STRANDED.
"Marooned!" yelled Antone Ferreira with a curse. "The mutinous dogs!"
They all stared back in the direction from which they had ascended.
True enough, the Miami was slipping steadily out into open water, bound
a little to the left of south.
"What price empire now?" murmured Tom Jones to himself.
Cicero Tony Schultz also muttered something under his breath, cursing
Nick Fratelli for leaving him in the lurch, when it was he who had
first sowed the seeds of mutiny in Nick's brain.
"Come on!" shouted Scarface, and led the way back down over the rocks
along the path up which they had come.
Panic-stricken, the others followed him. Never before had they realized
what the Miami meant to them. With that boat, they were conquerors
voyaging to subjugate new lands. Without the Miami, they were merely
six city-bred men, unused to the woods, turned loose to shift for
themselves in an unmapped and prehistoric wilderness, forced to learn
its amazing ways before matches and ammunition gave out and clothing
disintegrated. And even if they learned the ways of the woods in time
to save their lives, nothing lay before them except a struggle for bare
existence until old age finally conquered them one by one.
No wonder they raced madly, insanely, after the departing Miami. But
by the shore, down-hill though it was, the Miami was nowhere in sight.
The six men collapsed panting on the top of the cliff which flanked the
beach.
When they had rested for a while, they took stock of their provisions
and other belongings. From one of his pockets Scarface produced a flash
light.
"A lot of good that'll do us down here, where the sun never sets,"
remarked Tom Jones.
Its owner eyed him sharply.
"Never saw one of these before, did you?" he asked.
"Why, of course I have," laughed the one-time yachtsman.
"Oh, no, you haven't," asserted the other positively. "This is a
signal-lamp, invented by our radio-hound, Little Arty. This little
thing is a complete sending and receiving set. The case is wrapped with
fine wire to serve as a coil antenna. Only half the inside is filled
with batteries, and they are of a special kind, extra strong. The rest
of the space is tube, and capacity, and a lot of other things I don't
know the names of. But I do know how the thing works. When some one
presses the button on one of them, the light flashes on the other."
Just then the light started flickering.
"Can you read Morse?" asked Scarface.
"Yes," replied Tom.
"Then listen in," Scarface ordered.
"Arty sending," came the message. "Nick has me trussed up in the cabin,
but I got my hands on the light. The Miami went south only a little
way. Nick is on a rampage, and there's hell to pay. Come--"
The message broke off abruptly.
"Look!" exclaimed some one, pointing down the beach to the southward.
All eyes followed the gesture, and saw a man trudging toward them, in
what appeared to be civilized clothes which clung to his person as
though wet. A series of yells of various sorts proceeded from the six
on the cliff-top. The figure looked up and began to run toward them,
while they in turn clambered down the face of the cliff and ran to meet
him.
* * * * *
It was Charley Loy, their slant-eyed cook, sopping wet and very
woe-begone. The six crowded around him and demanded an explanation.
"Dlunk," said he when he had caught his breath. "Nick Flatelli, he get
into lum lockers. Dlink lotta lum. Get velly dlunk. Muchee whoopee.
Thlow me overboard. Me walkee back flum lide."
Tom Jones was shocked at an abrupt thought that came to him. "Theresa
is at the mercy of that crowd of drunken bums! We must rescue her. We
thought we had only ourselves to save. But now we've got to save a
lady."
"Lady, me eye!" snorted Cicero, still chafing under Nick's duplicity.
"I should worry about a skirt!"
"No, you wouldn't," Tom snorted back at him.
"Do you mean to say," exclaimed Captain Ferreira, "that you'd all
forgotten about my little Terry? Why, that's what worried me about the
boat right along."
"This performance," stated Scarface levelly, "is going to be very bad
luck for Nick the Rat. Charley, where was the Miami headed for, when
you--ah--left the ship? And have you any idea where she is now?"
"Boat not go anywhere special," replied the cook. "Ev'lybody too dlunk.
Boat just lun along shore, south. Nowhere particular."
"That fits in with Arty's radio message," Scarface said thoughtfully.
"We'll follow the shore south."
Southward they tramped the sandy beach. How long, will never be known,
for the sun hung always at noon above them, and no one thought to
note the time by his watch. Occasionally they stopped to eat from the
remainder of the rations which they carried, but there was no sunset to
tell them when to sleep.
At last, when rounding the tip of a promontory of land, they saw the
Miami drifting idly in a cove beyond. Before any one could hail her,
Scarface had cautioned silence, and motioned his little band to take
cover. But the precaution seemed needless. Not a soul was stirring on
board. The boat appeared to be utterly deserted.
"Lord knows where they've all gone," exclaimed Scarface, "but at least
we've got our ship back. How many of you can swim?"
Only Tom Jones and Si Greene admitted the accomplishment, so these two
and their leader stripped, with the exception of belt and pistol, and
waded out into the none-too-warm sea. The Miami was about a quarter of
a mile distant, and drifting slowly away, under the influence of an
offshore breeze.
"Lie low," was Jimmy's parting injunction to the four on shore, "But if
any one appears on deck, then make a disturbance, and try to distract
their attention from us."
"I wish I had got some of that rum," muttered Cicero Tony to himself,
"If Nick ever gets another chance to make a break, I'm going to stick
to him like a plaster."
* * * * *
All three of the men in the water were expert swimmers, and rapidly
overhauled the Miami. Yet still there was no sign of life on board.
They had almost reached the boat when a shout from the shore caused
them to pause and look around. Their first thought was that some one
had appeared on deck, and that their four allies were attempting to
create a diversion, as they had been instructed to do. But the decks
were as deserted as before.
The commotion on the shore continued. The four men, standing on the
beach, were pointing to the water to the south. The swimmers looked in
that direction, and saw approaching them at a rapid rate what appeared
to be a giant dolphin with alligator-like jaws. The nightmarish
creature was leaping and diving, and weaving in and out of the surface
of the water in its approach.
"An ichthyosaurus!" exclaimed Tom. "It comes from two Greek words--"
"Never mind where it comes from," interrupted Scarface. "It's coming
toward us, and it looks hungry. I wish I could wake up from this--Come
on, let's go."
And he began a frantic double-over-hand toward the Miami, the two
others needing no encouragement to make them follow at top speed.
Silas Greene was the least effective swimmer of the three. With
appalling swiftness the sea beast bore down on poor Si, and cut him off
from his two companions. He at once stopped swimming, and, treading
water, drew his pistol and faced his assailant.
But at that very instant another beast of a different sort attacked him
from the rear. A head like the dipper of a steam shovel, mounted on the
end of a long, snakelike neck, suddenly shot out of the water behind
him, and hung suspended over him. His friends gave a cry of warning.
But even as he was turning to see what new menace was confronting him,
the neck curved, and the head shot down upon him, enveloping the upper
half of his body with its horrid jaws.
Jimmy's automatic barked twice. Two red spots appeared in the
creature's neck, which gave a writhe as though in pain. At the same
instant the other beast, cheated of its prey, hurled itself on the
wounded reptile with a hiss of rage. The water, swirling in geysers,
closed over the two beasts and their victim.
"He's done for!" gasped Tom.
Scarface was equally horrified. "If he's not, he'll certainly need our
help when he comes to the top. Danger or not, we'll wait here till we
see if there's any hope for him."
But nothing more was seen of either beast, nor of their prey.
* * * * *
"Shay," inquired a thick voice out of the air above them, "did you shee
what I shaw?"
Scarface whipped out his pistol again, and both men, treading water,
looked up. The Miami had drifted almost upon them, and Scutari was
leaning over the rail above them, beautifully drunk.
"Put up your water pishtolsh, an' come aboard," said Scutari genially.
"Gran' little party!"
"Come on, Tom," said Scarface. "We can't do poor Si any good here,
and we may possibly be able to help him from the Miami." Then to the
surprisingly amiable drunk above them, "Lower us down a ladder, will
you?"
"Shorry," replied Scutari, with a profound bow that nearly tumbled him
over the rail. "No laddersh to-day. Thish' my day off."
So the two swimmers clambered up the side as best they could.
As Tom swung his last foot over the rail, the ichthyosaur rose in a
graceful curve from the water behind him and snapped within an inch of
his heel.
"A rotten miss," exclaimed Scutari. Then applauded feebly: "But it'sh
the best show I've ever sheen."
Lying in the scuppers was the body of a man. Scarface turned it over
with his foot. It was George, the Syrian.
"Dead?" asked Tom.
"Yes," replied his chief, "dead drunk." Then, to Scutari, "Where are
the others?"
"Party in mesh-room," replied the Greek. "Shay, you'll get run in for
indeshent exposure. Put on shum closhe. Haw, haw, haw!"
Scarface cuffed him into the scuppers alongside George. Then, brushing
off his hands, he strode to the rail again for an anxious look at the
spot where poor Si Greene had gone down. But the surface of the water
was as calm and placid as though no tragedy had just been enacted there.
With a sigh Scarface turned away and entered the mess-room, followed by
his aide.
The only occupants were Theresa and Nick the Rat. The two sat facing
each other across the table. The girl was tied to her chair with many
turns of rope. The bulky Italian sat at ease in his, with a half-filled
glass and a bottle on the table before him. As the door crashed open,
he was holding a table-knife by the blade, and was pointing at Theresa
with the butt, evidently to emphasize something which he was saying.
As Scarface and Tom entered, Fratelli lumbered unsteadily to his feet
and reached for one of his pockets. Instantly he thought better of
it--he knew Scarface--and raised his hands aloft. Both of the intruders
had drawn their automatics before entering.
"Quick, Tom, frisk him," ordered Scarface Jimmy. "And keep your own gun
out of his reach while you do it."
Tom Jones walked over to the Italian and patted the latter's pockets,
as he had often seen done in the movies. The patting having developed
a lump in the right-hand coat pocket, Tom reached in and pulled out a
gat, which he threw upon the table, as he had also seen done in the
movies. Scarface hastily scooped up the gun and held it in his other
hand.
"Nick, you big bum, you lousy double crosser," growled Scarface, "sit
down, Tom, untie Miss Ferreira, and tie up Nick."
Tom approached the captive.
But she expostulated, red-faced, and turning away her eyes, "Aw, gee,
Mr. Jones, you and Mr. Jimmy haven't a stitch of clothes on."
* * * * *
So intent had the two been on the developments since their return on
board that they had completely forgotten their lack of attire.
Tom now promptly turned red himself and bolted for the door, only to be
stopped by a peremptory, "Jones! There are two men still unaccounted
for, and Little Arty's either locked up or knocked out somewhere.
Never mind your modesty. Go and locate Swede Johnson and the Eskimo,
and make sure that they are not in a position to cause us any trouble.
And--and--" Scarface faltered, "you'd better bring me some clothes as
soon as you've got those two birds disposed of."
Then his _sang-froid_ returned, and he sat down, more or less shielded
by the table from Theresa.
In a minute or two Tom Jones returned, clothed and bearing clothes.
He untied the girl, and trussed up the Italian. Then Scarface Jimmy
withdrew hastily and slipped into the garments which Tom had brought
him.
On Scarface's return, his first inquiry concerned Swede and Friday.
"Both asleep in the bunk room," Tom reported.
"And now how are you, my dear?" Scarface asked, turning to Terry. "Did
the Rat harm you?"
"Sure he did," replied the girl, "He bruised my arms up terribly with
these ropes."
"Is that all?"
"Gee, ain't that enough?"
"Tell us what happened."
"Well," narrated Terry, "you see, after you had gone, the wop here he
got nosing around all over the ship, and finally he let out a howl
that he'd found a lot of booze. So everybody ran to see, except me and
the Chink. The Chink shut himself up in the galley, and I tried to get
on shore, but Scutari caught me and brought me back. The wop took me
away from the Greek and locked me up in my own room--I mean your room,
sir. I bolted the door on the inside, and then some one started up the
boat. And they all drank a lot more, and sang and howled. And then the
engines stopped, and no one seemed to care."
She paused for a moment, and then continued, "Well, after a while,
I heard a splash and a lot of laughter, and I looked out the
window--port-hole, I mean--and the Chink was swimming away for dear
life. They all tried to break down my door, but the wop came and cussed
them something awful, so they stopped. Then the wop broke down the door
himself, and wanted me to drink with him. So I slapped his face, and he
tied me up and said he would teach me to be a lady. And then you came.
And I guess that's about all, sir."
"It's quite enough," commented Scarface grimly.
"You poor little kid," said Tom Jones.
* * * * *
"Can you handle a gun?" Scarface asked her.
"Gee, Mr. Jimmy," replied the girl, "you don't want for me to kill the
wop, do you?"
"Not exactly," explained Scarface.
"That is, not unless it's necessary. I merely want you to keep him out
of mischief, while Jones and I get this boat going."
So saying, he handed her one of the pistols. Grasping it in both hands,
she placed its butt on the table and pointed the trembling muzzle at
the bound man, who now turned pale for the first time.
"For Pete's sake, Jimmy," Nick begged hoarsely, "take her away! I can't
stand to see that gat waving at me."
"Then shut your eyes, you fool," replied Scarface.
"That would be worse," moaned Fratelli, now completely unnerved. "It
might go off without my knowing it. Take her away!"
"You've got it coming to you, Nick," asserted Scarface with a malicious
smile. "And if Miss Ferreira should happen to get careless or nervous
with the trigger, your death would not be on my conscience. Come on,
Tom, let's get going. You start the engine."
So saying, he departed for the pilot house, and soon the Miami was
chugging back toward shore, where Cicero, Murphy, Captain Ferreira
and Charley Loy were taken on board. George and Scutari were promptly
lifted from the deck and put to bed. Scarface relieved Terry of the
pistol with which she had been guarding Nick. Arty had been located in
the galley and untied. Then all hands, except the four drunks, were
assembled in the mess-room.
Captain Ferreira warmly embraced his daughter, and then his eyes ranged
over those present.
"Where's Si Greene?" he asked. "Did that dolphin get him?"
Scarface Jimmy's face sobered, and his eyes narrowed.
"Si has given up his life for this girl here," he reported. "Two
sea-beasts--and they weren't mere dolphins either--pulled him under and
fought over him, just as we reached the ship. We waited around, but the
poor fellow never came to the top again."
"Moby Dick!" exclaimed the ship captain, horrified.
Terry's eyes flashed around at Nick Fratelli.
"It's all your fault!" she sobbed. "Mr. Greene was a good, good man."
So saying, she jumped at him, but several of the men seized her and
held her away.
"Nick has been guilty of mutiny on the high seas," announced Captain
Ferreira. "The very least penalty is to be kept in irons until the end
of the trip."
"I'll gladly supply the irons," cut in Mike Murphy, the ex-policeman,
fishing his pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, and handing them over
to his chief.
Still glowering, the burly Italian was untied and then manacled.
"I'll give you this much freedom for the present," announced Scarface,
"until I decide whether to keep you in irons for the rest of the trip,
as Ferreira suggests, or to turn you loose altogether."
Then the party broke up for a few moments rest, while Charley Loy
prepared grub. Arty made a bee-line to his beloved radio; and, to the
surprise of every one, got a station almost immediately.
Some one appeared to be broadcasting a speech. But it was in some
utterly strange and outlandish language. Furthermore, the dial-setting
did not correspond to any station on the earth's surface, most of which
were marked in the little radio fan's log.