"As soon as our nets run out," he continued, "we row around inside the circle and beat on our skiffswith the oars and make all the racket we can to drive the fish into the nets. Then, each man rows back to the end of his net and takes it up being careful to pile it right so that it will run out smoothly and also be careful not to break meshes taking out fish. I guess that's about all."
"Why, that's simple as can be," Walter exclaimed.
Charley grinned. "Let's try it and see," he said knowingly.
"Nowjust imagine that we are really hunting fish," Charley directed, as he shoved his skiff from shore. "Take up your positions exactly as I directed and make as little noise as possible with your oars."
His companions eagerly obeyed and the three skiffs slowly crept ahead as if stealing up on a school of fish.
But their leader was not yet ready for real fishing and they had proceeded thus but a little ways when he gave the captain the signal for a run. The old sailor deftly backed up his skiff and threw Charley the end of his net. The lad caught it and quickly made it fast to his own. "Give way," he shouted, seizing his oars, and the three boats darted away while the nets ran out smoothly over their sterns.
When he judged that three-fourths of his net was out, Charley shouted to his chums and the two boats swung around for each other. The last of Walter's net ran out just as Charley passed aroundthe stern of his skiff and turning back into the circle rowed out the few remaining yards of his own net.
"That's one important thing to remember," he commented as he rowed up to his chum's boat. "We always want to turn when we have got just enough net left to reach each other with. If our nets don't come together the fish all run out through the gap."
"Whew," Walter panted, "I never dreamed those nets were so long. I thought my arms were going to break from rowing so hard before you gave the signal to turn."
Charley grinned. "They are four hundred yards each—nearly a quarter of a mile long. Wait until you get one full of fish and it will seem forty miles long. The captain's got that other end closed up nicely, and now for the drumming up."
The three rowed around inside the circle while Charley showed them how to frighten the fish into the nets by pounding on the bottoms of the skiffs and beating the water with the blades of their oars.
"Why, the circle is full of fish," Walter suddenly exclaimed. "I can see hundreds of them darting about."
"I saw them before I gave the signal to run," Charlie said coolly, but his words were lost in the din the captain and his chum were making in theirexcitement. Walter was beating the water frantically with his oar while the old sailor standing up in his skiff was clapping his hands and shouting "Shoo, shoo", much as though he was driving a flock of chickens.
Charley rested on his oars and watched them with a broad grin on his face.
"Don't get excited," he remarked, when at last they stopped from sheer exhaustion. "Captain, it's no use straining your voice yelling at the fish. They can't hear you. The only thing that scares them is a vibration of the water they live in. That beating the water with your oar is the proper caper, Walter, only it happens that these fish are mullet and you can't drive mullet into a gill net in the day time. Fine as the twine is, they see the meshes and back off. And, now, let's row back to the ends of our nets and pick them up."
His two crestfallen companions meekly obeyed, and after considerable blundering due to their inexperience the nets were once more got aboard the skiffs.
The two novices' arms and backs were beginning to ache but Charley insisted on another trial.
It was well he did so for Walter had not rowed out a third of his net when some leads caught in the webbing and the pile turned over into a tangled heap that took the three a good half hour to straighten out.
"You must be careful how you pile your net in the boat," Charley cautioned, when the mess was at last straightened out. "If that had happened when we were really and truly fishing it might have meant the loss of forty or fifty dollars' worth of fish. You must keep your loose webbing piled clear of your lead and cork lines. I noticed you had piled your net carelessly, that's why I wanted to make another run. There's nothing like experience to make one careful."
"You might have told me about it and saved all this hard extra work," grumbled Walter with a flash of temper. "My arms and back ache like a tooth ache."
"Cheer up. We'll go ashore now, and have a rest and supper before we start out for real work," said Charley, cheerfully, ignoring his chum's remarks.
A long rest under the palm trees and one of Chris' capital suppers put Walter into good humor again. "I guess, I got mad a little too easily," he half apologized to his chum over the meal. "I didn't stop to think that you had been working as hard as I and that you would not have put us all to that extra work if you had not thought it necessary."
"That's all right," answered Charley, heartily. "Just forget it. Every one gets a little riled sometimes, and fishing is mighty hard on the temper."But the lad knew that the flashes of temper would come many times before his chum became a seasoned fisherman. "Oh, well," he consoled himself, grimly, "it's no use trying to avoid them, the sooner they come and go, why, the better."
Chris had prepared a lunch for the fishermen to carry with them to eat during the night, and just as the sun went down, the three boarded the launch and with the three skiffs in tow set out for their first attempt in their new calling.
The memory of that first night will linger in Walter's and the Captain's memory for years to come. They had run about two miles in the launch when Charley shut off the engine.
"I think we had better anchor here and take to the skiffs," he said. "These are strange waters and we might pile the launch up on a rock in the darkness."
A lantern was lit and placed on the launch's bow to guide them back to her, and the other lanterns were also lit, turned down low and placed in the bottom of the skiffs.
"None of you must ever allow your lights to show while we are hunting fish," Charley continued. "A light frightens them worse than anything else. A flash of lightning makes them all scurry for deep water. There's no use taking to the skiffs for a little while, it isn't dark enough to fish yet."
"That's one thing which puzzles me," Walter said. "How are you going to find fish at night. Of course, I understand how you can tell where they are in the day time, for if you can't see the fish themselves, you can tell they are there by the ripples they make in the water."
"They are oftentimes easier to find at night," Charley affirmed. "There is nearly always more or less phosphorescence in the water and a fish can not move without leaving a glowing streak in his wake, that is, if he is within ten feet of the surface. An expert fisherman can tell by the character of the bright streak the kind of fish that makes it. Each species makes a different kind of movement and an expert can read their trails like a hunter reads tracks. Nights when the water does not fire it is harder, for then the fisherman has to go by sound. Each kind of fish makes its own peculiar noise but it is hard to distinguish some of them apart and still harder to tell their size. Our nets are made for mullet and that is the only kind of fish we need be concerned with."
"Why, there is a lot more to fishing than I thought," Walter commented. "I supposed it was simple and easy to learn."
"It takes years of experience to make a skilful fisherman," Charley assured him. "I do not claim to be one. I only just know the rudiments of it."
"I reckon it's that way with most everything,"Captain Westfield remarked, thoughtfully, "from running a ship up to running a nation. Thar's always a heap more to larn than the man outside thinks thar is."
"But all the knowledge a man can get does not help without plenty of good hard work," Charley amended. "And it's time for us to begin ours now. It's dark enough now, I believe. All aboard for our first attempt."
The three scrambled into their skiffs and casting loose from the launch, took to their oars bringing their crafts into the formation they had practiced.
In a few minutes, the launch was lost to sight and they could not see each other. Only the faint glow of the turned-down lanterns rising above the gunwales of their skiffs enabled them to keep track of each other.
As they crept slowly on into the night, Walter was surprised to see how teeming the waters were with life. On every side of his boat, fiery streaks marked the passage of finny creatures. At times, he passed through spaces fairly aglow with the movements of them. As Charley had said, there was a marked difference in the character of the water trails. Some were close to the surface, while others showed deep below. Some were long and continuous in a straight line. Others twisted and turned, while still others seemed to run only a little ways and then stopped suddenly. But theyall marked the passage of fish, and he soon began to wonder why Charley did not give the signal to circle them. At first, he consoled himself with the thought that his chum knew what he was doing, but as they rowed steadily on mile after mile through the flashing schools, he began to have doubts. After all, Charley had admitted that he was not an experienced fisherman. Perhaps Charley was not passing through the same schools. Perhaps he was not watching close. Walter's arms and back began to ache from the steady rowing and as his fatigue increased he began to get irritated. Why all this steady rowing on and on when there were plenty of fish all about them. The same thoughts were passing through Captain Westfield's mind but he had been bred in a calling which demands constant patient obedience to the one in command. He had elected to follow Charley's leadership and that was the end of it. He would do it without question.
At last Walter could stand it no longer.
"Say, Charley," he hailed, "there's lots of fish around here."
"I see them," came the cheerful answer. "They don't look right to me, though. Let's go on a bit."
Sullenly, Walter rowed on in silence. After what to his tired muscles seemed ages of weary pulling, a crisp order came floating over the water.
"Get ready—Drop your net weight over"—Apause, then: "All right—all together—pull hard."
Walter forgot his aching limbs in the excitement of the moment. He bent to his oars and sent his skiff flying through the water while his net rippled swiftly out over the stern.
"Come together," at last came the order and he swung his flying craft around to meet his chum's.
"Gee," panted Charley, as he crossed the end of Walter's net, just as the last of his own ran out. "I pulled myself out of breath trying to get around that school. Most of them outran me, but I guess we have got a few penned up in the circle. Put up your lantern and let's rest a bit before we drum up. Good," he exclaimed as the lights flashed out over the water. "They are hitting the nets already—-Listen."
From all sides of them came a soft peculiar smacking sound much like that made by a person opening and closing his mouth rapidly.
"Listen, old chap," Charley cried in glee, "you are hearing your first catch of mullet."
Thenew fishermen could hardly wait to beat up the circle so eager were they to see what their nets contained.
"I guess we have got all there was in the circle," Charley at last announced. "Let's start to take up. Fasten your lantern to the end of an oar and fix it so it will shine down on your net so that you can see what you are doing, look out for cat fish. I put a short club in each of the skiffs to-day. If you get a cat fish, kill it before you try to take it out of your net."
"What kind of looking fish are they?" Walter paused to inquire.
"They are a slimy fish without scales," Charley explained. "They have a flat head and on each side of the gills and on the back are needle-sharp horns about three inches long with fine saw teeth along the edge. When the fish are swimming the horns lay back flat against the body, but when they strike a net or anything else, they stick the horns straight out. They are fierce to take out of a net,they will tangle up dozens of meshes on those horns and the fine twine is hard to work off the saw edges. It's dangerous to handle them unless they are killed for they are liable to flop and stick those horns in you and make a very poisonous wound. Well, let's get to work, the night is slipping away fast."
With lanterns popped out over the skiff's stern the three set to work.
At first it was exciting to haul in the nets with the struggling fish entangled in their meshes, and to watch the pile in their boats steadily grow, but the novelty soon wore off and only the hard work remained. And hard work it was, harder than either the captain or Walter had dreamed. A breeze had arisen since sunset and they had to drag their skiffs up against it as they pulled in their nets. When they came to a fish they had to hold the net with their feet, while they bent over under the dim light and freed it from the entangling meshes. Every now and then they came to a great mass of sea moss caught up in their nets, which required all their strength to dump out, nor did they escape painful accidents, although they met with none of the dreaded cat fish, every fish handled by them seemed armed with sharp fins and their fingers were soon sore with a multitude of tiny punctures. A flopping fish flipped a bit of jelly into the captain's eye. It burned like a touch from a red hot iron,and the old sailor half blinded grew faint from the intense pain. At last Walter realized what it meant to handle four hundred yards of net. Before he had got half of his in the boat he was fairly ready to lie down and cry from pain and sheer weariness.
Charley, more expert, soon had his net boated and taking hold of the other end of Walter's helped him with the balance, then rowed over and performed a like service for the captain. "Let's rest a little bit and eat our lunch before we start again," he suggested when the nets were all up. "I'll anchor my boat and you both come alongside and tie up to me so we can all eat together."
He had brought a box partly filled with sand along in his skiff and in it he now proceeded to build a small fire on which he boiled coffee and heated up the lunch Chris had given them. The hot meal and steaming coffee made his two companions almost forget for a time their pains and weariness.
"How many do you think we got that time?" Walter inquired, over a second cup of coffee.
"About twelve hundred pounds of mullet," he judged, "some thirty odd pounds of trout and about two hundred pounds of bottom fish," say twenty-eight dollars' worth altogether. "That's pretty fair for one run. If we can get in fourmore runs like it before daylight, it will make a good night's work."
"Four more runs," cried Walter in dismay, all his aches and pains returning at the thought, "why I don't believe I can last out one more."
"I know it's tough on you two," said Charley sympathetically, "but we have got to do it. We cannot hope to make money by just making one or two runs a night. It will not be quite so bad after you get hardened to it. I know just how you feel. I once fished every night steady for six months and we made from six to eight runs each night. I was new to the business then and I thought the first two or three nights that it would certainly kill me. Tired. Why many a time I've gone sound asleep while rowing and fallen over into the bottom of the boat amongst the fish without waking up. Oh, it's tough all right, but you have got to get used to it."
Walter was silent. He was doing a sum in mental arithmetic, "eight runs a night. Four hundred yards of net to run out each time and four hundred yards of net to take in. Eight hundred yards multiplied eight times was six thousand four hundred yards or over three miles besides all the endless rowing." Why it was more than flesh and blood could stand. Was any amount of money worth such nerve and muscle racking labor? He was still pondering this when his chum gave theorder to start again and they once more fell into the old formation and rowed silently on into the darkness.
Mile after mile they rowed steadily on until the launch's lanterns showed only a pin point of light in the distance. The ache in Walter's muscles grew to an acute pain. Every stroke of the oars was an effort that seemed impossible to repeat. All around his boat came and went darting flashes of many fish. Again the old question arose. Why all this aimless, senseless rowing. He felt a hot unreasoning resentment against his chum that grew with his deadly weariness and at last flowed out in speech.
"Charley," he snapped out across the water, "I'm getting sick of this nonsense. There's fish all around us. Let's either try to catch them or go home. I'm tired of this rowing, rowing, rowing for nothing."
Charley was silent a moment before replying. Matters had come to the pass he had feared. He had witnessed the same thing many times with new beginners. One of two things must happen, either Walter must learn to have faith in his leadership until he himself had gained experience or else they must give up fishing. No amount of argument would convince him like a bit of experience, as the result of having his own way in something he knew nothing about. It was bitter medicinebut it was the only treatment which would check the disease, however, he decided to give his chum one last chance.
"I am doing the best I know how, Walt," he answered. "I have to follow my best judgment in this fishing so long as I am running head boat."
"Judgment nothing," scoffed Walter angrily, "there's no judgment in rowing our arms off when there are fish all around us."
"All right Old Chap, you can run head boat if you think you can do better. I'll follow you without question," Charley replied wearily.
"All right, I will," agreed Walter, shortly. "I can promise you I will not make you row yourself to death for nothing."
In silence Charley changed positions with his chum. They had not proceeded a hundred yards in the new order when Walter's skiff slid in amongst the biggest school he had yet seen.
"All right, let's run them," he shouted excitedly.
Charley smiled grimly as he cast him the end of his net to make fast but he said nothing, and when his chum gave the signal to start he was off at the word.
"Whew," panted Walter, as they came together at the end of the run, "we've made a killing this time. Just look at the bright streaks. Why, the circle is full of fish. Come on, let's drum them up."
"I wouldn't drum any," Charley advised.
"I'm running head boat now," Walter reminded him shortly, "kindly do as I say."
"All right," his chum agreed, cheerfully, and fell to beating the water lustily with his oar.
"I guess they are all in the nets now," Walter at last announced. "Let's pick them up."
Charley rowed back to the end of his net in silence. He grinned with grim humor as his quick ear caught queer grunting sounds from along the lines of net. He seized the end of his and pulled it aboard, then he paused, adjusted his lantern carefully, took a drink of water from his jug, laid his short club handy on the seat beside him, and settled himself for a long spell of hard work.
Walter reached for the end of his net, tingling with anticipation. The first few yards came in empty, then a score of white bellies showed in the dripping webbing as he hoisted it into the boat. Pride gave way to dismay. Instead of the clean, glistening mullet he had expected, these were slimy, flat-headed fish, loathsome to look at, emitting repulsive grunts and reeking forth a sickening odor. Each was hopelessly tangled in a mess of webbing. For a moment, he wildly debated the notion of casting the net back overboard and fleeing. Then he grimly, doggedly, settled down to work. His thoughts were more unpleasant than the task before him. He had brought this upon himself andnot only upon himself but upon his companions also. Because he had become a little tired, he had given way to a fit of temper and made a fool of himself. Well, Charley and the captain would never want him to fish with them again, and it served him right, but his heart ached at the thought of separating from those kind, true, friendly companions after all the years they had spent together. He paused for a moment and listened. From the captain's skiff came muttered exclamations as the old sailor labored over his unwelcome catch. From Charley's boat came only the sharp, frequent crack of the club as he hauled the detested fish in over the stern.
Slowly the minutes lengthened into hours and the night dragged away, while the humbled lad, suffering in every muscle, his fingers bleeding from a score of scratches, and one hand swelling rapidly where a horn had entered, worked grimly on. Slowly Charley's light drew away from him for the other lad's experience had taught him the knack of taking out fish swiftly.
Once, Walter raised his eyes from his task and looked about. The morning star had risen in the east and Charley's light had disappeared. "Got disgusted and gone home," he decided, bitterly. "Well, I don't blame him."
The day was just breaking when Walter, at last, reached the end of his net. The captain had escapedlightly and had been through for some time. He was stretched out on a seat, resting, and placidly smoking his pipe. The launch was only a short distance away. Charley had rowed back and was bringing her up to save his chums the long row to her.
"Good morning," Charley hailed, cheerfully, as he shut off the engine, "all through."
Walter almost shouted with joy. His chum was not angry with him after all.
Charley ranged alongside and peeped into his skiff.
"What have you saved them all for," he exclaimed, as his eye lighted on the big pile of fish.
"Why, to sell," Walter faltered.
His chum grinned. "No one buys them. Why you couldn't give them away. But come, both of you and make fast. We'll just get home in time for breakfast."
It was a humble and abashed lad that stepped aboard the launch.
"Charley, I've been a fool," he blurted out, "but if you can overlook it this time, it will not happen again."
"Forget it," said his chum heartily. "I hated it more for your sake than for my own, but it's all over now. Cheer up, Old Chap."
"How did you know what kind of fish they were?" Walter inquired, after a brief silence.
"By the streaks. A catfish fires deep below the surface and he only runs a little ways then stops. A mullet makes a long straight streak close the surface. But those were not all catfish we rowed through to-night. There were sharks in one place, a school of porgies in another, and a lot of sea bass and some fish I could not determine and was afraid to run."
"I wantyou two to lie down in the cabin and catch an hour's nap on the way home," Charley said as soon as he got the engine started. "I'll run the launch in."
Walter and the captain protested feebly, but the lad would hear no refusal. "You both look utterly played out," he declared. "There is no use of all of us staying awake, and I am fresher than either of you. Fishing is not so hard for me because I know all the little tricks of handling a net and taking out fish that helps to make it easier. You will soon learn them and get hardened to the work, and then we will take turns running the launch. Now stretch out, that hour's rest will do you a world of good."
His two chums lost no time in arguing the point, but stretched on the cabin floor and pillowing their heads on their arms were instantly asleep. So worn out were they that Charley could hardly wake them when the dock was reached.
Chris had a hot breakfast and steaming coffeewaiting for them; as soon as it was dispatched Charley ordered the two off to bed. "Get rested up good for to-night's work," he announced. "There is nothing that you need do now. Chris will pull the nets out to dry and I'll row across to Clearwater with the fish. There is no need of more than one going and I want to see the sheriff and have a talk with him."
It was only a few minutes' run across the bay to the little town, and Charley was soon tying up to the fish dock. He hurried up to the fish house and notified Mr. Daniels of his catch and waited while a wagon brought the fish up and they were weighed. The catch totaled thirty dollars in cash.
"Not bad for the first night," said Mr. Daniels, encouragingly. "Several of my old experienced fishermen caught less than that last night."
Leaving the fish house the lad hurried over to the store and ordered some supplies he needed sent down to the launch. By the time his purchases were made he judged it was late enough to find the sheriff in his office and there he accordingly made his way.
But here he met with much disappointment, for he was informed that Sheriff Brown was out of town and would not return for several days.
He headed back to his launch greatly troubled in his mind. He had counted strongly on the sheriff taking charge of the cached liquor. As long as itremained on the island, just so long could they expect trouble from its owners. Now he could not decide what was best to do. He was hurrying on debating the question with himself when turning a corner, engrossed in his own thoughts, he almost collided with Bill Roberts hurrying in the opposite direction.
"Starboard your helm a bit and take in some of that press of sail you're carrying," hailed that worthy, "you came mighty near running me down. How's everything? How's fishing coming on?"
Charley warmed to the sight of Bill's friendly, frank, good-humored face.
"The fishing's all right," he answered, brightly, "but some other things are worrying me. I was thinking of them and not noticing where I was going."
"You look tired and worried," said Bill with a critical scrutiny. "Can we Roberts help you out any with what's worrying you?"
"You might help me out with some advice," said the lad with a sudden impulse. "If you can spare me a few minutes' time I'll tell you what's the matter.
"Got all the time in the world," said Bill cheerfully. "We are not fishing for a few days. Our nets are about all worn out and we are waiting for new ones from the factory. There is a seat over there under the tree, come on and sit down a whileand tell me all about it. It helps a man sometimes just to tell his troubles."
He listened with eager interest while Charlie told the story of the strange schooner, the motor boat and the buried liquor and of their quarrel with Hunter's gang.
He pondered a while after the lad had concluded. "Kind of a bad mess," he said at last. "Of course it's the Hunter gang that's doing the smuggling, but you haven't got anything to prove it. They ain't going to lose all that liquor they've got buried either, but they ain't going to dig it up as long as there is a chance of their being seen doing it, consequently their only hope is to get you fellows off the island by fair means or foul."
"Just the conclusion I arrived at," agreed Charley, grimly.
"Your plan to have the sheriff take charge of it was the thing, but of course that cannot be done until he comes back. It isn't likely they will seek an open fight with you, they are too foxy for that. But they will try to get at you by every underhanded means they can think of. You'll have to be on your guard every minute until the sheriff returns and takes charge of that liquor. Those fellows are cunning and treacherous. I am not going to tell you of the things they have done to other fellows who have crossed them. It would do no good and only worry you more. I just want to impressupon you that you cannot watch out too sharp. Now I am going to lend you another rifle to keep in the launch; we have plenty of guns, for we hunt and trap when the fishing is poor. As I have said we are not fishing for a few days, and if you should need help any time just fire three shots close together and we will be over in a hurry. We would be tickled to death to catch those fellows in some devilment so that they could be sent up for a good string of years."
"You are very good," said Charley, gratefully. "It's not right to bother you with our troubles, but it has been a great relief just to unburden myself to you."
"Sorry I cannot be of more help to you," Bill replied, heartily. "I hope we are going to be good friends, for I like the looks of your crowd. Our trouble with Hunter's gang has kept us from making friends amongst the other fishermen. They will not meet us half way for fear of the injuries the Hunter gang might do them, if they got friendly with us. You will find it the same way in your case, and it will be pleasant for us to visit back and forth on stormy days when we have nothing else to do. There is another thing I can do that will help you a bit. Come on down to the dock with me and I'll do it now."
Near the end of the pier they came upon Hunter himself, holding forth to a gang of his cronies.The fellows made to move away at their approach but Roberts hailed him.
"Look here, Hunter," he said in his straightforward way, "I want to impress one thing on you so you will not forget it. This lad and his companions are friends of ours and anyone that does any of them harm, has not only them to reckon with but with the Roberts boys also, remember that!" Then turning his back to the scowling fisherman, he said good-by to Charley and walked away, indifferent to the lowering glances of Hunter's cronies.
"Fine protector you've got," sneered Hunter, when Roberts was out of hearing. "Just mark one thing, young fellow, your gang are going to wish they had never seen Clearwater before we are through with them, and that goes for that upstart Roberts, too."
"We are not afraid of you or your threats," Charley replied, coolly, as he cast off the launch and started up the engine.
As the throbbing little engine drove the launch through the dancing, sparkling water, Charley lay back in the thwart with his hand on the wheel and rested his aching body. He was tired in muscle and brain. It was nearly noon and his eyes were heavy with sleep. He dozed off for a moment only to wake up with a jerk as something cold touched his foot. He glanced down and was startled to see that several inches of water was sloshing aroundhis feet. Thoroughly awake, he straightened up and looked around. He was in the middle of the bay about a mile from either shore. He had evidently dozed but a few minutes, yet the launch had been dry when he dozed off and now there was several inches of water in her and it was rapidly increasing. She must have sprung a leak and a big one at that. Seizing the bailer with his free hand he began throwing the water out in a steady stream. Swiftly he calculated his chances of making the shore. The engine rested only a few inches above the bottom of the boat. If the water reached it the motor would stop. He had no fear for his own safety for he could easily swim across the bay if necessary. But if the launch filled she would sink, their career as fishermen would be at an end, and Mr. Daniels would be poorer the several hundred dollars the launch had cost.
A few minutes' bailing convinced him that the water was rapidly gaining. It had risen to within a couple of inches of the engine. Five minutes more and it would reach the motor. It was a desperate situation and the keen-witted lad took a desperate chance. Letting go the wheel he frantically tore at the thin sheathing that lined the bottom. Luck was with him for the first piece came up easily revealing a large, smooth, round hole, just below the water line, through which the water was gushing in a steady stream. Tearing up his shirt,he rolled it up into a tapering plug and thrust it into the hole. Holding it in place with one hand, he steered for the dock with the other. The water still came in around the plug, but slowly; and with a sigh of relief, the lad at last ran the launch upon the beach beside the dock just as the water rippled up around the engine's base. As she grounded, the launch heeled over on the other side lifting the hole above the water, and Charley had a chance to examine it more closely. Its smooth, regular appearance and some chips adhering to the edge showed that it had been made by an augur, and a ball of waste floating around on the water showed that it had been plugged to stay closed until the pressure of swift moving through the water should force it out. There was no doubt in the lad's mind as to who had made it and he began to feel a certain respect for the resourcefulness of his enemies. It was a cunning scheme. If it had succeeded it would have accomplished its purpose. With no launch, he and his chums would have been forced to leave the island; for without one they could no longer have carried on their fishing.
Charley whittled out a smooth plug of soft white pine and drove it firmly into the hole. He cut off the plug flush with the planking, and flattening out a piece of tin from a can, nailed it over the spot to hold the plug firmly in place.
Chris brought dinner down to him and hesnatched a few mouthfuls and drank two cups of coffee while he worked.
By the time the job was finished and the launch bailed out, it was well along in the afternoon and the lad groaned as he realized that he must face another hard night's work without sleep.
"Massa Chas," said Chris, as they trudged up to the shack together, "I ain't bothered you-alls 'bout it before 'cause I seed you was all tired an' wore out, but I'ze dun got something to tell you."
Charley glanced sharply at the little negro's serious face.
"What is it?" he said, quietly.
"Massa Chas," said the little fellow, solemnly, "sho' as I is a living nigger, I seed dat ghost last night."
Thelittle darkey's face was so serious that Charley could not doubt that he had seen, or imagined he had seen, something out of the common. He was so long familiar with Chris' superstitious fears that, ordinarily, he would have scoffed at them, but now, he remembered the shooting the previous day and the mystery surrounding the disappearance of the unseen marksman.
"Tell me just what you saw, Chris," he said, quietly.
"Hit was soon arter sundown," began the little negro. "I had dun got de dishes washed up an' was fixin' to go to bed when I 'lowed that a little swim in de gulf would make me sleep a sight better. So I starts down for de beach. I ain't more den thirty feet away when I seed hit atween me an' de water. Hit was walking back an' forth, back an' forth, wid hits face turned all de time to de water. Hit was white, all white, Massa Chas."
"What did you do?" questioned Charley, as the little negro paused, shivering at the recollection.
"I don't know 'zackly, but I reckon I let out a yell an' shut my eyes to hide out dat awful sight. Den I remembers dat charm an' I grabs for hit, saying some conjurer words daddy taught me. Dat sho's am a powerful charm, Massa Chas. Hit sho' am powerful."
"Go on," said Charley, impatiently.
"Dat charm sho' did de work, for when I opened my eyes dat ghost was gone. Jes' dun melted into de air. Soon as my laigs quit shakin' so dat I could walk I makes for de cabin an' bars up de door an' windows tight. Dat's all I guess 'sept dat hit was a powerful long time afore I could get to sleep an' I keeps awishin' for you-alls."
"How long did you keep your eyes closed?" Charley questioned.
"Hit seemed like a year but I reckon hit wasn't no more dan a minute."
Charley arose, wearily. "Show me the spot where you saw it," he directed.
The little negro lad led the way without hesitation. When about twenty feet from the water's edge, he stopped. "Hit was right hyar," he declared.
Charley bent down and examined the sand carefully. A glance assured him that Chris' story had some basis in facts for numerous footprints were impressed upon the firm, white sand. He studied them with eager interest. They were not fishermen'stracks, or those of his companions, for the fishermen all wore big, heavy boots, and he and his chums were shod in rough, broad-toed, working shoes, while the tracks indicated a small shoe—possibly a number seven—and their shape suggested expensive footwear.
"If I were a story book detective, Chris, I could tell from these tracks the age, size, and color of the one who wore them; his height, the color of his hair, and what he ate for breakfast; but, as I am only a common, every-day mortal, all I can make out of them is that your ghost was a man, and a pretty heavy one, too, judging from the way his feet sank into this hard sand; see, our shoes hardly make an impression. If his clothes matched his shoes, he must have been well dressed. I should say that he wasn't very old either for here is where he jumped at least five feet. That must have been when you worked your charm or rabbit's foot on him."
"I say hit was a ghost," persisted Chris, stubbornly. "Hit was white, all white, an' hit vanished jes' like that."
"And here's where it vanished," said Charley, following a line of the footprints to where they led up into the fringe of palms. "He might as well have vanished, though, for we cannot track him in this hard ground; so we may as well go back to the cabin. Hereafter, Chris, just as soonas it comes dark, go into the cabin and bar the door and nothing will hurt you. The charm will guard you from any stray ghosts and the bars and rifle will keep anything else out."
"Dat's all right, Massa Chas," said the little negro, bravely. "I ain't scared much ob de ghost now, I'ze seed how dat charm works. An' golly! I reckon dat ghost is de only thing dis nigger ever was scared of."
Vain as was this boast, Charley knew it was true. He had seen the plucky little negro in many dangers and had never known him to show a sign of fear except at the unknown which excited all the superstitious fears of his race.
It still lacked an hour to time to go fishing and Charley lay down on his couch but he could not sleep. He lay quiet, puzzling over Chris' experience. Coupled with the mysterious shots of the day before, it made a problem that defied all his attempts at solution. "Who could the unseen one be? Certainly not one of the fishermen, the tracks proved that. Chris' oft-repeated declaration that the ghost was all in white suggested that it might be a tourist. Tourists often dressed in white duck or linen in the tropics, while thinner-blooded natives always wore warmer clothing at this season of the year. But what would any tourist want on the island, and above all, why remain hidden. After all, the mysterious one was friendly to them so whyworry about the matter? But was he friendly? Might not those mysterious shots have been aimed at them as well as the fishermen?" And then a startling thought occurred to the lad. "Might not it be an escaped lunatic?" That would explain the queer actions for which he could find no other logical reason. The thought was most distasteful. A lunatic at large on the island, and armed with a deadly weapon was more to be feared than all the hostile fishermen. With an effort, Charley shook off his gloomy speculations and rising, proceeded to don his fishing clothes. He was dead tired and would gladly have staid in this night but he felt that he must not hold back. They must fish every night while the weather was fine and they could get out. There would be stormy nights when they could not get out and they must work their best to make up for their lack of experience.
When he was fully dressed, he aroused his companions. They were still stiff and sore from the unaccustomed labor and their hands were swollen and painful from the many pricks they had received, but their long sleep had refreshed them and they attacked with ravenous appetites the hearty supper Chris had cooked.
"I am going in the opposite direction to-night," Charley announced, as they took their places in the launch and started out. "I got a wireless message to-day telling me that there is a big bunch offish to the north of us. It's a fact," he replied, in answer to his companion's questioning looks. "All day there has been a big flock of pelicans hovering over the water in that direction. They often follow up large bunches of fish to pick up the ones wounded by sharks."
They had run but a little way when he gave the order to cast anchor. "I think we have gone far enough," he said. "It is easier to find a big school at night than in the day time and I do not wish to run by them in the launch. Somehow, I've got a hunch that we are going to strike a big bunch, from the space those pelicans were spread out over the water."
His suppressed excitement communicated itself to his companions and they fidgeted about, impatient for dark to come.
It came at last and they lost no time in getting away from the launch.
For perhaps a mile they rowed on in silence, then Charley ceased rowing and thrust an oar down deep into the water. He viewed the result with dissatisfaction. "For some reason the water does not fire to-night," he announced. "It happens that way very often. I am sorry for we'll have to fish by sound, and that is much more difficult. Now whenever I stop rowing both of you stop also. That will give me a better chance to listen."
Resuming his oars, he continued his cautious advance, pausing every little while and straining his ears for the faintest sound from the water.
At last, he stopped suddenly. His quick ear had caught the sound for which he had been waiting.
"Listen!" he cried, excitedly.
From far ahead came a faint rippling murmur frequently broken by soft pats upon the water.
"That's the school," he declared, eagerly. "It's a big one and they are working this way. All we have to do is to hold our boats in position and wait. They are coming straight for us."
"If those are mullet, they don't sound as though they amounted to much," said Captain Westfield, doubtfully. "I've heard mullet jump when they made a splash like you'd thrown an anchor overboard."
"Mullet working that fashion, you never want to run," Charley explained. "Fishermen have a saying: 'Never fish jumping mullet.' When mullet are schooled up they do not jump high because of injuring others in their fall. That patting sound you hear is the flipping of their tails above water."
Keyed up to the highest pitch our three fishermen waited the coming of the steadily advancing multitude.
"Pass me the end of your net, Captain," Charleyat last directed, in a voice that trembled with excitement.
All ready with oars dipped he waited, waited until even in the darkness Walter could see the advancing school coming, bearing a tiny wave before them. Nearer crept the wave, fifty feet, thirty feet, twenty feet, then—"Go!" Charley shouted, and the boats, driven by the strength of excitement, leaped in amongst the frightened school. Around them the water boiled and foamed with the frightened fish. They struck the sides of the skiffs like hailstones on a tin roof. They battered against the dipped oars making them vibrate like an electric current.
Charley held on his course as long as he dared before giving the signal to close up. When they came together, the end of his net barely crossed over Walter's.
"I came near losing them all by being too greedy," he panted. "A few feet more and my net would not have reached you and they would have poured out of the gap like quicksilver. Well, I guess we've got enough for our breakfast, all right."
"How many do you think we've got?" Walter questioned, eagerly.
"Wait and see," Charley laughed. "Come on and let's get drummed up good and start picking up as quick as we can. I fancy we've got plenty of work ahead of us."
The drumming finished, they rowed back to the ends of their nets. Walter leaned over and dragged his aboard, then gave a shout of delight. "They are sticking in it like pins in a pin cushion," he shouted.
"Same here," agreed Charley, happily, "and I guess, the captain is in the same fix."
In a few minutes their boats had drifted apart and put a bar to further conversation, but Walter grinned as there floated over the water Charley's voice singing all the songs he knew, and the captain's whistle going over and over the one and only tune he knew, "The Sailor's Hornpipe." Evidently things were coming well with them.
For himself, he labored steadily and happily on for every yard of net pulled aboard yielded up at least a dozen silvery captives. Time flew with flying footsteps and when, at last, he straightened up to get a drink of water from his jug, he was surprised to see a gray light stealing over the waters. Day was breaking and the night had passed away. He could see Charley and the captain, plainly. Charley's net was all aboard and he was helping the old sailor with his. Both their skiffs lay dangerously low in the water. He glanced down at his own boat. Her gunwales were nearly level with the water under the weight of the fish in her, and he had still a hundred yards of net to pick up.
Walterhad still some seventy-five yards of his net in the water, when Charley, having finished with the captain, ran the launch down alongside of him. "Throw part of your fish in here and then just pull the rest of your net aboard," he directed. "Don't stop to pick out the fish. I'll do that on the way home. We've got to hustle and get those fish over to Clearwater. It is getting late and it will only take a short time longer to spoil them. Some have been out of water nearly all night."
He and Walter changed places, and while Charley picked out the fish with nimble, skilful fingers, his chum started up the engine and headed the launch back for camp. The sun was well up when they reached it, and pausing only to empty the fish from the skiffs into the launch, the launch was headed across for Clearwater, leaving behind the three skiffs, and the captain to help Chris pull out the nets.
"I wish I could let you stay behind and rest up," Charley told his chum, "but I have to have someone to stay in the launch while I go up to the fishhouse," and he told his experience of the day before which up to now he had not had the opportunity to relate. Walter was indignant over the underhanded trick and was frankly puzzled by the account of Chris' ghost.
"It is certainly queer how we fall into difficulties in everything we undertake," he said. "Now, we have only been here a few days and already we are involved in a smuggling case, have had trouble with a gang of fishermen, and are tangled up in a ghost mystery. It does beat all how we always seem to get into trouble."
"We have always been lucky in getting out of it," Charley reminded him.
"Yes, but you know the old saying that 'the pitcher that goes often to the well is sure to get broken.'"
"But the pitcher that does not go, gets no water," grinned Charley. "The facts are that we all want to be making big money in a short time and the big money lies in dangerous and unusual pursuits. If we stuck to the slow, well-beaten pursuits, we would have no more troubles than anyone else, I dare say."
"Well, I am beginning to get wearied with too many adventures," Walter confessed. "If we pull out of this fishing business with a good sum to our credit, I'm going to hunt for some quiet pursuit like raising chickens or tending sheep."
"We've got two months of the fishing season yet," remarked his chum, thoughtfully, "then comes the closed season when the law does not permit anyone to fish. Well, if we have good luck, we may make a fair bit in two months. Of course, we cannot expect many catches like last night's but we ought to make something right along if we work hard."
Further conversation was ended by their arrival at the dock. Several fishermen were lounging on the pier and they crawled to the edge looking down with envious eyes at the launch's load. Among them, Charley noted Hunter's sallow, sneering face. He paused only to make the launch fast then hurried up for the fish house.
Walter lay back on a seat and rested while he waited the arrival of the wagons. The fishermen, after a few idle questions as to where the catch had been made, and which way the fish had been working, gradually drifted away to their various duties, most of them heading for shore to work upon their nets and boats, but Hunter and a couple of companions disappeared in one of the shanties on the other side of the dock. "So that's where the rat lives," Walter reflected. "He would have a good chance to take a pot shot at me from there if he dared but he wouldn't try anything so raw as that. I don't believe he would take such a risk in broad daylight with so many around." Thelad's meditations were interrupted by the arrival of the first wagon from the fish house. He helped to load it and as soon as it was gone settled back to his resting. As he lay back with every muscle gratefully relaxed, his quick ear caught a peculiar sound. On his guard from Charley's experience of the day before, he raised up and looked carefully around. The sound was easy to locate. It came from the shanty Hunter had entered. He could see something dripping down in large drops from the slat-like floor. "They have got a leaky water pail or something of the kind," he guessed, then, as a peculiar smell was wafted to his nostrils, he lay back again with a grin. "Their gasoline can has sprung a leak," he decided. "The gas is all running out. If it was anyone else but Hunter, I'd call and tell him about it, but as it is his, it can all leak away for all I care," and he lay back and listened with a certain satisfaction to the steady drip of the escaping fluid.
Half dozing he heard footsteps in the shack and a moment later the scratch of a match. The next instant he was on his feet, his heart beating wildly. It had happened like a flash of lightning. All around the launch the water was aflame. Fool that he had been. He had been caught by a trick simple but cunning. That film of oil on the water had only needed a dropped match to set it aflame.
For a moment he stood helpless, bewildered bythe sudden catastrophe. The oil had drifted all around the launch and she was in the center of a sheet of flame. Already he could smell the blistering paint on her hull, and the heat smote him in the face like a fiery blast.
Only for a moment he stood thus paralyzed. Then his wits, accustomed to work quickly in emergencies, swept back. With a leap, he gained the bow and with his sheath-knife severed the rope which held the launch to the dock. Springing back to the engine, he shoved on the switch and flung the fly wheel over. Instantly the motor began to throb and the threatened launch backed slowly out of the sheet of flame. Safe outside the danger zone, Walter shut off the engine and with his cap beat out the patches of flame that clung to the launch's sides. Then he leaned over and grimly inspected his craft. Ten minutes before she had been a dainty thing in her coat of white, now she looked like an ancient wreck with her scorched and smoke-grimed sides on which the melted paint hung in ugly, dropsical blisters. The worst of it was there was no redress for the damages done her. So cunning was the scheme that it bore all the semblance of an accident, though the wrathful lad knew it was anything but that. He could imagine scoundrels chuckling to themselves in the closed shack and his blood boiled in his veins. How we would like to repay them for the fright and damage.He sat down for a moment and strove to gain control of his temper for he realized that an outburst on his part would do no good and might make more trouble. As soon as he calmed down a bit, he started up the engine and worked the launch back to the dock.
A wagon was waiting and its driver looked down in amazement at the sadly-altered launch. "What happened to you?" he questioned.
"Some gasoline and a match," Walter replied, carelessly. "No damage done beyond some scorched paint. Please report it to Mr. Daniels and tell him we will repaint her as soon as there comes a spell of bad weather when we cannot fish."
The driver departed with his load satisfied with the explanation for accidents were common amongst the fishing fleet.
In half an hour longer the last of the fish had been carted away and Charley came hustling down with a beaming face, which fell as he caught sight of the launch. He asked no questions, however, but jumped aboard and shoved off. Once under way Walter enlightened him.
"Those fellows are clever in their meanness," said Charley, with grudging admiration. "One would not think from Hunter's looks that he had much brains. We have certainly got to be on our guard every minute. That's twice in two dayshe has nearly put us out of business without exposing himself."
"I wish we could get even with him," declared Walter, wrathfully.
Charley grinned. "In a way we are even with him already. There must be five hundred dollars' worth of liquor in that cache and he dare not touch a bottle of it as long as we are on the island. Seriously though, I would give a good deal to catch him in such a way that we could have the law on him. Until we do, we will have to be watchful and avoid open trouble. He is pretty sure to make a slip sooner or later. The cleverest of rascals do, and then will be our chance if he does not get us first. I am beginning to understand why the rest of the fishermen stand in such fear of incurring his enmity. There is the captain and Chris waiting for us on the dock. I wonder what's the matter. They ought to have been through their work and the captain asleep long ago."
By this time, they had drawn near to the little pier and could plainly see the little negro and the old sailor pacing about in evident excitement. In a few more minutes, the launch glided in alongside the dock and the cause of the excitement became apparent. The two were standing by a heap of broken splintered planks that had once been their extra skiff.
"What does this mean?" demanded Charley, in deepest discouragement.
"I dunno, Massa Chas," replied the grieved little negro, "but I s'pect hit's some ob dat white trash's doings. Late last night I hears a boat acoming. First off I thought hit was you-alls, but pretty soon I 'lowed it wasn't 'cause de engine didn't sound like yourn. Hit stopped at de dock an' I gets to a crack an' peeps out. Pretty soon hyar comes four fellows astealing up de path. I up an' hails 'em an' dey stops short. I guess dey had reckoned dat dar was no one hyar 'cause ob de launch being gone. I shoots off de rifle an' dey took to der heels. Pretty soon I hears a breaking noise down by de dock an' den de put-put ob der boat, as dey puts off. An' dis mornin' I finds de skiff jes' disaway."
"And that ain't all," broke in Captain Westfield, pointing over to where their extra net lay on its rack of poles.
The boys gave a gasp of dismay. The new unused net was a mass of hanging strips. It had been literally cut and hacked to pieces.
"This sort of thing has got to stop," declared Charley, white with rage. "Our catch last night came to a hundred and fifty dollars but it will cost forty-five dollars to replace that skiff, fifty dollars to replace that net, and at least twenty dollars to repair the launch, and all that damage has beendone in a few hours. Goodness knows what they will do to us next. Things cannot go on this way any longer."
His companions looked at him questioningly but he shook his head disparagingly. "I haven't a ghost of an idea what to do," he admitted, gloomily. "Maybe a little sleep will clear my head and bring some plan. I'm going up and turn in."
He staggered drunkenly as he made his way up to the cabin. He was utterly exhausted, nerve and body. Once inside, he flung himself upon his couch and was instantly asleep.
Chris tried to arouse him for dinner but it was like trying to awaken one, dead. Nature was claiming her due.