TREACHERY THAT SUCCEEDED--AND FAILED.
The motor wizard congratulated himself, for a moment, that he had won
Hank Burton over to his side in the argument. But only for a moment.
Even as Clancy was getting ready to frame his first question, Burton
took to his heels and ran like a deer toward the other side of Sugarloaf
Rock.
On that side, three persons had landed in a small boat. They had secured
their boat by twisting the painter around a rock, and were now climbing
Old Sugarloaf.
Burton must have seen this landing party while walking back and forth
and turning Clancy's proposition over in his mind. He had gained a
little time by seeming to fall in with Clancy's desires, but now the
mask was dropped.
"Consarn the critter!" whooped Hiram. "Stop him, Clancy, stop him!"
This is exactly what Clancy was trying to do, but the feat was
physically impossible. Burton had too long a lead.
Snatching the painter from the rock, the fleeing rascal sprang into the
boat, picked up the oars and was twenty feet from shore before Clancy
and Hill came to the water's edge.
"Guess again!" taunted Burton, applying himself vigorously to the oars.
"This island ain't so big!" shouted Hiram furiously. "The steamer for
San Pedro has gone, and there's no other boat for the mainland until
to-morrow. You ain't out o' this yet, Hank Burton!"
What Burton thought regarding this did not appear. He put all his energy
into his rowing and was soon halfway across the bay.
"If we'd toted a popper," bewailed Hiram, "this couldn't have happened.
"Popper?" questioned Clancy.
"Meanin' gun. With a six-shooter we could have drawn a bead on Mister
Man in the boat and fetched him ashore. Blame it! I sure hate to see him
get away after bein' to so much trouble ketchin' him."
The motor wizard felt in the same way, but there was no use crying over
spilled milk. Mynie Boltwood got back from the other side of the bay
with a load of clothes, and Hill removed his wet garments, wrung them
out, dried them in the sun, and was soon back in his complete wardrobe,
and but little the worse for his drenching.
Clancy, hoping to develop something in the nature of a clew, searched
the pockets of Burton's clothes. He found nothing to repay his search.
"Now," inquired Hill gloomily, "what's the next step?"
"We came here to find your father, Hiram," Clancy answered, "and
suddenly got switched off into another trail. Now we'll get back to the
work that originally brought us to the island."
"And let that bunch o' grafters go?"
"I don't see what we can do, at present."
"We can set the police on their trail."
Clancy shook his head. "That won't do, Hiram," he answered. "I made a
crack of that kind at Burton, but it was only a bluff. The moment we
ring in the police, that moment we lift the veil on Lafe Wynn. Lafe must
be protected at any cost. If we could get back the money by our own
efforts, that would be all right. What we've got to avoid is making this
thing too public. We'll return to the curio store and see if Lopez has
got back from the other side of the island."
Mynie Boltwood displayed little curiosity regarding Burton. The
five-dollar gold piece had evidently blinded him, muzzled him, and tied
up his ears. He rowed Clancy and Hill back to the pier, and they left
the boat and proceeded to the establishment of Jack Lopez.
Lopez looked a good deal like a man who might deal in dazzling futures,
taking care that all the profit came to himself. He was swarthy and
good-natured, but with a crafty eye.
"The Fortunatus Syndicate?" he said, with an airy laugh. "Gentlemen, it
is gone--as you say--where the woodbine twineth. Yes, for two years
past. The concession was granted by Diaz for a great 'plant' dedicated
to the god of luck at Tia Juana, but--well, Diaz went out and some one
else came in. Down below the border, nothing remains as it was for long.
It took--what you call--too much money to grease the wheels. The
Syndicate dropped one hundred thousand dollars, and thought that was
plenty. No, no, you can not invest in Fortunatus, for there is no
Fortunatus."
"This is your card, isn't it?" inquired Clancy, offering for inspection
the card found wider the sweatband of the Stetson.
"Why, _si!_ I used that card at the time the Tia Juana matter looked
very bright and promising. Now, though, I use the card no more."
"Did you ever see a feller like this?" put in Hiram, handing over the
photograph of his father.
Lopez looked at the photograph, started, took it in his hands, and gave
it a more careful scrutiny.
"As I live," said he, "it is the picture of my good friend, Captain
Hogan, of the steam yacht _Sylvia._ Look!" and Lopez lifted and leveled
a forefinger.
They were standing in front of the curio store, and the stores all along
that street overlooked the bay. Lopez indicated a trim-looking craft,
painted white, and with the sun striking gleams from dazzling brasswork,
floating at anchor far from the shore line.
"That," continued Lopez, "is my good friend's boat. Her home port is San
Diego, and she can be chartered by any one with the price. Hogan is at
the island for a few days, looking for customers."
Disappointment struck heavily at Hiram Hill's heart and was reflected in
his face.
"You say his name is Hogan?" he asked.
"Yes."
"What's time whole of his handle?"
"Uriah Hogan. Strange you do not know, since you have his picture."
"There's a whole lot o' things I don't know," answered Hiram, "and am
just beginnin' to find out. Was Cap'n Hogan over to Los Angeles last
Saturday?"
"He was. He has told me about it. He returned to the island Sunday."
"Do you happen to know where I can find him?"
"Why, yes. In the quarter of the town called Buena Vista, there is a
bungalow called the Rest a While. There Captain Hogan stays whenever he
is in Avalon."
This ended the talk with Senor J. Lopez. Clancy took his friend by the
arm and walked with him to the restaurant where they had had their
dinner.
"Ain't this the limit?" queried Hill plaintively. "Nothin' goes right
for us, Clancy."
"Well don't fret about it," returned the motor wizard.
"Order up a good meal and try and be happy."
They sent in a generous order. Hill, however, could not get the hard
luck out of his mind. He continued to air the state of his feelings
while the order was being made ready.
"This Cap'n Hogan is a dead ringer for dad. Him and dad couldn't look
more alike if they had been twins. And then, Clancy, them initials in
his Stetson--'U. H.' I reckoned that made a cinch of this here trail I'm
follerin'. But, no. 'Stead o' standin' for 'Upton Hill,' them letters in
the Stetson meant 'Uriah Hogan.' Never before has fate played it so low
down on me as that."
"We have certainly blundered into some remarkable coincidences," agreed
Clancy.
A man with red hair, who sat, at their table, cocked up his ear as Hill
shook out his opinions.
"Hogan?" said he, leaning forward; "did I hear you mention Smuggler
Hogan, of the _Sylvia?_"
"I called him Uriah Hogan," said Hill.
"It's all one and the same. Hogan's bad medicine." The man surveyed
Clancy with an approving eye. "Maybe I shouldn't say anything about
this," he continued, "but your hair's the same color as mine, and I
always make it a point to pass valuable information along to a fellow
bricktop. Beware of Hogan! What's the fellow doing with that boat of
his? Some say he's smuggling arms into Lower California, for the use of
the revolutionists, and some say he's running chinks and opium--both
contraband goods--into the United States. Cap'n Hogan is not in these
waters for any good, take it from me."
The red-headed man finished with an ominous look, and then with great
politeness requested Hill to pass the salt.
"Hogan, I hear," the loquacious stranger continued presently, "charters
that boat of his to the unsuspecting. He does it for a blind--nothing
else. Now, if you gents want a trip up or down the coast, as far north
as San Fran, or as far down as the Horn. I've got just the
thing--slickest little schooner with steam auxiliary you ever put eyes
on."
A light broke over Clancy. Maybe Captain Hogan wasn't such bad medicine,
after all. This rival ship owner might be giving him a bad
character--for business purposes.
"We're not intending to charter any boat." said Clancy.
"No harm done, anyway," said the red-haired person. "I've given you a
straight tip about Hogan, though, and you can bank on it."
"Much obliged," returned Clancy.
A little later he and Hill got up from the table, settled their bill,
and left the restaurant.
"How about takin' a walk?" Hill asked. "The way that red-headed chap
throwed me into the man I thought was dad, kinder made me feverish."
"All right," agreed the motor wizard cheerfully, "we'll walk. It's
always a good thing to walk a mile or so after you've had your supper."
They strolled down the main street, Clancy doing his best to cheer up
his melancholy companion. Presently they turned a corner and started
along a thoroughfare that was bordered on both sides with eucalyptus
trees. A figure stepped suddenly out of the black shadow of one of the
trees and posted itself in front of Clancy, barring his path.
"Owen Clancy?" the figure asked.
"Yes," Clancy answered, thinking the voice sounded rather familiar.
"Well, I'm back again, and---"
"Burton!" the motor wizard exclaimed.
"Yes, Burton," the other returned. "I've had it rubbed into me by Gerald
Wynn and Bob Katz till I reckon I can't stand it no longer. I'm ready to
help you, now, and this time I mean it."
"What's happened to cause this great change, Burton?" Clancy asked
skeptically.
"Wynn and Katz are trying to beat me out of my share of the fifteen
thousand," was the reply. "If I help you, Clancy, maybe, between us, we
can beat out the pair of them. What do you say?"