TOM IS IN THE THICK OF IT.
Tom had no way of gauging how long it was he lay in the pitchy
darkness, before there was a scraping and a sliding sound, and a sort
of trap-door in the deck above him was opened.
He was still wondering what this might portend, when the lip of a
metal chute was suddenly projected into the opening, and without
warning a shower of coal started to pour into the place, which, Tom
now saw, was an empty coal bunker.
The boy shouted and halloed at the top of his voice, but it was some
time before anybody appeared. By the time they did, the avalanche of
coal threatened to overwhelm poor Tom, and his position was anything
but enviable.
At length, however, a face was poked over the edge of the hole, and
Tom, to his great relief, heard a voice shout:
"Stop that coal a minute. There's a boy down in here."
The man, or rather youth, who had shouted this, swung himself down
into the bunker the next instant, and despite the grime on his face,
Tom recognized an old acquaintance.
"Jeff Trulliber!" he gasped.
The son of the chief of the Sawmill Valley gang of counterfeiters was
equally astonished.
"Why, it's Master Dacre!" he exclaimed, starting back in astonishment.
"That's who it is," rejoined Tom, with a rueful grin. "I want you to
help me, Jeff. But first tell me if any of the crew of this craft
are about."
"Not one of them. The skipper and two other chaps, who seemed to be
his cronies, went ashore some time ago, and, as soon as they were
gone, the crew left, too. I guess they are all carousing. But what
under the sun----"
"Never mind questions now, Jeff. I want you to set me loose. See if
there is a cold chisel and hammer in the engine room, and you can
soon get this unornamental jewelry off me."
"I'll do that," responded Jeff eagerly.
Tom indicated the door leading from the bunker into the engine room,
and Jeff, after rummaging about in there a while, located the
required implements. In a very few minutes, for the irons that
confined his limbs were old and rusty, Tom was free.
While they were hastening from the boat, Tom told Jeff rapidly as
much as he chose of his story, and then it was his turn to ask
questions.
It will be recalled that the last time we saw Jeff was when the
canoe, in which he was trying to escape with Dan Dark, was upset in
the lake opposite the Maine bungalow. Tom's heroic rescue of the
lad, just as he was about to be sucked into the old lumber flume,
will also be recalled by readers of _The Bungalow Boys_, the first
volume of this series.
His rescue from a tragic death had proved the turning point in Jeff
Trulliber's life. He had recalled the fact that he had an uncle in
Michigan who had long disowned himself and his disreputable father.
Jeff had sought and found this relative and obtained his forgiveness,
and had been placed at work in the coal yard which was one of his
uncle's properties. From workman he had rapidly risen to foreman,
such was his application and ability. He was genuinely glad to be
able to do a service for the lad who had risked so much for him.
"What place is this?" inquired Tom, as Jeff concluded his story,
amidst Tom's congratulations.
"Rockport, Michigan. It is quite a town."
"Is there a police force here?" inquired Tom.
"A finely organized one. I see what is in your mind. You want to
report the character of this craft and her crew to the authorities.
I don't blame you. Tell you what we do--I'll go uptown with you. We
can get there and back before the rascals that own the tug can
return. I'll tell my men to delay in coaling her, so that even if
that outfit does come back, they cannot get away."
"That's a good idea, Jeff. Let's go at once."
Rockport, in Jeff's phrase, proved to be "quite a town." The
wharves, at one of which the tug lay, were numerous, and lumber yards
and factories extended all along the water front. Quite a lot of
lake steamers and smaller craft lay at them, giving the place a busy,
bustling appearance.
But, not stopping to waste time on surveying the lake front of the
town, Tom and his new ally set out at a good pace for the police
station.
In the meantime, Captain Rangler, Dampier and Walstein were making
their way back to the tug from the main part of the city where they
had been negotiating some purchases of supplies.
As they emerged from a cross street near the water front, their
conversation was concerning Tom. Captain Rangler was just remarking,
with a grin, that as soon as the letter to Chisholm Dacre was
written, they could make for a certain rendezvous of theirs on an
island, and wait "for the coin," when Walstein suddenly gave an
exclamation, and pulled his companions into a convenient doorway.
"What the dickens--" began Dampier, startled at this move. But
Captain Walstein checked him.
"Hist!" he exclaimed. "Look down there, at the bottom of this
street. By all that's cussed, there goes the boy now."
"Impossible," burst forth Dampier, but Walstein threw in a swift
interjection.
"By the great horn spoon, it is Tom Dacre!" he exclaimed. "How in
the name of time did he escape?"
"We'll find that out later," snarled Dampier vindictively. "The
thing to do now is to follow him and see what he and that chap with
him are up to. Rangler, you go back to the tug. Walstein and I will
follow him up. It wouldn't astonish me if he's off to put the police
on our track."
"Nor me, either," agreed Walstein, as, after a few words more,
Rangler hastened to the lake front, while Dampier and his companion
stealthily crept off in pursuit of Tom and Jeff, who were, of course,
utterly unconscious of being followed.
Reaching the police station, the two lads found, to their chagrin,
only a sleepy sergeant in charge. The captain had been out all night
on a case, they were informed, and, with his detectives, was now at a
court-house some miles off, with his prisoners.
Tom and Jeff exchanged disgusted looks, as the official yawned and
returned to reading the newspaper, in the perusal of which their
entrance had interrupted him.
"Can't you do anything for us?" asked Tom eagerly, unwilling to give
up all at once. "It may be the last chance the authorities will have
to catch those rascals."
The sergeant looked up from his paper.
"See here, young fellow," he said in a belligerent tone, "are you
setting to teach me my business?"
Tom hastily assured him that such was not the case.
"But it is urgent that if anything is to be done it should be done at
once," pursued the boy. "Those fellows on that tug----"
"Now, stop right there," warned the officer of the law, who had such
a high idea of his importance, "what is right to be done will be
done. What ain't, won't. Anyhow," he demanded, turning suddenly on
the two lads, "how do I know you're speaking the truth, eh?
"Come to think of it," he added, suddenly rising from his seat and
coming out from behind the desk, "you two fellows remind me a good
deal of the description of two runaway bank messengers we've been
asked to look for. They were supposed to be making for Canada.
Yes," he said sharply, "I guess you're the lads, all right; anyway,
I'll lock you up till you can prove otherwise. Dan!" he raised his
voice, "Mike, Pete!"
At the words, three men appeared from a rear room. Tom saw in a
flash that if this arrest was submitted to, it might result in the
rascals who had abducted him getting clear away. He determined, in a
flash, not to allow this if he could help it. As the first of the
men ran at him, he thrust out a foot, and the fellow came down with a
crash. Before any of the rest could recover from their surprise, the
lad was off like a dart.
Behind him came shouts, but Tom was fleet of foot, and dodged and
turned, like a rabbit with a pack of dogs hot on its tracks.
Suddenly, as he turned a corner, a voice sounded right at his
shoulder: "In here, quick!"
Without thinking what he was doing, Tom darted into the doorway
whence the voice had come. Hardly had he entered it, before he was
seized, and received a brutal blow on the side of the head, hard
enough to stun him.
"What a bit of luck!" exclaimed one of the men who had lured the lad
into the doorway.
"It sure is that," was the rejoinder from his companion, who, if the
reader has not already guessed it, was none other than Walstein, with
his partner, Dampier. Tom, unfamiliar with Rockport, had actually
doubled on his own tracks, and thus, the two men on their way up a
narrow alley, had spied him just dashing into it. In a flash their
minds were made up, and they slid hastily into the doorway in which
they had trapped poor Tom.
They had tracked the two lads to the station, but as they neared it,
the nerve of the two rascals had failed them.
"We don't want to run our heads into a halter," Dampier had said.
"We'll have to let the lad go for the present."
Walstein was quite willing to agree with him in this, having no
better liking for the vicinity of the law than his companion.
Naturally, they were considerably mystified as to the cause of Tom's
sudden appearance; but Dampier, who had a shrewd mind, partially
unraveled the solution, when he said:
"I reckon the police were not quite as willing to listen to his story
as he thought they'd be. Maybe he got mad and gave 'em impudence!"
"In that case they'll be right after him," said Walstein. "We'd
better be getting out of here on the jump."
"I think so, too. Here, help me with the boy. See, this alley-way
runs right through to another street. We'll hurry down it and then
get back to the tug as fast as we can. Come on. There's no time to
lose."
The alley-way, on which the door opened through which Tom had dashed,
proved to lead into a quiet, retired thoroughfare, at the foot of
which the masts of shipping could be seen.
The two men, half-dragging, half-supporting poor Tom, hastened down
it.
As they neared the water front, however, a strange thing occurred.
Their grasp on the supposedly semi-conscious Tom had been light.
They had not deemed it necessary to be over-vigilant. Now they
realized their mistake, for Tom, with a swift movement, dived out of
their grip, and the next instant was darting off--free once more.
The blow had been a hard one, but it had not made him half so
stupefied as the lad's cleverness had led his captors to believe.