IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS.
Joe had plenty to ponder after Hank had left. Of course, he had heard
from Nat of the mysterious “Nemo” call, and, in view of what he had
heard from the reformed member of the Harley family, it looked to him
very much as if old Israel had had some hand in the affair. Then, too,
there was Hank’s remarkable change of front. Joe had at first questioned
the youth’s sincerity but after a time his manner left no room to doubt
that his proffer of friendship was genuine. Joe was very glad that this
was so, for, in case old Israel returned and tried to make trouble, Hank
would prove a valuable ally.
“I reckon I’ll see if I can raise the _Nomad_ and flash Nat the news of
the afternoon,” thought Joe, upon whose hands the time was beginning to
hang heavily.
If anyone was on board the _Nomad_, this would be an easy thing for Joe
to do, for by this time the wireless outfit, that the boys had agreed
would prove a valuable addition to the _Nomad’s_ equipment, had been
installed.
But before Joe could reach his instruments the wireless “alarm clock”
began ringing loudly, sounding the Goat Island call. Joe hastened to the
apparatus and sent out a reply. Then he adjusted the head band and the
receivers and began listening. The message that came made his cheeks
tingle with pleasure. It was from the Chief of Police of Santa Barbara
and was as follows:
“_Congratulations. Good work. Man on Vesta bank robber badly wanted.
Probably a reward case._”
Joe felt a distinct feeling of pleasure over the despatch. It
demonstrated in no uncertain way the practical utility of their plant.
But the boy felt somewhat disappointed that the two miscreants who had
so roughly used him had not been apprehended. He was not a revengeful
lad but he would certainly have liked to learn of the men’s capture.
Presently he set about the task of raising the _Nomad_ by wireless. But,
although he tried for more than an hour to get some response, he failed
to do so.
“That’s queer,” thought the boy. “Nat said that he would surely be on
his way back before dark. Well, I suppose I’ve got to make up my mind to
spend a solitary evening of it.”
As it grew dark he cooked his supper and ate it with a hearty appetite.
Afterward he read for a while and then, feeling drowsy, determined to
turn in.
“I guess there’s no chance of Nat’s coming back to-night,” he thought as
he extinguished the light.
How much later it was that he awakened, he did not know, but some
impulse made him go to the window and look over toward the wireless hut.
To his astonishment a light was shining in the casement of the structure
that housed the instruments.
Joe’s heart gave a great bound.
“It’s Israel Harley!” he exclaimed under his breath. “What am I to do?
He’s sure not to be alone and Nat’s revolver is locked in his trunk.”
The boy was no coward, as those who have followed the Motor Rangers’
adventures know, but the situation was one that might have tried
stronger nerves than Joe Hartley’s, gritty as he was.
He saw a shadow cross the lighted window as whoever was within the
wireless hut moved about.
“I don’t like this a bit,” muttered Joe to himself, as he cast about for
the best means of coping with the situation. “Those fellows are just
about as bad as bad can be and I’ve had one experience with ruffians
already to-day. I don’t feel like having a second struggle.”
The light burned steadily on, but whoever was within the hut did not
pass the window again.
“They may be demolishing the instruments and smashing things up
generally right now,” said Joe to himself as he watched and waited.
The thought was like a tonic to him. He determined to delay no longer
but, come what might of it, to surprise the intruders and trust to luck
for the outcome. He selected a short, heavy oar from some that lay
outside the shanty. It made quite a formidable weapon when wielded by a
muscular lad like Joe, and as his fingers closed on it he felt ready to
give battle to a whole tribe of Harleys.
In a quiver of excitement and suspense, he crept forward almost
noiselessly over the soft sand. What the outcome of the affair would be
he did not know nor did he dare to think. But he was determined at all
hazards to guard the valuable equipment of the wireless station.
“At any rate, I’ll give a good account of myself,” he thought as he
advanced toward the lighted hut.
Nevertheless he caught himself wishing more than once that his chums
were with him. About twenty feet from the hut he paused and listened
intently. He fully expected to hear the noise of breakage as the vandals
destroyed the instruments.
But to his astonishment all was utter silence. The only sound to be
heard was the breaking of the waves on the sandy beach below.
“Funny I don’t hear any voices, either,” he muttered. “There must be
more than one of them. Old Israel’s not the sort of man to come alone on
an enterprise of this kind.”
Once more he paused after advancing a few steps, but as before no
suspicious sounds broke the stillness.
“It can’t be spooks,” he thought, and the next minute had to smile at
himself for entertaining such a silly notion.
“No, it’s human beings all right, and ones who have no good intentions
toward us or they wouldn’t come sneaking around here like thieves in the
night. I suppose that they saw that the _Nomad_ had gone from her
moorings and that the shanty was dark and assumed that there was no one
here.”
He advanced still further and was now quite close up to the hut. Still
all was silence within. Had it not been for the light in the window he
would have deemed that he was the victim of a delusion. But there was no
mistaking the fact of the light, and no mistaking, also, that it was a
human agency that had kindled it.
“Thought there was no one here, eh?” muttered Joe, gritting his teeth.
“Well, Harley and Co., here’s where you get the surprise of your young
lives.”
He stepped forward with brisk determination and prepared to thrust the
closed door open.
But the next instant he stopped dead.
“Well!” he ejaculated in startled amazement.
From within the hut had come the last sound in the world he expected to
hear. It was the whine and crackle of the spark. Somebody was sending a
message!