THE FRIENDLY SUN.
The sun grew hotter and hotter. From the whirring of winches and the
clanking rattle of chains that was borne shoreward from time to time,
Ned knew that the work of mine-laying was still going on. The work he
had been sent to report!
What would be thought of him by his superiors? He felt that it was
doubtful if they would believe his story, even supposing he ever got
back to his ship and was able to tell it.
He wondered what his captors meant to do with him. Reasoning it out,
he had not much fear that they would attempt any desperate course, but
they were certain to place him where he could not give the alarm and
cause their pursuit before they had had an opportunity to get clear
away.
Mingled with these reflections came others. Ned speculated vainly as
to how long this treachery had been going on. Probably for some time;
Kenworth's note book appeared well filled. Doubtless he had become
disgusted with what he deemed the unfair treatment accorded him in
the navy, and had fallen an easy prey to the foreign agents who are
constantly trying to discover for their countries the secrets of Uncle
Sam's coast defenses and naval arrangements.
But it is rarely indeed that there is found in either branch of the
service men who have fallen low enough to coöperate with these fellows.
From time to time, though, such dastards are found and promptly weeded
out. There was no doubt but that Kenworth belonged to the latter class.
"I wonder if Rankin does, also," thought Ned. "He was a friend of
Kenworth's. It's natural he should be mixed up in his nefarious schemes
and plots."
It must have been well after noon when Kenworth reported that the tug
had finished her work and was going back.
"Then we go 'way," decided Saki. "Me plenty hungry. Bimeby when get
dark we come back and keep you company, Honorable Strong."
"Yes, don't be afraid we'll forget you," sneered Kenworth, putting up
his note book; "you've suddenly become important in my eyes."
Bestowing a parting kick on Ned's helpless form, the miserable traitor
followed Saki off across the sand hills. Ned turned his eyes and
watched them as they went.
So they were going to leave him there on the parching sand till
nightfall, and then----
"Ned, old boy, you're sure in a bad fix," said the captive lad to
himself. "There's not a chance on earth of getting away from here, and
even if I could, I have failed in my mission."
The thought that he had not accomplished the duty laid out for him
pained the Dreadnought Boy far more than the contemplation of his
predicament. With Ned, and with Herc, too, devotion to their ideals of
duty was almost a religion. It is so with most of Uncle Sam's Jackies.
But, as we know, a few black sheep are bound to crop up in every fold.
Ned thought grimly that he had certainly encountered his share.
The sun beat down hotter and hotter upon the boy. Its rays burned his
eyes. His lips were swollen, his every bone aching. The tortures of his
thirst had almost reached the point of delirium.
Suddenly he felt an acute pain upon his hand. It stung like the thrust
of a red-hot knife.
"Ouch!" exclaimed Ned, and rolled over a little.
The pain ceased, and the next instant he discovered what had caused it.
His binoculars had been laid upon a rock, one of a few that cropped out
here and there in the arid sand.
Clearly the Jap and Kenworth had forgotten to take the glasses with
them, for following his binding Ned had been stripped of everything he
possessed. They lay with the small ends toward him. The sun streaming
through the large lenses became concentrated into two tiny, burning
dots of white light at the small end of the glasses.
The binoculars had, in fact, become converted into a burning glass,
and the sharp sting on Ned's hand had been caused by one of the discs
of concentrated heat. Ned was still engaged on this explanation of his
pained hand when there was borne to his nostrils the sharp, acrid odor
of burning cloth.
He realized in a flash what had happened. When he rolled over, the disc
of burning essence of light had left his hand, but centered itself on
some portion of his garments. The cloth was on fire and was smoldering.
He was powerless to feel with his hands where the cloth had ignited
and could feel as yet no pain. But the odor of the burning fabric was
unmistakable.
It is a curious fact, but it was not until some seconds later that Ned
realized, with a thrill of horror, what that odor of burning cloth
really meant.
If he could not extinguish that slowly consuming fire, it might
presently burst into flame. Powerless to save himself, he would be
burned alive!
For an instant he felt sick and faint. Then he rallied his faculties
and began to roll over and over in the sand. After some moments of
this, the odor of burning ceased.
"Thank heaven for that," thought the boy with a shudder, as he sensed
his terribly narrow escape.
Suddenly his heart gave an exultant throb. A glad thought had been born
in his mind. From whence the inspiration came, he did not know. It was
enough that it had come.
If the rays of the binoculars that had been so providentially placed
would ignite cloth, they would surely set fire to rope!
Ned rolled over once more till he could settle the tiny burning spot
upon his wrist bonds. It was tedious work, and by the time he had the
white hot circlet focused on the ropes, his hands were covered with
tiny red burns that stung like hornets.
But in the excitement of the moment he scarcely paid any attention to
these. With shining eyes he watched the rope begin to smoke. It glowed
red. The air was filled with a pungent odor.
Ned gave a quick wrench. Like burned flax the charred and smoldering
wrist gyves gave way. With his hands free, Ned sat up. He felt sick and
dizzy, but his heart bounded with overflowing gratitude. He cast the
burning ropes far from him.
A jagged clam shell lay not far off. He made his way to it, half
rolling and half staggering. Then, with the sharp shell edges he
swiftly cut his leg bonds.
He found himself shaking all over. There was an odd swimming feeling in
his head. The sand about him flashed red as blood and the sun reeled
through it like a blazing ball of copper.
He spat the gag out of his mouth as the fit of weakness passed from him.
"Now," he said half aloud, as he rose on his aching ankles, "now to try
conclusions with two of the vilest traitors it has ever been my ill
fortune to encounter."
He stood thus a moment looking about him. Then, with painful footsteps,
for his circulation was not yet fully restored, he set off along the
Neck to where the squat, grim pile of dull red buildings marked the
location of the fort.