CHAPTER XTHE CHASE BEGINS
At the corner of a street stood a hack to which was hitched a big black, and the rusty-looking individual who held the reins was anxious for immediate service. "Right this way, gents!" he yelled, as he noted the signs of a chase. "I'll catch Bill Durnell's team if I bust a wheel."
"Five dollars if you do," cried John Berwick, as he and Jim leaped into the musty interior of the cab. Before they were fairly inside the vehicle was in motion. The driver hit his horse a clip, and away the hack rattled and jounced in furious pursuit, making racket enough for ten ordinary carts. The noise of the wheels upon the cobbles aroused the immediate interest of the street urchins on both sides of the thoroughfare. They threw compliments as well as stones. One, quicker than the others, managed to get a perilous hold on the back of the vehicle, only to be hurled sprawling on the hard road as the hack whirled around a corner on two wheels. He stayed there for a few seconds, with a pained and surprised look on hisbefreckled face, then he jumped up and fired a rock from the gutter that swatted the coach squarely making a big dent in the black expanse of back.
"I'll break ye for that ye little gutter snipe," yelled the infuriated driver standing up on his box.
"Yer ought to drive a coal wagon, you chump," retorted the urchin with a shrill yell.
"He's been to a wake," greeted another crowd of boys, who stretched an audacious line across the street directly in front of the surging gallop of the black horse. This time the driver got some revenge by lashing a couple of them with his long whip. This provoked a volley of stones, causing Jim and his friend to duck down to avoid being hit.
"Boys certainly are the deuce," declared the engineer with a laugh; "they think we are fair game."
"I'll give them a little of their own game!" grinned Jim as he picked up a couple of stones on the seat opposite, and he leaned out of the window of the door, sending a stone at the group with accuracy and precision.
"Look at the guy!" they yelled; "paste him in the head."
To their surprise Jim did not duck back at theirreturn volley but fended off a couple of the shots with his forearm, and one he caught with his right hand as though it were a baseball, and hurled it back with a snappy, short arm throw that caught the thrower squarely on the thigh.
"Hurrah for you, fellar!" yelled the crowd.
Jim acknowledged the salute with a graceful wave of his hand.
"Catching 'em Bill!" he yelled up at the driver.
"Gained half a block on 'em!" cried Bill with enthusiasm. Jim could just make out a dark blur in the fog ahead where the pursued hack was galloping to some unknown destination. At the sight all the fierce excitement of the chase came over Jim. He must not let that Mexican escape this time. It meant everything to get a hold of him. He would recover his treasure belt, whose loss was not only a serious blow to his present plans, but an injury to his natural pride and confidence in himself. He could imagine his brother Tom saying:
"Ought to have had me along, Jim; you are too innocent to travel alone."
Hearing the voice of his comrade, Jim drew in his head.
"Catch a sight of the black pirate craft?" inquired the engineer.
"Dead ahead, and a smooth sea, sir," replied Jim touching his hat.
"Glad to be off the pebbles anyway, Captain," returned the engineer; "it may aid digestion, but it is doocid hard on old bones, like mine."
"I'm going upon deck with the pilot," said Jim. "I can't stay below here while that fellow is within hail."
"Natural feeling, Jim," agreed the engineer, "but you will have to have the Jehu up there slow down."
"Can't afford to lose the time," declared Jim. "I can reach the forward step and make it all right."
"Risky," said the engineer, "but that fact won't stop you."
He was correct, it did not, and the driver almost fell off his box in astonishment when he saw Jim's head at his elbow.
"Hey! what's this!" he yelled, as he clubbed his whip to strike. "Oh! it's you is it, Mister," he changed his tone when he saw who it was. "By thunder! I thought I was to be kilt."
"I'll sit in front here, Bill," said Jim genially. "I want to keep an eye open to see that that greaser don't give us the slip."
"He's there in that hack yet," assured the driver; "he hain't had a chance to jump out yit."
"They ain't pulling ahead are they?" inquired Jim, anxiously.
"Holding 'em level going down this hill," replied the driver. "My horse is a leetle heavy for a down grade, but you will see something different when we are going up hill or on the flat."
"I believe you," said Jim heartily; "that horse of yours is a good one."
"Paid five hundred for him, he ought to be," declared his owner proudly.
Inside the hack the engineer was making himself as comfortable as possible. His feet were upon the opposite seat, the green carriage robe was wrapped snugly around him and his head was dented back into the soft cushions. He was thoroughly enjoying the chase in his own way. The lurching of the vehicle did not disturb him, and he felt a certain pleasure in the freedom from any immediate responsibility. There was an excitement, too, in not knowing where the chase would carry. It was all a strange section of the city where they now were. He could see the ghostly fronts of long lines of houses, one not distinguishably different from another, but as similar as if they had been sawn fromthe same block of wood. The fog palliated many a monstrosity of wooden ornament, little balcony, or carved pinnacle.
If John Berwick was quiescent on the inside of the hack, Jim was on thequi viveon the outside. He had no idea of the direction in which they were going, but he was determined never to lose sight of that particular hack. At this moment they reached the bottom of a long hill. An eddy of air lifted the fog aside for an instant and Jim saw a head thrust out of the window of the hack.
"Geewillikins!" he exclaimed, wrathfully; "that isn't the greaser!"
Sure enough the head was not that belonging to the Mexican at all. It was a shaggy bearded face that leered back at Jim, and then he shouted some direction to the driver, and with a belligerent shake of his fist at Jim, jerked his head back.
"I guess that hunchback is in there all the same," cried the driver.
"He'd better be," growled Jim.
At the motion made by the bushy whiskered man, the driver of the first carriage in this active procession, turned his team at right angles into a street running east. "Bill" followed suit making a dangerous swerve, that almost overturned hisvehicle, but it righted itself against the curb, and on the pursuit went. But Jim was beginning to be worried, for the big horse was tiring rapidly, while the mustangs seemed unflagging in their energy.
"How far have we gone?" asked Jim.
"About two miles, Boss," replied the driver.
"It won't be long till dusk," said Jim, "with this fog rolling in."
"I'll get back, what they have gained on us," declared Bill with conviction, "before they have gone another mile."
Jim noticed that this new turn was taking them into an apparently better section of the city, where there were really some fine-looking residences.
"They are making a stern chase of it, Jim," called Berwick, poking his head out of the window.
"We will catch them yet, Chief," declared Jim with outward confidence.
"Good boy!" replied the engineer. "I must say I like your spirit."
"How are you putting in the time down there, John?" queried Jim.
"Taking it easy," replied Berwick; "resting up in case I have to hustle a little later on."
"Wise man!" rejoined Jim; "just as well to save your energies. There will be something doing pretty soon or I miss my guess. We should overhaul them on the next hill."
"You look kind of damp, better get under cover, Jim," urged John Berwick. Indeed Jim did have a dampish look—his eyelashes and eyebrows were beaded with the moisture.
"No, I'm going to stay on deck until we overhaul those pirates," he replied, "and it won't be long either."
However, it was somewhat longer than Jim thought. It seemed that the driver of the forward coupé was determined to make a clean getaway at this point for he laid on the whip with fierce determination.
CHAPTER XITHE CHASE CONTINUED
After going a half a mile further, the leader in the race made another sharp turn, and a short distance ahead his goal was in sight, or it would have been had not the heavy fog prevailed. Of this, Jim was of course in nowise aware. Suddenly the hack ahead whirled and came to a stop. Two figures leaped out into the fog and started on the run.
Jim thrust a coin into the willing grasp of "Bill," and leaped to the ground closely followed from the cab by John Berwick, leaving the two drivers to themselves, and only a few yards apart. These worthies taking no further interest in the performance of their recent fares, engaged in a wordy altercation as to the rival merits of their steeds, and each had a different answer to the problem of "who won the race?" The outcome of this led to blows; as to the result, that belongs to another chronicle than mine. We are at present concerned with the race between Jim and the Mexican, with the chief and "Bushy Whiskers" as runners up.
Jim bounded after the fleeing Mexican and his comrade, with all the speed of his pent-up energy, and was overtaking him rapidly, when what looked like a high dark rampart showed indistinct through the fog a few rods ahead. Then the Mexican bent low and darted out of sight, and his sturdy companion bounding high in the air disappeared.
Jim was thrown suddenly backward; as in mad pursuit, he dashed into an almost invisible fence of wire, steel colored,—which luckily was not barbed. The engineer who was a few paces behind, stopped in the nick of time, his outstretched hand easily breaking the force of his collision.
"Hurt, Jim?" he queried.
"Naw!" replied James. "Come on, John, let's see if you can jump like his whiskers."
"I'm no rat like that greaser," replied Berwick; "I can't crawl through, I've got to jump."
He showed himself something of an acrobat by the grace and agility with which he vaulted the six foot fence, and Jim went over with more power if less grace. Now they were in a quandary for directly before them was a wood of the tall and ghostly eucalyptus, into which the two fugitives had fled.
"We ought to have told our carriage to wait,Jim," said the chief engineer, with nonchalant humor. "This reminds me of two needles and a haystack."
"I've got their trail, Chief, come on before it gets too dark," ordered Jim, who had been casting around like a hound for a scent.
"You are the 'Boy Scout, or the Young Kit Carson,' for fair, James," cried Berwick, giving him a hearty slap of admiration between his broad shoulders.
Jim grinned but made no reply as he followed the trail into the depth of the wood, which was made weird by the slender forms of the trees whose high tops were hidden by the low hanging mists that were as the breath of the huge ocean. The waters of the ocean not far away were slowly surging through the narrow pass of "The Golden Gate."
Then the hanging white strips of bark from the tall eucalyptus trees, added to the ghostly effect of the interior of the wood. James noticed none of these things for his attention was fixed on following the trail of his enemies. Here his long training in wood and plain craft stood him in good stead. It was his friend, Captain Graves, way back in Colorado, who had given him his first lessonsin this difficult art and he could have had no better tutor than the captain, who had himself qualified in many a hard contest with the crafty Indian.
Now the Mexican was subtle, if not crafty, and the ordinary observer, even if he were as intelligent and quick as John Berwick, undoubtedly would have been entirely at sea in following the trail. Jim's keen senses, however, trained for such work, were not to be so easily baffled. The Mexican alone would have been exceedingly hard to have tracked, but his heavier footed comrade disturbed the fallen leaves or left a print in the red soil that betrayed the trail.
However, the pursuers were of necessity slowed down to a certain degree so that their chance of overtaking the two rascals grew slimmer every second. At that moment, however, their chase was given a new impetus. It came with a suddenness that was startling. From some distance ahead, it was difficult to tell how far, there came a furious chorus of yelps, barks and howls.
"Dogs!" cried Jim; "they have got our quarry treed!"
"Wild dogs, too!" said the engineer. "I've run across packs of them traveling in Mongolia.Ugly customers they are, too, unless you are good and ready for them."
At that instant there came the sharp report of half-a-dozen pistol shots, and the yelps were turned to howls of pain.
"Why didn't our friends in front ambush us and load us up with some of those lead pellets," remarked John Berwick thoughtfully.
"Perhaps they hadn't got to the place that suited them," said Jim, "or maybe they have orders from old Captain Broome to take us alive rather than dead. You know he is a man who likes to settle his own grudges, rather than by proxy."
"You must be something of a mind reader, James," remarked Berwick.
"I'm not that," declared Jim, "but I have had some dealing with Captain Bill Broome so I can judge."
Meanwhile the two friends were making straight for the noise of the fracas, and when they had gone about two hundred yards they were surprised by the dash of a big, gaunt, snarling yellow hound, who made a leap for Jim with teeth wide spread. Now James was unarmed, not his usual practice, but he was not in the habit of takinglunch at a restaurant armed to the teeth so that when this chase started he was not armed, else the venture would have come to an end long ago.
However, he did have his long, sharp-edged poniard with him. This he could carry inconspicuously in a belt around his waist. He slipped it from its sheath and met the charge of the hound squarely on his bent knee. He was bent back by the fury of the hound's rush, but he got in a thrust with a deadly precision that left the dog done for on the ground.
The engineer was not so lucky as Jim, he had no weapon of any kind and a small limb of a tree that he had hurriedly picked up proved no defense against the attack of a huge black brute, true of mongrel breed, but none the less ugly. He had knocked prostrate the engineer, who was not a large man, and was raving for his throat with cruel jaws, being held off for the moment only, by Berwick's clever use of the stick he had retained in his clutch when felled.
Jim was quick to see his friend's need. He dared not waste one single second, but with a low rush, he grappled with the brute, and by a sudden surge of his really great strength he thrust the beast to one side and for a moment they struggledfiercely on even terms, Jim's hand gripping the animal's throat, while the red, dripping jaws were striving to close on Jim's shoulder.
Exerting all his strength he managed to twist the beast off his balance and before it could recover had sent the death thrust home. The rest of the pack of smaller dogs evidently did not dare to come on and for a moment Jim rested panting, covered with sweat and blood.
"You certainly saved my neck that time, Jim," acknowledged John Berwick. "I guess it is hanging I'm reserved for."
"If you are ready we will move on; I'm afraid that trail will get cold," said Jim.
"I'm with you," declared the engineer, "but I rather hope that we will soon be out of these woods."
"Here's a little stream," remarked Jim, after they had gone a few yards, "guess I had better remove the signs of the late murder."
"You can see where those fellows crossed," remarked Berwick; "here is the mark of the big fellow's shoes."
"You have the making of a detective in you, John," said Jim with a perfectly sober face.
"Oh! I can detect all right, if it is thrustdirectly under my nose," agreed the engineer, with a smile.
"I don't see for the life of me how you keep so neat, Chief," remarked Jim, as he wrung out his stained handkerchief; "you look ready to enter into the best society, at a moment's notice." The engineer had taken off his brown hat and was smoothing his hair with a gentle stroke that Jim recognized was characteristic of him and this had provoked his remark about his friend's neatness.
"Hardly as bad as that, James," returned Berwick with a smile, "but I must admit that for some reason I never get very badly mussed in appearance no matter what the occasion may be."
Jim regarded his friend thoughtfully, carefully drying his hands meanwhile.
"I should like to wager a reasonable amount, Berwick, that you always don a dress suit for dinner," said Jim finally.
"Why, yes, I do," agreed the engineer, "whenever there is a chance. It makes you feel like a human being after the grease and grime of the engine room."
"Something in that," admitted Jim. "Well, let's hike."
CHAPTER XIITHE CASTLE
Jim's persistence was rewarded in a short time, when they came to the boundary of the wood. Here they found the trail very clearly marked, as in the old game of hare and hounds where the point of a new departure is marked by a bunch of cut paper. So in this case there were clear footprints, where the two rascals had cleared the fence and lighted on the damp earth on the other side.
"Where do you suppose they are heading for?" asked the engineer.
"The devil or the deep sea," replied Jim, humorously inclined.
"If they follow this direction, it will be the deep sea for certain," remarked Berwick, "for this trail is making straight for the bay, or I miss my guess."
"I bet anything that those two guys are planning to reach theSea Eagle, and there will be a boat lying in some cove to take them out," said Jim decisively.
"Surely Captain Broome wouldn't have the gall to bring your captured yacht into the bay right under the nose of the authorities," said the engineer.
"Huh!" grunted Jim; "that wouldn't be anything extraordinary for old Broome to do. He'd delight in it; and another thing, according to my idea the authorities and Captain William Broome ain't on such bad terms but what they can shut an eye to some of his performances. Besides it was his ship in the first instance," concluded Jim with a grin.
"A pirate don't have any title, anyhow," remarked the engineer.
"Maybe he does in San Francisco," remarked Jim with great simplicity.
At this Jim's chief engineer laughed heartily.
"That would be true doctrine enough for my native town of New York," he said.
"Well, howsumever, Captain Broome don't need any title. He keeps what he has and takes what he hasn't."
"You are an epigrammatist, Jim," said Berwick, smiling.
"Won't I ever outgrow it?" asked Jim anxiously.
"No, you will get worse as you become older," declared his friend.
"Gee, that's a bad outlook. Well, where there is life there is hope," replied Jim; "no use nosing this trail along, we have got the general direction and we want to get to the beach just as soon as we can so as to head those fellows off."
The two of them then started on a brisk trot and in a short time they heard the roar of the surf on the sand. But about a quarter of a mile from the beach they came to a halt, for a high fence barred their way.
"Hello, what does this mean?" inquired Jim with interest.
"It means we have come on someone's private estate," remarked the engineer, "and judging from the sharpness of these iron spikes, they are not at home to ordinary folks like us."
"I can just make out the house," remarked Jim, "and it looks like a big one."
There was the indistinct loom of the house through the fog; it appeared to be made of brick, with white trimmings and a huge chimney in the center clad with ivy. This was a good many years ago, and no remnant of this place remains to-day, for fire and earthquake wrought the ruin of thismansion, long before the catastrophe of 1906.
"Let's walk around this estate before it gets completely dark," said Jim, "which will be pretty soon now."
"You don't suppose that those two misguided pirates live here, do you?" questioned the engineer.
"Hardly," admitted Jim, "but they might be hiding in the yard."
"It would be tough work getting over," said the engineer, "especially with what is coming from the direction of the house." Jim looked and pulled his friend down behind the parapet of stone in which the iron fence was set.
"Perhaps it won't see us," said Jim in a low voice. But they were a wee bit too late to escape detection. Between the shrubbery there came at a menacing lope, a huge, yellow-white, bloodhound, with hanging dew laps, and following him a great Dane whose velvety black form held a real ferocity. They leaped high with their forefeet against the iron fence, striving frantically to reach the two men on the other side.
"They are more dangerous than the mountain lion, those dogs," said Berwick.
"I'm very glad to be on this side of the fence,"admitted Jim. "We wouldn't stand much show without our guns."
"I thought you ate them alive," laughed John Berwick, referring to the incident in the wood.
"It was to keep you from being eaten up yourself," grinned Jim. "Say, Chief, let's move out of range, or these beasts will rouse the whole country."
"All right, Captain," agreed Berwick, using Jim's sea title, and as they were rather at sea, it was quite appropriate. They reached a large rock that stood out on the plain away from the house, and sat down on it, until the noise of the baying had ceased.
"Did you think to fetch a lunch with you on this festive occasion, James?" inquired Berwick.
"Bah Jove, old chap," replied James, "we left in such haste that it slipped my mind, don't yer know."
"I wish your mind hadn't been so slippery," remarked the engineer. "If you could only have had presence of mind enough to have brought an olive or two."
"I tell you, Chief," said Jim, airily, "I'll have the dinner ready by the time you get your dress suit. But coming down to the plain English of it, I'mstarved. Think of the exercise we have had since leaving the restaurant to join our friend on the sidewalk."
"A man who would put you to all that trouble to speak to him is no gentleman," declared John Berwick whimsically.
"He deserves to be hung," said Jim savagely; "anyone who would impose on a trustful nature like yours and make you run over twenty miles of landscape! But cheer up, John, I have a hunch that we will strike a pay streak of grub yet. Let's take one more scout around that mysterious castle yonder and then we will make a bee line for the nearest lunch counter."
"Any time you give the word."
"Well, I suppose that 'all's quiet along the Potomac,' so let's move."
"Agreed, James," said the engineer.
Then the two friends slipped through the soft darkness of the night and fog until they reached the iron rampart of the fence and went past the great gates. There was a gilt monogram on either side and in the center, but these things did not interest them. Then they went on to the south part of the grounds.
"See that, John!" said Jim in a low voice.
"A light in the tower," replied his friend; "now it's gone out again."
They stood watching with breathless interest. There are lights and lights. Some are the mere commonplace of domestic peace set on a round table in a cozy room with children intent on the Frontier Boys. Then there is the weird light of a lantern moving unevenly across a field, or revolving along a hidden lane, and there is something of the dramatic in its yellow flame. Finally there is the light that shines under strange circumstances or peculiar surroundings that has a mystery of its own, a beacon of danger, or of sudden death.
"It is again on this side, only higher up," announced Jim; "somebody going up those stairs, that's what it is."
In a few moments the powerful lamp illuminated an upper room and they saw the interior distinctly. But what fastened their attention was the sight of a head that showed just above the sill of the windows. It must be the head of a child to reach no higher. But what would a child be doing up in that lonely tower. Jim gripped his companion's arm.
"It's that infernal Mexican, Berwick!" he whispered.
"No other!" said his friend. "And that light is a signal."
"Can't be seen far even if the fog is thinner," objected Jim.
"Broome is close in," said the engineer decisively.
"It may be to serve as a guide for some party coming over the lonely moor," said Jim with much shrewdness.
"Go to the head of the class, James," remarked Berwick; "that's a sound guess for a fact."
"Guess nothing," retorted Jim; "that's a deduction as they say in the school books. What in the deuce is that up there now!"
A canine head was outlined in an open window and then the big hound gave tongue that went far into the night. His senses told him that an enemy was lurking near.
"My! what a mark for a shot!" whispered Jim.
Then they heard a sharp command in Spanish and both the dog and the Mexican disappeared from view.
"We had better move along, Jim," said the engineer, "or we will be on the hot end of a chase ourselves." Without a word Jim started, but he would not run far.
CHAPTER XIIITHE MAN IN THE GULLY
The two friends disappeared in the fog, in a southerly direction from the house and after going for about a quarter of a mile, Jim called a sudden halt.
"Hold on, John," he said, "there is something coming our way."
"I don't hear anything," replied Berwick. "What does it sound like?"
"It's a vehicle of some kind," declared Jim.
"Now I hear it," admitted the engineer, "and I reckon that it is a carriage of some kind."
"This is as good a place as any," remarked Jim. "It's lucky there is a fog because there is no cover to get behind."
"Coming direct our way," said the engineer, as the thud of horses' feet could be heard distinctly, and the low roll of wheels over the ground.
The two comrades moved quickly to one side, and they saw emerge from the fog a high-stepping team drawing a closed carriage. The horses shied at what they saw at the side of the way, but thecoachman pulled them quickly to their course and drove rapidly on. It was impossible to get even a glimpse of the occupants of the carriage.
"Me lord Duke," said Jim, "going to his ancestral castle."
"That's surely where he is bound for," declared the engineer.
"There goes the gate," cried Jim, as the sound of the iron closing came to his ears.
"The plot thickens," remarked the engineer; "that wasn't an ordinary turnout by any means."
"We will investigate this business before morning," determined Jim, "but there is nothing gained by rushing,—better let things settle. What do you say, John, to getting something to eat?"
"I'm with you there," agreed Berwick. "I may have been hungrier in my life before, but I can't remember."
"No Russian Duke this time to help you out, eh?" queried Jim.
"Don't mention that," cried the engineer; "I'm in no need of an appetiser."
If you have read "Frontier Boys in The Sierras," you will recall the chief engineer's account of his experience while traveling from St. Petersburg to the frontier, when he appropriated the GrandDuke's hamper while his Highness was wrapped in the deep stupor of sleep. He had told it with much nerve and vivacity, and Jim could recollect very clearly the scene in the warm engine-room of theSea Eagle, with the stormy rain sweeping the decks outside, and the good old crowd of Juarez, and the boys, listening to the engineer.
"I have a hunch that we are going to get something to eat soon," remarked Jim encouragingly.
"Shall we strike the trail back to the city, and return in the small wee hours to call on our friends in the castle?" asked Berwick.
"No need of that," replied Jim; "I am sure we can find a place to eat down by the beach."
They had a little difficulty in finding a break in the cliffs that walled the water front, but finally they discovered a cleft in the solid rock and they were able to make a steep descent over broken bowlders. They were halfway down when Jim stopped so abruptly that the engineer stumbled against him.
"See that man sitting against that rock," he whispered; "he looks as if he were asleep."
"Maybe drunk," remarked John Berwick.
"Or a sentinel for the castle," put in Jim.
He felt around at his feet until he picked up asuitable rock, then closely followed by the engineer, he approached cautiously the figure against the rock, then Jim deliberately went up and looked into the man's face.
"He's dead," said Jim in a quiet voice. "I've seen too many like him not to know."
"Who do you suppose got him," queried the engineer.
"Those friends of ours on the hill, no doubt," said Jim. "Yes, it's their work," he declared, as he ran his hand along under the man's coat; "stabbed in the back." The unfortunate fell heavily against Jim's shoulder and one of his legs straightened out convulsively.
"You have a pretty fair quality of nerve, my friend," remarked the engineer in cool admiration.
"Strike a light, John," said Jim, "and see if we can get a line on this poor fellow."
The engineer drew a pretty trinket of a match box from his upper vest pocket and struck a match near the face. There was such a direct living look in the man's half-closed eyes, that the engineer dropped the match with an involuntary expression of surprise and shock.
"What's the matter with you, John?" asked Jim with a touch of sharpness in his voice. The engineerwas a man of usual nonchalant nerve, whose bravery had always seemed a by-product of his nature and not due to an effort of the will, which gave point to Jim's question.
"I am getting shaky in my old age, Captain," replied the engineer.
"No danger of that," replied Jim.
Again a match was lit and this time Berwick held the flame close to the dead man's face. They saw that he was not over forty years of age, with a heavy square jaw, a full straw colored mustache, and hazel eyes. He wore a light gray fedora hat and his suit was also of gray, loosely worn. He was squarely built, and slightly below the middle height. There was absolutely nothing to indicate his business, or his station in life. Whatever possessions he may have had on him had been taken.
"What was the reason for this, John?" questioned Jim, as he gently laid the dead man back against the rock.
"Robbery?" suggested Berwick.
"They are none too good," replied Jim, "as I can testify from personal experience. But I reckon that there is more back of this than that.
"Now I may be mistaken, but in my opinion this man was a United States detective and he was hoton the trail of this gang of pirates and smugglers. I used to know a number of these fellows in New York and there is something about them that marks them to my mind."
"I bet you have hit it right," said Jim, "but why did they not hide the body?"
"Possibly they are so safe in this section that they don't take the trouble to cover up their crime," remarked the engineer tentatively.
"Or they may be intending to come back to-night and dispose of the body," said Jim.
"That's more apt to be it," agreed the engineer.
"It might be a good scheme to lie in wait for a while, and see if any of these hounds come back on their trail," suggested Jim.
The engineer of theSea Eaglewho was at present out of his element, drew a deep sigh and likewise drew up his belt a couple of holes, which was his alternative for a meal, that he seemed fated to go without. The unsympathetic Jim grinned at his comrade in arms.
"I tell you, Chief," he said, "we will catch one of these grand rascals and cook him a la cannibal."
"I would be most happy to," replied the engineer suavely and savagely.
"We will move down the ravine a ways," ordered Jim.
"My idea was that they would come down from the top of the cliff," said the engineer with cool criticism.
"That was my idea, too," said Jim cheerfully; "then we might follow them without too much chance of being caught ourselves."
"You are certainly long on strategy, James," remarked the engineer.
"Hello, Berwick," exclaimed Jim; "there is a light ahead."
Sure enough on the beach at the mouth of the ravine shone the yellow light from a small square window. They crept up carefully to the place. It was rather a curious affair. It was simply two old street cars joined together by a wooden vestibule; one was used as a sleeping room the other was a tiny beach eating place. Jim looked in cautiously through the window and his eyes widened and his hand went involuntarily to where his revolver usually hung. He remained there a full half minute taking in the scene within while the engineer stood a little ways back in apparent indifference, but he was carefully taking in the whole situation. A short distance away the watersof the bay were lapping through the darkness onto the beach.
He noticed that there were a number of heavy tracks going towards the door of the odd little restaurant, and they were quite recent. He listened intently to hear, if possible, who might be inside, but while he could distinguish voices, there were only a few noncommittal sounds. He wondered what the captain found so interesting, but just then there came a scuffling of chairs on the floor within and the sound of guttural voices. Jim drew back suddenly, and in evident alarm. The door was slowly opened and a heavy figure dressed in sailor garb lurched out into the darkness followed by a stealthy form.
CHAPTER XIVTHE VISITOR
"I wonder what mischief the old man is chawing on?" It was the forward deck of theSea Eagle, and the speaker, Old Pete, the sailor, of unsavory memory. "He's been as savage as a bear with a sore head two days past, and that means he's brewing some sort of devilment."
"Maybe he's watching to trail some craft going out with a rich cargo," said Jack Cales, of likewise deleterious recollection, who was seated on the forward hatch, opposite the ancient mariner who was himself resting on a coil of rope.
"I dunno about that," said Pete, puffing meditatively on his black, stunted pipe; "according to my notion it's something ashore. Old Hunch was aboard airly this mornin', and that greaser is a sure sign of trouble. Reminds me of a croaking black raven. I'd like to wring his wry neck for him. He ain't fit to associate with respectable pirates like us."
"I don't see why the cap'n sets such store by him, anyhow," protested Jack Cales.
"It's an unhung gang of bloody cutthroats the old man's got ashore," remarked Old Pete. "I wouldn't want any trafficking with them."
There was something amusing in this feud between the rascals on ship and ashore, something like the rivalry between the navy and army.
"Shut your jaw," said Cales peremptorily; "here comes the cap'n now."
To the earlier readers of "The Frontier Boys," he is a familiar figure but he is well worth introducing to those who are meeting him for the first time. Captain William Broome, familiarly known as Bill, or the old man, was a remarkable person. There was a strange softness in Captain Broome's tread, like that of the padded panther, as he came forward along the main deck. He appeared like a man always ready to get a death hold upon a nearby enemy, both wary and using unceasing watchfulness. This was evident in the crouching gait of his powerful figure. His arms had the loose forward swing of a gorilla's, indicative of enormous strength.
"That man a pirate!" you exclaim at the first glance. One who carried the blackest name along the coasts of the two American continents as a wrecker and smuggler; who in the days before theCivil War had brought cargoes of slaves from Africa, and who had enjoyed more marvelous escapes than any man in the history of piracy, with the exception of Black Jack Morgan? "Impossible!" you say. "Why, that man is nothing but an old farmer," you cry in disappointment. "He ought to be peddling vegetables in a market!" But just wait.
True enough, Skipper Broome had come from a long line of New England farmers, hard, close-fisted, close-mouthed men. Young Broome had broken away from the farm, and followed his bent for seafaring, but to the end of his rope, and his days, he kept his farmer-like appearance, and he affected many of the traits of the yeoman, which he found to be, on more than one occasion, a most useful disguise.
Let's take a look at him, as he comes along the deck of theSea Eagle. The heavy winter cap, which he wore in season and out of season, pulled well down on his grizzled head, gave him a most Reuben-like appearance. Corduroy pants are thrust into heavy cowhide boots. The deadly gray eyes, no softer than granite, have become red-rimmed from spasms of fury and rendered hard by many scenes of coldly-calculated cruelty.
"Yaw two gents enjying the balmy air for'ard, on your bloomin' pleasure yacht?" inquired Captain William Broome, who had a turn for broad sarcasm.
"Jus' smokin' a few peaceful pipes, sir," replied Pete, who was allowed a certain amount of leeway with his master, as he had been with him in the African trade, and as boys in New England, they had lived on nearby farms.
"This ain't no time for peaceful meditation," said the captain; "you git aft and keep a sharp eye abeam, and if you see any boat creepin' through the fog, even if it's an innercent looking fishin' boat, you report it to the mate."
"Aye, aye, sir," replied Pete as he stowed his pipe in his capacious pocket, and maneuvering a safe distance from the captain's foot, went on his mission. Then Broome spit carefully around on the deck.
"Here, Cales, you loafer, clean this yere deck up," he growled.
Thus, having made himself pleasant to all hands, he went forward and, leaning heavily on the rail, looked shoreward as if expecting a messenger of some kind. It was impossible to tell the exact position of theSea Eaglein the immense bay ofSan Francisco. One thing was certain, that it was not near the shore where the castle stood on the cliff, for the current and the depth of water made it impossible to anchor. However, it was near some shore, for the sound of the surf could be heard distinctly. Five minutes passed and then the captain raised himself up with a grunt of satisfaction. A long trim boat had slipped quietly from the enveloping fog into the quiet circle of the sea around the yacht.
The oars were not muffled but they made as little noise as though they were. It was rowed by four men, quite evidently foreigners; brown men, two with rings in their ears, and the others were splendidly built fellows, who rowed as easily as they breathed. These latter were Hawaiians, who are as native to the sea and its ways as the cowboys to their own western plains. They were part of the mixed crew which the old pirate had got together for reasons of his own. The said reasons being that such a crew could not very well combine to mutiny or to rob him of his ill-gotten wealth.
In the stern of the ship's cutter was an entirely different looking man from the kind with whom Captain Broome was generally associated. If theman had been a priest or a parson his presence in such company would have been no more surprising. He had the appearance of a well-dressed gentleman, probably a professional man of some kind. His features were good and his dress impeccable.
Against the chill fog he wore a dark overcoat, with silk facings, and a black derby hat. At his feet, on the bottom of the boat, was a long black leather bag, somewhat like those which physicians carry. Yet he was not a doctor, for it was generally the enemies of Captain Broome who needed the services of a physician.
The boat glided gently by the perforated platform of the gangway and was held firmly by the oarsmen, while the stranger stepped with a quick, precise step from the small boat. The captain was on hand and greeted him with a certain awkward courtesy, for politeness was not in his line.
"Glad to see yer, Mr. Reynolds," he said, giving him a grip from his horny hand; "hope you didn't get damp from the fog, crossin'."
"It's nothing, Captain," replied the man-crisply, an amused sneer hidden under his mustache; "fog is my element. It agrees perfectly with my delicate health."
"I'm relieved to hear it," remarked CaptainBroome gently. "Come up to my cabin, sir, and I'll give you a drink of something that will clear the fog for you."
The professional gentleman, from the city, followed his sinister host up the gangway and into his cabin, while the boat pushed away from the side of the yacht, bowed softly to the gentle swell of the sea. It was like a carriage that is waiting for the return trip. The two Hawaiians were laughing and joking in characteristic good humor, which is entirely different from the boisterous jollity of the darkies.
They were having sport by laughing at their passenger. His neatness of demeanor and style of dress seemed to furnish them with much amusement. With their quickness for giving nicknames, they called him, "Mr. Blackbag," and the captain was known to them as Roaring Bull. They were very apt, as all Hawaiians are, to see the defects of character and weak points of those white people who came under their observation.
Meanwhile the captain and his guest sat in the latter's cabin, discussing matters that will soon concern us gravely. This cabin, as perhaps the reader remembers, was a good sized room. A large table of cherry wood was against one side,with a few maps and books on it. A broad bunk was curtained off with red draperies. There was a scarred sea chest against the opposite wall, fastened by a heavy padlock. On this the captain was firmly seated.
To complete the description I may say that the room was paneled in white, and contrary to what you might expect, the cabin was absolutely neat. Broome's visitor had turned the swivel chair halfway from the desk, and was directly facing the hard-faced captain, who had taken off his heavy cap, showing his bald and polished dome of thought that glowed red under the light of the big, swinging, brass lamp. The shuttered window was closed against the dim daylight outside. This was a secret conclave and with good reason. Upon the table at Mr. Reynold's elbow the black satchel was opened. Its contents at first glance were not startling. But wait!