ON THE SCHOONER
Betty Nelson was an unusually muscular girl. She and her outdoor chums
had not lived so much in the open air for nothing, and taken long tramps
and regular physical exercise. They had played basketball, tennis and
golf, and though their arms looked pretty in evening dresses, there were
muscles beneath those same beautifully tanned skins.
For a moment Betty was so surprised at the suddenness of the attack that
she could do nothing. She had had but a momentary glimpse of the face of
the old crone, and only for that she might have thought it was the boys,
who had stolen up behind her and Amy, and had put their hands over their
eyes to make them guess who had thus blinded them.
But in an instant Betty knew this was no friendly game. And so, as soon
as she realized that, she began to struggle, and to some good purpose.
She managed to pull from her mouth the horrible, fishy-smelling hand of
the old woman, and then Betty screamed as she endeavored to loosen the
grip the old crone had on her arms.
"Help! Help!" screamed Betty. "Let me go! How dare you! What does this
mean? Amy, where are you?" for Betty could not, for the moment, see her
chum.
But poor Amy was not as muscular as Betty, nor did she have the
advantage of battling against a woman, for a man had caught her, and
held her in a cruel grip.
"Help! Help!" Betty cried again, struggling desperately.
"Be quiet! Be quiet, my little dear--little imp!" hissed the old woman,
for Betty had struck her in the face. "Be quiet or I'll----"
"Can't you stop her screams?" roughly demanded the man. "She'll have
some one buzzing down on us if you don't! Clap a stopper on her, or
I'll----"
"You must be quiet, my dear!" hissed the old crone, struggling to infuse
some measure of conciliation in her cracked voice. "Be quiet or----"
"I'll not! Let me go! How dare you! Help! Help!" screamed Betty, but,
even as she called, she realized how hopeless it was, for she saw no one
in sight and the thunder of the surf would not permit her cries to
carry far. She tried to get a sight of Amy, but could not.
"Let me--let me----" panted Betty, and then, though she struggled with
all her might, making the old woman pant and hiss to overcome her, Betty
found herself being gradually exhausted. Again that horrid hand stole
over her mouth, making her feel ill, and effectually shutting off her
cries.
"Quick!" panted the old woman. "I can't hold her much longer. You'll
have to tie her--or--something."
"I'll do _something_, all right!" said the man, significantly. He was
having little trouble with poor Amy, who had yielded like some broken
flower. "I'll just tie this one up, and then take care of her," the
fellow went on.
Betty had a glimpse of his dark and brutal face and she shuddered. It
was bad enough to have him touch Amy, and bad enough for the old
fishwife to clasp Betty in her horrid arms, but Betty thought she surely
would die if that man approached her.
She tried to speak--to say that she would not scream again if they would
only tell what they wanted--take her purse and its contents--but only
let her alone. But she could only mutter a meaningless jumble of sounds
with that fishy hand over her mouth, pressing cruelly on her lips.
"Can you carry her, and keep her from screaming?" asked the man, who had
pulled some cords from his pocket and was quickly tying Amy's hands.
Then he fastened a rag over her mouth, and poor Amy, who came out of a
half-faint, was too late to add her voice to Betty's.
"Carry her--no, she'll struggle like a cat!" muttered the old woman.
"You'll have to help."
"Help! Haven't I got my hands full?" he demanded. "Where are some of the
others? They ought to be back now. They knew this chance might come any
time."
"They have been lying in wait for us," thought Betty. It was one of the
many ideas that raced through her brain at express-train speed. "That is
why this old woman wanted us to come to her hut."
"There's some one now!" exclaimed the man, leaning up from having put a
cord around Amy's ankles as she lay on a sand hill.
"If it isn't some one she's brought by her yells," snarled the fishwife.
"No, it's Jake, thank goodness!" muttered the man, as a rough-looking
specimen, the counterpart of himself, peered around a dune. "Get busy
here, Jake, and truss up that other--cat!" the first man ordered.
"All right, Pete," was the answer. "Got any rope?"
"Here's some," and the one addressed as Pete kicked over some net-cord
toward the newcomer.
Meanwhile Betty had desisted from her struggle to get loose. She was
strong and wiry, but the old crone was more than a match for the Little
Captain. The fisherman's wife seemed to know how to handle struggling
persons, for she held Betty in a peculiar grip that was most effective.
Bend and strain as Betty might, she could not break away, and that hand
was still held over her mouth, preventing any further outcry.
"Just a minute now, Mag, and I'll have her safe," went on Jake, as, with
practiced hands he whipped several coils of cord around Betty's wrists
and ankles.
"Stop! Stop!" she implored as the woman's hand was taken from her mouth
for a second. It was poor Betty's last chance to appeal, for, an instant
later, a fold of ill-smelling cloth was put over her lips, and she was
effectually gagged. Tears of shame, rage and fear came into her eyes.
"Now you can carry her, without any trouble," announced Jake, rising.
"Take 'em up to the shack," ordered Pete. "Then tell the others to get
the boat ready."
Betty wondered what that meant. Were they to be kidnapped? She tried to
look at Amy, but could not see her just then.
A moment later she felt herself being lifted up between the two men. It
was useless to struggle.
Amy was much lighter than Betty, and was hoisted up to the shoulder of
the old crone, who seemed wonderfully strong.
"Take a look out, Mag, and see if any one's in sight before we make a
dash for the shack," directed Pete. "Her screams may have been heard.
She yelled like a banshee!"
The fishwife, carrying the limp figure of Amy, peered beyond the line of
sand dunes.
"No one in sight," she muttered, beckoning the others to advance.
"But what gets me is where the other two are," growled Pete who, with
Jake, was carrying Betty. "There's four of 'em, and they've always been
together ever since they come down here. Where are the other two? That's
what I'd like to know."
Betty shuddered as she thought of Mollie and Grace sleeping in the
little clump of trees. Suppose these horrid men should go back there and
find them. It was horrible to contemplate.
"Well, you've got half of 'em. That ought to be enough for what you
want," said Jake, hoarsely chuckling.
Betty was puzzling her brains, trying to think why she and Amy had been
thus captured. What object had the old fisherman and, too, why had the
old crone been so eager to get them to her hut? Betty could only guess.
Her head ached. She felt really ill, and could not doubt but that poor
Amy was in like condition.
A few seconds later they were both carried into the hut, and set in
rickety chairs. Their bonds were not removed, and the door was closed
and locked. Amy looked over at Betty, and the latter could see that her
chum's eyes were filled with tears.
Then, suddenly, Amy seemed to collapse. She slipped from the chair to
the floor.
"Now what's up?" roughly demanded Pete. "I wish I'd never gone into this
girl business, anyhow--it's so uncertain. What's happened?" and he
looked at the limp form of Amy on the floor.
Betty tried to rise, but sank back dizzily. The room seemed to become
suddenly dark. She feared she would topple over as Amy had done.
"It's only a faint, the poor dear," chuckled the old woman. "I'll attend
to her. You go out and get the boat ready," she told the two men.
Betty's brain became clearer. There was no longer blackness before her
eyes.
"Here, drink this," said the woman, raising Amy by her shoulders, and
holding a glass of water to her lips. The gag had been removed. Amy
drank and a little color came into her face.
"Where--where am I? What happened?" she faltered.
"Nothing, dearie," said the hoarse voice of the crone. "You'll be all
right soon. You're just going to stay with me a little while--you and
your friend. You won't suffer a bit of harm, if you tell us what we want
to know. You'll be well taken care of."
Betty began to see a light now. She wished the gag might be taken from
her lips, and water given her, but the old woman was busy with Amy. The
girl closed her eyes again, and seemed too weak to cry out, even though
the rag was not again bound across her lips.
There sounded voices outside the cabin, and a knock on the door.
"Drat 'em," muttered the old woman. "A body would need four hands to
attend to all that's to be done."
She laid Amy back on the floor, and hobbled across the room to unbar the
door. Betty was frantically struggling to loosen the bonds that held
her hands behind her back.
"The boat's ready," gruffly said Jake, as he and Pete were admitted to
the shack.
"That's good," muttered the old crone. "We can take care of 'em easier
when we get 'em out of here. We don't care if they do yell then. Wait
until I tie up this one's mouth. She may rouse up enough to make a
racket."
Poor, half-senseless Amy was again gagged. Betty had given up trying to
loosen her bonds. Those men knew how to tie knots.
And then, as before, Betty was carried down to the shore and placed in a
boat. Amy was brought down on the shoulders of the old woman, who also
got in the boat with the captured girls.
"Now row out," she ordered the man. They were on the bay side, where
there was no surf, so the boat was easily pushed out. The men leaped in
and began pulling on the long oars. Betty could see them heading for the
mysterious schooner, and, a little later she and Amy were lifted on
board that vessel.
"Up anchor!" came the command from some one, and, an instant later, the
vessel was in motion.
Poor Betty wished she could do as Amy had done, and faint.