LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT.
The wind was dropping, and against the scurrying clouds, behind which
shone a pale and sickly moon, they could see outlined a pyramid of
canvas—the schooner!
“Don’t talk more than you have to,” said Nat, who had secured his
firearm and brought oars for Joe and Nate. “If they come ashore, just
follow them without exposing yourselves to view. There’s a chance that
they may, after all, be honest fishermen, and we don’t want to attack
the wrong men.”
“That chance is a pretty long one, I’m after thinking,” said Nate under
his breath.
“We’ll see how they come to anchor,” he said presently. “If they let go
their mudhook with a rush and a rattle, it may be that they are all
right. But if they sneak in and let it go easy so as not to alarm
anybody, why, then, it’ll look as if we’ve had ’em sized up right.”
The watchers crawled out and made their way through the spiky grass
along one arm of the cove. They gained a point where it was possible
even in the darkness to see the tall spars of the schooner and the black
bulk of her canvas as, noiselessly as a phantom craft, she glided into
the cove. Suddenly her “way” was checked and she came to a stop with all
her canvas still standing.
“They’ve let go the anchor with all the sails set,” murmured Nate, “and
they dropped that mudhook like a cat stalking mice. I reckon they’re
honest fishermen—not. That’s a regular smuggler’s trick, that is, all
right.”
“Why don’t they lower the sails?” was Joe’s not unnatural question.
“’Cos they don’t want the rattling of the blocks and the cordage to be
heard,” rejoined Nate. “Seein’ no lights up above, I suppose they’ve
figured that we are all asleep and dreaming. But we ain’t, not by a
jugful,” he chuckled.
Then came the sound of oars as they creaked in the rowlocks of a small
boat. Joe’s heart beat wildly with excitement, and even Nat felt a
thrill, as there no longer remained any doubt that hostile men were
about to land on the island. When Hank had told Joe the day before of
old Israel’s plans of vengeance, he had not taken them very seriously.
Now, however, they faced the fact, and faced it to all intents and
purposes unarmed.
“Lie down,” ordered Nat, as the sound of the oarsmen became more
distinct; “we don’t want them to see us yet.”
They all threw themselves flat amidst the spiky dune-grass and waited
for what was to come. Presently they saw a small boat grounded on the
beach, and five men leaped out. They grouped themselves about one
figure, which Nat instinctively felt must be that of old Israel himself.
At any rate, he appeared to be giving orders to the others. The group
split up. Two of the men started in the direction of the shanty, while
three, including the one suspected to be old Israel, set out to the
southward.
“Now what in the name of time does that mean?” demanded Nate in an
astonished voice.
“It means that our job is just twice as hard,” rejoined Nat. “I can’t
make out myself exactly the object of it, but I reckon we shan’t be long
in finding out.”
“We’d better follow them,” suggested Nate.
“Yes, we had better. Nate, you take the two men that went toward the
hut. Joe and I will trail that group of three.”
“All right, Nat; and say, if you’re in trouble, just fire a shot from
that shootin’ iron of yours and I’ll come on the jump.”
“All right, Nate, I won’t forget. We might need you badly in case of a
mix-up.”
“You can sure count on me,” the sturdy waterman assured them.
Then they parted, Nate striking off toward the shanty, whither two of
the strangers had preceded him, and Nat and Joe taking the trail after
the trio, one of which they firmly believed was none other than old
Israel himself.
Through the darkness they made the best speed they could after the old
smuggler and his two sons, for they now knew by the sound of the voices
that had been flung back to them on the wind that their surmise had been
correct. It was old Harley himself and his rascally offspring who had
landed on Goat Island under the cover of night.
At first their motive in so doing had been plain enough to Nat, or at
least he had thought it was. Now, however, he was by no means so certain
that the destruction or injury of the wireless was the sole object of
their call. This striking off through the dark to the southerly point of
the island was inexplicable to the boy, and as they made their way
along, sometimes stumbling over rocks and clumps of beach-plum bushes,
he confided his bewilderment to Joe.
“I wonder what all this means?” he said. “There’s nothing to the south,
so far as I know, but some low cliffs and waste land.”
“I’ve no more idea than you have,” rejoined Joe, equally puzzled. “One
thing is sure and certain, though, they are not out for a pleasant
stroll.”
“No, they’ve got some definite object in view, and I’m inclined to
believe that we don’t figure in it as prominently as we thought we did,”
was Nat’s rejoinder.
They paced on in silence, always keeping the three figures in front of
them in view, but creeping along as close to the ground as they could
and taking advantage of every bit of cover that offered.
“Say, Nat,” exclaimed Joe after a while, “it’s my belief that they are
making for those old ruins!”
“You mean the remains of that mission that the early missionaries from
Spain built here?” asked Nat, referring to a jumbled pile of adobe ruins
which were supposed to mark the site of one of the early religious
houses of California.
“That’s what. See, they’re striking off to the right.”
“That is the direction, sure enough, but what would they want there?”
“We can only find out by following them. Hullo, what are they doing
now?”
The group ahead had halted not far from the pile of debris and heaped-up
stone and wood that marked the remains of the monks’ establishment.
One of them stooped low while the others shielded him from the wind.
Then came a sputter of flame as a match was struck, and then the steady
glow of a lamp or lantern. With this means of illumination kindled, the
party that the boys were breathlessly trailing proceeded once more.
Suddenly Nat stopped short and seized Joe’s arm.
“The lamp, Joe, it’s gone!” he cried, pointing to the midst of the ruins
where the lamp had been last seen.
Sure enough, the lantern had suddenly vanished, leaving the boys deeply
mystified as to the cause of its sudden disappearance.
“They must have some hiding place among the ruins,” exclaimed Nat
excitedly, “That is why old Israel was so mad about our being on the
island! What shall we do?”
“Follow them,” said Joe determinedly. “We’ve started on this thing,
let’s see it through.”
They struck out toward the ruins at a half run. In their excitement,
prudence was temporarily thrown to the winds. Soon they were stumbling
and barking their shins amidst the ruinous pile. In the dark it was
almost impossible to see their way. All at once Nat, who was in the
lead, gave a sharp exclamation:
“Get back, Joe! Back, as quick as your legs will let you!”