Meanwhile, at the Sanderson farm, business was proceeding at a rate that
entitled the word to be spelled with a very large capital "B."
Mr. Lawrence and his comrades, under Captain Tom's pilotage, were hidden
where, despite the darkness, they could get a very fair idea of what was
going on at the pier. Joe had led Warren and the other local officers up
where they could know what was going on behind the farmhouse. Sanderson,
Alvarez and all hands except Captain Jonas French, were working like so
many industrious ants. Two of the men were moving cases out of the new
shed onto the pier. The rest were bringing cases down to the pier from
the farm outbuilding. All the cases were being piled at the end of the
pier.
"That means they're going to ship everything to-night," whispered Mr.
Lawrence.
"When are you going to jump on them?" Halstead asked.
"Not until they get everything on their vessel, and get out on the
water. If we showed ourselves now, and tried to arrest the crowd, what
could we prove? Sanderson has a perfect right to stack any kinds of
merchandise on his pier. But when we overhaul a craft out on the water,
loaded down with filibuster's supplies, and the captain of that craft
can show no regular papers for such a cargo, then we have the crowd
where we want them."
It was a dull time waiting, but Inspector Lawrence was right, as a man
of his experience was quite likely to be. The time slipped on, with no
open move on the part of the law's people.
"I thought I saw a rocket up north, then," whispered Tom, at last.
"Watch and see whether there's another," replied Lawrence, also in a
whisper. But the rocket Tom had seen was the last that Jed had
derisively shot after the retreating tug. It wasn't long, however,
before the young motor boat skipper and the United States officers heard
the sound of the tug approaching. They lay low, but watched, quietly
until the tug had docked at the end of Sanderson's pier.
"We'll still have to use patience," smiled Mr. Lawrence, turning to Tom.
"This is going to be a watching game for some time yet."
By now the gang that had been bringing cases down from the outbuilding
all filed out onto the pier. The sounds of brisk but regular loading
followed. An hour of this work, monotonous for the hidden watchers,
followed, and then another hour. Neither Tom Halstead nor Mr. Lawrence,
from their hiding place, could see the cargo piles on the pier very
distinctly.
"Halstead," inquired the inspector, "do you suppose you can safely
wriggle nearer, and see how far the loading has gone?"
"I know I can," Tom answered. "I'll go slowly about it, and make never a
sound, or show myself."
After a few minutes, in fact, Tom got within seven or eight feet of the
pier. He had crawled over the ground, and now lay flat with his head
behind the roots of a tree.
From where he lay he could make out Don Emilio Alvarez standing talking
with Captain Jonas French. The latter, with a swollen nose and a
powder-burned cheek, was telling the gentleman from Honduras all about
Prentiss's remarkable achievement.
"Oh, say, but that was grand of old Jed!" breathed Tom, his sides
shaking with suppressed laughter. "If Jed doesn't get a Carnegie medal
I'll have my opinion of some folks!"
Don Emilio tossed away a half-burned cigar. The butt fell close by the
tree roots that helped conceal the head of the young motor boat skipper.
Perhaps the little brown man started slightly from something that the
glowing tobacco showed him. At all events, he spoke in a whisper to
Jonas French. The next instant both leaped down from the shore end of
the pier, rushing at the tree.
Tom Halstead sprang up, prepared to sprint for it, but hardly had he
started when he felt himself gripped savagely by French. One instant
more, and Tom Halstead found himself being borne, despite his yells and
furious, fighting struggles, out along the pier.
"All aboard and cast off!" yelled Jonas French, as he sped on over the
boards. The last case of the cargo had just gone over the tug's rail,
and now two men sprang to cast off bow and stern hawsers. The engine
room bell jangled just as French and Alvarez, with their strenuous
prisoner, sprang aboard.
Inspector Lawrence and his two comrades had lost no time. They now came
dashing from concealment, but they were too late. As they arrived at the
end of the pier the tug was a hundred yards on her way.
At the starboard rail stood two seamen, holding Tom as in a vise. Behind
the young motor boat skipper stood Don Emilio Alvarez, waving a taunting
hand at the officers. Jonas French had gone forward to take command of
the tug.
The seamen, powerful, swarthy fellows who looked like Portuguese, held
Tom at the rail until the tug was half a mile from shore.
"Now, you can let go of him, my men," nodded Alvarez, "but watch the
young man."
"Mr. Captain, how would you like to stroll aft and look at a nice
surprise we may serve out to your friends?" The Honduran's tone was
mocking, bantering, but Tom Halstead, filled with curiosity, accepted
the invitation. Alvarez led the way, the two seamen going behind the
boy.
On the deck aft stood something of considerable size, covered by a
canvas tarpaulin.
"Take off the covering," directed Don Emilio. The two seamen obeyed.
"Fine, is it not?" chuckled Alvarez, pointing to a brightly polished
brass cannon.
"Yes; fine--not!" spoke Tom, in a voice of mingled anger and disgust.
"It is a signal gun, such as every vessel is allowed to carry," chuckled
Don Emilio. "But our signal gun will also carry a two-inch shell--and we
have plenty of ammunition. If your precious 'Meteor' attempts to follow
us to-night we shall send her to the bottom of the ocean! You see, our
cargo is needed by brave and patriotic men in Honduras, and we are
desperate enough to take it there in the face of everyone."
Then, changing his tone, Alvarez, as he glared at the boy, went on:
"Once you were good enough to ask me what I would do to you if I had you
in Honduras. Well, I shall show you, for you are bound for that fine
little country!"