The rain fell heavily, persistently, provokingly. Now and then came a crash of thunder which seemed to shake the earth; vivid lightning cut zigzags in the murky sky. The little islands of the Babuyan group in the Balintang channel seemed to rock in the arms of the storm.
The motor boatManhattanlay tossing and drawing at her anchor in an obscure bay of tiny dimensions on the west coast of a small island which is a member of the Babuyan group and faces the China Sea. Ned, Frank, Jack and Jimmie sat sweating in the little cabin, which was in the back of the boat, the engine being located toward the center. The day was dark because of the clouds and the downpour of the rain, and the heavy foliage of the trees which came down to the very lip of the bay made it dim in the little cabin, but there was no artificial light.
The boys were waiting for the storm to subside. They knew the moods of the weather man of the Philippines well enough to understand that the rain was likely to continue for several days, it being the opening of the rainy season, but they preferred not to face the initial tempest. In a few hours comparative quiet would come, and there would be only the steady fall of rain.
Since leaving the little island where the transport had landed them, they had visited three little dots of land in the channel, and on each one they had found signals in grass pointing to the north and west.
"That Boy Scout, whoever he is," Jimmie said, as they discussed the signals in the almost stifling atmosphere of the cabin, "is strictly next to his job! He's showing the way, all right!"
"I'll bet you a can of corn against a bite of canned pie that he's from New York," Jack Bosworth observed.
"Speaking of pie," Frank cut in, "there's a little restaurant on Beekman street where they serve hot pies at noon for a dime. You go in there at twelve and get a peach pie, and an apple pie, and a berry pie, hot out of the oven, and buy a piece of cheese, and go back to the office and consume your frugal repast. What?"
"If you talk about hot pie here," Jack said, threateningly, "I'll tip you out of the boat. Pie! When I go back to little old New York I'm going to have mother meet me at the pier with a pie under each arm!"
"I won't take your bet, Jack," Jimmie said. "I'd lose. I know he's from New York, an' he belongs to the Wolf Patrol."
"I thought you left your dream book at home!" cried Frank.
"There was a boy named Pat Mack," Jimmie went on, "who enlisted and went to the Philippines a year ago. He was sixteen when he enlisted, but looked older, and so they let him in, he bein' a husky chap. He belonged to the Wolf Patrol, an' was a chum of Ned's. You remember him, Ned?"
"Pat Mack?" repeated Ned. "Who would ever forget him? Why, that red-headed Irishman is not a person to be forgotten, if once known. Why do you think he is with the party we are following, Jimmie?"
"Because Captain Godwin said one of the young men with the Lieutenant has hair so red that he didn't need a light to go to bed by. That's Pat Mack! And if he is with that bunch there'll be something doing before long. That boy will fight a rattlesnake an' give him the first bite."
"He is all to the good as a pugilist," Ned said. "That was the trouble with him in New York. He was always in some kind of a mess because of his quick temper and his ready fists. I hope it is Pat who is leaving these signs."
"You bet it is," Jimmie insisted. "Say, look here! Who's rockin' this boat?"
The boys were all sitting quietly in their seats, but theManhattanwas rocking in a manner not accounted for by the storm. Motioning the others to remain where they were, Ned arose and passed out of the cabin.
The boat was still swaying violently, and Ned could at first see no good reason for it, but presently a commotion in the water, a commotion not caused by the wind and rain, caught his eyes and he advanced to the stern. After looking into the water for a moment he went to the cabin and beckoned to the boys.
"If you don't mind getting soaking wet," he said, "come out here."
"What is it?" asked Frank, lazily.
"Is it anything good to eat?" asked Jimmie.
Jack made no response but bounded forward and looked over the edge of the boat into the bay. What he saw was a great head with protruding jaws and a long, dark back covered with enormous half defined scales, like armor plate.
"What is it?" he asked, drawing a revolver from his pocket.
Ned pushed his hand back and the weapon was returned to a pocket.
"Don't shoot," he said. "We are not yet ready to announce our presence here."
"But what is that thing?" demanded Jack. "Is he trying to eat up the boat?"
"That is a crocodile," Ned replied. "Corker, eh?"
"Will he bite?" asked Jack, reaching for a boathook.
"Jump in and see," laughed Ned. "They live on fish, but eat dogs and men when they feel just right. The rivers and lakes of the Philippines swarm with them."
Jimmie and Frank now came out of the cabin and looked down at the crocodile.
"He's scratching his old nose on the boat!" Jimmie said. "That's what makes it rock so!"
"He thinks it's a sandwich, with meat inside," laughed Frank. "Suppose we give him a poke in the ribs?"
He reached forward with the boathook, which he took from Jack's hand, and jabbed at the creature, which did not appear to mind the presence of the boys at all, but continued his nosing of the boat.
"His hide is as tough as the crust of the pies Bridget used to make!" the boy said, jabbing harder than before and throwing his weight on the handle of the hook.
Just then the boat shunted to one side, the crocodile swished away, and Frank fell headlong into the agitated waters of the little bay. Jack saw him going and tried to catch him, but did not succeed.
The crocodile had turned away from the boat when Frank struck the water with a great splash, but he turned back and surveyed the submerged figure with some degree of interest.
Frank of course went down under the surface as he fell, and remained there for a second. When his body rose toward the surface the crocodile approached him. Jimmie and Jack drew their revolvers.
"Don't shoot!" commanded Ned.
"He'll eat Frank alive!" whispered Jimmie.
"He's making a grab for his leg now!" Jack added.
Frank came to the surface and struck out for the boat, which was only a few strokes away, the crocodile following in his wake, the giant armor-plated body moving through the water stolidly and without visible means of motion. The rough back looked like a log which had lain long in the waters of a swamp and had caught rust from mineral deposits and a nasty brown from decaying vegetation.
Frank knew the danger he was in, but did not seem to understand that the boys on the boat were aware of his peril, for he swung his body out of the water and whirling, pointed to the crocodile. As he did so the monster speeded forward and snapped at his arm.
"Shoot! Shoot!" cried Jimmie.
But no shots were fired. When the great mouth of the monster opened something shot out from the boat and landed squarely between the extended jaws of the crocodile. There was a snap, a crunching sound, then the water was whipped into commotion by the writhing body of the monster.
A rope was thrown to Frank and he was soon on board, not much wetter than his chums, standing in the driving rain, and not at all injured by his adventure.
"Cripes!" Jimmie cried, as Frank stood panting by his side, "I thought he had you where the whale had Jonah."
"What was that you fed him?" asked Frank of Ned.
"Just a bottle of gasoline which lay here," was the reply.
"You couldn't make a throw like that again in a hundred years!" Frank said.
"If you're goin' to feed gasoline to the crocodiles," grinned Jimmie, "I'll notify the government."
"If the breed listens to what that fellow has to say of gasoline as an article of food," Ned laughed, "there won't be much demand for it."
"He'd have had my arm if you hadn't hit the mark," Frank said. "I'll owe you an arm as long as I live, old man!"
"And that big fish owes Uncle Sam a quart of gasoline and a good blue glass bottle," laughed Jack. "I wonder how it will set on his tummy?"
"Now," Ned said, "I'm as wet as it is possible to get, so I'm going on shore to see if our Boy Scout left any mail for us. I'm getting anxious to catch up with the Lieutenant and his abductors."
"I'm goin' too!" said Jimmie.
"You're not," Ned replied. "I'm not going to the trouble of keeping track of you in that wilderness."
"All right!" Jimmie grunted, apparently resigned to his fate, but when Ned rowed ashore and disappeared in the thicket which skirted the bay the little fellow recklessly slipped into the water and came out unharmed on the beach farther to the south than Ned had landed. He stood for a moment with the salt water running out of his hair and over his freckled face, made an amusing grimace at the boys in the boat, and scurried into the jungle.
"The little dunce!" Jack exclaimed.
"If he keeps close to Ned he will be all right," Frank observed, "but if he goes to wandering about on his own account he will get into trouble. I've got a hunch that the people we are following are on that island."
In five minutes Ned made his appearance, rowing swiftly out to the boat.
"They are there!" he exclaimed. "I found the trail mark and the direction. A yard from the last direction I found the triple warning three times repeated. You know what that means?"
"Life or death," was the reply, and the three boys stood looking into each other's faces for a moment without speaking.
"I guess they're going to murder the prisoners," Jack said, presently, breaking the painful silence.
"That is what the sign seems to read," Ned said, gravely.
"Then we may as well be getting out our guns," Frank said.
Ned nodded, and turned toward the shore again. In a moment he faced his chums again, his eyes startled and anxious.
"Where's Jimmie?" he asked.
"He went ashore!"
"Didn't you see him?"
Ned turned from Frank to Jack and then pointed toward an elevation toward the center of the island.
The clouds hung low and the rain was still falling in torrents, but under the gray sky and through the downpour of the rain two columns of smoke lifted an eloquent voice.
"That's a Boy Scout call!" exclaimed Jack.
"Two columns of smoke," Frank said, "mean 'Help'! Jimmie couldn't have kindled two fires since he has been gone, could he?"
"Of course not," Jack replied. "That's Pat Mack, the red-headed rascal!"
"I bet he wishes he was back on Chatham Square!" observed Frank.
The boys waited ten minutes, but Jimmie did not make his appearance.
"He's in trouble!" cried Frank. "We better go and see what kind of a fix he's gotten into."
"It may be," Ned said, after a short pause, "that he has seen the call for help, and is making his way in that direction."
"That is just like him!" Jack burst out.
"Are we going in there after him?" Frank asked.
"We are likely to lose him in the thicket if we go," Ned cautioned, "and it seems to me that we ought to wait a short time. He is wise enough not to go butting into a camp."
"What sort of a place is it in there?" asked Jack.
"It is one of the nameless islands of the Babuyan group," Ned answered. "Like most of the others, it is of volcanic formation. There is a central elevation, and a stream of good size starts up there somewhere and runs into a bay farther north. I was thinking of speeding up and trying to get into the interior by way of the river."
"With the engine barking like a terrier in a rat pit!" said Frank.
"For once," said Ned, with a smile, "you have said a good thing! We've got to lie here and wait until dark. Then we can advance through the jungle and look for their campfire."
"Perhaps they won't build a fire."
This from Frank, who was stuffing his pockets with cartridges.
"Of course they will!" Jack put in. "They will have to keep the wildcats away."
"Wildcats!" laughed Frank. "There isn't a wildcat within a thousand miles of this island."
"Don't you ever think it," Jack insisted. "There are plenty of wildcats in the Philippines, and snakes, and lizards. In fact, the islands are not unlike the Isthmus of Panama in this regard. And monkeys! Well, we've heard enough chattering already to put us wise to them."
As the boy spoke a great chattering broke out in a thicket only a few rods away from the beach. The monkeys seemed frightened, and moving toward the shore.
"Jimmie is in there!" Ned exclaimed. "I wish I could chloroform the little pests. They will betray the presence of the lad."
While the boys waited, wondering what was to be the outcome of the dangerous situation, the sharp whistle of a launch came from the opposite side of the island. The first blast was followed by three others, in quick succession, and then a shot was heard from the interior.
"This must be receiving day for the little brown men!" said Jack. "There's a boat over there talking to them. What about it, Ned?"
"If you boys will promise not to leave the boat," Ned said, "I'll go ashore and try to find out what is going on. This island lies on the rim of the China Sea, and that boat may be from the land of the Celestials!"
"Bringing arms to put Uncle Sam to the bad!" exclaimed Frank. "I'd like to pull their pigtails!"
The boys promised not to leave theManhattan, and Ned rowed ashore and struck into the jungle. There was now an uproar of chattering all over the island, it seemed, and he walked swiftly under cover of the racket. In half an hour he was on an elevation which gave him a view of the China Sea. What he saw caused him to drop suddenly to the ground.
When Jimmie left theManhattanhe thought it would be perfectly easy to follow Ned into the jungle. Before leaving Captain Godwin's charge the boys had been provided with bolos, and the youngster slipped one under his jacket before leaving the motor boat. This he used to good purpose, though with great caution, as he crept through the thickets.
As is well known, it is almost impossible to make headway in a Philippine forest without chopping down creepers and tangled vines. The bolo is always in use by parties hunting or exploring. It is a short, heavy sword, or knife, similar to the machete of Cuba, and is frequently used in warfare. In the hands of an expert it becomes a very effective weapon.
Gaining the thicket, Jimmie stood still and listened for some indication of the presence of his patrol leader. But the patter of the rain, the rustling of the great leaves, the scolding of the wet and alarmed monkeys in the trees about him, served to shut out any other sounds.
He walked as fast as he could through the jungle toward the center of the island, or in the direction which he believed to be the center. Always his way was uphill, and now and then he was obliged to draw himself up some acclivity by pulling, hand over hand, on a creeper trailing from a tree.
Certain that he could find his way back, he did not blaze the way. Here and there he hewed down a thorny limb which tore at his clothes, or cut a creeper from a tree, but he made no effort to mark his path.
Occasionally he came to a little glade, a space clear of trees but hemmed in by the eternal jungle just the same. Here the way was choked with rank cogon grass, growing from eight to twelve feet high. He found this as mean a growth to pass through as any briar patch or cane-brake.
Cogon grass seems a useless parasite on the bosom of old Mother Earth, and yet it presents a compensation in its gorgeous white bloom, for, like the poppy, the cogon is a show-piece of nature, and she flaunts it in places where beauty is needed, too. Jimmie had never seen a field of buckwheat in blossom, or he might have compared the cogon stretches to fields in the United States at certain seasons of the year.
Even in his haste, in the uncomfortable day, the boy stopped to gaze in wonder at the wonderful balete tree, which is a representative of the fig family. This tree begins life as a parasite, at least it springs to life in a crotch of some other tree. Here it thrives on the humus and decayed vegetable matter and sends long, winding tendrils down to the ground.
These tendrils take root and grow with such vigor that the supporting trunk is rapidly enveloped in a coalescing mass of stems, while its own branches are overtopped by the usurper, which kills it eventually as much by stealing its sunshine as by appropriating the soil at its base. When very old these trees possess a massive trunk, usually, with a large cavity in the middle where the trunk of the other tree rotted out. Some of the younger trees, however, seem to stand on stilts.
Jimmie saw many things to marvel at, for a Philippine forest is not at all like a forest in the states of New York or Illinois. In the glades he saw plants of enormous size, with leaves seven feet long. He came upon rattan or bejuco thickets, where thorns, pointing down the stems like barbs on a fish-hook, snatched at his clothes and clung to them too.
A variety of this plant has a stem, trailing on the ground, five hundred feet long. This stem is hollow and divided into compartments by diaphragms at the joints, like the bamboo. Each compartment contains about a mouthful of pure water.
Jimmie climbed upward for half an hour, thinking every moment that he would come upon some trace of Ned, but Ned, as the reader knows, was at that time waiting in the cabin of theManhattanfor the return of his friend. Unconsciously he wandered off to the right, or north, and presently came to an elevation from which he could overlook the rain-splashed waters of the China Sea.
By the time he reached this position Ned was also in the forest, hoping to meet Jimmie as well as to learn the meaning of the signals from the unknown launch and the firing on the island. Ned, however, for a long time kept to the left, and when at last he came to an elevation he was at least a mile away from that to which Jimmie had ascended.
From the hill—it could not be termed a mountain, though it was of volcanic formation—Jimmie looked into a glade from which the smoke of a fire ascended. He would have observed the two columns of smoke which had been seen from the motor boat had he reached the position earlier, or if he had not been surrounded by the thicket when the Boy Scout signal rose to the sky.
He could see people moving about the fire, which was partially protected from the storm by a heavy canvas on the windward side. A crude shelter composed of great leaves and canvas was also seen, and in this he thought he saw several reclining figures. By this time the boy had given up all hope of coming upon Ned, and also of finding his way back to theManhattanwithout a careful study of the location.
From the place where he stood he could look over a large portion of the island. He could see a river running to the east, and wondered if the bay in which the motor boat was lay not near the mouth of the stream. Still, there were many indentations in the shores of the little isle; he could not discover theManhattanin any of them.
He studied over the situation for a time and then arrived at the conclusion that he could best find his way back to the boat by following the line of the coast. That, however, necessitated a long journey and, perhaps, the swimming of streams which would doubtless take him far into the night, and a Philippine jungle is no place to travel in the darkness. Besides being decidedly uncomfortable, such a trip would be dangerous. Even if there were no wildcats on the island, there were plenty of reptiles. Then he caught sight of a launch off to the east and changed his plans.
His idea was to circle the camp and gain a position between it and the place where the launch had made its appearance. If the people on the boat were planning to land he wanted to see them before they reached the camp. If they were enemies he thought he could avoid them readily enough; if they were friends they might assist him in releasing the prisoners.
"Of course they're in with the game that's goin' on, though," he mused, as he made his way around the hill. "If they wasn't, what would they be comin' to the island for? There's no one here to visit—or wouldn't be if this party of dagoes hadn't landed. The men in the launch are here to meet the others, and that's all there is to it. I'm goin' to see what their business is!"
It was growing dim over the forest when Jimmie gained the position he sought, and there were lights in the launch down in a little bay and lights in the camp halfway up the hill. The rain still came down heavily, driven with considerable force by the wind, and the boy was, of course, soaked to the skin and suffering from the stings of the insects which swarm in Philippine forests, but still he waited patiently for some signs of communication between the people on the boat and those in the camp.
There was no stir in the thicket which lay between the two, and Jimmie concluded that he had arrived too late to witness the meeting of the two parties. The next thing to do was to get as close to the camp as he could without danger of detection and observe what was taking place there. It might be even possible, he thought, to get near enough to hear something of the conversation.
With this object in view he moved as stealthily as possible through the jungle, up the hill, toward the fire, shining dimly in the rain. Much to his surprise he found no guards posted about the camp. When fifty yards away, concealed from any possible view of those about the fire by a mass of creepers, he saw that the inhabitants of the camp were hustling about in the work of building a good-sized shelter of the huge leaves which grew about. The reclining forms in the shelter he had first seen were now only partly in sight.
"They are tryin' to keep the prisoners dry, anyway," the boy thought.
The shelter last spoken of was at the right of the fire, and Jimmie circled off so as to reach it from the rear, his purpose being to learn if the persons lying there were really the men who had been carried away from the island where Captain Godwin had his headquarters.
Presently he came upon a group of four people, standing, somewhat protected from the storm, under a great tree. He drew as close as he dared, even risking discovery, and listened. He could hear voices above the wailing of the wind and the patter of the rain, but could not understand what was being said. The conversation was being carried on in a tongue with which he was unfamiliar.
"Three of them are Chinks," he mused, when, in moving about, the men came between his line of vision and the slow flame of the fire. "They wear their shirts outside their trousers and have their hair done up like the Chinese in Pell street!"
Directly the fourth man of the party, who seemed to be an American, or, at least, an Englishman, asked:
"And the treaty? Will they sign?"
The others nodded and chattered away in their own tongue.
"When will they be here?" he then asked.
More chattering followed, and then the four hastened to the shelter which was being constructed. Jimmie gathered from the two questions he had heard that the island had been chosen as a meeting place, and that the shelter was being built for the accommodation of those expected.
He had heard something of the purpose of the government in sending Ned to the Philippines, and remembered now that there had been talk of a possible organization of the native tribes against the United States government. Now he suspected that the chiefs were to meet there to execute the treaty which was to tie the tribes together and bring about an armed revolt against American occupancy.
"It looks to me," he thought, "like the Chinese were at the bottom of the trouble. I guess China would like to get a foothold here!"
There was nothing more to be learned from the position he occupied, and so he moved on, always keeping to the right of the campfire, blazing dimly in the rain and requiring constant care, until he came out in a thicket close to the rear of the shelter where the men he believed to be prisoners lay. In five minutes he was at the canvas wall of the refuge, listening.
All was still inside, and it was evident that the conspirators did not suspect that they had been followed to their retreat. Looking about, he saw that most of the men of the party were still busily engaged in constructing the shelter and that no one was near the place he wished to investigate, so he cautiously lifted a corner of the canvas and looked inside.
The men there were four in number, and all seemed to be bound hand and foot! The captors were not taking any chances on escape, although they evidently believed themselves to be in full possession of the little island. All was still inside the shelter except that the rain descended steadily on the leaf roof and now and then a low moan came from the front of the place.
"That must be the man they cut up," thought the boy. "I wonder if it is Lieutenant Rowe who is wounded?"
While the boy waited, uncertain what course to pursue, another signal came from the shore and was answered by another pistol shot.
"Another bunch of Chinks!" he thought.
The signals brought considerable excitement to the camp, and Jimmie concluded that the new arrival must be a person of some importance. In a short time nearly every person in the camp rushed away down the hill toward the bay where the first launch was anchored, as if to welcome the new arrivals.
"Now's my time!" thought the boy, and in an instant his inquisitive head was thrust under the canvas, and then the low, snarling call of a wolf penetrated the shadowy place where the men he believed to be prisoners lay.
The effect of the signal was instantaneous. A figure half arose and dropped back again, only to roll over and over in the direction from which had come the Boy Scout signal used by all members of the Wolf Patrol. As the bound figure came awkwardly rolling on, Jimmie saw, with what joy may be readily understood, a red head shining in the firelight! Never in all his life had any color looked so good to Jimmie as that brilliant red did at that time!
"Pat Mack?" he whispered.
The figure wiggled and twisted vigorously, but there was no verbal reply.
"I'll bet dollars to doughnuts they've put a stick in his mouth," said Jimmie, and this whispered observation was answered by another muscular demonstration.
"Sure," muttered the boy, "it is Pat an' he's tryin' to talk to me with his feet, an' them tied up plenty!"
Bolo in hand he crept into the shelter, although the sound of voices told him that the people who had gone down the hill were now returning. He could not see the cords which held the still struggling man, but he found them with his fingers and cut them, not quite certain that he was serving a friend, but willing, under the circumstances, to take the risk. First the cords which held the feet were severed, then those which held the wooden gag in place, then that which confined the hands.
When this last cord was cut two muscular arms flew up and seized the boy about the neck, drawing his head down until his nose was buried in the wet clothes of the man he had released.
"Let up!" he muttered in a smothered voice.
Still the powerful arms drew him down, and the boy was beginning to wonder if he had not better use his bolo when a voice whispered:
"Jimmie! Is it dead we both are?"
"We will soon be if you don't let up!" answered Jimmie.
"Jimmie from the Bowery?" demanded the other.
"Sure!" was the reply. "What is this, anyway, a catch-as-catch-can? If you don't let up I'll take a rib out with my bolo."
With a spring which almost keeled the boy over the figure sprang up, ducked under the dripping canvas, and crouched in the thicket from which Jimmie had observed the tent. Jimmie's first thought was to follow, then he thought of the remaining prisoners and turned to cut their bonds.
But he was too late. As he turned three men came to the front of the shelter and bent low for the purpose of entering. To have hesitated longer would have been to invite capture, and so, with a sigh of regret, the boy shot under the canvas and joined the other in the thicket.
"It's leg bail for it!" came the familiar voice of Pat Mack, and the boys poked their faces into the thicket and kept going, regardless of the thorns and creepers which tore at their garments and tripped their feet. It was so dark now that they could not see a hand held two inches from their eyes, but they kept on, making as little noise as possible.
"You rapscallion," Pat Mack whispered, as the two came together in the embrace of a particularly tough creeper, "how did you ever get here? I saw you last on the good old Bowery!"
"I didn't fly over," replied Jimmie. "Here," he added, "take this bolo an' cut that rope! What did you mean by chokin' me when I cut you loose?"
"A hug of affection!" retorted the other. "You looked like an angel to me! Did you flutter down from the sky in the rain?"
"I ought to give you a good punch for it!" Jimmie replied. "You near took the hide off me beautiful nose! Have you got that bloomin' steel cable cut? Seems to me they are comin' after us!"
The boys stood perfectly still and listened. Above the patter of the rain, above the murmur of the trees, above the chattering of the aroused monkeys, came the crash of heavy bodies through the bushes, the sound of human voices.
"Sure they are!" whispered Pat, and they set off again.
Working their way painfully through the jungle, falling now and then over long vines, coming into contact with great trees and swinging parasites which brushed against their faces like snakes, the boys pressed on as rapidly as possible, but ever the sounds of pursuit came closer! The pursuers were more familiar with jungle methods than they, and no pretense of secrecy was made.
"Have you got a gun?" whispered Jimmie.
"I haven't even got a toothpick," was the reply.
"We'll have to fight before long," Jimmie said, panting with the exertion of the unfamiliar struggle with the jungle.
"There's plenty of hollow trees about," suggested Pat. "Why not hide in one of them until they pass?"
The suggestion seemed a good one, for a moment. Then the uselessness of such an effort at concealment became apparent. With sinking hearts the boys heard the low whine of a hound!
"I wonder how they managed to track us so easily," Jimmie said.
"Give me the bolo," Pat said. "I'll split the dog's head open if he comes near us. Use your gun on the men."
The boys did not give up hope of final escape, but pressed on for a time. However, the acclivity they were ascending grew steeper as they advanced, and they were obliged to stop now and then to rest. On one of these occasions they heard a commotion in the jungle just ahead of them. This was disheartening!
"They've flanked us!" whispered Pat.
The pursuers were carrying a torch which, in the rain, gave a dim light, but still served to direct their steps, and the glow of the flame now reached to the very spot where the lads stood. The bushes behind them parted and the glowing eyes of the hound looked up in their faces. Then the call of the beast told the men following that he had at last sighted his prey.
The boys turned to flee again, but came up against an almost perpendicular wall of rock. The pursuers saw them now and came on with cries of victory.
"Guess they've got us!" Pat said.
"Not yet!" Jimmie answered.
But, however courageous the lads might have proved themselves to be, they would have been taken in a moment had they not received unexpected assistance. The hound was almost at their feet when a shot was heard and the great beast fell to the ground, struggled for an instant, and lay still.
Another shot followed the first instantly, and the torch dropped from the uplifted hand of the evil-faced man who was carrying it in the lead. An intense, uncanny darkness followed the extinction of the torch, and the two boys took advantage of it to edge around the face of the rock which had blocked their progress. Without the help of the dog, and without the torch, the pursuers could do little, and stood on equal terms with the pursued.
It was impossible, of course, for the boys to make their way through the jungle without making any noise, and in a moment the pursuing party showed its temper by firing revengeful shots at the spots from which the sounds of their progress proceeded. After half a dozen bullets had clipped the bushes about the heads of the lads two shots came from in front, the lead whizzing over their heads. A sharp cry of distress was heard in the rear at the second shot, and then all was still.
The boys crouched in the open space between the "legs" of a balete tree and waited for some possible explanation of the strange thing that had taken place. Who had killed the hound, and who was it that was shooting at the enemy over their heads? These questions were hard to answer.
"It is one of the boys from theManhattan," Jimmie concluded, at last.
"Then why don't he show up?" demanded Pat. "Who is in theManhattan?"
"Ned Nestor and two members of the Black Bear Patrol," was the reply. "We came over here to sleuth."
"To what?"
"To sleuth. To do the Sherlock Holmes stunt. To put down an insurrection in the Philippines!"
"You seem to be putting it down," Pat said, in a sarcastic tone.
"We've got it by the neck!" insisted Jimmie.
"Ned's being along will help some," said Pat. "He's the boy to get to the bottom of a tough case. If he's on this side of the world, that's him in the shrubbery just ahead. Did you hear the signals a short time ago?"
"Of course."
"Well, that's the bunch coming."
"What bunch?" demanded Jimmie.
"Why, the Chinks, of course."
"What they coming here for?"
"I guess they expect to take the Philippines home with 'em," was the reply. "Anyway, they're plotting to take Uncle Sam down and search him for them."
"Did you hear much of their talk?" asked Jimmie.
"Quite a little, but Lieutenant Rowe made so much noise I couldn't hear all that was said when they were near me. He's badly wounded."
"I'd like to know just what took place at the hut Captain Godwin put you fellows in night before last," Jimmie said.
"There's treachery somewhere," began Pat, but just then a sound reached their ears which drove all thoughts of that other night from their minds. It was the low, snarling call of a wolf!
"That's Ned!" whispered Jimmie.
"It's a Wolf, anyway," Pat exclaimed, losing caution in the excitement of the moment. "That will help some!"
The boy's voice must have been heard above the rain and the swishing of the tropical growth, for several shots came from the rear, and one of the bullets cut into the tree near Pat's head.
"They seem to be gettin' the range!" Pat said, scratching his head and blessing his lucky star that a bullet had not connected with it.
"They couldn't hit a flock of bridges!" said Jimmie, disdainfully.
Then he straightened up and gave out a long, shrill cry, like that of a wolf calling to the pack. Pat caught him by the arm and drew him back into the semi-shelter of the "legs" of the balete tree.
"You'll have a spray of lead flying this way in a second!" he said. "Can't you give the Wolf call without alarming the people of Hong Kong, six hundred miles away?"
"I'm celebratin'!" answered the boy.
Again the wolf cry echoed through the forest, and this time it was answered from within a few feet of where the boys stood. There were no shots this time, and it was concluded that the pursuers had returned to the camp.
"Ned!" called Jimmie.
"Hey, there!" added Pat.
"That voice sounds like Chatham Square!" said a voice close to the boy's elbow, and in the darkness two hands fumbled together and clasped in a hearty greeting.
"What you followin' me about for?" demanded Jimmie, as the three started on through the jungle again.
"You've got your nerve!" said Pat. "Only for the darkness I'd hand you one for that. What's he following you for? If he hadn't followed you, both of us would have been captured back there."
"Hereafter," Ned said, "when Jimmie goes into the woods I'm going to tie a string to him, so he can be pulled back home."
"Huh!" snickered Pat, "they tied plenty of strings to me, but they didn't pull me back home!"
It was so still in the rear, for all of any sounds of pursuit, that the boys decided that their enemies had given up the search for them, so they walked faster and soon came out on the elevation which Ned had mounted on leaving theManhattanin the afternoon. The rain ceased gradually, and a fugitive moon was seen now and then among the hurrying clouds.
With the first show of light Ned looked Pat Mack over with interest. The Irish lad returned the friendly glance with interest, and the two again clasped hands.
"We didn't anticipate such a meeting," Ned said.
"You knew I had gone to the Philippines," Pat said, "but I had no idea you would ever wander off here. Tell me about it."
The story was soon told, in condensed form, and then Ned asked:
"That was Lieutenant Rowe who was captured?"
"Sure! They got into our hut and geezled us good. I shall not be able to straighten out my arms for a month."
"Your hands must have been free when you left those signs in the grass," said the patrol leader.
"They caught me doing it," said Pat, "and that is why I was tied up tighter than the others."
"Well, you did a good job before they caught you," Jimmie said. "When you goin' back to let the others loose?"
"Lieutenant Rowe is in great pain because of his wound," Pat replied, "and we ought to do something for him soon."
"Where is the fourth man—the fellow who climbed in the window?" asked Ned in a moment.
"Say!" Pat answered, "there was something strange about that! He came in with new instructions—instructions which would have sent us off to Manila again, and the Lieutenant wouldn't stand for them, and so—"
"They had a scrap?" asked Jimmie.
"Did the Lieutenant doubt the authenticity of the instructions?" asked Ned.
"I think he did," was the reply, "and so did the messenger! Odd, eh?"
"But he must have been expecting the messenger," Ned went on, "for the screen at the window where he entered was left unfastened for him."
"He was expecting some one," answered Pat, "but of course he did not know who it would be. Anyway, he was not anticipating faked instructions."
"But why was he so secret about letting the fellow in? Why wasn't the door used when he came?"
"I don't know. The messenger the Lieutenant was expecting was to come secretly and go secretly. That's all I know about it."
"He was to be sent by the government officers?"
"Of course."
"From what point?"
"Oh, I don't know," answered Pat. "It is all a muddle. I can't understand how a man could follow us with instructions, anyway. We came fast in the motor boat, and could not have been followed in a canoe. I don't know where this messenger was to spring from, I'm sure. Anyhow, the wrong one came, or the right one brought the wrong dispatches, and Lieutenant Rowe wouldn't stand for it, and there was a conference, and then the brown men came in and we were geezled. Looked like a raid on a pool room in little old New York!"
"But this false messenger—the wrong man, or the right man with the wrong instructions—was captured also?"
"Yes, he was; and he made a row about it. I'll tell you what I think. There's treachery in the secret service somewhere. Some interest or some nation is trying to take the Philippines away from Uncle Sam."
"And receiving assistance from those in the employ of Uncle Sam!" Ned said, musingly. "Well, I'm here to see what can be done in the line of locking the traitors up in a nice hot cell at Manila."
"You needn't look much farther," Jimmie said. "There's a second motor boat out in a bay west of the island, and I'm tellin' you that it came across from China. It is the washee-washee people who are kicking up this mess, all right."
"You seem to have solved the mystery," laughed Ned. "From the first we have known that there was a conspiracy against Uncle Sam, but the question has always been 'Who?' and not 'What for?' The purpose of the alleged treaty has never been a mystery. What we are here for is to catch the conspirators with the goods, as Inspector Byrnes used to say. And now you've solved the puzzle!"
"Quit yer kiddin'!" exclaimed Jimmie. "I can say what I think, can't I? Besides, if it ain't the Chinks, who is it?"
"That is just what we want to know," Ned replied, more soberly. "There is a notion at Washington that it may be some financial interest. The newspapers were saying, when we left civilization, that a certain monopoly was financing the Mexican revolution, and there is a suspicion that some disloyal men in the United States are doing the same with the ignorant natives of the Philippines—urging them on and supplying them with guns and ammunition."
"Well," Pat observed, "whoever it is that is doing the business, there are traitors in the secret service department. The Americans who acted with the Filipinos who captured us are posted as to what is going on at Washington, all right."
"Let's go and get them," suggested Jimmie. "I guess the third degree would make them tell all about it!"
"Yes," suggested Pat, "you run out and get them while we find theManhattan! That will be a nice little job for you!"
"I wouldn't let them tie me up, anyway," growled Jimmie, annoyed at the chaffing of his friends. "Say!" he added, "here's our little bay now, but where is that bloomin' motor boat? Some one's come and carried it away while we've been in the woods, an' took Jack and Frank away with it!"
For a long time after the departure of Ned, Jack and Frank sat in the cabin of theManhattan, looking out on the steady downpour. They were not quite satisfied with their share in the activities of the day. Instead of being housed in the cabin, they preferred an exciting hunt even in the rain, over the hills of the little island in view.
"If we stand for it," grumbled Jack, "we'll have to spend most of our time keeping house! Jimmie will scatter himself all over the Asiatic division of the map, and Ned will spend most of his time looking him up!"
Frank laughed at this outbreak of ill humor, although he was as anxious as his chum to be on the firing line.
"I wish we'd not taken theManhattan," Jack continued. "I'm the only one in the party that can operate it, and I'll be tied down like a galley slave!"
"Go it!" laughed Frank. "Growl your head off, if you want to, Mr. Black Bear! Instead of snarling, why don't you tell me what makes the boat go when you do something to the wheel and that switch?"
"I thought you owned a launch?" said Jack.
"Father bought me one," was the reply, "but I've never learned how to run it. I'm too fat to bother my head about such things!"
"Then what are you asking me about the mechanism of the thing for?" asked Jack. "If you don't want to know, what's the use of my telling you how to run a motor boat? You make me weary!"
"If I had a nice little temper like yours," Frank grinned, "I'd go and bump my head against a tree! Come, old man, tell me about the boat. I may want to run it some time, after you get caught by a cat or filled full of poisoned arrows! Come! honest! What makes it go?"
"And you don't even know the action of a gasoline engine?" exclaimed Jack, in better humor. "Well, I'll tell you. A jet of gasoline, which is thinner than water, is sprayed, as one would spray any liquid from an atomizer, into the chamber of the engine cylinder-head, which it reaches in the form of vapor, having been mixed with air."
"That's all simple!"
"Here the vapor is compressed by the rising piston, and when it is squeezed up as close as it can be an electric spark is introduced into the chamber. That is what the electric battery and gear are for."
"I was wondering why one had to have electricity and gasoline both," said Frank, very much interested in the simple recital.
"The result of the introduction of the spark is the explosion of the compressed vapor, which sends the piston downward. The motion turns the shaft, and that turns the boat's propeller."
"Easy as pie."
"This operation is repeated from two to six hundred times a minute," Jack went on, "and that causes the continuous action of the machinery which sends the boat along."
"What is there about that so complicated?" demanded Frank. "Everybody you hear talking of an engine seems to speak as if it were one of the mysteries of the universe."
"It is usually the electric system which gets out of order," was the reply, "but sometimes the gasoline section balks. A man often has to try so many different things when his engine stops that he actually does not know which one remedies the evil and sets the thing in motion."
"All right!" Frank said. "Now show me how to start the thing."
"That's easy. First turn on your gasoline, as you would turn water from a faucet into a kitchen sink. The gasoline fills the carbureter, which is the thing which feeds the engine automatically. Then you turn on your electricity by shifting a switch. That is to supply the spark. Then turn the fly-wheel two or three times so as to get the vapor into the cylinder and secure the first explosion. That is all there is to it. I hope you do learn to run this boat, so I can get away now and then!"
"You may get away farther than you want to!" cautioned Frank.
TheManhattanwas a plain, usable boat, twenty-five feet long and ten feet wide, with bow and stern rather square in order to make more room inside. The cabin was ten feet long, with strong oak sides and brass-rimmed ports for light and ventilation. The cockpit, or outdoor sitting room, was of the same length as the cabin.
The engine was a plain, solidly built machine, with two cylinders, and rated at ten horsepower, with a speed of fifteen miles an hour. It was installed under a short bridge-deck in front of the cabin, while the gasoline tanks, holding fifty gallons, were hidden under the cockpit seats.
The cabin had two wide slatted berths, supplied with hair mattresses, a movable table, an ice chest, a small coal range—the boat was not designed especially for tropical use—an ice-chest and an alcohol stove for cooking. The storage lockers and water tanks had a capacity of a week's supply of stores for four persons. It was a government boat, and was in good repute as a racer in and about Manila, in spite of its blunt bow and wide beam.
Frank pottered away at the machinery until he announced that it was like taking candy away from the children to run it, and then the two retired to the cabin to get rid of their wet garments.
"Ned and Jimmie are having a good soaking," Jack said, his ill humor all gone, as he soused his wet underclothing in a tub of sea water. "I wish they'd come home."
A dull thump, as of a canoe striking the motor boat, and a quick step on the prow caused both boys to spring to their feet.
"There they come now!" Jack cried, glancing out into the slanting rain, "and it's good and wet they are."
The boy was about to step forward and open the cabin door when Frank caught him by the shoulder.
"Wait!" he said. "Look there!"
Jack followed the pointing finger with his eyes and saw half a dozen Filipinos clambering into the cockpit, and also saw the muzzles of American-built rifles covering the cabin door.
"Get your gun!" Jack whispered.
"We've got to do something besides shoot," Frank said. "They have the drop on us. We should have been looking out for an attempt at surprise."
There was a moment's silence, and then a man enveloped from neck to heels in a heavy raincoat and sweating tremendously in consequence, advanced to the cabin door.
"Never mind the guns!" he said, through the glass. "My men have you covered, and it would be a pity to shoot two likely boys!"
"What do you want?" demanded Frank.
"We want this boat," was the reply.
"Well, you've got it!" Jack said, angrily.
"Of course we have," was the reply. "We seem to be getting about everything we want in this corner of the world! Where are the others?"
"Gone after a battleship!" declared Jack.
The man grinned and, opening the cabin door, stepped inside. He was tall, rather slender, with clean-cut features and bright gray eyes. His bearing was that of a gentleman, and Frank began to have an indefinable idea that he had met him before somewhere, just where he could not decide. The fellow evidently was an American, though his followers seemed to be Chinese and Filipinos.
"So he's gone after a battleship, has he?" the intruder said, shutting the cabin door behind him, after making sure that his men were standing at attention with their guns. "Do they pick battleships off trees up on the hill?"
"I don't see anything funny about it," Jack said, sourly. "Who do you mean by 'he'? What do you know about the crew of the boat?"
"I've heard of Mr. Ned Nestor," was the calm reply, "and was hoping to meet him here. However, you seem to be cheerful young fellows, and a cruise with you may not result in lost time. You are Jack Bosworth and Frank Shaw. Which one is Shaw, and which one is Bosworth?"
"I'm Shaw," answered Frank, somewhat amused at the cool impudence of the man. "What is your name?"
"I'm French," was the reply. "Not French tribally but just French. One of the sort of Frenchmen who are born of Irish parents in the city of Chicago! Anyway, you may call me French. That is near enough."
"You seem to be an amusing sort of a character," observed Frank. "What are you going to do with theManhattan?"
"Why," was the smiling reply, "there is a sort of a political convention called for that hill over there, and some of the delegates are slow in coming. So I thought I'd borrow your boat and go and fetch them. They are not far away. Some of them, in fact, live on islands, not more than four or five hundred miles off."
"That will be nice!" Frank said, falling into the mood of the other. "Only you can't carry many native chiefs in this boat, not if they insist on bringing their wives and attendants along. Suppose one should insist on appearing before the convention riding in state on the back of a white elephant?"
"Never thought of that," replied the other with a grin, "but how did you learn that the delegates were to be native chiefs?"
"I guess most everybody knows what kind of a game you're playing," Frank said with a grin which he intended to be provoking. "When you get your delegates assembled, Uncle Sam will give you an imitation of a man shooting up traitors."
"We'll have to take our chances on that," replied French, with apparent good nature. "In the meantime, we'll have to ask you to vacate the boat while we make our collection of delegates. I presume that you can get along very well on shore. Only be careful that the little brown men don't pot you with their funny little guns."
"Oh, we'll get along with the little brown men, all right," growled Jack. "When are you going to put us ashore?"
"Well," was the cool reply, "I want to wait here until I form the acquaintance of Mr. Ned Nestor and Mr. James McGraw. I have long felt a desire to meet them!"
"They'll feel proud, I know!" Jack said, provokingly. "Pirates and traitors are not so thick that it is not a pleasure to meet them. We'll all remember, after you are all hanged, that we met you here."
"Thank you!" replied French, not at all indignant at the remark, "and now if you'll hand over the guns you have, and tell me where the others are hidden, you can walk about the boat in comparative freedom while we get supper. You see it is beginning to get dark, and I'm hungry."
There was nothing to do but to comply with the polite request, and soon the intruders were making themselves at home all over the boat. French brought one of the Filipinos into the cabin, where he sat with his gun pointing ominously at the boys whenever they moved toward the door, while the others were stationed on the prow, where they sat stolidly in the rain, with their guns under their coarse coats to keep them dry.
"Rather a scanty supply of provisions!" French said, as he investigated the lockers. "I really think I'll have to send one of my men ashore for dinner. Two men with perfectly good guns and eyesight ought to be able to keep us on friendly terms here. Besides, it seems a waste of good material to feed those fellows from this choice stock when they prefer boiled dog."
"Say, French," Jack said, "if you weren't crooked enough to make a corkscrew look like a straight-edge, you'd be a pretty good sort of a chap to go on a cruise with."
"Oh, I'm all right when I'm not abused," French replied. "If Dad had presented me with a million instead of a thirst for other people's property, I'd have had my name in the society columns every day! Isn't it about time for Ned and Jimmie to come home?" he added. "If you don't mind, I'll run the boat out a little farther, so they'll have to call and signal when they do come."
"They should have been here long ago," was the reply.
"I must insist that you remain perfectly quiet when they do come," French said, after the boat had changed position, in a moment. "I don't want to spoil this pretty boat with dark stains. Perhaps, however, they have been captured."
"You would know if they had, wouldn't you?" asked Jack.
"Why, no, I think not. You see I have just arrived, coming in the second launch, now over there in the bay. I did not go to the camp, but edged around the hill with half a dozen men in order to see if all was safe. We've got some pretty high-up men in this game with us, and I'm afraid Wall street would stand up on its hind legs and howl if their names were known. Hence this caution."
French seemed to be a college educated man and a gentleman by instinct. While they were preparing supper he amused them with stories of his travels and adventures, and both boys heartily wished he was with them as a friend instead of an enemy. When it grew dark he sent all the Filipinos away but two, and they sat down to a good meal.
Frank questioned French, cautiously of course, but could gain little information from him. The fellow seemed fully aware of the purpose of the boy, and replied to his questions with the most extravagant stories of the empire that was to be raised in the Philippines after the United States protectorate had ceased.
"You're a queer chap," Frank said, at the conclusion of one of French's stories of the grandeur of the coming empire, "and I'd like to hear you spin yarns all night, but, if you don't mind, I'll go to bed."
"Just as you like," was the amiable reply. "I'll sit here and smoke a few more cigarettes and then follow your example. It is such a wild night that your friends may have stopped at a down-town hotel!"
"Perhaps they've stepped over to the Waldorf!" Jack replied.
The lads occupied the same bunk, and talked in whispers all through the night. They had no idea what had become of Ned and Jimmie except the supposition that they had been captured by their enemies. French retired about midnight, as calmly as if he were in his own rooms, leaving the two Filipinos on guard in the cabin.
Once Frank arose and tried to slip out, his idea being to reach the shore and look for his chums, but the brown men lifted their guns automatically as he looked out on them. All through the night they sat unblinkingly, looking out in the dim light much as glass eyes might have looked out of the head of a wooden image.
"We're sure in a bad box," Jack whispered, after this attempt at escape. "I don't believe they'll turn us loose on the island, knowing what we know. They won't take any chance of our getting away! If Ned was free, he'd have been here before this, so we may as well make up our minds that he's in trouble also."
With daylight came a cessation of the storm, and soon the sun was shining smotheringly down on the little bay. Sweltering in the cabin, Frank looked out of a port and saw a pole lifted above a clump of low bushes just back from the distant beach. As he looked the pole moved forward and back, then to the right, ducking three times and coming back to a vertical position. The pole wavered to right and left and to the front for a time, and the boy waved his hand from the open port.
"Wigwag!" he whispered. "It says: 'Brace up!' That's Jimmie!"
The relief of the boys at the information conveyed by the wigwag signals from the shore may well be imagined. The night had been a long and trying one, and they had about abandoned hope when the signals came.
The presence of Ned and Jimmie on the beach meant not only that they were still safe, but that there was a possibility of rescuing theManhattanfrom the courteous pirate who had seized it. They did not know exactly how this could be accomplished, but they had every confidence in Ned's courage and resourcefulness.
The boys knew, however, that what was done must be undertaken at once, for the Filipinos who had been sent away from the boat the night before had doubtless communicated with French's friends on the island, and it was natural that they, the friends, should hasten down to the little bay soon after sunrise to look over the fortunate capture made by French.
They heard French stirring in his bunk while they were talking over plans for the rescue, and ceased whispering immediately. They knew that Ned, probably from the presence of the Filipinos, who were drying themselves in the scorching sunshine, understood the situation on board. In fact, they realized that Ned and Jimmie would have come aboard at once if they had not received an inkling of what was going on by the change of position.
French arose, yawning, and looked lazily out of a port. He was a muscular fellow, evidently in first-class condition physically, so it was useless to attempt to overpower him, regain their weapons, and drive the Filipinos off the boat. Jack seemed to think that if they could both get hold of him they might accomplish something, but there were the guards to reckon with while the fight was in progress.
So they gave up all idea of rescue until Ned should show his hand. French glanced keenly about the cabin and then went out into the cockpit, taking a seat on the bridge deck and scanning the shore critically. The pole which had been used to convey the wigwag signals was now out of sight.
"Can you boys operate this boat?" he finally asked.
Jack was about to reply in the affirmative but Frank lifted a warning hand.
"No," the latter said, telling the falsehood brazenly. "Ned is the only one who can run it."
"Can't you start the engine?" French asked, anxiously.
The boys shook their heads.
"Then I'm going to try," French said. "As I hinted last night, when I told you I came here in a launch, there are other motor boats around the corner, in a bay on the western side of the island. I have only to get to them. There are plenty of men there who can do the job."
"I hardly think it safe for one who knows nothing of engines to fool with one," said Jack. "Suppose I see what I can do with it. I've seen Ned work the thing, and may be able to start it."
"Try it!" French said. "But if you make any foolishness with it, you'll find yourself in trouble. Understand?"
"I don't want to ruin the boat!" Jack said. "We're going to have fun with this craft before we leave it!" he added, with a grin.
"Then you'll have to hurry and have your fun," said French, "for you're going to leave it as soon as we get to the bay where the other boats are."
Jack opened a trap in the cockpit seat and placed his hand on the jar which supplied the electricity for the spark. French was watching him, but he managed to draw the wires out without being seen. This, of course, effectually crippled the boat. He fumbled for a time with his hand on the jar, watching the shore as he did so, and then closed the trap.
After closing the trap Jack turned the fly-wheel a few times, pounded away with a wrench, and inspected the gasoline tanks, but of course no motion was transmitted to the shaft. Finally he threw down the wrench in apparent disgust.
"I can't do anything with it!" he exclaimed. "You'll have to wait until Ned comes if you can't start it yourself."
"It is my impression," said French, with a smile, "that your friend Ned is trussed up in a camp over on the other side of the island!"
"Then why don't you send for him, or for some one else to run the boat?" asked Frank innocently, his purpose being to induce French to send one of the guards away, and so reduce the force to be opposed.
"From out of the mouths of children," laughed French. "Well, you know the rest! I have an idea that you have solved the problem."
He talked in Spanish to one of the men for a moment, and the fellow rowed ashore in one of the canoes the captors had come in and set off through the jungle. The boys watched the thickets, hoping to see some sign of a struggle. They were sure that Ned would capture the guard, and so, possibly, delay the appearance of French's friends.
But all was quiet along the coast. Ned evidently had some other plan in mind. In a few moments French proposed breakfast and entered the cabin, relying on the guard to keep the boys out of mischief. As they had no weapons, he did not believe they would make any trouble. Besides, he kept a sharp lookout through the low, open doorway of the little cabin.
Then Frank became possessed of what Ned afterwards declared to be the one brilliant idea of his life! First he asked the guard if he could speak English.
"Understan' some; speak little," was the reply.
"Well," Frank went on, "I'm going to take my morning exercises. See if you have anything like this in your blooming land!"
"Bloomin' lan' Good! She bloom!"
The Filipino pointed away to the mass of tropical blossoms shimmering in the sunlight and grinned at what he doubtless considered a very sharp reply. French, hearing the voices, looked out of the cabin and smiled at the antics the boy was making.
Frank threw his body into a vertical position and bent sharply off to the right. Then back to vertical and off to the left. Then back and to the right again.
"That's all right!" cried French from the cabin. "You appear to be a nimble little chap. What are those exercises for?"
"To bring all the muscles of the body into use!" replied Frank, winking at Jack, who was just beginning to understand the purpose of the sudden demand for exercise.
"Blessed if he ain't doing the wigwag with his body!" thought Jack. "That is the letter 'C'."
From the vertical Frank then dropped his body over to the left, then to the right and stopped.
"That's wigwag for 'O'," thought Jack. "I wonder what he means to say?"
"Well done!" shouted French, his hands full of tinned goods. "I'll get you a job in a circus when I get done with you!"
"That will be fine!" Frank replied, facing French with as innocent a face as a boy ever carried.
One to the right, two to the left, one to the right, and Jack read the letter "M" and saw what the next one would be. One to the right, one to the left, and Jack read the letter "E." Then three slow motions straight in front, then to vertical again.
"That means the end of the word," the boy thought, "and the word is 'COME.' Now, I wonder if he will?"
Frank kept up his odd motions, at which the Filipino seemed greatly amused, and French turned away to the alcohol stove to prepare a cup of hot cocoa. But the motions were only for effect now, and meant nothing. There was a light movement in the thicket, and three figures, crawling low, entered the canoe which the guard had left theManhattanin and moved noiselessly toward the boat.
The Filipino's back was turned to the beach, for he was watching Frank. French was busy with his cocoa, condensed cream, and sugar, and so the advancing canoe was not observed until it was within a few feet of the boat. Then the guard uttered a cry of warning and raised his gun.
Frank was ready for this and the distance between himself and the guard was well calculated. He launched himself like a catapult-dart against the slim figure, and was fortunate enough to seize the gun. Frank was an adept at the Japanese ju-jitsu game, and, much to the astonishment of the Filipino, he soon found himself, minus his gun, dropping to the bottom of the bay.
French, of course, started out of the cabin, revolver in hand, but when he stooped his tall figure in the low doorway he did not straighten it again as readily as he had expected to. Jack was on the back of his neck and shoulders, pressing him down to the bridge deck. But French was a strong man and Jack would have soon been thrown aside had Frank not engaged him.
When Ned, Pat and Jimmie sprang out of the canoe and gained the cockpit, the three were in a tangle, with Frank sitting on the hand which held the weapon. French surrendered the revolver and sat up with a sickly grin on his face when he saw the three bending over him, ready to take a hand in the proceedings.