Defeated and imprisoned in their own camp, the boys faced one another
dazedly. Though none of the five had suffered serious injury in the
scuffle, all were more or less bruised. Lane had a slight cut where the
back of his head had come in contact with a sharp stone on the beach;
and a swelling on Jim's right cheek told where the hard fist of one of
his assailants had landed.
Outside, the two guards conversed in low tones; but for a few minutes no
one spoke or moved in the cabin. The boys sat on the boxes or had thrown
themselves into their bunks. Elbow on table, chin resting in palm, Jim
was buried in thought. In a short time, he knew, Brittler and his gang
would sail away in the _Barracouta_. They would land their human cargo
and probably scuttle the sloop. Somehow they must be thwarted; but how?
The boys had no weapons to match those of their armed guard. Without
ammunition, the shot-gun was but a bar of iron. How could they cope with
the bullets in the automatics? Undoubtedly every smuggler carried a
revolver, and would use it in a pinch; possibly some might not wait
until the pinch came. It was a knotty problem. The drops oozed out on
Jim's forehead as he wrestled for its solution.
A low whistle fell on his ear. He glanced toward Percy's bunk and saw
the latter's hand raised in warning; he was taking off his shoes,
quickly and noiselessly. Why? Jim and the others watched.
Soon Percy stood in his stocking feet. He pulled out his knife and
opened the large blade. Stooping low, he stole toward the farther end of
the cabin. The window there was open and covered with mosquito netting.
Steps grated on the pebbles outside. One of the guards was making a
circuit of the camp. Percy flattened himself on the floor directly
beneath the window. The others, hardly daring to breathe, looked away.
The man paused for a moment; Jim knew that he was peering in. Apparently
satisfied that all was well, he resumed his patrol.
Without delay Percy rose. He drew his knife along the netting near the
sill, then cut it from top to bottom on each side, close to the frame.
So skilfully did the keen blade do its work that the screen hung
apparently undisturbed.
The guards began talking again. Placing one of the boxes silently under
the window, and stepping upon it, Percy slipped through the opening. His
light build enabled him to drop to the ground without making any noise.
The netting fell back and hung as before.
Outside, it was thick fog; a slight drizzle was beginning. It was
impossible to see further than a few feet. But the last two months had
familiarized Percy with every square yard of the beach, and he could
have found his way along it blindfold. Cat-footed, he stole down toward
the water.
Steps approached, voices; he halted, ready for a hasty retreat. But the
feet receded toward the cabin, and he had no difficulty in recognizing
the tones of Dolph and Brittler. The latter was in a bad humor.
"Now," he growled, "we've got a long way to go, and none too much time.
Every minute we waste here means just so much off the other end. Granted
we reach the mainland all right, we'll have to hustle to slip those
Chinks under cover before daylight. You'd better round 'em up in that
fish-house, so none of 'em'll stray away and keep us from starting the
second the sloop's ready. We've got to make sure there's plenty of gas
aboard, as well as a compass and chart. I'll see if I can scare up a
couple of lanterns."
The two separated, Dolph evidently going to look after the Chinese,
while Brittler kept on toward the cabin. Percy stood stock-still, his
heart thumping. Would the captain discover his absence?
"How's everything here, boys?" hailed Brittler.
"All quiet," replied one of the sentries.
"Come inside with me, Herb, so these fellows won't try any funny
business."
The door opened. Percy felt a thrill of fear. How could they fail to
notice there were only four prisoners in the camp?
But their captors evidently had not the least suspicion that he had
escaped. Probably they thought he was lying in one of the bunks. He
could hear the voices of Brittler and Jim, the one questioning, angry,
and menacing, the other tantalizingly deliberate as he grudgingly gave
the information demanded. Percy delayed no longer. He had his own work
to do, and it demanded all his energy.
Down he stole to the water's edge, then followed it west until he
reached a sloping rock. The _Barracouta_, he knew, was moored not fifty
feet out in the black fog.
Without hesitating a second Percy waded in, and soon was swimming
quietly toward the sloop. He had not dared to take one of the boats, for
fear the grating of her keel on the beach or the sound of her oars might
betray him. He cleft the water noiselessly, and it was not long before
he grasped the _Barracouta's_ bobstay and hoisted himself aboard.
Dropping down the companionway, he groped forward through the cabin to
the little door leading into the bow, and crept in on hands and knees.
His fingers found what he wanted, an opening between two planks, where a
leak had been freshly calked with oakum. He dug this out with his
knife-point, and the water began spurting in.
Backing out and closing the door, he found a wrench in the tool-box and
began fumbling about the engine. Soon the spark-plugs were unscrewed and
in his pocket.
"And there's a good job done!" he thought, triumphantly. "Guess that
gang of blacklegs won't get very far in the _Barracouta_ to-night!"
Voices on the shore. Dolph and Brittler were coming with a lantern; a
blur of light brightened through the fog.
"The compass and chart are aboard," came the captain's voice, "and this
can of gas'll be enough to make us sure of striking the mainland.
Launch that dory!"
The dip of oars and an increasing brightness told that the boat was
approaching. It would not do for Percy to be detected. Lowering himself
from the port bow into the water, he clung to the bobstay.
"They won't see me here!"
Bump! The dory struck the sloop and grated along her side. Dolph and
Brittler clambered aboard and descended into the cabin.
"Here's the chart!" exclaimed the captain. "And the compass, too! He
told the truth about them, at any rate."
"Lucky for him!" rejoined Dolph. "I don't like that big fellow worth a
cent."
"Good reason!" was the captain's rather sarcastic comment.
"You haven't any license to joke me about that knockdown, Bart Brittler!
I noticed you weren't in any hurry to mix it with him."
There was a moment of silence.
"What's that?" cried the captain, suddenly. "Sounds like water running
in! Hope the old scow isn't leaking. Let's have that lantern!"
Through the thin planking Percy could hear him open the little door and
crawl up into the bow. Then his faint, muffled voice reached the eagerly
listening boy.
"There's a bad leak here! Come in a minute!"
Into Percy's brain flashed a sudden idea that left him trembling with
excitement. Could he do it? If he tried, he must not fail. An instant
resolution set him dragging himself toward the stern.
Clutching the rim of the wash-board, he flung up one leg, caught his
toe, and raised himself, dripping. A moment later he was in the
standing-room.
He looked down into the cabin. The light of the lantern, shining round a
body that almost filled the little door to the bow, showed a pair of
legs backing out.
The die was cast. It was too late now for Percy to withdraw. His only
safety lay in action.
Like lightning he slammed and hooked the double doors of the
companionway, pulled the slide over, and snapped the padlock. Dolph and
Brittler were prisoners on board the _Barracouta!_
There was a moment of surprised silence. Then bedlam broke out below, a
confused, smothered shouting, a violent thumping on the closed doors and
slide. But Percy gave it no heed. Thus far his plan had succeeded, even
beyond his expectations. But his work was only begun. Before it should
be finished, four men on shore must be overcome.
Aquiver with excitement, he sprang into the dory and quickly rowed to
the beach, some distance from the camp. Then he leaped out with the oars
and carried them well up on the shingle.
The other dory of the smugglers was, he remembered, almost exactly in
front of the cabin. Skirting the water, he soon came plump upon the
boat. He felt inside, found the oars, and gave one after the other a
shove out into the cove. Barely had he done this when hurrying steps
approached. One of the guards from the camp was coming to investigate
the tumult on the _Barracouta_.
He passed so close to the dory beside which Percy was crouching that
the boy could almost have touched him. Luckily he had no lantern. Percy
hardly dared to breathe until the man was twenty feet past.
"What's the trouble out there?" he shouted.
If the two on the sloop heard him at all, they made no intelligible
reply. The tumult and thumping kept on. Not waiting to see whether or
not the sentinel would succeed in establishing communication with his
marooned companions, Percy ran silently up the beach. Making a broad
circuit, he approached the cabin from behind.
Through the open window he could see his mates, listening with parted
lips to the hubbub outside. He attracted Jim's attention by tossing in a
pebble. Spurling sauntered leisurely toward the rear of the cabin. His
precautions were needless; the remaining sentry had concentrated his
whole attention on the uproar in the cove.
"Jim," whispered Percy, hurriedly, "I'm going to jump that guard. You
and Budge stand close to the door. The second you hear any fracas rush
out and take hold with me. Stop him from shouting, if you can."
Jim nodded and stepped back from the window. Percy crept stealthily
round the camp toward the fish-house. He rightly inferred that the
smuggler would be gazing down the beach toward the invisible sloop.
A well-oiled clock could not have worked more smoothly. The sentry's
thoughts were focused on what was taking place out there in the fog, and
he was all unconscious of the peril that menaced him in the rear.
Suddenly out of the blackness behind him a lithe figure shot like a
wildcat. One arm encircled the neck of the astounded guard, the hand
pressing tightly over his mouth. The other hand caught his right wrist
and twisted it backward, causing him to drop his revolver. The force of
the attack flung him flat on his face.
Before he could even struggle the door was wrenched open and two figures
darted out and joined in the melee. It was soon over. Three to one are
heavy odds. The sentry, gagged and securely bound, was hustled inside
the cabin. His hat, overcoat, and automatic were appropriated for Jim
Spurling, who took his place. So skilfully had the coup been conducted
under cover of the disturbance in the cove that none of the other
smugglers had taken the slightest alarm.
Spurling assumed his post none too soon. Hardly had the door been
closed, with Lane, Stevens, and Percy on the alert just inside, when the
other guard came hurrying anxiously back. He had been unable to fathom
the meaning of the tumult on the _Barracouta_.
"I don't like this at all, Herb," growled he as he drew near Jim. "Dolph
and the skipper have gotten into some kind of a scrape, but what the
trouble is I can't figure. I'd have gone out to them in the other dory,
but I couldn't find any oars. We'd better call Shane and Parsons away
from guarding those Chinks and decide what it's best to do. We don't
know the lay of the land here, and any mistake's liable to be
expensive."
By the time he had finished his remarks he was close to Spurling. The
latter's silence apparently roused his suspicions. He stopped short.
"What--"
He got no further. Jim's left hand was over his mouth and Jim's right
grasped his right wrist. Out burst reinforcements from the camp. It was
a repetition of the case of the first sentinel, only more so. Presently
Number Two lay on the cabin floor beside his comrade, unable to speak or
move. Jim was a good hand at tying knots.
The five boys gathered in a corner and took account of stock. Two of the
six white men prisoners; two others marooned on the sloop and _hors du
combat_, at least temporarily; two still at large and in a condition to
do mischief, but at present entirely ignorant of the plight of their
comrades. Two automatics captured, and the dories of the foe useless
from lack of oars. Best of all, the boys themselves free and practically
masters of the situation. Matters showed a decided improvement over what
they had been a half-hour before.
But the victory was as yet incomplete and Jim was too good a general to
lose the battle from over-confidence. At any minute Dolph and Brittler
might burst their way out through the double doors of the _Barracouta_
and establish communication with the two men guarding the Chinese. So
once more the trap was set and baited. Roger put on the hat and coat of
the second sentry and joined Jim on guard.
Crash! Crash! Crash! A succession of heavy, splintering blows, echoing
over the cove, announced that the pair imprisoned on the sloop had at
last discovered some means of battering their way to freedom.
_Crash-sh!_
Speech, low but intense, came floating over the water. The smugglers
were out and evidently looking for their dory. Baffled in their search,
they began shouting.
"Hilloo-oo! On shore! Shane! Parsons! Herb! Terry! Are you all dead?
Come out and take us off! Somebody's scuttled the sloop and locked us
down in the cabin! Just wait till we get ashore! We'll fix those boys!
Ahoy there! Our boat's gone! Come and get us!"
Jim pressed Roger's arm.
"Ready! Here comes one of 'em!"
Somebody was running toward them from the fish-house. A black figure
suddenly loomed up, close at hand.
"What's the trouble out there, Herb? Dolph and the cap are yelling like
stuck pigs! Hear 'em! Guess I'd better go out to 'em in the other dory,
don't you think? Shane can handle the Chinos--"
His voice shut off in a terrified gurgle. A strong hand forcibly sealed
his lips and two pairs of muscular arms held him powerless, while Percy,
darting from the cabin with a coil of rope, relieved him of his
automatic and tied him firmly under Jim's whispered directions. Soon he,
too, lay beside his comrades.
"Shut the door a minute, Filippo!" ordered Jim. "Now," he continued,
briskly, "I guess we've got 'em coppered. We'll do up that man in the
fish-house in short order. By the way, Throppy, did you raise the
cutter before the captain smashed your instrument?"
"Don't know," answered Stevens. "I was so busy calling for help that I
didn't wait for any reply."
"We'll know before midnight," said Jim. "Take Parsons's automatic,
Perce, and come along with Budge and myself. Throppy, you stay here with
Filippo and help guard these fellows."
He glanced at the sullen three lying bound on the floor.
"Don't look as if they could make much trouble. Still, it's better for
somebody to keep an eye on 'em."
Jim, Budge, and Percy stepped out and closed the door. The shouting from
the _Barracouta_ kept on with undiminished vigor. Appeals and threats
jostled one another in the verbal torrent.
"Let 'em yell themselves hoarse," whispered Jim. "It won't do 'em any
good."
The fish-house was near. A lighted lantern hung just inside the open
door. Near it stood the fourth smuggler, peering anxiously out; behind
him huddled the Chinamen. He gave an exclamation of relief as he saw
Jim's figure approaching through the fog.
"I'm glad--"
He stopped short, frozen with surprise, at the sight of the three boys.
Swiftly his hand darted toward his left coat pocket.
"None of that, Shane!" commanded Jim, sharply. "Put 'em up!"
The three automatics in the boys' hands showed the guard that
resistance was useless. He obeyed sulkily.
"Feel in his pocket, Perce, and take his revolver! No, the other side!
He's left-handed."
Percy secured the weapon. Escorting Shane to the camp, they soon had him
safely trussed. Brittler was bellowing like a mad bull.
"Now for Dolph and the skipper! Guess the three of us are good for 'em!"
Leaving the four smugglers in the custody of Throppy and Filippo, the
other boys proceeded down to the water. The shouting suddenly ceased. A
rope splashed.
"They've cast off the mooring!" exclaimed Jim.
Another unmistakable sound.
"Now they're rocking the wheel to start her!"
Percy felt for the spark-plugs in his pocket.
"They'll rock it some time!"
They did. At last they stopped. There was a muttered consultation,
inaudible to the listening ears on shore.
"Might as well wind the thing up now!" observed Jim in an undertone.
"On board the sloop!" he hailed. "It's all off, Captain! We've got your
four men tied up, and we've got their revolvers. You and Dolph might as
well give it up. Throw your guns in on the beach, and we'll come out and
get you, one at a time!"
A tremendous surprise was voiced by the absolute silence that followed.
It was broken by Brittler's sneering voice:
"So we might as well give up, had we, eh? Guess you don't know Bart
Brittler, sonny! Let 'em have it, Dolph!"
_Spang--spang--spang--spang!_
A fusillade of revolver-shots woke the echoes. The bullets spattered in
the water and thudded on the beach. Fortunately no one was hit.
"Scatter, fellows!" shouted Jim. And in a lower voice he added, "Don't
fire back!"
Silence again. The two on the sloop were evidently reloading. Then came
a regular splashing. The men on the _Barracouta_ were paddling her
ashore. Armed and desperate, now fully aware that the only things
between themselves and a term in a Federal prison were the bullets in
their automatics, they would go to almost any length to escape, even to
the taking of life itself. Plainly there was trouble ahead.
The boys came together again at the foot of the sea-wall. Should they
fight or run? It was one or the other. Whatever else they might be,
Dolph and Brittler clearly were not cowards. If there was a fight, it
was certain somebody would be shot, very likely killed. Was the risk
worth taking? Would it not be better to hurry back to the cabin, warn
Filippo and Throppy, and escape up the bank into the woods? The
smugglers, with but two automatics against four, would hardly dare to
follow them.
"Way enough, Dolph!" growled Brittler's voice.
The sloop had grounded. Splash! Splash! Her two passengers had leaped
out into the water and were making their way to the beach.
Jim came to an instant decision. He opened his lips, but the words he
had planned to speak were never uttered. The strong, rhythmical dip of
oars suddenly beat through the fog.
"What's the trouble here?" demanded a stern voice.
A great surge of thankfulness almost took away Jim's power of speech.
"It's the cutter!" he ejaculated, chokingly. "Throppy got her, after
all!"