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[Illustration: "THEY WERE NOW GOING UP THE FACE OF THE CLIFF."--P. 204.
_Frontier Boys on the Coast._]
FRONTIER BOYS ON THE COAST
OR
_IN THE PIRATE'S POWER_
BY CAPT. WYN ROOSEVELT
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
THE FRONTIER BOYS
By CAPT. WYN ROOSEVELT
This series tells the adventures of Jim, Joe, and Tom Darlington, first
in their camp wagon as they follow the trail to the great West in the
early days. They are real American boys, resourceful, humorous, and--but
you must meet them. You will find them interesting company. They meet
with thrilling adventures and encounters, and stirring incidents are the
rule, not exception.
Historically, these books present a true picture of a period in our
history as important as it was picturesque, when the nation set its face
toward this vast unknown West, and conquered it.
1. Frontier Boys on Overland Trail
2. Frontier Boys in Colorado
3. Frontier Boys in the Rockies
4. Frontier Boys in the Grand Canyon
5. Frontier Boys in Mexico
6. Frontier Boys on the Coast
7. Frontier Boys in Hawaii
8. Frontier Boys in the Sierras
9. Frontier Boys in the Saddle
10. Frontier Boys in Frisco.
11. Frontier Boys in the South Seas
_Illustrated, 12mo, Cloth_
_Price per Volume, 50 Cents_
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY
THE PLATT & PECK CO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. CAPTAIN BILL BROOM 9
II. THE COVE AND THE CAVE 16
III. THE BARBED WIRE 23
IV. PETE'S YARN 30
V. THE FOUR BOYS 37
VI. THE HUNCHBACK 45
VII. FARMER BROOM 53
VIII. THE CAMP IN THE POCKET 60
IX. THE ATTACK 68
X. "HAUL IN" 76
XI. MISSOURI'S MANOEUVRE 82
XII. THE RANCHERO 90
XIII. A NEW FRIEND 100
XIV. THE PURSUIT 109
XV. JIM AND THE SEA EAGLE 118
XVI. THE BOYS PUT ON STYLE 127
XVII. ON BOARD THE SEA EAGLE 135
XVIII. A DAY AT SEA 144
XIX. THE PASSENGER 152
XX. TO THE RESCUE 161
XXI. THE BANDITS 169
XXII. RACE WITH THE TIDE 177
XXIII. THE ENCHANTED ISLE 184
XXIV. IN THE WHITE BOAT 191
XXV. IN PERIL 198
XXVI. TWO LASSOES 206
XXVII. ANOTHER FRIEND 214
XXVIII. A TALE OF YORE 220
XXIX. A WONDERFUL LEAP 232
XXX. IN THE STRAIT 239
XXXI. CONCLUSION 246
FRONTIER BOYS ON THE COAST
CHAPTER I
CAPTAIN BILL BROOM
"What devilment has old Bill got on for tonight, Pete?"
The speaker was seated on an old scarred sea chest in a dimly lighted
forecastle.
"I dunno," replied Pete, "maybe he's lookin' fer a wreck."
"I heard the mate say somethin' about a passel of four boys," put in a
third man who was laying back in his bunk, "that the skipper was
a-lookin' for."
"Kidnapping, eh?" said Cales, the first speaker. "Hold 'em for ransom, I
suppose. Well, the old man has been in worse games than that. I reckon
the kids' parents are rich and are willin' to pay a high price for their
darlings."
"You're on the wrong tack, matey," said the man in the bunk. "Cap'n
Brinks, who landed in San Diego from a Mexican port put the old man
wise. He told him that those fellars had considerable money and a raft
of jewels with 'em that they picked up in Mexico."
"Ho, Ho, that's the game, is it," cried Cales, thumping his knee with a
gnarled fist, "that ought to be easy then."
"Looks so, but it ain't," replied the other, "those four boys have got
somethin' of a reputation in the southwest. Hard fighters and good shots
and their leader is a husky lad and about as crafty as a red Injun."
"He ain't met the Old Man yet," said Cales significantly.
"I don't see where you get all your news from, Jake," growled Pete from
his seat on the chest, "you ought to be a reporter."
"I keep my eyes open and my mouth shet," replied Jake, "any man can get
larned if he will do that."
"I'd like to have a picter of you with your mouth shet," remarked Pete.
"It's open even when you are asleep." He dodged just in time to avoid a
heavy shoe flung from Jake's ready hand that crashed against the wall.
"Don't do that agin," he warned, a red light showing in his eyes. "I'll
larn you boys that I ain't as old as I looks to be."
Jake laughed harshly.
"You mustn't keep your own mouth open so wide, Pop, cause you'll have to
swallow your own words if you do."
"I guess I'll never git choked," replied Pete, truculently. "Kin you
tell me what the skipper means snooping down this coast with no lights
showing when it's plumb dark? We are liable to sink ourselves or
Californey all of a suddint."
"Why don't you ask the Cap'n what he is up to?" inquired Cales, "that
is, if you want some real useful information, Pop."
Pop raised himself up and glared at the speaker.
"I ain't done living," he replied.
"We are navigating pretty careful," remarked Jake. "You can hardly feel
the Sea Eagle moving."
"Running for the cove, I reckon," suggested Cales, "I'm mighty pleased
not to be the man at the wheel. Well, I'm goin' to turn in for a
snooze."
In a brief time the two men were snoring loudly, while old Pete sat
smoking his pipe, as stolid as a wooden Indian and the forecastle was
fogged with the smoke, through which the swinging lantern shone dimly.
The air is stifling so let us go up on deck where we can breathe the
salt ozone and incidentally get acquainted with Captain Bill Broom, who
is to occupy such a prominent place in this narrative.
He is well worth meeting, not only as the opponent of our old friend,
Jim Darlington, but because of his own unworthy but interesting
character. In those days Skipper Bill Broom was known all up and down
the coast and beyond. His fame, such as it was, comes down even to this
recent day.
On deck it is muffling dark, with the stars obscured in some dim way by
mist or fog. There is a breeze blowing steadily from the broad wastes of
the ocean. The bulk of the California coast looms dimly on the port bow.
Not more than a half mile distant can be seen the white rushing forward
of the breakers towards the rocky coast.
Dangerous work this, navigating the Sea Eagle through the thick gloom of
the night but the old man knew his business. He was on the bridge pacing
back and forth like some strange animal and giving hoarse directions to
the man at the wheel. He knew every inch of that coast, the sunken reefs
and dangerous rocks.
"Starboard your helm," he growled.
The sailor spun the wheel obediently. And the captain resumed his pacing
back and forth upon the bridge. Not much could be seen of him, except
that he was a powerful man, with a peculiar crouching stoop, as if he
and the sea were engaged in a mysterious game. One striving to get a
dangerous death-hold upon the other, both wary and using unceasing
watchfulness.
There was a strange softness in Captain Broom's tread like that of a
padding panther, but his arms had the loose forward powerful swing of a
gorilla's. Once he stepped into the chart house to look at something and
the light of the lamp will give us a square look at him.
"That man a pirate!" you exclaim at the first glance; one who carried
the blackest name along the coast as a smuggler and wrecker, who had
brought cargoes of wretched slaves from Africa in the days before the
Civil War and who had had more marvelous escapes than any man in the
history of piracy with the exception of Black Jack Morgan! Impossible!
"Why that man is nothing but an old farmer," you exclaim in
disappointment, when you see him. "He ought to be peddling vegetables on
market day." But just wait.
True, Skipper Broom had come from a long line of New England farmers,
hard, close-fisted, close-mouthed men. Young Broom had broken away from
the farm and followed his bent for sea-faring, but to the end of his
days, he kept his farmerlike appearance and he affected many of the
traits of the yeoman which he found to be on more than one occasion a
most useful disguise.
Let's look at him. That heavy winter cap pulled down on his grizzled
head gives him a most "Reuben" like appearance. Jeans pants are thrust
into heavy cowhide boots. The deadly gray eyes soft as granite have
become red rimmed from fits of fury and hard through many scenes of
coldly calculated cruelty. A most dangerous customer and I for one, and
I ought to know, consider that he will have the better of Jim Darlington
in their approaching encounter--and yet Jim is never beaten until the
last shot is fired and so it is impossible for me to foretell how this
contest of wit and daring will come out.
After examining his chart closely, Captain Broom crouched out through
the door and on to the deck. He took one keen look towards the shore,
then he approached the helmsman. "Git below, Bill. I'll fetch her in."
The helmsman relinquished the wheel gladly enough and under the
Captain's masterful hand the Sea Eagle swung slowly around and pointed
in towards the curving shore.
The dark form of the mate could be seen on the deck below waiting for
the order that he knew must come soon. The crew of the Sea Eagle though
subordinate enough were necessarily partners in Captain Broom's wicked
enterprises so that the discipline was somewhat different than in
ordinary vessels.
"Call 'em up, Mr. Haffen," roared the skipper to the mate. "It's chore
time."
"Aye, aye, sir," replied Mr. Haffen.
The watch was called on deck and the dark forms of the men could be seen
in the bow. The pulsing of the Sea Eagle had stopped and with scarcely a
sound the anchor was dropped into the water.