Italy 8 Jack Harkaway's Adventures Around the World 9 Jack Harkaway in America and Cuba 10 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in China 11 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in Greece 12 Jack Harkaway's Escape From the Brigands of Greece 13 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in Australia 14 Jack Harkaway and His Boy Tinker 15 Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among the Turks We will send any of the above titles postpaid to any address. Each 75c M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 701-727 DEARBORN STREET CHICAGO ALWAYS _ASK FOR THE_ DONOHUE Complete Editions and you will get the best for the least money _SELECTED WORKS OF_ EUGENE FIELD [Illustration] A very attractive selection of popular books by this favorite and gifted author. Each book contains a carefully selected and classified list of poems that have endeared the author to millions and given him a place among the immortals. These books should be in every library, both public and private. In Four Volumes. Boxed. Cloth Binding. Price, =$3.00= per set. Single Volumes =75c= each, postpaid. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND The contents of this volume is especially selected and arranged for the little folks. All are suitable for use in school exercises and on "Eugene Field Day." HOOSIER LYRICS This is a series of pathetic, amusing and entertaining poems rendered in Indiana dialect on notable Hoosier scenes with parodies on poems by James Whitcomb Riley. JOHN SMITH, U. S. A. The romantic story of John Smith, also includes many other poems, all of which afford suitable material for "Field Readings" and general school and church entertainments. THE CLINK OF THE ICE and other poems Edition containing portraits and autographs. Stories of inimitable wit and humor with lullabies and sketches of every day scenes that made Eugene Field famous. All worth while. =Printed from new plates on good paper, uniformly and neatly bound in cloth; gold titles on front and back.= For sale by all book and newsdealers or sent postpaid to any address upon receipt of price in stamps, currency, postal or express money order, by the publishers. M. A. Donohue & Co., 701-727 S. Dearborn St. Chicago ALWAYS _ASK FOR THE_ DONOHUE COMPLETE EDITIONS--THE BEST FOR LEAST MONEY Donohue's Plays, Dialogs, Readings, Recitations, _Etc._ A carefully compiled series of books, which includes everything that is fresh, popular and up-to-date. Embracing, Humorous, Sentimental, Patriotic, Serious, Comic, Eloquent, Pathetic, Character and Dialect Sketches that are always in demand. MODEL SERIES OF SPEAKERS AND DIALOGS Nos. 1 to 14, recitations and dialogs for all occasions, price, =10c= each. 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The above books have been carefully prepared for pupils of all ages, and are especially adopted for the use of Schools, Churches, Lyceums, Anniversaries, Temperance Societies, Lodges, in fact, they are indispensable when preparing for _any_ public entertainment. For sale by all Book and Newsdealers, or will be sent to any address in the United States, Canada or Mexico, postage paid, on receipt of price, in currency, money order or stamps. M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 701-727 S. DEARBORN STREET CHICAGO _TWO COMPANION BOOKS_ UNIFORM IN SIZE HAND BOOK _OF_ Universal Information AND ENCYCLOPEDIA OF PRACTICAL RECIPES [Illustration] "=No home is complete without this book.=" Is the opinion of thousands who have had occasion to use a few of the hundreds of recipes and information so essential to the housekeeper, farmer, mechanic, merchant, laborer and all others who wish to travel the road others have, to wealth and happiness. It reveals the secret processes of making patent medicines, inventions, and discoveries that have brought fortunes to their owners. Substantially bound in cloth. Price, =50c= In paper cover, =25c= DONOHUE'S MANUAL _OF_ General Information [Illustration] "=This book is worth its weight in gold.=" This is the most compact, concise and complete handy manual of General Information ever published. It contains the latest census statistics, postal regulations, salaries of all government officials, valuable tables, and a vast fund of useful information found only in a hundred books, each costing more than we ask for this one. Substantially bound in cloth. Price, =50c= In paper cover, =25c= For sale by all book and newsdealers or sent postpaid to any address in the United States, Canada or Mexico upon receipt of price in currency, postal or express money order. M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 701-727 S. DEARBORN STREET CHICAGO ALWAYS _Ask For The_ DONOHUE Complete Editions--The best for least money FOR THE _VEST POCKET_ DONOHUE'S VEST POCKET DICTIONARY AND COMPLETE MANUAL OF PARLIAMENTARY PRACTICE Containing 192 pages; size, 5-3/4 x 2-3/4. It contains more words, more miscellaneous matter, and embraces more pages than any other Vest Pocket Dictionary on the market, and yet it is so admirably made that it does not bulk in the pocket. Besides the dictionary of the English language it contains a dictionary of Latin words and phrases, French words and phrases, Italian words and phrases, Spanish words and phrases, and complete manual of parliamentary practice. Type clear, paper good and binding excellent. It is made in the following styles: Bound in binders' cloth, red edges, without index =25c= Bound in cloth, red edges, with index =35c= Bound in full leather, full gilt edges, indexed =50c= LEGAL RIGHTS OF CITIZENS Police powers and duties defined. 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DEARBORN ST._ _CHICAGO_ CHOICE FICTION LIBRARY _FAMOUS BOOKS FAMOUS AUTHORS_ UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME This is the =only cloth bound edition= on the market of these famous books in which several of the titles are complete in one volume, to be retailed at this low uniform price. The following are the titles embracing only the best sellers by the most widely read authors. Aikenside _Mary J. Holmes_ Beautiful Fiend _E. D. E. N. Southworth_ Black Beauty _Anna Sewall_ Black Rock _Ralph Connor_ Bride's Dowry _E. D. E. N. Southworth_ Camille _Alexander Dumas, Jr._ Cousin Maud _Mary J. Holmes_ Dora Deane _Mary J. Holmes_ Faithful Unto Death _E. D. E. N. Southworth_ Golden Heart, A _Bertha M. Clay_ Her Only Sin _Bertha M. Clay_ Inez _Augusta Evans-Wilson_ Ishmael _E. D. E. N. Southworth_ King Solomon's Mines _H. Rider Haggard_ Mad Love, A _Bertha M. Clay_ Maggie Miller _Mary J. Holmes_ Mildred _Mary J. Holmes_ Miss McDonald _Mary J. Holmes_ Self-Raised _E. D. E. N. Southworth_ Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde _Stevenson_ Story of a Wedding Ring _Bertha M. Clay_ Ten Nights in a Bar Room _T. S. Arthur_ Treasure Island _Robert Louis Stevenson_ Victor's Triumph _E. D. E. N. Southworth_ Woman Against Woman _Mrs. M. E. Holmes_ _Always--to get the best books for the least money ask for the Donohue Complete Editions._ All of the above books may be had at the store where this book was bought, or will be sent postpaid at 25c per copy, or any five for $1.00, by the publishers M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 701-727 S. Dearborn Street CHICAGO ALWAYS _ASK FOR THE_ DONOHUE Complete Editions and you will get the best for the least money _THE WORLD'S GREATEST_ Comic Books Each Book Contains Many Comic Pictures. Cover in Colors. Price 25 Cents Each, Postpaid. =A SON OF REST, by Nat M. Wills.= The king of vaudeville artists. Chuck full of wit and humor. 100 pages of monologs, parodies, jokes and gags. =I BLEW IN FROM ARKANSAW.= A trip of fun through Hoosierdom, funny railroad stories, darky sayings, jokes and yarns. =IN DIXIE LAND, by Opie Read.= Late stories by the greatest character delineator and story teller living, humorous, pathetic. =WITH A BUM SHOW OUT WEST, by Ned Pedigo.= Monologs, gags, songs, haps and mishaps. Humorous experiences, sketches, all to amuse the wild and woolly west. =HAPPY THO' BROKE, by C. A. Fox.= The limit, up-to-date. The experiences of one who left his happy home to play a lone hand in the game of life. =THEY'RE OFF.= Flashes and sparks from world of fun. The best "turns" and "stunts" on the vaudeville stage. Learn to tell a good story and you are a jolly good fellow. =FURTHER CONFESSIONS OF A CON MAN.= The title fully describes the book, maybe you've met him. Get a copy of the book and laugh at the ways of the Innocent. =WHEN THE LID IS OFF. Limit of laughs.= A free for all exhibition of the hilarious within the radius of clean, unobjectionable funnyisms. =BEYOND THE HILLS, by Opie Read.= New railroad stories, yarns and character sketches, negro melodies, stories and yarns. For sale by all book and newsdealers, or sent postpaid to any address at 25c each, any two for 45c, any three for 63c, or any five for $1.00 in stamps, currency, postal or express money order by the publishers. M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 701-727 South Dearborn Street, CHICAGO Transcriber's Notes: --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in bold by "equal" signs (=bold=). --Printer, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. --Expanded oe ligatures: manoeuvring (p. 185), manoeuvre (p. 193).