THE CAPTIVE ON THE YACHT.
When Frank recovered consciousness he discovered that he was bound with
stout cords and was being carried by two men. One of the men stumbled
and swore. The other said:
“It’s not much farther to the boat.”
“This feller is heavy,” said the one who had stumbled. “An’ he’s ther
blamedest fighter I ever saw. If I hadn’t cracked him on the head with a
stun he’d done you up.”
“I slipped. That was the way he got the best of me.”
“Bah! He was more than a match for you.”
“He is a boy.”
“He’s wuss’n any man I ever tackled. He fit like a tiger.”
“Well we’ve got him now, and I will settle my score with him.”
Frank knew the voice of the last speaker, and he realized that he was in
the power of a man who had become his fiercest enemy—Parker Flynn.
As they carried him, Frank strained at the cords that held his wrists,
but they held fast, showing that the men had tied him securely. They did
not feel him straining, for they were stumbling over the rough ground,
slowly picking their way through the darkness. They passed through some
cedars, and the branches slapped the captive in the face.
Frank thought of crying for help, but something told him that it would
be useless to make an outcry. He remembered that Hodge had been cast
from the rocks into the water of the little cove, from which the launch
and the two lads left in charge of it had disappeared.
What had become of Diamond and Dustan? Had they been assailed and
overcome while Frank and Bart were exploring the island? Merriwell
feared so.
The wind rushed through the cedars, and the surf beat against the island
with a roar that seemed growing louder and louder. Clouds were in the
sky, and the stars were being blotted out.
“Storm comin’,” said one of the men. “We ain’t anchored in a very good
place, either.”
“We’ll move,” said Flynn’s voice.
“Not to-night.”
“Yes.”
“Can’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“Well, you don’t know but a blamed little about this bay, fer ye
wouldn’t ask that question if ye did. It’s full of ledges, and I don’t
want to take the chance of pilin’ the yacht onter one of ’em.”
“I thought you said you knew every inch of both bays?”
“I did.”
“Then you can sail the yacht out of here to-night.”
“I want daylight to do that.”
“I will chance it. We must get away to-night.”
“Why?”
“The chaps we had the tussle with have friends near.”
“I s’pose so.”
“Those friends will be looking for Merriwell and the other fellow before
long.”
“That’s likely.”
“They may find the other fellow floating in the water, but I don’t want
them to find Merriwell or know what became of him. He will disappear
this night. If the fish do not eat him, his body may be found floating
in the bay some time.”
Frank felt a chill run along his spine as he heard the cold-blooded
words of his enemy.
“I didn’t hire out to do no killin’, or have any hand in it,” said
Flynn’s companion.
“Nor am I going to do any killing, but I think Mr. Merriwell can be
disposed of without much trouble. Stand by me, Steve, and I’ll double
the sum I agreed to pay you.”
“It’s according to what you are goin’ to do,” muttered the man.
“I’ll tell you my plan after we get on board the yacht.”
Now Frank Merriwell knew the full extent of his danger. He realized that
Flynn was a ruffian of the most desperate character, who would not stop
at anything in order to put a foe out of the way.
The words of the men had told the captive that Diamond and Dustan were
unharmed, but the disappearance of the launch was a mystery still.
As he was carried down the rough slope, Frank saw a light below, and he
knew that they were taking him to his own yacht, which lay rolling on
the swell that reached into the cove.
The men reached the shore, and there lay a boat, which they quickly
launched, leaving Frank on the beach. Then they picked Merry up and
unceremoniously tossed him into the bottom of the boat, quickly rowing
off toward the yacht.
As they approached the yacht they were hailed by some person on board,
and they answered. A few seconds later the boat bumped against the side.
“Give a hand, Wallace,” called Flynn. “Help us hoist this chap on
board.”
The fellow on the yacht uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“What have you there?” he asked, and Frank knew it was Walter Wallace,
of Belfast, who had become Merry’s enemy because Frank and Bart had
dared to carry on a mild sort of flirtation with Mabel Mischief and
Hattie Hazle. Wallace was very jealous, and he had been concerned in the
attack on Merry and Bart when the latter was knocked out by a blow on
the head. Thinking Hodge far more seriously injured than he really was
Wallace had disappeared and kept out of sight. Now he was again in
company with Parker Flynn, the man who had struck the blow.
Naturally reckless and headstrong, Wallace’s inclinations led him to the
bad, and now that his feet were set upon the wrong course, he had no
desire to turn back. But he was not yet a hardened ruffian, as he
betrayed before the night was over.
Frank was dragged to the deck of his stolen yacht and dropped down as if
he were an inanimate thing. As he lay there in the darkness, hearing the
men taking care of the small boat, he again struggled to free himself of
the cords that held him.
“It’s no use,” was his final decision. “Those knots were tied by a
sailor, and they will not slip.”
He was making his wrists sore, and he gave up the struggle.
Pretty soon Flynn came and stood near him.
“Here, Steve,” he called, “we’ll take him below.”
The sailor approached, and Frank was carried down into the cabin, which
was lighted.
On getting into the light, Flynn saw that Merriwell was conscious.
“So you’ve come around,” he sneered, with an evil look on his face. “I’m
glad of that.”
He, too, was dressed roughly, like a sailor, and on his face was a
stubbed beard, showing he had not been shaved for a week.
Frank was placed in a sitting position, and then Flynn stood up before
him, showing his hatred by the look on his face.
“You don’t seem tickled to be on board the _White Wings_ again,” he
sneered. “Don’t suppose you expected to come aboard in this fashion.”
“Hardly,” admitted Frank, quietly. “But still it’s better than not
coming aboard at all.”
“You will not think so before I am done with you,” came threateningly
from Flynn’s lips. “You’ll curse the day you ever saw this boat.”
“Don’t talk that way! You frighten me!”
“Oh, you can pretend to be awfully cool about it, but you won’t be so
cool when you know what I am going to do with you.”
“I need to be warmed up. Perhaps you had better tell me.”
“You will find out soon enough. You thought me dead. Ha! ha! How I
fooled you! But I did get a drop into the river. I was hiding under some
bushes which hung over into the water while you were searching for me.
As soon as you were gone I crawled out and took to the woods.
“I left the bicycle, for I wanted you to think I was drowned. The trick
worked all right, and you left the yacht unguarded. Under any
circumstances you did not suppose I would return to Belfast, even though
I was not dead; but I came back there, and I didn’t lose any time in
getting possession of my property.”
“Excuse me; you mean my property.”
“No! This boat belongs to me. I swore I would have her, and I have kept
the oath. You did not know what sort of man you were dealing with when
you tried to bluff Parker Flynn.”
“That’s a fact! Had I known, I should have stopped in Boston long enough
to put you behind iron bars for attempted fraud. That would have saved
me no end of trouble and annoyance on this trip. But you are sure to
land behind the bars in time.”
“You will not have the satisfaction of seeing me there.”
“I may.”
“Not much. To-night you will be put where you will trouble no one in the
future.”
Having uttered those ominous words, Flynn went on deck, followed by the
others.
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