CHAPTER II. A DESPERATE RACE
CHAPTER III. NEWS FROM THE WEST
CHAPTER IV. MORE LETTERS
CHAPTER V. PROFESSOR URIAH SNODGRASS
CHAPTER VI. A STRANGE CONVERSATION
CHAPTER VII. A BAD BREAK
CHAPTER VIII. HEMMED IN
CHAPTER IX. A LUCKY ESCAPE
CHAPTER X. AT THE SEABURYS’
CHAPTER XI. AFTER HORNED TOADS
CHAPTER XII. A STRANGE MEETING
CHAPTER XIII. A QUEER STORY
CHAPTER XIV. IN A MOTOR BOAT
CHAPTER XV. CAUGHT IN THE FOG
CHAPTER XVI. ON THE ROCKS
CHAPTER XVII. NEWS OF THE BRIG
CHAPTER XVIII. WHAT MR. BLOWITZ WANTED
CHAPTER XIX. A CRY FOR HELP
CHAPTER XX. BLOWITZ IS ANGRY
CHAPTER XXI. THE MAN ON THE ROCKS
CHAPTER XXII. DE VERE’S STORY
CHAPTER XXIII. OFF ON A CRUISE
CHAPTER XXIV. HUNTING THE DERELICT
CHAPTER XXV. IN A BAD STORM
CHAPTER XXVI. RIVAL SEARCHERS
CHAPTER XXVII. THE DERELICT
CHAPTER XXVIII. A MYSTERIOUS INFLUENCE
CHAPTER XXIX. A COMMAND TO LAY TO
CHAPTER XXX. THE END OF BLOWITZ—CONCLUSION
PREFACE
DEAR BOYS:
I believe it is not necessary to introduce the Motor Boys to most of my
readers, as they have made their acquaintance in the previous books of
this series. To those, however, who take up this volume without having
previously read the ones that go before, I take pleasure in presenting
my friends, Jerry, Ned and Bob.
They are booked for quite a long trip, this time; across the continent
to the Pacific coast, where they are destined to have some stirring
adventures, searching for a mysterious derelict.
Those of you who know the Motor Boys from their past performances know
that they will meet emergencies in the right spirit, and that they will
do their level best to accomplish what they set out to do. Whether they
did so in this case I leave it for you to determine by reading the
book.
Though their own motor boat, the _Dartaway_, was destroyed in a train
wreck, they managed to get the use of a powerful craft, in which they
made a cruise on the Pacific ocean. Their old friend, Professor
Snodgrass was with them, and, if you care to learn of his search for a
horned toad, you will find the details set down here.
Yours very truly,
CLARENCE YOUNG.
CHAPTER I.
SOME BAD NEWS
“Well, she is smashed this time, sure!” exclaimed Jerry Hopkins, to his
chums, Ned Slade and Bob Baker.
“What’s smashed?” asked Ned. “Who’s the letter from?” for Jerry had a
slip of paper in his hand.
“It isn’t a letter. It’s a telegram.”
“A telegram!” exclaimed Bob. “What’s up, Jerry?”
“She’s smashed, I tell you. Busted, wrecked, demolished, destroyed,
slivered to pieces, all gone!”
“Who?”
“Our motor boat, the _Dartaway!”_
“Not the _Dartaway!”_ and Ned and Bob crowded closer to Jerry.
“That’s what she is. There’s no mistake about it this time, I’m afraid.
You know we thought once before she had gone to flinders, but it wasn’t
so. This time it is.”
“How did it happen?” asked Ned.
“Yes, tell us, can’t you?” cried Bob. “What are you so slow about?”
“Say, Chunky,” remarked Jerry, looking at his fat chum, “if you’ll give
me a chance I’ll tell you all I know. I just got this telegram from the
Florida Coast Railway Company. It says:
“Jerry Hopkins. Motor boat _Dartaway_, shipped by you from. St.
Augustine in freight wreck just outside Jacksonville. Boat total loss,
buried under several freight cars. Will write further particulars. J.
H. Maxon, General Freight Agent.”
“That’s all there is to it,” added Jerry, folding up the telegram.
“All there is to it! I guess not much!” exclaimed Bob. “Aren’t you
going to sue ’em for damages, Jerry?”
“Well, there’s no use being in such a rush,” observed Jerry. “Maybe
they’ll pay the claim without a suit. I’ll have to make some
inquiries.”
“Let’s go down to the freight once here and see Mr. Hitter,” suggested
Ned. “He can tell us what to do. The poor _Dartaway! _ Smashed!”
“And in a land wreck, too!” put in Jerry. “It wouldn’t be so bad if she
had gone down on the Atlantic, chasing after a whale, or in pursuit of
a shark—”
“Or with the flag flying, out in a storm, with Salt Water Sam,”
interrupted Ned. “But to think of her being buried under a lot of
freight cars! It’s tough, that’s what it is!”
“That’s right,” agreed Bob. “Just think of it! No more rides in her!
Say, we ought to get heavy damages! She was a fine boat!”
“Come on then,” cried Ned. “Don’t let’s stand here chinning all day.
Let’s go see Mr. Hitter. He has charge of all the freight that comes to
Cresville, and he can tell us how to proceed to collect damages.”
“Yes, I guess that’s all that’s left for us to do,” decided Jerry, and
the three lads started for the railroad depot.
They lived in the town of Cresville, Mass., a thriving community, and
had been chums and inseparable companions ever since they could
remember. Bob Baker was the son of a wealthy banker, while Jerry
Hopkins’s mother was a widow, who had been left considerable property,
and Ned Slade’s father owned a large department store.
You boys who have read the previous volumes of this “Motor Boys Series”
do not need to be reminded of the adventures the three chums had
together. To those of you who read this book first, I will say that, in
the first volume, called “The Motor Boys,” there was related a series
of happenings that followed the winning of a certain bicycle race in
Cresville. After their victory in this contest the boys got
motorcycles, and, by winning a race on them, won a touring car.
In this automobile they had many adventures, and several narrow
escapes. They incurred the enmity of Noddy Nixon, a town bully, and his
crony, Bill Berry. The three chums then took a long trip overland in
their automobile, as related in the second book of this series and,
incidentally, managed to locate a rich mine belonging to a prospector,
who, to reward them, gave them a number of shares. While out west the
boys met a very learned gentleman, Professor Uriah Snodgrass, who was
traveling in the interests of science. He persuaded the boys to go with
him in their automobile to search for a certain ancient, buried city,
and this they found in Mexico, where they had a number of surprising
adventures.
Returning from that journey, they made a trip across the plains, on
which they discovered the hermit of Lost Lake. Arriving home they
decided, some time later, to get a motor boat, and, in the fifth volume
of the series, entitled, “The Motor Boys Afloat,” there was set down
what happened to them on their first cruise on the river, during which
they solved a robbery mystery. Finding they were well able to manage
the boat they took a trip on the Atlantic ocean, and, after weathering
some heavy storms they reached home, only to start out again on a
longer voyage, this time to strange waters amid the everglades of
Florida.
They had recently returned from that queer region, and, as they had
done on their journey to that locality, they shipped their boat by rail
from St. Augustine to Cresville. Or, rather, they saw it safely boxed
at the freight station in St. Augustine, and came on up north, trusting
that the _Dartaway_ would arrive in due season, and in good condition.
They had been home a week now, and as there was no news of their boat,
Jerry had become rather anxious and had written to the railroad
officials in St. Augustine. In response he got the telegram which
brought consternation to the hearts of the motor boys.
“It doesn’t seem possible,” remarked Bob, as the three lads hurried on
toward the freight office.
“I guess it’s good-bye to the _Dartaway_ this trip,” said Jerry. “Too
bad! she was a fine boat.”
“Well, we’ll make the railroad pay for it, and we’ll get a better
boat,” spoke up Bob.
“We couldn’t get any better boat than the _Dartaway_, Chunky,” said
Ned. “We might get a larger one, and a more powerful one, but never a
better one, She served us well. To think of her being crushed under a
lot of freight cars! It makes me mad!”
“No use feeling that way,” suggested Jerry. “Just think of the good
times we had in her, not only on this last trip, but on the previous
cruises.”
“This last was the best,” remarked Bob, with something like a sigh. “It
was lovely down there in Florida.”
“I guess he’s thinking of the Seabury girls,” put in Ned, with a wink
at Jerry.
“No more than you are!” exclaimed Bob. “I guess you were rather sweet
on Olivia, yourself.”
“Or was it Rose or Nellie?” asked Jerry with a laugh. “They were all
three nice—very nice.”
“That’s right,” said Ned, fervently.
The three young ladies the boys referred to were daughters of a Mr.
Nathan Seabury, whom the boys met while cruising about the everglades
and adjacent rivers and lakes. He was in his houseboat _Wanderer, _
traveling for his health. Mr. Seabury owned a large hotel in Florida
and his meeting with the boys, especially with Jerry, was a source of
profit to Mrs. Hopkins.
She owned some land in Florida; but did not consider it of any value.
It developed that it adjoined Mr. Seabury’s hotel property and, as he
wished it to enlarge his building, he purchased the lot for a goodly
sum.
The three boys, after the return of the _Dartaway_ and _Wanderer_ from
the strange waters, had stopped for a week at Mr. Seabury’s hotel,
before journeying north.
“I’d like to see them again,” said Bob, after a pause, during which the
boys turned into the street leading to the depot.
“Who?” asked Ned.
“The Seabury family.”
“Mr. Seabury—or—er—the girls?” asked Jerry.
“All of ’em,” replied Bob quickly.
“I had a letter the other day,” remarked Jerry quietly.
“You did!” exclaimed Ned.
“From them?” asked Bob eagerly.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a family letter,” answered Jerry, with just
the suspicion of a blush. “It was from Nellie, and she said she, her
sisters and father were going to lower California.”
“To California?” exclaimed Bob and Ned.
“Yes; for Mr. Seabury’s health. You know they said they expected to
when we parted from them. The climate of Florida did not do him any
good, and they are going to try what California will do. She asked us
to call and see them, if we were ever in that neighborhood.”
“I guess our chances of going to California are pretty slim,” remarked
Bob. “Our motor boat’s gone now, and we can’t make any more cruises.”
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it,” declared Ned. “We couldn’t
very well cross the continent in her, even if we had the _Dartaway_,
and she was rather too small to make the trip by water, even if the
Panama Canal was finished.”
“Oh, well, you know what I mean,” retorted Bob, who did not exactly
know himself. “We can’t go anywhere right away. School opens soon, and
it’s buckle down and study all winter I suppose. But—”
Bob’s remarks were interrupted by the arrival of the Boston Express,
which rumbled into the Cresville station, where the boys now were and,
after a momentary stop, steamed on again. A man leaped from the steps
of a parlor car and ran into the freight office, first, however,
looking up and down the length of the train to see if any other
passengers got off.
“He seems in a hurry,” observed Ned.
“Yes, and he must have some pull with the railroad, for the Boston
Express never stops here,” said Jerry. “Maybe he’s the president of the
road.”
The boys kept on to the freight office. When they reached it they found
the stranger in conversation with Mr. Hitter, the agent. The chums
could not help overhearing the talk.
“Have you several packages here, addressed to X. Y. Z., to be held
until called for?” the stranger asked.
“There they be,” replied the agent, pointing to several small boxes,
piled near the door.
“That’s good,” and the man seemed much relieved. “Now I want them
shipped by fast freight to San Francisco, and I want to prepay them so
there will be no delay. How much is it?” and he pulled out a
pocketbook, disclosing a roll of bills. As he did so he hurried to the
door and looked up and down the depot platform, as if afraid of being
observed. He saw the three boys, and, for a moment, seemed as if he was
about to hurry away. Then, with an obvious effort, he remained, but
turned into the freight office and shut the door.
“He acts as if he was afraid we would steal something from him,” said
Bob.
“Or as if he didn’t want us to hear any more about those boxes,”
supplemented Jerry. “He’s a queer customer, he is.”
“Well, it’s none of our affair,” remarked Ned, but neither he nor his
chums realized how, a little later, they were to take part in an
adventure in which the mysterious man and the queer boxes were to
figure importantly.
In a short time the man came out of the freight office. He did not look
at the boys, but hurried off down the street, putting some papers into
his pocket book, which, the boys could not help noticing as he passed
them, was not so full of money as it had been.
“Let’s go in and ask Mr. Hitter what to do about our boat,” suggested
Ned.
They found the agent counting over a roll of bills.
“Been robbing a bank?” asked Bob cheerfully. “Guess I’d better tell dad
to look out for his money.”
“That was paid by the man who was just in in here,” replied the agent.
“Queer chap. Seemed as if he didn’t want to be found out. First he was
going to ship his stuff by fast freight, and then he concluded it would
be better by express, though it cost a lot more. But he had plenty of
money.”
“Who was he?” asked Jerry.
“That’s another funny part of it. He didn’t tell me his name, though I
hinted I’d have to have it to give him a receipt. He said to make it
out X. Y. Z., and I done it. That’s the way them boxes come, several
days ago, from Boston. They arrived by express, consigned to X. Y. Z.,
and was to be called for. I thought of everybody in town, but there
ain’t nobody with them initials. I was just wondering what to do with
’em when in he comes an’ claims ’em.”
“What’s in ’em?” asked Jerry.
“Blessed if I know,” responded Mr. Hitter. “I couldn’t git that out of
him, either, though I hinted that I ought to know if it was dynamite,
or anything dangerous.”
“What did he say?” inquired Ned.
“He said it wasn’t dynamite, but that’s all he would say, an’ I didn’t
have no right to open ’em. He paid me the expressage, and seemed quite
anxious to know just when I could ship the boxes, and when they’d
arrive in San Francisco. I could tell him the first, but not the last,
for there’s no tellin’ what delays there’ll be on the road.
“He was a queer man—a very queer man. I couldn’t make him out. An’ he
went off in a hurry, as if he was afraid some one would see him. An’ he
shut the door, jest as if you boys would bother him,—Well, it takes all
sorts of people to make a world. I don’t s’pose you or I will ever meet
him again.”
Mr. Hitter was not destined to, but the boys had not seen the last of
the strangely acting man, who soon afterward played a strange part in
their lives.
“What you chaps after, anyhow?” went on the freight agent, when he had
put the money in the safe.
“Our motor boat’s smashed!” exclaimed Bob. “We want damages for her!
How are we going to get ’em?”
“Not guilty, boys!” exclaimed the agent holding up his hands, as if he
thought wild-west robbers were confronting him. “You can search me.
Nary a boat have I got, an’ you can turn my pockets inside out!” and he
turned slowly around, like an exhibition figure in a store show window.