CAPTAIN LAWLESS TRIES TRICKERY.
“Do you intend to let them get away from us like this?”
It was Mate Durkee, of the _Tropic Bird_, who asked the question of
Captain Lawless, as the two stood leaning on the schooner’s rail,
watching the fast-diminishing form of the Motor Rangers’ capable craft.
The wind had fallen, and the schooner was dipping and rolling on the
swells, with her canvas flapping idly. The crew, grouped in a mass
forward, were watching their superior officers with some curiosity.
Plainly they were anxious to see how the situation was to be met.
“Well, what are we going to do about it?” demanded Lawless.
“I’ve got a plan, but it involves a good deal of risk,” was the reply.
“Are you willing to take a chance?”
“I’m willing to do almost anything to get even on that outfit,” was the
response, in a vicious tone.
“Then listen to me. I happen to know that we are not far from an island
where I’m pretty sure we can sell the schooner to the old chief for a
good price. When that is done, we can get a canoe from him and have
some of his men paddle us out into the track of that line of Dutch
steamers that run from Manila to Callao. If we spin a good enough yarn,
we can get passage all right.”
“Well, what then?” grunted Captain Lawless.
“Why, can’t you see? We’ll get from Callao to that Chilean port for
which that outfit is bound in very little time. Once there, we can use
our own judgment as to how to proceed. But I must admit, that I, for
one, mean to get a chance at the treasures of the lost city.”
“Suppose we did make that island you are talking of,” said Captain
Lawless, in tones that showed that the mate’s plan had made a deep
impression on him, “how soon would that Dutch steamer be going by?”
Mate Durkee made a rapid mental calculation.
“I used to run on the line, so I know their schedule pretty well,” he
said. “She should be going by by to-morrow night, at latest.”
“Humph! But you don’t seem to have taken the crew into consideration.
What are we going to do with them?”
“Oh, give them some sort of song and dance and abandon them. They can
live very well on the island till some vessel takes them off.”
This cold-blooded proposal seemed to banish Captain Lawless’ last
lingering trace of hesitation.
“It’s a good plan,” he said, “but a daring one. Suppose it ever leaks
out how we sold the schooner? There’ll be a clear case of barratry
against us.”
“So far as that is concerned,” urged Durkee, “we can’t be much worse
off than we are now, can we? That professor means to make things hot
for us in the States. I saw that in his eye. We must take refuge
somewhere, and Chile looks about as good to me as any place I can think
of right now.”
“I don’t know but what you’re right,” agreed Lawless. “Let’s go below
and look at the chart. How long ought it to be before we reach this
island, if we get a good breeze?”
“Not more than eight hours. If the wind picks up, we should make a
landfall before midnight.”
Some two hours later a spanking breeze arose out of the northwest. The
schooner’s sails bellied to it, and a spirit of joy was abroad among
the crew. Their officers had promised them a quick run to a fine
island, and then unlimited shore leave. Little dreaming of the trap
that was being laid for them, the crew went about their tasks of
trimming sails with songs and glad shouts.
When twilight fell the schooner was bowling along at a twelve-knot
gait, bound for the island of which Mate Durkee had spoken. It was
known to him as Brigantine Island, although the charts called it Cook’s
Land.
As the mate had foretold, it was not long after midnight when a cry of
“Land ho!” rang out from the forward lookout. It was bright moonlight,
and in the silvery radiance those on board the schooner had no
difficulty in making out a long, low elbow of land right ahead. Close
at hand they could hear the thunder of the surf as it broke on the reef.
“Do you know the passage?” asked the skipper of his mate.
“I could run it blindfold,” was the response. “Close haul on those
head-sheets!” he called out. “Lively, now! Bring her about! That’s the
way! Here, I’ll take the wheel myself!” he cried the next instant,
springing to the helm.
Under his skillful guidance, for there was no denying that the rascal
was an able seaman, the _Tropic Bird_ was swung through the narrow
passage-way in the reef, and shot into the calm waters of the lagoon
beyond.
“Don’t seem to be much life ashore,” said Captain Lawless, scanning the
moonlit island.
“Fire a rocket, and you’ll see the dingoes come running out of their
holes,” laughed the mate.
A big signal rocket was procured from the ship’s stores, and discharged.
As it burst in a cloud of blue flame, and the “bang” which accompanied
its bursting resounded loudly, lights began to flash on shore, and they
could see scores of dark figures scuttling about the white beach.
“What did I tell you?” said the mate, with a grin. “We’ll get a great
reception, all right.”
“They don’t happen to be cannibals, do they?” inquired Captain Lawless
timidly, his habitual caution asserting itself.
The mate laughed.
“What a one you are to get scared, Lawless!” he said. “Your name don’t
fit you a bit. Cannibals, is it? I should say not. Those chaps are
mission natives—some of them—and as smart a bunch as you’d want to see.”
As there was no time to be lost, if they wished to carry out their
audacious plan, the captain ordered a boat lowered and he and his mate
went ashore immediately. The chief was soon found. In fact, he was down
on the beach. He recognized Durkee, who seemed to have some sort of a
hold over him, and negotiations for the sale of the schooner were at
once begun. Like most dealings with savage folk, it required a lot of
diplomacy to accomplish the desired end. The trading was carried on
under a palm-thatched roof, while natives with torches stood all about.
If the two white men had not been so engrossed with their own affairs,
they might have been inclined to admire the savage picturesqueness of
the scene. But, as it was, they devoted their attention strictly to
business.
The chief, who rejoiced in the name of Billy Bowlegs—an appellation of
which he seemed quite proud—proved an adroit old bargainer. He spoke
English well, and was to the full as shrewd as any Caucasian trader.
But at last they managed to “make a deal,” as the saying is. Billy
Bowlegs was in need of a good schooner, and had long coveted the
_Tropic Bird_, which was well known in those waters before Captain
Lawless acquired her. The chief was willing to give three hundred
dollars in cash and two valuable pearls, worth fully the same amount
each, for the craft.
As this was the best they could do, the two rascally white men agreed
on this figure, and Billy Bowlegs agreed to give them transportation in
a war canoe as far as the path of the Dutch liners, which passed to
seaward of the island by fifty miles or so.
The crew, carousing and enjoying themselves in their own rough fashion,
knew nothing of the departure of their captain and mate that morning,
nor did those two worthies wish that they should. By the time the
abandoned men awoke to the true state of affairs, Lawless and Durkee
were on board the Dutch steamer _Prinz Joachim_ of the Imperial Peru
and Manila Line, bound for Callao. They were regarded with much
interest on board the craft as two luckless mariners—rough but
honest—who had lost their vessel in the great magnetic storm.
And so, while the Motor Rangers were gleefully heading for the land of
the lost city, their two malignant foes were likewise speeding toward
South America on a fast, well-equipped vessel.