THE HUT ON THE BEACH
Hugh was agog with curiosity. He felt that he must find out who were
those three stealthy strangers and what they were doing there.
"Perhaps they're smugglers," was his first thought. "If they are,
I'd be doing a real service to Uncle Sam if I could report their
whereabouts to the _Petrel_ when she comes back this way. Gee! it's
worth the risk! Here goes!"
Without stopping to think much more about it, Hugh began to creep
forward on hands and knees down the mound and quite close to the
bamboo lean-to. Though usually unwilling to play the part of an
eavesdropper, he felt justified in his present impulsive venture
by the actions of the three men, for they seemed to be engaged
in some underhand work which would not stand the light of day.
So hiding himself behind a cypress stump, Hugh listened eagerly,
straining his ears to catch every word.
The men spoke in low voices so he could not hear everything, but
he heard enough to convince him that they were indeed smugglers.
They were arranging to convey a cargo of dynamite from a point near
the mouth of the little stream Sandgate on the peninsula (Florida)
over to this retreat on the island. This was to be done on the
first night when there was no moon and the wind was blowing off shore.
"There's a guy named Durgan lives over yonder in a little clearing
'bout a hundred yards up from the mouth of the creek," said one
of the men. "Lives there all year 'round alone, fishin' an' raisin'
turtles fer market. Queer ol' cuss, kind-a looney,---but he's
friendly to us and willin' to oblige us by showin' a light in his
cabin winder when the coast is clear."
"You theenk dat will be next-----"
The rest of that question was lost to Hugh, because the man who had
first spoken muttered a warning of silence, then added something in
a still lower tone. In vain Hugh tried to catch the words. Then
the man whose accent indicated that he was either a Creole or a
Haytian spoke again.
"Eet is not alway so easy to tell when dere will be no moon," he said.
"And der wind, eet blow effery way---in one day."
"Never mind,---just wait," came the answer. "One o' these nights,
perhaps to-morrow, we'll-----"
Again the sentence was lost. Hugh frowned impatiently. However,
as they went on talking he heard some more of their designs---in
particular, the fact that the dynamite was to be used for blowing
up a railroad bridge.
Thinking that he had heard enough by this time and knowing that if
they discovered him he would be captured as a spy, Hugh began to
wonder how and when he should leave his hiding place and crawl back
to camp with the least risk of being observed. At any moment the
men might emerge from the hut or others of their gang might join
them. Yet he did so want to learn where they had come from, and
whether their vessel was lying at anchor somewhere among these
many islands! So he lay there, flat on the sand, scarcely daring
to breathe lest he should be heard, heartily wishing the men would
give some more definite hint of their purposes, and devoutly hoping
that none of his friends, missing him from camp, would come in
search of him with shouts and calls!
"That would be fierce!" he whispered inaudibly. "That would give
me away and scare off these jail birds mighty quick!"
Suddenly the distant tchug-tchug of a gasoline motor boat came to
his ears. Raising himself on his elbows, he peered over the stump,
out across the glittering blue water, and saw a good-sized dory,
manned by a solitary individual who wore light oilskins, coming
swiftly toward the hut on the beach.
"That must be the motor boat that passed our camp last night,"
thought Hugh. "I feel sure now, surer than ever, that I heard it go
by in the darkness. But it's coming over from the mainland now.
Wonder who's that man at the tiller?"
Down he sank again and waited.
Presently the motor-dory drew up alongside the strip of beach in
front of the bamboo hut and came to a standstill. The man in
oilskins called out:
"Hey! You-all in thar!"
Instantly one of the three rascals came forth from the hut.
"Hello, Durgan!" he called, not at all loudly, through his cupped
hands. "What's the news?"
"Beat it!" was Durgan's warning answer. "Thar's a campin' party on
th' island below here---I seen 'em 'bout ten minutes ago---old Cap'n
Lem Vinton, an Injun, an' four or five boys."
"Lem Vinton, eh? All right, Joe, we're going. Can you tow us
around Spider Key?"
"Nope. I'm goin' home now," Joe Durgan replied tersely, with the
abruptness of one who has done an irksome duty and would avoid further
responsibility for the present.
Suiting actions to words, he quickened his engine and made off toward
the Florida shore.
His boat had scarcely become a speck on the water, when Hugh began
to crawl back to the other side of the mound. Joe Durgan, who was
evidently not nearly so "looney" as represented, had warned the
smugglers of the presence of the _Arrow_ near their retreat, and
Hugh realized that no time should be lost if Vinton were to spread
sail and go in pursuit of them or of the _Petrel_.
"Now's the time for me to beat it, too," he resolved. "While
they're talking they won't hear me or see me, and I can hurry back
to the place where I left my coat and shoes."
When he had gone some little distance without being discovered,
he fancied he was safe and rose to his feet, intending to run
as fast as his legs could carry him---which was no snail's pace,
indeed! Scarcely had he begun to move forward, however, when he
heard a shout, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.
Being fleet of foot and having no desire to be caught and treated
as a spy, he set off running at full speed. The ground was quite
rough and he had to turn aside to avoid bushes and hollows, yet he
had no difficulty in keeping ahead of his pursuers. The very
impediments in his way served to retard pursuit, and he did not
despair of escaping. He had to cross over a ridge, at the top of
which he was exposed to view. He had just reached it, when he
heard some one shout:
"Stop! Come down,---or I'll fire!"
"Fire away!" thought Hugh, knowing how unlikely it was that any one
would be so desperate as to shoot at him. "You can't stop me with
that foolish bluff!"
Ignoring the threat, he rushed down the little hill, hoping soon
to find some spot where he could turn off to one side or the other,
hide in shelter, and thus evade the rascals. He was surprised to
find that he had gone so far in his wanderings, that the smugglers'
island was so much larger than it had seemed. For a moment he felt
a vague fear that he had lost his bearings and was running in the
wrong direction.
To ascertain how near his pursuers were, he threw a glance over
his shoulder. This proved fatal to his hopes, for his foot caught
in a tangle of crab-grass and down he came headlong. Over and
over he rolled; and then for some seconds he lay still, a little
dazed by his fall, unable to move. The next minute he found himself
in the grasp of two men.
"Hullo, youngster! What made you try to git away from us?" asked
one of them in an angry tone. He was a short, thick-set, burly man,
with black eyes that seemed to glitter like a serpent's. His huge
hands fastened upon Hugh's arm in a grip of steel.
Hugh replied truthfully but not very wisely: "I'm on my way to camp,
and I want to get there as soon as possible."
"Camp, eh? Who are you?"
"I don't see what that has to do with my being in a hurry to get
there."
"Maybe not, but we want to know where you was hidin' before you hit
the trail," said the other man, a dark-visaged fellow with a
sinister cast in one eye. "Come on now! Spit it out!"
"I was just exploring this island for fun," replied Hugh. "I was
hunting for---"
"You were hiding!" vehemently declared the black-eyed man.
"Whereabouts?"
"On the ground, of course; there are no trees to climb around here."
"None o' yer guff!" The swarthy captor dealt Hugh a hard thwack on
the side of his head. "What's yer business here, anyhow? Where's
yer camp?"
No answer.
"By gad, I'll make ye open up!" cried the cross-eyed knave, losing
his temper. He was about to strike Hugh again, when the other man,
still holding the lad in a steel-trap grip, pushed him aside with
one foot.
"Hold off, Harry," he commanded gruffly. "I know where his camp
is. He's one of Lem Vinton's crew. That's the _Arrow_ over yonder,
but he ain't going back to it yet awhile."
"Let me go!" shouted Hugh, struggling to free himself from the grasp
of those sinewy hands. "Let me go, I say! What---what do you want
with me? I tell you---help! Hel-----"
The frantic shout was checked by another blow from the angry ruffian's
fist, and Hugh measured his length upon the sand.
"Shut up, will ye?" snarled the man, thrusting a bunch of sharp-edged
grass into Hugh's mouth. "Look here, Branks," he added, "we can't
let this kid blow the gaff on us to Lem Vinton. Why, the cap'n
wouldn't wait ten minutes before he'd sail out to find that blamed
cutter ag'in; and then we'd have him and the _Petrel_ on our trail."
"Harry, you're right---dead right. The boy has got to come with
us, until-----"
"Sure! Here, lend a hand. Tie his arms."
With their leather belts they bound the lad's hands securely, despite
his struggles. Once, by a manful effort, he managed to break away
and run forward a few yards. But they were after him instantly,
before he could get the gag out of his mouth. In the tussle that
followed, he kicked and writhed so vigorously that the cross-eyed
captor howled with pain. Then, beside himself with rage, he felled
Hugh by a blow on the head.
Myriads of stars reeled in the sunlight before Hugh's eyes, then the
light of day changed to pitch darkness, and Hugh sank down on the
sand---a limp heap, unconscious.