FACING THE YELLOW BARRIER
"Maybe what you likee here?" demanded the little old Chinaman, looking
up with a snarl.
"Looking around," retorted Tom, grimly.
"Allee same--_git_!"
The guide had approached, taking a swift, shifty look in at the bunk.
"That's Doc Gaston, isn't it?" whispered Tom, over his shoulder.
"Don't ye know him?" queried the guide, suspiciously.
"He looks strange, with that glassy look in his eyes."
"That's Doc Gaston, all right. 'Least, that's what he calls himself in
Chinatown."
"You allee same git--chop-chop," snarled the Chinaman, savagely. He had
put the smoking outfit on the floor once more, and now pushed against
the motor boat boy with both hands, trying to force him from the room.
Tom, however, coolly and gravely picked the short Chinaman up off his
feet, wheeled and put him down again on the floor of the bunkroom
beyond.
"Now, shove off!" ordered Halstead, half gruffly. "Don't bother me
again."
After flashing an ugly look at the motor boat boy, the Chinaman fled in
the direction of the store.
"Now, whatcher going to do?" demanded the guide, nervously.
"If I can't get young Gaston to walking on his own feet, then I'm going
to pick him up in my arms and carry him out to the carriage," answered
Tom Halstead, firmly.
"Smoking joss-house!" gasped the guide. "D'ye know what'll happen?
There'll be a house-full of them chinks down on us! Hatchet men--gun
men--say, young feller, dontcher know that these here hop-joints are
protected by the highbinders?"
Tom Halstead had heard of the Chinese highbinders in New York. He knew
of them as a desperate crowd of yellow-skinned thugs. The guide's own
terror was too real to be feigned.
"If you're afraid of this kind of a job, what did you come here for?"
asked the young skipper, quickly, gruffly.
"Why, I thought ye was goin' to try to _coax_ the young Doc out. But,
say--taking him out by force--lemme get outer this on the jump!"
"No, you don't," roared Tom Halstead, with swift and quite unlooked-for
energy. "Stand by, now!"
He gripped the guide by the arm, fairly forcing him over to the bunk in
which the young opium smoker lay. Giddings, if it was really he, lay
open-eyed, yet unheeding.
"Come, get up!" ordered the boy, reaching with both hands under the
opium smoker's shoulders and raising him. "Out on your feet!"
A drowsy, unintelligible protest came from the stranger. But Tom fairly
lifted him out onto his feet, then threw a strong, supporting arm about
him.
"Now, walk! Come along!" ordered Halstead, briskly, taking hold of the
young man with his other hand.
"Sufferin' joss-sticks!" wailed the guide. "Here come the
chinks--number-one man and all!"
The door of the bunkroom burst open. Through the doorway rapidly
advanced the gorgeously-dressed Chinaman whom Tom had supposed to be the
proprietor of the store beyond. Back of him came four plainly-attired
Chinamen with as hard-looking, evil faces as could be found in all
Chinatown's quagmire of vice.
"This ain't my doings, Ling!" wailed the guide, quailing before the
stern glances of the yellow leader--the "number-one man." "I told this
young fellow he'd have to quit. Let us out."
"Yes; let us out!" repeated Tom Halstead, staring undauntedly into the
eyes of Ling.
"Put him down," ordered Ling, nodding scowlingly at the stranger whom
Halstead supported. "Then, maybe, we see what we do with you."
The air was full of danger of the most awesome kind. Though not a weapon
showed, as yet, each of the four Chinese behind the proprietor stood
with his hands thrust up into his sleeves. A Chinaman always carries his
weapons up his sleeves, whence he can bring them down, into action, with
incredible rapidity.
"Now, don't think you've got me frightened," uttered Tom Halstead,
sturdily, gazing undauntedly at the Chinese. "There isn't any scare in
me when I'm dealing with people like you. If you make one single false
move you'll be the ones who'll be sorry for it. Ling, I'm going to take
this young man out of here. His friends know where he is, and they've
sent me here to get him. I'm going to take him out of here, chop-chop.
If I'm not out of here in another minute or so, then this young man's
friends will bring down police enough on you to clean the place out."
Ling laughed contemptuously.
"Oh, you may think you have money enough, and 'pull' enough, to keep the
police from troubling you," jeered young Halstead. "But, if this young
man's friends get after you, it'll make a noise that the police can't
shut their ears to."
Two of the men behind Ling stood blocking the doorway. The other two, by
now, were edging around to get on either side of the unflinching boy.
"You yellow scoundrels, get back, and stay back!" commanded Tom, glaring
at them sternly.
There comes into notice, now and then, a man who has enough of the
magnetic quality of bravery to hold a mob back. Tom Halstead was
possessed of the grit needed for such an undertaking.
"Get out of the way, Ling--you and your heathen hatchet men," commanded
the young skipper, resolutely. "I'm going past you. If I find any fellow
in my way I'll knock him down. If you fight back, it'll be the finish
of you and of this place. _Gangway, you yellow idiots!_"
[Illustration: "Gangway, You Yellow Idiots."]
Still supporting, half dragging, the dazed young banker, Tom Halstead
grittily pressed his way to the doorway and through it. One of Ling's
henchmen attempted to stand immovable, but Halstead, with a quick blow
of his open hand, sent the fellow stumbling backward.
"If you're thinking of creeping up behind me, don't try it," advised
Halstead, as coolly as ever, as he started across the outer room.
He gained the closed door connecting with the outer store. Pausing here,
a moment, he beheld two of Ling's yellow-visaged fellows creeping toward
him.
"Back for yours--that'll keep you out of trouble," barked the young
skipper, coolly, without raising a hand to defend himself. Then he threw
the door open, calling backward over his shoulder:
"Don't you dare let this young man in here again, Ling. If you do, it'll
wind you up."
With that the motor boat boy contrived to pilot his charge swiftly
through the store. He was not safe until he had passed the last of these
yellow men, and the young skipper knew it. Yet, at last, he had the
stranger out on the sidewalk, one hand up to signal the driver of the
cab.
The guide, keeping close to the motor boat boy, had managed to get out
with him. But the little fellow was shaking as though seized with the
ague.
"Get into the cab, and help me take the young man in," ordered Tom, and
the guide was glad, indeed, to dive inside the carriage. In another
moment they were driving away.
"Say, but you've got the nerve!" chattered the guide, his teeth knocking
together.
"Maybe you'd have some nerve if you'd learn to leave hop alone,"
rejoined Halstead. "Hop" is the Chinatown name for opium.
Halstead sat on the rear seat, supporting the young banker beside him.
In a little while the cab again halted in front of Yum Kee's restaurant.
"Here," said Halstead, producing a ten-dollar bill. "Take this. Skip as
soon as you like."
"You oughter gimme more," whined the guide.
"I've given you all I agreed. No use trying to get any more."
The guide, thereupon, sprang out, vanishing within a few seconds. Going
to the doorway of the restaurant, yet standing where he could keep a
close watch on the cab, Tom uttered a long, low whistle. Messrs. Baldwin
and Ross saw him instantly, and came hastening out. By the time they
reached the cab the young skipper was inside again.
"Is this your young man?" asked Halstead, almost in a whisper.
"Yes," nodded Baldwin, a jubilant gleam showing in his eyes.
"Better jump in, then, sir, so we can get away quickly."
Gaston Giddings now leaned against Tom's shoulder, sleeping the sleep of
drugged stupefaction.
"How on earth did you find him so soon?" questioned Joseph Baldwin,
leaning forward when the cab had gone beyond the confines of Chinatown.
Tom told the whole story, simply and modestly.
"Young man," uttered Jason Ross, solemnly, "I don't believe you have any
idea, yet, of how huge a risk you ran yourself into. The Chinese
criminal is desperate at all times, but ten-fold more so when he's on
his own ground, surrounded only by his own crowd."
"Well, I got out, didn't I?" smiled the young skipper, coolly.
"Yes; but I marvel at it."
"I understand more and more why Delavan recommended these youngsters to
me," breathed Joseph Baldwin, gleefully. "'Ready for anything,' he told
me, was the motto of the Motor Boat Club boys."
When the cab rolled out onto the dock Jeff Randolph was found pacing
back and forth on the landing stage. No other member of the crew was in
sight, and Jeff stated that none of the others of Mr. Baldwin's party of
guests had yet returned.
Gaston Giddings, still unaware of his surroundings, was helped aboard
the tender. A swift trip was made to the "Panther," and the unfortunate
young man was immediately carried below to be put to bed in one of the
stateroom berths.
Half an hour later Mr. Baldwin's other guests returned from dinner.
Jeff, who had gone back to meet them, brought them on board, next going
back to await the arrival of Third Officer Costigan and the crew. Dr.
Gray hastened below, to attend to Giddings, and to keep him quiet, also,
after the crew should come on board.
As for Captain Tom, after receiving Ab Perkins's report that all was
well aboard, he went to his own cabin, calling Joe Dawson, through the
speaking tube, to join him. Here Joseph Baldwin found both youngsters.
"Captain Halstead, how much did you spend on my account, to-night?"
asked the owner.
"Altogether, sir, twelve dollars on the guide."
"Never mind about any change, then," rejoined Mr. Baldwin, passing over
a bank note.
"I think I can make change for that, sir," retorted Skipper Tom, his
color rising. "I'm not out after 'tips,' you know, sir," he added, with
a smile.
Producing a roll of money from an inner pocket, Halstead counted out
eighty-eight dollars, which he handed to the owner.
"You may refuse, now, but I shall be even with you later," remarked
Joseph Baldwin. "And now, Captain, as soon as you can, after the crew
comes aboard, I want you to put out to sea. I'll give you more explicit
orders as soon as we're seven or eight miles west of the coast."
"Very good, sir," replied Captain Tom, saluting as the owner turned to
leave the captain's cabin.
"You've been running into a bit more excitement, have you?" queried Joe,
smiling.
"A bit," laughed Halstead. Dawson asked no further questions.
At a few minutes after midnight Mr. Costigan returned with his shore
party.
"It's your watch below, Mr. Costigan, until eight o'clock in the
morning," First Officer Ab Perkins informed the third officer. "When
you are called to turn out we'll be at sea."
"Very good, sir," replied Costigan, and went below to seek his berth.
Neither the third officer nor any of the crew had any suspicion that
anything unusual had happened this evening.
"Where's Mr. Costigan?" inquired Captain Halstead, coming forward.
"Gone below to sleep, sir," Ab replied.
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to rout him out. He'll have to stay on deck
until he has piloted us through the Golden Gate. I want to be under way
within five minutes."
Somewhat chagrined, Ab Perkins sent one of the crew below for the third
officer. Costigan was speedily in evidence.
Now, one of the motors began to chug briskly below, and the two bow
anchors came speedily up, being stowed by the watch. Joe was in the
engine room with Jed Prentiss, while Captain Tom Halstead, feeling
prouder and happier than ever in his life before, climbed to the bridge
up behind the pilot house. After him went Dick Davis, whose watch it was
to stand. Mr. Costigan, after seeing the anchors stowed, started for the
bridge also.
"Give the engine room slow speed ahead, Mr. Davis," directed Tom.
Dick gave the bell-pull at the bridge rail the required jerk. The
"Panther" began to move gracefully ahead, while Mr. Costigan, with the
pilot-house speaking tube in his hand, called down the helmsman's
orders.
"Dick, this is the real thing!" whispered Tom Halstead, jubilantly, in
his comrade's ear while Costigan was busy at the speaking tube.
"It's as fine as bossing a liner," rejoined Dick Davis,
enthusiastically.
"Better!" declared Halstead.
Dick presently signaled the engineer for more speed. The "Panther"
ploughed through the waters of the bay, toward the Golden Gate.
As Tom Halstead peered through the night ahead he felt another ecstatic
thrill. It was all so fine, so glorious! No doubt it was better for him,
at this moment, that he could not foresee all that lay ahead of him.