A STERN LOOMS UP IN THE FOG
Joe Dawson, at the wheel of the power tender, bent grimly over the
compass.
There was little need for him to look about him, anyway, since it was
not possible to see anything distinctly at a greater distance than three
boat-lengths away.
Almost immediately the "Panther" dropped back out of view. The big motor
yacht was now to go along only at her slow cruising speed, but the
launch was to make greater haste.
Tom Halstead had taken his post well up in the bow of the rolling little
craft. He was listening intently for any betraying sounds ahead in
their course.
"This is hardly a big enough boat for a sea like this," grumbled Mr.
Jephson, who had taken up his post close to the young captain.
"The sea _is_ a good deal on the roll to-day," Halstead assented,
briefly.
"Why, this little craft acts as though she'd turn over and dump us all
in the ocean," muttered the assistant district attorney, uneasily.
"The crowd we have aboard makes her sit lower than usual in the water,"
Tom explained.
"Is there any _real_ danger of our tipping over, Captain?" insisted Mr.
Jephson.
"Why, it might happen, of course, sir."
"Do you think it is _going_ to happen?" demanded Mr. Jephson, anxiously.
There are many men, brave enough elsewhere, who are cowards on a heavy
sea with only a small boat between themselves and the water. Back on the
"Panther" the district attorney's representative had felt no sense of
danger.
"Why, I don't know whether the boat is going to heel over, or not," Tom
replied. "You are right in supposing that it isn't quite a large enough
craft for the job in hand, but it was the only thing we had."
"I can't swim, but I'll try to keep my nerve," grimaced Mr. Jephson.
Whatever the others thought of their chances of being pitched into the
ocean, none of them said anything.
Halstead looked back, presently, to inquire:
"Mr. Prentiss, can't you deaden the noise of our exhaust still more?"
"I'm trying to," replied the young assistant engineer. "Think I'm going
to succeed, too."
After a few moments the tender ran along all but noiselessly. Though the
exhaust still gave forth some little sound, it was wholly likely that
this reduced noise would not be heard above the machinery running on the
"Victor" if the expedition in the tender should be so fortunate as to
catch up with the steam yacht.
The twelve men sat huddled there in the cramped space, trying to blind
their minds to the danger of capsizing in the rolling sea. For more than
half an hour the tender ran ahead at nearly its best speed, ere Tom
Halstead called back:
"Joe, take my signals. I think we're getting in closer--to something!"
Eagerly all bent forward to listen. After a minute or two more it seemed
to them that they really could hear, faintly, the rather distant sound
of the moving machinery of some steam craft. Yet this noise, none too
distinct, was muffled still more by the ceaseless wash of the rolling
sea, whose waves broke in white crests everywhere about them.
Halstead, whose ears were perhaps the keenest on board, listened and
occasionally signaled for the launch to be veered a little either to
port or starboard.
Surely, they were creeping up on something that ran by machinery, though
through the curtain of white no eye could make out the form of a vessel.
Somewhere, away to starboard, a great, deep note boomed out.
"That's some big vessel, like a liner," Tom whispered to Jephson. Then,
from away off to port sounded the tolling bell of a sailing vessel. Both
appeared to be headed toward the "Panther" launch.
"They seem to be about half a mile apart," Halstead whispered. "The
'Victor,' I think, will pass between the two craft. While that deep
whistle and solemn bell are going the people on the steam yacht are not
so likely to hear us. Pass the word to Mr. Prentiss to increase speed a
little, if he can do so without making more noise at the exhaust."
A little faster spurted the power tender, and a little worse became the
tossing in that rolling sea. All the members of the party were in
drenched clothing by this time. The water came aboard faster under this
burst of speed; the two seamen began to bail it out.
"If I ever get out of this boat alive, large yachts will be small enough
for me in the future," Mr. Jephson told himself, nervously.
Tom Halstead was paying no heed to the incoming water. That was Joe's
affair, since Joe Dawson was handling the craft.
"Pass the word to Jed to watch for signals from me," whispered Tom
Halstead, tensely, a few minutes later.
"Then you think----" began the district attorney's assistant eagerly.
"Pass the word for me, please," Tom broke in.
In the gray fog ahead some craft was moving by steam power. Those in the
launch could now hear the regular thump-thump, soft though it was, of
machinery ahead.
Yet, to most of the silent watchers it came as something of a shock
when, out of the mist ahead, there suddenly loomed, indistinctly, the
stern of a hull.
Away to starboard sounded the deep whistle of the big steamship, while
over to port the bell of that sailing vessel tolled. The noise enabled
Halstead to creep in more closely with less dread of being discovered
too soon.
A moment's breathlessness, then "Victor--San Francisco" stood out boldly
before the eyes of the people in the launch as that boat shot in by the
yacht's stern.
They were taking grave chances, now, of being swamped at the very door
of success. None knew this better than Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson as
they jointly manoeuvred to run the tender up stealthily, while Jed
Prentiss, trembling inwardly, kept his hand on the lever, ready to obey
the slightest signal for speed.
Then, swiftly, Tom Halstead, a rifle strapped over his back, rose in the
bow. In one hand he held a line to the other end of which was attached a
grappling hook.
With a practiced eye and hand he measured the distance, poising the coil
for a throw. Just as the tender stole in closer he made the throw.
All hands watched breathlessly for a second or two. Then, as straight
and true as a well-aimed bullet, the grappling hook fell and caught at
the "Victor's" stern rail.
Not an instant did the young motor boat skipper lose. There was no time
to inquire whether someone else wanted to go first. Tom Halstead seized
the tautening line with both hands, and began to climb as only a sailor
_can_ go up a rope.
His head quickly appeared above the steam yacht's stern rail. Tom
Halstead slipped onto the deck just in time to see two men walking
slowly aft. One of them was in uniform--perhaps he was the captain of
the steam yacht. But the other, in civilian dress, the young motor yacht
captain knew instantly from the description of him which he had heard.
"Frank Rollings, the absconding cashier!" flashed through Tom's mind.