CARRYING DANGEROUS LIVE "FREIGHT"
"Cooped!" chuckled Joe Dawson, jubilantly.
Yet his voice could not much more than be heard above the racket that
sounded below. Anson Dalton and his seven rough men were raising a
hubbub, indeed.
"Smash the door down!" roared Dalton.
"Maybe we kin do it, boss, but the hatch is a stout one, and we ain't
jest 'zactly fixed for tools," replied another voice.
After a few moments the fruitless hammering with mere fists subsided.
In that time Hank Butts had raced forward, and now was back again with
a prize that he had caught up from a locker near the motors. This was
nothing more nor less than the hitching weight that Hank had once made
very nearly famous, as described in the preceding volume, "THE MOTOR
BOAT CLUB OFF LONG ISLAND."
"Let 'em get out if they can," advised Hank, grimly. "This for the
feet, or the head, of the first roustabout that shows himself!"
Joe now raced forward to set the motors in motion. Though the young
trio had temporary command of the deck, there was no telling how soon
they would be overwhelmed. Every moment must be made to count.
Captain Tom, grasping his stick, stood by to help Hank in case the
furious ones below succeeded in breaking out.
Hardly any time passed before the rhythmic chugging of the motors came
to the young skipper's delighted ears. Then Joe waved his arms as a
signal from the raised deck forward. Halstead swiftly joined his chum.
Together they got the anchor up, stowing it well enough for the
present.
"Now, you'd better get back to Hank, hadn't you?" quivered Joe. "I can
handle speed and the wheel, too."
"Bless you, old Joe!" murmured Captain Tom, fervently, and raced aft.
Dawson leaped to the wheel, at the same time setting one of the bridge
controls so that the "Restless" began to move forward under slow
speed. This move came just in time, for, even in the cove, the water
had motion enough to threaten the yacht with grounding.
But now alert Joe Dawson swung the boat's head around, pointing her
nose out of the cove.
"Get that hatch down in a hurry!" sounded Anson Dalton's hoarse
voice, imperiously. "If you don't, we'll all be tight in a worse trap
than this."
Blows with fists and feet resounded once more. Then, after an
instant's pause, came the slower, harder thump-thump which told that
one of the strongest of those caught below was using his shoulder,
instead. Soon two cracks seamed the surface of the hatch door.
"Good! Go at it hard!" encouraged the voice of Dalton. "Batter it
down. It will be worth money--and freedom--to you and to us all!"
"Yes, just clear a passage, and see what happens!" roared back Tom
Halstead, as soon as he could make his own voice heard distinctly.
"Don't mind the talk of those boys!" warned Dalton, angrily, as there
came a pause in the shoulder assaults against the hatch.
With a grin Hank raised his iron hitching weight above his head,
hurling it down to the deck with crashing force. Then, still grinning,
he stooped to pick it up again.
That noisy thump on the deck timbers caused a brief ensuing silence
down in the cabin. It was plain that Dalton and his fellows were
wondering just how dangerous their reception would be in case they
succeeded in breaking out.
The cabin was lighted, in day time, by side ports and a barred transom
overhead. The ports were too small to permit of a man forcing his way
through. Even though they broke the glass overhead, the prisoners in
the cabin would still have iron bars to overcome. Tom Halstead, with
his club, could hinder any work at that point.
In the meantime, the "Restless," once out of the cove, was bounding
over the waves like a thing of life. Though the water had been hard to
swim through, it did not present a rough sea for a fifty-five foot
power boat.
In less than three minutes Engineer Joe Dawson was sounding his auto
whistle like mad as he neared the dock at Lonely Island.
Just as the boat glided in, under decreased headway, to the dock the
bungalow door was seen to open. Powell Seaton, shot-gun in hand,
appeared on the porch. He watched, not knowing whether friend or foe
commanded the "Restless." Mr. Seaton, himself, was made to stand out
brightly in the middle of the searchlight ray that Joe turned upon
him, yet he could not see who was behind that light.
Running the boat in, bow-on, Joe leaped ashore with the hawser. Making
fast only at the bow, he next raced up the board walk, shouting the
news to Mr. Seaton. The latter, with a hail of delight, darted toward
the dock, arriving barely behind Dawson.
Down in the cabin the din of the men trying to escape had redoubled.
Powell Seaton tramped hurriedly aft, while Tom and Joe fell in behind
him with heavy tread, to give the rascals below an idea that numerous
reinforcements had arrived.
Bang! Pausing before the hatch Mr. Seaton raised the shot-gun to his
shoulder, discharging a single shell. Hastily slipping one into the
magazine of the weapon to replace the fired one, Seaton shouted
sternly:
"Stop your nonsense down there! If you get out it will be only to run
into the muzzles of fire-arms. You fellows are fairly caught!"
There was a startled silence, followed by indistinct mutterings. Not
even Anson Dalton, it appeared, cared to brave what looked like too
certain death.
Tom held a whispered consultation with his employer, then stepped over
to young Butts.
"Hank, we're going to leave you on shore. Mr. Seaton will come along
with the gun. Keep your eyes open--until you see us again! Don't be
caught napping. Remember, you and Dr. Cosgrove have the whole
protection of that helpless man, Clodis, _in_ your hands."
Hank Butts made a wry face for a moment. He would have much preferred
to see the present adventure through. Yet, a second later, the Long
Island boy bounded to the dock, then stood to cast off the bow-line.
After the line had come aboard, Joe Dawson again took his place at the
wheel, turning on the speed gradually as the boat rounded out past the
island, then turned in toward the mainland.
It was about five miles, in a direct westerly course, to the shore,
but by an oblique, northwesterly course a fishing village some nine
miles away could be reached.
"Steer for the fishing village," nodded Powell Seaton. Captain Tom
hurried forward to give the order, adding: "Make it at full speed,
Joe. If you have to go to the engine, call me forward to take the
wheel."
Soon afterwards Tom slipped into the motor room, rubbed down and got
on dry clothing. Joe, in turn, did likewise, afterward returning to
the wheel.
Down in the cabin all had been quiet for some minutes after the
discharge of the gun on deck. Yet Captain Tom, by peeping through the
transom, discovered the heads of Dalton and some of his rough men
close together in consultation.
"I'll annoy them a bit," chuckled the young skipper, moving swiftly
forward. Dropping down into the motor room he switched off all the
cabin lights. An instant roar of anger came from below.
"Funny we didn't think of that before," grinned Dawson, as Halstead
came up out of the motor room.
"It'll bother the rascals a bit," chuckled Captain Tom back over his
shoulder.
With such a boat as the "Restless" ordinary distances are swiftly
covered. It was barely twenty-five minutes after leaving the dock that
Joe reached the entrance to the little harbor around which the houses
of the fishing village clustered, nor had much speed been used.
Now the whistle sounded steadily, in short, sharp blasts. Moreover,
Dawson managed to send the distress signal with the searchlight. By
the time he slowed down speed, then reversed, to make the little
wharf, a dozen men had hurried down to the shore.
"What's wrong?" hailed one of them.
"Get the sheriff, or a sheriff's officer!" shouted back Powell Seaton.
"Be quick about it, one of you, please, and the rest of you stay here
to help us."
Joe sent the bow hawser flying ashore, Tom doing the same with the
stern line. Willing hands caught both ropes, making them fast around
snubbing posts. As two men started away on the run, the rest of the
bystanders came crowding aboard, filled with curiosity.
"What happens to be wrong on board?" demanded one bronzed fisherman.
"We've a cabin full of pirates, or rascals about as bad," returned Mr.
Seaton, grimly.
"Men of this coast?" asked another speaker.
"Yes, evidently," nodded Mr. Seaton, whom the new-comers had
recognized as the owner of Lonely Island.
"Then they must be the crew of the 'Black Betty,'" commented the first
speaker.
"Is that a black, fifty-foot schooner, low in the water, narrow and
carrying tall masts with a heavy spread of canvas?" interposed Tom
Halstead.
"Yes," nodded the fisherman. "That's the 'Black Betty.' She claims to
be a fishing boat, but we're ready to bet she's a smuggler. She
carries nine men, including Captain Dave Lemly."
"I reckon we've got most of the 'Black Betty' outfit below, then,"
declared Captain Halstead. "Or else--gracious!"
For, at that moment, the cracked hatch gave in with a smash. Powell
Seaton had neglected to remain on guard closely. There was a surge of
the prisoners below.
"Halstead, you'll hear from me again--and so will your crew!" shouted
Anson Dalton out of the press of struggling men that formed on the
after deck. "I won't let you forget me, Halstead!"
There was a splash past the rail. Dalton had gone overboard, followed
by two of his companions.