TRAPPED!
“Wall?” hailed Israel, raising his bushy eyebrows, which overhung his
steely-blue eyes like pent-houses. “Wall? What might you be wanting?”
“That fellow you took on board in Whale Creek,” snapped out Nat
decisively.
“What feller?” demanded the old man. “Say, young feller, has ther heat
gone to yer brain?”
“It’s no use temporizing,” chimed in Mr. Anderson, “we saw you take on a
passenger. We want him for a grave crime.”
“Do tell!” exclaimed the old man, while the others, whom the sailor
whispered to Nat were the elder Harley’s two sons and his nephew,
suspended their work and gazed up as astonished apparently as old Israel
appeared to be.
“Wall, you shore must hev sharp eyes in yer head, young feller,” said
one of the old man’s sons, a fellow named Seth Harley, who bore as bad a
reputation as his father. “So you saw us take on a passenger, eh? Wall,
this is the first I hearn on it. Say, Jake, or you, Hank, did you notice
any passenger embarking on this packet?”
A contemptuous laugh was the only rejoinder and then old man Harley
struck in again in his harsh, rasping voice, like the dragging of a
rough file over metal.
“’Spect you be the loonies thet hev stuck up thet thar birdcage
contraption on Goat Island, beant yer?”
“If you mean the wireless station, yes,” responded Nat.
“Wall, thet accounts fer ther bees in yer bonnet, then,” scoffed old
Israel, while his relatives chuckled in a peculiarly irritating manner;
“an’ anuther thing, lemme tell yer,” the old man went on, “you’d better
be gittin’ ready to quit that thar island, anyhow.”
“Why is that?” asked Nat, striving to keep his temper, while Joe hopped
about, first on one foot and then on another in his irritation.
“’Cos we hev a prior claim to it, thet’s why,” retorted the old man, a
sudden fiery gleam coming into his cold eyes. “We don’t want none of you
spies an’ interferers comin’ from the mainland and mixin’ up in our
affairs.”
“We’ve no intention of mixing up in your affairs,” flung back Nat, with
an emphasis on the last word. “You’ve just as legitimate a right to use
the island as we have and we’ll concede you that, but, as for quitting
it at your orders—well, that’s another story.”
“See here, Harley,” interpolated Mr. Anderson, “we suspect you of having
on board your boat one Miles Minory. He is wanted for several grave
offences. You’ll save yourself a lot of trouble by giving him up. We
know he paid you well to help him escape, but the jig is up and we mean
to have him.”
The old man stared at him with what appeared to be absolute
bewilderment.
“Lan’s sake!” he exclaimed, “you’re as loony as the kids are. Do you see
any signs of anyone on this yer craft but me, my two sons and my nevvy
here? We’re on a peaceable run to Santa Barbara ter git terbaccy, and so
forth, and then you overhauls us and springs this line of talk on us.
It’s an insult, that’s what it is! I ain’t harborin’ no criminals. If
there was one on board here, d’ye think I wouldn’t give him up? My
name’s as good as the next man’s, and I ain’t mixin’ up in that sort of
business.”
“He certainly appears to be telling the truth, and yet it isn’t possible
we could have been deceived,” said Nat to his companions, in sore
bewilderment.
“Do you think he could have slipped overboard into another boat while we
lost sight of them?” queried Joe.
Nat shook his head.
“I hardly see how that is possible,” he said. “In the first place, we
must have sighted a second craft, if there was one, and, in the second
place, there’s nowhere they could land between Whale Creek and Santa
Barbara.”
“See here, young feller,” hailed old Harley, addressing himself to Nat,
“come aboard if you like and take a look around. If you find anyone here
but me an’ the boys, I’ll make you a present of the boat. I can’t speak
no fairer than that.”
“What do you think?” asked Nat, turning to his companions.
“I don’t see what harm there can be in accepting that proposal,” said
Mr. Anderson. “The boat is broken down and if this was a trap they still
couldn’t work you any harm while we are on hand.”
“Then I’m going to go ahead and take him up,” declared Nat. “There’s a
bare chance that they may have him in some secret hiding place.”
“Be careful, Nat,” urged Joe.
“Yes, they’re a bad lot,” supplemented the sailor.
“They certainly look it,” agreed Nat; “but, as Mr. Anderson says, they
can’t get away from here in their crippled boat, so I don’t see what
harm they can do me.”
“All right, go ahead then. We’ll watch carefully and see that no harm
comes to you,” said Joe, and Nat swung himself over the side and dropped
lightly into the black motor boat.
“Go ahead! Look around all you want to,” said old Harley, squinting at
the boy with his odd, twinkling little eyes.
Nat looked around the interior of the hull. It had lockers on each side,
far too narrow, however, to hide the body of a man. There were cross
seats, too, but these were mere thwarts laid from side to side of the
craft and couldn’t have concealed a ten-year-old child.
He examined the floor, but no cracks appeared in it which might indicate
a trap-door leading to some place of hiding within the hull. Only the
big space under the raised hull forward that housed the engines remained
unexamined. Nat hardly thought it worth while, but just the same he
decided to make his search thorough. Nevertheless, against his better
judgment and against his certain knowledge that Minory had boarded the
motor craft, he was beginning to believe that, in some extraordinary
way, a mistake must have been made, or else by some inexplicable means
Minory had managed to evade them.
He examined the engine-space with due care, but could see nothing within
the dark machinery cabin to warrant him in assuming that Minory was
concealed within.
“Wall, what did I tell yer?” cried old Harley triumphantly, as Nat
looked perplexed and chagrined. “You’re a nice one, you are, to come
accusing a respectable old man who makes an honest livin’ of hidin’
criminals and avadin’ the law, ain’t you?”
“I’ll have to accept your statement as true,” said Nat slowly, “but I’m
still convinced that there is some trickery about this affair.”
“Hark at him!” cried old Harley, throwing his hands high in the air in
apparently righteous indignation. “But say, son,” he went on, placing a
grimy, gnarled hand on Nat’s shoulder, “I don’t bear no malice, not me.
To prove it, I’m going to ask you a favor. You’re summat of a ingine
sharp, I’ve heard tell; will you take a look at our motor an’ see what
ails it? I can’t fix it, no more can the boys here.”
“Oh, I’ll look it over, if that’s all you want,” said Nat, who, truth to
tell, had rather a hankering to inspect the piece of machinery that
could force a boat through the water at the pace that old Harley’s was
driven. “I won’t guarantee to be able to remedy the trouble, though.”
“That’s all right, lad; jes look at it, an’ if you can’t fix it I’ll hev
to ask you fellows for a tow into Santa Barbara, I reckon, fer we’re
plumb busted down now.”
Nothing could have appeared more open and above board than this. Nat,
without hesitation, stooped to crawl in under the whaleback hood that
protected the motor from spray.
As he stooped he heard a sudden shout from above.
“Look out, Nat!”
But it was too late. The boy was felled by a terrific blow from behind.
All the world went red about him and then faded into blackness amidst
which a humming noise like that of a speeding motor rang vibrantly.