TOWARD THE OPEN SEA.
Being left alone, Frank tried to devise some method of securing his
freedom. From the sounds he could hear, it became evident that the
anchor was being raised, the sails run up and the yacht gotten under
way. This told that Flynn had carried the day in persuading the man he
called Steve to run out from the island that night.
At last Merry understood just what sort of ruffian Flynn was, and he
could not help feeling uneasiness over the final words of the man as he
left the cabin.
Flynn had told Steve that he did not intend to do any killing, but his
words had made it evident that he had a plan of disposing of his captive
in a manner that would put that captive forever out of the way.
The wind was rising, and the _White Wings_ heeled as soon as she was out
of the cove into open water.
Flynn came down the companion way and entered the cabin. His eyes were
glittering, and he grinned as he looked his captive over.
“It’s a fine night for my plan,” he said, gleefully. “The wind is
northeast, and the tide is turning.”
As Frank knew nothing of the man’s purpose, he remained silent.
Flynn sat down and took out a pipe, which he proceeded to fill and
light. He puffed away a short time, and then settled back in a
comfortable position, scanning Merriwell.
“It won’t take more than two hours to run down to York Island,” he said.
“Then it’s only a short run out past the Eastern Ear and The Horses.
Steve says there won’t be anything but the open ocean outside when we
get there.”
Frank wondered what the man was driving at, and Flynn grinned when he
saw the look of curiosity on Merry’s face.
“Outside The Horses,” he went on, “the wind has a clean rake down across
from the Bay of Fundy. It’s rising every minute, and a small boat won’t
stand much show in the seas there will be out there, especially without
so much as a pair of oars in her.”
Frank began to see a light; he fancied he understood what the man meant.
“You stand a fine show of piling the _White Wings_ on a ledge long
before you get out past The Horses,” said Merry, who remembered The
Horses as two ledges he had observed on his chart located to the south
of York Island.
“Not much danger of that,” said Flynn. “Steve knows every inch of the
bay. He can tell where every rock lies.”
“But it is dark.”
“Not so dark but he can run her out to open sea. The tide is high, too,
so there’s not much danger of striking a ledge. Oh, don’t worry for the
yacht! We’ll take care of her. You can think about yourself a little.”
Frank felt a sensation of rage rising within him.
“I will come out all right,” he declared.
“You won’t think so after a while, young man.”
“I have been in worse scrapes than this.”
“I doubt it.”
“I have, and I’m here now. I’ll tell you something, Mr. Flynn. The time
will come, and it is not very far away, when you and I will settle our
account.”
“That’s right,” nodded Flynn. “That time will come to-night. I shall put
you into an open boat and set you adrift with the tide running out to
sea and the wind northeast. You will not see daylight, for the tide and
the wind will take care of you.”
There was a look of triumphant satisfaction on the evil face of the man,
and Merriwell knew that he would carry out his dastardly plan. He would
not kill Frank outright, but he would set him adrift with not one chance
in a hundred for him to escape drowning.
It was not a pleasant prospect, but Merriwell kept his nerve and looked
his enemy straight in the eye, quietly saying:
“If you want to make a sure thing of it, take my advice and hit me over
the head with an ax before putting me into the boat. If you do not, just
as sure as fate, I’ll escape, and hunt you down!”
Despite the coolness with which the boy uttered those words, they caused
Flynn to pale a bit.
“Anyone would think to hear you that you are a chap whose life is
protected by a charm,” he sneered.
“I believe I have passed through too many dangers to have my life
snuffed out down here in this part of the world, by such a miserable,
worthless creature as you.”
“Be careful!” snarled Flynn, rising. “Better keep that tongue still.”
Frank laughed. It was the old reckless laugh that often came from his
lips in times of danger. He did not quail in the least before the
threatening man, and the scorn that blazed from his eyes was withering.
“My tongue is my own, and it gives me great satisfaction to be able to
use it to tell you just what a miserable cur you are. You are a thorough
coward at heart, and you know it. It was a mistake that you were created
in the form of a man. You should have been a snake to crawl along the
ground.”
With a fierce cry, Flynn struck Merry’s mouth with his clinched fist,
cutting Frank’s lips and causing them to bleed a bit.
And Frank laughed again!
“That proves my words true!” he exclaimed, and Flynn shrank away, awed
at last by the display of fearlessness.
Snarling like a dog, the man rushed out of the cabin, leaving Frank
alone.
And the _White Wings_ raced through the night toward the open sea.
------------------------------------------------------------------------