“That” was an accident of serious nature. Jim had forgotten the porch he had been standing on, and he had pressed too near the house. The boards at that point were rotten, and with a crash that sounded like the explosion of a cannon they went through.
At the sound caused by Jim’s fall through the rotted boards the three men paused for an instant in stunned surprise. But it was only a brief second. Suspecting that some enemy had been spying on them the men made haste to pursue.
Marcy, upon the repeated demand of Benito, went back down the hall to capture Don, but the chief and Frank rushed to the window. Jim’s right leg had plunged into the hole as far as his knee, and he was at first frantic, believing that he could not get out in time, but realizing that losing his head would not help him, he calmed himself and pulled more easily. His leg came out of the hole just as Benito and Frank sighted him from the window.
“It’s one of those kids!” shouted Benito. “Get him!”
The door was several yards from the window and to that circumstance Jim owed the start that he got. He sprinted across the shaking porch and jumped to the ground just as the two men opened the door back of him. They gave chase, running swiftly, but Jim had just enough of a start to enable him to outdistance them. But as the country around the old house was new to him, and he believed that the men knew it perfectly, he thought that it would only be a matter of minutes before they took him captive.
It was useless to keep on running. Benito was too heavy to run well, but with Frank it was a different story. The little man was fast, and Jim could hear him gaining inch by inch, beating through the undergrowth like some evil bloodhound. The boy determined to find some spot and hide, trusting to luck to keep from being found, and as he ran, he kept his eyes open for some shelter.
It was almost useless in such darkness, but at last, after ducking back and forth and doubling on his tracks several times he saw before him a dense tangle which had been created by two trees falling together, forming an arch over which a screen of vines had grown. Close in under one of the trunks he ran, worming his body in under the mass of vines. Then, smothering his heavy breathing as best as he could, he waited to see what would happen.
Frank had been several yards back of him, crashing his way recklessly through the bushes, but now the noise stopped abruptly. Either the little man knew where he was hiding, or he was at a total loss. Jim’s groping hand encountered a fairly hard stick of wood and he grasped it firmly. If they found him, he could at least put up a fight, he decided. A sudden dash, while plying vigorously about him with the stick, might earn his liberty for him. Determined on this point, he waited tensely.
But a moment later it was evident that Frank was lost. Benito joined him and the little man growled profanely.
“He ain’t far off,” Frank said. “All of a sudden I heard him quit running. He’s hiding right around here in the bushes, I tell you.”
“Then we’ll root him out,” answered Benito. “I wish we’d brought a flashlight, but it’s too late now.”
They began to beat around in the thicket, and Jim was in an agony of suspense as they approached his hiding place. Once they saw it he was lost, for they would surely investigate so promising a place. But they had halted just far enough away to keep them from reaching his place of concealment, and after a half-hour’s search they gave it up.
“It’s no use,” decided the leader. “He got away somewhere, but he won’t get off of the island. Now, we’d better not waste any more time fooling. We’ve got to get under way and capture that other kid out on the boat.”
“Going out after him now, eh?”
“Oh, sure! They wouldn’t have left that boat unguarded, and I guess that one boy is on board. We’ve got to go out there and take the boat away from him. We had better get started before this other kid swims out there and warns him.”
With that they moved away, leaving Jim with a relieved mind, but with another problem confronting him. He knew that he must get back and warn Terry of the coming danger; in fact, if he could get back before the men got out to the boat he and the red-headed boy could sail out to sea. The question now was to find his way back to the house, from there to the hill, and then swim back to the boat. Carefully, he worked his way free of the vines and stood out in the woods, looking for his path.
This was not as easy as he had at first supposed, for he had turned and twisted so much in his flight that he was by no means sure of his direction. He walked in the direction that he supposed the two men had taken, but even that was guesswork, for they had made very little sound as they went away. Trusting to a sense of direction more than anything else Jim began to work his way back toward the house.
But after a half hour of such traveling he was sure that he was wrong. Admitting that he had been running quite fast when leaving the vicinity of the house, he was sure that he should have been back by this time. He stopped and looked around him, but was not able from this to tell anything, so he kept on walking, in hopes that he would come out somewhere near the house. But it seemed to him that the undergrowth became thicker and thicker and at length he realized that he was lost.
He stopped now in earnest and pondered his problem. He had lost so much valuable time that he felt he would be too late to help Terry. While he was reflecting he noticed a booming sound that he had disregarded completely up to that time. Hope awoke again as he recognized it.
“Why, that’s the sea pounding on the shore,” he murmured. “I must be near the water after all.”
Guided by the sound Jim forced his way through the brush and after another fifteen minutes’ walk he was close to the shore. Breaking at last through the grass and scrub he found himself on the top of a small hill, looking down on the tumbling water. But as he looked up and down the shore line a bitter conviction was forced upon him.
“I’m on the other side of the island,” he cried. “I’ve walked completely across the place.”
For a single instant he felt crushed under the realization and then he made up his mind. The island was not very big, and might in reality be only a mile or little more from where theLassiewas anchored. By hastening along the shore he might see her any minute and he could swim out. In any case it was better to be moving than to be standing still undecided. Accordingly, he hastened down the sand hill and began a rapid walk along the beach.
He had no idea in which direction to go first, and finally decided to go north along the shore, hoping that he had picked the correct direction. His running around the island had so confused him that he had no idea in which direction the sloop might lie, so he wasted no time in idle wondering. Finding the sand hard down near the water he walked rapidly along, occasionally breaking into a run. In this way he had covered a mile when he was halted by the sight of a small hut with a light streaming out of a window.
It was the hut of a fisherman, as Jim could tell from the nets which were stretched out on a huge windlass to dry. His first thought was to pass by without going near the house, for he had no idea who the lone fisherman was, or how friendly he might be to the men in the house. It might even be one of the gang, and in that case he had no desire to fall into his hands. But on the other hand it might be a man he could trust, a man who would help him to find theLassie, and in that case the find would be one of intense value. Acting under an impulse Jim walked to the door of the hut and knocked.
A chair banged down on the wooden floor and a voice that was a trifle sharp cried out: “Who is it, eh?”
“I’m lost and I’d like to find my way around the island!” Jim called.
There was a moment’s hesitation and then the door was opened by a tall old man clad in boots, rough fishing clothes, and an old red sweater. He had white hair and his sharply defined face was tanned by the brisk sea air. Two deep brown eyes glowed from under shaggy locks. In his hand he had a newspaper.
He looked sharply at Jim for a minute and then waved his paper. “Come inside,” he bellowed, and Jim felt an instant friendliness in his voice.
Jim stepped inside, to find himself in a room which was a hodge-podge of jumbled furniture, from fishing rods and nets to shells and flower pots filled with strange plants. A single oil lamp burned on the table and the old man pointed to a box near the door, on which Jim sat down. Picking up a battered black pipe, the sea captain lit it and studied Jim.
“Lost, eh?” questioned the old man, unexpectedly.
“Lost, eh! Ha, ha, ha!”
The words, harsh and rasping, came from back of Jim, and the boy whirled around, to find a brilliantly colored parrot standing on a short perch back of him. The captain addressed the parrot shortly.
“Close your hatch, Bella,” he ordered.
“Close your hatch!” repeated the parrot.
“Yes, sir, I’m lost,” Jim said, as the fisherman looked once more at him. And feeling that the truth would serve him more than half a story, he told the man everything. The old man’s face took on a look of great interest as he listened, and his eyes danced.
“I want to know!” he roared, when Jim had finished. “I always mistrusted that gang up there. I can’t figure out what they’re doing on this island. The miserable dogs!” He jumped to his feet and took down a battered blue hat which he clapped on his head. “Come on, Jim Mercer, we’ll put a spoke in them fellows’ wheel, or my name ain’t Captain Blow.”
“Do you think you can locate theLassie?” Jim asked.
“Sure thing. I got a power dory out front that’ll chase up anything on the water.” He leveled his finger at the parrot. “Keep your eye on the ship ’till I get back, Bella Donna.”
“Oh, my! Mind your eye!” croaked the parrot, blinking.
The captain and Jim went out, and the captain closed the door after him but did not lock it.
“Don’t you lock your door?” Jim asked, in surprise.
The captain chuckled. “No, I don’t. I got Bella trained so that if anybody that don’t belong comes cruisin’ around she starts to groan like someone was dead inside. That keeps ’em out.”
Down at the edge of the water lay a fine power dory, and the captain shoved it into the water. He and Jim leaped aboard, the motor was started, and the captain sent it out to sea in a wide swing.
“Your boat is clear around on the other side of the island,” the captain said, as he headed the dory around the island. “It’ll take us about fifteen minutes to get there. You walked straight across the land when you ran away from those fellows.”
The dory was swift and followed the coast under the skilled hand of Captain Blow. It was not long before they were opposite the cove where theLassiehad anchored that day. The captain gave the dory engine an additional spurt of power and began to head slightly out to sea. To Jim’s surprised look he replied: “I want to come up on the other side of your boat. If I come in from the port side your friend will think we’re after him. Providin’, of course, that he’s still there.”
“I certainly hope so,” Jim said, anxiously.
“In a minute we’ll find out.”
Scarcely had he spoken when Jim stood up excitedly. “There she is! Off to your right. There’s a light aboard, so I guess Terry is still there. I’ll give him a hail.”
“Don’t you do it!” ordered the captain, shutting off his power. “Because there’s a small boat over near the shore sneaking up on him! Grab that boathook and get ready to jump aboard your boat when I row up to it!”
As the captain bent to the oars Jim tried to see the small boat which he had spoken of, but he was unable to make it out. He picked up the boathook and waited, standing in the stern. Looking toward the sloop, he saw that a steady light was pouring out of the companionway.
At that moment Terry stepped out on deck, looking toward the shore. “Who are you?” they heard him call. There was no answer and the red-headed boy picked up the sloop boathook.
“Keep off this boat,” they heard him call, and the next moment they saw him strike at someone with all his strength.
“Just in time, by Godfrey!” muttered Captain Blow, as he sent the dory alongside the sloop.
After Jim had dropped over the stern of the sloop Terry strained his eyes to follow his progress toward the shore. For a brief distance he was able to see the boy, but very soon the dense blackness swallowed Jim up. He listened intently, following his progress through the water, and at last was pretty sure that Jim had landed safely on the shore. Then, realizing that he was left alone on the sloop for an indefinite period of time, Terry settled down to wait.
In any other circumstances he would have felt the thrill of being alone and being heir to such an important trust, but just now he felt very lonely. There was such uncertainty regarding the whereabouts of Don, and all their plans hinged on issues that might easily work out to their disadvantage. If Don escaped from wherever he was and went down to the cove he would be puzzled to find that the sloop was gone, and he would be at a loss, though Terry was inclined to think that he would get in the dinghy and row all around the island looking for them. With that thought in mind the boy decided to keep a careful lookout for a boat.
Waiting under such circumstances was not easy, and Terry found the time hanging heavily on his hands. He sat in the cockpit and on the top of the cabin, and walked around the deck several times, keeping a sharp glance directed toward the shore. He wished that he was with Jim, to share with him whatever danger or problem he might encounter, but he by no means underrated the importance of his own position. He knew that he must at all costs guard the sloop well, and that all would be lost if the boat fell into other hands. With this thought in mind he made a thorough inspection of the sloop, examining it in every respect. Down below he found a long boathook, which he brought up on deck, determined to use it as a weapon if necessary.
The electric light was burning steadily in the cabin and he wondered if he should extinguish it, but on second thought he decided not to. If Don or Jim returned they would miss theLassiein the darkness, and he knew that would never do. The light must be kept going at all costs, and if it went out there was an oil lamp and plenty of fuel aboard.
Jim had taught him how to run the sloop and he wondered if he remembered how to do it. He went through the motions, without turning the flywheel however, for it would never do to have the sound of the motor explosions heard on the shore. He found that he remembered perfectly, and was confident that he could put on power and run away if necessary. He hoped that he would not be compelled to.
In this way an hour passed, a long dragging hour and to Terry it seemed like an eternity. Time and again he strained his eyes in the direction of the island, but no sign of a light did he see. Realizing that he was visible in the light that shone from the companionway he closed the slide until only a crack of light streamed up against the black sky, enough of a guide to Jim or Don if they needed it.
Suddenly he sat up straight, listening. There had been a sound, and he was not sure if it had been the lapping of waves against the beach or some other sound. After a time it came again, and there was no mistaking it this time, it was the squeaking of oarlocks. It was off toward the shore, and drawing closer.
For a moment he hesitated, uncertain. If it was Don he must hail, but if it was some unfriendly person he would risk everything by calling out. It was a hazard either way, but he saw that he must take it. Grasping the boathook in one hand he called out over the water: “Ahoy, there! That you, Don?”
His voice sounded alarmingly loud, and the noise of the oars stopped abruptly. Thinking that the other had not fully heard him, Terry repeated his call. There was no answer, and he knew that it was not Don or Jim. But there was certainly someone out there in a boat, and Terry felt his skin prickle as he knew that he was being watched by eyes that he could not see.
His thoughts raced. Was somebody softly stealing up to him in the darkness, prepared to rush aboard the sloop? The hand which held the boathook tightened and his eyes narrowed. If they were, they could count on a good stiff fight. If there were not too many of them he felt that he could hold his own against them, as the boathook was long, and he could use it vigorously. But as time went on and there was no movement, he began to be reassured. Perhaps his fears were groundless, perhaps he had only thought he heard someone out there.
A moment later and he knew that that was not so. The squeaking began again, but this time it was going away from him. Whoever had been in the boat had either been there with the avowed purpose of spying on him or had been somehow scared off by his call. The sound rapidly drew away until it was lost in the distance.
“Now, I wonder what the dickens that man wanted?” the boy muttered, uneasily. He looked out toward the sea, to be sure that it was not a trap. In his present state of mind he was not sure that someone would not appear suddenly out of the darkness on the starboard side and spring over the rail.
He continued his watch. He wished he knew just when the boys were coming back, in which case he could have made coffee for them. It was then that he realized that he was hungry, for they had only made a pretense at eating. Knowing that there was some cold meat in the refrigerator he went below and got it, together with some bread, and fixed himself a sandwich. While doing this he paused frequently to thrust his head out of the companionway opening and look around and listen. But the only thing that he heard was the lapping of the water on the shore.
He sat on the deck and ate his sandwich, enjoying it more than he had thought possible under the circumstances. After that time dragged, and he found himself getting sleepy. The salt air had been having that effect on the country boy since he had been with the boys, and he found in spite of his excitement that he was nodding. Realizing sharply that the last thing he must do was to go to sleep he stirred restlessly and wondered what he should do to keep himself awake. Surely there was something he could do to make the time pass.
But when he came to look around he found that there was not. One of the first things Mr. Mercer had taught his boys when he had bought the sloop for them was that it must always be kept in the best order, and immediately after meals the boys cleared up all rubbish and aired out blankets, setting the sloop in shipshape order before undertaking any of the pleasures of the day. And Jim had left the ship in the best of order before he had gone. Every blanket was folded and in place, and Terry could not find a thing to do.
A tiny splash near the sloop caused him to come to attention like a flash. It was a bit unusual, and he knew that it was not like anything else that he heard before. It sounded as though someone had dropped an oar in the water with a little more force than was intended, and he was instantly on the alert. No sound followed it, but Terry bounded up on deck.
His fears were realized. About ten feet from the sloop was a rowboat, with two men in it. They were rowing toward the sloop rapidly, and the oars had been muffled in burlap. When they saw Terry they bent to the oars with increased vigor.
“Who are you?” Terry called, but he received no answer. He stooped over, picked up the boathook and raised it aloft.
“Keep off this boat,” he called, but one of the men, whom he now recognized as the short man, Frank, dropped his oars and made a clutch at the rail of the sloop. Terry struck downward with all his strength.
The boathook, flashing down with all Terry’s muscular strength, landed heavily on Frank’s shoulder, causing the little man to drop back into the boat with a sharp cry.
But with Benito he was not so fortunate. While Terry was busy with the smaller man the leader of the men had flung a rope loosely over the stern rail of the sloop and was even now springing aboard. Before Terry could raise the boathook again the powerful man had thrown his arms about the boy.
“No use to struggle, bub,” he grumbled. “We’ve got you.”
Encouraged by the success Benito had met with, Frank scrambled on the deck, casting an ugly look at Terry. As for the boy himself, he suddenly felt sick and disgusted. He had been left with the sloop in his care, and now he had allowed the men to creep up alongside in the darkness. Deep down in his heart he knew that resistance was useless, but he still struggled.
“Look here, young fellow—” began Benito when the sloop heeled over slightly as a sudden weight was added to the starboard side. Terry, twisting in Benito’s grasp, found Jim standing behind him, a boathook in his hand. For a moment the two outlaws, thinking that Jim was alone, started toward him, Benito dragging Terry.
But as Terry began to kick and squirm Captain Blow leaped on deck. The old man looked the picture of fury as he bore down on the two men from the other side of the island. Jim, springing at Frank, just missed him with a swing of the boathook, and the little man, uttering a howl of terror, rolled off the deck and splashed into the water. Benito, seeing the grim look in the captain’s eyes, attempted to let go of the boy, but Terry, realizing that he was to be captured, in turn held on to him.
Captain Blow’s haste spoiled the whole scheme. Like a battering ram the captain’s knotted old fist caught the bandit on the side of the head, knocking him clean overboard. Without touching the low rail or any portion of the sloop Benito simply flew in a back dive into the water.
“Get him!” yelled Jim, “don’t let him get away!”
Frank had succeeded in climbing into the rowboat and was rowing swiftly to where Benito was bobbing around in the water. As they watched the leader climbed into the boat, and they started to row rapidly for the island.
“We’ll get ’em in the dory,” Captain Blow said shortly. “Hop in, you two.”
Terry and Jim piled into the dory without loss of speed and the captain started the engine. The little boat ran around theLassieand then started in toward the shore.
“Oh, shucks!” snorted the captain. “I wish we’d thought to bring a flashlight along. My boat’s got no light on it. We’ll sort of have to feel our way along after them fellows.”
It was not too much like feeling, for the captain had a remarkably sharp pair of eyes, but although they patrolled up and down the shore for a good half hour they saw no signs of the two men in the rowboat.
“Must have headed right in to the shore,” Jim suggested.
“Yes,” the captain agreed. “Probably hiding in some black creek right now, where we’d never find ’em in a year of Sundays. Well, I suppose we go back now.”
“Aren’t you going to the house to get Don?” Jim cried.
The captain shook his head and headed the dory out to sea. “Nope, sorry to say. It wouldn’t be the sensible thing to do just now. Somebody has got to stay aboard the ship to watch her, and those fellows might come out again. Besides, we’d have a mean job finding the house in the dark and we couldn’t get in and roam around. Anyhow, you said your brother had escaped, so he may be somewhere on the island, just waiting for daylight.”
“I hope so,” Jim muttered. “But we’ll go ashore in the morning, won’t we?”
“Don’t you hang any doubts on that!” the captain declared, with emphasis. “We’ll just land all troops and clean up that place in fine style!”
They boarded theLassieagain, where Jim told Terry of his adventures of the last few hours. Terry was very much pleased with Jim’s new find, Captain Blow. On his part, the old sailor was much impressed with the boys.
“You’re real shipshape lads,” he declared, warmly. “None of these softy loafers. I must say you keep this little boat in first class order. I’ve sailed in some worse rattletraps than this, in my time. Galloping smelts! there goes my fool tongue again. I mean I’ve sailed in some ships in my time that was rattletraps, not that your boat is one. Good thing my boats don’t navigate like my tongue.”
Hope that Don had managed to get away from the island house safely in some measure eased the minds of the two boys, and they ate some food. The captain asked to look at their barometer and frowned at it, but said nothing. In another hour, as they sat on the deck, a moaning breeze began to blow through the halyards of the sloop, and it began to rock with increasing force.
“In for bad weather,” growled the captain.
His words were scarcely out of his mouth before a violent gale swept over them, and the fury of the storm was on. Shouting to them to get below the captain forced his way to the bow to examine the anchor cable. Presently he dropped through the hatchway, soaking wet from head to foot from the flying spray.
“If it gets any worse we’ll have to weigh anchor and scoot,” he reported. “That baby hawser is getting quite a strain on it.”
For the next half hour the sloop rocked without stopping, and the three sat and talked in low tones. Each time a wave hit the little ship it jerked roughly at the anchor cable. Finally, shaking his shaggy head, the captain got up.
“Turn your power on,” he ordered Jim. “We’ve got to get that mud-hook up. If we don’t the cable’ll bust in two and then we’ll be bouncing all over the ocean.”
While Jim turned on the power the captain scrambled outside to pull up the anchor. Even under full power theLassiemade little headway, only enough to slack up the strain on the taut cable. Bending double in the raging storm the old sea captain slowly and painfully cranked up the hand windlass. Reluctantly, the anchor came up.
Immediately the captain flew to the tiller, for, once released of the controlling power of the anchor the sloop bucked and rolled like a thing alive. Jim shut off the power and the boys looked out of the companionway, which was opened on a crack, at the captain, where he sat holding the sloop firmly on its course.
“What shall we do now?” Jim shouted to the skipper.
“Toss me out a good oilskin and then go to bed,” he returned, looking through narrowed eyes at the huge waves that rolled around them.
Terry handed him a suit of oilskins. “We don’t want to go to bed, sir,” he said. “Too much excitement.”
The captain slapped his knee. “Excitement, by golly! What kind of sailors do you two calculate to be? Don’t you know a real jack tar don’t let anything bother his sleep but the sinkin’ of the ship! And answer me this: either of you ever try to hold a small vessel in line in a blow?”
The boys shook their heads. The captain chuckled. “If you tried this tonight, you’d be flappin’ back and forth in the breeze like a shirt on a line. Get into bed and get some sleep!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” laughed Jim. He and Terry climbed into their bunks, but for a time found sleep impossible.
“My gosh!” gasped Terry. “I was never in a bed that threw you up in the air like this.”
Finally, however, almost worn out by the events of the day, the boys went to sleep, to wake up several hours later. They sprang up and opened the companionway slide, to find that they were far from the island. The wind had gone down and the stalwart old captain still sat at the tiller.
“Good morning, Captain Blow,” nodded Jim. “I feel guilty to have slept while you sat here on this wet deck all night with the tiller.”
“I do, too,” agreed Terry.
“Pull in your sail!” ordered the captain, good-naturedly. “It didn’t hurt me any. We’re a considerable spell further out than we were yesterday, ain’t we?”
“Yes,” Jim agreed, anxiously. “Can we get back?”
The captain tossed his oilskins aside. “We sure can. We’re about three miles off of that island now. The water’s running pretty heavy right now, but put on the power anyway. We’ve got to get back to that island.”
The sloop was soon under full power, headed back toward the low island. The captain surrendered the tiller to Jim and went below to make coffee, which warmed them and buoyed up their spirits.
It took them more than an hour to run back to the island, but at the end of that time they dropped anchor in the cove, where the dinghy had been placed on the sands. But there was no dinghy there now, and Jim was worried.
“Let’s hope Don didn’t take to the dinghy and was lost in the storm,” he said.
But the captain shook his head. “Don’t believe it,” he declared, stoutly. “Well, here is where we raid that nest in the woods. Only this time I suggest that Jim stays on the ship, and you, Terry, come with me.”
“Can’t we all go?” Jim cried.
“Nope. I’d like you to stay here, while Terry and me see what we can stir up in that place.”
So Jim was left alone to pace restlessly around the deck of theLassiewhile the other two, in the captain’s dory, went ashore. He watched them land and then settled himself to wait.
Terry and the captain took the path and soon reached the old house. It looked every bit as deserted as it ever had, but the captain wasted no time in wondering. He marched up the shaking front steps, raised his foot, and kicked the door off its hinges. With a roar the door flew into the damp hall.
“Nobody can say I didn’t knock!” he grinned.
Both of them had armed themselves with heavy sticks, although Terry was sure that the captain had something cold and steel in an inside pocket, something which reassured him, but which he hoped the captain would not have to use. They were now in a large hall, off which ran a number of rooms. A winding staircase ran to the floor above, and on a turn in it they saw a large old redwood clock.
“A grandfather clock,” breathed Terry.
“Sure! See the whiskers on it!”
Terry laughed. “Those are cobwebs,” he said. The captain moved away in the direction of another room, but the red-headed boy remained where he was, looking up the stairs.
“Come on,” ordered the captain, impatiently, “What are you standing there for? Your feet sprouting lead?”
“No,” answered Terry slowly. “But I do think I just saw that grandfather clock move, Captain Blow!”
When Don let go of the edge of the flooring in the old house and dropped into space he had no idea of how far he would fall or how he would land. His teeth gripped together firmly, he felt himself shooting through a black void, to land suddenly on something wet and soft. The fall had not been long, and he was not even shaken up.
By feeling about him he soon came to the conclusion that he had landed on a heap of ashes, long ago soaked down by the dampness of the cellar. Don stood up and slowly moved his arms around in circles to gauge his distance, and then, finding that he was not near any wall or partition, began a careful advance. The place was pitch dark, and he had no idea what terrible holes or traps might exist in the loathsome place.
After traveling slowly in one direction he found that his hands encountered a wall, and with that as a guide he began a systematic journey around the place, seeking some sort of an opening. He had traveled around three of the four walls when his groping hands felt an iron door. He ran his hand up and down it from top to bottom and found that it was only five feet high and about three feet wide. The iron, much to his surprise, did not feel badly rusted. He wondered how that could be, and concluded that it had not been there for any length of time.
Continuing his explorations with his fingers he found a sliding bolt on the door which he had no difficulty in working. The bolt slipped back without protest, and the door opened inward, toward him. But when Don had opened the door, he felt rather disappointed. He had hoped to feel a rush of cold air, but there was none. Only a drier odor and one heavily tinctured with canvas. It was evidently good dry canvas, too, and that fact surprised him.
He stepped over the sill into the blackness and nearly pitched headlong. Only a good hold on the door frame saved him from going down, and he realized that this room was a few steps below the main cellar. So he lowered his foot until he felt the top step, and then found the second, and so on, until he had walked down four of them. Then he had made the level of the floor.
He felt a table to one side of him, and found that the top was covered with miscellaneous articles. Fortunately, he found a candle among the odds and ends which lay there.
“Now to find some matches,” he thought, and with increasing care he felt around the table until he came across a small box of safety matches. With an inward whoop of joy he scratched a match and lighted the candle. When the glow was steady he held the light above his head and looked around.
He was in a storage room that was quite large, and it was evident that some things were kept here with care. Several shelves ranged along the walls and these shelves seemed to be loaded with articles, all of which were covered with canvas. Don approached a bottom shelf and lifted a piece of canvas.
What he saw made his eyes bulge out. Quickly he lifted other coverings and examined the articles under them. In each case the same conviction was forced upon him.
“Jeepers!” he breathed. “These fellows are the marine bandits all right!”
Each piece of canvas covered some stolen object from a boat or a boathouse. Here there was a clock, there a sextant, there a binnacle, under another cover a compass and in a corner a telescope. There must have been almost a hundred pieces of ships’ goods there, and Jim’s clock was there, too.
“So,” decided Don, “this is where they store the stuff and then afterward they run it down the shore and sell it to cheap ship chandlers. No wonder they were never caught. It was easy for them to run out here and hide the stuff, and no one thought that they were so near home.”
He was trying to make up his mind just what to do when a sound outside startled him. Someone was walking around, and had gone into the room where he had been confined. With a swift movement Don blew out the light and waited, his heart pounding furiously. He knew that if they caught him in that room his life might be in grave danger, for they would realize that he controlled their secret.
The man in the room uttered a startled cry and then ran from the room. Don heard him running about the house, and then he heard other voices raised in excited talking. He also heard Jim fall through the porch, without knowing what it was, however. But when he heard a patter of feet returning to the room above he knew that he must seek safety at once.
His first impulse was to leave the storage room, but on second thought he dismissed it. Out in the dark cellar he would be at a distinct loss, and he dared not go out there with a light. No, he remembered that there was some extra canvas piled on the floor at the end of the storage room, and it was under this that he hid himself, hoping against hope that he was fully concealed.
He heard the man drop through the opening that he had made earlier in the evening and he could follow his progress as the man cautiously made his way around the cellar. It was not long before he heard the iron door open and a light, evidently from a lantern, flashed into the storage room.
From a split in the canvas Don could gain a fairly good view of what was going on. He saw the shaggy individual that Jim had seen come into the room and look about him carefully. Don could not understand why Benito and Frank were not with this man. Sizing him up, Don felt quite capable of handling him if it became necessary for him to try, but he hoped that it would not. Meanwhile, the man looked in each corner of the room, ducking his lantern down into the dark places.
At last, apparently satisfied that Don was not in there, the man turned and started for the steps. But as his foot touched the first one he paused and looked fully at the canvas under which Don lay. There was something burning in his glance, and Don felt his skin grow tight. Then, placing the lantern on the lowest step, the man headed straight for the heap of canvas.
Don gritted his teeth and clinched his fists, prepared to carry his adversary off of his feet in the first rush. But just as the man was about to lean down to pick up a strip of the covering Benito’s voice hailed him from above.
“Hey! Did you find that kid?”
“No!” the man shouted. “He’s got away.”
“Well, then come on up. What are you doing down there now?”
“Just gettin’ a strip of canvas to cover that hole with.”
Benito snorted. “Never mind that now. I want you to go down to the cove and row those kids’ dinghy around to the creek. Frank and me are going out and capture the sloop.”
The man went out, taking the lantern with him, and the room was in absolute darkness. Don heard them all go out, and as soon as he knew that he had the place to himself he sprang from his place of concealment. Lighting the candle, whose light he did not fear, since there were no cellar windows in the house, he went to the door, hoping to find a way upstairs. But to his intense disappointment he found that the man had slipped the bolt into place as he went out.
Don was once more a prisoner.
The realization at first staggered him, and then made him angry. He realized that if he did not get out of here at once he would probably never have a chance to get out. He hoped fervently that Terry and Jim would not fall into the hands of the men, and groaned as he realized that he could not help them any. But the one fact remained: he must get out.
A thought occurred to him that made him pause. Suppose the men were ever trapped down in that room by someone entering the house above, how would they get out? Was it possible that they had made no provision for that? He could not believe it, and he felt certain that there was an opening somewhere in that very room. So, holding the dripping candle in front of him, he made his way back of the shelves, which were built out a bit from the walls, and began to search thoroughly.
He almost uttered a cry of triumph at what he found. Right back of the main section of the shelves he found a square piece of canvas hung up, and when he pushed it back a doorway, leading to a flight of iron stairs, was disclosed. These iron stairs ran upward at an abrupt angle and terminated at a small door. Don stepped through the canvas and walked up the steps, until he stood on the tiny platform before the door.
Not knowing where the door might lead, he blew out the candle and opened it.
He was astonished to hear the sound of a loud ticking burst on his ears. Thrusting his hand forward, he encountered wood, and at last, sure that he was not yet in the old house, itself, he relighted the candle and looked at the object before him.
It was the back of a big, redwood grandfather clock, and Don was further amazed to see that a hook held one side of it to the doorway. Undoing this hook he found that the big clock swung outward on hinges, and then it came to him. The clock was a real one, but it was a clever disguise. If anyone raided the house the men would open the concealed doorway by pushing forward their clock, and if they happened to be in the storage room at the time they could make their escape into the house by way of the clock. The clock, for all its works and its ticking, was in reality a door, leading either into the storage room or into the house from the storage room.
Don now found himself on the landing of the stairway and alone in the house, unless the old woman was about. Fearful that she was, and not wishing to meet her, Don was at a complete loss as to what to do. He might find his way to the cove in the darkness, overpower the man who had been sent for the dinghy, and then make his way out to the sloop.