CHAPTER XICaptured
WHEN John came to, he fully expected to find himself held prisoner by none other than Mr. Nevens himself. His surprise was the more intense, as he shook his aching head and sat up, to find that he was still in a fog; and it was not a mental one either. All about him was dark damp fog. He had escaped from their pursuers? Yes, for there were no sounds save the rustling of trees in the blackness. He started, all of a sudden, shocked by the discovery that he had lost his bow and quiver of arrows!
Knowing that they were his only weapon except his wits in the present dilemma, he tried hard to think of what had happened to them. He knew that he’d left the yacht with them, stepping ashore from theStaghoundwith them under one arm. He’d have to find them, and soon! Then he had a flash of remembrance that, as Stan shouted forthem to run, he’d felt his bow and arrows yanked from his grip as he dashed through the bushes. If some one of the pursuing men had grabbed them, that party might be waiting now for him to go back to search for them. He had to chance that likelihood.
So he went back as near as he could guess to the spot from which the chase had begun, wondering as he did so about a lot of things. Where was Stan? What was Mr. Sandborn doing? He had retraced his steps as best he could and was searching about among the bushes, as quietly as possible, when he ran into something which struck him in the chest! It felt like the end of a gun barrel, and John Tallman thought that the worst had happened!
But no challenge came with that touch, and gently he slid one hand to the object. A little cry of joy escaped his lips as he recognized his bow’s end! It was caught in a bush, and the catching of the string had simulated a yank at the time he’d run. He released it, and found on the ground the quiver with the arrows. Grateful for his good luck, he listened, hearing footsteps approaching.
Then came voices, men’s voices.
“Where do you s’pose that other kid got to, Dago?” some one was asking.
Dago’s reply was mingled with profanity as the men came down a path and passed by the spot where John was crouching, ears straining for every word. As the men went on, the lad arose and followed them, stepping softly and listening to a great many interesting things.
“Well, we got the other kid, anyhow, Dago.”
“Yeh, and we’ll get-a the dark-haired one, too, before the night’s over. Nevada’s sure glad!”
“Gallagher didn’t seem so happy, somehow, Dago,” said a voice.
Dago swore.
“Gallagher ain’t——”
“Ain’t what, Dago?”
“Youse guys ull tell Nevada if I tells ya what I thinks, so I’m keeping mum.”
“Trouble with you, Dago, is, you ain’t a good loser!” chuckled the first man. “He licked you with the rods, licked you with his fists, and his brain’s just ’bout eight times your size brain, stupid!”
“What’s the use of hanging round here all night, Dago,” some one else wanted to know. “We can’t see the other kid in the dark. We ain’t cats, ya know!”
“Well, if them kids is here, they got-a boat, ain’t they? And if they got-a boat, we’ll find it to-morrow, by thunder. I knows her when I sees her. Black she is, with one of them ‘gaff’ rigs.”
“I hear you left your gloves on her last time, Dago!” chaffed the first speaker.
“I hears you ain’t gonna be healthy long, if you keep-a yapping at me, Butch!” growled Dago.
John Tallman was so interested in what was being said that he came within an inch of colliding with the last man of the bunch as they slowed up and stopped. Some sixth sense warned him, and he stopped and listened. He heard bushes rustling, something metallic clanking softly, and then came a noise of men on wooden steps! In a moment the party had disappeared, leaving John Tallman, puzzled and annoyed, standing in the fog alone.
His back running gooseflesh, he pressed slowly and carefully forward, and touched—a door! Investigation with careful finger tips proved it to be a small oblong door of metal without any handle or latch. That it went into an underground tunnel he knew, for the steps had sounded “down,” not up, and besides, as John guessed, the island was a maze of secret passages. How near to the cabin they were, in fact in which direction they had been moving, he had no idea. But he had to find out, because until something turned up, he’d have to follow every clue to find Stanley and try to rescue him.
What lay beyond that door? And how could he get it open? He had no answer to either question, but he had to find some way to get in and discover for himself the answer to the first. Again he ran his fingers over the door, particularly on the side away from the hinges; then he tried pressing in that area and was abruptly rewarded by feeling a tiny square of metal go in under his fingers, and at once the door swung inward!
Darkness as dark as the outside still was there before his eyes, and he stepped forward gingerly.Down several wooden steps he felt his way, stumbled into the wall, and found that the passage now went sharply away to the right. He went along, guiding himself by one hand against a wall, feeling for each of the upright timbers supporting the walls and roof of the tunnel. The air was close and damp, and smelled strongly of sour earth.
How far he went in this manner he was not sure, possibly about one hundred yards without an apparent turn in the tunnel, and then it swung left sharply and went downhill to a slight rate of drop. Faint light showed far ahead, though the distance could not have been above fifty yards further, ending in another curve. There were side aisles now to be dimly seen due to the vague reflection of the lights, and this was extremely fortunate for John Tallman, for he heard footsteps and had barely time to retreat to a side aisle and set an arrow to the notch, when the men approached.
“The kid will be all right with Gagnon,” said Dago, passing down the main tunnel.
“Yeh, he’s that nervous he’d choke the kid if the guy lets a peep out of him!”
“And ain’t that just about what Nevada wants?”
“Just about. Only he aims to have this Gallagher guy take care of the rub-out!”
“I still don’t-a like the looks of Gallagher,” Dago said. “Nevada’s a fool-a to be taken in by the guy. How do we know he ain’t a Fed in disguise?”
A burst of raucous laughter resounded down the tunnel at that, and Butch roared, “You been readin’ these G-man mags, Dago, old rat!”
“I been readin’ about-a that Hogan case, you mean. They say they was a G-man what was a spy fer one of the gangs!”
“Worked right in with them, Dago?”
“Right-hand man!”
There was silence as they hurried away; then some one grunted, “Something to think about, anyhow; eh?”
But John Tallman had heard enough to make his hopes rise as well as fall. He knew that Gallagher was probably Mr. Sandborn and that he was in grave danger because these men would stop at little to discover his real identity, and hefelt elated, because what had been said must mean that Stanley Sandborn was not far distant!
Excited, he shoved off towards the lights again, hurrying along now that he could see, ready to dart into a side aisle at the first need.
He rounded a bend in the tunnel faster than he planned and was through a door and into a small room before he realized what had happened! Therehewas and there was—Stanley, with a youngish mobster! Stan was tied with his hands behind him, and the gangster had a drawn automatic on a convenient table. The man, probably the Gagnon Dago had mentioned, went for the gun, but John had an arrow drawn back to the tip!
“Leave it alone!” ordered John, aiming for the man’s right arm.
But the hand was streaking for that gun and did not stop. His fingers closed over the weapon and he was drawing it back when the arrow twanged home! With a startled outcry of pain the man dropped the weapon, and grabbed for his arm with his left hand.
The arrow had punctured one of the muscles,and John covered the man with another arrow as Gagnon pulled the first one free of the wound. Being a muscle wound and the arrow having missed any arteries or veins, it hardly bled any, but was painful. The man turned a white face, almost chalklike, towards the youth.
“Give me your knife, and fast!” ordered John.
The man reached awkwardly for his pocket and drew out a knife. He opened it on order, wincing from the pain of his wounded arm, and cut Stanley’s ropes.
Stan’s bows and arrows were standing in the corner of that room and the G-man’s son, rubbing his arms quickly to restore the circulation, was shortly standing with drawn bow beside John.
“Tie him up, John, while I cover his face with this hunting arrow!”
Now, like most other young men, especially of his type, Gagnon was particularly anxious to keep his good looks, and the sight of that steel point robbed him of any desire to resist the ropes with which John now tied his wrists. And Gagnon was thinking fast. He voiced his thought in a moment.
“Listen, fellows,” said he, trembling, “I can’t let Dago and the others find me like this!”
“Why not?” asked John, scornfully.
The man shivered, and his face seemed even whiter.
“They would think I released you and then let you tie me because I wanted you to get away!”
“You’d be on a spot, then; eh, Mr.—Gagnon!”
“How’d you know my name?”
“Had an idea,” admitted John, withholding the source of that information.
“They’d kill me, boys!” cried the excited and scared gangster.
About that time Dago and his men had emerged from the tunnel and followed a path in the fog to the boat-shed. There they were received in the lighted interior by Nevada and Gallagher.
“We got the yellow-haired kid safely enough. We took him to the ‘waiting room’ and left him with Gagnon. And——”
“Is he there now?” demanded Nevada, sharply.
“Sure. We looked for the other kid and couldn’t find him, and then went back to see that Gagnon and the kid was o.k.”
“Gallagher, I guess you can take over the job now. The other kid must be on the Island somewheres. They probably landed from that black sloop of theirs. We’ll have the Island circled from daybreak by our runabouts and nab that boat wherever it is. In the meantime we’ll get the dark-haired Tallman kid. You do what you think best with the Sandborn kid. You kin get rid of him now or——”
“I’ll rub ’em both out to onc’t, Cowboy!” said Gallagher, wiping his lips with his dry tongue. “It’s like drowning kittens, ya know. I’ll take ’em both to onc’t, like I said!”
“Get going, then.”
Sullenly Dago led the new trigger-man up the path to the tunnel entrance. Mr. Sandborn knew that this tunnel ended in the “waiting room,” where a party of heavily armed mobsters could wait in safety till such time as their presence was needed to counter attack any gang circling the main system of tunnels about the cabin. In time, Nevada planned to have tunnel connections from the cabin to the waiting room, but in the meantime it was isolated. The G-man was not undulynervous at what lay ahead, for he had no intention of course of letting harm come to either John or his own son, Stanley. He only hoped now that Stan would not give away the G-man’s identity by any unexpected outburst of emotion.
“The kid’s pretty scared, Gallagher,” Dago said. “I don’t-a envy you none!”
“Probably ain’t half as scared as you are of him, Dago!” chuckled Gallagher.
Butch roared at that.
“The kid’s o.k., Gallagher. It’s Dago what’s scared like a hen on a railway crossing! Arrows ain’t so hot, be they, Dago?”
“Here we are,” said Dago, displaying a flashlight now which illuminated the door while he opened it to the passage. They went down and along the way to the room. The lights at the other end glimmered round the corner. There was a rustle in a side aisle!
“What was that?” demanded Dago.
Butch roared again.
“Them kids with their little bows and arrows, probably!” cried Butch, hugging himself with amusement, “Run, Dago, run!”
Beefy faced and purple with anger, Dago put back his weapon, and they went on to the room, rounding the corner and going through the door.
“Suffering tripe!” cried Dago.
“Wow!” bellowed Butch.
Mr. Sandborn smiled.
“Gone!” said he, quietly.
“Gone?” demanded Dago as if he doubted his own eyes. “Gone? How? Where? What about Gagnon?”