RESCUE AT HAND
For a moment Tom could be heard muttering rueful exclamations as he
caressed his bruises. Jack who was next in line was trying to help him
to his feet. His foot, too, struck an obstruction which caused him to
lose balance. To avoid falling on Tom, he put out his arms toward the
walls. Instead of meeting solid brickwork as before, however, he felt
his hands encounter crumbling earth. He lurched forward, and his face
was buried in a mass of mould.
Spluttering and blowing, he scrabbled around and his fingers closed
over a root. It came away in his clutch. The next moment a slide of
earth cascaded downward and Jack found himself leaning against a bank
of dirt, an uprooted bush in one hand, and a patch of moonlight and
sky overhead.
It was all clear. Where the tunnel approached close to the surface,
the roof and walls had caved in. Tom had stumbled over this mound and
fallen, and Jack accidentally had torn away the screen of bushes
obscuring the hole above.
"Come on, fellows," he cried, delightedly, scrambling upward, while
Tom Barnum, who had regained his feet and observed how the land lay,
boosted him; "come on, here's a place to get out of the tunnel."
Quickly the others followed. They stood in the midst of a grove of
trees. Some distance to the rear twinkled lights which indicated the
location of the Brownell house. No sounds of pursuit reached them.
But, stay. What was that? Captain Folsom bent down, his ear close to
the opening whence they had climbed out and up to the surface.
"They've found the tunnel, I'm afraid," he said. "They are coming."
"Can't we keep 'em back here?" said Bob, unexpectedly. "We can kick
more dirt down into the tunnel. And we can jump down and heave out a
lot of those fallen bricks, and so keep the gang back when they
arrive."
"But we couldn't keep up a defense like that forever," objected Jack.
"Some of them would be bound to go back through the tunnel, swing
around, and attack us from the rear. They have weapons, and we
haven't. We'd be caught between two fires."
Bob grunted.
"Guess you're right. But I hate all this running away. I'd like to
take a crack at them. Never gave me a fair chance the first time,
jumping on me in a gang, and when I had my back turned, too."
"I know how you feel, Bob," said Jack. "But, without weapons, run we
must. And we had better be quick about it now, too. They won't be long
working through that tunnel, if they have lights."
"No, the shouts are growing closer," said Captain Folsom, bending down
again to the hole. "But, look here, Hampton, you make a run to that
radio station which I see above the trees there, to the right, in that
opening. We'll stay here until they reach the hole. Then we'll batter
them with bricks, and flee to the left. That will create a diversion,
and give you a chance to try to raise Lieutenant Summers."
"Good idea," grunted Bob, immediately dropping into the hole and
tossing out broken bricks from the crumbling walls.
"Don't let them get too close to you," warned Jack. "They're armed.
And run toward home. They won't follow far. I'll rejoin you somewhere
along the beach beyond the boundary fence, if you wait for me."
"We'll wait, if they don't make us run too far," promised Captain
Folsom. "In that case, make your way home. And if you cannot get
Lieutenant Summers by radio, don't endanger yourself by delaying too
long around here. Now go."
With a nod of understanding, Jack turned and darted down the forest
aisles toward the radio station.
Who would he find there? He wondered. Or, would the station be
deserted? That it was in working order, there was no doubt, for it was
the station's issue of radio control to the liquor containers offshore
which they had overheard before deciding to investigate.
Clutching the big butcher knife, the only weapon in the party, which
Frank had pressed into his hand as he set out on his lonely mission,
Jack dashed ahead recklessly through the trees. The radio plant of the
smugglers burst full on his sight, as he came to the edge of the trees
fringing a little clearing. No lights showed. Nevertheless, he paused
to reconnoitre, asking himself how best to approach it to avoid
discovery in case it should have an occupant.
As he stood there, a sudden outburst of shouts to the rear, followed
by a few revolver shots, warned him the pursuers had reached the hole
in the tunnel. He hoped big Bob was controlling his recklessness, and
not running into danger. If his friends kept down, there was no great
danger of their being shot, for only one man at a time could approach
through the tunnel and him they could pelt into retreat with their
bricks.
The shots ceased. The shouts died. Jack grinned in satisfaction. The
enemy had been halted. Now, if his friends only utilized their
opportunity to hurry away before being attacked from the rear, all
would be well. He listened with strained attention. No further sounds
of combat reached him.
Meanwhile, he had been examining the ground. The moon was low down.
What time had they left home? Two o'clock? By the look of the moon it
must be near four now. That would be about right. Although it seemed a
lifetime, although an excess of excitement had been crowded into that
period, still only about two hours had elapsed.
Having the door of the radio station in full view, and observing no
signs of life, as would have been the case providing some one had been
present, for he would have been drawn to the door by this new and
closer outburst of fighting, Jack decided to chance crossing the glade
directly.
Darting ahead, he crouched listening, heard nothing, then flung wide
the door which opened outward and sprang back. The moonlight fell full
inside a long bar of light. The sending room, at least, was empty. Now
for the power plant.
Jack entered, going warily, knife clutched in his hand, despite his
growing confidence that he had the place to himself. There was a door
at the rear. Behind that must be the power plant. He set his ear to
the door. Only the low hum of a dynamo came to his ears. He had
expected that, for wiring glimpsed outside the Brownell house and
leading in this direction through the trees had indicated the house
current was supplied from the power house here. But was anyone in that
other room, in attendance?
There was a key in the connecting door. He tried the handle softly.
The door was locked. Good. At least he would be safe from surprise
from that quarter. All the while, in order to guard against surprise
from the outside, he had been standing sideways, one eye on the outer
door. Now something glimpsed there surprised an exclamation from him.
It was not that anyone appeared in the doorway. No, but offshore and
not far distant a bright searchlight suddenly cut athwart the night,
putting the moonlight to shame. It swung in a wide arc across the sky
and then came down to the shore and began moving relentlessly along
the beach.
He could not follow its movements fully. He could not see whence it
came. The grove of trees intervening between the shore of Starfish
Cove and the radio plant cut off complete view. But a wild hope leaped
into his mind. Would the smugglers in the liquor ship offshore be
likely to show a light? He did not consider it likely. Then, what sort
of ship was it probable the light came from?
"By George," he said aloud, "maybe that's a boat of the 'Dry Navy'
already on the track of these scoundrels."
He stood, gazing at that finger of light, spellbound. What else could
the ship be that would be casting a searchlight along the shore, along
this particular stretch of shore of all places, and at this particular
time, what else could it be than a government boat?
Breaking the spell that bound him, he sprang to the instrument table,
seized and adjusted a headpiece, pulled a transmitter to him, threw
over the rheostat and adjusting the tuner to the 575 meter wave length
which Captain Folsom had told him the government boats employed, he
began calling. What should he say if a government boat replied? He
decided on a plan of procedure.
Presently his receivers crackled, and he manipulated the controls
until the sputtering ceased, when he heard a voice saying:
"U. S. Revenue Cutter Nark. Who is calling?"
Scarcely able to control his excitement at this almost unbelievable
good luck, Jack stammered in reply. Then getting a grip on his
emotions, he replied:
"Speaking for Captain Folsom. Is Lieutenant Summers aboard? Are you
offshore?"
"We're offshore, all right," answered his correspondent, in a tone of
the utmost surprise. "But how in the world do you know?"
"I want to speak to Lieutenant Summers," answered Jack, grinning to
himself at the other's bewilderment. Even at this crucial moment, he
could not resist the temptation to mystify the other a little. "As to
knowing you're offshore," he added, "I can see you."
"See us? Say, this is too much for me. Wait till I call Lieutenant
Summers," said the other. "Did you say Captain Folsom?"
"That's the name," said Jack. "Hurry, please. This is a matter of life
and death."
Almost at once another voice took up the conversation, and from the
tone of crisp authority, Jack sensed it must be the officer he had
asked for speaking. Such, indeed, was the case. Lieutenant Summers was
aboard the Nark, directing operations, and, as the radio room was in
the chart house of the cutter, he had intervened on hearing his
operator mention his own name and that of his colleague, Captain
Folsom.
"Now, what's this all about?" he demanded. "Is Captain Folsom there?
If so, put him on the phone."
"Are you Lieutenant Summers, sir?" asked Jack, respectfully.
"I am. Who are you? Where are you calling from? Where is Captain
Folsom?"
"He's not here," said Jack, "but I am speaking for him. He's in grave
danger ashore. Moreover, he wanted me to call for you, and if you are
offshore near Starfish Cove--that's a little bay far down the south
shore of Long Island--and if it's your ship that is playing a
searchlight on the beach, then it's a miracle, sir. I'll try to
explain."
Briefly as possible, then, Jack detailed the necessary facts for
putting Lieutenant Summers in touch with the situation.
"Good," said Lieutenant Summers, in conclusion; "very good, indeed. We
have received a tip liquor was to be landed somewhere along this coast
to-night, and were scouting when you saw our light. It's a piece of
luck, as you say. Do you think our searchlight has been seen by these
rascals?"
"Probably," said Jack, "although I don't know. Captain Folsom and my
friends may have kept them so busily engaged, they had no time to
keep a lookout at sea."
"Well, I'll throw off the searchlight at once, anyhow. We want no
advertising. I'll come in close and land my boats. Can you be at the
beach to guide us?"
"I'll be there," replied Jack.
"Very well. We're about a mile offshore. We should land in fifteen
minutes. Good-bye."
Jack took off the headpiece, threw the rheostat back to zero, and
looked about him, as if dazed.
He could hardly believe his luck.