"All right?" asked Farmer Sanderson questioningly.
"All right," agreed Don Emilio. Click went the padlock.
"All wrong, I'll bet a hundred cookies," mocked Tom Halstead under his
breath.
"Come along, now," directed Don Emilio. He seemed to be the leader in
to-night's work.
"I don't believe I'm included in that invitation to 'come along,' but
I'm going to cheek my way along," grinned the young skipper.
He had no need to keep them exactly in sight, these industrious workers
in the dark. Laden as they were, it was enough to keep within sound of
the rather regular shuffle of their feet.
As Tom had surmised, the four pairs of men, keeping together, proceeded
toward the shore. Once, on the way down the slope, they halted to give
the weaker ones an opportunity to rest their muscles. Then, picking up
their heavy cases once more, the men went on down the slope toward the
pier.
"That is the stuff that was billed under 'machinery' labels!" muttered
the young skipper to himself. "I'll wager those boxes contain guns and
cartridges to start a new revolution with down in stormy Honduras. But
is their filibustering craft here? Are they getting ready to sail before
daylight? If that's the game, then I must get awfully busy."
As Tom, taking advantage of the uneven ground and dodging behind bushes
and trees, followed unobserved and came within sight of the pier he made
out with certainty that no craft was tied there.
"That doesn't prove a lot, though," he reflected, watching the
procession of toilers from behind a bush. "If they have a tug or some
other steam vessel it could slip in here two hours before daylight and
be away again in another hour. But what's that? Where are they going
now?"
In the darkness it was not quite easy to see more than that the
procession had moved into the shadow of a depression in the ground near
the pier. Crawling that he might not be seen against the dim skyline,
Halstead secured another point of observation. He thought, now, he could
make out the outlines of a small building.
"I'll wait until the crowd gets away from there before I try for a
closer look," thought the young motor boat skipper.
Nor had he long to wait ere the same eight filed by not far from his
hiding place. Halstead watched until they were out of sight behind
Sanderson's house.
Then the youthful investigator slipped down the slope and into the
shadow. He went cautiously, though, for fear that Don Emilio might have
posted a guard below.
There was none, however. Tom found himself staring at what looked like a
new boathouse on shore, such as is used for the winter storing of yachts
or motor boats. There were no windows. The door, a strong affair, was
secured by a padlock.
"If they're putting the stuff in there and locking it up, then they
don't intend to ship it to-night," Halstead wisely decided.
He had learned, apparently, all that was to be learned at this point. To
keep his eyes upon the case-carrying toilers might mean only to witness
a repetition of the same monotonous work through all the night.
"That one bright light up in the attic," Halstead wondered, the memory
of it coming back to him. "I wonder what's going on up there? And I mean
to know, too."
Satisfied that he knew all about the waterfront business, Halstead took
such a wide, curving sweep in getting back to the farmhouse that he ran
no risk of running into the busy eight.
Once more he sought the deep shadow of the wagon shed, from which point
he stared long and wonderingly.
Beneath that attic window was a kitchen annex of one story. And Tom made
out, presently, that a lightning rod ran down the back of the main
building close to that brilliantly lighted window on the third floor.
The rod touched the roof of the kitchen annex, running thence down to
the ground.
"It's a job for stocking feet, anyway," Halstead decided at last. Having
removed his shoes and feeling about in the dark, the young skipper ran
his hand against a coil of rope hanging on a peg.
"Good enough!" he cried inwardly. "I don't believe there are many
climbing jobs where a rope won't come in handy."
As he removed the coil of rope from the peg he discovered a few lengths
of cord. These he stuffed into one of his pockets.
"For I can't tell what kind of a sling I may need to rig before I get
through," he thought.
The busy eight were returning from still another trip to the water
front. Halstead stopped all movement, remaining utterly quiet until they
had started shoreward with the next load.
"Now I've got to work fast," thought Captain Tom thrilling. "I reckon
it's about fifteen minutes between their arrivals here. That means fast
work, my boy."
Shoes in hand, the coil of rope fast at his waist, Halstead stole out
toward the southern side of the kitchen annex. Leaving his shoes on the
ground Tom found it an easy task to climb up onto the roof of the annex.
Now he felt carefully of the lightning rod, next giving it harder and
harder pulls, to make sure that it was strong enough to hear his weight.
That point settled, Halstead began to ascend. It was not a difficult
task for a boy trained aboard seagoing craft.
Up and up he went, making little if any sound. At last he was able to
lean outward from the rod, resting one elbow on the ledge of the lighted
window. Yet, on peering into the room the young skipper received a shock
that almost caused him to lose his hold on the lightning rod.
At the further end of the bare-looking attic stood a plain pine table,
which held a reading lamp that gave a strong light. With his back to the
window, seated in a rocking chair and his feet on another chair, lounged
a boy, reading.
Even with his back turned, the unseen face bent over a book, that boy
was known beyond the possibility of a doubt to Tom Halstead.
"Ted Dunstan, himself!" the young skipper almost cried aloud.
Not for one moment did Halstead even think of slipping down from the
window and running for help. If he did so Ted was as likely as not to be
gone upon his return.
"I've got to get him out of here, and on the jump, too," puzzled the
young captain. "But how is the thing to be done?"
An appeal to young Ted himself would be worse than useless. That young
heir, as the spy at the window knew, had altogether too complete a faith
in his present comrades.
While Tom still hung on there another happening caused his heart to bump
against his ribs. The busy eight were returning. He could hear the light
tread on gravel under their feet.
Not a second was to be lost. Inwardly breathing a prayer, Halstead
raised himself to the window sill with the utmost stealth. In another
moment he was over the sill and in the room on his stockinged tip-toes.
Ted did not turn. Plainly he was too absorbed in his book to suspect any
other presence. Not daring, of course, to remain near the window, which
would place him in sight of the busy eight in the yard, as soon as they
should reach the outbuildings, Halstead slid noiselessly along the wall,
pressing his hands against it. His strained, intense look was all the
time on the unsuspecting Dunstan heir.
"Ho, ho, ho!" chuckled Master Ted, throwing his head back, but he did
not look around. Evidently something in the book on his lap amused him
immensely.
Tom stood there, still praying under his breath, praying that the eight
might quickly take up their new burdens and hasten shoreward.
At last there came the sound of crunching against gravel. Tom, trying to
stifle the sound of his own breathing, listened intently until the dying
out of sounds outside made him believe that the men were once more out
of the way.
Now trembling in every muscle, Halstead stole forward toward the Dunstan
heir. The floor creaked; he stopped short in great alarm. For Halstead
felt certain that, somewhere near at hand, there must be some one
intrusted with the responsibility of watching over this young heir.
Master Ted, however, did not turn. Taking heart Tom stole forward as
softly as ever Indian trod. Crouching, he was near enough now to reach
out and touch the back of young Dunstan.
Of a sudden Halstead made the plunge. He leaped forward with the agility
of a panther, fairly yanking Ted Dunstan out of the rocking chair and
dropping him softly on the floor beside it.
Taken in this fashion, Master Ted would have let out a lusty yell. Yet
the instant he opened his mouth Tom Halstead's fingers gripped at his
throat, shutting off the youngster's wind.
"I don't want to hurt you," whispered Halstead sharply yet half
apologetically. "But I've got to keep you quiet no matter what I have to
do to you."
Ted's face betrayed absolute fear as well as unmistakable loathing, as
that choking shut off his breath. His mouth opened, his tongue lolling
out.
"Now you may breathe again, if you'll keep quiet," Tom informed him.
"But, remember--I _won't_ have any noise!"
As soon as he could breathe again panting Ted's wits also began to
clear. He raised one of his feet, as he lay prostrate with Halstead
a-top of him, and brought that heel down against the floor. Halstead
promptly threw his own body so that Master Ted could not again raise
either foot.
"I see that I've got to go to extreme measures with you; you don't
understand that I'm deadly in earnest," panted Tom, finding that this
wiry, out-of-door, agile boy of ten could be wonderfully slippery. "Now
listen, Ted Dunstan. If you don't want me to be ugly and to choke you
until your senses fade, then prepare to mind me. Now then roll over on
your face--and don't you _dare_ to make any noise doing it."
A good deal cowed by the fierce glint in Tom's eyes, Ted almost
passively obeyed, though the young skipper was obliged to roll the young
man himself.
"Keep those feet quiet now," whispered Tom in the little fellow's ear.
"We've got to the point where nonsense won't be safe for you. Now open
your mouth!"
Ted firmly pressed his lips together, gritting his teeth. Yet Tom knew a
trick of wrestling that forced the young man to open his mouth. Plump
into that mouth went one of Halstead's wadded handkerchiefs, stopping
the youngster's tongue down and holding his jaws apart.
Satisfied that Ted was gagged, Tom forced another handkerchief between
the teeth, knotting it behind the smaller boy's head. Then, with abrupt
suddenness, the young skipper bent the little fellow's hands behind him,
though not too roughly, and bound the wrists in the best sailorman's
fashion. Now Tom turned about, using more of the cord in his pockets to
lash the heels of the Dunstan heir securely together. This accomplished,
Captain Tom examined all his knots to make sure that none of them was so
poorly tied as to cause him regret later on. Then, on tip-toe, he stole
over to the door. There was a bolt on it unsecured. Tom softly slipped
the bolt into place. There was now no danger of unannounced interference
from that direction.
Going back to the angry and astounded Dunstan heir, Halstead knelt
beside him.
"Master Ted, I know you feel ugly about me and you hate me just at this
minute. You think I'm your enemy and your father's. The scoundrels
you've been running with have told you that. The truth is, your father,
though not an old man, is aging fast on account of the agony your
disappearance has caused him. The time isn't far away when you'll know
that we've all been doing our best, in the face of many dangers, to
serve a boy who was foolish enough not to want to be served."
Captain Tom had raised young Dunstan's head and had looked into the
latter's eyes while telling him this. But Master Ted glared back only a
message of distrust and defiance.
"I've got you now where you can't stand in the way of your own good
luck, if only I can once get you away from this house," Tom went on in a
whisper, his mouth close to one of the youngster's ears. "_You_ can't
hinder, anyway."
Then, with one hand resting heavily on Ted, to prevent any slight
possibility of movement by that youngster, Halstead continued kneeling
and listening.
At last there came to him the sound for which he had waited--the
crunching of feet on the gravel outside. Now Halstead became busy again.
Uncoiling the rope at his waist he rigged a secure slip-noose at one
end. This he made fast around Ted's body, under his bound arms. When the
sounds without indicated that the eight men were again leaving for the
shore, the young captain raised his light human burden, stealing toward
the window.
[Illustration: Tom Pushed the Heir Through the Window.]
There was not a sound outside. Tom Halstead pushed the Dunstan heir
through the window, lowering him swiftly to the kitchen annex. The young
motor boat captain then descended by the lightning rod. He carried Ted,
naturally unresisting, to the edge of the annex, lowering him to the
ground. Halstead went down himself at a bound, landing on his feet. In a
fever of anxiety he found his shoes, swiftly lacing them on.
Now slipping off the noose, Tom loosely coiled the rope about one arm.
Lifting Ted Dunstan, Captain Halstead fled straight across the rear yard
and in among the trees.
"There, I hope we've got you away from that crowd," panted Tom, putting
his unwilling companion down. "But we've got to hustle, so you'll have
to use your own feet a bit. Woe unto you, though, if you try any tricks
on the stranger who happens to be your best friend at this moment!"
Hiding the rope in a thicket near by; Halstead quickly slashed away the
cord at Ted Dunstan's ankles.
"Now you'll come along with me and you'll come mighty fast!" breathed
Captain Tom resolutely, as he seized one of the boy's arms.
At first Ted acted as though he intended to drag, but the quality of
muscle in the young motor boat skipper's arms must have shown him the
folly of such tactics, for presently he trotted at the older boy's side.
Yet they had not gone more than two hundred yards before something else
happened. Out from behind a tree shot a human figure. Its owner sprang
at Tom Halstead, locking him in a sturdy embrace. Down to the ground
went Halstead and his assailant, rolling over and over in fierce,
battling embrace.
Ted Dunstan lost not an instant in seeing and seizing his opportunity.
His feet, at least, free and able, that youngster whirled and dashed
back toward the farmhouse.