CHAPTER XIVATTACKED BY A SWORDFISH
“Don’t do it!” cried Mr. Ringold. “Let that fire burn!”
But there were now so many fishermen rushing about here and there that they paid no attention to the excited theatrical man, who issued orders right and left.
“What shall we do?” demanded C. C., who had gotten off to one side with the girl he was supposed to have “rescued” from the burning cabin.
“I don’t know!” cried Mr. Ringold. “The whole play is spoiled by those fellows butting in. Hi, there!” he called to Blake and Joe, as he saw them operating the cameras. “Stop the reel! We don’t want any of this!”
The clicking machines grew silent, and then the boys knew that something was wrong.
Meanwhile, the hand engine was placed in position. It was learned, later, that the fish concern kept it for use in cases of emergency. Therehad been some small blazes, in which the old engine had proved its worth.
The fishermen knew how to operate it to advantage, too, and soon a double line of them, extending from the surf to the tank, began passing the filled buckets up one side and the empty ones down the other. As the tank filled, other men worked the handles and a stream of water was soon spurting on the fire.
“Quit it! Oh, quit it!” begged Mr. Ringold. “I want that shack to burn!”
“He’s crazy—don’t mind him!” shouted the self-appointed chief. “We’ll soon have it out now.”
“I’ll see if I can stop them,” said C. C., for the water had about quenched the blaze, and it was useless to try to go on with the play. “They’ll listen to me,” the comedian declared.
He rushed forward, but at that moment the hose got from the control of the two men holding it. The nozzle swung around, and the stream came full force over Christopher Cutler Piper, drenching him in an instant.
“I say there—hold on—shut that water off! I—I’m being drowned!” he spluttered. And then, as the men again got the nozzle under control, the comedian, dripping water at every point, walked away, saying:
“There, I told you something would happen!”
“I should say it has!” declared Mr. Ringold, for once agreeing with the gloomy actor.
A few more strokes of the pump handles, a few more gallons of water, and the fire, which had quickly attacked all parts of the cottage at once, died out.
“There!” cried Abe Haskill, the old fisherman-chief. “We saved your building for ye, Mr. Ringold. Ain’t no use in buyin’ a shack an’ then havin’ it burn down—no matter if it ain’t wuth much. We saved her for you, though at one time it looked pretty dubious. This is the first fire we’ve had in some time, an’ I reckon we got a bit rusty.
“I might add,” he went on, “that it’s customary, in cases where a volunteer department saves a buildin’ from destruction—it’s customary, I say, for the owner to donate a leetle suthin’ to the department. In this case, seein’ as how Jim Belton sold his shack to you—why, you’re the owner. And, as I say, we saved her for you!” he concluded, proudly.
“Yes, I see you did,” remarked Mr. Ringold, dubiously. “Now I’ve got to buy another, and burn that down, for this play is spoiled.”
“What! Did youwanther to burn?” askedMr. Haskill, in accents of horror. “Did you want the devourin’ element to consume that buildin’?”
“I did,” replied the theatrical man.
“Well—I vum!” declared the volunteer chief. “Boys, we made a mistake.”
“The next time I’ll tell the inhabitants here what my plans are,” went on Mr. Ringold, grimly. “I told you I wanted it to burn.”
“I know you did,” admitted the chief; “but I thought you was so excited you didn’t know what you was sayin’.”
“So did I,” admitted several of the volunteer fire-fighters. “It’s too bad!”
“Well, you meant all right, anyhow,” went on Mr. Ringold, with cheerful philosophy; “and I’ll make the department a donation. But next time, please don’t interfere. I’ll set another shack on fire as soon as I can arrange to buy one,” he said to his company. “Meanwhile we’ll go on with another drama. Save whatever you can of the films,” he added to Blake and Joe. “Up to the time the firemen broke in they’ll be all right. Next time I’ll be more explicit.”
“I knew something would happen,” declared C. C., gloomily, as he tried to wring some of the water from his clothes. “I didn’t burn, but I nearly drowned.”
There was nothing to do but return to theirboarding place and arrange for another drama, rehearsals for which would take place in a day or so.
“Meanwhile,” said Mr. Ringold to Joe and Blake, “you may have a little time off. I tell you what you might do. We could use a fishing scene, I believe. Suppose you go out in one of the small boats here and get a series of views when they lift their nets.”
“The very thing!” cried Blake. “We’ll do it; eh, Joe?”
“Sure thing!”
“You might, in fact,” went on Mr. Ringold, “show the whole process of fishing, from the launching of the boats until they come back filled with the day’s catch.”
This the boys arranged to do, and that noon, when the power boats were launched, they were on hand to make moving pictures.
The craft, as I have explained, were “eased down” the sloping beach, by means of rollers and planks, until the stern was just at the edge of the surf. The motor was then started, the boat being still held fast by a rope. This rope was fastened in a peculiar knot, so that one man, standing near it, could loosen it with one pull when the word was given to “cut loose.”
The men watched the rollers with practicedeyes, for if the surf was heavy the boat might get into the trough, on being launched, and capsize. Often fishermen are drowned in this way, being struck by the heavy boat, or getting under it.
With the engine racing, the men got into the boat. One remained on the beach, holding the restraining rope. Another took his place at the stern, with a long steering oar that was to be used to get her bow on to the waves.
A particularly large wave was seen coming in.
“Get ready!” ordered the captain.
The man at the big oar took his place. The boat was almost afloat now.
“Cut loose!” came the order.
The man at the rope yanked the knot loose. The boat slid into the water and the next instant was being tossed about in the breakers, the man with the oar forcing her head around, aided by the powerful gasoline engine that turned the propeller. The craft came near to capsizing, but kept upright, and a little later was beyond the surf, into deep water, speeding out to the nets two miles away.
Blake and Joe, working by turns, got some fine views of the launching. Then, getting into another of the fishing boats with their cameras, and with Macaroni to aid them, they prepared to go out to the fishing grounds, where the nets were.
“Say, this is rough, all right!” exclaimed Blake, as they found themselves in the boiling, frothing surf.
“That’s what!” agreed Joe.
“Let me out! I want to walk!” pleaded Macaroni, who was not very fond of the water.
“You’ll be all right in a minute!” called Abe Haskill, who was captain of the boat. “Soon as you git out beyond the breakers you won’t mind it.”
And they found that they did not, though there was some motion, as there was quite a swell on. They reached the nets safely, and while the meshes were hauled up, bringing a good catch of fish, the moving picture boys took many views. It was interesting as well as instructive.
“This would make a good educational reel,” suggested Blake, as he spread his legs to maintain his balance against the rocking motion of the boat.
“Indeed it would,” observed Joe. “Look, there’s some one overboard!” and he pointed to one of the other boats.
A man had indeed slipped into the sea. The moving picture boys were ready, however, and trained one of the cameras on the fisherman, who, laughing at his mishap, soon swam to the boat again, and was pulled in.
It took some little time to haul the nets, but at last, with their own boat well filled with flapping fish, as were the others, Joe and Blake started for shore.
“Well, we made out all right, I think,” said Blake, as he looked to see if there was any more film left in his machine.
“Sure we did,” declared his chum. “If we had to take some other views we could.”
“We’ll want some of the landing of the boats, and the carting of the fish up to the sheds,” Blake reminded him.
“That’s right, we will. I guess I can——”
Joe did not finish his sentence. At that moment there came a jar and Blake cried:
“We’ve hit something!”
“No, something has hitus!” corrected one of the fishermen, leaping up, and grabbing a long, iron-shod pole.
“What is it?” demanded Joe.
“A pesky swordfish. He’s ramming us, and he may poke a hole in us! If I can get a chance I’ll jab him!” and the man leaned over the side. As he did so there came another attack on the craft, so fierce that it heeled over, and the man with the pole, giving a cry, was flung overboard.
CHAPTER XVSUSPICIOUS ACTIONS
“Man overboard!” cried several of the fishermen.
“Yes, and with a pesky swordfish too close for comfort!” added Abe Haskill. “Stop that motor, Bunker; we’ll have to pick him up.”
The fisherman who was called to, pulled out the switch, thus stopping the motor, and the boat drifted about on the slowly rising and falling billows.
“Can you see him?” asked the captain of the man who acted as mate.
“Yes, he’s right astern, but that fish——”
“Is he coming after Jake?”
“Full tilt!”
“Grab that prod, one of you!” yelled the captain. “See if you can harpoon him with it. I’ll git out the duck gun, though land knows it ain’t much use against a pesky swordfish!”
One of the fishermen picked up the iron-shod pole the unfortunate man had dropped as he wentoverboard, and stood ready to cast it at the big fish, which could be seen swirling along in the water, near the swimmer.
“Say!” cried Blake to Joe. “It may seem a heartless thing to do, but why can’t we get some moving pictures of this?”
“We can,” decided his chum. “We can’t help any, and we might as well film it.”
“Come on, then. You hold the camera steady and I’ll turn the handle.”
They had a machine all in readiness, its tripod shortened so that the lens could be brought close to the water.
“He’s dived!” cried one of the men.
“Who—the fish, or Jake?” demanded the captain.
“Jake. He saw the fish coming at him, and he went under. Lucky he did, or he might have been cut in two.”
“Throw that prod; can’t you? I’ll have this gun ready in a minute.”
The captain had pulled from a locker an old-fashioned, double-barreled duck gun.
“It’s loaded with slugs,” he called to the boys, who were even now taking moving pictures of the strange scene. “I carry it for sharks, but it’ll do as well against a swordfish, though they don’t commonly attack men.”
“Here goes for a cast!” cried the man with the prod, which was a sort of boathook without the hook. “I’ll see if I can spear him!”
Leaning forward he threw the weapon with all his force. The other fishermen, some of whom had grasped the spare oars to swing the boat around, looked eagerly to see the result.
“Missed, by ginger!” exclaimed the captain. “Here, let me try. Where’s Jake?”
“Out there. He’s swimming strong,” was the answer. “The pesky fish is coming back at him again.”
“Duck, Jake, duck!” cried the captain, as he got ready with the gun. “I’m going to shoot. Get down out of the way, and hold your breath. We’ll have you in another minute!”
He could see the swordfish plainly now, rushing directly toward the swimmer. The man heard and followed directions. Deep down he dived, and the fish shot directly over him.
“Say, that’s a great picture!” cried Blake.
“That’s what!” yelled Joe, and then his voice was drowned in the report of the gun, which was doubly charged.
“I got him! By cracky, I got him!” cried the captain. “That’s his blood showing.”
The waves were indeed red with the blood ofthe big fish, and a moment later its body was floating on the swells.
“There’s Jake!” cried one of the fishermen.
“All right!” was the response. “Throw him a line. He’s in no danger now.”
A few moments later the man was safe aboard, minus his boots, which he had kicked off in the sea, and some of his heavier clothing.
“That’s the end of Mr. Swordfish,” murmured the captain, in gratified tones, as he watched the lifeless body sink. “The sharks will get him. Are you all right, Jake?”
“Sure. It was hard work, though; and once I thought he had me. I dived just in time.”
“That’s what you did,” said Blake. “It was a great exhibition, and when it’s thrown on the screen it will make a sensation, I’m sure.”
“Say, you don’t mean to tell me you snapped what happened?” asked the fisherman, in surprise.
“We sure did,” declared Joe. “We got every move.”
“Plucky lads,” murmured the captain; “and right on the job, too. Start the motor,” he added to the man in charge of it.
“We’ve sprung a leak, captain!” exclaimed a man up in the bow. “Water’s coming in.”
“It’s where that pesky swordfish rammed us,I reckon. But stuff something in and it will hold until we get to shore. We haven’t far to go.”
The boat was soon under way again, and offers of aid from sister craft that circled around were declined. A bundle of rags served to stop the inrush of most of the water, and a little later the craft, with its load of fish, was hauled up on the beach by means of a tackle and fall, horses being the motive power. Joe and Blake got pictures of the other boats making a similar landing, theirs being the first in.
“Well, we got some fine views,” said Blake, as he and his chum started for their boarding place.
“We sure did, and something unexpected, too. I never counted on a swordfish attack.”
“No, and I guess the fishermen didn’t either. But it will make a realistic film, as Mr. Hadley would say.”
“It’s just our hoodoo luck again,” went on Joe. “Something out of the ordinary seems to be happening all the while to us.”
“Well, it’s better than monotony.”
“I suppose so. But I wonder what it will be next?”
The boys were congratulated on their success by Mr. Hadley and Mr. Ringold, and the films, when developed and printed a little later, furnished a series of fine views.
For the next week the boys had little time to themselves. The drama with the burning shack was enacted over again, this time with success, the volunteer firemen not throwing any water on the blaze. Other sea dramas were also made, and then came a period of rest, in which Blake and Joe had hardly anything to do.
“Say,” exclaimed Blake, one afternoon, “let’s go for a walk down the beach, by the cliffs. It’s a fine day and it will do us good.”
“All right,” agreed Joe. “I was thinking of paying another visit to the lighthouse, and asking if there was any news of my father; but, of course, there can’t be.”
“Hardly,” agreed Blake, thinking that the only news his chum would get there would be bad.
They strolled along the shore, making excursions here and there as something attracted them. Going through a little group of scrub oak, somewhat back from the shore, and climbing a slight elevation to get a view of the Pacific, the boys were startled, as they were about to emerge into a little open glade, to hear voices.
“Some one else besides us out here to-day,” spoke Joe, in a low voice.
“That’s right,” agreed his chum. “Keep still until we see who it is.”
Cautiously they advanced until they stood behinda little screen of trees, and were gazing into the open place. They saw several men at work erecting some sort of tower, or pile of rocks, and on top of it was mounted a large lantern.
“There—that ought to show pretty well,” remarked one of the men.
“Yes, and be seen a good distance out to sea,” put in another. “It’s just in the right place, too; for the rocks extend a good way out, and you can’t see ’em even at dead low water.”
“And anything drawing more than ten feet will be sure to strike on ’em,” suggested a third.
“That’s right, Sandy,” came the retort. “Have you got the lantern fixed so that she’ll flash like the other?”
“I sure have. All we’ve got to do is to pull one wire—this way—and the light is shut off. Another pull, and she gives a flash, just like a revolving light.”
“Good. We’ll give it a trial to-night.”
“Say, what do you think they are?” whispered Joe.
“I hardly know, and yet——”
“Maybe they’re experimenting with a new kind of light?” suggested the other lad.
“Experimenting? Yes!” spoke Blake, in a low, tense voice. “And I can guess what they’re experimenting for.”
“What?”
Blake was about to answer, when one of the men, looking in the direction where the boys were concealed, uttered an exclamation.
“Hark!” he cried. “I think I heard something.”
“It was the wind,” declared one.
“A bird in the bushes,” said another.
“I’m going to see!” declared the man. And he came straight toward their hiding place.
CHAPTER XVIJOE SUSPECTS SOMETHING
“What’ll we do, Blake?” was the whispered question.
“Stay here, I guess. If we run they’ll see us or hear us. Besides, we haven’t done anything to run for.”
“I know it, but those men look like ugly customers. I wonder what they can be up to?”
“They are—” began Blake, and then he pulled Joe down beside him in the bushes.
“He’s turned off to one side,” Blake went on. “He hasn’t seen us, and he doesn’t know just where to look. He may pass us by. Keep still!”
Together they crouched down. The man looked around as though to trace the noise which had been made when Joe accidentally stepped on a stick, which broke under his weight.
“Don’t breathe,” whispered Blake, with his lips close to Joe’s ear. “I think he’s going to pass us by.”
The man paused, seemed as if about to come directly for them again, and then dashed off to one side. He made a leap into the bushes, only to discover nothing, as his chagrined exclamation showed.
“I told you so!” growled one of his companions. “It was only the wind.”
“The wind doesn’t break sticks,” was the snappish reply.
“Then it was a bird—maybe a fishhawk.”
“Maybe,” assented the man who had started to make the search. “But I thought some one was spying on us, and if they were——” He did not finish, but glared angrily around. He was so close to the boys that they could hear his rapid breathing, but the leafy screen effectively hid them from view. “If I catch any one,” he went on, “he’ll wish he never ran across Hemp Danforth!” and he shook a big fist.
“Oh, come on!” called some of his companions. “There’s lots to be done yet before we get this lantern finished. And if we want any rich pickings we’ll have to hustle for ’em. The weather looks like it was going to break, and that will be just what we want. Come on, Hemp.”
“All right, I will, only don’t talk so bold and free.”
“Why not?”
“Because some one might be spying and listening to us.”
“He’s got that on his mind yet,” laughed one of the men. “There’s no one around here.”
“And if they were, what could they pick up?” demanded another.
“That’s all right—it’s best to be careful,” said the one called Hemp Danforth. “I’m taking no chances. Some of us might—well, no telling what might happen to us if we was to be found out.”
“Don’t talk that way,” spoke a tall, thin man. “It isn’t altogether cheerful—especially with what work we have on hand. Come on, now; let’s make this pillar a little higher, and the light will show better.”
“Say, what do you imagine they are doing?” whispered Joe. “It’s a queer game, Blake.”
“It sure is. I’ve about made up my mind what they are up to, and yet I may be wrong. Let’s wait here a while longer, and maybe we can pick up some information that will give us a better clue.”
The men were now engaged in heaping more stones on the pile where the lantern had set, and were making so much noise at it that the whispering of the boys could not be heard.
“Any special vessels in view?” asked one ofthe men, after they had worked away for some time in silence.
“No, but there’ll sure be one along before long. We can count on that. Of course, we’ll have to keep the light going several nights, maybe, but it’ll be worth while.”
“It ought to fool ’em, all right,” went on Hemp Danforth. “If it hadn’t been that Nate Duncan tripped us up, and didn’t come across with that information we wanted, we wouldn’t have all this trouble.”
For a moment Joe seemed to stiffen as he heard the name, and then, in a hoarse whisper, he turned to Blake and said:
“Did you hear that? These men know my father. They used his name.”
“Yes, but keep quiet!” urged Blake, for Joe had raised his voice. “We don’t want them to know we’re here.”
“But they know my father, Blake,” went on Joe, using more caution, however, in his tones. “I must speak to them. Maybe they were associated with him in lighthouse work, and this may be some new patent lantern they’re trying. Maybe my father hasn’t gone to China at all, and these men can tell where he is.”
Joe made a move as though to leave the screened hiding place and approach the men.
“No—don’t go!” whispered Blake, hoarsely, holding his chum back. “Stay here, Joe. Don’t speak to those men!”
“But they have something to do with my father.”
“No matter; do as I say, please! Believe me, Joe, I can’t explain now, for I promised I would not. But you’ll understand—later. Don’t approach those men!”
“Why not?”
“Because—well, I can’t tell you!”
“Then I’m going!” declared Joe, half fiercely. “Blake, I’m sure you’re keeping something from me. I’ve suspected it for some time, for you’ve looked at me in a queer fashion when I spoke of my father. Now what is it?”
“Really, Joe, it’s nothing—that is——”
“Yes, it is something. If you don’t tell me I’ll go out there and take the consequences!”
Joe broke from Blake’s restraining grasp as he whispered this, and was about to dash for the bushes, when Hemp Danforth, dashing down a stone he was raising, cried out:
“Boys, you can’t fool me! There is some one here, and they’re spying on us. I’ll make ’em sorry for it! I hear whispering, and I’ve felt right along as though unseen eyes were looking at me. Now I’m going to find out who it is!”
Once more he started for the place where Blake and Joe were concealed. This time it could be seen that he would not be swerved from his quest.
“Come on, Joe. We’ve got to run for it!” exclaimed Blake, and, not caring now how much noise they made—being under the necessity of betraying their presence—they dashed back in the direction they had come.
“Here they are!” yelled Hemp, as he ran after them, tearing through the underbrush. “I knew we were being spied on! Come along, men!” he yelled.
Blake and Joe looked back as they got to the path that led along the cliff, below which was the rolling ocean. They had a glimpse of the big man racing after them, several others in his wake.
“Stop!” commanded Hemp Danforth. “Hold on, you spies!”
“Don’t answer,” advised Blake. “Save your breath for running, Joe.”
“Um!” grunted his chum.
They were fleet of foot, and had a start. They were also lighter in weight than was their pursuer. In a short time they were well ahead.
“But he’s still coming on!” declared Blake.
“We’ve got to give him the slip,” declared Joe. “Can’t you see some side path we can take?”
“Yes, here’s one,” was the panting answer, and at that moment Blake parted some low bushes and jumped into a sort of cross path, almost concealed from view. “Come on, Joe!”
His chum lost no time in following, and for a few moments, at least, they were comparatively safe.
“Now, Blake,” said Joe, when they felt that they could slacken their pace to get their breath, “I want you to tell me that secret!”
CHAPTER XVIIAFTER THE WRECKERS
Blake Stewart was at a loss. He did not know what to do, and, though he had been expecting to hear this request at almost any time, he was no more prepared for it now than he would have been had it been made directly after Blake learned of Mr. Duncan’s flight.
“Well?” asked Joe, suggestively, when his chum did not answer. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“What makes you think I have a secret, Joe?” Thus Blake tried to temporize, so that he might think what was best to do.
“Oh, I’m sure you have,” declared Joe, “and you might as well tell me now as any time, for I’m bound to find it out. I don’t believe there’s any more danger now,” and he paused to look back along the almost hidden path they had followed. “I can’t see anything of that man,” he added. “We gave him the slip, all right.
“Now go ahead, Blake, and end my suspense. I’ve seen for some time that you’ve been keeping something back from me. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something about my father. And I appreciate why you’re doing it. You want to spare my feelings.”
“That’s it!” cried Blake, eagerly, glad of any chance to put off what he regarded as a most unpleasant duty. “It is for your sake, Joe, that I have been keeping silent, and I wish you would go on letting me do so. Believe me, if I thought it well for you to know I’d tell you.”
“Is it—is it that he isn’t my father, after all?” faltered the lad, following a silence in which all sound of pursuit had died away. The boys felt that they were safe now. “Do you mean to say, Blake, that this man whom I’ve traced after such hard work, isn’t any relation to me—haven’t I any folks, after all?”
“No, Joe, it isn’t that at all. He’s your father, as far as I know, and I will admit there is some secret about him. But I’d rather not tell you.”
“I want to know it,” insisted Joe, firmly.
“If you’ll only wait,” went on his chum, “it may all be explained when—when he comes back. Then there won’t be any need of a secret. Better wait, Joe.”
“No, I’ve got to hear it right away. If it’s anydisgrace—and it must be, or you’d be willing to tell me—if it’s any disgrace, it’s my duty to stand up for my father when he isn’t here. I’m his son, and I have a right to know about it, and protect his name as much as I can. Tell me, Blake.”
The other hesitated a moment. If he told, it would be, he felt, breaking his promise made to the lighthouse keeper, but then the promise was not so sacred that it could not be broken. It was given under a sort of discretion, and Blake knew that he would be allowed to reveal what had been said if he felt that it was best to do so. The time now seemed to have come to do this. He took a sudden resolve.
“All right, Joe,” he said, “I’ll tell you. There is a secret about your father. I suppose you know what sort of men those were that we just got away from?” and he nodded in the direction of the hill down which they had raced.
“I’ve been puzzling my head about them, Blake,” came the answer, “and all I can say is that they must be either men who are experimenting with a new kind of light, or else they are—wreckers!”
“That’s it, Joe. They are wreckers, and they’re plotting to lure some vessel on the rocks by means of false lights.”
“The scoundrels!” burst out Joe. “We’ve got to spoil their wicked game.”
“That’s what we have. We’ll tell the police, or some one in authority.”
“But before we do,” broke in Joe, “tell me about my father, though I begin to suspect now,” and there was a look of sadness on his face.
“I presume you pretty well know what is coming,” said Blake, slowly, “now you have heard what those men said. The whole amount of it is, Joe, that your father is suspected of having been in league with those wreckers—that he helped to lure vessels on these same rocks.”
“My father a wrecker!” cried Joe. “It can’t be—I won’t believe it!”
“I didn’t want to either, when I heard it,” said Blake, “and maybe, now that I’ve told you, we can work together and find some way of proving him innocent.”
“That’s it!” cried the son. “Oh, if he were only here to help us! I wonder why he went away?”
“The lighthouse keeper said,” began Blake, “that your father left because he feared to be arrested. And the day after he went away an officer did come for him,” and he proceeded to relate what Mr. Stanton had said.
“I don’t believe it!” cried Joe, when the accountwas finished. “Of course, I don’t remember my father, and, naturally, I don’t know what sort of a man he was, but I don’t believe he was a wrecker!”
“And I don’t either!” added Blake. “Here’s my hand on it, Joe, and we’ll do our best to find out the truth of this thing,” and the two chums clasped hands warmly.
“But it’s mighty strange what those men said about him,” went on Joe. “To think that we would stumble on the wreckers right at work. We can lead the police to the very place where they have set up their false light.”
“Maybe we can do better than that, Joe.”
“How?”
“Why, we may be able to help the police catch these same fellows.”
“That’s so. Have you a plan, Blake?” asked his chum, eagerly, as they walked on along the path.
“Not yet, but we’ll make one up. But, Joe, did you notice just what it was that big wrecker said?”
“Not exactly; I was too excited when I heard them mention my father’s name.”
“Well, they as much as said that your father had refused to give them the information they wanted, and this spoiled their scheme. Thatmight go to show that they made offers to him to have him help them in their wicked plans, and he refused. That made them turn against him, and——”
“I see, Blake! You mean that, maybe, after all, he left because he was afraid of the wreckers, and not because he had done anything wrong?”
“That’s it, Joe. Of course, it’s all guess work on our part, so far, and I think the best thing we can do is to go to the lighthouse and tell Mr. Stanton all we’ve seen and heard. He may be able to advise us, even if he is an old man. At any rate, he’ll know what police or government officers to go to, so we can catch these wreckers.”
“That’s right, Blake. Come on. I guess we can go down on the beach now. Those fellows won’t venture out into the open after us, I don’t believe.”
“No, they seem to have given up the chase,” replied Blake, and the two lads were soon down on the shore.
A look around showed no signs of the supposed wreckers, and a little later the two lads were in the lighthouse telling their story to the wondering and amazed keeper.
“So that’s how the scoundrels are planning to work; are they?” cried the old man. “Going to duplicate my light, and fool the poor sailors!But we’ll put a spoke in their wheel, boys. We’ll spike their guns for ’em, and have ’em behind the bars, if there’s any law in this land.
“Putting up a false light right opposite those rocks—the most dangerous on the coast! No punishment would be too bad for ’em. Did you happen to hear, boys, when they expected to play that wicked game?”
“They didn’t mention any special night,” replied Blake; “it seemed that they counted on getting some information which failed them—Joe’s father,” he added, thinking it well to let Mr. Stanton know that Joe had been informed of the secret.
“Joe’s father; eh?” said the old man, musingly. “Boy, I’m mighty sorry for you,” he said, softly; “for I know the disgrace is trying, and if it had been possible to keep this from you——”
“I’m glad I know!” burst out Joe. “There isn’t going to be any disgrace. My father is innocent, I’m sure of it; and I believe we can prove it, once we have these wreckers arrested.”
“That’s the way to talk!” cried the old man. “Boys, I’ll help you. We’ll get right after these miscreants. Maybe I was wrong, after all, in thinking Nate Duncan guilty. He was a good man, and it made me feel bad even to suspect him.”
“What do you think is the best thing to do?” asked Blake. “We ought to act quickly, or they may leave this part of the country, to try their scheme farther down the coast. It might succeed, then.”
“That’s right,” declared Mr. Stanton. “We must act at once. My assistant is here now, and I’ll have him go with you. I’m a little too old for such work. Besides, one of us will have to stay here to guard the light. No telling but what the scoundrels might try to wreck it. But if they come, I’ll be ready for ’em!” he cried, as he took down an old-fashioned musket from the wall. “I’ll stand by to repel boarders!” he exclaimed, holding the weapon above his head, and then sighting it at an imaginary enemy.
“I’ll call my assistant,” he went on. “Tom Cardiff is as sturdy a lad as you’d wish to see. He can get one of the men from the life saving station, and with a couple of the government secret service officers you ought to be able to get those wreckers, don’t you think?”
“Sure!” cried Joe.
“Did you mean for us to help catch ’em?” asked Blake.
“I certainly did,” went on the keeper. “That is, unless you’re——”
“Afraid? Not a bit of it!” cried Blake, vigorously.
“Besides, you know just where they were located,” continued Mr. Stanton.
“Though they may have taken the alarm and left,” suggested Joe.
“Then we’ll trace ’em!” cried his chum. “Where is your helper, Mr. Stanton?”
“I’ll call him. I say Tom—Tom Cardiff!” he shouted up the lantern tower. “I’ll finish cleaning the lens. I’ve got other work for you. Come down!”
“Coming!” was the answer, and a little later a well built young fellow, muscular and of fine appearance, greeted the boys. The introduction was soon made, and the story of the lads told.
“Wreckers; eh?” exclaimed Tom Cardiff. “I’d just like to get hold of some of the wretches,” and he stretched out his vigorous arms.
“Well, get after ’em, then!” exclaimed the old man. “You don’t want to lose any time. Telephone for the officers.”
The wire was soon busy, and arrangements made for the secret service men to come to the lighthouse. One of the life saving squad, from a station a little farther down the coast, was also engaged.
“Now you boys had better go back to yourplace,” said Mr. Stanton; “and arrange to come back to-night. That’s the only time to get after these fellows. They probably have finished their work, from what you told me, and they’ll lay low until it’s dark. Then we’ll get after ’em!”
CHAPTER XVIIIFAILURE
“Boys, if you could only get moving pictures of the capture of the wreckers!”
Thus exclaimed Mr. Ringold when his two young employees told of the plans afoot and asked to be excused from work a little longer.
“It would be great,” admitted Joe.
“But we’d need a powerful light,” said Blake, “and if we had that it would warn the men we’re after.”
“That’s so,” spoke the theatrical man. “I guess it’s out of the question. But you have done such wonderful work so far, that I’d like you to keep it up. A film of the capture of wreckers would make an audience sit up and take notice.”
“I guess I’ll have to invent some sort of a light that would make it possible,” put in Mr. Hadley; “but I’m afraid I can’t have it ready to-night.”
“Then you don’t mind if we go?” asked Blake.
“No, indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Ringold, “and I wish you all success.”
“It’s going to be a dark night,” remarked Blake, a little later, as he and Joe were on their way to the lighthouse. It was early evening, but the sky was clouding over and a wind was coming up that sent the big billows bounding up on the sand with a booming noise like the discharge of distant cannon.
“Yes, we’ll have to sort of feel our way along,” said Joe. “But I guess we can find the place, all right.”
“I hope so. But I wonder if the men will come back after the alarm we gave ’em?”
“That’s hard to tell, Blake. And yet they might; for, though they saw us, they may think we were only a couple of lads out for a stroll, who accidentally stumbled on their hiding place. In that case they wouldn’t think we’d give any alarm, and they’d go on with their plans.”
“That’s so. Well, we’ll see what happens. I hope there aren’t too many of them, so that our men can handle them.”
“That Tom Cardiff can get away with a couple on his own account, and with the life saver, and the secret service men, not to mention ourselves, Blake, I guess we’ll make out all right.”
“I reckon you and I together, Joe, can account for at least one,” and Blake looked quizzically at his chum.
“I feel almost as if I could handle one alone, when I think of how they got my father into trouble,” replied the other. “I’m going to give a good account of myself, if I get the chance.”
“Same here. Well, there’s the lighthouse just ahead, and two or three men waiting for us. I guess they’re the ones we are to go with.”
This proved to be the case, and a little later the boys were repeating to the life saver, and two secret service men, such parts of their story as Mr. Stanton and Tom Cardiff had omitted or forgotten.
“Well, if we’re all ready, we may as well start,” proposed Sam Wilton, one of the government agents. The other was Jerry Boundley, while the name of the life saver was Frank Hale.
“Yes, it’s quite a tramp,” said Tom Cardiff, “and the wreckers may be there now. Several small trading vessels are expected up the coast this week, and some may be due to-night. Though seeing that a storm is coming up, they may keep so far out from shore that they won’t see the false lights, in case the wreckers try to work them.
“This is about as wicked a piece of work as could well be done, trying to wreck vessels this way. A sailor has to depend absolutely on the lights, under certain conditions, and if they’rewrong, it’s like leading a blind man into danger. So let’s get after ’em and stop their work!”
The men well knew the way nearly to the place where the boys had discovered the wreckers at work, and so they would not have to rely on Joe and Blake to guide them until they were almost there.
“When you see that you are close to the place,” said Tom Cardiff, “you boys go ahead, and we’ll trail along after you. And keep mighty quiet, too. If we can catch these fellows actually in the act of showing a false light, so much better for the chances of convicting them.”
They went on in the darkness. Back of them, as they mounted the hill which ended in the high cliff, could be seen the flashing light tended by aged Mr. Stanton.
“He’s right on the job,” remarked Tom Cardiff. “Even if he’s an old man he’ll stay up all night to attend to that light, to see that it’s trimmed properly, that the machinery is working, that there’s oil in the reservoir, and that the lenses are clean. That light is just like a son or daughter to him. He can’t bear to have anything happen to it and the very idea of any scoundrels trying to wreck vessels by means of a false beacon riles him up considerable.”
“I should think it would,” agreed Mr. Wilton.“Well, if we can catch these fellows we’ll put ’em where they can’t do any more harm. And I hope we’ll get back in time, so Mr. Stanton won’t have to stay up all night.”
“I hope so, too,” put in Tom Cardiff. “He isn’t equal to the task.”
“We’re getting close to the place now,” said Blake, in a low voice a little later.
“Then you boys come up here,” ordered Tom Cardiff, who, in a measure, was a sort of leader. “And everybody keep quiet. Don’t talk, except in whispers, and make as little noise as you can.”
Cautiously they advanced, the boys in the lead. The lads recognized, even in the darkness, some of the larger landmarks they had passed in their flight that afternoon.
“Hold on a minute, and listen,” suggested the life saver. “Maybe we can hear them talking.”
They paused, but the only sound that came was the booming of the surf on the rocks below.
“Can you see anything of a light?” asked Mr. Boundley.
“Not a thing,” replied Joe, glancing all about him.
“Look up,” directed Tom Cardiff. “That’s the best way to locate a light that you can’t see directly. You may catch its reflection on the night mist.”
But the night was black all around them. Not a gleam could they make out. Once more they advanced until Joe and Blake recognized the place where they had been hiding, and whence they had looked into the open place where the wreckers had been putting up their false light.
“It’s here!” whispered Blake.
“Just ahead there,” added Joe.
“Get ready, men!” exclaimed Tom Cardiff, in a tense whisper. “We’ll rush ’em before they know it—if they’re here.”
Stout clubs had been brought along in anticipation of a hand-to-hand struggle, it being decided that these weapons were best, safest and most effective at close quarters.
“All ready?” asked the leader.
“Yes—yes!” came the answers.
Blake leaned forward, cautiously parted the bushes and looked toward the open space. He had heard nothing, and seen nothing, and yet he knew that the men might be hidden about, and that the lantern might not yet be lighted.
“Come on!” cried Tom Cardiff, and together they leaped from their place of concealment.
There was a moment of silence, and then a disappointed exclamation burst from the lips of the assistant lighthouse keeper.
“They’re not here!” he declared. That wasevident, for there had been no response as the searchers burst out.
“Are you sure this is the place?” asked Mr. Wilton, turning to the boys.
“Positive,” answered Joe.
“Here’s the pile of rocks on which the lantern was set,” added Blake.
“But there’s no lantern here now,” said Tom Cardiff.
“Then they’ve skipped!” declared the life saver. “They got suspicious and left, taking the lantern with ’em!”