THE MOUTH CLOSES.
When the hatch was closed, and Matt had shut himself into the hull of
the boat, he found that he was in cramped quarters.
The air was stifling, and the smell of bilge water was extremely
unpleasant. He could not sit up without knocking his head against the
deck beams, and he was entangled in a scattered pile of firewood. But
if he got where he wanted to go he must contrive to move forward.
Taking a match from his pocket, he struck it on his trousers, and
looked about him in the feeble gleam.
The firewood was not all he had to contend with. In addition to that,
the hold was half full of boxes and casks.
Making mental note of a course that would take him forward with least
trouble from the fuel and food supplies, he pinched out the match and
crawled carefully.
He realized, presently, that the voices from the cabin were coming to
his ears in increased volume; in fact, he was hearing them much more
distinctly than when he had been at the window outside the cabin. Their
distinctness became much more apparent the farther he advanced; not
only that, but they served to help him locate himself. When the voices
were directly over his head he paused.
The floor boards of the deck had spread slightly, and the cracks were
lined with threads of lamplight. This explained the distinctness with
which the voices reached his ears. Sitting up, he stifled his breathing
while he listened.
"You fellers might just as well understand this from the start
off--that money stays together, all in a wad, until we get safe out o'
'Frisco. Then there'll be a divvy, and not before."
Red-whiskers was the speaker. Matt had no difficulty in recognizing his
raucous voice.
"Is that square, John?" demanded one of the others. "Ain't Ross an' me
entitled to our share, here an' now, if we want it?"
"You're entitled to your share, Kinky, and you're going to get it, but
not until we're out of the woods. I'd have whacked up to-night, but
for that raw deal we had worked on us at the foot of Clay Street. This
Motor Matt, it's as plain as a pikestaff, is trying to help Lorry.
Lorry himself wouldn't have the nerve to play a game like that. Why, he
stole the money himself, see, and he ain't goin' to ask the law to step
in and help him get the stuff back. But this Motor Matt--well, from all
I can read about him, he's all nerve and is given to meddling. We've
got to quit this house boat and sail on that Jap steamer to-morrow.
I'll pay our passage to Honolulu out of the funds, and when we get to
where we're going we'll go snucks, share and share alike."
"I want mine now," struck in a third voice.
"That's you, Ross," growled Red-whiskers. "You want to do some gamblin'
and drinkin', which is the worst things you could possibly do, not only
for yourself, but for Kinky and me. I'll not have it that way. When we
get in a safe place, we'll split the loot into three parts, and you can
take what's coming to you and go to ballyhack, if you want to. But you
can't tune up around 'Frisco while I'm in the town."
"What's to be done with the _San Bruno_?" asked a voice which Matt
identified as belonging to Kinky.
"We'll use her to take us to 'Frisco, in the morning, just before
the steamer leaves. Then we can turn her over to her owner, pay him
what's coming, and hustle for the dock where we load ourselves for the
Sandwich Islands. I'm calculating we'll be safe enough there."
"O' course," spoke up the voice of Ross, "all I want's to do the right
thing by everybody an' have the right thing done by me. I ain't putting
up no holler, an' don't think that for a minute; but I'm just about
strapped. I haven't got more'n two bits in my jeans."
"Well, you'll have three thousand of your own before you're a week
older, Ross, and I'd advise you to do the same as I intend to
do--invest it in a pineapple plantation in the islands."
"Oh, splash! I'm going to invest my money in a distillery," and Ross
finished with a reckless laugh, only he used a harsher expletive.
"It wouldn't be like you if you didn't," grunted Red-whiskers.
"Speaking along this line," spoke up Kinky, "reminds me that I'm
dryer'n the desert of Sahary. Suppose we open a bottle?"
"That hits me," agreed Ross promptly.
"I'll go you--for just one bottle," came from the red-whiskered leader
of the trio.
Ross chuckled.
"John likes his nip jest as well as anybody," said he.
"What of it?" demanded the leader. "If I've got the sense to take no
more than is good for me, what's the odds? The trouble with you, Ross,
is that you never stop until you make a fool of yourself. Let me tell
you something: Whisky is the worst enemy a man ever had. It'll give him
a little 'Dutch courage' for a piece of crooked work, I grant you, but
if a crook hangs onto the drink it will ruin him in the end. That's
right."
This was refreshing doctrine to come from such a man as Red-whiskers.
Matt listened to his talk with a half smile.
"Get the stuff, Kinky," said the impatient Ross.
There was a sound of moving feet across the floor. The next moment a
match was lifted directly over Matt's head and a flood of lamplight
revealed him to Kinky. The scoundrel flung back with a wild yell.
Matt waited for no more. With a pounding heart he scrambled over boxes
and casks and stove wood on his way toward the other hatch.
A confused babel of voices reached him from the cabin; feet could be
heard running over the floor, and some one raised a great clatter
dropping into the hold.
"Come out here!" shouted a fierce voice. "Come out, I say, or I'll
shoot!"
Matt was willing to run the risk of stopping a bullet, there in the
darkness, and he was in altogether too big a hurry to throw up a
barricade between him and the man with the gun.
Rising on his knees, he lifted his hands to the hatch. No shot was
heard, and Matt reflected that the scoundrels would not dare fire a
revolver for fear of attracting attention from the other house boats in
the cove.
To throw back the hatch took only an instant, but, as the young
motorist scrambled through the opening, he was seized by the shoulders
and hurled roughly to the deck.
He was up again almost as soon as he was down.
"Landers!" bellowed a gruff voice; "where the deuce is Landers? Take
him, Kinky. I guess the two of us are enough without Landers. I'll head
him off on this side."
Matt felt a pair of arms go around him from behind. With a fierce
effort, however, he twisted clear of the clutching hands, whirled and
struck out with his fist.
An exclamation, more forcible than polite, was jolted out of Kinky.
"Hang it!" the scoundrel added, "he's got a fist like a pile driver.
Lay for him, Ross! I'm wabbling."
Before Motor Matt could turn and defend himself against Ross,
Red-whiskers bolted through the open cabin door.
"Don't make so much noise, you fellows!" he called angrily. "Every
house boat in the cove will be----"
Then he saw Matt. The latter had sprung to the edge of the deck with
the plain intention of diving overboard.
Before he could carry out his plan Ross and the leader of the three men
had him by each arm and had jerked him roughly back.
Matt struggled with all his power, but there were three against him,
and he was thrown to the deck and dragged into the cabin, one of the
men holding a hand over his mouth to prevent outcry.
The cabin was divided into two rooms, and Matt was half dragged and
half carried through the darkness of the first room into the glaring
lamplight of the one beyond.
"Put him in that chair over there," ordered the red-whiskered man. "You
needn't be afraid he'll yell, Kinky," he added, with savage menace,
"so take your hands from his mouth. If he lets out a whoop, or tries
to bolt, I'll fire, even if the noise brings a tender from every house
boat in the bay."
One look into the gleaming eyes of Red-whiskers was enough to warn Matt
that discretion demanded passive compliance with the wishes of his
captors.
Kinky removed his hands from Matt's lips, and Ross released his arms.
Both men stepped to one side, glaring at him curiously and vindictively.
Red-whiskers, a revolver lying on his knees, was sitting on the
cushioned bench, directly facing Matt. With a steady hand he was
lighting a fresh cigar.
"Pull the window shades, Kinky," said he calmly. "Ross, lock both doors
and put the keys in your pocket. We'll have a little heart-to-heart
talk with Motor Matt, and I don't want Landers to see what we do, or
hear what we're talking about."
Motor Matt, blaming himself for what had happened, sat quietly and
wondered what was to come.