He made his way down the stairs, which creaked loudly under his feet, and got as far as the front door. This he could not open, but a full length window on the other side was much easier. After raising the window, he threw one leg over the sill, which was about a foot high. Suddenly a thin old voice shrilled out from upstairs.
“Who is it? Who is it?”
Don knew that it was the old woman, and so he lost no time in getting away. He found that he was lost in the intense blackness of the night, and was almost as hopelessly mixed up as he had been in the dark cellar. But he had a general idea of the direction of the cove, and he made his way in that direction rapidly.
It took him longer to get there than it had taken him to get to the house earlier in the day, but when he did get there he found he was doomed to disappointment. The dinghy was gone, and there was no sign of the men. Thinking that they might have gone somewhere along the shore he followed it, puzzled by another circumstance. TheLassiewas nowhere to be seen. But that in itself was not hopeless, for he thought that Jim might have moved it purposely.
Continuing on around the shore he was in time to witness the battle aboard the sloop. He saw it all, from the appearance of Terry to the victory for his side. He exulted gleefully, mourning the fact that he could not be in on it, but he dared not swim out, for the distance was great and it was possible that they might weigh anchor and sail, leaving him to swim back to shore.
He missed the scene of the escape and the chase because of the darkness. He would not have seen the fight, except that vivid light poured up from the companionway of theLassie. Realizing that he must stay there until morning, he sat down in the wet undergrowth to wait.
But when the storm came up he was forced to go back to the old house. He knew that he must find some kind of shelter, and so he followed the beach around to the cove and went back over the trail to the house. The place was absolutely black, without a light of any sort, but fearing a trap, he took refuge in a well-built henhouse until morning.
It was a long, dreary night, and he was glad to see the gray dawn. He watched the house for a full hour, and at last, convinced that there was no one around the place, he boldly entered the back door and roamed around. No one was in the place, and only one bed had been occupied, that of the old woman. They had fled somewhere during the storm and had taken her with them.
It was as he was coming down the front stairs that he heard two men tramp up on the front porch. Quickly he slipped in back of the clock and waited. In another moment the door was kicked off its hinges and the two entered. Don listened intently, and then, to his joy, he discovered that one of them was Terry.
To Terry’s statement that he had seen the clock move the captain was prepared to give a contemptuous snort, but as he looked he too saw it move and then open wide. A moment later and Don Mercer was bounding down the stairs and thumping Terry on the back.
“Chucklehead, you character,” Don cried. “I sure am glad to see you!”
“Don’t say a word,” replied his chum, fairly dancing around in his joy. “We’re more than glad to see you, even if you did come out of a clock!”
“A little story which might be entitled ‘Once upon a time!’ eh?” grinned Don.
Terry frowned. “You must have been treated horribly here, to spring such a bad pun as that one. Don, I want you to know Captain Blow, who saved the sloop from capture.”
Don and the captain shook hands warmly. “Glad to meet you, young fellow,” the captain said. “We was prepared to rip up this island to find you.”
“You certainly took the gates of the mansion off in great style,” Don nodded. “I’m very happy to know you, captain. I appreciate what you have done.”
“It’s nothing,” declared the captain, waving his hand. “Anybody in this place?”
They went through the house from top to bottom and Don showed them the storage room. But now there remained but a few of the smaller articles, everything else had been carted off.
“After we chased them off last night they must have loaded their stuff into a boat and run off with it,” remarked the captain. “But what I want to know is what kind of a boat have those fellows got? Must have some kind of a power cruiser that runs up here close to the house by way of a creek.”
A little later on, they found that this was so. While looking over the cellar which Don had not seen at all, owing to the darkness, they found at one end a door which led directly out into a thicket. Through the midst of this thicket was a path, and soon they came across a narrow creek, in which lay their own dinghy.
“Sure,” nodded the captain. “They run their boat up here and kept out of sight. Last night they loaded that stuff and slipped away.”
Don and Terry rowed out in the dinghy, while the captain went around to the cove for the dory. Soon the captain caught up to them under power and they arrived at theLassieat the same time. Jim was overjoyed to see his brother safe and sound, and they all united in thanking the old captain.
“Avast there, stow that stuff!” he protested. “Nothing to thank me for. I never liked the looks of that crew, and I always felt that they had no business on my island. I’ve lived there for twenty years. Now, it’s time we got down to business. We’ve got to get over to Stillwell at once.”
“What for?” asked Don.
“We must make a report to the authorities about these fellows and have that house taken over. Start your engine running. It won’t take us long.”
They started the engine and headed the sloop across the gray water toward the town of Stillwell. Don was starved, of course, and Jim, as soon as his duties permitted, made him a hearty meal. The captain insisted upon taking the tiller and in a few hours they were gliding in beside the long dock at the town. Jim stood at the bow while Don slowly throttled the engine down, and when the bow was close to the dock he leaped ashore, snubbed the rope around a post, and then pushed the bow off with one foot, so as not to allow it to scrape. TheLassiecame to a halt, riding quietly up and down.
Stillwell was a town of some importance, and they wasted no time in laying their case before the harbor authorities. The chief was much interested and listened eagerly to their story. When Don had finished the chief pushed a button on his desk.
A man in uniform entered briskly and saluted. The chief directed him to proceed to Mystery Island at once and take possession of the old house there. After the man had gone the chief turned to the boys and the captain again.
“It is always possible that they might go back there for something, and if they do we’ll be able to lay hands on them. But frankly, I’m afraid that they have gone. There is a heavy reward out for them, and I’m rather sorry you weren’t able to hold onto them. But you have done well as it is. I promise you that we’ll bend every effort to catch those fellows and put them behind bars.”
After this interview the boys walked around Stillwell, where they were pretty well known, and made a few purchases. The captain had refused to join them, and when they went back to the sloop they found him sitting on the cabin of theLassiecalmly smoking his pipe, his broad back against the sail.
“What you been doing, captain?” hailed Terry.
“Thinking,” replied the captain. “How’d you fellows like to go in for a beach party tonight?”
“A what?” asked Jim.
“Beach party. Long’s there isn’t anybody on the island now except me, what do you say we go back, build a fire on the sand, eat out there, and if you are agreeable, I’ll spin a yarn or two. What say?”
“I say yes,” voted Don, quickly.
“I second that yes,” cried Jim, and Terry nodded.
The captain got up. “That’s fine. Let’s get back; that parrot of mine’ll think I’m dead or something. There’s a fair breeze, so let’s see you sail back.”
While the captain held the tiller the boys ran up the sails, and soon the sloop was heeling over under a cracking load of sails. The canvas curved out under the force of the breeze until it looked to Terry as though they must burst, but the Mercers and Captain Blow did not seem to mind it in the least. It took them about two hours, and just as the feeble sun was going down they ran past the cove on the island and rounded the point that sheltered the captain’s little bit of land.
The sloop was anchored and they went ashore in the dory. After they had beached the dory the captain led the way to the door of the shack and, after winking at the boys, suddenly began to rap on the door.
Instantly a medley of groans and sobs sounded from the inside of the shack. Jim, remembering the captain’s words when they left the shack, grinned, but the others looked startled. The captain laughed heartily.
“Ahoy, Bella!” he yelled.
The groaning and sobbing ceased abruptly and there was a moment of silence. Then the parrot cried out, “Open the door, open the door!”
The captain opened the door and they went in. The parrot, who had been sitting on top of the cold stove, flew to the captain’s shoulder and perched there.
“Quit that, you lubber,” the captain growled, as the parrot bit him lovingly on the ear. “Well, what about it, old girl? Any visitors?”
“Bella was a good girl!” the polly answered.
The captain hung his hat on a peg. “Well, now, I’m real glad to hear that. It don’t happen very often.” He turned to the boys. “Make yourselves at home, as much as you can in such a little place. I’ll get things together and we’ll tramp up the shore aways.”
The captain began to wrap up beans, fish, bread and butter in a large package. The boys looked over his fishing tackle and some models of sailing ships that he had carved out of wood.
“Where did you ever get this piece of wood, captain?” Jim asked, holding up a small dory carved out of red wood.
“Oh, I get most of my wood right here on the beach. The tide washes it up and I find it. I found that piece about three miles down the shore. Don’t even know what kind of wood it is, and it was tough to whittle.”
It was now beginning to get dark and the captain and the boys left the shack and started down the rough beach. The storm of the evening previous had littered it with driftwood, and they had to watch the sand before them as they walked. When they got to a point about a mile from the shack the captain stopped and placed his bundles on the sand. Terry and Don, who also carried bundles which the captain had given them, did likewise.
“Now,” said the captain, briskly. “We’re ready to go to work. Gather up a load of dry driftwood. Don’t bother with any of the stuff that came ashore last night, but get good stuff. Jim, you help me with the eats, while the boys get the wood.”
Getting the wood was no task, as the beach was covered with it. While Terry and Don gathered it the captain put beans in a pot, added water from a jug, and as soon as the fire was going, set them to boiling. On a second fire he started to broil fish. Soon the air was filled with the smell of good cooking.
The night was pitch dark and the fire, leaping up into the still air, made a pleasing picture. Far to the south a light flashed out across the water, and Don asked the captain about it.
“That’s the Needle Point Lighthouse,” the captain answered. “Run by a friend of mine, Timothy Tompkins. Rather queer old boy, but a good fellow, once you get to know him. We used to have a scheme that if anything went wrong at the lighthouse he would burn a red light and I would come over to help him, but I haven’t seen him for a year or more, and we never did have any use for that light.”
The captain dug a hole in the wet sand, made a fire of embers and then put the pot of beans on them. “Beans cooked like this are called bean hole beans,” he told them. “It works a lot better when you are out in the woods, though. Well, how’s that fish? We might as well start in.”
That meal was one of the most enjoyable meals the boys ever had. They settled themselves in the sand, listening to the beat of the waves on the beach, and ate the beans and fish with wholesome and hearty appetites. The fire blazed merrily upward toward the sky, and the sand hills back of them seemed to crouch down and ring them around.
When the meal was over the captain filled his pipe and began to tell them stories. He had had a wide career on the sea, and had visited many lands on many ships, so they enjoyed his stories immensely. Stories of storms and staunch old sailing ships, of mutiny on the high seas and the people of the southern seas, of the great old shipping days in Boston, and many others. The boys listened attentively and with respect to their friend as he told it all in his own, vivid way.
It was Don who first interrupted. He had been looking off across the sea and now he said, “I beg your pardon, Captain Blow, but wasn’t your friend to burn a red light if he needed you for anything?”
“Eh?” said the captain, coming abruptly out of a story. “Yes, he was. Why?”
“Because,” answered Don, pointing across the tumbling black waters, “there is some kind of a red light burning from a window in the lighthouse right now!”
The captain jumped to his feet with a startled exclamation and looked in the direction of the lighthouse. Sure enough, a red light was burning high up in a window near the top.
“Well, I’ll be darned!” the captain exclaimed. “It’s the light, sure enough. Let’s get over there and find out what is wrong.”
Leaving everything just as it was on the sand the boys and the captain ran down the beach until they came to the shack and there they piled in the dory. The captain started the engine and headed out to sea toward the south shore and the lighthouse.
“This Timothy is a pretty queer sort of a fellow,” Captain Blow explained, as the dory cut her way into the bobbing waves. “I think so much solitude in that lighthouse has been too much for him. Like as not we’ll find that it is nothing at all. I told him more than once that he ought to get over being so sort of nervous, but he just keeps on his merry way. ’Taint very merry, though. Timothy is just the opposite of merry, but he is a good lighthouse keeper.”
It took them more than a half hour to arrive at the black spur of rock which ran abruptly out into the water and which was named Needle Point. When they got there the captain ran his boat alongside the dock and tied it up securely. The beacon itself stood about a hundred yards away from the dock.
“Come on,” said the captain. “We’ll find out what’s wrong here.”
Led by their friend the boys approached the tall structure of stone and brick that rose high into the air above their heads. It was the first time that they had ever been close to a lighthouse. The base of the light was a regular house, they discovered, with several rooms in it, while the column tapered and became much smaller as it became higher. Just now Captain Blow was at the main front door, hammering with all his might.
“Open up, Timmy Tompkins!” he bellowed. “What in time’s the matter?”
There was no reply to his knock or his question, and after waiting for a moment the captain opened the door and looked in. After hesitating for a brief second he walked in and the boys followed him.
They found themselves in a large room, the central room of the lighthouse. In the center of the room stood a table, faced with a few chairs and an old sofa. The walls of the room, plainly whitewashed, were covered with one or two old prints, some framed official documents, and a large map. The room was in perfect order and the place empty of life. Off this room the party could see the other rooms: a kitchen, a bedroom, and what appeared to be a storeroom. Led by the captain they visited each room and looked around, without finding anything.
“He isn’t down here,” said the captain. “More than likely he’s up in the tower. You boys ever see a real lighthouse? Well, then come on. You’re going to see one now.”
On the other side of the room an iron ladder led to a trap door in the ceiling, and that door had been pushed open. The captain mounted the ladder and disappeared through the trap, closely followed by the boys. When they stepped through the trap door they found themselves in the shaft of the lighthouse.
It extended straight upward for many feet, a spiral staircase leading up to the room which housed the light itself. The whole shaft was brilliantly illuminated by electric lights spaced along the wall, giving a steady light to the spiral stairs. At intervals along the shaft narrow slits served for windows, through which, in the daytime, sunlight poured into the column. Taking in all these details briefly the boys followed their friend up and around the shaft, step by step, until they came to another trap door, through which they made their way, and so entered a small room.
It appeared to be the keeper’s chief room while on duty. Through it a heavy beam ran straight up to the lamp itself, which was in the room directly above. A metal shaft with a handle came into this room through the floor overhead, and the captain told them what it was.
“This is the room where Timmy stays when the light ain’t working any too well,” he said. “Sometimes the automatic machinery gets out of order and don’t turn the light, and then Timmy has got to sit up all night and work the thing by hand. Not the kind of a job to go looking for, unless you have to.”
“Here is where he placed the light, Captain Blow,” called out Don.
A narrow slit which served as a window had been cut in the east side of the tower and on that small window sill the keeper had placed the red lantern. They crowded around it and examined it with interest and curiosity. It was quite hot and there was no means of knowing how long it had been lighted.
“Got any idea of how long that lamp was there before you sang out?” the captain asked Don.
“Not a bit,” confessed the boy. “But I am sure it wasn’t long. I had glanced at the lighthouse several times during the beach party, in fact, I guess you all did, and it wasn’t there. It was while you were telling your South Sea Island story that I looked over this way and happened to see it burning here.”
“Mighty funny,” muttered the old seaman. “If Timmy isn’t up in the light, I can’t figure what could have happened to him.”
The lamp itself was in the small room above the one in which they were standing and they climbed the short length of iron ladder and entered the room. A terrific burst of heat smote them in the face, and their eyes smarted from the blinding light which beat upon them as the lamp automatically swung toward them. The lamp was a huge affair, of shining brass, polished to the last degree, inside of which a powerful light burned. The light turned away from and then toward a thick plate glass window, and each time it turned toward the window a long arm of brilliant light stabbed out across the tumbling sea.
“He isn’t up here,” the captain said. “Let’s get down and look for him below.”
The boys were glad to leave the heat and the unbearable light and in silence they walked down the spiral steps to the room below. Once there they halted in the main room and looked blankly at each other.
“He seems to be gone completely,” remarked Jim.
“Yes, and that’s bad,” nodded the captain. “Something out of the ordinary must have popped up, or he would never have left the light. That’s against the law, and Timmy knows it. But the funny part is this: he must have known that he was going, because he left a warning light. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Terry, slowly. “Don’t know whether there is anything in it, though.”
“What is it?” asked the captain.
“I was just wondering if the marine bandits had anything to do with it all. You see, they ran away during the storm, and we thought that they ran down the coast, but we don’t really know just where they did go. Maybe we’re just getting in the habit of blaming everything on those fellows, but I was just wondering.”
“Could be,” agreed the captain. “What is that?”
An urgent buzzing reached their ears, and they looked in perplexity around the room. The buzzes came in regular order, and after looking in a distant corner Jim gave a shout.
“It’s the lighthouse telephone,” he said. “The receiver is hanging off the hook.”
The captain went to the telephone which was a wall affair, and which was in a corner. Just as Jim had said, the receiver was hanging off the hook, dangling at the end of its cord. The captain picked it up and shouted into the mouthpiece.
“Hello! Who is this?”
An impatient voice reached him over the wire. “This is the night telephone operator, over in Maplebrook. What in the world is the matter with you people. Your receiver has been hanging off the hook for at least an hour, and I’ve been buzzing my head off. Don’t you know that makes a button on my board light up and a bell ring?”
“Sorry,” explained the captain. “This is Captain Blow, from Mystery Island, speaking. I came over here to answer a distress signal and I find the keeper has disappeared. The receiver’s been off the hook an hour, you say?”
“Yes, about that. I’ve got a special line here from the lighthouse, and earlier in the evening the button lighted up and the bell began to ring. I answered it, but didn’t get anything or hear anything. I thought somebody must have just knocked it off and forgot about it, so I’ve been buzzing every once in a while. You say Timothy is missing, eh?”
“Yup. Guess you’ll have to get the police on the wire and hustle ’em out here. Is there a lighthouse keeper anywhere around that can be sent out here?”
The voice on the other end of the wire hesitated for a second and then replied: “Yes, the retired keeper lives here, and I can get ahold of him. Guess I better get him on the job until Timothy is located, eh?”
“Sure thing,” the captain concluded. “And get the police out here on the jump, will you, bub?”
The night operator agreed to do so at once, and the captain hung up the receiver. He explained the situation to the boys and then proposed that they look further.
“I don’t think he is anywhere around,” he said. “But we’ll look all over the place. No use in missing anything. All I hope is that he hasn’t met with any foul play. I’m going to look through these rooms again. Suppose you fellows look around the grounds, only don’t go too far away.”
The boys went out of the door as the captain once more looked through the rooms of the station. Jim and Don walked out to a shed in the back of the lighthouse grounds and Terry walked away alone, toward the end of the rock upon which the lighthouse stood. He was soon lost in the darkness and Don and Jim forgot him in their interest.
A single shed, in which they found a rowboat and some canvas and rope, was at the back of the lighthouse and the boys made a thorough search of the place, but found no clue. They followed the spur of rock back toward the mainland until they came to low and marshy ground. Then, remembering the captain’s warning, they walked back toward the lighthouse, skirted it and walked out on the point of rock where it ended abruptly in the ocean.
Several minutes later the captain, standing in the middle of the floor of the bedroom, heard them enter. Don poked an anxious head in the doorway.
“Say, Captain Blow,” he said. “Isn’t Terry in here?”
“No,” answered the captain. “He’s outside somewhere.”
But Don shook his head. “He isn’t. We just went over the whole point, and he isn’t around. I’m afraid Terry has disappeared, too!”
Upon leaving the two boys Terry wandered down a path that led to the other side of the narrow strip of dirt and rock which formed the needle-like point. He had no definite object in mind other than a hazy idea that each foot of the place must be gone over in the search for clues. So he headed for the side of the point directly opposite to that upon which they had arrived.
Although the underlying surface of Needle Point was of solid rock, the top, for a depth of a foot at least, was composed of soft soil, and Terry began to scan it for footprints. He had no difficulty in finding them, and when he did he was more than interested. Evidently two persons had passed from the north side of the point to the lighthouse and when they had gone back again their feet had made deeper prints in the earth. It occurred to him that they might have been carrying someone, and he had no doubt that it had been the keeper. Deeply intent on the tracks Terry followed them down to the shore and there paused.
There was a single rock there that formed a natural landing place, though no dock had been constructed of wood. Here the prints of the men’s footsteps stopped and it was evident that they had taken to a boat. Where had the boat been? Terry looked out across the water as far as he could see but there was no craft of any kind in sight, except a very small rowboat that bobbed up and down a few feet away, tugging at the painter which held it captive to a stake which had been driven in the ground.
Terry glanced back at the lighthouse. He wondered if he should tell the others of his findings immediately or wait until he could find something else. After all, he had found out so little, and he wanted to push his search a little further before he told anything. Off to his right stretched the shore, a low-lying, swampy mass of mystery, bound up in a heavy fog which rose from the ground. He wondered if there might be some creek there which might shelter a small boat, and deciding to investigate, he pulled the small rowboat to him and got in.
“Won’t be gone but a minute,” he decided, remembering the captain’s warning. He found the boat a trifle wet, but making the best of it all, he bent to the task of rowing. The boat was light and he sent it toward the misty shore with swift, sure strokes.
His idea was to press close to land and examine the mouth of any little inlet that he might find, so, quickly gaining the shore, he began to row more slowly, watching carefully. There were a few openings, he discovered, but none large enough to hide anything of importance, and so he kept moving onward, fascinated with the search he was conducting. In time the lighthouse got further and further away and he came at last to a point of land, shaped like Needle Point and jutting out into the water in the same manner. Realizing that he was getting quite some distance from his friends, Terry determined to round the point and give one sweeping look, and then, if he found nothing, to row back to the lighthouse.
Accordingly, he rounded the point rapidly, and almost ran into a long, low black cruiser which seemed to crouch beside the reedy shore. As soon as the boy saw it he knew from the way it was drawn up beside the bushes that it was there for no good. Hastily backing water with his oars, so as not to run into it, Terry sat motionless in the rowboat, looking at the cruiser which loomed not ten feet away from him.
He had feared at first that someone might see him, but no one was on the deck, although a light stabbed the darkness from a side cabin window. The cruiser itself had light, fast lines, with a sharp bow, narrow cabin with a foot of deck space on each side of it, and a small after deck, from which the pilot operated the wheel and the motor. Terry’s first thought was to row the boat silently to the side of the cruiser, stand up and look in the window of the cabin; but fearing to make a noise which might betray him, he decided not to do it. But he was more than anxious to see what was in there, and he considered the possibility of boarding the craft and looking in from the narrow deck.
At first he rejected the thought. The better thing was to row back, get the captain and the boys, and come back in a body, trusting to luck that the cruiser would be there. But there was always the chance that there was nothing wrong with the cruiser and he would be wasting time. If the cruiser should sail away while he was gone he would never know for sure if it had belonged to the men they sought or not. No, he must find out at once and alone, so carefully pulling in his oars he quietly paddled the boat nearer to the cruiser, cautiously using only one oar.
Balancing himself and keeping the nose of the little boat from thumping the cruiser was a job that required skill, but Terry, concentrating every nerve, managed to do it. He knew that if any one suddenly opened the companionway door he would be lost, for a flood of light would instantly give him away. If that emergency came he was determined to push off and row for the shore with all his strength. When he got to the rail of the cruiser he slipped the rope around a support and breathlessly stepped onto the small afterdeck.
It was one of the hardest jobs he had ever done in his life. The cruiser was light and weight, placed in the wrong place, would surely make it tip enough for those inside to realize that something or someone was aboard that had no business there. The chances were that the deck was tight enough to keep from creaking under his steps, but he had to look out for loose ropes or any other thing which might be underfoot. It was with a rapidly beating heart that Terry stood on the deck of the cruiser, listening intently for sounds, ready to take to flight at an instant’s notice. But after a few seconds, during which a low murmuring of voices from inside reached him, he came to the conclusion that nothing was likely to happen at the moment and he crept slowly and carefully to the starboard side of the cruiser, toward the strip of deck and the window which showed on that side.
Here again he had to be careful that his weight did not careen the boat, but fortunately for him the cruiser had been built broadly and it would have taken someone with greater weight than Terry Mackson to have tipped it. He gained the narrow deck and went down on his hands and knees, creeping along until he was underneath the window. Then, with infinite care, he thrust his head forward inch by inch and looked in the window.
Benito and Frank were playing cards at a small table. Both men, with cigars in mouth, were intent on the game. Beside them, on a bunk, lay the lighthouse keeper, or so Terry judged, for the man, who was tall and thin, was tied to the bunk and at the present moment lay looking sullenly up at the roof of the cabin.
Evidently Frank had won, for he pocketed some money with a grin, while Benito pushed the cards from him with a savage growl. The leader picked the cards up and placed them in a dirty box and Frank looked at his watch.
“Guess Marcy ain’t coming,” he said, looking inquiringly at the big man. “What are we going to do?”
“We’ll go on down without him,” decided Benito. “Something must have come up that kept him. We might as well get back to the hide-out before somebody comes prowling around. No use in getting caught with him on our hands.” He jerked his thumb toward the man on the bunk, who turned and glared at him.
“The government’ll fix you for this, you’ll see,” the captive lighthouse keeper shrilled.
“Aw, dry up,” snorted the leader of the gang. “If you hadn’t put up such a holler because we tried to walk off with your brass telescope you wouldn’t be here. Lucky thing I dragged you away from that telephone, or you’d have the country down on us.”
“I will yet,” shouted the keeper. “Stealin’ government property and kidnappin’ a lighthouse keeper is a pretty serious crime. See what you get out of it.”
Frank looked at the big man. “What he says is true,” he muttered. “What are we going to do with the old fool?”
Benito shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “Don’t know yet. We’ll have to drop him somewhere far down the shore.” He got up quickly. “Let’s get underway.”
So great had been Terry’s interest that he had not stopped to consider that he would not have time to get away, but he realized it now. It was but one step from the cabin to the afterdeck and before he could move Frank had made that step. Terry groaned inwardly, not so much because he felt that he would be seen at once as from the realization that the rowboat would be discovered. He waited for the shout that would herald the discovery, but it did not come, and in another moment the throb of the cruiser’s engine came to him as he lay there face downward on the narrow deck.
Later on he discovered that the thing which prevented his immediate discovery was the fact that he had but loosely roped the painter of the rowboat, and that it had slipped off and drifted away while he was listening to the conversation at the window. But at the time he was not even wondering, but was thinking seriously of escape. He could slip overboard and swim away, trusting to luck to remain hidden in the darkness long enough for them to get away on their run to their hiding place. The shore was not far off and he would have no difficulty in reaching it. But as he swiftly reflected upon his difficult position, he resolved to see it through and go with the bandits to their secret retreat.
The men evidently had some secret place to which they could retreat in case of a general hunt, and to find that place was worth the risk that he might run. Another thought was the fact that he did not wish to abandon the lighthouse keeper. He might be able to go for help later on and so be of great value to the man who was tied up inside. These thoughts shot rapidly through Terry’s head as he lay there in the darkness, and awaited the turn of events.
With a speed that was breath-taking the cruiser began to forge ahead, and Frank, turning the little wheel at the top of the low cabin, sent it out to sea in a wide arc. The sharp bow of the cruiser hissed into the tiny waves like a hot iron, and the water, in long, graceful and curling billows, raced smoothly past the side. Benito went out on the deck and joined the smaller man and they talked together in low tones as the cruiser began its journey down the coast.
From where Terry lay he could still see in the window and he watched the captive on the bunk. As soon as Benito had left the room the man began to wrench at his bonds, but after ten minutes of futile effort he gave it up and settled back on the bunk with a groan of despair and rage.
Terry was fairly comfortable where he was but his chief fear was that either one of the men might look over the edge of the cabin and ruin his plans. But in all the time required to run ten miles down the coast neither of them looked in his direction, and Terry was carried securely onward.
They were now before a wild section of the country. There was not a light to be seen along the shore and the only sound, other than the steady and powerful throb of the marine engine, was the hollow boom of the huge waves on the shore. Terry judged by the sound that there was some shoal near the shore which accounted for the booming sound, for he had read of such things. And then his thoughts were diverted by the fact that Frank was throttling down the engine and swinging the cruiser around toward the shore.
Little as Terry knew about sailing it nevertheless puzzled him as to why the engine should be shut down while so far from the shore, for he knew that they could not possibly drift in that distance. While he puzzled over this the answer was suddenly presented to him.
Something huge and black rose up alongside the cruiser and Terry very nearly cried out in astonishment. It was two or three full minutes before the explanation came to him. They were moored beside the wreck of a huge old ship, one which had been hard and fast aground for years, and because it was in this lonely stretch of beach it had never been burned or destroyed, except by the slow action of the waves. Frank was tying the bow of the cruiser to the splintered rail of the ship, and passing close to Terry while doing so. The task completed, Frank jumped to the deck and called to Benito.
“All tied up, boss,” he said. “Shall we lug that old boy aboard?”
Benito gave gruff orders and the keeper, protesting and a little frightened, was lifted from the bunk and carried out on deck. He was somewhat roughly shoved over the rotting rail of the wreck and the two bandits followed him. For another minute Terry could hear their voices and then all became still.
He raised himself slowly, realizing for the first time that he was stiff and sore. Waiting for an instant to be sure that the men would not return for something, and finding at last that they apparently had no intention of doing so, Terry stood up and surveyed the old ship before him. He did not fully realize just what type it was, but it was a three-masted schooner of the old type, long and low, with splintered stumps of masts and broken wood littering the decks in every direction. Although it had been battered fearfully by the waves it had nevertheless been sturdy enough to resist total destruction, and as it was practically certain that no one ever visited it, it was indeed an ideal hide-away for the gang.
Terry was at first tempted to steal the boat of the gang and run back down the coast to summon aid, and could have done so had he known how to run the thing, but he knew that he could not and so gave the project up. The only thing left for him was to do some further spying and see just what the inside of the schooner looked like. To try landing on an uninhabited coast was pure folly, and as the future was uncertain he decided that his best move lay in inspecting the craft. Accordingly, he stepped from the cabin roof to the deck of the schooner, noting as he did so that it had been named theAlaskanin the days of its pride and glory.
There was a large cabin in the very center of the schooner and toward it Terry made his way, stepping carefully over wreckage which littered the deck in every direction. He doubted if the men were in that particular cabin, for there was no light, but as there was pretty certain to be a good-sized hold under the ship he concluded that the actual place of concealment was there. At the doorway of the cabin he halted and looked around, but no one was in sight and he made his way down three steps, coming at last to the floor. It was wet and slippery but perfectly firm, and treading carefully Terry made his way toward another door which he could see at the other end of the cabin. A faint light shone through this door and he knew he was close to the nest which the outlaw band had made.
When he gained this door he found a new and safe ladder leading down into a large hold that took up much of the space of the ship. At the far end of this hold a small room had been partitioned off, and from this room a lantern sent its rays out into the big, barn-like hold. Terry crossed the hold, conscious of the lapping of water against the sides of the ship, and looked into the smaller room.
Benito and Frank were seated before a table, and the old lady who had been at the house on Mystery Island was setting some meat and potatoes before them. Terry had never seen the woman himself, but he was sure it was the same one from Don’s description of her. The keeper was sitting in a chair bound and apparently awaiting his turn to eat with sullen grace. From time to time Benito, who seemed in high spirits, turned to joke with his captive, but Timothy received all his advances with grunts and disagreeable faces, all of which amused the leader hugely.
Pressing back into the shadow Terry began to form plans for the rescue of the keeper. The schooner was large and he could hide away until the men were asleep and then, with the aid of the knife which he had in his pocket, he could liberate the keeper and they could make a dash for liberty. He would have to be careful in his prowling around the big ship, for it might be full of pit-holes which would seriously hinder his work. When he had rescued the keeper they could plan a way to escape, and possibly capture the gang. Of course there would be difficulties, but—
A step sounded behind him and he whirled swiftly. But before he could do anything else a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and a man stepped out into the light. He was a heavy set man with a dirty, half-bearded face, and just now there was a leer of triumphant satisfaction on it. It was the man Marcy, the third member of the gang.
“So!” shouted Terry’s captor. “What are you doing here, young fellow?”
Surprised as Terry was by the unexpected attack from the rear he nevertheless lost no time in getting into action. A second of numbed surprise took possession of him, and then, as he heard Frank and Benito jump to their feet, he pitched savagely at Marcy. A short-distance blow in the ribs almost doubled the man up and he grunted loudly, but his grip on the red-headed boy was not loosened. Twisting rapidly in the man’s grasp Terry tried to break away, but before he could wrench his coat free the others were upon him. They recognized him at once and lost no time in overpowering him. Flat on his back went the boy, with the three men sprawling over him.
“Let up!” gasped Terry, half smothered. “I know when I’m out of order!”
The men scrambled from him and Benito jerked him roughly to his feet. “What are you doing here?” snarled the leader, thrusting his face close to Terry’s.