Tom Halstead wasn't drowned--not quite. The wicked seldom find safety in
believing that their evil work has come out in the way that will most
benefit them. We shall presently see what _did_ happen to Tom.
Although he tried to pretend that he was not affected by the tragedy
that he believed had just been enacted, Senor Alvarez, when he returned
to his seat by the wheel, did not at once call for speed ahead. Instead
he rolled a fresh cigarette with trembling fingers, spilling so much of
the tobacco that he had to make a fresh start. When, at last, he had the
thing lighted and had taken a couple of whiffs, he turned to the black
man to ask:
"After all, Pedro, what difference can it make if the meddling boy chose
the ocean to our company? Am I not a gentleman of Honduras, Don Emilio
Alvarez? Am I not descended from Spanish grandees? Why should I bother
my head because one of the American riff-raff has gone overboard!"
"Dat's a fac', boss. Why should yo' bother yo' haid?" responded Pedro,
though he did not say it very heartily.
Don Emilio smoked for some moments in silence. Then the sight of a cabin
sloop rounding a point of land to the northeast of them claimed his
attention.
"Pedro," he called, pointing, "that sloop carries the red jack
fluttering from her bowsprit tip. That, then, is our boat."
"Fo' shuah, boss. An' I done hope dat Cap'n Jonas French done got some
good news ob de kind dat we wanter heah."
"Give us some speed and we'll soon be alongside the sloop."
The launch was soon going along at her usual speed of some six miles an
hour, veering in shore somewhat to cross the course of the sloop. As
they came to close quarters a voice from the other boat called:
"The news is all right, Alvarez."
It was the voice of the florid-faced one, yet he, too, had changed
almost as much as had the gentleman from Honduras. Captain French's
cheeks were no longer deep red in color. His skin had more of a bronze
hue. As such changes do not occur naturally within a few days, it was
evident that the captain must have employed some dye with much skill.
Even the tint of his hair was changed.
"I have something to discuss with you, my friend," replied Don Emilio.
"I will come aboard for a while. Throw off your mainsheet and lie to, so
that I can come alongside."
Pedro slowed down the speed considerably. Don Emilio, with a skill that
spoke of some practice, ran the launch around to leeward and up under
the sloop's quarter. The two craft touched lightly and at that instant
Alvarez stepped aboard the sloop. Pedro, with his hand on the starboard
wheel rope, eased gently away from the sailing sloop.
"Now run into the cove, Pedro," called back Don Emilio. "Wait there
until I come to you, unless danger threatens. If you see signs of
trouble, act in whatever way you may need to act."
"I'se understand yo', boss," replied the black man.
As Captain Jonas French hauled in his mainsheet and the sloop's sail
filled, Pedro made obliquely for shore. Having no need of speed, he made
less demand on the engine than he had been doing.
Some time later Pedro ran halfway into a little cove that dented the
mainland of Massachusetts. Stopping the speed he stepped forward and
cast over an anchor, reeling in the slack and making fast. This done,
the darky drew out an old pipe, filled it and lighted it, settling back
for a lazy smoke.
And Tom Halstead? He was doing his best not to pant and betray himself,
but his had been a rough experience. None but a boy as much at home in
the water as on land could have stood the strain of this performance.
When Tom went overboard, striking the water, the cold shock had aroused
all his faculties. He went over the starboard gunwale and, finding
himself going, had had the sense to dive as deeply as he could. He
passed under the hull, coming out at port. Then he turned, keeping still
under water until one of his hands touched the port side of the hull.
Just as this happened Halstead's other hand struck a line trailing in
the water. Then the boy was forced to come up for air. As he did so he
heard the voices of the pair aboard over at the starboard gunwale. That
gave Tom a safe chance to give the trailing rope a pull. It held,
showing that it was made fast on board.
Necessity makes one think fast. To Tom the discovery of this rope was a
most unexpected bit of good fortune. As soon as he had time to get his
breath, he tied a loop in it securely. Through this he could thrust one
or both arms, at need.
The trailing overboard of a line in this fashion was a piece of
disorderly ship's housekeeping of which an American skipper would hardly
be guilty. But the sailors of the Latin races are less particular. That
line might have been over the gunwale for hours or even days, but a man
like Alvarez would give little heed to it.
When the launch went on her way again Tom had his right arm hooked well
through the loop. He floated, his feet astern along the side, though in
no danger from rudder or propeller. His head, out of water, was hidden
by the bulging lines of the launch's side hull. He was not likely to be
discovered unless one of the occupants of the launch leaned well out and
looked down.
"If only they'd run a little slower this would be about as easy as lying
in a soft bed," chuckled the young motor boat captain gleefully. He had
grinned broadly at Don Emilio's seeming unconcern over his fate.
"I reckon where they go I'm going too," Halstead told himself with great
satisfaction. His clothing, filled with water, would have been
uncomfortable, even dangerous, had he attempted to swim far, but as it
was the launch's engine was doing all the work. Tom simply allowed his
rather buoyant body to be towed. None the less the speed of the towing,
so greatly in excess of a swimmer's speed, began to tell upon his
endurance. Later that cabin sloop was briefly in the boy's sight.
Halstead was forced to lower his head all he could in the water, but
Captain French, having no reason to scan the launch's water line, did
not happen to detect the strange "tow." As the two boats went alongside
it was the launch's starboard bow that touched, so that Tom, at port,
was in no danger of being seen from the other craft.
Nor was the young motor boat captain again in sight after the two craft
parted. Pedro's slower speed, making for the cove, came as a huge relief
to the "boy overboard."
While the anchor was being dropped, Halstead had opportunity to see how
wild and deserted a bit of nature the surroundings were. There was not a
house or other sign of human habitation anywhere in sight.
While Pedro sat up forward, smoking, a voice sounded that thrilled
Captain Tom Halstead with instant wonder.
"Hullo, Pedro! What a nap I must have had."
"Yo' shuahly did sleep fast, chile."
"I'm coming out, now."
"Ef yo' do, young boss, be kyahful," warned the black man.
"Oh, there's no one around here to see me," contended that other voice,
and now it sounded as though the owner were in the bow of the craft.
"Ef Ah done thought Ah could trust yo' Ah'd tuhn in in dat forrad cubby
mahself," declared the negro. "Ah's powahful drowsy."
"Go ahead, Pedro," agreed the other speaker. "You needn't be afraid of
me. I'll keep a bright lookout."
There was the sound of the negro stowing himself away in the forward
cubby, much roomier than the one Tom had tried at the stern.
Halstead had heard the conversation with a feeling at first as though
his brain were whirling inside his head. The long dousing in the water
was beginning to make itself felt in a chill, but it was not wholly this
that made the young skipper shake.
"That's Ted Dunstan's voice," he told himself, trembling. "He's on board
this very craft. I've found the missing Dunstan heir."
Soon Pedro's snores could be heard. Then Tom Halstead hauled himself up
along the rope until he could just peer over the gunwale. His last doubt
vanished; he could no longer question his ears, for now his glance
fastened upon the living heir of the Dunstans!