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[Illustration: The Volcano Wakes.]
RADIO BOYS UNDER THE SEA
or,
The Hunt for Sunken Treasure
by
J. W. DUFFIELD
[Illustration]
M. A. Donohue & Company
Chicago New York
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
RADIO BOYS SERIES
RADIO BOYS IN THE SECRET SERVICE;
or, Cast Away on an Iceberg.
RADIO BOYS IN THE FLYING SERVICE;
or, Held For Ransom by Mexican Bandits.
RADIO BOYS IN THE THOUSAND ISLANDS;
or, The Yankee-Canadian Wireless Trail.
RADIO BOYS UNDER THE SEA;
or, The Hunt for Sunken Treasure.
COPYRIGHT 1923. BY M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
MADE IN U. S. A.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
I. A Daring Leap
II. By Land and Sea
III. Radio and Its Wonders
IV. Strange Happenings
V. Marooned
VI. The Sunken Treasure
VII. A Hazardous Venture
VIII. Counting the Cost
IX. “Man Overboard!”
X. Lurking in the Shadows
XI. The Wrath of the Storm
XII. Shipwrecked
XIII. Under the Sea
XIV. The Tentacles of the Devil-Fish
XV. Torn Apart
XVI. Wave-Tossed
XVII. An Uncanny Experience
XVIII. Gold and Jewels
XIX. A Perplexing Mystery
XX. The Earthquake
XXI. From the Ocean Bed
XXII. Quelling a Mutiny
XXIII. The Horrors of the Lagoon
XXIV. Cheating the Sharks
XXV. In Deadly Danger
XXVI. The Volcano Wakes
XXVII. On the Alert
XXVIII. A Flag of Truce
XXIX. A Fight for Life
XXX. Victory!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
RADIO BOYS UNDER THE SEA
CHAPTER I
A DARING LEAP
Down the road came plunging a runaway horse, his eyes blazing and his
mouth flecked with foam.
In the light buggy that rocked and bounced behind him, threatening at
any moment to overturn, stood a young man, sawing at the reins with all
his strength. But though he was stalwart and vigorous, his strength
availed nothing against the power of the maddened brute.
The man’s eyes glanced from side to side, as though he were planning to
jump. But at the fearful rate at which he was going, a leap would almost
certainly have meant broken bones or a broken neck. He seemed to abandon
the thought, and put the last remnant of his overtaxed strength in one
more frantic tug at the reins.
A little way up the road, coming in his direction, were three young men.
They had evidently been on a fishing excursion, as was attested by their
rods and a big string of finny trophies. They were laughing and chaffing
each other, and evidently on the best of terms with themselves and with
life.
The thunder of approaching hoofs made itself heard, and they looked at
each other questioningly.
“That fellow seems to be in a hurry,” remarked Phil Strong.
“He sure does,” returned Dick Weston. “Mazeppa or Paul Revere had
nothing on him.”
“Just burning up the road and breaking all speed laws,” commented Tom
Hadley, the third of the trio.
They turned a bend in the road just then, and broke into exclamations of
alarm, as they saw the horse tearing toward them.
“The man will be killed,” shouted Tom, as they instinctively jumped to
the side of the road, which at this point was comparatively narrow,
bordered on one side by trees and on the other by underbrush, back of
which a little brook purled along.
On came the frenzied brute, yielding not a particle to the strain on the
reins.
Just as he came within ten feet of the group, Phil stiffened himself for
a spring. The next instant he had launched himself in the air at the
horse’s bridle. His aim was good, and his right hand clenched the
leather while his left gripped the mane.
He had leaped in the direction the horse was going, and this to some
extent lessened the force of the shock. All the same it was terrific,
and his muscles strained taut until it seemed as though they would
burst. He held on however with a grip of iron, swinging himself up so as
to escape the lashing hoofs and at the same time making the animal bear
his whole weight.
The horse plunged wildly, shaking his head to get rid of his burden, but
Phil held on with grim determination. His left hand slid from the mane
down over the horse’s nostrils which he compressed with all his
strength.
Choking for breath the panic stricken animal reared and threw himself to
one side, at the same time overturning the buggy. The driver was thrown
out, striking on his head, while the horse was brought to his knees.
All this had happened in a few seconds. Paralyzed for a moment by the
lightning quickness of Phil’s action, Dick and Tom had quickly grasped
the situation and rushed to his aid. Scarcely had the horse gone down
than both were at the side of their comrade, helping him to hold down
the frightened animal, who was making desperate efforts to get his feet.
They held him long enough for him to know that he had met his masters.
Then they hastily unbuckled his harness and as the horse scrambled to
his feet, Tom led him to a tree and tied him fast, while Phil and Dick
hurried to the side of the injured driver, who still lay there limp and
unconscious.
They were experts at first aid, and were greatly relieved as they ran
their hands over him to find that no bones were broken. Blood was
flowing from a gash in his head and running down over his face.
“Let’s get him to the brook and bathe his head and face,” suggested
Phil, who was still panting from the effects of his tussle.
“Lucky if his skull isn’t fractured,” remarked Dick, as he lent a hand,
seconded by Tom, who had by this time secured the horse and come to the
help of his comrades.
Together they lifted the man and bore him through the underbrush to the
bank of the brook. There they laid him down, and while one of them
rubbed the wrists and hands, the others washed his head and face and
dashed cold water on him in copious quantities. Phil carefully washed
out the gash on the head into which the dust and grit of the road had
been rubbed, and stripping enough linen from the sleeve of his shirt to
make a bandage, carefully bound up the wound.
Before long the result of their administrations became apparent. There
was a fluttering of the eyelids, and soon the man opened his eyes and
looked wonderingly around. His glance fell on the boys, who were
watching him anxiously.
He tried to speak, but his voice was thick and the words came with
difficulty. Phil stopped him with a reassuring gesture.
“Don’t try to talk yet, old man,” he said. “You’ve had a nasty tumble
but there are no bones broken and you’ll be all right when you’ve rested
up a little. Just take it easy for a few minutes and give your head a
chance to clear.”
The injured man relaxed and lay for a little while with his eyes closed,
collecting his strength. And now for the first time the boys had a
chance to take a good look at him.
He was a tall muscular man of athletic build, lean as a greyhound and
with not an ounce of superfluous flesh upon him. His face was bronzed as
that of an Indian and spoke of a life spent largely in the open. There
was a smartness in the set of his shoulders that suggested military
training. His nose was straight and his jaw firm. There were quizzical
lines about his mouth that indicated the possession of a sense of humor.
Altogether it was a likable face, and the boys as they watched him
mentally classed him as a “regular fellow.”
This impression was deepened when the man again opened his eyes. They
were no longer clouded but clear and penetrating, eyes that looked
directly at one, eyes that indicated a frank and straightforward
character.
“I guess I’ve about got this thing straight now,” the man remarked with
a faint smile, as he raised himself on one elbow. “For a little while my
head was buzzing like a flywheel. But I remember now trying to hold the
horse in and one of you young fellows flinging yourself at the brute’s
head.”
His eyes traveled over the boys and rested on Phil.
“You’re the one that did it,” he said.
“Oh,” replied Phil deprecatingly, “I just happened to be the nearest
when the horse came tearing along.”
“It was a mighty plucky thing to do, I’ll tell the world,” said the
stranger with gratitude and admiration in his voice. “There isn’t one
fellow in a thousand that would have taken the chance. It was a gamble
with death, all right. I can’t thank you enough. You probably saved my
life.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Phil, throwing the matter off lightly. “You
might have stopped him yourself after a while. He couldn’t have run on
forever. But how are you feeling now? Arms and legs all right?”
“Sore as the mischief but nothing broken,” was the reply, as he moved
them about. “I see my head was cut,” he went on, as he raised his hand
to the bandage.
“Rather deep cut,” remarked Dick, “but nothing to worry about as long as
the skull wasn’t fractured.”
“Oh, that skull has had many a hard knock in its time,” the man said
with a smile. “I guess it was pretty thick to begin with and it’s been
toughened by what’s happened to it since.”
He raised himself to a sitting position and the boys helped to settle
him comfortably with his back to a tree.
“I’m afraid I’m taking up your time and interfering with your plans,” he
said apologetically, as he glanced from one to the other.
“Not a bit of it,” Phil hastened to reassure him. “We’d just been on a
fishing trip and were on our way home. We’ve got all the time there is,
and we’re going to stick around until we see you safe to your home or
hotel or wherever it is you want to go.”
“That’s mighty good of you,” said the stranger gratefully. “I was
figuring on staying at Castleton over night.”
“That’s where we hail from,” replied Phil, “and as soon as you’ve rested
a bit more we’ll harness up the horse and drive you over, I guess he’s
had his fill of running away.”
“The old pirate was sure full of ambition,” laughed Tom. “He tore
along—”
He stopped suddenly, for at the word “pirate” the stranger had
straightened up like a flash and clapped his hand convulsively to his
breast.