"He's making a precious long tack, Mike, and I don't know of any big
current here."
Mike was silent, and they saw now that without doubt they were sailing
right away from the island, and were in the full race of the tide.
Still they felt that the old man must know best how to make for his tiny
port, and they sat in silence for fully twenty minutes, waiting for him
to make another tack and run back.
But soon the suspicions both felt had grown into a certainty, and Mike
said in a whisper, as calmly as he could,--
"Cinder, he has got the conger bat out of the locker. What does he
mean?"
"He means that he won't take us ashore," said Vince huskily: "he's going
to sail right away with us for fear we should tell about him, and the
conger bat's to frighten us and keep us quiet."
There was a strange look of agony in Mike Ladelle's eyes, as he gazed in
his companion's, to read there a horror quite as deep. Then neither of
them spoke, but sat there listening to the lapping of the water, which
spread to right and left in two lines of foam as the little boat sped
on.
It was Vince who broke the silence at last, after drawing a deep breath.
"Ladle, old chap," he said, in a low voice, "they're at home yonder, and
it means perhaps never seeing them again. What shall we do?"
Mike tried to speak, but his voice was too husky to be heard for a few
moments.
"I'll do what you do," he said at last.
"You'll stand by me, whatever comes?"
"Yes."
Vince glanced sidewise, to find that they were pretty well hidden by the
sail; so he thrust out his hand, which was gripped fast, and the two
boys sat there with throbbing hearts, trying to nerve themselves for
anything that might happen now.
Then, without a word, Vince rose, and, steadying himself by the mast, he
stepped over the thwart in which it was stepped, and then on to the
next, close to where the old man sat steering right astern, and holding
the sheet of the well-filled sail as well.
"This is not the way to the Crag," said Vince, with his voice trembling
slightly; and the old man grunted.
"Where are you making for?" said Vince, firmly now.
"Didn't I tell yer I didn't want to get run on the rocks?" roared the
old man, unnecessarily loudly, after a glance back at the shore, where
all was growing distant and dim.
"Yes, you told me so; but it isn't true," said Vince, in a voice he did
not know for his own.
"What?" roared Daygo fiercely.
"You heard what I said. Run her up in the wind at once, and go back."
"You go and sit down," growled the old man savagely.
"You change her course," said Vince firmly.
"You go and sit down while you're safe," growled the old man, with his
face twitching.
"You had orders from the commander of the cutter to take us ashore.
Change the boat's course directly."
"Will you go and sit down, both of you?" cried the old man again, more
fiercely, but his voice was lower and deeper.
"No," said Mike; "and if you won't steer for the Crag, I will."
"This here's my boat, and I'll steer how I like, and nobody else shan't
touch her."
"Your orders from the King's officer were to take us home. Will you do
it?"
"No!" roared the old man. "Go and sit down, 'fore I do you a mischief."
Vince did not even look behind to see if he was going to be supported,
for he felt full of that desperate courage which comes to an
Anglo-Saxon-descended lad in an emergency like that. He saw the
savagely murderous look in the old man's eyes, and that he had quickly
seized the conger bat with one hand, after passing the sheet into that
which held the oar.
With one spring Vince was upon him, seizing the heavy wooden club, which
he strove to tear from his grasp, just as the old man too sprang up, and
Mike snatched the sheet from his hand with a jerk which sent the oar,
loose now in the old man's grasp, gliding overboard.
Mike made a dash to save it, but was flung down into the bottom of the
boat as the old man thrust a foot forward and seized Vince in his
tremendous grip.
The boy struggled bravely, but his fresh young muscles were as nothing
to the gnarled, time-hardened flesh and sinew of the old savage, who
lifted him by main force, after a short struggle which made the boat
rock as if it would go over, and Vince realised what was to follow.
"Mike! do something," he cried in his agony to the boy, who was
struggling up, half stunned, from where he lay between the thwarts; and
in his desperation Mike did do something, for, as Daygo put out all his
strength, tore Vince's clinging hands from his jersey, and hurled him
right out from the boat, Mike seized the old man fiercely by one leg.
It was not much to do, but it did much, for it threw Daygo off his
balance in the rocking boat; and Vince had hardly plunged down into the
clear water before his enemy followed, with a tremendous splash,
thrusting the boat away, and going head first deeply down.
Vince was the first to rise, shake his head, and begin to swim for the
boat. But Daygo rose too directly and looked round, and then he, too,
swam for the boat, whose uncurbed sail flapped wildly about; while Mike
picked up the other oar to try and steer back to help his companion.
He changed the position of the boat, and that was all. It did this,
though,--it gave Vince the chance of making for the side opposite to
that for which Daygo aimed, and he swam with all his might to be there
first.
But Vince had the greater distance to go, and Mike saw that, unless he
helped, Daygo would be too much for them yet.
Quick as thought, he drew in the oar which he had thrust over the stern,
turned it in his grasp as he stood up in the rocking boat, and, as the
old man came up and stretched out his hands to grasp the gunwale, Mike
drove the hand-hold of the oar, lance-fashion, down into his chest.
"I've killed him," groaned the boy, as his enemy fell back and went
under again. Then he nearly followed him, for the boat was jerked from
the other side, and he turned to find Vince had seized the gunwale and
was climbing in.
A sharp drag helped him, and Vince's first act was to seize the conger
bat, which lay beneath the after-thwart.
He was only just in time, for, as he turned, Daygo had risen, and swam
up again to seize the gunwale with one great gnarled hand.
Crash came down the heavy club, the hand relaxed, and Daygo went down
again.
"Vince! Vince! you've killed him," cried Mike, in horror. "No, no--
don't: don't do that!" he shrieked, as Vince thrust his right-hand into
his dripping pocket and tore out his big sharp long-bladed knife.
"You take the bat," cried Vince; and, as the boy obeyed trembling, he
shouted, so that the old man could hear as he swam after them, "hit him
over the hands again if he touches the boat."
It did not seem likely that he would overtake them by swimming, for the
wind acted upon the flapping sail and drove them slowly along.
Taking advantage of this, Vince went forward and cut off the long rope
from the ring-bolt in the stem, and returned with it to where, wild-eyed
and scared, Mike knelt with the conger bat upraised, ready to strike if
the old man came near.
"Now," said Vince firmly, "you hold that conger club with both hands,
Mike, and if he does anything, or tries to do anything, bring it down on
his head with all your might. Do you hear?"
"Yes," said Mike faintly.
"Now, then, you come and take hold of the gunwale with both hands, and
let me tie your wrists," cried Vince. "Look out, Mike!"
The old man swam up and put his hands together.
"You arn't going to murder me?" he groaned.
"You wait and see--Ah!" yelled Vince, for the treacherous old ruffian
had seized him by the chest and was dragging him out of the boat.
But Mike was ready: the bat came down with tremendous force, and the old
man loosened his grasp and sank, remaining beneath the surface so long
that the boys gazed at each other aghast.
"Quick! there he is," cried Mike; and Vince seized the oar and sculled
to where the old man had come slowly up, feebly moving his hands, and
apparently insensible.
"We must haul him in, Mike," said Vince. "He's not likely to hurt us
now."
"If he is," said Mike, "we must do it all the same;" and, leaning over,
they each got a good grip, and, heaving together, somehow rolled Daygo
into the bottom of the boat, where they dragged his head beneath the
centre thwart, and then firmly bound him hand and foot, using some
strong fishing line as well as the painter and the rope belonging to the
little grapnel.