CHAPTER XIXON THE TRAIL
There was no doubt about it, the wreckers were not there, and the indications were that they had betaken themselves to some other location.
When the men flashed the pocket electric lamps they had brought with them, the little opening at the top of the cliff was well illuminated.
“Nothing doing!” exclaimed Joe, regretfully.
“They must have skipped out right after they chased us,” decided Blake.
“And they went in a hurry, too,” declared Tom Cardiff.
“What makes you think so?” asked one of the government officers.
“Look at how this stone pile, which they intended to use as a base for their lantern, is disturbed, and pulled apart,” went on the assistant lighthouse keeper, as he flashed his torch on it. “I’ll wager, boys, that when you saw it, with that contrivance atop by which they hoped to foolsome vessels, this stone pile was well built up; wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Blake, “it was.”
“Because,” went on Tom Cardiff, “it would have to be so to make their light steady, to give the impression that it was one of the regular government lights. They were going to work a shutter, you boys say, to give the impression of a revolving light, and that would make it necessary to have a firm foundation.
“And yet now the whole top of this stone pile is torn apart, showing that they must have ripped out whatever they had here to hold the lantern. They got away in a hurry, is my opinion.”
“And I guess we’ll all have to agree,” put in the life saver. “The question is—where did they go?”
“And that’s a question we’ve got to answer,” added Tom Cardiff. “We’ve got to get on the trail.”
“Why so?” asked the life saver. “If you’ve driven ’em off, so they can’t try any of their dastardly tricks to lure vessels ashore, isn’t that all you want? You’ve spoiled their game.”
“Yes!” cried Tom Cardiff, “we’ve spoiled it for this one place, but they’ll be at it somewhere else.”
“What do you mean?” asked Joe.
“I mean that they’ve gone somewhere else!”exclaimed the assistant keeper. “They’ve made tracks away from here, but they’ve gone to some other place to set up their light, and try the same thing they were going to try here. It’s our duty to keep after ’em, and break up the gang!”
“That’s right!” cried Mr. Wilton. “There’s no telling what damage they might do, if left alone. Why, they might even get to some place where large passenger steamers pass, and wreck one of them, though mostly they aim to pick out a spot where small cargo boats would be lured on the rocks. We’ve got to keep after ’em!”
“Then come on!” cried Joe. He was fired with enthusiasm, not only to capture the wreckers for the purpose of protecting human life and property, but he was also eager to have the scoundrels safe in confinement so that he might question them, and learn the source of the suspicion against his father.
“On the trail!” cried Blake. “Maybe we can easily find the wreckers.”
“No, not to-night,” advised Mr. Boundley. “It wouldn’t be practical, in the first place; and if it was, it wouldn’t be safe. We don’t know this locality very well. There may be hidden dangers and pitfalls that would injure some of us. Then, too, we don’t want to stumble on a nest ofwreckers without knowing something of the lay of the ground.”
“What’s best to be done?” asked Tom Cardiff.
“Do nothing to-night,” advised the government man. “To-morrow we can take up the trail, and by daylight we may be able to pick up something that will give us a clue. I think they won’t try any of their tricks to-night, so it will be safe for us to go back.”
The others agreed with this view, and, after looking about the place a little more, and trying, but unsuccessfully, to find clues in the darkness, partly illuminated by the electric torches, they gave it up and started back to the lighthouse.
“Well, what do you think?” asked Blake of Joe, as the two lads reached their boarding house in the little theatrical colony. It was quite late.
“Think of it?” echoed Joe. “I’m terribly disappointed, that’s what. I hoped I’d be able to get a start on disproving this accusation against my father.”
“Yes, it was a disappointment,” agreed Blake.
“And now there’s no telling when I can.”
“No, not exactly; but, Joe, I have a plan.”
“What is it?”
“What’s the matter with getting on the trail after these fellows the first thing in the morning. No use waiting any longer, and we can’t tell howprompt those government men may be. Of course they’re interested, in a general way, in making the capture; but aside from that, you and I have a personal motive; for I’ll admit I’m as interested as you are in proving that your father is innocent.
“So what’s the matter with getting back up on the cliff as soon as we can, and seeing if we can trace those fellows. You know we’ve had some experience after taking films of those Indians, and can follow signs pretty well.”
“I’m with you, Blake!” cried Joe. “We’ll do it. I guess Mr. Ringold will let us off when he knows how important it is.”
They spoke of the matter to the theatrical man early the next morning, and he readily agreed to let them continue the work of trying to capture the wreckers.
“Go ahead, boys,” he said. “Mr. Hadley and your lad, Macaroni, can take what films we want to-day. And I would like to see you get those wreckers. There’s no meaner criminal alive. All we’ll do for the next couple of days is to get ready for our big drama—I’ve planned a new one—and I sure will want you boys to help film it for me.”
“What’s it going to be about?” asked Blake.
“It’s a sea story, and a wreck figures in it.”
“A real wreck?” asked Joe, in some surprise. “That will be hard to do; won’t it?”
“It sure will, and I don’t just know how to manage it. I could buy some old tub, and wreck it, I suppose, but I want it to look natural. While I don’t wish anyone bad luck, I do wish, if a wreck had to happen, that it would come about here, so we could get moving pictures of it. But I don’t suppose I’ll have any such good luck.
“However, I’ll have to think about this. Now you boys can have a couple of days off, if you like, and I hope you’ll find those miscreants.”
“I wish we could get you some moving pictures of them,” spoke Blake; “but I’m afraid it’s out of the question.”
The boys were soon at the scene of the disappointment the night before. Daylight revealed more clearly the haste with which the wreckers had removed their false lantern. Stones were scattered about, as were bits of broken wood, wire, rope and other accessories.
“Now,” said Joe, after they had looked about, “the thing to do is to trail them.”
“And the first thing is to get a clue,” added Blake.
They looked about, using the knowledge they had gained from being with the cowboy the time they filmed the pictures of the Moqui Indians. For some time their efforts were without success. They cast about in all directions, looking for somelead that would tell them in which direction the wreckers had gone.
“I should think they’d go farther down the coast,” suggested Joe. “They certainly wouldn’t come toward the lighthouse, and they wouldn’t go inland, for to work their plan they need to be near the shore.”
“That’s right, to an extent,” decided Blake; “but, at the same time, they may have wanted to give a false clue. So we mustn’t let that fool us. Keep on looking.”
Narrowly they scanned the ground. It was covered with marks, not only of the footsteps of the wreckers, but of the men and boys themselves who had made the unsuccessful raid the night before.
“Hello!” cried Blake, suddenly, as he dived into a clump of bushes. “Here’s something!”
“What is it?” asked Joe.
“A piece of cloth, evidently torn from a man’s clothing. And, Joe, now that I recall it, it’s the same color as the suit worn by Hemp Danforth when he chased us. We’re on the trail at last, Joe!”
CHAPTER XXTHE DISCOVERY
Joe Duncan leaped to his chum’s side. Eagerly he looked at the bit of cloth which, caught on a thorn bush, had ripped from some man’s garment. The cloth was not weather-beaten, which, to the boys, showed that it had not long been hanging there.
“Blake, I believe you’re right,” assented his chum. “They went this way, and they must have done it for a blind, or else to get to some path that goes farther down the beach a different way,” for the cloth was caught on a bush toward the landward side of the little clearing.
“We’ll follow this,” said Blake.
“Of course,” agreed his chum.
They pushed into the bushes. There was no semblance of a path, but this did not discourage the boys. They realized that the wreckers would want to cover up their trail, and would take a way that would not seem to lead anywhere.
“This will branch off pretty soon,” was Blake’s opinion. “This is just a blind, to make us believe they have given up, and gone inland. Come on, Joe, and keep a sharp lookout for any other signs.”
They found none for some time, and then they came to a little open place where the soft ground held several footprints.
“We’re getting warmer!” exclaimed Joe.
“Hush!” cautioned his chum. “They may hear us.”
“Why, you don’t think they’re around here; do you?”
“There’s no telling. It’s best to be on the safe side. Keep quiet. Hello! here’s something else!” and Blake, moving cautiously, so as not to make any more noise than possible, picked up a bit of metal.
“What is it?” asked Joe.
“Part of their lantern,” answered his chum. “It was made of black sheet iron, you remember. This piece may have fallen off when they dragged it through the bushes. We’re on the right trail, all right.”
“I believe you. But I wish it would turn on to a better path. It’s no fun forcing your way through these bushes.”
“It’ll turn soon now,” predicted Blake. “Theyonly took this lead long enough to discourage pursuit. They didn’t like it any better than we do.”
His surmise proved correct and about five minutes later, having found other evidences of the passage of the wreckers, they came out on an open trail.
It was a narrow path, leading along in both directions from where they came out on it, and following the coast line, but some distance inland. There were evidences that men had passed in both directions, and that at no distant time, for footprints turned to both the left and right, as the boys emerged from the blind trail in the brush.
“Well, what about this?” questioned Joe, as he looked in silence at the tell-tale marks. “Which way shall we go, Blake?”
“To the right!” came the answer, almost immediately.
“What makes you say that?” asked his chum. “I don’t see anything to show that they went to the right, any more than that they went to the left.”
“Don’t you?” asked Blake. “Look here, and remember some of the things our cowboy guide told us when we were after the Indians. Now you see footprints going off to the left and right from this point; don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Well, do you happen to notice that on the left there are footprints coming back as well as going.”
“Yes, I see that. But what does it mean?”
“And on the right side, counting from this dividing point, there are only footprints in one direction.”
“That’s so, Blake. But——”
“Now what’s the answer? Why the men got here, and, thinking they might be followed, tried a simple trick. They doubled their trail.”
“What’s that?”
“Why, some of them went off to the left, walked on a little way, doubled, or turned, and came back, joining the others, who had turned to the right and kept on.”
“Why was that?”
“Because they wanted to fool us. Naturally a person, not looking carefully, would see both lines of footprints, and would reason that the men might have divided, or that there might have been two separate parties. He wouldn’t know which trail to take. He might pick out the right one, and, again, he might select the wrong one.”
“And you say the right one is——”
“To the right. We’ll follow that. If they think to fool us, or make us divide our forces,they’re going to be disappointed. Another thing.”
“What’s that, Blake?” asked Joe, as he noticed his chum leaning over and carefully examining the marks in the dirt.
“Why, naturally they wouldn’t go to the left, as that eventually leads to the lighthouse. They want to keep some distance from that. Of course they’d go to the right. And here’s where we go after ’em. Come on!”
There was no hesitation now. Joe was as sure as his chum that the wreckers had gone farther down the coast, perhaps to some other high cliff where they could set up their lantern.
They followed the path. The trail was plain now, showing that a number of men had passed along. Footprints were the only clues, however, a number overlapping one another.
“What shall we do if we find them?” asked Joe.
“I—I don’t know,” answered Blake. This was when they had been following the new trail for about an hour.
“We can’t tackle ’em alone, that’s sure,” went on Joe.
“No, but we can—Hark! What’s that?” whispered Blake, suddenly.
They listened intently. Far off they could hear the roar of the surf on the beach; but, closer athand, was another sound. It was the clink of metal. And then came the distant murmur of men’s voices.
“Joe, I think we’ve found them,” whispered Blake. “Come on, but don’t make any noise.”
Cautiously they crept forward, the sounds becoming more and more plain.
Suddenly they heard a loud voice exclaim:
“There! I guess that will do the business! And those fellows won’t find us here!”
“That’s them!” whispered Blake in Joe’s ear. “I know the voice of Hemp Danforth. We’ve found ’em, Joe!”
CHAPTER XXITHE CAPTURE
Impulsively the boys clasped hands as they realized what the discovery meant. They had come upon the new hiding place of the wreckers, and the chances were good for capture if no alarm was given.
Joe, perhaps, felt more elated than did Blake, though the latter was glad that his theory in regard to the direction taken by the men had proved correct.
But Joe felt that now he had a better chance to prove his father innocent of the charge made against him—that he was involved with the wreckers.
“We’ve got ’em!” he whispered.
“Yes—we’ve got ’em—to get!” agreed Blake. “No slip-up this time.”
In whispers they consulted, and decided to creep forward a short distance to make sure of their first surmise that the men, whose voices they heard, were really the wreckers.
“We want to be certain about it,” warned Blake, in a cautious whisper.
“That’s right,” agreed his chum. “Go ahead, and I’ll come after you.”
Cautiously they advanced until they were in a position to look forward and make out a number of men working on a sort of mound of rock that rose from the surface of the cliff.
“This is a better place, from their standpoint, than the other,” whispered Blake. “A light can be seen farther.”
“Yes, and they’re putting up the same lantern on a rock pile,” remarked Joe. Both lads recognized the apparatus they had seen before. The men were busily engaged in setting it in place, evidently working fast to make up for lost time.
“It’s the same gang,” observed Blake; “and they must know of some vessel that is to pass here soon, or they wouldn’t be in such a hurry. Probably they count on the steersman mistaking this light for the one at Rockypoint, and standing in close here. Up at Rockypoint there is deep water close in shore, but it shoals very fast both ways, up or down the beach. So if a vessel saw a false light, and stood close in to get her bearings, she’d be on the rocks in no time.”
“That’s right,” agreed Joe. “She’d be wrecked and these fellows would get what they could outof her, caring nothing for the lives lost. Blake, we’ve got to stop ’em!”
“We sure have.”
“Not only to clear my father, but to save others,” went on Joe. “What’s best to be done?”
“Well, we can’t capture ’em by ourselves; that’s sure,” went on Blake, each lad speaking in a cautious whisper. “The best thing for us to do is to go back, I think, and tell Tom Cardiff. He’ll know what to do.”
“Maybe one of us had better stay here to keep watch. They may skip out.”
“No danger. They don’t know that we have followed ’em, or that we are here.”
“Then we’ll go back together.”
“Sure, and give the alarm. Then to make the capture, if we can.”
For a few minutes longer the eager boys looked on, unseen by the men whom they had trailed. The wreckers were busy putting up their lantern, and were making as much noise, talking and hammering on the apparatus, as though they were far removed from possible discovery.
“Well, we’d better be going,” suggested Blake, after a bit; and they made their departure without causing any suspicious sounds, so that the wreckers had no idea, as far as our heroes could ascertain, that they were being spied upon.
In order to save time, as soon as they got to the nearest small settlement, Joe and Blake hired a carriage, and drove to the lighthouse. As may well be imagined their report caused considerable excitement.
“We’ll get right after ’em!” cried Tom Cardiff. “I just got a telephone message from the secret service men that they are on their way here. They’ll arrive in about an hour. We were counting on getting on the trail ourselves to-day, but you boys got ahead of us. So in about an hour we’ll start. I guess they’ll be there then; won’t they, lads.”
“I should judge so,” was Blake’s answer. “They’ve got quite a good deal yet to do to get that fake lantern in shape, and they don’t seem suspicious.”
“We can’t have our life saving friend with us now,” went on the assistant keeper, “as he is on duty, but I guess the five of us will be enough.”
“Say!” cried Blake, with sudden thought, “if it’s going to be an hour before we start we’ve got time to get our automatic moving picture camera, Joe.”
“What for?”
“To get some views of this capture. It ought to make a dandy film, and we can set the machinein place, start the motor and then you and I can jump in and help catch these wreckers!”
“The very thing!” cried his chum. “I wonder I didn’t think of it myself. Come on!”
“Don’t be late!” advised Tom Cardiff, as they ran toward the ancient carriage they had hired. “We don’t want any slip-up this time. I’m glad we’re going to try for the capture by daylight, though, instead of darkness; it gives us a better chance.”
Mr. Ringold and Mr. Hadley were surprised and delighted at the news the boys brought, but they voted against the automatic camera.
“This is a rare chance to get a film,” said Mr. Hadley, “and we don’t want to miss it. I’ll go along with you, taking a regular moving picture camera, and while you capture the wreckers I’ll make a film of it.”
This suited the boys as well, and a little later, with the chief photographer, they started back for the lighthouse. They found the secret service men and Tom Cardiff waiting for them, and, well armed, in addition to the clubs they carried, and with ropes to bind the wreckers, they started off.
“We’re almost there now,” said Blake, in a whisper, when they neared the second hiding place of the desperate men. “Go easy, now.”
“Let me get a chance to go ahead and placethe camera,” suggested Mr. Hadley, who had the apparatus fully adjusted.
“That’s a great idea,” declared one of the government men. “Taking their photographs in moving pictures! There’ll be no chance for them to deny they were present when they were captured,” and he chuckled grimly.
Mr. Hadley was given an opportunity to move forward alone. He found an advantageous spot and almost at once beckoned to the others to hasten.
“They’re getting ready to leave!” he whispered, as they reached his side.
“Come on, then!” cried Tom Cardiff. “Jump in on ’em, boys. Lively now!”
As he spoke he leaped forward, followed by the others.
“Surrender! We’ve got you surrounded!” yelled the assistant keeper. “It’s all over but the shouting!” and as he made a grab for one of the men the moving picture machine began clicking.
“Hands up!” ordered Mr. Wilton.
“At ’em, boys!” called the other government man, as he and Blake and Joe leaped to the attack together.
For a moment the wreckers stood as if paralyzed about the stone pedestal on which the falselantern was being built. Then, with one accord, the desperate men made a dash for the bush.
“Stop ’em!” cried Tom Cardiff. “Don’t let ’em get away!”
“Come on!” yelled Blake to his chum. “We’ve got to get in this fracas!”
And as they dashed after the wreckers the moving picture camera in the hands of Mr. Hadley recorded view after view of the exciting scene.
CHAPTER XXIIA LIFE GUARD’S ALARM
Fortune played into the hands of our friends in two ways as they sought to capture the wreckers. Otherwise the desperate men might have gotten away, so quickly did they dash out of the clearing at the first alarm.
But, as he ran along, big Hemp Danforth, the leader of the criminals, stumbled and fell. Right behind him was sturdy Tom Cardiff, and the assistant lighthouse keeper was quick to take advantage of the chance thus put in his way.
“I’ve got you!” he yelled, as he fairly threw himself on the prostrate wrecker. “I’ve got you! Give up, you varmint!”
There was a struggle, none the less desperate because the wrecker was underneath. The two rolled on the ground until Tom got a grip on his opponent. Then, by putting forth his enormous strength, Tom quickly subdued the man.
“Give up, I tell you!” panted Tom, breathing hard. “I’ll teach you to wreck ships. Give up!”
“I give up!” was the sullen response.
With a quick turn of the ropes he had brought, Tom had the wrecker trussed up.
Meanwhile the others had been busy. The secret service men had each tackled a man, and had him secure by now, while Joe and Blake, by mutual agreement picking out another member of the party had, after a struggle, succeeded in tying him, too.
But the wreckers outnumbered our friends two to one, and some, if not all, of the desperate characters might have escaped had not reinforcements appeared. These were in the shape of four sturdy fishermen from the little colony where the moving picture boys lived.
“Oh, if we could only capture the others!” cried Tom Cardiff, when he had finished with his man, and saw some of the wreckers struggling to make their way through the thick bush. “Come on, boys!” he yelled to his friends. “When you finish with those fellows keep after the rest of the gang, though I’m afraid they’ll give us the slip.”
“No, they won’t!” cried a new voice, and then appeared the husky toilers of the sea, armed with stout clubs. At the sight of them the wreckers not yet captured gave up in despair. Counting those tied up, the forces were now equal, and as Mr. Hadley had taken all the moving picturespossible, owing to the struggle taking place out of range of his camera, he left the apparatus, and joined his friends.
“Well, we got ’em!” cried Tom Cardiff, as he surveyed the line of prisoners, fastened together with ropes. “Every one of ’em, I guess. You’re a nice crowd!” he sneered at big Hemp Danforth. “A nice lot of men to be let loose!”
“A little later and you wouldn’t have had us!” snarled the leader of the wreckers. “You were too many for us.”
“That’s so,” spoke Tom. “How did you happen to come to help us?” he asked of Abe Haskill, who was one of the reinforcing fishermen. “Who sent you?”
“Old Stanton telephoned over from the lighthouse,” was the answer. “He said you were on your way here, and that the gang might be too much for you. So I got a couple of my friends, and over we came—just in time, too, I take it.”
“That’s right!” exclaimed Blake, trying to staunch the flow of blood from a cut on his face, received in the fight he and Joe had with their prisoner. Joe himself was somewhat bruised. “A little later and we’d had only half of ’em,” went on Blake.
“It looks as if the lantern was nearly finished, too,” went on Joe.
“Um!” sneered the chief wrecker. “You may think you have us, but it’s a long way from proving anything against us. What have we done that’s wrong?” and he looked defiantly at Tom Cardiff.
“Wrong!” cried the lighthouse man. “Don’t you call it wrong to set up a false light to lure unsuspecting captains on the rocks, so you can get your pickings? Wrong!”
“Huh! How do you know but what this light was put here as a range finder for us fishermen?” asked the other.
“Fishermen! Why, you men never did an honest day’s fishing in your lives!” cried Abe Haskill. “Fishing! When you haven’t been smuggling you’ve been wrecking, or robbing other honest men’s nets. You’re a bunch of scoundrels, and it’s the best day’s work we’ve done in many a year to get you!”
“That’s all right,” retorted Hemp, easily. “Words don’t prove anything.”
“They don’t; eh?” cried Tom Cardiff. “You’ll see what they do. We’ll convict you by your own words!”
“Our own words?” asked Hemp Danforth, uneasily.
“Yes, overheard by these two lads, whom you chased but couldn’t catch. I guess when BlakeStewart and Joe Duncan go into court, and testify about hearing you talk of wrecking vessels by your false lantern, the jury’ll convict you, all right!”
Hemp seemed less concerned with what Tom said than with the name Joe Duncan. As this was uttered the wrecker looked at the two lads.
“Did I understand him to say that one of you is a Duncan?” asked Hemp, curiously.
“I am,” replied Joe.
“Are you Nate Duncan’s son?”
“I hope so—yes, I’m sure I am.”
“Ha! Ha!” laughed the wrecker.
“What’s the joke?” inquired Tom Cardiff.
“This, and it’s a good one, too. You think to convict us on the testimony of Nate Duncan’s son. Why, Nate is one of us! His son’s evidence wouldn’t be any good. Besides, a son wouldn’t help to convict his father. That’s a good one. Nate Duncan is one of us!”
“That’s not so!” burst out Joe, jumping toward the big wrecker, as though to strike him. “It isn’t true. My father never was a wrecker.”
“He wasn’t; eh?” sneered Hemp. “Well, I’m not saying we are, either; but if your father isn’t a wrecker why did he run away before the officers came for him? Answer me that—if you can!”
“I—I—” began Joe, when Blake stepped to his chum’s side.
“Don’t answer him,” counseled Blake. “It will only make matters worse. It will all come out right.”
“I’m sure of it,” said Joe. “Poor Dad, I wish he were here to defend himself; but, as he isn’t, I’ll stick up for him.”
“Well, if you’re through talking I guess we’ll move along,” suggested Tom at this point. “There are a few empty cells in the jail at San Diego, I understand, and they’ll just about accommodate you chaps.”
“Are—are you going to put us in jail?” faltered one of the prisoners, a young man.
“That’s what we are,” answered Tom.
“Oh, don’t. I’ll tell—I’ll——”
“You’ll keep still—that’s what you’ll do!” snapped Hemp. “I’ll fix you if you don’t!” and he glared at the youth in such a way that the latter said no more. “I’ll manage this thing,” went on Hemp. “You keep still and they can’t do a thing to us. Now go ahead; take us to jail if you want to.”
“That’s what we will,” declared Tom, and a little later the prisoners were on their way to San Diego, where they were locked up. Some suspected wreckers had been taken into custody whenMr. Duncan was accused, but nothing had been proved against them.
“Well, that was a good day’s work!” declared Mr. Hadley late that afternoon, when he and the moving picture boys were back at their quarters. “We not only got the wreckers, but a fine film of the capture besides.”
“And we’re in it,” said Blake. “Joe, how will it seem to see yourself on a screen?”
“Oh, rather odd, I guess,” and Joe spoke listlessly.
“Now look here!” exclaimed his chum. “I know what’s worrying you. It’s what Hemp said about your father; isn’t it?”
“Yes, Blake, it is.”
“Well then, you just stop thinking about it. Before you know it your father may arrive in Hong Kong, get your letter, and send back an answer. Then everything will be cleared up. Meanwhile, we’ve got to get busy; there are a lot of films to make, I understand.”
“Indeed there are,” declared Mr. Ringold. “I have my sea drama all ready for the films now. I don’t know what to do about a wreck, though. I’m afraid I can’t make it realistic enough. I must make other plans about that scene. But get your cameras in good shape, boys, for there is plenty of work ahead.”
“We can keep right on the job,” said Joe, “for I guess we’ve about cleaned up the wreckers.”
No members of the gang had escaped, as far as could be learned, and the renewed work of getting evidence to be used at the trial was in the hands of the government men. The false lantern, which had first given the boys the clue, was taken down, and proved to be a most ingenious piece of apparatus. Had it been used it would undoubtedly have lured some ships on the rocks.
The work of making the preliminary scenes of the sea drama were under way. It took the best part of three weeks to get what was needed, for Mr. Ringold was very particular, and insisted on many rehearsals, these taking longer than the actual making of the films.
Joe and Blake were kept busy, as was also their young assistant, Macaroni, and Mr. Hadley.
“Everything is going beautifully,” said Mr. Ringold one day. “If we could only have a storm and wreck to order, now, I would ask nothing better.”
“Yes, everything is nice, except that we’re being worked to death,” spoke C. C. Piper, gloomily. “I’ve lost ten pounds in the last week.”
“It will do you good,” said Miss Lee, with a laugh. “You were getting too stout, anyhow.”
“Oh, what a world!” sighed the comedian, as he began whistling the latest comic song.
“It looks like a storm,” remarked Blake, as he and Joe came in one evening from a stroll on the beach.
“And when it does come,” added Joe, “it’s going to be a bad one, so old Abe, the fisherman, says. They’re putting storm signals up all along the coast, and all leaves of absence for the life guards have been cancelled for the next week. A storm sometimes lasts that long, Abe says.”
“A storm; eh?” remarked Mr. Ringold, absentmindedly. “Well, that will interfere with our plans for to-morrow. I had intended to have some peaceful scenes on the beach; but I’ll postpone them. I wish I could work out this wreck problem,” he added, as he pored over the manuscript of the sea drama.
One did not need to go outdoors that morning to appreciate the fury of the storm. The gale had come in the night, and the force of the wind had steadily increased until its violence was terrific. There was no rain, as yet, but the sky was obscured by hurrying black clouds.
“Let’s go down to the beach and see the big waves,” proposed Blake to Joe after breakfast.
“All right,” agreed his chum. “There won’tbe anything doing in the moving picture line to-day, I guess.”
“Say, that’s some surf!” cried Joe in his chum’s ear, as they got to the sandy stretch. “Look at those waves!”
“I guess they’re what you call ‘mountain high,’” answered Blake, himself yelling, for their ordinary voices could not be heard above the thunder of the surf and the roar of the gale.
They stood for a few minutes watching the big rollers pounding on the sand, and then, looking down the strand, they saw a figure running toward them.
“Here comes a life guard,” remarked Joe.
“And he acts as if something was up,” added Blake.
Nearer came the man, dressed in yellow oilskins, for the spray from the sea flew far inland, almost like rain. Joe and Blake had on rubber coats.
“What is it?” cried Blake, as the man came opposite.
He held his hands in funnel shape and yelled:
“A wreck—a big sailing vessel is coming ashore! Her masts are gone, and she can’t get off! She’ll strike soon. I want all the men I can get to help us with the breeches buoy. We can’t launch our boat—too heavy surf!”
CHAPTER XXIIITHE DOOMED VESSEL
“You say there’s a wreck?” cried Blake.
“Yes, we just made her out through the glass. She’s driving on the rocks fast. The current is setting inshore and the wind is helping it.”
“Where is she?” asked Joe.
“Right down there,” answered the life guard. “But she’ll come up farther this way,” and he pointed down toward the rocks opposite which the boys had first surprised the wreckers at work.
“I’ve got to give the alarm,” went on the life saver. “We need all the help we can get. We’re short-handed, anyhow, and two of our men were hurt early this morning trying to launch the surf-boat.”
“Can’t you get some of the fishermen from around here?” asked Joe.
“That’s what I came for.”
“And we’ll help, too!” cried Blake, bracing himself by leaning against the wind, which seemed to grow stronger every minute.
“Sure we will,” added Joe. “Can you see the vessel?” he asked, peering eagerly into the spume and spray.
“Maybe she’s drifted far enough up by now,” went on the coast guard, as he looked intently in the direction he had pointed. “Yes,” he cried a moment later, “I can catch glimpses of her at times, when the waves go down a bit. See! There she is now!”
Looking in the direction the guard pointed, Blake and Joe caught a glimpse of a distant black object rising and falling at the mercy of the wind and waves. It was the hull of a vessel, and when Blake used the glass the guard handed him a moment later, he could see the jagged stumps of broken masts.
“She’s in a bad way,” remarked the lad, gravely.
“Indeed she is,” assented the life saver.
“I wonder if my father is in any such storm as this, on his way to China?” mused Joe, as he, too, looked through the binoculars.
“It’s a bad storm—and a big one, too,” said the guard. “But I must hurry on and give the alarm to the fishermen. The ship will strike soon, and we want to send a line aboard if we can.”
“Wait!” cried Blake, as the man started off. “We’ll tell the fishermen. You can go back tothe station. We’ll come to help as soon as we can, and bring all the men we can find.”
“Good!” shouted the man. “It’ll take some time to get the apparatus in shape, and we’ll have to drag it up the beach from the station, to about the place where she’ll come on the rocks. Go ahead, give the alarm, and I’ll go back. Whew! But this is a fierce storm!”
“Come on!” cried Blake to his chum, and they raced toward the little fishing hamlet.
“Say!” shouted Joe. “I’ve got an idea!”
“What is it?”
“The wreck—it’ll come close on shore, the guard says; why not make some moving pictures of it? They’ll be just what Mr. Hadley wants.”
“That’s it!” yelled Blake. “You’ve struck it. Go on and tell Mr. Ringold, Mr. Hadley and the others, and I’ll get the fishermen. Then we’ll go down the beach until we meet the life savers. It’s a great chance, Joe!”
The lads separated, one to arouse the fishermen, most of whom were in their shacks, for it was out of the question to lift the nets in the tremendous seas that were running.
“Come on!” cried Blake, as he saw old Abe Haskill come out to look at the weather. “Wreck—ship coming ashore. The coast guards need help!”
“Aye, aye, lad. We’re with you!” cried the sturdy old man. “I’ll get the boys. A wreck; eh? Pity the poor sailors that come ashore in such a blow!”
Having given the alarm, Blake turned back to join his chum and the others of the theatrical colony.
“We may need all three cameras,” he reasoned; “it is such a good chance we don’t want to risk it on one film.”
Blake found Mr. Hadley and his chum, with the theatrical manager and the male members of the company, ready to set out. Joe had his own camera, while Mr. Hadley was getting the largest one in readiness.
“Let’s take the automatic, too,” suggested Joe. “We can start it going and not have to worry about it.”
“All right,” agreed Blake.
“Say, this is the very chance we wanted!” cried Mr. Ringold. “Think of it! A regular wreck, right at our doors!”
“Oh, but the poor sailors!” exclaimed Miss Shay. “I do hope they may be saved!”
“Of course they can!” cried C. C. Piper. “We’ll all help. Never fear; we’ll save them!”
His tone and manner, to say nothing of his words, were in such contrast to his usual demeanorthat everyone looked at his or her neighbor in surprise.
“Don’t give up!” went on the comedian, cheerfully. “We’ll help the life guards—we’ll do anything. We’ll save those sailors!”
“Well, get on to Gloomy; would you!” exclaimed Joe, in a low voice, to his chum. “That is the best ever! It’s the first time he hasn’t predicted a calamity.”
“And just when anyone else would,” added Blake. “For it sure is going to be hard work to save anyone from a vessel that comes ashore in such a storm as this,” and he looked toward the tumbling billows in view from the windows.
Films were threaded into the moving picture cameras, the mechanism was tested, and then the whole company, even to the ladies, set forth.
“I hope the wreck gets near enough so we can get some good pictures of it,” said Mr. Ringold.
“It’ll have to come pretty well in shore, or the breeches buoy rope won’t reach,” said Mr. Hadley. “I guess we can get some good pictures.”
“It’s good it doesn’t rain,” went on the theatrical man; “though I think it’s going to, soon. We’ll have to get up on some elevation to avoid the spray.”
Down the beach they made their way, to be joined presently by the band of sturdy fishermen.
“There she is!” cried old Abe, as he pointed out to sea. “There she is, blowing and drifting in fast. And right toward the Dolphin Rocks, too—the worst place on the beach!” They all gazed toward the doomed vessel, that was now much nearer shore. Blake even thought he could descry figures on deck, clinging to the stumps of masts.