CHAPTER IV.A LANDING IN THE DARK.As suddenly as it had swept down upon the catboat, the squall passed. But the veering wind drove the billows in from the open sea until, before it arrived in the shelter of the eastern point of Storm Island, theSpoondriftwas riding a series of rising waves that would have threatened the safety of a much larger craft.Her centerboard, however, aided in keeping the boat on even keel. The coolness of her steersman, and his knowledge of how to handle a cat, did the rest. The wind, driving behind, threatened no danger once the craft was headed right. There were five young fellows aboard theSpoondrift. Four of them were lined up along the weather rail and hanging on for dear life. Their expressions of countenance were as varied as their characters.The red-haired chap, stout and stocky of build, looked calm enough; but the lids of his eyes were narrowed and his steady glance seldom left the foaming seas boiling under the lifting bow of the boat. His keen attention was given to what lay ahead.Beside him was a little fellow with rosy cheeks, who clutched the "lubber line" till his knuckles were white. He was plainly excited and, perhaps, not a little fearful. At every plunge or kick of the boat he seemed to jump and grip the line more tightly if possible.The third youth in the row was a long-limbed chap—a giant beside the little fellow—whose brick-red countenance, glistening with spray, gave no hint of fear, only of wonder. He was staring out over the tumbling waves with wide open orbs."What d'ye think of it, Applejack?" squealed the younger lad shrilly. "Not much like your bounding plains, eh?""She's a-bounding all right," croaked the one addressed. "And then some!"The fourth chap uttered a harsh laugh. "It's only a squall. Wait till you see a real storm, Cloudman," he said."This is sufficient—ab-so-lute-ly!" squealed the little fellow. "Old Mid takes this like he does everything else—as though it were for the good of his soul."The person thus referred to was rather a grim looking chap. His eyes were gloomy, his brow frowning, his lips set in a tight line. There was more strength and determination in his features than beauty, that was sure. Only when his gaze turned upon the steersman, standing like a young Viking at the helm, did his expression seem to soften.The latter was curly haired and comely of both face and figure. Even the bulky oilskins he wore could not hide the grace of his posture. He smiled, too, as he handled the kicking tiller and gazed out over the tumbling sea as though he really enjoyed it and was exhilarated by the danger of the moment.The red-haired youth turned suddenly and yelled to the steersman: "Hi! You peroxide beauty, you're running in too close to that point! You'll have her stubbing her toe on some sandbar, first you know.""No such animal hereabout, Larry," drawled the helmsman serenely. "I didn't wrestle with that chart for nothing. Leave it to your noble pilot. The beach there drops away to four fathoms within thirty yards of high water mark. Hold your breath, fellows; I'm going to tack again."Great glory, Rex! You'll have the stick out of her!" shrieked the more than a little frightened Peewee Hicks."Calm yourself," urged the other, smiling indulgently at the little fellow. "Don't be such a calamity howler. Now! Low bridge, everybody."Larry Phillips—he of the auburn hair—handled the sheet. The boom swung over, the hand's breadth of sail filled on the other tack, and it seemed as though on the instant theSpoondriftdarted into comparatively calm water, the shoulder of the island intervening between them and the wind. But the rain, now descending in torrents, quite blotted out all view of the land so close to them."Get over the iron, Jawn," advised the fellow at the tiller, speaking to the dark and gloomy-looking chap. "We don't want her to climb aboard the island. Careful, boy! Don't throw yourself after the anchor. Whew! I think this shower will lay the dust on the ocean.""Now you've said something, Blue Eyes," grunted Phillips. "It's just as wet rain as ever I felt.""Looka the boat," complained Peewee Hicks. "It's all a-wash.""Reach into the locker there, get a bailer and set to work," ordered the skipper of theSpoondrift. "You need exercise, Runt.""I didn't ship aboard this old hooker to work.""We know you came to give us the pleasure of your society, but right now it's up to you to imitate the busy little bee.""Didn't you tell us this would be a pleasure trip?" demanded Hicks. "I thought I could bank on your word, Rex Kingdon.""Of all the ungrateful persons!" cried Red Phillips. "You shipped as cabin boy, and you haven't done a lick of work yet.""I feel like I'd been working for the last hour, all right. Hand's blistered holding onto that line to keep from flopping overboard. Ouch!""Never mind that," grunted the serious Midkiff. "It would have been small loss.""And that's off your chest, Grouch," laughed Phillips."There aren't any of you fellows worked on this voyage but Kingdon and me," quoth the heretofore silent Cloudman. Despite the pouring rain he had fished an apple out of some pocket underneath his oilskins, and now he bit deeply into it."Oh, we'll do our share later," Phillips said airily. "Don't worry about the division of labor, Applejack.""That's right, Rusty; but I always notice you dodge everything that looks like work, if you can," Cloudman returned."That's what he does," sputtered Hicks, who was splashing about in the cockpit, his trousers rolled up to his knees, and trying to use a tin bailer effectively. "And the rest of you are in the same class. Why don't you come on and help me? Think I can bail the whole Atlantic Ocean out of this blame' boat, alone?"Midkiff had come aft after pitching the anchor overboard. The catboat tugged at this mooring with the action of a calf jerking at a lead-line. It was not at all an easy matter to move about in the jouncing craft."Say," said Midkiff to Kingdon, who seemed not at all troubled by either the beating rain or the pitching of the boat. "Say, can't we crawl into the cuddy and get dry? I'm not in love with this.""Jawn," drawled the good-looking skipper, "I've got a hunch.""What about?" asked Midkiff. "If it's anything to do with getting dry and comfortable, I vote we follow it.""I think we'd better get our feet on terra firma as soon as possible," said his friend more seriously."In this rain? We'll get everything sopping wet. And it's going to be dark pretty soon anyway.""You'll find most of our plunder extremely damp, as it is," returned Kingdon. "We took aboard a heavy cargo of water out there. Another night in this crowded cabin isn't a thing I yearn for with joy, old scout. And then—I want to get on to that island as soon as possible.""Why the haste?" asked Midkiff eyeing Rex curiously."To satisfy an ingrowing suspicion," was the smiling answer. "I don't know that you saw what I saw when we were out yonder. Up on the heights of the island, I mean.""Didn't see anything on the island," grunted his friend. "Wasn't even looking that way. The sea filled my eye, literally. And I should think it would have yours while we were floundering through those waves in this clumsy old cat.""Don't imbitter your sweet young life, Jawn, by dwelling upon troubles past and gone," drawled the skipper. "The oldSpoondriftis considerable of a tub, I admit. She'd been all right, though, if that auxiliary engine hadn't fainted dead away. But we'll fix that.""Well, what about your hunch? What did you say you saw on the island?""Didn't say.""Well, for the love of peace, say it!" implored Midkiff impatiently."Keep your hair on, Jawn," drawled the blue-eyed chap, casting a hasty glance at their trio of friends and drawing Midkiff into the stern. Here, with their backs to the beating rain, they were quite out of earshot of the others. "Listen. Didn't you see those fellows up there on the island?""What fellows?" demanded John Midkiff. "You told us the island was uninhabited, and that nobody would be allowed to camp there but us.""Ke-rect! The Manatee Company's mighty strict, too. Just the same, my eagle eye perceived several figures on the heights on the other side of the island just as the squall broke," Kingdon declared earnestly."How many? Men or boys?""The deponent knoweth not. I was too busy to scrutinize them with care," admitted Kingdon. "But I yearn to know who, what and why they are—and particularly if they intend to linger around here.""There's room enough for us all, I suppose," muttered Midkiff."Probably. But I know right well, old man, that the company has only issued one permit for a party to camp on Storm Island this season. We got it. Anybody else is here without authority.""What'll we do—run 'em off?""If they don't run us off," and Kingdon chuckled. "But we're not hired to police the Manatee Company's property, that's sure. We're not wearing bristles, either. Only——""What?""I have a remote notion that fellows who would come to Storm Island, where it is so well known that trespassing is forbidden, should not be clasped at once to our friendly bosoms.""I get your point. Perhaps they're crooks hiding out from the police, or something like that.""Your perspicacity," drawled the other, "is something wonderful. These fellows may be a bothersome crew. We should know what and who they are before we set up our lares and penates on these savage shores. Maybe they are pirates. Yo, ho, ho! And a bottle of grape-juice! I don't want to get you infants into trouble with real bad men. I am weighted down by my responsibilities in the matter, Jawn.""I see," said Midkiff. "It isn't your idea that all of us shall pile ashore, then——""Nay! Nay! You and I, Jawn—just we-uns. Methinks this rain is going to keep on the job all evening. It will be dark soon. Those fellows must hole up somewhere for the night. I want to know where, and I want to know how they are fixed—if they are passing or permanent guests.""You're going to call on them?" grunted Midkiff."That's according," Rex said lightly. "Say nothing to the other fellows. It's going to be a dusty time getting supper, but we might's well get it over with. Then you and I will adorn our manly forms in bathing suits and go reconnoitering."Midkiff had his doubts about the advisability of this venture in the dark, and on an island quite unfamiliar to them. But he was loyal and had to confess that Rex Kingdon's ideas were almost always good.As evening fell, the rain decreased in violence.The bulk of the island was merely a huge shadow not more than two cable-lengths away. No light appeared upon it, nor did the crew of theSpoondrifthear a sound from the wooded shore.Being curious when Rex and John got into their bathing togs, the others demanded an explanation."An exploring party," said Rex briefly. "We're going—Jawn and I—like those Thingumbobs of old, to see if this promised land is flowing with milk and honey. You're in command here, Red. See that little Hicks doesn't fall overboard and make a dent in the water, or that Cloudman doesn't choke on an appleseed. We'll return anon."He and Midkiff slipped silently into the water and struck out for the shore. In the shelter of the island the surge of the sea was not difficult to breast. Both being strong swimmers, they soon came close in under the black bulk of the land.The beach was narrow. The island rising, almost from the edge of the sound, was heavily wooded. Their vision having become adjusted to that partial light always present on the surface of moving water even in the darkest night, they made an easy landing upon the pebbly beach.CHAPTER V.BEHIND THE LIGHTED CANVAS."Now what?" Midkiff asked in a whisper, the water dripping from every part of his big body. Then he jumped, for a light flashed in his friend's hand. "What you got there—a lamp?""A tiny glow worm. 'You, in your small corner, and I in mine,' Jawn. You remember the old infant class 'rondeloo'? Won't do for us to go stumbling about here, mauling ourselves and announcing our presence—perhaps—to the enemy," chuckled Rex."If they're still here," grumbled his friend. "If they're not, so much the better. But I have a sneaking idea that nobody got off this island in the storm.""Looks reasonable.""Quite. Maybe, at that," Kingdon added, "they have no intention of remaining for more than over night. Fishing party, maybe—picnic bunch.""Then, for goodness' sake what are we mouching around here in the dark for?" snarled the short-tempered Midkiff, for he had already barked his bare shin on a tree root."Sh! sh! and a couple of hushes," advised his mentor. "Ha! Jawn, I see a light."The other's reply was another growl: "Let me see that light you've got, will you? Not right in my eyes. That blinds a fellow."It was true Kingdon was chuckling softly. He took his finger off the latch of the electric spotlight, and they were again in gloom; but, having scrambled up the rough bank from the water a few yards, there was visible before them—at least, to his eyes—a faint glow."That isn't a campfire," grunted Midkiff, finally observing the odd illumination."A campfire wouldn't have much of a chance in this rain," suggested Kingdon. "That light's behind canvas.""A tent!" exclaimed Midkiff."You can risk your last iron man on it, old boy and—listen to the voices!""I hear 'em," admitted his comrade. "What you going to do? Sneak up and stretch your ear?"Rex nodded, but gestured for Midkiff to remain where he was. They had drawn too near to the encampment for further conversation to be wise.The radiance of the lantern inside the nearest tent rendered approach to it easy. The second, and totally dark canvas shelter, was beyond."Eavesdropping isn't my long suit," thought Rex Kingdon, "but all's fair in love and war—and several other things! We've got the rights of this. Whoever these chaps are, they're in wrong.""'Tis no casual fishing party; they're here with tents and boats, I fancy—all the trappings of a stable camp. The unmitigated gall of them!"In a minute he learned more important things. There were four in the tent, and they were playing cards. One fellow was whining:"I don't wanta play any more. Ben has all the luck. I've lost too much now.""Why, you poor fish!" said another voice. "This isn't real money we're playing for. It's only for fun.""Just the same, Kirby, Ben always sets it down against me when he wins; and I owe him enough already—more'n I can pay," was the frank statement."Aw, come on, Pudge! Be a sport," urged a third speaker."So Cousin Ben keeps a day-book account on you, does he?" drawled the fourth player. "Ben's going to be a wealthier man than his father some day.""Mind your own business, Horrors," snapped the one called "Ben." "If you and Harry Kirby are silly enough to play for matches, not me. I want some go in the game—and so does Pudge.""That so, Pudge?" drawled the same laughing voice."I wouldn't mind if I won once in a while," confessed the fat youth, whose humped shoulders were so near Rex Kingdon on the other side of the canvas that the listener could have trumped him—and was tempted to!The brief dialogue, however, had told the eavesdropper much. There were four in the tent, and all boys. From the manner of their talk and their occupation, he was sure that they were fellows who would not be too squeamish about breaking trespass laws. Rex was confident, too, that they must be settled here on Storm Island for some time.Rex did not much fancy his situation and would have crept away almost immediately, having discovered enough for the time being, had not a topic of conversation arisen between the quartette in the tent that could not fail to hold his attention."Wonder if that catboat got around the point all right?" Kirby ruminated, evidently scanning his cards. "Say, Pudge! You're some poor dealer.""Didn't see a thing of it after we got back to camp," the fat fellow said."Too dark," grunted Ben's voice."May be lying off there at anchor—shouldn't wonder," the fourth fellow lazily observed."You don't think so, do you, Horrors?""Why not?""If they anchored here they mean to land on the island in the morning—what?""Thought nobody ever came here," complained Ben."There'soneparty we can expect—is that your idea, Harry?" drawled the languid fellow."You get me, Horrors. Kingdon and his gang.""Whoo!" puffed Pudge. "That couldn't be them in the cat?""It might," Ben Comas said in evident gloom."Those fellows aren't cannibals, I suppose?" proposed the laughing Pence."Supposin' Enos Quibb shows up again?" retorted Ben. "Then wewillbe in a pickle.""Bah! you're a reg'lar grumbler, Ben," scoffed Kirby."Well, if it's those Walcott Hall fellows out there——""If anybody's out there," drawled Pence. "Let's wait till daylight before worrying over that. Your lead, Pudge."At that moment Rex was startled—if those under the canvas were not—by a half smothered cry from the other side of the tent, and the fall of a heavy body."Ugh!" was expelled from the lungs of the victim of this accident, and Rex knew he must have fallen over a guy rope. He darted swiftly around the lighted tent, hearing a sibilant "Sh!" from within as the quartette forgot their cards to listen. Rex was convinced that he knew the meaning of the disturbance—and who caused it; but before spying the victim of the accident he saw the fly of the second tent parted, and a crouching figure darted out.There was a larger party than he supposed in this encampment. In another minute the whole crowd would be in action."Hey, Mid!" hissed Rex.He got no reply from his friend, but the individual from the second tent turned as quick as a flash and sprang to tackle him. The charge was so unexpected that Rex went down under the weight of his silent opponent. Whoever the fellow was he didn't shout for help.Rex twisted and heaved, using every wrestling trick he knew to break the hold of his antagonist. It was like a band of steel about his middle. Rex was too plucky himself, however, to call again for his friend, as long as this stranger fought the battle in silence.They rolled over and over upon the saturated ground. Rex realized that there was confusion inside the lighted tent. The cardplayers had jumped up and were stumbling over each other to get outside and investigate the disturbance."Whole pack will be on me in a minute!" thought the Walcott Hall youth, and the idea stirred him to additional effort.He managed to get a grip on the other fellow's shoulders, and held him off. His thumbs sought the bunch of muscles and nerves at the joint of the upper arm and shoulder. Pressure here brought a pained grunt from his victim's lips.His grip on Kingdon relaxed. Slippery as an eel in his bathing suit, the latter wriggled free, rolled over, and leaped to his feet.Between him and the lighted tent loomed suddenly an unmistakably lanky figure. "Hold 'em in the tent, Jawn," Rex panted, "till I find out what sort of a thing this is that grabbed me. It strikes me it's deaf and dumb.""Right-o!" agreed the big fellow, and a suddensmackupon the wet canvas, and a wild roar inside, betrayed the collision of the spare tent stake in Midkiff's hands athwart the parting fly of the main tent."Ow! Let us out!" yelled the beleaguered boys as Midkiff slammed the canvas curtain a second time with his weapon."Joe! Joe Bootleg!" shrieked Ben Comas.The fellow who had tackled Rex had scrambled to his feet. The Walcott boy cried: "Believe I'm favored with the attention of Mr. Shoetop—or whatever he's called. Ah! Would ye?"He parried a swing dealt at him, and the next instant he and the silent Indian were clinched again."Want—help?" panted Midkiff, who had brought on all this trouble by disobeying Kingdon's order."No!" was expelled from Rex's lips. "I'm—going—to take—this—Boot—let apart—and see how it's made. Ah! would ye?"His apparel did not gain Rex so much advantage after all. Joe had gone to bed with his boots on. Now he unceremoniously trampled on the other's bare feet. Rex could not entirely repress a cry of pain, and for the second time the Indian uttered a sound. He laughed.If anything was needed to make Kingdon fighting mad, it was that. He broke away from the Indian, dancing back a pace or two. As Joe Bootleg came at him again, Rex sent in a quick right drive to the point of the other's chin.His antagonist went to the earth, and lay there.CHAPTER VI.GETTING BACK TO THE BOAT.At another time Rex Kingdon would have been more careful about striking such a blow with his bare fist, no matter how angry he might have been with his opponent, for there is danger of cracking a knuckle when one's hand is ungloved.The foot Joe Bootleg had trampled on, hurt him cruelly, however; he saw, too, that the Indian meant to repeat his unfair tactics. So it was "down and out" for the Indian, and the Walcott youth sprang away."Run, Mid!" he hissed. "This bunch is getting lively. There!"Inside the tent somebody suddenly yelled: "That's right, Horrors! Slit up the back canvas. We'll show 'em!""They know there are only two of us, I guess," said Midkiff. "But don't you hate to show the white feather?""Too dark right now for anybody to see whether our plumage is white or some other color," chuckled Rex. "The race is not always to the swift or the battle to the strong.""Huh!" grunted his friend. "Where's that fellow who downed you?""I downed him. But he's coming back to life again," Rex said, having gone back for another look at the dazed Indian boy to make sure. "Whew! He's strong, that chap. But he don't know much about using his fists. Here they come! Scoot!"He picked up the flash-lamp he had dropped in the fracas, and set the pace down the hill. But he hobbled, and Midkiff immediately noticed his chum's lameness, although they were out of the radiance of the lighted tent in half a minute."That fellow hurt you, Rex," exclaimed the big chap."Maybe I didn't hurt him!" returned the other lightly. "Drop over this bank and get under cover. The hounds will scent the trail in a minute."Midkiff did not like to run. That wasn't his way when he got into a row. But Rex was chuckling in spite of the pain he suffered."I believe we could have licked 'em if we had stayed," growled the big fellow."Doubtless, Jawn. You could go out and slay a host of the Philistines with a jawbone——""The knuckle bones are good enough for me," put in his friend, still disgruntled. "You always have all the luck, Rex. You're the only one who struck a blow.""How about you hammering on that canvas?" demanded Kingdon."With your fist, I mean.""True. And I'm not so happy over that," muttered the other.They had scrambled down upon a narrow strip of beach under the high bank. This was not the spot where they had landed, as Kingdon well knew.They hobbled along the beach where it was hard going, and Midkiff stepped on a pebble that gave him a pretty stone bruise."Let's take to the water," the big fellow proposed. "This is no fun.""Right! It doesn't tickle one's funny-bone to any extensive degree," rejoined his friend. "But do you know where theSpoondriftis?""Of course not. That's up to you.""Thanks. Well,Idon't know its location—not from here. We've got to get around to that place where we landed. I marked that.""Come on——" Midkiff choked his words short as there came a shout over their heads."This way, Horrors!" yelled the voice of the chap named Kirby. "They came this way. I heard 'em then.""Heard 'em what—splashing? They came in a boat—if they didn't fly to the island," was the reply."Heard 'em talking," Kirby called back.The two Walcott Hall youths had seized each other's hand simultaneously, warning each other to silence. Now Kingdon stooped, secured a branch upon which he had stepped the moment before, and began to splash in the water with it."Sh, Clumsy!" gasped Midkiff, in a panic. "Want to bring the whole gang down upon us?"Rex was splashing the water in quick, but rhythmic time. One of the fellows on the bank above cried out:"They've got a rowboat—they're getting away in it.""Then it can't be that crew from the cat," retorted the languid voice of the one called Horrors. "There was no tender trailing her.""Come on!" whispered Rex to his companion. "Let 'em stand there and argue about it."The two friends went hurriedly on along the beach, taking care how they stepped. When they were far enough away so that the voices of the campers were merely murmurs in the fog and rain, the big fellow said admiringly:"Cute trick, Rex. They still believe we are at sea.""Whereas they are at sea," chuckled his friend."What are we going to do about them in the morning? Reckon they're a gang of toughs, eh?""Just about as tough as you and Red are," returned Rex. "They're only boys, same as ourselves.""That was no boy you were walloping," exclaimed Midkiff."Wasn't much more, I guess. One of these tame Indians that hire out for camp work to summer parties. Joe Bootleg is a famous name.""Huh?""Maine is full of 'em. 'Bootleggers,'" Rex chuckled. "The decent majority are fighting them all the time.""So you had to do your share?" grinned Midkiff."He's strong as a bull, and as ugly. Sorry I had a muss with him," Rex Kingdon confessed. "These people with Indian blood in their veins aren't like white folks. They're revengeful and unforgiving. Have to watch out for Joe Bootleg.""Pshaw! I wouldn't lose any sleep over it," Midkiff said. "These fellows will have to get off the island. That's plain.""Not as plain as the nose on your face, Jawn," chuckled Rex."We're not going to let them have the island and we go somewhere else?" demanded the big fellow in surprise."Hardly.""Going to fight 'em, then?""Arbitrate. Maybe. Oh! Great smoke!"Suddenly he had tripped over something and splashed on hands and knees into shallow water. It was as dark as a pocket down there under the bank."Rope," explained Midkiff, having caught hold of it."Don't tell me!" murmured Rex, touching his shin tenderly. "It raked me up and down. Lost some peeling that time, I did!""It's hitched to a boat," whispered Midkiff."That's what I thought," grunted Rex. "Haul her in. Reckon we've found something now.""Give us a flash of your lamp, Rex," begged the other. "Let's see what sort of a tub this is."The other did so, and the bow of a heavy canoe was revealed."There's another," Kingdon exclaimed under his breath. "Two-paddle boats, each. Bet that's what these fellows came in. They must have hired a dory to bring over their camp stuff.""Well, come on!" urged his friend. "Let's get back to our own boat. What's the good of fooling here? What are you doing, Rex? Untying that canoe?""Untie the other, Buddie," whispered Rex. "And don't raise your voice again. You'll have that bunch down here.""Going to set them adrift? Then they can't get away if they want to," grumbled Midkiff, yet obeying the other's command. "What's the idea?""Give me the other rope. Now into the water with you, Jawn. We're going to coax these away—not set them adrift.""Steal 'em?" gasped Midkiff."Don't use such rude language," advised his friend. "Hypothecate—embezzling—spoliation—my boy! There are lots nicer terms than the vulgar 'stealing.'""Huh!" grunted Midkiff. "They all lead to the same old vulgar jail."Rex chuckled. Both waded in to shoulder depth. Midkiff said, shortly: "Where are the paddles?""Ashore, I should hope. Those chaps couldn't have been foolish enough to leave 'em in the canoes. Come on! We'll tow 'em out to theSpoondrift. We don't need paddles.""Don't see what good it's going to do us," grumbled his friend."How would you feel yourself if you were stuck on that island without any means of getting off?""Huh?""Think it over. Those chaps might object to our landing there in the morning—and there's sure as many of them as there is of us.""But we got a right there, haven't we?" demanded Midkiff, excitedly. "Can't we go to the authorities?""You don't mean that, Jawn," drawled Rex. "You wouldn't be a tattle-tale?""Aw——""We'll arbitrate, just as I said," chuckled Rex. "They'll be willing to concede several things—-perhaps—for the sake of getting these canoes back. Anyway, we'll wait and see.""Oh!""Come on, now, and swim. The cat's just off yonder. Push along, Jawn.""But I don't get you," sputtered his friend. "Why do you want to mix it up with these fellows at all?""Maybe for instance," laughed Rex. He did not tell Midkiff that he suspected the party encamped on Storm Island was actually expecting the arrival of the crowd from Walcott Hall.CHAPTER VII.ON THE VERGE OF SOMETHING.Through the smother of fine rain the mast and rigging of theSpoondriftloomed above the two swimmers. Midkiff observed, as he caught the anchor cable:"Must be the boys are asleep. Anybody could steal 'em.""What for?" chuckled Rex. "Nobody'd want to kidnap this bunch. Tie that painter securely, old man. We don't want to lose the canoes.""Going to keep watch?" asked Midkiff as they swung over the catboat's rail."For what?""Those fellows over there may have more boats.""Not likely. They'd have 'em all moored at one point—below their camp. No. We've appropriated all their means of water locomotion.""Like to know what good it's going to do?" was Midkiff's characteristic grumble."Don't let it worry you, Jawn. Come on down and dry off—and see if the others have left us room to stretch out for a sleep. 'Sleep, baby, sleep! Close your sweet eyes!'""Huh!" grunted Midkiff again; but he went to bed without further argument.Rolling mists masked island and sound at daybreak; the crew of the catboat was astir, however, without anybody having rung the rising bell. Four of the Walcott Hall crowd hopped into their bathing suits and prepared for the early plunge."This beats waiting in turn at the showers. What say?" cried Red Phillips, at the rail. "Hey! where's Peewee?""Why, the little fox!" said Cloudman, sticking his head down the hatchway. "He's rolled up tight in his blanket.""Oh! Oh!" gasped the auburn-haired youth. "Say not so! Trying to grab another nap, is he?""It shouldn't be. Bad for children to sleep too long," the Westerner said."Bad? It's awful! Come on! We've got to save him from the effects of such a course."Rex and Midkiff were struggling to get into their own wet suits, so were behind the others. But little Hicks was not allowed to be last into the rather chilly sound. Red and Applejack brought him on deck in his shirt, struggling and sputtering."Lemme go! Rex! King! Middy, old boy! Give a hand!""Can't," chuckled Kingdon. "Both of 'em's busy.""You go fish," growled Midkiff. "I'd like to see you get started early in the morning for once. You're the laziest young one I ever saw.""One!" sing-songed Red, he and the Colorado youth swinging the squalling Peewee. "Two! Three—and over!"They chucked him, feet foremost, over the side. Peewee sank like a plummet, his nightshirt floating up around his neck."That shirt will strangle him," suggested Rex, with some seriousness. "He can't swim in a thing like that.""Then why doesn't he wear pajamas, like a sane male human being?" growled Red Phillips."Cause his mother won't make 'em for him. And he's just come from home with a new outfit. Say, you murderers, go after him!"Thus adjured, both Red and Cloudman went overboard, each in his own way. Red made a long, graceful dive; the Colorado youth went in like a frog.It was a fact that some seconds passed and Peewee Hicks did not come up. Midkiff stared over the rail, with his shirt half on, growling:"What's the matter with those microbes? Can't they have a little fun without drowning the child? Red Phillips is as gentle as a wild dog, and Cloudman's no better——"Phillips' hectic thatch shot to the surface. He rose breast high, dashed the water from his eyes, and squawked:"Where is he?""Hasn't come up!" roared Midkiff. "He's tangled up in that nightshirt somewhere down there."Red disappeared, and John wrenched his way into the clinging woolen upper half of his bathing suit. Cloudman's red face appeared. He blew like a whale."Didn't the kid come up, fellers?" he gasped, having cleared his mouth of water."No. He's down there. Get after him!" commanded Midkiff, preparing to throw himself over the boat's side.A mellow chuckle from behind him made the big fellow pause. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering what Rex Kingdon found to laugh about in this serious moment. There were two hands clinging to the port rail, and the grinning face of Peewee was in sight above it, as he hung on. He had dived under the catboat's keel, and was perfectly safe while Red and Cloudman combed the depths on the other side."Let 'em look," he begged. "Big loafers! Took two of 'em to throw me in, at that."This amused Kingdon much more than it did his roommate. Midkiff glowered at the shrewd face of the youngster.Up came Red again, evidently greatly excited. He wanted to know, choking and sputtering:"Hasn't he come up at all? What's the matter with him? Is he made of lead? That boy ought to be an anchor; he'd never drag on any kind of a bottom——"Cloudman shot to the surface. He wasn't as good a swimmer as Red, and he was about all in."I—I can't find him!" he chattered. "Got to get aboard and get my wind. Hey! why ain't you fellows doing something?""We are," said Rex, broadly smiling. "We're crying over your distress. Come on in and eat an apple, Cloudman." With one hand he reached for Hicks and hauled him over the rail by his wet shirt.Hicks declared himself satisfied with his temporary bath. In fact, a single plunge seemed about all any of the party cared for, the water being several degrees cooler than the inland streams and lakes with which the boys were familiar, as well as the tempered needle-showers of the Walcott Gym.Before they were dressed the sun broke through the mist, and then they saw something that was worth looking at—Storm Island glorified by the morning sun. It blazed like a green jewel, surrounded by the rolling sea fog—the upper reaches of the isle at first revealed, and then, gradually, all the wooded northern shore down to the lapping little waves that kissed it."Some ugly spot, old man!" Red said, addressing Kingdon. "You certainly pick lemons!""Purty as a little red wagon with yellow wheels," announced Cloudman."I wish I was an artist," murmured Peewee.Midkiff had nothing to say until the mists were dissipated sufficiently to reveal the spot where he and Rex had had their nocturnal adventure. Then he said, grumpily enough:"They're there yet, Rex."The two tents were plainly visible from theSpoondrift."Well, you wise owl!" was the polite response. "How'd you think they'd leave? Swim?"At that moment Peewee spied the two canoes moored to theSpoondrift'sstern. The excitement attending the brief morning bath had quite dimmed the eyes of those of the crowd who had not been ashore."Where'd they come from?" Hicks wanted to know. "You fellows bring 'em out last night? What did you find on that island, anyway?"Cloudman had spied the tents as well. He drawled: "Guess there's somebody ahead of us. Is that what took you and Midkiff ashore?""Who are those fellows, Rex?" demanded Red Phillips. "And how did you clutch on to their canoes? Don't you know'It is a sinTo steal a pin;It is a greaterTo steal a "tater"'?""Maybe those fellows stole the canoes first," muttered Midkiff."Hustle up the breakfast, Cloudman," Rex commanded. "And I'll tell you all our tale of woe. It's some tale, too. How's your stone-bruise, Jawn?""About the same as your scraped shin, I reckon; and your foot. Why, that's badly bruised, Rex," he added, with sudden commiseration, as he saw how tenderly the skipper of theSpoondriftwas bathing his injured foot with arnica."Goodness gracious! Yes!" barked Rex. "Hospital job, very likely. That Indian has a foot like an elephant's.""Vicious scoundrel," acclaimed his friend."He's a hard hitter—with his feet. Perhaps the rest of them are when they're not hived up in a tent.""We'd better sail over to that Blackport place and get a constable," the older boy suggested. "Those chaps are trespassers, all right.""Leave it to yours truly," Rex said, putting on his canvas shoe with care."What's your scheme?""Haven't any. I'll roll my sleeves up to prove my innocence," returned Rex. "But I am awfully curious.""I believe, on my soul," said Midkiff with vigor, "that you'd rather get into trouble than not.""No, I like to get out of it," confessed Rex. "Of course, a fellow can't slip out of a row unless he first gets into it. See?""Sounds foolish," declared the older fellow. "That's because you don't know all the facts in these premises, as old Yad would say. Wait till we're hitting the eats, then I'll talk. Don't that smell good?"For some minutes the sputtering of pork, frying out in the pan, had come from below. Now the fragrance of frying fish was wafted to the nostrils of those in the cockpit. Cloudman and Peewee were busy with the breakfast. Red came up, fully dressed, and began to spy out the encampment and its surroundings through a pair of opera glasses."What do you see, Father William?" queried Rex."Not much," grunted Phillips."They must be sleeping late after our call last night," muttered Midkiff."Sleep? They must be dead," said the red-haired youth. "What do you know about fellows camping out, sleeping till this time of day?""They are rich. Don't have to work," said Cloudman, coming up to breathe."Say, King," little Hicks begged to know, "did you and Mid call on those chaps last night? I suppose they gave you the canoes?""Sure," Red grumbled. "Bet there was a pretty mess—and the rest of us out of it.""You could have my lame foot, for all I care," Rex said sweetly. "Keep your hair on, Reddy. Maybe it isn't as bad as you think. At any rate, I fancy you will be in plenty of time for the next mess—if it comes off."Cloudman darted down to dish out the first relay of fried soup and potatoes. Hardtack took the place of bread, and the coffee was good. The cowboy had not lived most of his life on the plains for nothing."You're a pretty fine cook, Applejack," admitted Rex, beginning on his plateful with gusto."Don't jolly me," said the Westerner. "I've pretty near got fed up withthat. When we get ashore, it's somebody's turn beside mine—don't you forget it.""Are we going to get ashore—on this island, I mean?" put in Midkiff."Come on," Red urged. "Give us the yarn, Rex. Who are those fellows over there?""Haven't the first idea—only I got their names down pat. But I never heard of them before, that I know. However, that makes no difference. They know us.""They do?" exploded Midkiff."One-sided introduction, eh?" giggled Peewee."At least," explained Kingdon more fully, "they are expecting us on the island. Our coming to camp here is known to them, and they know that they are in for trouble. Of course, the signs along shore would tell them that much, even were they greenhorns from afar.""What do you know about that?" said Red, scowling."We'd better sail over to Blackport and bring the constable," urged the cautious Midkiff."Let's go put 'em off, bag and baggage," cried Phillips."They can't get off if we don't give 'em back their canoes," cried Peewee. "Hi, King! What do you mean to do?"Just then, while all eyes were fastened upon the encampment on the shore of Storm Island, the first of the lazy campers appeared from the main tent. He was a tall, black-haired fellow; they could see that easily enough without the use of Red's glasses.He came down toward the place where the canoes had been moored, wearing a scarlet bathing suit and carrying a towel over his arm. Suddenly he appreciated the fact that the canoes were gone. A glance showed him the catboat with the missing craft tied to her stern.He turned to shout something to his friends still in the tent. Midkiff muttered:"Now there'll be a stir!"
CHAPTER IV.
A LANDING IN THE DARK.
As suddenly as it had swept down upon the catboat, the squall passed. But the veering wind drove the billows in from the open sea until, before it arrived in the shelter of the eastern point of Storm Island, theSpoondriftwas riding a series of rising waves that would have threatened the safety of a much larger craft.
Her centerboard, however, aided in keeping the boat on even keel. The coolness of her steersman, and his knowledge of how to handle a cat, did the rest. The wind, driving behind, threatened no danger once the craft was headed right. There were five young fellows aboard theSpoondrift. Four of them were lined up along the weather rail and hanging on for dear life. Their expressions of countenance were as varied as their characters.
The red-haired chap, stout and stocky of build, looked calm enough; but the lids of his eyes were narrowed and his steady glance seldom left the foaming seas boiling under the lifting bow of the boat. His keen attention was given to what lay ahead.
Beside him was a little fellow with rosy cheeks, who clutched the "lubber line" till his knuckles were white. He was plainly excited and, perhaps, not a little fearful. At every plunge or kick of the boat he seemed to jump and grip the line more tightly if possible.
The third youth in the row was a long-limbed chap—a giant beside the little fellow—whose brick-red countenance, glistening with spray, gave no hint of fear, only of wonder. He was staring out over the tumbling waves with wide open orbs.
"What d'ye think of it, Applejack?" squealed the younger lad shrilly. "Not much like your bounding plains, eh?"
"She's a-bounding all right," croaked the one addressed. "And then some!"
The fourth chap uttered a harsh laugh. "It's only a squall. Wait till you see a real storm, Cloudman," he said.
"This is sufficient—ab-so-lute-ly!" squealed the little fellow. "Old Mid takes this like he does everything else—as though it were for the good of his soul."
The person thus referred to was rather a grim looking chap. His eyes were gloomy, his brow frowning, his lips set in a tight line. There was more strength and determination in his features than beauty, that was sure. Only when his gaze turned upon the steersman, standing like a young Viking at the helm, did his expression seem to soften.
The latter was curly haired and comely of both face and figure. Even the bulky oilskins he wore could not hide the grace of his posture. He smiled, too, as he handled the kicking tiller and gazed out over the tumbling sea as though he really enjoyed it and was exhilarated by the danger of the moment.
The red-haired youth turned suddenly and yelled to the steersman: "Hi! You peroxide beauty, you're running in too close to that point! You'll have her stubbing her toe on some sandbar, first you know."
"No such animal hereabout, Larry," drawled the helmsman serenely. "I didn't wrestle with that chart for nothing. Leave it to your noble pilot. The beach there drops away to four fathoms within thirty yards of high water mark. Hold your breath, fellows; I'm going to tack again.
"Great glory, Rex! You'll have the stick out of her!" shrieked the more than a little frightened Peewee Hicks.
"Calm yourself," urged the other, smiling indulgently at the little fellow. "Don't be such a calamity howler. Now! Low bridge, everybody."
Larry Phillips—he of the auburn hair—handled the sheet. The boom swung over, the hand's breadth of sail filled on the other tack, and it seemed as though on the instant theSpoondriftdarted into comparatively calm water, the shoulder of the island intervening between them and the wind. But the rain, now descending in torrents, quite blotted out all view of the land so close to them.
"Get over the iron, Jawn," advised the fellow at the tiller, speaking to the dark and gloomy-looking chap. "We don't want her to climb aboard the island. Careful, boy! Don't throw yourself after the anchor. Whew! I think this shower will lay the dust on the ocean."
"Now you've said something, Blue Eyes," grunted Phillips. "It's just as wet rain as ever I felt."
"Looka the boat," complained Peewee Hicks. "It's all a-wash."
"Reach into the locker there, get a bailer and set to work," ordered the skipper of theSpoondrift. "You need exercise, Runt."
"I didn't ship aboard this old hooker to work."
"We know you came to give us the pleasure of your society, but right now it's up to you to imitate the busy little bee."
"Didn't you tell us this would be a pleasure trip?" demanded Hicks. "I thought I could bank on your word, Rex Kingdon."
"Of all the ungrateful persons!" cried Red Phillips. "You shipped as cabin boy, and you haven't done a lick of work yet."
"I feel like I'd been working for the last hour, all right. Hand's blistered holding onto that line to keep from flopping overboard. Ouch!"
"Never mind that," grunted the serious Midkiff. "It would have been small loss."
"And that's off your chest, Grouch," laughed Phillips.
"There aren't any of you fellows worked on this voyage but Kingdon and me," quoth the heretofore silent Cloudman. Despite the pouring rain he had fished an apple out of some pocket underneath his oilskins, and now he bit deeply into it.
"Oh, we'll do our share later," Phillips said airily. "Don't worry about the division of labor, Applejack."
"That's right, Rusty; but I always notice you dodge everything that looks like work, if you can," Cloudman returned.
"That's what he does," sputtered Hicks, who was splashing about in the cockpit, his trousers rolled up to his knees, and trying to use a tin bailer effectively. "And the rest of you are in the same class. Why don't you come on and help me? Think I can bail the whole Atlantic Ocean out of this blame' boat, alone?"
Midkiff had come aft after pitching the anchor overboard. The catboat tugged at this mooring with the action of a calf jerking at a lead-line. It was not at all an easy matter to move about in the jouncing craft.
"Say," said Midkiff to Kingdon, who seemed not at all troubled by either the beating rain or the pitching of the boat. "Say, can't we crawl into the cuddy and get dry? I'm not in love with this."
"Jawn," drawled the good-looking skipper, "I've got a hunch."
"What about?" asked Midkiff. "If it's anything to do with getting dry and comfortable, I vote we follow it."
"I think we'd better get our feet on terra firma as soon as possible," said his friend more seriously.
"In this rain? We'll get everything sopping wet. And it's going to be dark pretty soon anyway."
"You'll find most of our plunder extremely damp, as it is," returned Kingdon. "We took aboard a heavy cargo of water out there. Another night in this crowded cabin isn't a thing I yearn for with joy, old scout. And then—I want to get on to that island as soon as possible."
"Why the haste?" asked Midkiff eyeing Rex curiously.
"To satisfy an ingrowing suspicion," was the smiling answer. "I don't know that you saw what I saw when we were out yonder. Up on the heights of the island, I mean."
"Didn't see anything on the island," grunted his friend. "Wasn't even looking that way. The sea filled my eye, literally. And I should think it would have yours while we were floundering through those waves in this clumsy old cat."
"Don't imbitter your sweet young life, Jawn, by dwelling upon troubles past and gone," drawled the skipper. "The oldSpoondriftis considerable of a tub, I admit. She'd been all right, though, if that auxiliary engine hadn't fainted dead away. But we'll fix that."
"Well, what about your hunch? What did you say you saw on the island?"
"Didn't say."
"Well, for the love of peace, say it!" implored Midkiff impatiently.
"Keep your hair on, Jawn," drawled the blue-eyed chap, casting a hasty glance at their trio of friends and drawing Midkiff into the stern. Here, with their backs to the beating rain, they were quite out of earshot of the others. "Listen. Didn't you see those fellows up there on the island?"
"What fellows?" demanded John Midkiff. "You told us the island was uninhabited, and that nobody would be allowed to camp there but us."
"Ke-rect! The Manatee Company's mighty strict, too. Just the same, my eagle eye perceived several figures on the heights on the other side of the island just as the squall broke," Kingdon declared earnestly.
"How many? Men or boys?"
"The deponent knoweth not. I was too busy to scrutinize them with care," admitted Kingdon. "But I yearn to know who, what and why they are—and particularly if they intend to linger around here."
"There's room enough for us all, I suppose," muttered Midkiff.
"Probably. But I know right well, old man, that the company has only issued one permit for a party to camp on Storm Island this season. We got it. Anybody else is here without authority."
"What'll we do—run 'em off?"
"If they don't run us off," and Kingdon chuckled. "But we're not hired to police the Manatee Company's property, that's sure. We're not wearing bristles, either. Only——"
"What?"
"I have a remote notion that fellows who would come to Storm Island, where it is so well known that trespassing is forbidden, should not be clasped at once to our friendly bosoms."
"I get your point. Perhaps they're crooks hiding out from the police, or something like that."
"Your perspicacity," drawled the other, "is something wonderful. These fellows may be a bothersome crew. We should know what and who they are before we set up our lares and penates on these savage shores. Maybe they are pirates. Yo, ho, ho! And a bottle of grape-juice! I don't want to get you infants into trouble with real bad men. I am weighted down by my responsibilities in the matter, Jawn."
"I see," said Midkiff. "It isn't your idea that all of us shall pile ashore, then——"
"Nay! Nay! You and I, Jawn—just we-uns. Methinks this rain is going to keep on the job all evening. It will be dark soon. Those fellows must hole up somewhere for the night. I want to know where, and I want to know how they are fixed—if they are passing or permanent guests."
"You're going to call on them?" grunted Midkiff.
"That's according," Rex said lightly. "Say nothing to the other fellows. It's going to be a dusty time getting supper, but we might's well get it over with. Then you and I will adorn our manly forms in bathing suits and go reconnoitering."
Midkiff had his doubts about the advisability of this venture in the dark, and on an island quite unfamiliar to them. But he was loyal and had to confess that Rex Kingdon's ideas were almost always good.
As evening fell, the rain decreased in violence.
The bulk of the island was merely a huge shadow not more than two cable-lengths away. No light appeared upon it, nor did the crew of theSpoondrifthear a sound from the wooded shore.
Being curious when Rex and John got into their bathing togs, the others demanded an explanation.
"An exploring party," said Rex briefly. "We're going—Jawn and I—like those Thingumbobs of old, to see if this promised land is flowing with milk and honey. You're in command here, Red. See that little Hicks doesn't fall overboard and make a dent in the water, or that Cloudman doesn't choke on an appleseed. We'll return anon."
He and Midkiff slipped silently into the water and struck out for the shore. In the shelter of the island the surge of the sea was not difficult to breast. Both being strong swimmers, they soon came close in under the black bulk of the land.
The beach was narrow. The island rising, almost from the edge of the sound, was heavily wooded. Their vision having become adjusted to that partial light always present on the surface of moving water even in the darkest night, they made an easy landing upon the pebbly beach.
CHAPTER V.
BEHIND THE LIGHTED CANVAS.
"Now what?" Midkiff asked in a whisper, the water dripping from every part of his big body. Then he jumped, for a light flashed in his friend's hand. "What you got there—a lamp?"
"A tiny glow worm. 'You, in your small corner, and I in mine,' Jawn. You remember the old infant class 'rondeloo'? Won't do for us to go stumbling about here, mauling ourselves and announcing our presence—perhaps—to the enemy," chuckled Rex.
"If they're still here," grumbled his friend. "If they're not, so much the better. But I have a sneaking idea that nobody got off this island in the storm."
"Looks reasonable."
"Quite. Maybe, at that," Kingdon added, "they have no intention of remaining for more than over night. Fishing party, maybe—picnic bunch."
"Then, for goodness' sake what are we mouching around here in the dark for?" snarled the short-tempered Midkiff, for he had already barked his bare shin on a tree root.
"Sh! sh! and a couple of hushes," advised his mentor. "Ha! Jawn, I see a light."
The other's reply was another growl: "Let me see that light you've got, will you? Not right in my eyes. That blinds a fellow."
It was true Kingdon was chuckling softly. He took his finger off the latch of the electric spotlight, and they were again in gloom; but, having scrambled up the rough bank from the water a few yards, there was visible before them—at least, to his eyes—a faint glow.
"That isn't a campfire," grunted Midkiff, finally observing the odd illumination.
"A campfire wouldn't have much of a chance in this rain," suggested Kingdon. "That light's behind canvas."
"A tent!" exclaimed Midkiff.
"You can risk your last iron man on it, old boy and—listen to the voices!"
"I hear 'em," admitted his comrade. "What you going to do? Sneak up and stretch your ear?"
Rex nodded, but gestured for Midkiff to remain where he was. They had drawn too near to the encampment for further conversation to be wise.
The radiance of the lantern inside the nearest tent rendered approach to it easy. The second, and totally dark canvas shelter, was beyond.
"Eavesdropping isn't my long suit," thought Rex Kingdon, "but all's fair in love and war—and several other things! We've got the rights of this. Whoever these chaps are, they're in wrong."
"'Tis no casual fishing party; they're here with tents and boats, I fancy—all the trappings of a stable camp. The unmitigated gall of them!"
In a minute he learned more important things. There were four in the tent, and they were playing cards. One fellow was whining:
"I don't wanta play any more. Ben has all the luck. I've lost too much now."
"Why, you poor fish!" said another voice. "This isn't real money we're playing for. It's only for fun."
"Just the same, Kirby, Ben always sets it down against me when he wins; and I owe him enough already—more'n I can pay," was the frank statement.
"Aw, come on, Pudge! Be a sport," urged a third speaker.
"So Cousin Ben keeps a day-book account on you, does he?" drawled the fourth player. "Ben's going to be a wealthier man than his father some day."
"Mind your own business, Horrors," snapped the one called "Ben." "If you and Harry Kirby are silly enough to play for matches, not me. I want some go in the game—and so does Pudge."
"That so, Pudge?" drawled the same laughing voice.
"I wouldn't mind if I won once in a while," confessed the fat youth, whose humped shoulders were so near Rex Kingdon on the other side of the canvas that the listener could have trumped him—and was tempted to!
The brief dialogue, however, had told the eavesdropper much. There were four in the tent, and all boys. From the manner of their talk and their occupation, he was sure that they were fellows who would not be too squeamish about breaking trespass laws. Rex was confident, too, that they must be settled here on Storm Island for some time.
Rex did not much fancy his situation and would have crept away almost immediately, having discovered enough for the time being, had not a topic of conversation arisen between the quartette in the tent that could not fail to hold his attention.
"Wonder if that catboat got around the point all right?" Kirby ruminated, evidently scanning his cards. "Say, Pudge! You're some poor dealer."
"Didn't see a thing of it after we got back to camp," the fat fellow said.
"Too dark," grunted Ben's voice.
"May be lying off there at anchor—shouldn't wonder," the fourth fellow lazily observed.
"You don't think so, do you, Horrors?"
"Why not?"
"If they anchored here they mean to land on the island in the morning—what?"
"Thought nobody ever came here," complained Ben.
"There'soneparty we can expect—is that your idea, Harry?" drawled the languid fellow.
"You get me, Horrors. Kingdon and his gang."
"Whoo!" puffed Pudge. "That couldn't be them in the cat?"
"It might," Ben Comas said in evident gloom.
"Those fellows aren't cannibals, I suppose?" proposed the laughing Pence.
"Supposin' Enos Quibb shows up again?" retorted Ben. "Then wewillbe in a pickle."
"Bah! you're a reg'lar grumbler, Ben," scoffed Kirby.
"Well, if it's those Walcott Hall fellows out there——"
"If anybody's out there," drawled Pence. "Let's wait till daylight before worrying over that. Your lead, Pudge."
At that moment Rex was startled—if those under the canvas were not—by a half smothered cry from the other side of the tent, and the fall of a heavy body.
"Ugh!" was expelled from the lungs of the victim of this accident, and Rex knew he must have fallen over a guy rope. He darted swiftly around the lighted tent, hearing a sibilant "Sh!" from within as the quartette forgot their cards to listen. Rex was convinced that he knew the meaning of the disturbance—and who caused it; but before spying the victim of the accident he saw the fly of the second tent parted, and a crouching figure darted out.
There was a larger party than he supposed in this encampment. In another minute the whole crowd would be in action.
"Hey, Mid!" hissed Rex.
He got no reply from his friend, but the individual from the second tent turned as quick as a flash and sprang to tackle him. The charge was so unexpected that Rex went down under the weight of his silent opponent. Whoever the fellow was he didn't shout for help.
Rex twisted and heaved, using every wrestling trick he knew to break the hold of his antagonist. It was like a band of steel about his middle. Rex was too plucky himself, however, to call again for his friend, as long as this stranger fought the battle in silence.
They rolled over and over upon the saturated ground. Rex realized that there was confusion inside the lighted tent. The cardplayers had jumped up and were stumbling over each other to get outside and investigate the disturbance.
"Whole pack will be on me in a minute!" thought the Walcott Hall youth, and the idea stirred him to additional effort.
He managed to get a grip on the other fellow's shoulders, and held him off. His thumbs sought the bunch of muscles and nerves at the joint of the upper arm and shoulder. Pressure here brought a pained grunt from his victim's lips.
His grip on Kingdon relaxed. Slippery as an eel in his bathing suit, the latter wriggled free, rolled over, and leaped to his feet.
Between him and the lighted tent loomed suddenly an unmistakably lanky figure. "Hold 'em in the tent, Jawn," Rex panted, "till I find out what sort of a thing this is that grabbed me. It strikes me it's deaf and dumb."
"Right-o!" agreed the big fellow, and a suddensmackupon the wet canvas, and a wild roar inside, betrayed the collision of the spare tent stake in Midkiff's hands athwart the parting fly of the main tent.
"Ow! Let us out!" yelled the beleaguered boys as Midkiff slammed the canvas curtain a second time with his weapon.
"Joe! Joe Bootleg!" shrieked Ben Comas.
The fellow who had tackled Rex had scrambled to his feet. The Walcott boy cried: "Believe I'm favored with the attention of Mr. Shoetop—or whatever he's called. Ah! Would ye?"
He parried a swing dealt at him, and the next instant he and the silent Indian were clinched again.
"Want—help?" panted Midkiff, who had brought on all this trouble by disobeying Kingdon's order.
"No!" was expelled from Rex's lips. "I'm—going—to take—this—Boot—let apart—and see how it's made. Ah! would ye?"
His apparel did not gain Rex so much advantage after all. Joe had gone to bed with his boots on. Now he unceremoniously trampled on the other's bare feet. Rex could not entirely repress a cry of pain, and for the second time the Indian uttered a sound. He laughed.
If anything was needed to make Kingdon fighting mad, it was that. He broke away from the Indian, dancing back a pace or two. As Joe Bootleg came at him again, Rex sent in a quick right drive to the point of the other's chin.
His antagonist went to the earth, and lay there.
CHAPTER VI.
GETTING BACK TO THE BOAT.
At another time Rex Kingdon would have been more careful about striking such a blow with his bare fist, no matter how angry he might have been with his opponent, for there is danger of cracking a knuckle when one's hand is ungloved.
The foot Joe Bootleg had trampled on, hurt him cruelly, however; he saw, too, that the Indian meant to repeat his unfair tactics. So it was "down and out" for the Indian, and the Walcott youth sprang away.
"Run, Mid!" he hissed. "This bunch is getting lively. There!"
Inside the tent somebody suddenly yelled: "That's right, Horrors! Slit up the back canvas. We'll show 'em!"
"They know there are only two of us, I guess," said Midkiff. "But don't you hate to show the white feather?"
"Too dark right now for anybody to see whether our plumage is white or some other color," chuckled Rex. "The race is not always to the swift or the battle to the strong."
"Huh!" grunted his friend. "Where's that fellow who downed you?"
"I downed him. But he's coming back to life again," Rex said, having gone back for another look at the dazed Indian boy to make sure. "Whew! He's strong, that chap. But he don't know much about using his fists. Here they come! Scoot!"
He picked up the flash-lamp he had dropped in the fracas, and set the pace down the hill. But he hobbled, and Midkiff immediately noticed his chum's lameness, although they were out of the radiance of the lighted tent in half a minute.
"That fellow hurt you, Rex," exclaimed the big chap.
"Maybe I didn't hurt him!" returned the other lightly. "Drop over this bank and get under cover. The hounds will scent the trail in a minute."
Midkiff did not like to run. That wasn't his way when he got into a row. But Rex was chuckling in spite of the pain he suffered.
"I believe we could have licked 'em if we had stayed," growled the big fellow.
"Doubtless, Jawn. You could go out and slay a host of the Philistines with a jawbone——"
"The knuckle bones are good enough for me," put in his friend, still disgruntled. "You always have all the luck, Rex. You're the only one who struck a blow."
"How about you hammering on that canvas?" demanded Kingdon.
"With your fist, I mean."
"True. And I'm not so happy over that," muttered the other.
They had scrambled down upon a narrow strip of beach under the high bank. This was not the spot where they had landed, as Kingdon well knew.
They hobbled along the beach where it was hard going, and Midkiff stepped on a pebble that gave him a pretty stone bruise.
"Let's take to the water," the big fellow proposed. "This is no fun."
"Right! It doesn't tickle one's funny-bone to any extensive degree," rejoined his friend. "But do you know where theSpoondriftis?"
"Of course not. That's up to you."
"Thanks. Well,Idon't know its location—not from here. We've got to get around to that place where we landed. I marked that."
"Come on——" Midkiff choked his words short as there came a shout over their heads.
"This way, Horrors!" yelled the voice of the chap named Kirby. "They came this way. I heard 'em then."
"Heard 'em what—splashing? They came in a boat—if they didn't fly to the island," was the reply.
"Heard 'em talking," Kirby called back.
The two Walcott Hall youths had seized each other's hand simultaneously, warning each other to silence. Now Kingdon stooped, secured a branch upon which he had stepped the moment before, and began to splash in the water with it.
"Sh, Clumsy!" gasped Midkiff, in a panic. "Want to bring the whole gang down upon us?"
Rex was splashing the water in quick, but rhythmic time. One of the fellows on the bank above cried out:
"They've got a rowboat—they're getting away in it."
"Then it can't be that crew from the cat," retorted the languid voice of the one called Horrors. "There was no tender trailing her."
"Come on!" whispered Rex to his companion. "Let 'em stand there and argue about it."
The two friends went hurriedly on along the beach, taking care how they stepped. When they were far enough away so that the voices of the campers were merely murmurs in the fog and rain, the big fellow said admiringly:
"Cute trick, Rex. They still believe we are at sea."
"Whereas they are at sea," chuckled his friend.
"What are we going to do about them in the morning? Reckon they're a gang of toughs, eh?"
"Just about as tough as you and Red are," returned Rex. "They're only boys, same as ourselves."
"That was no boy you were walloping," exclaimed Midkiff.
"Wasn't much more, I guess. One of these tame Indians that hire out for camp work to summer parties. Joe Bootleg is a famous name."
"Huh?"
"Maine is full of 'em. 'Bootleggers,'" Rex chuckled. "The decent majority are fighting them all the time."
"So you had to do your share?" grinned Midkiff.
"He's strong as a bull, and as ugly. Sorry I had a muss with him," Rex Kingdon confessed. "These people with Indian blood in their veins aren't like white folks. They're revengeful and unforgiving. Have to watch out for Joe Bootleg."
"Pshaw! I wouldn't lose any sleep over it," Midkiff said. "These fellows will have to get off the island. That's plain."
"Not as plain as the nose on your face, Jawn," chuckled Rex.
"We're not going to let them have the island and we go somewhere else?" demanded the big fellow in surprise.
"Hardly."
"Going to fight 'em, then?"
"Arbitrate. Maybe. Oh! Great smoke!"
Suddenly he had tripped over something and splashed on hands and knees into shallow water. It was as dark as a pocket down there under the bank.
"Rope," explained Midkiff, having caught hold of it.
"Don't tell me!" murmured Rex, touching his shin tenderly. "It raked me up and down. Lost some peeling that time, I did!"
"It's hitched to a boat," whispered Midkiff.
"That's what I thought," grunted Rex. "Haul her in. Reckon we've found something now."
"Give us a flash of your lamp, Rex," begged the other. "Let's see what sort of a tub this is."
The other did so, and the bow of a heavy canoe was revealed.
"There's another," Kingdon exclaimed under his breath. "Two-paddle boats, each. Bet that's what these fellows came in. They must have hired a dory to bring over their camp stuff."
"Well, come on!" urged his friend. "Let's get back to our own boat. What's the good of fooling here? What are you doing, Rex? Untying that canoe?"
"Untie the other, Buddie," whispered Rex. "And don't raise your voice again. You'll have that bunch down here."
"Going to set them adrift? Then they can't get away if they want to," grumbled Midkiff, yet obeying the other's command. "What's the idea?"
"Give me the other rope. Now into the water with you, Jawn. We're going to coax these away—not set them adrift."
"Steal 'em?" gasped Midkiff.
"Don't use such rude language," advised his friend. "Hypothecate—embezzling—spoliation—my boy! There are lots nicer terms than the vulgar 'stealing.'"
"Huh!" grunted Midkiff. "They all lead to the same old vulgar jail."
Rex chuckled. Both waded in to shoulder depth. Midkiff said, shortly: "Where are the paddles?"
"Ashore, I should hope. Those chaps couldn't have been foolish enough to leave 'em in the canoes. Come on! We'll tow 'em out to theSpoondrift. We don't need paddles."
"Don't see what good it's going to do us," grumbled his friend.
"How would you feel yourself if you were stuck on that island without any means of getting off?"
"Huh?"
"Think it over. Those chaps might object to our landing there in the morning—and there's sure as many of them as there is of us."
"But we got a right there, haven't we?" demanded Midkiff, excitedly. "Can't we go to the authorities?"
"You don't mean that, Jawn," drawled Rex. "You wouldn't be a tattle-tale?"
"Aw——"
"We'll arbitrate, just as I said," chuckled Rex. "They'll be willing to concede several things—-perhaps—for the sake of getting these canoes back. Anyway, we'll wait and see."
"Oh!"
"Come on, now, and swim. The cat's just off yonder. Push along, Jawn."
"But I don't get you," sputtered his friend. "Why do you want to mix it up with these fellows at all?"
"Maybe for instance," laughed Rex. He did not tell Midkiff that he suspected the party encamped on Storm Island was actually expecting the arrival of the crowd from Walcott Hall.
CHAPTER VII.
ON THE VERGE OF SOMETHING.
Through the smother of fine rain the mast and rigging of theSpoondriftloomed above the two swimmers. Midkiff observed, as he caught the anchor cable:
"Must be the boys are asleep. Anybody could steal 'em."
"What for?" chuckled Rex. "Nobody'd want to kidnap this bunch. Tie that painter securely, old man. We don't want to lose the canoes."
"Going to keep watch?" asked Midkiff as they swung over the catboat's rail.
"For what?"
"Those fellows over there may have more boats."
"Not likely. They'd have 'em all moored at one point—below their camp. No. We've appropriated all their means of water locomotion."
"Like to know what good it's going to do?" was Midkiff's characteristic grumble.
"Don't let it worry you, Jawn. Come on down and dry off—and see if the others have left us room to stretch out for a sleep. 'Sleep, baby, sleep! Close your sweet eyes!'"
"Huh!" grunted Midkiff again; but he went to bed without further argument.
Rolling mists masked island and sound at daybreak; the crew of the catboat was astir, however, without anybody having rung the rising bell. Four of the Walcott Hall crowd hopped into their bathing suits and prepared for the early plunge.
"This beats waiting in turn at the showers. What say?" cried Red Phillips, at the rail. "Hey! where's Peewee?"
"Why, the little fox!" said Cloudman, sticking his head down the hatchway. "He's rolled up tight in his blanket."
"Oh! Oh!" gasped the auburn-haired youth. "Say not so! Trying to grab another nap, is he?"
"It shouldn't be. Bad for children to sleep too long," the Westerner said.
"Bad? It's awful! Come on! We've got to save him from the effects of such a course."
Rex and Midkiff were struggling to get into their own wet suits, so were behind the others. But little Hicks was not allowed to be last into the rather chilly sound. Red and Applejack brought him on deck in his shirt, struggling and sputtering.
"Lemme go! Rex! King! Middy, old boy! Give a hand!"
"Can't," chuckled Kingdon. "Both of 'em's busy."
"You go fish," growled Midkiff. "I'd like to see you get started early in the morning for once. You're the laziest young one I ever saw."
"One!" sing-songed Red, he and the Colorado youth swinging the squalling Peewee. "Two! Three—and over!"
They chucked him, feet foremost, over the side. Peewee sank like a plummet, his nightshirt floating up around his neck.
"That shirt will strangle him," suggested Rex, with some seriousness. "He can't swim in a thing like that."
"Then why doesn't he wear pajamas, like a sane male human being?" growled Red Phillips.
"Cause his mother won't make 'em for him. And he's just come from home with a new outfit. Say, you murderers, go after him!"
Thus adjured, both Red and Cloudman went overboard, each in his own way. Red made a long, graceful dive; the Colorado youth went in like a frog.
It was a fact that some seconds passed and Peewee Hicks did not come up. Midkiff stared over the rail, with his shirt half on, growling:
"What's the matter with those microbes? Can't they have a little fun without drowning the child? Red Phillips is as gentle as a wild dog, and Cloudman's no better——"
Phillips' hectic thatch shot to the surface. He rose breast high, dashed the water from his eyes, and squawked:
"Where is he?"
"Hasn't come up!" roared Midkiff. "He's tangled up in that nightshirt somewhere down there."
Red disappeared, and John wrenched his way into the clinging woolen upper half of his bathing suit. Cloudman's red face appeared. He blew like a whale.
"Didn't the kid come up, fellers?" he gasped, having cleared his mouth of water.
"No. He's down there. Get after him!" commanded Midkiff, preparing to throw himself over the boat's side.
A mellow chuckle from behind him made the big fellow pause. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering what Rex Kingdon found to laugh about in this serious moment. There were two hands clinging to the port rail, and the grinning face of Peewee was in sight above it, as he hung on. He had dived under the catboat's keel, and was perfectly safe while Red and Cloudman combed the depths on the other side.
"Let 'em look," he begged. "Big loafers! Took two of 'em to throw me in, at that."
This amused Kingdon much more than it did his roommate. Midkiff glowered at the shrewd face of the youngster.
Up came Red again, evidently greatly excited. He wanted to know, choking and sputtering:
"Hasn't he come up at all? What's the matter with him? Is he made of lead? That boy ought to be an anchor; he'd never drag on any kind of a bottom——"
Cloudman shot to the surface. He wasn't as good a swimmer as Red, and he was about all in.
"I—I can't find him!" he chattered. "Got to get aboard and get my wind. Hey! why ain't you fellows doing something?"
"We are," said Rex, broadly smiling. "We're crying over your distress. Come on in and eat an apple, Cloudman." With one hand he reached for Hicks and hauled him over the rail by his wet shirt.
Hicks declared himself satisfied with his temporary bath. In fact, a single plunge seemed about all any of the party cared for, the water being several degrees cooler than the inland streams and lakes with which the boys were familiar, as well as the tempered needle-showers of the Walcott Gym.
Before they were dressed the sun broke through the mist, and then they saw something that was worth looking at—Storm Island glorified by the morning sun. It blazed like a green jewel, surrounded by the rolling sea fog—the upper reaches of the isle at first revealed, and then, gradually, all the wooded northern shore down to the lapping little waves that kissed it.
"Some ugly spot, old man!" Red said, addressing Kingdon. "You certainly pick lemons!"
"Purty as a little red wagon with yellow wheels," announced Cloudman.
"I wish I was an artist," murmured Peewee.
Midkiff had nothing to say until the mists were dissipated sufficiently to reveal the spot where he and Rex had had their nocturnal adventure. Then he said, grumpily enough:
"They're there yet, Rex."
The two tents were plainly visible from theSpoondrift.
"Well, you wise owl!" was the polite response. "How'd you think they'd leave? Swim?"
At that moment Peewee spied the two canoes moored to theSpoondrift'sstern. The excitement attending the brief morning bath had quite dimmed the eyes of those of the crowd who had not been ashore.
"Where'd they come from?" Hicks wanted to know. "You fellows bring 'em out last night? What did you find on that island, anyway?"
Cloudman had spied the tents as well. He drawled: "Guess there's somebody ahead of us. Is that what took you and Midkiff ashore?"
"Who are those fellows, Rex?" demanded Red Phillips. "And how did you clutch on to their canoes? Don't you know
'It is a sinTo steal a pin;It is a greaterTo steal a "tater"'?"
'It is a sinTo steal a pin;It is a greaterTo steal a "tater"'?"
'It is a sin
To steal a pin;
It is a greater
To steal a "tater"'?"
"Maybe those fellows stole the canoes first," muttered Midkiff.
"Hustle up the breakfast, Cloudman," Rex commanded. "And I'll tell you all our tale of woe. It's some tale, too. How's your stone-bruise, Jawn?"
"About the same as your scraped shin, I reckon; and your foot. Why, that's badly bruised, Rex," he added, with sudden commiseration, as he saw how tenderly the skipper of theSpoondriftwas bathing his injured foot with arnica.
"Goodness gracious! Yes!" barked Rex. "Hospital job, very likely. That Indian has a foot like an elephant's."
"Vicious scoundrel," acclaimed his friend.
"He's a hard hitter—with his feet. Perhaps the rest of them are when they're not hived up in a tent."
"We'd better sail over to that Blackport place and get a constable," the older boy suggested. "Those chaps are trespassers, all right."
"Leave it to yours truly," Rex said, putting on his canvas shoe with care.
"What's your scheme?"
"Haven't any. I'll roll my sleeves up to prove my innocence," returned Rex. "But I am awfully curious."
"I believe, on my soul," said Midkiff with vigor, "that you'd rather get into trouble than not."
"No, I like to get out of it," confessed Rex. "Of course, a fellow can't slip out of a row unless he first gets into it. See?"
"Sounds foolish," declared the older fellow. "That's because you don't know all the facts in these premises, as old Yad would say. Wait till we're hitting the eats, then I'll talk. Don't that smell good?"
For some minutes the sputtering of pork, frying out in the pan, had come from below. Now the fragrance of frying fish was wafted to the nostrils of those in the cockpit. Cloudman and Peewee were busy with the breakfast. Red came up, fully dressed, and began to spy out the encampment and its surroundings through a pair of opera glasses.
"What do you see, Father William?" queried Rex.
"Not much," grunted Phillips.
"They must be sleeping late after our call last night," muttered Midkiff.
"Sleep? They must be dead," said the red-haired youth. "What do you know about fellows camping out, sleeping till this time of day?"
"They are rich. Don't have to work," said Cloudman, coming up to breathe.
"Say, King," little Hicks begged to know, "did you and Mid call on those chaps last night? I suppose they gave you the canoes?"
"Sure," Red grumbled. "Bet there was a pretty mess—and the rest of us out of it."
"You could have my lame foot, for all I care," Rex said sweetly. "Keep your hair on, Reddy. Maybe it isn't as bad as you think. At any rate, I fancy you will be in plenty of time for the next mess—if it comes off."
Cloudman darted down to dish out the first relay of fried soup and potatoes. Hardtack took the place of bread, and the coffee was good. The cowboy had not lived most of his life on the plains for nothing.
"You're a pretty fine cook, Applejack," admitted Rex, beginning on his plateful with gusto.
"Don't jolly me," said the Westerner. "I've pretty near got fed up withthat. When we get ashore, it's somebody's turn beside mine—don't you forget it."
"Are we going to get ashore—on this island, I mean?" put in Midkiff.
"Come on," Red urged. "Give us the yarn, Rex. Who are those fellows over there?"
"Haven't the first idea—only I got their names down pat. But I never heard of them before, that I know. However, that makes no difference. They know us."
"They do?" exploded Midkiff.
"One-sided introduction, eh?" giggled Peewee.
"At least," explained Kingdon more fully, "they are expecting us on the island. Our coming to camp here is known to them, and they know that they are in for trouble. Of course, the signs along shore would tell them that much, even were they greenhorns from afar."
"What do you know about that?" said Red, scowling.
"We'd better sail over to Blackport and bring the constable," urged the cautious Midkiff.
"Let's go put 'em off, bag and baggage," cried Phillips.
"They can't get off if we don't give 'em back their canoes," cried Peewee. "Hi, King! What do you mean to do?"
Just then, while all eyes were fastened upon the encampment on the shore of Storm Island, the first of the lazy campers appeared from the main tent. He was a tall, black-haired fellow; they could see that easily enough without the use of Red's glasses.
He came down toward the place where the canoes had been moored, wearing a scarlet bathing suit and carrying a towel over his arm. Suddenly he appreciated the fact that the canoes were gone. A glance showed him the catboat with the missing craft tied to her stern.
He turned to shout something to his friends still in the tent. Midkiff muttered:
"Now there'll be a stir!"