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THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST
Or
Showing Up the Perils of the Deep
by
VICTOR APPLETON
Author of "The Tom Swift Series," "The Moving Picture Boys,"
"The Moving Picture Boys in the West," Etc.
Illustrated
[Illustration: Blake & Joe, leaving their automatic camera working,
aided in the work of rescue.--Page 193.]
New York
Grosset & Dunlap Publishers
* * * * * *
BOOKS BY VICTOR APPLETON
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES
12mo. Illustrated. Price, per volume, 40 cents, postpaid
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND
THE TOM SWIFT SERIES
12mo. Illustrated. Price, per volume, 40 cents, postpaid
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE
TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER
TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA
TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS--NEW YORK
* * * * * *
Copyright, 1913, by Grosset & Dunlap
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I AN UNEXPECTED ATTACK 1
II A DARING RAID 12
III THE PURSUIT 23
IV BACK TO BIG B 29
V A NEW KIND OF DRAMA 40
VI ON THE COAST 46
VII AT THE LIGHTHOUSE 56
VIII BLAKE LEARNS A SECRET 62
IX AT PRACTICE 71
X TO SAN FRANCISCO 79
XI A STRANGE CHARGE 87
XII ON A LONG VOYAGE 93
XIII A MIMIC FIRE 101
XIV ATTACKED BY A SWORDFISH 111
XV SUSPICIOUS ACTIONS 119
XVI JOE SUSPECTS SOMETHING 127
XVII AFTER THE WRECKERS 134
XVIII FAILURE 144
XIX ON THE TRAIL 151
XX THE DISCOVERY 158
XXI THE CAPTURE 164
XXII A LIFE GUARD'S ALARM 171
XXIII THE DOOMED VESSEL 181
XXIV OUT OF THE WRECK 187
XXV A NEW QUEST 201
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST
CHAPTER I
AN UNEXPECTED ATTACK
"Well, Blake, it doesn't seem possible that we have succeeded; does it?"
and the lad who asked the question threw one leg over the saddle of his
pony, to ride side fashion for a while, as a rest and change.
"No, Joe, it doesn't," answered another youth. "But we sure have got
some dandy films in those boxes!" and he looked back on some laden
burros that were following the cow ponies across a stretch of Arizona
desert.
"Well, all I've got to say," remarked the cowboy, the third member of
the trio; "is that taking moving pictures is about as strenuous work as
rounding up or branding cattle."
"I guess you don't quite believe that, Hank; do you?" asked Blake
Stewart. "You haven't seen us work so very hard; have you?"
"Work hard? I should say I have," answered Hank Selby. "Why, the time
those Indians charged our cave, and Joe and I, and Munson and his crowd
were getting ready to fire point-blank at them, there you stood, with
bullets whizzing near you more than once, grinding away at the handle of
your moving picture camera as hard as you could. Hard work--huh!"
"But we got the films," declared Blake, not caring to go too deeply into
an argument. "And I'm anxious to see how they will develop."
"So am I," declared Joe. "I wonder what will be next on the program?"
"Why, you're going to look for your father; aren't you, Joe--your father
whom you haven't seen since you were a little chap--whom you can't even
remember?" and Blake looked sharply at his chum and partner, Joe Duncan.
"That's what I am, Blake, just as soon as I can get to the coast. But I
mean, what will we do after that? Go back to New York?"
"I suppose so, and take up our trade of making moving picture films for
whoever wants them. It will be a rather tame life after the excitement
we have had out here."
"That's what. But maybe it will be good for a change."
The two moving picture boys, I might explain briefly, were on their way
to Flagstaff, Arizona, after having gone out into the wilds, with a
cowboy guide, Hank Selby, to make moving picture films of some Moqui
Indians who had broken away from their reservation, to indulge in some
of their weird dances and ceremonies.
While making these films, the boys and their companion, who were hidden
in a cave where the Indians could not see them, saw the redmen about to
torture, as they thought, four white prisoners. Joe and Blake recognized
these men as their business rivals, who were also trying to get some
moving picture films of the Indians, to secure a prize of a thousand
dollars, offered by a New York geographical and ethnological society.
To fire on the Indians, and thus save the white captives, meant that
Joe, Blake and Hank would disclose their position in the cave, but there
was nothing else to do, and they did it.
The white captives, unexpectedly freed, came rushing toward the shelter,
with the savages after them, and it looked as if there would be a fierce
fight. In spite of this Blake held his ground, taking picture after
picture.
And, in the nick of time, a troop of United States cavalry came dashing
up to capture the renegade Indians, who surrendered; Blake also getting
pictures of the dash of the troopers.
Unexpectedly in the company was a Sergeant Duncan who proved to be a
half-uncle of Joe Duncan, and the sergeant was able to tell the lad
where his long-lost father was last heard from, since Joe had only
lately learned that his parent was living.
And so, after their strenuous time in getting pictures of the Indians,
the boys were on their way to Big B ranch, where Hank Selby was
employed, and whence they had started to find the hidden savages.
But Flagstaff was the real temporary headquarters of the lads, since
there was located a theatrical company, engaged in doing some moving
picture dramas based on Western life, and Joe and Blake had been hired
to "film" those plays.
They had been given a little time off to make an attempt to get views of
the Indians at their ceremonies, and they expected to resume, for a
time, making films of more peaceful scenes among their theatrical
friends.
"Yes, we sure did have a strenuous time," remarked Blake, as they rode
along at an easy pace. "And how those Indians threw down their guns,
and gave in, when the troopers charged against them!"
"That's right," agreed Joe. "And those bugle notes, when they started to
gallop, telling us that help was on the way, was the sweetest music I
ever heard."
"Same here," came from Hank. "But say, if it's all the same to you boys,
I think we might as well camp here and have grub. This looks like good
water and there's enough grazing for the critters to-night. Then we can
push on early in the morning, and in a couple of days more we ought to
make Big B ranch."
"It seems to take us longer coming back than it did going," remarked
Blake, as he slid from his pony, and pulled the reins over the animal's
head as a signal for it not to wander. "I thought we'd sure come in
sight of the ranch to-day."
"Oh, it's farther than that," said Hank, as he looked about for wood
with which to make a fire. "I guess you were so anxious to get on the
trail of the Indians on your way out that you didn't notice how much
ground you covered. And it was quite a few miles, believe me!"
"I do!" said Joe, with half a groan. "I'm sore and stiff from so much
saddle riding. I'm not used to it."
"Oh, you'll limber up soon," said Hank, cheerfully. "Now, if you boys
will get the water, and break out the grub, I'll get supper. It'll soon
be dark."
The lads busied themselves, and soon a cheerful little blaze was going,
while the tired horses and burros, relieved of the burden of saddles and
packs, were rolling luxuriously around at the length of their tether
ropes.
"I wonder if all the Moquis and Navajos who skipped off their
reservations have been driven back?" asked Joe, as they were about ready
to eat.
"What makes you ask that?" inquired Blake quickly, and with a curious
look at his chum.
"Oh, no special reason. But you know Captain Marsh, of the troop in
which my uncle, Sergeant Duncan, was enlisted, said he had rounded up
several bands of 'em, and I was just thinking that----"
"That maybe there were some more running around loose that we could make
pictures of; is that it, Joe?"
"Well, yes. You know that society offered a prize of a thousand dollars
for the best reel of ceremonial dances, but there were smaller prizes
for ordinary pictures of Indians in various activities. I thought maybe
we could get some of those."
"I'm afraid not--not on this trip, at least," spoke Blake. "I don't
believe there is ten feet of unexposed film left, and that wouldn't make
much of a reel. We used up all we brought with us making those cowboy
pictures, the forest fire and the time the bear chased Hank, besides the
Indian views. Nothing more doing in the camera line until we get back to
Flagstaff."
"Oh, well, I was just wondering," spoke Joe, and he gazed off across the
uneven stretch of country. But there was that in his voice and glance
which did not bear out his unconcerned words.
However, Blake was too much occupied in getting supper just then to pay
much attention to his chum, for the lad was hungry--as, indeed, his
companions also seemed to be, for they attacked the simple provender
with eagerness when Hank announced that it was ready.
The evening was setting in when they had finished, and, bringing up a
pail of fresh water, in case they should get thirsty during the hours of
darkness, and placing the saddles and packs in a compact mass, the three
proceeded to spend the night in the open.
And yet not exactly without shelter, either, for they had with them
small dog-tents, as they are called, that afford considerable protection
against the night winds and dew. And, with a fire glowing at their
feet, the travelers were far from being uncomfortable.
A pile of wood had been collected near the blaze, and while nothing was
said about standing watch, it was understood that if any of them roused
in the night he was to pile fuel on the embers, not only to keep up the
genial heat, but to drive off any prowling beasts that might try to raid
their stock of provisions.
"Well, I'm going to turn in," finally announced Blake. "I'm dead tired."
"And I'm with you," added Joe.
Hank said nothing, but the boys watched him as he walked some little
distance from the camp, to a slight elevation. On this he stood, gazing
off into the distance.
"I wonder what he's looking for?" queried Joe.
"I--I hardly know," replied Blake.
And yet, in his heart, each lad was aware of something that he hesitated
to put into words. Presently Hank came back, and as the firelight shone
on his face his expression betrayed no anxiety--in fact, no emotion of
any kind.
"Did--did you see anything, Hank?" asked Blake.
"No--nothing. Snooze away. I think--I'll have a pipe before I go to
bed," and he sat down on a small box and looked into the glowing
embers.
Soon afterward, Joe, looking from his small shelter tent, saw Hank
fingering his big revolver, spinning the cylinder, and testing the
mechanism.
"Something's up!" whispered Joe to himself. "I wonder if it can be that
he saw----"
He did not finish the sentence, for just then Hank put away the weapon
and soon the aromatic odor of burning tobacco filled the night air.
"Oh, pshaw!" exclaimed the lad. "I'm foolish to worry about nothing; I'm
going to sleep!" and he turned over, and closed his eyes. But, somehow,
sleep would not come at once. Even with his eyes closed he could fancy
the figure of the cowboy guide sitting by the fire.
Blake seemed to be less uneasy than did his chum. If he saw Hank by the
fire he made no mention of it, and from his tent came no movement that
showed he was awake.
Presently Joe began to speculate on the new experience he felt would
come to him, if he succeeded in locating his father.
"It really doesn't seem possible--that I'm going to have folks at last,"
murmured Joe. "And maybe not only a father, but brothers and
sisters--Uncle Bill Duncan said he didn't know. I may have more than
Blake, if I keep on," and then, with more pleasurable thoughts than
worrying about an indefinable something, the lad finally lost himself in
slumber.
The camp was still. Even Hank had crawled into his little tent, after a
final pipe. He did not get to sleep soon, and had either of the boys
been awake they would have seen him come out several times before
midnight, and stalk about, peering off into the darkness.
Then, after looking to the tether ropes of the animals, he would go back
to the small shelters, throw some embers on the fire, and drop off into
a doze. For the cowboy was a light sleeper, and the least sound awakened
him.
"I guess there'll be nothing doing," he whispered to himself after one
of these little observations. "I thought I saw some signs just about
dusk, but maybe it was some slinking coyote, or a big jack rabbit.
Anyhow, if--if anything does happen it won't come during darkness; that
is, unless it's some of them half-breed or Mexican rustlers, and I don't
believe they've been around these diggings lately. I'm going to snooze."
Soon his heavy breathing told that he slept, and several hours passed
before he again awoke. If he had made one other observation, probably he
would have seen that which would have aroused his suspicions, for, about
an hour after midnight, there was an uneasy movement among the animals.
And in the starlight, which in a measure made the night less black,
several shadowy, slinking forms might have been observed creeping toward
the camp and the pile of provisions and supplies, among the latter of
which were the boxes containing the valuable films of the moving
pictures.
It was Hank, as might have been expected, who awakened. One of the
burros, always an excitable, nervous beast, capered about and uttered a
shrill whinny as if in fright.
Hank was out of his tent in an instant. Leaping to his feet he blazed
away with his revolver. Its flash lit up the darkness, and was at once
answered by half a dozen other flashes.
"Come on, boys!" yelled Hank. "They're after us! I wasn't mistaken,
after all! I did see some of 'em sneaking around! Lively, now!" and he
blazed away again.
"What is it?" cried Blake.
"Indians! They're after our horses!" yelled the cowboy, as the two lads
joined him.