"So the youngster was going to be high-handed with ye, was he?" demanded
the florid-faced one, and despite the intense darkness there in the
woods, Tom Halstead could see the ugly gleam in his strong-handed
captor's eyes.
The swarthy one stepped to the other side of his friend and whispered
something in that worthy's ear. It was a rather long communication.
Though he tried with all his might to overhear some of it, Halstead
could not distinguish a single word. Yet, as the narration proceeded,
Tom felt that powerful grip on his coat collar increase in intensity.
"Well, we'll take care of you, youngster," declared the florid-faced one
at last. "You're too big a nuisance to have at large! And as you've been
giving your time to other folks' business, we'll take good care of your
time after this! Come along now!"
Tom had not tried to resist and for a most excellent reason. He well
knew that his present captor could fell him like a log. Here no contest
of muscles was to be thought of. Craft must be substituted for strength.
In the boy's brain revolved swiftly many plans for escape. Just as the
florid-faced one started to force him over the path lately taken the
right idea came to the young captive. He puckered his lips, emitting a
shrill whistle.
Nor had he guessed wrongly. There _was_ an echo here. Back on the air
came almost the exact duplicate of the whistle Halstead had let loose.
In a jiffy both of his captors halted. Perhaps they suspected it to be
only an echo, but they wanted to make sure.
Quicker than a flash, though, before they could make any tests for
themselves, Halstead shouted:
"Fine! Rush 'em quick, fellows! Jump on 'em and hold 'em down. Don't let
either rascal get away!"
His voice was so joyous, so exultant, that it completely fooled the pair
for an instant. Though the florid-faced one did not release the
tightness of his grip on the young skipper's coat collar, he, like the
swarthy one, used his eyes to look about in all directions.
That moment was enough for Tom Halstead, doubly quick-witted in his
peril. His hands flew up the front of his uniform coat, ripping buttons
out of button holes at one swift move. Wrench! Tom slipped out of his
coat, springing ahead under the trees.
"Here, you! Come back here!" roared the florid-faced one absurdly, as he
plunged after the young fugitive. The swarthy one, too, joined in the
chase, freeing himself of a torrent of Spanish words.
Tom Halstead had just a few seconds' start, aided by the darkness that
enveloped them all. A hundred yards or so Tom dashed, rather noisily.
Then, off at right angles to his former course he sped on tip-toe, nor
did he go much more than fifty yards ere he landed up against a straight
tree whose low-hanging limbs bore an abundant foliage.
Up this tree-trunk, without hesitation, shinned the young skipper,
drawing himself well up among the leaves in what he felt must be record
time for such a feat.
For a few moments more he could hear his pursuers stumbling along the
wrong course. Then he knew, by the sounds, that they had turned back and
were keeping well apart in the hope of covering more ground. But the
uncertainty of their steps, however, told the boy up the tree that his
pursuers were wholly off the trail and giving up the chase. Then,
veering, the florid-faced man and the swarthy one came toward each
other. They halted almost squarely under the tree that held young
Halstead.
Tom's first, throbbing thought was that they had tracked him here. He
did not stir, but the grim lines around his mouth deepened. Let them try
to get him then. They would have to climb the tree to get at him and he
meant to make use of his hands and feet in defending himself.
"I can give them all they want for a while," he told himself between his
teeth. In fact, in his excitement he all but made his remark half aloud.
"Well, he's got away from us, all right," growled the florid-faced one
in a tone of mingled disappointment and rage.
"We shall at least know him well after this," sighed the swarthy one in
a sinister tone.
"And I hope you'll have your wish," flared listening Tom indignantly,
"though I'll try to control the time and place of meeting."
"I'd rather have lost a thousand dollars than that boy," went on the
larger man gruffly.
"A thousand?" sneered the other. "_Diablo!_ I'd give five thousand to
have him in our hands this moment."
"And I believe I'd give more," echoed Tom silently, "to keep out of your
clutches--if I had the money."
Then, drawing closely together, the pair conversed in whispers. Again
Tom groaned over his hearing which, keen as it was, could get nothing
connected from the low tones of the pair on the ground. Whatever they
were saying, these plotters must be terribly in earnest over something.
In his eagerness Tom bent too far forward. His foot slipped. Frantically
he clutched at a branch overhead to save himself from plunging to the
ground. Of course the move made some noise.
"_Diablo!_ What was that? And so close, too!" demanded the smaller man.
"What?" demanded the larger man.
"That noise! Some one must be prowling about here," continued the
swarthy one in a whisper just loud enough to reach Tom's ears.
As he spoke the Spaniard's head turned in such a way as to show that he
was looking up into the tree in which Tom stood. It was becoming a truly
bad quarter of an hour for the boy.
"I heard nothing," said the other one gruffly. "Leastways, nothing more
than some night animal stirring, maybe."
"Let's make a search of these trees," proposed the Spaniard.
Tom shivered. Danger was again coming much too close to please him.
"Come along," rejoined the florid-faced one impatiently. "We're wasting
too much time, listening to the whisperings of the wind. Come along,
Alvarez."
After a brief objection the one addressed as Alvarez turned and stepped
off with his friend. They had not gone far when Tom Halstead slipped
down the tree trunk. Alarmed as he had been when danger threatened most,
he now knew that he must follow them.
"For they may lead me straight to Ted Dunstan," he thought eagerly.
Naturally he did not think it wise to get too close to the pair.
Captured again, Tom Halstead knew that he was not likely to be able to
be of any further service to his employer. Besides, in escaping and
leaving his coat in the hands of the enemy he now remembered how his
white shirt might betray him if he got too close to them.
"It's a wonder they didn't see all this white when I was up in the
tree," he muttered, as he stole along in pursuit. "The leaves must have
covered me mighty well."
For perhaps five minutes Halstead kept steadily behind the pair, guiding
himself by the distant sound of their steps, for they did not keep to
any path. Then suddenly the boy halted. The noise of footsteps ahead had
died out. Tom stood, silent, expectant, but no sound came to his ears in
the next two or three minutes. Then a disagreeable conclusion forced
itself on the young skipper's mind.
"Gracious! They've slipped away from me or else they're at the end of
their tramp."
Again Halstead stole forward on tiptoe. But, though he spent nearly the
next half-hour in exploring, he found nothing to reward his search. He
came at last to a road which he judged to be the same one along which he
had started with the Spaniard. Taking his course from the stars, seaman
fashion, Halstead kept along. Within ten minutes he was upon a road that
looked like a highway.
"Say, but how good that sounds!" he thrilled, suddenly halting. He had
the presence of mind next to slip behind the trunk of a big tree.
A horse was moving lazily along the road. There was the sound of wheels,
too, though above all rose a cheery whistling, as though the owner of
that pair of lips were the happiest mortal alive. It was a good,
contented whistling. It had about it, too, the ring of honesty. The
cheery sound made Tom Halstead feel faith at once in the owner of that
whistle.
Then there came into sight a plain, much-worn open buggy, drawn by a
sleek-looking gray horse. Seated in the vehicle was a youngster of about
Tom's own age, who looked much like a farmer's boy. He had no coat on,
his suspenders being much in evidence. On his head he wore a
nondescript, broad-brimmed straw hat of the kind used by haymakers. At
least it looked as though it might once have been that sort of a hat,
but its shape was gone. From where Halstead stood not much of a glimpse
could be had of the boy's face.
"Good evening, friend," Tom hailed, stepping out from behind the tree.
"Evening! Who-o-oa!" The other boy reined up, peering down through the
semidarkness. "Want a lift?"
"Just what, if it happens that you're headed toward the town of
Nantucket," Tom replied.
"That's just where I'm headed. But hold on--gracious! I came within an
ace of forgetting. I've got to turn back and drive to Sanderson's for a
basket of eggs. Won't take me long, though. Pile in."
Tom gladly accepted the invitation. After his late experiences it seemed
good to be again with some one who appeared to be wholesome and
friendly. The other boy turned about, laying the whip lightly over the
horse.
"Look as if you were off of some yacht," commented the other boy, noting
Halstead's blue trousers and cap.
"I'm the skipper at present on Mr. Dunstan's 'Meteor,'" Tom explained.
"Say, that's the man whose son disappeared to-day," exclaimed the other
boy.
"Then you've heard about it?"
"Yep; it's all over the island now, I guess. Constables been going
everywhere and asking a heap of questions. Have they found young Ted?"
"I'm afraid not," sighed Tom.
"Too bad. But who could have wanted him to disappear?"
"That's a long story," Tom answered discreetly. "But say, where are you
going?"
For the young driver was turning off the road to go to the very
farmhouse to which the pier seemed to belong.
"To Sanderson's, as I told you," replied the other boy.
"Does that pier down at the water front belong to him?"
"Yep, though I guess he don't have much use for it."
"What sort of man is Sanderson?"
"Good enough sort, I guess."
"What does he do for a living?"
"He farms some, but I guess that don't amount to a lot," replied the
young driver. "I hear he's going into some new kind of business this
fall. Some kind of a factory he's going to build on the place. I know
he's been having a lot of cases of machinery come over on the boat from
Wood's Hole lately."
"Machinery?" echoed Halstead. Somehow, from the first, that word struck
a strange note within him.
"There's Sanderson, now," continued the young driver, pointing toward
the house with his whip.
Then the buggy drew up alongside the back porch. Halstead had plenty of
chance to study this farmer as he greeted the young driver:
"Hullo, Jed Prentiss. After them eggs?"
"Yes; and nearly forgot 'em."
"I reckoned you'd be along about now. Well, I'll get 'em."
Farmer Sanderson appeared to be about fifty years of age. He would have
been rather tall if so much of his lanky height had not been turned over
in a decided stoop of the shoulders. He had a rough, weather-beaten skin
that seemed to match his rough jean overalls and flannel shirt. The most
noticeable thing about this man was the keenness of his eyes. As the
farmer came out again to put the basket of eggs in the back of the buggy
Tom Halstead asked suddenly:
"Do you know a man who looks like a Spaniard and wears brown striped
trousers and a black coat?"
Farmer Sanderson, so the young captain thought, gave a slight start.
Then he unconcernedly placed the basket in the buggy before he answered:
"Can't say as I _know_ such a party. But I've seen a fellow that
answered that description."
"When, if I may ask, and where?"
"Why, late this afternoon I saw such a party hanging around my pier. I
s'posed he was fishing, but I didn't go down to ask any questions."
Tom put a few more queries, though without betraying too deep an
interest. Farmer Sanderson answered with an appearance of utter
frankness, but Tom learned nothing from the replies.
"I wonder," ventured Jed Prentiss, after they had driven some distance
along the road, "whether you think your Spanish-looking party had
anything to do with Ted Dunstan's being missing?"
Tom laughed good-naturedly, but made no reply, thinking that the easiest
way of turning off the question.
"Say," broke in Jed again after a while, "I wish you could get me a job
aboard the 'Meteor.'"
"What kind of a job?" inquired the young captain.
"Why, I'm generally handy aboard a boat. Been out on fishing craft a
good deal. The job I struck Mr. Dunstan for, some weeks ago, was that of
steward. You see, I'm a pretty fair sea cook, too. But Mr. Dunstan said
he didn't need a steward or a cook aboard. I wonder if he'd change his
mind."
"He might," replied Tom.
"Do you think you'd like to have me aboard?"
"From what I've seen of you, Jed, I think I would," replied Tom Halstead
heartily. "At any rate, I'll speak to Mr. Dunstan about you."
"Will you, though?" cried Jed delightedly. "Say, I'd give my head--no,
but the hair off the top of my head--to go cruising about on the
'Meteor.' It must be a king's life."
"It is," Tom assented.
Then, for some time, the two boys were silent But at last Tom Halstead,
after some intense thinking, burst out almost explosively:
"Machinery? Great Scott!"
"Er--eh?" queried Jed, looking at him in surprise.
"Oh, nothing," returned the young skipper evasively. "Just forget that
you heard me say anything, will you?"
"Sure," nodded Jed obligingly. Soon after, they drove into the quaint
little old seaport, summer-resort town, Nantucket. Tom's glance alighted
on a bicycle shop, still open. Thanking Jed heartily for the lift,
Halstead hurried into the shop. He succeeded in renting a bicycle,
agreeing that it should be returned in the morning. Then, after some
inquiries as to the road, Tom set out, pedaling swiftly.
He got off the road once, but in the end found the Dunstan place all
right. At the gateway to the grounds Halstead dismounted. For a few
moments he stood looking up at the house, only a part of which was
lighted.
"Machinery?" repeated the young skipper to himself, for the twentieth
time. "Machinery? Eh? Oh, but we want to know all about that, and,
what's more, we've got to know. Machinery! It pieces in with some other
facts that have come out to-day."
Then mindful of the fact that the news he bore was, or should be, of
great importance to the distracted master of the house beyond, Tom
Halstead, instead of remounting, pushed his wheel along as he walked
briskly up the driveway.
"Machinery!" he muttered once more under his breath. He could not rid
himself of the magic of that word.
Yet it was a huge pity that the young motor boat captain could not have
possessed sharp enough vision to see into the heart of a dense clump of
lilac bushes that bordered the driveway. Had his vision been that keen
he would have seen his very Spaniard crouched low in the clump.
That worthy saw the boy and watched him with baleful, gleaming eyes. It
was a look that boded no good to the young skipper.
"You are too wise, young _gringo_, and, besides, you have struck me
down," growled Alvarez. "But we shall take care of you. You shall do no
more harm!"