DICK FINDS HIS RELATIVES
It can not be said that the supper was a very elaborate one. They ate
canned corned beef and crackers, and drank coffee from clam shells and
empty tin cans, but Dick said it tasted as good, if not better, than the
most complete meal Hans, the cook, had ever served to them on the yacht.
"It sure does," agreed Beeby, with a sigh of satisfaction. "I'll have a
little more of that fricasseed corned-beef on toast, with a bit of
mushroom sauce on the side, if you don't mind, old man," and he passed
his clam shell to Dick.
"You'll have nothing of the kind," announced the young millionaire,
peering into the frying pan, in which the beef had been warmed, "for the
simple reason, Beeby, that it's all gone."
"Ah, a very good and sufficient reason," admitted the stout cadet. "Then
I'll fill up on water. There's plenty of that."
They sat about the campfire after the meal, discussing over and over
again the strange disappearance of the launch and yacht, but being
unable to come to any conclusion regarding the matter. Dick's theory,
that some criminals (who were either concealed on the island, or who had
been on their craft, hidden in some bay) had sneaked out to the yacht
when the young millionaire and his chums were prospecting inland, was
generally accepted.
"But what can we do about it?" asked Henry Darby, who was intensely
practical.
"We'll think of that in the morning," decided Dick, who was both worried
and tired. He knew their situation was desperate, for the food supply
was very limited, and he dared not think what would happen when it was
all gone. And, in a measure, he felt a sense of responsibility for the
welfare of the whole party. "Let's get under shelter now," went on the
young yacht owner. "It's getting damp and chilly from the dew. In the
morning we'll make a better shelter, see what there is on this island to
eat, and put up some signals. It will probably be only a short time
before we can be taken off by some ship." But, though he spoke thus
hopefully, Dick was far from feeling the confidence with which he wished
to inspire his companions.
The night under the flimsy shelter would have been uncomfortable to a
degree had not the faithful Widdy replenished the fire at frequent
intervals. Indeed, he scarcely seemed to sleep, but was up and about all
night, piling on wood, and making a roaring blaze the genial heat of
which penetrated to the bower where Dick and the others were stretched
out on the ground, endeavoring to get a little rest.
Widdy constituted himself cook, and the first sight that greeted the
eyes of Dick when he crawled out the next morning, rather sore and
stiff, from his uncomfortable bed, was the old seaman, stumping around
on the sand, making coffee over the campfire.
"My, but that smells good!" cried the young millionaire.
"Just tell the steward to serve mine in my stateroom this morning, will
you, old chap?" drawled Beeby. "I think I'll lie abed a bit longer."
"Yes, you will!" cried Paul Drew, and, with a shove of his foot, he sent
the fat lad rolling out of the bower, and over the sloping sand toward
the waves.
"'Up, up, Lucy, the sun is up, and we must be up, too,' as it used to
say in the school books," cried Dick, gaily. "We've got lots to do
to-day, fellows, and we'd better get at it. So, after some coffee and
rolls--we'll omit the omelet this morning, because--ahem!--because the
hens seem to be off on their vacation--but after some coffee and
hard-tack we'll get busy. We must set up some signals of distress, erect
a better shelter, see what food we have on hand, look to see what there
is to be gotten here, and take another look at the place from where the
launch disappeared. Maybe we can discover some clews. Come on, tumble
out, everybody!"
"Me for a dip in the briny!" cried Paul, and, stripping to his
undergarments, he ran down the beach, and was soon splashing about. The
others followed his example, with the exception of Widdy and Senor
Alantrez, and when the lads came back, glowing from their bath, they
found a table set on the sands--a primitive table, with tin cans for
cups, and shells for plates. But no coffee ever tasted better, as they
sat around in negligee costumes and drank it, for the weather was warm
enough to permit of light attire.
"Now, fellows, here's the program, as I see it," said Dick, when the
meal was finished. "Senor Alantrez, his son and I will go over to the
other side of the island and erect some sort of a distress signal. We
will also take a look around while there. Widdy, you and Henry Darby and
Tim Muldoon can get busy and make a better shelter. You have
pocket-knives, and can cut branches when you can't break 'em. Paul, you
and Beeby take a stroll around, and see if there is anything to eat on
this place. Take the rifle, which you were lucky enough to bring with
you, Paul, and if you can pot a brace of quail or a roast turkey, so
much the better."
"And I'll take some pictures," added Beeby.
"Yes, it will keep you out of mischief," declared Dick, smiling. "Now we
all have something to do."
"Aye, aye, Captain Hamilton!" exclaimed Paul, with a left-handed
salute. "Your orders shall be obeyed."
"I wish I had some sort of a hatchet with which to cut a tree to stick
down near the beach for a signal pole," went on Dick.
"The kidnappers left me one, but it's not very sharp," said Pedro
Alantrez, as he brought it forth.
"It'll have to do," observed the young millionaire. "Now, come on. We'll
be back to dinner, fellows, so be sure to have a good one ready," he
added, as he and the two Spaniards started across the island.
When the wealthy youth and his companions reached the high ground in the
middle of the place, they looked long and earnestly across the waste of
waters, but there was no sign of the yacht, nor any other vessel. Dick
could not help sighing, as he started to ascend the slope.
"I regret, senor, that you have suffered so much on my account," spoke
Pedro, softly. "Your fine yacht is gone."
"But I'll get it back!" declared Dick, with anger in his eyes. "It
wasn't your fault at all--I'm only too glad that we came here for you."
They made a careful examination of the beach upon which the launch had
been hauled when the party went ashore, but no clews could be had. The
tide had washed away most of the footprints, and those that were left
were so intermingled that it could not be told whether they had been
made by Dick and his chums, or by strangers who landed, took away the
launch and thus reached the yacht.
"Well, we'll put up a signal, and leave a note in some stones at the
foot of the pole, telling any rescue party that may land, to come to the
other side of the island," proposed Dick. "And there's another
thing--what shall I make the signal of?"
"We'll have to use some of our clothing," suggested Senor Alantrez. "I
can spare my vest."
"I guess we all can," said Dick. "We don't need 'em in this climate, and
three vests, fluttering from a flagstaff, will attract attention almost
anywhere."
They cut down a tall, slender tree, tied their vests to it, one below
the other, and then, digging a hole in the sand with the hatchet, well
above high-water mark, they set up the pole. The signal showed
conspicuously.
"Now, that's done, we'll take a walk along the beach before we go back,"
proposed Dick. "Maybe we can find some clams or some crabs to eat. Well,
this is certainly a change from what I was doing yesterday. By the way,
Pedro, how did you come to be kidnapped, anyhow. I meant to have you
tell us, but so many other things happened that I overlooked it. Did you
get any clew to who the men were?"
"I was just going to speak about it myself," said the young Cuban. "I
meant to last night, for I think you are much concerned in it."
"I am concerned in it?"
"Yes."
"How is that?" asked Dick, wonderingly.
"Because I was kidnapped by a man named Ezra Larabee, and the men he
hired to take me away thought they were taking a certain Dick Hamilton."
"My Uncle Ezra here? He wanted to kidnap me? They took you for me?"
gasped Dick, wondering whether he had heard aright.
"Yes. You and I strongly resemble each other," went on the Spanish
youth.
"I know that," assented Dick, "but--my uncle here--trying to kidnap me?
It seems incredible. What vessel did he have?"
"The _Princess_."
"Ha! Then it _was_ the same one on which they tried to decoy me while in
New York. I begin to see through some things," cried Dick. "Those
men--the two who attacked me--they were kidnappers instead of thieves,
as I thought. But I never suspected Uncle Ezra, though he did bitterly
oppose me in this yachting business. But what can be his object? Is he
crazy?"
"He is possessed with an idea that you must be prevented from wasting
your money," answered Pedro. "I gathered that much while a captive on
the _Princess_. He wants to kidnap you for your own good, he says."
"Then he must have gone insane. To think of taking you for me!"
"Yes, your uncle was very much put out over the mistake the men and boys
made," said Pedro.
"Boys--were there boys aboard the _Princess_?" asked Dick.
"Guy Fletcher and Simon Scardale," answered the Spaniard.
"Guy and Simon? Worse and more of it!" cried Dick. "But how did my uncle
happen to get in with them--how did he get away down to Cuba?"
"It seems that he followed you from New York," went on Pedro, who had
overheard considerable during his captivity. "He knew you were coming to
Cuba to look up some distant relatives."
"That's right, so I did, but I don't seem to be able to locate them,"
said the young millionaire. "I am looking for some relatives of my dear
mother--their names are Miguel and Raphael Valdez, but they seem to have
disappeared."
"Miguel and Raphael Valdez?" gasped Senor Alantrez, springing to his
feet. "Are you searching for _them_, Senor Hamilton?"
"I am, but I've about given up. They are not to be found, and I'm sorry,
for mother wished to have them aided if they were in want. Besides their
signatures are needed to important papers. However, if I can't locate
them----"
"They _are_ to be found!" cried the elderly Cuban.
"Where?" asked Dick, eagerly.
"Here," replied Senor Alantrez, with a dramatic gesture. "Allow me to
make known to you the identity of myself and my son. I am Senor Raphael
Valdez, and he is Miguel, and we are relatives of your mother, if you
are the son of Mortimer Hamilton."
"I certainly am," responded the youth, in puzzled tones, "but I thought
your name was Alantrez."
"I changed my name when I lost my money, as I was too proud to let my
friends know of my misfortune," went on Senor Valdez, as we must now
call him, "but we really are the last of the Valdez family, as I shall
soon convince you. We are your mother's relatives, though I never
suspected it, for the name Hamilton is not uncommon. Please to be
seated, senor, and I will relate our story to you," and the Cuban
politely waved Dick to a seat on the sand.
"And to think that I have been chumming with you all this while, and
never knew you were my relatives!" cried the young millionaire. "This
beats a story in a book. Go ahead, senor, tell me all you can, and then
we'll hurry back to camp with the good news."