A STUNNING SURPRISE.
As the overjoyed boys watched the trim little schooner, she came gracefully about, a boat was put over, and four men got into it and started for the wreck.
"This is what I call luck!" exclaimed Dick. "One day and two nights on the derelict, and now we're going to be taken off."
"Aber ve don'd ged some salfage," said Carl, with a note of regret in his voice, "like vat ve vould do oof ve sailed der terelick indo New Orleans."
"I don't think we could ever sail her that far, even if we were able to get a jury rig on her. Her rudder's gone, and to rig a jury rudder would be too much for us. Besides, her seams have opened badly, and another storm would be likely to knock her to pieces."
"Den id's pedder dot ve be took off," said Carl.
As the boat was almost halfway between the schooner and the derelict, the boys gave over their talk to watch. They had not kept their gaze on the boat many minutes before they made out a figure on one of the thwarts that caused them to turn upon each other in blank astonishment.
"It can't be dot der feller in der front part oof dot poat iss Sixdy?" murmured Carl. "Haf I got der plind shtaggers or somet'ing?"
"Dowse me, mate," breathed Dick, "it's either the old hunks, or his double."
"I don'd pelieve in toubles like dot. Id vas eider him or id vasn't him. Vat you t'ink, Tick?"
"I'm a Fiji if it ain't Sixty," declared Dick.
"How could he be dere ven ve left him on der shdeamer?"
"That's a hard one. This is Sixty's old boat, and it's natural he should be coming back to her again. I tell you, Carl, there's something queer in all this that we can't understand. Belay a bit!"
Without pausing to answer the excited query Carl threw after him, Dick rushed for the hatchway leading into the 'tween-decks. He was out of sight for several minutes, and when he came up again he had a couple of the Krag-Jorgensens, and his pockets were sagging with cartridges.
"Vat you going to do mit dose t'ings?" demanded Carl.
"I'm going to make Sixty keep a good offing until he tells us what his lay is," answered Dick, decidedly.
"Oof dis is his poat den he's got a pedder righdt on her as ve haf."
"Possession is nine points of the law, and we have possession. There's something crooked about this craft. The manifest says nothing about firearms and she carries enough for a regiment. We'll hold that boat off for a while and make sure of square treatment for ourselves, whatever else we do. Take one of the guns and fill the magazine, Carl. After that, get down behind the rail."
The boat was quite close, by that time, and the boys finished their preparations hurriedly and dropped to their knees behind the bulwarks.
"Halt!" shouted Dick. "Stay right where you are till we have a bit of a palaver."
The man in the bow was Captain Sixty. There was now not the least doubt of it. The boys heard him mutter something very much like an oath and saw him get to his feet. The three men at the oars ceased pulling and held the boat steady.
"You're the two kids that was with Motor Matt on theSanta Maria," shouted Sixty. "What you doin' on that brig?"
"Trying to get somebody to pick us off," Dick answered.
"Well, we seen your signal and that's what we've come to do, so why in thunder are you pullin' them guns on us?"
"You can't fool me, Old Cut-and-slash!" answered Dick. "That telegram of yours that my mate got in the hotel, by mistake, didn't give the position of this brig, did it? 'No wind and no drift.' That's what the telegram said. But that storm, the other night, blew her quite a distance across the gulf. You didn't take theSanta Mariain order to get close to this wreck and give it a sizing, did you?"
A perfect roar went up from Sixty.
"I knowed you was next to my game all the time," he whooped, irefully. "I wish I could have chucked you into the drink along with Motor Matt. Confound that blasted submarine! If she hadn't come snoopin' along after us, Motor Matt wouldn't be where he could bother me none."
For a thorough-going scoundrel, Sixty was peculiarly artless in letting out facts of importance. This was the first intimation Carl and Dick had had that Sixty was in any way concerned with Matt's going overboard. The revelation took them both aback.
"You heaved our old raggie over the rail, did you?" demanded Dick, angrily.
"Yes," shouted Sixty furiously, shaking a fist in the direction of the brig, "and I have been hoping that storm had cooked your goose. I've been lookin' for the brig in that schooner, following on acrost the gulf in the way the wind must have drove her from the bearin's given me in that telegram. I allowed you chaps knowed more about my business than I wanted you to."
"We know you've got a cargo of arms and ammunition on the brig that's not down in the manifest."
Sixty yelled a frantic oath.
"Put down them guns," he bellowed. "We're comin' aboard."
"Not while we're able to use these Krag-Jorgensens," threatened Dick.
"We'll see about that." Sixty turned to the sailors. "Pull!" he ordered. "They're only makin' a bluff."
The sailors began to pull toward the brig once more. Dick saw there was nothing else for it but to open fire.
"We've got to scare 'em off, Carl," said he, in a low tone. "I'll do the shooting, and you lay by and watch."
Bang!
A bullet whistled through the air, zipped its course between two of the sailors and threw up a little spurt of water far beyond the boat. The sailors, in a panic, stopped their rowing.
Sixty was raving like a wild man. He could say nothing, however, that would induce the men with him to come any nearer the brig.
"The next bullet," shouted Dick, "will come closer to you. We've got plenty of guns and plenty of ammunition, and you'll get your gruel if you come on."
Those in the rowboat held a brief consultation. In about two minutes the boat put about and started back to the schooner.
Carl jumped up on the rail and waved his hat.
"Ve vas too many for you," he taunted, in his characteristic fashion. "Goot-py, olt sore-headt! Meppy ve dake dose guns und ammunidions und der resdt oof der druck to New Orleans und make some salfage money. How you like dot?"
Carl, when he sprang back to Dick's side, was not so sure that it was a good thing to have the schooner sail away and leave them.
"Vat ve going to do on der terelick oof anodder shtorm hids us?" he asked.
"I don't believe there'll be another storm for a few days, Carl," answered Dick, his face strangely troubled.
"You don'd vas a Vedder Pureau, Tick. How you know dot?"
"I'm just guessing, that's all."
"Dot schooner must haf peen vaiding for derSanda Maria, somevere oudt in der gulf."
"That's about the way I figure it, Carl. Some one, just in from the gulf, sent that telegram to Sixty giving him the location of the wreck. He got word to some one to have the schooner meet him near the steamer's track, and he was transferred. This must have been some time yesterday, after the storm. I'm a juggins, though, if I have any idea what the old shell-back's game is."
"He drowed Modor Matt oferpoard, anyvay," growled Carl, savagely, "und dot's pooty goot efitence, Tick, dot der game don'd haf some bleasantness in id for us, hey?"
"Sixty would like to clear us off the slate, if he could. I shouldn't wonder if he was counting on saving this cargo for himself. It's an illegal cargo, if I know one when I see it, and the old shark is playing a ticklish game."
"Downsent ain'd in id, I bed you. He vouldn't do anyt'ing underhand for nodding. Vy dit dot Sixdy feller lie like vat he dit?"
"He wanted to get us out of New Orleans, I guess, and he thought that was the easiest way to do it. What do you think of that girl now, matey?"
"I vas tisabbointed in Miss Harris," acknowledged Carl, regretfully. "I vould nefer haf t'ought she vas dot kindt. She says t'ings dot vasn't der trut', like her uncle."
"It was all cut and spliced. We tumbled into the bight of the rope like a lot of swabs, and Sixty pulled his snare tight. If the submarine hadn't been handily by, Matt might have drowned."
"Und oof der wreck hatn't peen close around, ve vould haf done der same. I dell you, Tick, ve vas all in luck—aldough I ain'd saying but vat der luck mighdt be pedder as vat it iss. I hope no shtorm vill come undil anodder poat sails py und bicks us oop."
"I can't understand that," muttered Dick, his eyes on the schooner.
"Vat's going on?" asked Carl.
"They've taken Sixty and the three with him aboard and the craft is making a slant in this direction. That doesn't look as though she was going to haul away."
"Some fellers are vorking in der bow oof der schooner," observed Carl. "Vat are dose fellers aboudt?"
Dick strained his eyes. As the schooner drew nearer, laying a course that would take her past the stern of the wreck at less than a cable's length, Dick suddenly grabbed Carl and rushed him along the deck and into the after cabin.
"They're unlimbering a bow chaser!" he exclaimed.
"Vat's a pow shacer?"
"A small cannon. Sixty is going to try and shell us out."
Carl gasped. Was it possible the reckless scoundrel would attempt such a high-handed proceeding?
Even as the boys stood staring at each other, there came a loud report, followed by a crashingthumpthat made the derelict reel from end to end.
Dick looked out.
"There goes the galley!" he exclaimed, grimly. "Old Sixty seems determined to make the wreck of his boat complete."
CLOSING IN.
Dick, as soon as he had spoken to Carl, ran out of the cabin and took a hasty look over the side of the wreck.
The schooner was now so close that he could see the men on her decks plainly. Some were putting another charge in the small cannon at the bow, while several more were loading a similar cannon whose muzzle swung over the taffrail.
"They're going to keep it up, matey," announced Dick, as Carl stole out to him. "Pretty soon they'll put another shot into us."
"Meppy dey vas drying to shcare us oudt," returned Carl. "Oof Sixdy vants to safe der cargo oof der prig he vouldn't send her to der pottom."
There came another roar, this time from the cannon at the stern of the schooner. A round shot sailed over the top of the charthouse and dropped into the sea, far to leeward, sending up a small geyser of water.
"Ve can shtandt all dot kindt oof shooding dot dey gif us," said Carl.
"They'll not give us that kind right along, mate. I don't think they'll put any shells into us between wind and water, but they'll bang away at the deck houses."
By then the schooner had crossed the stern of the wreck and was making ready to tack about and come up on the other side.
"They're going to put a few shots into us from starboard," hazarded Dick.
"Couldn't ve pick off some oof dose fellers mit der rifles?" queried Carl.
"We could," replied Dick, "but we're not going to. We've got the right of this, now, and if we shot anybody we'd be in the wrong almost as much as Sixty. We'll let the old scoundrel play his hand, and see what it amounts to."
The boys could see that those on the schooner had loaded both guns. Two men stood by ready to fire them, but neither was discharged.
"Vy don'd dey shoot?" asked Carl. "Vat vas dey hanging pack for?"
"Ah!" muttered Dick, "they're getting a couple of boats in the water."
"Vat does dot mean?"
"They're going to close in. Get your rifle, Carl. From the looks of things, mate, we're going to have hot work."
"Ve don'd surrenter?"
"I'm a Britisher, and I don't know the word!" answered Dick.
"Me, neider," said Carl. "I vas American mit a Dutch accent, aber I don'd gif in to dot gang. Led dem shood deir olt headts off."
"Our heads will be the ones they'll try to shoot off."
Rifles in hand, the boys watched the boats as they struck the water. Five men tumbled into each of them, and the men were all armed.
Dick laughed softly.
"We're making them take a lot of trouble, mate," said he.
"Oof ve hat a gun like vat dey got, py shinks, ve vould gif dem as mooch fighdt as dey vanted. Ah, ha! der poats iss shtarting dis vay, und vone iss coming py der front oof der wreck und der odder py der rear end. Now vat you t'ink iss going to habben?"
"We're about at the end of our rope, Carl," said Dick. "Those boats are going to board us under cover of a couple of shots from the big guns. The outlook is getting dark. This way! We'll get down the main hatch into the 'tween decks. After the broadside, we'll come up again and fight off the boats."
It was not a time for words. The gunners on the schooner were preparing to fire, and if Dick and Carl got out of the way they would have to hurry.
The main hatch was open, just as Dick had left it when he had gone down after the rifles. Carl, who was following Dick, had no more than got his feet on the ladder, when there were two smashing reports, coming so close together that they sounded almost as one.
Dick, at the time, was standing on the ladder, up to his knees in water, urging Carl to hurry. The firing drowned his words.
Instantly there was a splintering crash, and the wreck rocked and heaved as though it would break apart. But Dick Ferral was not thinking of the derelict, just then. His every thought was for Carl.
The Dutch boy had pitched forward, the upper part of his body lying half over the hatch coaming.
"Carl!" cried Dick, frantically.
There was no answer. Carl's dangling feet swung backward and forward with the swaying of the wreck.
Dick, his heart in his throat, leaped up the ladder, bounded out on the deck, lifted Carl in his arms and carried him away from the hatch.
There was a smear of red on Carl's forehead, his face was deathly white and his eyes closed.
One of the cannon balls had knocked a hole in the bulwarks of the brig and scattered splinters all over that part of the boat. Carl, undoubtedly, had been struck by one of the flying fragments.
Kneeling at his chum's side, Dick laid a hand on his breast, then felt of his wrist. What he learned reassured him.
Hurrying to the galley he got what was left of a kettle of fresh water, ran back with it, tore a strip from the piece of canvas with which he had signaled the schooner, and began bathing Carl's forehead.
There was an ugly gash in the temple. So far as Dick could discover, however, the splinter had not done any serious damage.
"Here they are!" yelled a hoarse voice. "We've downed one of 'em!"
Dick started up. From forward and aft men were climbing over the derelict's side and rushing toward the main hatch. Quick as a wink he caught up one of the Krag-Jorgensens, placed himself over Carl and brought the gun to his shoulder.
Sixty was bearing down on Dick, and at his back were two swarthy sailors who had the appearance of Mexicans, or Spaniards.
"Sheer off!" shouted Dick, menacingly, pointing the rifle full at Captain Sixty. "Lay a finger on me or my mate and I'll shoot."
There was that in the boy's eyes which told of resolute determination, and Sixty and the others drew to an abrupt halt.
"Put down that gun, you young fool!" ordered Sixty, angrily. "All we wanted was to get on this brig. You've made a fine mess of it, I must say."
"You've got on the brig," returned Dick, steadily, "but you haven't captured us, yet. Leave us alone—that's my advice to you."
"There's a chap on the schooner that's a halfway doctor," said Sixty. "Don't you want him to look after your friend?"
"We're not going on the schooner, Captain Sixty, and I tell you flat that before long you're going to answer for your villainous work of the last few days. What kind of a pirate are you, anyhow?"
"This is my boat," blustered Sixty, "and I've got the right to take her. You was lame in tryin' to keep me off. It was you two that first began usin' guns."
"But it was you that lured us aboard theSanta Maria! And it was you that threw Motor Matt off the steamer! Why shouldn't we use guns when we saw you coming for us? You're a lawless scoundrel, and if you had what was coming you'd be swinging from the yardarm of a man-o'-war! I wish there was a Yankee fighting ship in these waters! You'd have short shrift to your deserts, Captain Jim Sixty!"
"It's easy enough to blow," scowled Sixty, "but yourtalk don't amount to nothin'. I'm on my own deck, and that makes me high cockalorum. Drop that gun, I tell you, before we lay you on the deck alongside your mate."
"Drop me on the deck!" shouted Dick, recklessly. "Keep up your lawlessness, if you dare!"
Dick swerved his eyes a little to get a fleeting glance of the nine men who had boarded the wreck with Sixty.
"What sort of swabs are you?" he cried. "Don't you know the risk you are taking in doing the dirty work for a ruffian like Sixty? He abandoned the brig—left her to her fate—and now the rest of you can pick him up and slant away. I'll stay here with my mate, and take care of him, but we'll neither of us set a foot on your pirate schooner!"
Dick was so wrought up that he would have defied an army if one had been mustered against him. He was hopelessly outnumbered, and there could have been but one result had events been allowed to take their course.
But the unexpected happened, and it happened just then when the brave Ferral, standing over the form of his unconscious chum, was defying Sixty and his men to do their worst.
"Ahoy, the brig!"
The faint hail came from the schooner.
"Ahoy!" roared Sixty, turning and making a trumpet of his hands.
"Look out for the submarine!"
Sixty's hands fell from his lips and he gave a jump for the side of the brig. The rest of the men ran with him. For an instant something like panic laid hold of the entire party.
Dick, thrilled with a wild feeling of hope, rushed for the battered bulwarks of the wreck—and stood there, gasping with astonishment.
Within fifty feet of the brig, bow on, lay theGrampus. There was not a sign of life about her, but there she lay, silent, menacing, a thing of power fraught with deadly peril for the lawless men on the wreck.
Sixty, regaining his wits, gave vent to a fierce oath and jerked a musket from the hands of one of the sailors. He fired, but the bullet glanced harmlessly from the rounded steel deck of the submarine.
The next moment the top of the conning tower began lifting slowly.
THE "GRAMPUS" GETS A CLUE.
For a few minutes Matt and Captain Nemo, Jr., stared at the overturned whaleboat. The captain read the dread suspicions that were passing through the young motorist's mind.
"Courage, my lad," said he, kindly. "Don't give up, yet."
"What else is there to hope for?" asked Matt. "Dick and Carl were in that boat, and they were not able to keep it from filling and turning turtle. If that is what happened, then——"
Matt could not finish. For a moment all the courage was taken out of him.
"If the worst has happened to your friends, Matt," said the captain, gravely, "then this man Sixty is directly, or indirectly, responsible for it. But cheer up. We both know what a resourceful fellow Ferral is, and that Carl is full of pluck and energy. I can't believe that they went down in that storm, even with the evidence of the overturned whaleboat to make us think to the contrary. I'll have Cassidy up and we'll draw closer to the boat and get a better look at her."
With Cassidy on deck, armed with a boathook, theGrampuswas driven close alongside the boat. With the boathook, the mate was able to turn the boat partly over, giving those on the submarine a glimpse of her broken bulwarks.
"Ah!" cried Captain Nemo, Jr. "The whaleboat was struck by something—perhaps by some ship. In that event, the boys may have been taken out of the boat, and be as safe, now, as we are."
"What's to be done, captain?" asked Matt. "I don't feel like leaving these waters until I learn something more definite regarding Dick and Carl, but I hardly see how we're going to learn anything by cruising around in this vicinity. If the whaleboat was stove by a ship, and Carl and Dick were taken aboard, then by now they must be a good way from this part of the gulf."
"It won't do any harm to cruise around here for a day or two, anyhow," replied the captain.
"Meanwhile," said Matt, "Captain Sixty is getting away on theSanta Maria."
"Then he'll have to get away," returned the captain. "He's only suspected of filibustering, and my orders were simply to keep track of him and discover what he was doing. We'll forget about Sixty and think only of Dick and Carl."
From that moment theGrampusbegan an aimless wandering through the waters of that part of the gulf. They were delayed three hours, shortly after noon, by a mishap to the gasoline motor. The trouble was too much for Gaines, and Matt was called on to locate the difficulty and repair it.
This was a good thing for Matt, inasmuch as it drew his thoughts from moody conjectures concerning his chums and gave him something important to do in the line of work that he liked best.
An hour after the motor was in working order again,and theGrampuswas traveling along at a good clip, Cassidy, who was on the lookout, raised a smudge of smoke on the horizon. The steamer was coming from the south, and was evidently bound for some port to the north, either Mobile or New Orleans. With a desire to speak to her, on the possible chance of learning something about Dick and Carl, the submarine altered her course so as to intersect that of the steamer.
Matt, Nemo, Jr., and Cassidy were on the deck when theGrampushad come close enough to get the steamer in full view.
"Great guns!" exclaimed Cassidy, as his eyes traveled over the vessel's trim lines, "it's the United States cruiserSeminole. I know her pretty near as well as I do theGrampus."
"Bring up the signal flags and code book, Mr. Cassidy," ordered the captain; "also the megaphone. We'll get into communication with the captain of the cruiser. Even if he can't tell us anything about Dick and Carl, we can talk with him a little about Jim Sixty."
Cassidy was soon back with signal flags, code book and megaphone. While he gave his attention to running up the flags at the short staff of theGrampus, Matt handled the code book.
"Have you seen anything of two men who were lost in a small boat during the storm last night?"
This was the first question spelled out by the flags.
With the binoculars, Captain Nemo, Jr., read the answer.
It was "No."
"Wish to communicate with you at closer range," the flags of the submarine next signaled.
"We'll heave to," answered the war ship. "Come up under our lee."
Cassidy dropped the flags through the conning tower hatch, then descended to reach the push buttons and send word to the engine room.
Gracefully the submarine rounded the stern of theSeminolein a wide arc and came to a halt within thirty feet of the big vessel on the starboard side.
"What boat is that?" came from the bridge of the cruiser.
"The submarineGrampus, Captain Nemo, Jr., out of New Orleans and acting under orders from the government."
"What orders?"
"To watch a suspected filibuster named James Sixty."
"We've been looking for him and his brig, theDolphin. TheDolphinis said to have been wrecked and is reported as a derelict, dangerous to commerce. We have orders to examine her, if possible, and she can be found, and then to destroy her. Where is Sixty?"
"He left New Orleans under suspicious circumstances aboard the fruiterSanta Maria, ostensibly bound for Belize."
"He's not bound for Belize. If he's doing anything, he's hunting for theDolphin, hoping to salvage her cargo or else blow her up and send her to the bottom before any naval officer has a chance to look her over. We're cruising around to see if we can locate the derelict."
"And we're trying to find a couple of young fellows who were torn adrift from theSanta Mariaduring the storm, last night."
"Any success?"
"Found the whaleboat, stove and floating upside down on the water."
"Then you'd better give up," was the curt remark that closed the conversation.
The cruiser got under headway again and slanted off on a new course.
"You see how it is, captain," said Matt. "Even those on the cruiser think our search is useless."
"We'll keep it up, nevertheless," was the captain's dogged response.
"That's what I'm anxious to have you do, for I don't leave this part of the gulf until I know something more."
Night came on, and theGrampuswas still running circles in the waters of the gulf. The sea had quieted down to an abnormal smoothness, and the submarine, with Matt at the engine to relieve Gaines, went on her aimless wanderings.
At midnight Gaines took the engine and gave Matt an opportunity to secure a little rest.
Matt was up for breakfast, and while he, and Captain Nemo, Jr., and Gaines were eating, they heard a muffled detonation, as it might have been of a blast from a great distance. Matt and the captain hurried to the deck, where they found that the mysterious noise had likewise claimed the attention of Cassidy.
"What did it sound like to you, Cassidy?" asked the captain.
"Like a cannon, sir," was the reply, "but it was a powerful ways off."
"That's how it sounded to me."
"What do you think it is?" inquired Matt.
"At a guess," replied the captain, "I should say the cruiser has found the derelict and is trying to break her up. We'll alter our course and see what we can discover."
Just as theGrampuswas put on a new tack, there came another of the muffled crashes, which served to give them a further clue as to the location of the firing.
Gaines was told to speed up the motor to the top notch, and the submarine began to cleave her way through the water at her best speed.
Presently Cassidy, who was using the binoculars, declaredthat he could see a sail. This compelled the captain to alter his views as to the cause of the firing. If there was a sail, then it was impossible that the cruiser was struggling to destroy the derelict.
Just about then another roar of cannon was heard, this time so weirdly distinct that there could be no doubt as to what had caused the report.
"That's cannon, all right," muttered Cassidy, "but why is a schooner doing the shooting?"
"We'll get inside," said the captain, "and submerge until the periscope ball is just awash. It may be well to come into this thing cautiously."
All those on deck descended to the periscope room. Here, as once before, the captain and Matt kept their eyes on the mirror of the periscope table.
Slowly but clearly a schooner came into sight, and also the wreck of a two-masted brig.
"That brig is the derelict," remarked the captain, "and it looks as though the schooner is trying to sink her."
"Mighty queer to find a schooner carrying cannon," observed Cassidy.
"That's right, too," said the captain, plainly puzzled.
"There are two boats alongside the wreck," said Matt, excitedly, "and men are climbing over the bulwarks! What does that mean, captain?"
"Right you are, Matt," muttered the captain, "and I'm in a quandary. We'll come up between the schooner and the brig and investigate before taking any decided action."
On and on theGrampusglided, unseen until, when she had attained the position she desired, she rose upward with a flurry of waves creaming from her deck plates.
From the elevated top of the periscope there was a view of the brig's dismantled deck; and Matt and the captain could see, as plainly as though they were on the derelict, Dick Ferral, gun at his shoulder, standing over the form of Carl. And Captain Sixty's bulky form was equally clear, as well as the figures of the rabble at his heels.
It was an astounding sight for those in the submarine, but it was a sight that left no time for useless words.
"Cassidy," cried Captain Nemo, Jr., with a snap of his lean jaws, "go to the torpedo room, take Speake with you and slip one of the Whiteheads into the port tube. After that, stand by for orders."
"Ay, ay, sir," answered Cassidy, and quickly vanished.
"I'm going up in the tower, Matt," said the captain. "You can crowd in to the lunettes and watch what goes on."
Then the captain made his way up the ladder with Matt tight at his heels. Hardly had Matt got his eyes to the lunette when a ringing thump echoed from the deck plates.
"A rifle shot!" exclaimed Nemo, Jr. "I'll just warn those rascals what they're up against."
As he finished speaking, he pulled the lever that secured the hatch and pushed the iron disk slowly upward.
AN ULTIMATUM.
"That will do, Jim Sixty!" shouted Captain Nemo, Jr., the moment he had got head and shoulders over the rim of the tower.
With a burst of profanity, Sixty leveled the rifle at the captain.
"What's to hinder me from puttin' a bullet through you, right where you are, you meddlin' hound?" he shouted.
"Several things, Sixty," was the calm response. "In the first place, I don't think you're a good enough marksman; and, in the second place, I don't think you'll do anything rash when I tell you that we're ready to put a torpedo into the brig and blow you and the wreck out of water."
That was a blow in the face for Sixty. He staggered back, dropped his rifle, and cast longing eyes at the two boats moored to the brig's side.
"You wouldn't dare do a thing like that!" he cried.
"Why wouldn't I?" asked the captain, casually.
"Well, for one thing, if you blowed us up, Motor Matt's two pards would go with us. You ain't takin' no chances with——"
"The schooner! The schooner!" clamored those on the deck of the brig.
Through the lunette Matt could see the schooner, with all sail set, hustling off across the ocean, showing as clean a pair of heels as any sailing craft could.
"Come back here, blast you!" howled Sixty, trumpeting the words through his hands.
But, if any one on the schooner heard, they made no response. The craft kept to her course, hauling up every stitch of canvas possible.
"We've got her scared," remarked Captain Nemo, Jr., "for her skipper knows that if we could sink you with a torpedo we could also sink her."
"What d'you want?" demanded Sixty.
"We want you and your men as prisoners," replied the captain. "If Motor Matt's friend on the deck, there, is badly hurt, you'll all be held to answer for it. Not only that, but we want to examine the brig's cargo——"
"No need of that, captain," sung out Dick. "I've got her log and her manifest. There's enough guns and ammunition down below to arm a regiment—and they're not down in the papers."
With a swirling roar of rage, Sixty sprang toward Dick. The latter stepped away quickly.
"Stay right where you are, Sixty!" shouted the captain. "Make another move like that and you'll do it at your peril. If those men with you know when they're well off, they'll help Dick Ferral get his chum into one of the boats and bring him over here to us."
"They'll do nothin' o' the kind!" shouted Sixty. "If you blow us up, you're goin' to blow up Motor Matt's friends along with us."
But the nine men with Sixty were of another way of thinking. Their only hope had been the schooner, and, now that she had mysteriously taken to flight, their next best plan was to fall in with the desires of their captor—the gray-haired man in the submarine.
Together the nine swarthy sailors started toward Carl. Sixty endeavored to drive them back, but they pointed revolvers at him and brandished dangerous-looking knives. Baffled, and held at bay by superior numbers, Sixty could only watch like an enraged panther while Carl was picked up and lowered by means of a rope into one of the boats.
Dick, before he dropped over the side, ran into the cabin after the log and manifest. Then, while Dick was getting down the side of the derelict, another unexpected thing happened.
A trim launch, manned by six of Uncle Sam's sailors and carrying four marines and a lieutenant, shot in between the brig and the submarine.
"Back, all!" shouted the lieutenant, and six oars pushed against the rushing water in perfect unison, bringing the launch to a halt.
"What's going on here?" asked the lieutenant, standing up, his amazed eyes wandering from the rowboat in which were Dick and Carl, then to the panic-stricken men on the derelict, and finally to the submarine.
Captain Nemo, Jr., and Matt had climbed from the conning tower to the deck of theGrampus, in readiness to give Dick a hand with Carl.
"They're threatenin' to blow us out of water with a torpedo," howled Sixty.
The trap had been sprung, but the filibuster was hoping to brazen his way through to freedom. But it was a forlorn hope.
"Where did you come from, Sixty?" demanded the lieutenant.
"I left New Orleans on the fruiter,Santa Maria," replied Sixty, "goin' on a hunt for this here brig which was reported somewhere in the track of steamers for Central America. A schooner from Belize was waitin' for me, an' yesterday we sighted the schooner from the steamer and I was put aboard. Then we went lookin' for the brig."
"Where's the schooner now?" inquired the lieutenant.
"She slipped away like a singed cat, a little while ago, and she's purty nigh hull down."
"She left you and the rest of those men, together with the two boats, behind?"
"That's the how of it."
"Then it must be that she saw us coming. If she'd been engaged in honest business, Sixty, she'd have stayed right here. But she didn't stay. You're treed, my man, and if there are not arms and ammunition in that old hulk, I'm no prophet."
"There are, sir," called Dick. "I've been in the hold and there are plenty of Krag-Jorgensens down there, and ammunition, too."
"Who are you?" demanded the lieutenant.
"I and my mate, here, got adrift from theSanta Mariaduring that storm, night before last. We've been on the wreck nearly two nights and a day. Ran into her in the dark, caught a trailing rope and climbed aboard."
"These are the lads you were looking for, captain?" asked the lieutenant, turning to Captain Nemo, Jr.
"Yes," was the reply.
"Then you're in luck to find them. What was that shooting a while ago? It was that that brought us in this direction."
"Sixty and a boat's crew," explained Dick, "tried to get on the brig. My mate and I held 'em off with rifles, because we knew him for a treacherous swab who had thrown our raggie, Motor Matt, over the rail of theSanta Maria——"
"Did Sixty do that?" cut in the officer, sternly.
"Yes," spoke up Matt.
"Go on," proceeded the officer, laconically, turning to Dick.
"Well," went on Dick, "when Sixty found he couldn't board the brig, he went back to the schooner. They had a bow chaser, and another small cannon over the stern. They let drive at us, then rounded in on the other side and let drive again, covering the movements of two boats' crews who laid us aboard. The last shot splintered the bulwarks and brought down my chum here."
"How badly is he hurt, Dick?" queried Matt.
"Stunned, that's all."
"A nice sort of schooner that is," muttered the officer, staring off to sea. "If we hadn't had such important work here we might have followed her and compelled her to heave to. You say there are rifles and ammunition in the brig?" he added, to Dick.
"Yes; and they don't appear on the manifest."
"How do you know?"
"Here's the manifest and the log."
Dick held the documents out. At a word from the officer the launch was driven alongside the rowboat, and the papers changed hands.
"Up on deck," the lieutenant said to the marines, "disarm those scoundrels and make prisoners of them. Look well after Sixty. Two of you boys come with me."
Two of the sailors dropped their oars and there was a scramble for the brig's deck.
Dick, dropping down on a thwart, picked up two of the oars and pulled the boat in which he and Carl found themselves over to the submarine.
"I'd about given you up, old chap!" exclaimed Matt as he seized Dick's hand.
"There was a time, old ship," replied Dick, "when I'd about given myself up. But all's well that ends well. If Carl proves to be only stunned, as I feel sure he will, there's no great damage done for all Sixty's treacherous planning."
Carl was taken below, Matt and Dick lifting him through the conning-tower hatch, down the ladder, and then making him comfortable on the locker in the periscope room.
"OFF WITH THE OLD, AND ON WITH THE NEW."
Carl had been unconscious for a long time, and it was two hours before Matt and Dick, working assiduously, succeeded in reviving him.
By that time, many things had happened. When Carl lifted himself suddenly to a sitting position on the locker, he stared dazedly into the faces of his two chums.
"How dit you come on der prig, Matt?" he asked.
"We're not on the brig, Carl," replied Matt, "but in the periscope room of theGrampus."
"Dot's a funny pitzness! Der lasdt I knew I vas going down der hatch to ged oudt oof der vay oof der shooding. Den someding hit me, und I vent to shleep. Vat vas dot vat hit me, Tick?"
"It was a splinter, matey," replied Dick. "A solid shot tore up the bulwarks of the brig and you were knocked over with a piece of wood."
"I t'ought id vas der site oof a house. How long ago vas dot?"
"About three hours, I should say."
"Shimineddy! Dree hours!"
Carl put up his hands and felt of the bandage about his head.
"How do you feel, Carl?" asked Matt.
"Pooty goot," was the answer; "pedder as some fellers vat vas oudt oof der running for dree hours, I bed you. Vere dit der supmarine come from, Matt?"
Matt explained at some length. Carl's wonder grew as he listened.
"Say, Tick," said he, "Matt und der odder fellers has peen doing somet'ing der same as you und me. Hey?"
"I should say so!" exclaimed Dick. "If this submarine hadn't bobbed up just when she did, you and I would have been in a jolly hard row of stumps, matey."
Just then a tremendous roar was heard, and the submarine shook in every part.
"Vat id iss?" cried Carl, showing symptoms of panic. "Iss dot schooner come pack?"
"No, Carl," laughed Matt, "the schooner made a get-away. That's the cruiserSeminoledoing that firing."
"Vat iss she firing ad?"
"At your brig. The boat is a derelict, and dangerous to shipping. The cruiser is breaking her up."
"Dere vas some salfages to be got oudt oof dot prig," mourned Carl, "und now id vill all go py der fishes. Oof dot poat couldt haf peen got to port——"
"Which she couldn't, matey," put in Dick. "The pounding that schooner gave her wrenched her badly."
"Dit dose fellers in der poats ged on der prig?" asked Carl, harking back to the last thing he remembered.
"Well, I should say so!" answered Dick. "Sixty, and nine other flatfoots."
"Dot makes sixdy-nine," bubbled Carl, happy, now that it was all over. "Vat pecome oof dem?"
"They were taken to the cruiser and will be carried to the nearest port and tried for their criminal deeds."
"Pully! Dot vas pedder as I t'ought!"
"The officers on the cruiser have a clear case against Sixty. The lieutenant who went aboard the brig saw the rifles and ammunition with his own eyes. He had the manifest and the log, and that settled Sixty's case for him."
"I vonder vere iss Sixdy's niece, Miss Harris?"
Carl's sentimental thoughts would return to the girl.
"Belay, on that!" growled Dick. "The girl fooled us and got us into a pretty mess of trouble. Sheer off on that subject."
"She wasn't Sixty's niece, but his daughter," explained Matt. "And she was no more a relative of Captain Nemo, Carl, than you or I."
"Too pad, too pad! She has gone to Honturas, eh? Vell, I vish I vas dere to hear vat she has to say for herseluf. Meppy she couldt oxblain."
Dick was disgusted.
"Vere iss Gaptain Nemo, Jr.?" was Carl's next question.
"A boat took him off to the cruiser for a talk with the captain," said Matt.
At that moment some one could be heard springing to the rounded deck of the submarine.
"All right, captain?" called a voice.
"All right, lieutenant," answered the voice of Captain Nemo, Jr. "Much obliged to you."
A few moments later, the captain came down the tower hatch.
"All right, Carl?" he asked, reaching out his hand.
"Fine und tanty," answered Carl, grasping the hand cordially, "only I vas a leedle mixed oop mit all vat has habbened."
"We were all a little mixed for a while," laughed Captain Nemo, Jr. "But everything is as clear as day, now. Sixty will go back to New Orleans and have a trial. I don't know what will be done to the rascals with him, for they are from Central America, and will probably claim the protection of their own country. The graceless scoundrels! They belong to a pack of revolutionists, and Sixty was doing a little filibustering. The suspicions of the government officials were entirely correct. Through the aid of Motor Matt and his friends, the cruiser was able to bag Sixty with the goods on, as the saying is."
"Did you have a talk with some of the prisoners, captain?" queried Matt.
"Yes, and a number of interesting things developed. Sixty and his men, having cleared successfully from New Orleans with an illegal cargo, ran into such rough weather in the gulf that they were compelled to abandon the brig, fearing every moment that she would founder. Sixty and his crew got away in the boats and were picked up by a vessel that carried them to Tampa. While Sixty was in Tampa reports began to come in regarding a dangerous derelict. The wreck answered the description of theDolphin, and Sixty cabled to the schooner, at some point in Central America, to look up the derelict and report her position to him. The schooner reported the latitude and longitude of the derelict from Galveston, and her skipper received an answer from Sixty telling him to lay by in the gulf along the course of theSanta Mariaso as to take him off. After that Sixty and those on the schooner were to try and work the brig, in jury rig, to a Mexican port, the schooner first taking off the arms and ammunition. In case the brig couldn't be saved, her contraband cargo was to be thrown overboard so as to avoid discovery by the naval authorities.
"Motor Matt and his friends jumped into the game when that telegram was received from Galveston. You all know how that worked out. I think this is about the strangest cruise theGrampusever made—although, quite likely, she is in for one equally as strange."
"Vat's dot?" queried Carl, pricking up his ears.
Matt and Dick were equally interested.
"I have heard something on the cruiser that makes it advisable for me to proceed to Central America. The submarine can easily go that far without returning to the nearest port for fresh supplies. I am under sealed orders, and have only a hint as to what is required of me, but I imagine that the new work has something to do with the business that has just been accomplished. The question is, do you boys want to go along? You all, especially Motor Matt, will be of invaluable assistance, but I would not want that to influence you one way or the other."
There was a moment of silence.
"If you do not think you can go," went on Captain Nemo, Jr., with an under-note of disappointment in his voice, "I am to lay alongside the cruiser and put you aboard of her. She will be busy with the brig for the rest of the day."
"How long is the cruise to be, captain?" queried Matt.
"That is something I cannot tell," was the reply.
"To Central America?" asked Dick.
"Yes."
"What part?"
"I don't know, and will not find out until I open my sealed orders. Of course, I don't belong to the navy, but this submarine, which is one of the most successful long-cruising boats ever launched, places me in a position to be of use to Uncle Sam. I have therefore placed the boat and myself and crew at my country's service. If we perform well our mission, then I shall be able to dispose of theGrampus, and all my own individual patents, for a very large sum. In view of that, and my firm belief that the next cruise will be a complete success, I can offer you lads a fancy figure to go with me. What do you say?"
"Think you can stand it, Carl?" asked Matt.
"Shtand id?" cried Carl. "Vy, bard, I vas as goot as efer."
"What's your word, Dick?" asked Matt.
"I'll sign the articles," said Dick.
"And so will I," added Matt.
"Good!" exclaimed the captain, highly pleased. "Cassidy," he called to the mate, who was below, "we'll lay a course south by west, as fast as we can go. We're off for strange waters, and something worth while I am confident."
"Off with the old and on with the new," laughed Matt. "It doesn't take us long, eh, fellows?"
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (16) WILL CONTAIN
MOTOR MATT'S QUEST
OR,
Three Chums in Strange Waters.
In the Depths—Out of the Jaws of Death—Sealed Orders—The American Consul—Motor Matt's Forbearance—"On the Jump"—The Landing Party—Carl in Trouble—A Friend in Need—Strange Revelations—One Chance in Ten—By a Narrow Margin—Waiting for Something to Happen—Motor Matt's Great Play—On the Way to Belize—A Dash of Tabasco.
In the Depths—Out of the Jaws of Death—Sealed Orders—The American Consul—Motor Matt's Forbearance—"On the Jump"—The Landing Party—Carl in Trouble—A Friend in Need—Strange Revelations—One Chance in Ten—By a Narrow Margin—Waiting for Something to Happen—Motor Matt's Great Play—On the Way to Belize—A Dash of Tabasco.
NEW YORK, June 5, 1909.
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"Yah! Call yourself a cowpuncher? And you can't even rope a yearling colt, let alone do anything else! Take my tip, kid, and get back East by the quickest route; we don't want the like of you in Montana. There's too many good men round to make us have to keep you, doing nothing for your board. Get off the ranch!" The foreman of the Cup and Spur Ranch, never a man to spare the feelings of those under him, this time surpassed himself in expressing his contempt for the youngster who had earned his displeasure. The object of his scorn, a fresh-looking lad of some eighteen years of age, returned the foreman's irate and withering glance with one full of resentment, but entirely devoid of fear.
"I told you I'd never worked on the ranges before," he said angrily, "and you took me on under that knowledge. I never said I could rope a colt, and now I've found out I can't—yet. Do you expect a man to do everything for a miserable fifteen dollars a month? Oh, all right; I'll get off the place, and be mighty glad to do so, too!" The foreman had made a threatening gesture, as though he meant to teach this stripling that his reputation as the bully of the district was not unfounded.
"So I've got the bounce, eh?" muttered Ted Macbain to his horse, as he slowly rode away from the scene. "Well, perhaps the foreman's right, and I'm no good on a ranch. Guess I'll have to get back to the old farm in Minnesota. Just at present town's the place for me to make." And he headed for Elk Creek, some twenty miles away.
"Wish I hadn't made such a fool of myself with that rope, just the same," he told himself. "How the mischief do they make the beastly thing go where they want it?" He unslung his lariat as he spoke to himself, and, shaking its coils loose, swung the noose wide above his head, fixing his eye on the stump of a tree he was passing. His horse was traveling at a brisk canter, but he measured the distance with his eye, and let the rope go on its way. It fell fair and true over the stump, but he forgot to pull the horse in. The result was that he felt a great jerk at his saddle, and the horse, shying, threw him violently to the ground. He was half stunned by his fall, and he did not open his eyes until a dim speck on the horizon was all that could be seen of the animal he had been bestriding.
To catch the brute looked impossible, but as it was heading for the town, and as it was likely it would be caught there, Ted did not feel any anxiety on its behalf. The remaining ten miles would have to be walked.
He had time to think things over for the next two or three hours. To be candid, he had not been an absolute success in Montana, the land where daredevil horsemanship and an utter disregard for human life are the main essentials. He would have been far better off to have stayed at home in Minnesota, where his father was a prosperous farmer. But the confinement of that life jarred on him to such an extent that he felt himself compelled to strike out for fresh scenes. A passionate love for horses caused him to go to the horse-ranching State, where he thought he would be able to give his passion full satisfaction. Oh, what a disillusionment! He found that to treat horses kindly on the ranges, where the animals, for the most part, had never looked on man as anything but a cruel enemy, did not serve to win their love. He could not bring himself to administer the brutal treatment he saw other cowboys deliver, and was not afraid of expressing his displeasure at their methods. This earned for him the sobriquet of "the chicken-hearted tenderfoot," which name became a byword on the plains. His most vehement denunciations of their behavior only served to create mirth among the others. The foreman of the Cup and Spur Ranch—the fifth ranch in six months on which Ted had tried his fortunes—was loudest of all in his expressions of contempt, giving the youngster the most objectionable jobs to perform out of pure malice. When he was told to throw a year-old colt that had quite won the young fellow's heart, as all colts did, he had had so little heart for the task that the scene which opens this story was the result.
"Guess ranching isn't in my line," he told himself, as he trudged along the prairie under the blazing, withering sun of an exceptionally hot August. "It's all right to raise colts by hand, but to knock 'em about as they do here goes for me too strongly."
It was very hot, as he soon began to discover, as the miles slowly passed under his feet. He grew thirsty; the alkali dust, resultant of a three weeks' drought, parched his throat until he decided that water was the only thing in his life he needed at that moment. There was no stream at hand. The only habitation near was a shack. He made for this, and as he came closer he saw a well and bucket. As is the custom, he did not trouble to inquire whether he might be allowed to partake of the well's contents, but let down the bucket, and drew himself a quantity of the cheerful, refreshing fluid, and drank his fill.
He poured the remainder of the pailful on the ground. As he did so something glittered at his feet, something that was not water. He stooped and picked it up. It was an American ten-dollar gold piece.
Perhaps it was none of his business, and perhaps he should have been content to take the coin to the house and leave it there, so that the owner would see it. But something recurred to him; he remembered that he had felt a slight jerk as he hauled up the bucket, and his curiosity was aroused. He glanced down the well; he saw that a ladder was set there. He climbed down until he was close to thesurface of the water. There, set in a hole that had evidently been purposely cut out for the purpose, was a bag full of coins similar to the one that he had hauled up to the top. A slight rent in one corner, through which a coin was peeping, showed him how his bucket had caused one to drop in. He banished all further idea of considering himself inquisitive.
"There's something rocky about this," he said. "No one would hide gold down a well if there wasn't something up. There's a bank at Elk Creek; why wasn't it put there?"
He climbed to the surface of the ground again. That there was no one around was apparent; the noise he had made would have been sure to attract any one who had been in the house. His curiosity was now fully aroused. He thought nothing of entering the shack, and of examining its contents. He turned everything upside down in his search, but nothing that would go to confirm any of his half-aroused suspicions could he see. He was on the point of resuming his journey when a loose board in the floor creaked under his foot. He lifted it, to expose a small cavity, down which he felt with his hand. Something cold and hard met his fingers, which he withdrew. It was a branding iron. That would not have struck him as being at all out of the way if a casual glance had not shown him that the iron bore a cup and spur—the brand of the ranch from which he had just been discharged. He was puzzled. He knew that all the irons that belonged to that ranch were in the charge of the foreman, being delivered to the branders at each round-up. No man was allowed to carry one except on these occasions, and the next round-up would not take place for more than a month.
"Can't make head or tail of it," muttered the lad. "Is it that—— By thunder, I have it! There are horse thieves around here! They must have started their work since last round-up, and it hasn't been found out yet. They've been stealing unbranded colts, and been putting a mark on 'em. But why should they use the cup and spur? It gets me, sure."
And that was as far as he could get to a solution of the problem.
"I don't know whether there's anything in it, but I found this iron in a shack about five miles north of here," said Ted. "Seems to me there's something fishy about it, though I might be mistaken."
He was speaking to the sheriff at Elk Creek, who took the iron and examined it closely. No light of understanding dawned on that worthy's face for the moment.
"Guess it must be an old one that's been thrown away," was all he could suggest.
"It doesn't look too old," returned the lad. "It's new enough to make a pretty good brand yet, anyway. Looks to me as though it wasn't being used fairly. Hobson, the foreman of the Cup and Spur, should have all these locked up at this time of the year. Have there been any horses shipped away from this district lately?"
"Why, yes; the Cup and Spur outfit sent a bunch of spring colts East only six weeks ago. Struck me as they were rather young to go, but I didn't trouble about it. 'Twas none of my business."
"But Mr. Knowles, the boss of that ranch, doesn't believe in shipping away so soon."
The sheriff began to understand.
"I see what you're driving at now, kid," he said, "and I'm beginning to agree with you. Those colts that were shipped away weren't Cup and Spur stock at all! They were rustled and branded with that mark, so's suspicion wouldn't fall on any one. No one would believe Knowles capable of stealing, and no questions would be asked."
"Well, that point's pretty well settled," went on Ted. "Next thing is, who's rustling 'em?"
"Got me again," said the sheriff laconically.
"Well, what do you say if we do a little work? I've got an idea that may be worth something. Let's go back to the Cup and Spur Ranch and make inquiries."
The sheriff complied with him. Together they rode southward, Ted having found his horse when he arrived at Elk Creek. The first man they met on their arrival at their destination was Hobson.
"What?" shouted the foreman. "Back again already? Didn't I tell you to get out?"
"You did," said Ted coolly. "Also, you said something about my being no good on a ranch. What do you say to a foreman who leaves branding irons lying about when they ought to be safely put away?"
Hobson started.
"What are you getting at?" he asked with a grin, but with an uneasy glance at Sheriff Walton. "Who's leaving irons about?"
Ted produced the article.
"This should be in your care," he said, showing it. Hobson held out his hand eagerly. Ted drew the iron out of reach.
"No," he said; "I think we'll keep it now. The sheriff wants it for evidence should anything crop up. It's my belief that next round-up'll show a few things in the way of colts being missed."
Hobson paled, his face working nervously.
"Give it to me," he shouted, with a poor attempt at anger. Ted's lips curled scornfully.
"It's not mine to give," he said. "Ask Walton here; perhaps he will, though I don't think so. By the way, he says a carload of colts were shipped off lately, bearing the brand of this ranch. Know anything about them?"
A sound like a snarl burst from the foreman's lips. He whipped his hand to his belt, but Ted had him covered with his own revolver first.
"Don't get mad like that," he said. "I only asked you a question. Come, now! Put your hand away from your belt! You're not my boss now, I'll have you know!"
Hobson complied, and allowed Walton to relieve him of his weapon.
"We won't do anything over this," said Ted, as he prepared to take his departure. "But we'll watch things a bit for the next few weeks. Perhaps you'll see that the chicken-hearted tenderfoot isn't such a fool as you take him for." He could not resist the temptation of dealing this thrust.
For the next few days a careful watch was kept on Jake Hobson. The sheriff had come to share Ted's suspicions, which were briefly that the foreman had more than a little to do with horse thieving. But no proof could be brought forward; the only thing to do was to wait for another haul to be made, catch the thief or thieves, and drag them before a judge.
A visit was paid to the lonely shack where Ted had found the gold on the occasion of his dismissal. No search could discover any evidence, and, though the money was seized by Walton, they had to return baffled.
In spite of Ted's suspicions, the sheriff soon began to lose faith in the idea that Hobson was the culprit, and, as nothing showed itself, Ted found himself wondering if he were not mistaken, after all.
Inquiries told him, at the very commencement of the fall round-up, that several mares that were known to have had colts in the earlier part of the spring, were now without. It was discovered that the Cup and Spur Ranch had not lost any; a further proof, in Ted's mind, that Hobson knew more than he would tell.
But there was something else, of which Ted never dreamed. A plot was in the making for a wholesale theft and stampede of colts and horses.
It was by mere chance that Ted and Walton paid a visit to the Cup and Spur one evening, when all the stock of thatranch were rounded up and safe in the corrals. Walton found out that Knowles was away at Butte, seeing about the sale of a bunch of four-year olds. This gave Ted an idea that something might happen, and, though they took pains to show that they had left the ranch, they took good care not to let Hobson see that they had returned on their tracks. They waited in the shelter of a bluff until evening fell—waited for they hardly knew what.
They did not wait long after dark. Soon they heard the rumble of hoofs coming from the ranch.
"By gosh! He's done it, after all!" yelled the sheriff delightedly. "Bully for you, kid! You've got brains!"
"But what are we going to do about it?" asked the lad, who, afire as he was with the excitement, had thought nothing of the difficulty that faced him. "Can we stop 'em?"
"We'll have a try, you bet," replied Walton, drawing his revolver, and twisting the cylinder to see that it was fully loaded.
The sound of the stampede was drawing nearer and nearer. The two in the bluff mounted their horses, and rode straight for it. There was only one man driving the herd. Ted easily recognized him as the foreman of the ranch. Every suspicion he had formed was fully founded.
Walton, as soon as the stampede came abreast, fired three shots from his revolver, hoping to check them. They half served the purpose, but there was a man urging them on who was worth more than a mere consideration. As soon as Hobson saw that his plan was known to others, bullets began to whistle round Ted's and the sheriff's heads at an alarming rate. One bullet caught the hindquarters of the boy's horse, inflicting a maddening, scorching wound that made the brute grip the bit fiercely in its teeth, swerve to the right, and bolt headlong, in spite of the lad's frantic efforts to check its flight. Another shot struck the leader of the herd of bronchos, not seriously wounding it, but driving it crazy with rage, pain, and fear. It, too, wheeled half about, and followed close on the lad's tracks, the whole herd stampeding after it. Shrill neighs filled the air, making it hideous with the tumult. More shots were fired between the sheriff and the foreman. Ted could not notice any of the events that were occurring near him. His whole attention was centred on his efforts to hold his animal in and maintain his seat.
Ted's horse was quite unmanageable. Straight ahead, never swerving, with a hundred more pounding behind him, man and horse rushed. It soon became apparent that it was more than a runaway for Ted; it was a race for life. Those fear-consumed, mad, unreasoning brutes behind him were heedless of the fact that a man was in front. Without heed of the direction in which he was going, the lad spurred his horse, hoping to keep safely ahead—not trying now to check its career. He knew that to turn aside was impossible. All he cared for was to keep ahead. And, in spite of the extra burden his beast was carrying, the pursuers gained nothing on him.