THE MERCER BOYS’ CRUISE IN THE LASSIE

_1. The Finishing Touches_

“Hooray! That finishes it!”

Don Mercer straightened up from the marine motor over which he had been

bending and gave a whoop to express his feelings. At the same time a

browned face, topped off by a wind-blown mass of brown hair, looked down

at him from the companionway of their sloop, the _Lassie_.

“What’s up?” Jim Mercer grinned. “Are you getting old and talking to

yourself, Don?”

His older brother returned the grin from the bottom of the tiny cabin of

the sloop. “Not so you could notice it. But I’ve got the engine hooked

up, and now we can start our summer cruise, as soon as I see if she

works.” He mopped his forehead. “Boy, that was some job. Lucky thing I

learned something about marine engines down at Stillwell last year.”

Jim slipped one foot over the edge of the companionway and dropped into

the hold, joining his brother beside the engine. “It surely was. Every

connection hooked up?”

“Everything. I thought there was a little leak in that exhaust pipe, the

one we had brazed over at Tarrytown, but it’s all right. I had a little

trouble hooking up the switch wires, because I had never seen just this

type of motor before, but I got it at last. How does it look to you,

kid?”

Jim bent down to look at the motor. The two Mercer boys were much alike

in every way, and were devoted to each other. Their father owned a large

lumber business in the Maine woods, and the boys had never wanted

anything in their young lives, but as they were fine, healthy boys,

their comparative wealth had never spoiled them. Don was the older of

the two, being seventeen, and Jim was one year his junior. Both of them

were well built physically, with fine gray eyes, sandy hair, an

abundance of freckles, and good-humored grins. They had graduated from

the Bridgewater High School the year before.

Besides the two boys there was one sister, Margy, aged fifteen, and

their mother. They had grown up in Bridgewater and were well known and

liked in the town. Mr. Mercer believed in keeping his boys interested in

wholesome things, and during their early years they had had one or two

cat-boats. On the first week of the summer, however, the boys were

surprised and delighted to find a fine 30-foot sloop riding gently at

anchor in the creek which ran through their own back yard. Their father,

who had done considerable cruising in his younger days, taught them how

to handle the larger-sized boat, and had given them permission to go for

a cruise down the Maine coast that summer.

For the last week Don, who was mechanically inclined, had been hooking

up the motor. He had always been interested in motors and had studied

them carefully while spending a week at the house of an uncle. He had

learned more than he had thought. The motor had been in the boat at the

time Mr. Mercer purchased it, but the connections had not been fitted.

Late on this July afternoon Don had succeeded in finishing it.

Jim straightened up from his inspection of the motor. “Looks all right

to me,” he declared. “Although I don’t know as much about them as you

do. But before we crow, I guess we had better give it a spin and see if

it works.”

“OK,” agreed Don. “Go up and push the starting lever over a couple of

notches, while I spin the flywheel, will you?”

Jim skipped up the four steps that led to the deck, and bending down

beside the tiller, grasped the lever. Don gave the flywheel a vigorous

turn, and a slight chug answered him. He gave it a second spin, it

coughed, chugged and began to turn over. Jim moved the lever a notch,

slowly.

The engine broke into a regular, steady run, and a thin streak of smoke

issued from the exhaust pipe above the water line. Don’s cheerful face

appeared above the rim of the companionway.

“Jeepers, it works!” he exulted.

Jim nodded. “It sure does. Nice work, old man. Want to let it run?”

“Yes, let it go for awhile. It needs a little breaking in; I notice it’s

stiff in spots.” He climbed up alongside his brother and wiped his moist

brow. “Wow, that was quite a job while it lasted.”

“I’ll bet it was. Nothing to stop us from taking our cruise, now.”

“You are right there. But the question is: who are we going to take

along with us? Dad wants us to take at least one other fellow. He thinks

just the two of us won’t be enough. I’ve thought of most of the fellows

round here, but either they have summer jobs or they are away. Who do

you think we ought to take?”

“What time is it?” Jim asked, casually.

Don looked at his watch. “Half past three. What has that to do with who

we’ll take on a cruise with us?”

“Maybe a whole lot!” Jim answered mysteriously. “Want to take a walk?”

“Where to?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular. Just up to where the highway touches the

Lane.”

“Sure, I’ll go. I can’t see what you’re driving at, but I’ll go along.”

They stepped into the dock, walked the long stretch that made up their

back yard, passed the house and walked out to the shady street on which

their home stood, a street appropriately called the Lane. They walked

slowly down it, making plans concerning provisioning the sloop for the

cruise, which they expected to begin on the following day. About half a

mile from the house the Lane ran into the State highway, and here Jim

said he wanted to sit on a stone wall. So they sat down and continued to

talk for a time.

Don finally became restless. “Let’s go to town and get some of the

things we need,” he suggested. “No use sitting here all day.”

But Jim was not ready to go yet. He was looking down the road, to where

a single car was coming toward them. It was a battered old rattletrap of

a car, with sad-looking mudguards, no top, and doubtful looking tires on

it. The wheels, which were the least bit crooked, made weird movements

as it came toward them.

“Wait a minute,” Jim said. “I want to see who’s in this car.”

The driver of the car was a red-headed boy of seventeen, tanned by the

sun and endowed with a multitude of freckles. Two laughing gray eyes

peered from his long face. He looked Scotch. He was whistling as he

drove the battered old car, and his sandy hair, decidedly red in the

sun, stood up almost straight. There was no glass in the windshield of

his car, and now and then he pretended to wipe the missing glass,

greatly to the amusement of as many of the Bridgewater inhabitants as

chanced to be on the road.

“Why do you want to see who the driver is?” Don began, impatiently. “You

don’t——”

He broke off as Jim waved to the driver, and the driver waved back and

brought his bounding car to a halt beside them. Don gasped.

“Why ‘Chucklehead’ Mackson!” he cried, while Jim grinned.

Terry Mackson, known as chucklehead, from his habit of bobbing his

auburn head when laughing, ignored him completely. He carefully adjusted

one soiled glove on his hand and asked Jim gravely: “Pardon me, old

fellow, but could you by any chance direct me to the residence of the

Mercers?”

“I think I could, if you give me time enough to think,” Jim grinned.

“Then please do so, without unnecessary loss of time,” Terry drawled.

That was as far as he got. With a whoop the Mercer brothers piled into

the car and thumped him on the back.

Terry Mackson had gone to grammar school with the boys, but had moved to

a distant town, where he had worked hard on a farm for his old father.

The boys had always admired him for his cheerful kindliness and

respected him for his fine self-sacrificing nature. He had worked

without complaint for a mean old father, who had even begrudged him his

brief time in grammar school. Recently his father had died, and Terry

had been living somewhat more happily with his mother and one sister.

When Terry was out of breath, and the old car had jounced dangerously,

the boys stopped to catch their breath.

“How in the world did you get here?” Don asked.

“Jim wrote me to come down for a summer cruise,” Terry explained, as he

started his car. “Didn’t you know it?”

“He didn’t know a thing about it,” Jim declared, sinking into the back

seat. “We were looking for someone to take on our cruise with us, and I

heard from Bill Bennet that you were living in Berrymore, so I didn’t

say a thing to Don, but wrote to you. Thought I’d put one over on him.”

“And you certainly did that,” Don nodded. “But that’s OK. I’d rather it

be Terry than anyone else.”

“Many thanks,” the newcomer murmured.

“How is everything at home?” Jim asked.

“Very well, thanks. We’re getting in nice shape. Mother said it was high

time I had a vacation, when I read her your letter. Oh, I beg your

pardon!”

“What’s the matter?” both boys asked.

“I’ve been guilty of a grave social error. I want you to meet my trusted

chariot, my car. Boys, this is my intimate friend ‘Jumpiter.’”

To make it seem real, he drove the car over a bump, and the car bounced

like a thing alive. Both boys acknowledged the introduction gravely.

“Happy to meet you, Jumpiter,” Don said.

“Me too,” Jim added. Terry made it rattle furiously, and vigorously

wiped the imaginary windshield.

Mrs. Mercer made Terry feel right at home, and then the boys took him

down to see the _Lassie_. To Terry it was quite a treat, for his life

had been spent in working hard, far from any of the pleasures of life.

He was delighted with the trim little ship, and the boys led him down

the companionway.

Inside, there was plenty of room to move around without being cramped.

There were four bunks built along the side of the hull, a tiny sink with

running water, a refrigerator, a small stove and two compact closets for

knives and forks and linen. Toward the bow it became narrow, and before

the mast a small storage room took up the waste space. The engine was in

the stern, under the steps that led down into the cabin. The center of

the cabin was taken up with the centerboard, which the boys told Terry

was an extra keel weighing two hundred and fifty pounds.

“That’s in addition to the regular keel,” Don explained. “There is about

two tons of lead in the keel, but it isn’t enough when the canvas is

spread. When we’re sailing under full sail, without reefs, we have to

let the centerboard down. The 250 pounds makes just enough weight to

balance the weight of the sails and keeps us from capsizing. When we

come up the creek, or when we are using motor power, we don’t use the

centerboard.”

The boys spent the rest of the afternoon running down to the village and

getting supplies. Terry insisted on using his car for the work, so they

bought food from the grocery stores and loaded several gallons of

gasoline. With Terry’s car they were able to run right down to the sloop

and carry the supplies aboard.

“There!” exclaimed Jim, finally. “We’re all set to go.”

The boys went up to supper, where Terry saw Mr. Mercer again. While they

were eating they discussed plans and Mr. Mercer gave them a word of

warning.

“There has been quite a little trouble lately with a gang of marine

bandits,” the lumber man said. “They’ve been working up and down the

coast, robbing boats and boathouses, and no one has been able to catch

them. They steal all kinds of ship materials that they can lay their

hands on. People think they store it all somewhere and then go down to

Boston or other seaports where they sell it to dishonest ship chandlers.

Nowadays a good many people are going in for sailing, and the ship

chandlers have quite a business. I suppose people buy things where they

can get them cheapest, and so there is quite a trade in it. I want you

boys to keep your eyes wide open.”

“We certainly will,” Jim said. “You mean that they may try to take

things off the _Lassie_?”

“Yes, you’ll have to be careful.”

“I’d like to run those fellows down,” Don declared.

After supper they went down to close up the sloop. The sails were tied

down firmly and the portholes closed. After making an inspection Don

pulled the top of the companionway closed, and snapped the lock.

“There,” he said, with satisfaction. “I don’t think anybody will get

aboard the _Lassie_ tonight. Nor any other night, if we can help it.”

_2. The Marine Bandits_

After they had locked up the sloop the boys took Terry around town,

showing him the sights, and then they returned to the house, where they

pored over a map of the Atlantic coast. Since they would naturally keep

inshore in a boat as small as the sloop was, the boys paid particular

attention to channel markings. Then, bidding the family good night, they

left the house and went down the yard to the little shack that the boys

always slept in.

A few years ago, during one of their summer vacations, the boys had

built a small two-room house at the end of the yard, near the boathouse

and the dock. There was plenty of room for all of them in the house, but

they had thought that when they had company during the summer it would

be a little more convenient for their mother if they had a small place

of their own down in the yard; so their parents had allowed them to

build the bungalow. Whenever company came they took them to the cottage

and they slept there, going to the main house for their meals. The

arrangement had been handy in many ways, and had taught the boys to be

self-reliant, as they had to keep things clean and attend to their own

beds and the daily airing of their blankets. Just outside their cottage

they had built a workbench, with a tool shed at the end of it, and on

clear days they worked out there, making small things for the house and

their boats. Jim had made the stand for the ship’s clock and other small

pieces.

It was to this cottage that they now took Terry, and he was delighted

with the cozy little place. The boys had wired it for electric lights,

and on a back porch, protected from intrusion by lattice work, they had

installed a shower bath and a small sink. The front room of the cottage

was taken up with a table, some chairs, lockers, and a few boxes, and

the walls were covered with pictures of boats and the teams at school.

It was a typical boy’s room. The back room was given over to sleeping,

and three cots occupied most of the floor space. In the glow of a ship’s

lantern, now made over into an electric lamp, the boys undressed and

prepared for bed.

“I won’t be a bit sorry for these blankets,” Terry decided, as he

crawled into his cot.

“No, it gets quite cold here at night, no matter how warm the days may

be,” Don said, as he settled down on his cot.

They talked for a few minutes and then, saying good night, dropped off

to sleep. That is, the two Mercer boys did. They were so used to the

place that they wasted no time lying in bed thinking, and they were

usually so active in the daytime that they dropped into a healthy sleep

as soon as they went to bed. But everything was new to Terry, and he lay

there thinking about it.

He had been used to a life of constant work, and the prospect of this

vacation, spent with boys like the Mercer brothers, held a fascination

to him. His mother had been right when she said that he needed a

vacation, and as things at home were in much better circumstances than

they ever had been before, Terry felt justified in going away. So he lay

there, staring out of the window over his head, seeing the black outline

of the boathouse, and beyond it the mast and rigging of the sloop,

moving gently with the motion of the tide.

Finally, Terry dozed off, enjoying to the last the cool wind that

brushed over his brown face, and the slight and refreshing tang of the

salt air. How long he had been asleep he did not know, but suddenly he

awoke. He sat up, leaning on one elbow and listened. The brothers were

asleep, as he could tell from their deep and regular breathing, and the

boy was at a loss to know what had awakened him. He listened keenly,

thinking that some sound, usual to the place, but new to him, had

awakened him, but as a few minutes went by and he heard nothing, he lay

down again.

Then a sound reached his ears, a thin, screaming sound as though someone

was pulling nails out of a board. Wondering what it could be, Terry

looked in the direction from which the sound had come.

Terry’s eyes were good, and he could make out the boathouse perfectly

even in the darkness. At first he could see nothing, but as he continued

to watch, a shadow detached itself from the corner of the boathouse and

went around the side. Terry tossed aside his blanket, stepped over to

Don and shook him, at the same time placing his hand over the boy’s

mouth. Don sat up quietly, pushing Terry’s hand away.

When Terry had whispered his message to Don they woke up Jim, and

standing at the window, the three boys looked toward the boathouse.

While looking they were hastily dressing, tossing on a few clothes and

pulling on rubber boots.

“I don’t see anybody,” Don whispered.

“He went around the side,” Terry answered. “Is there a window there?”

“Yes, there is. Are you ready, Jim?”

“Sure thing. Let’s go.”

They cautiously opened the back door, crossed the yard, and arrived at

the front of the boathouse, where they paused for a moment to listen.

Inside, they could hear someone walking around.

“Somebody in there, all right,” nodded Jim. “Shall we rush ’em?”

“Yes. We’ll catch them in a trap. Come on, kids.”

With that Don stepped around the corner of the boathouse. There was a

small stick lying on the ground, and the boy stepped on it, causing it

to break with a loud, snapping sound. Realizing that caution was now

useless Don called out:

“Who is there?”

From the shadows beside the boathouse a man stepped into view. He darted

to the window of the boathouse and called out: “Beat it, Barney, the

kids is coming!”

Don dashed forward, clutching at the man, who was tall and thin, but the

man twisted savagely and got away. At the same time Terry and Jim ran to

the window, but they were too late. A small man leaped nimbly over the

sill and joined his companion in flight.

“After them!” shouted Don, as they heard the men thrashing their way

through the tangled undergrowth. All three boys joined in the chase,

following the men with ease by the sound of their headlong progress. The

chase led them to the edge of their own creek, where the men jumped into

a small boat and pushed away from the shore.

“The dinghy!” gasped Jim.

The Mercer boys turned and ran to where the sloop was anchored, and

Terry followed them. Riding gently on the waters of the creek, attached

to the _Lassie_ by a rope, was a new dinghy. Into this rowboat the boys

piled, Don and Jim seizing the oars.

“Cast off, Terry,” Don called.

Terry slipped the rope from the deck of the sloop and the brothers began

to pull toward the other boat, which was drifting aimlessly along the

creek. Both men seemed to be in the back of their boat, bending over

something. Just as the boys got within hailing distance one of the men

whirled his arm, there was a flash of a spark, and a small motor began

to hum.

“I knew it!” Don groaned. “He’s got an outboard motor.”

One of the men seized the tiller and the other boat ran rapidly down the

creek, leaving the rowboat with the boys in it far behind. Although they

knew it was useless they followed, reaching the broad expanse of the

ocean. But once in the open water they lost track entirely of the other

boat and its occupants.

“It’s no use,” Jim declared. “We haven’t a chance to find them.”

“I’m sorry to say that you’re right,” Don agreed. “I don’t even hear the

sound of their motor. More than likely they shut it off and rowed up

some creek, to throw us off. Well, there is nothing to do but to go

back, I guess.”

They turned the dinghy, which bobbed like a cork in the ocean waves, and

headed back for the creek.

“Do you suppose they were the marine bandits your father mentioned at

supper?” asked Terry.

“I wouldn’t wonder,” Don replied. “But we’ll see when we get back to the

boathouse. I hope it all didn’t wake the family up.”

But it had. When they finally tied the dinghy up to the sloop they found

Mr. Mercer standing at the dock, anxiously watching for them.

“Hello,” he hailed. “What’s going on down there?”

Don briefly related the events of the last few minutes and then led the

way to the boathouse. Using a key, which he had in his pocket, Don led

them into the boathouse.

It was a neat little building, with various grades of wood stacked along

the walls, a work bench in one corner, and some extra canvas piled on

racks. A small rowboat lay bottom up in the center of the floor. They

examined the window, to find that several wooden bars had been pried out

and the sash raised.

“Is there anything missing?” Mr. Mercer asked. “There doesn’t seem to

be.”

But Jim shook his head sadly. “Sorry to say that there is, Dad. That

swell ship’s clock that you bought me down in Boston is missing. It was

over there on the bench, and I was making a new case for it. I guess

those guys were the marine bandits, all right.”

_3. The Start of the Cruise_

As the clock which Jim had lost was a very valuable one, they wasted no

time in reporting the circumstances to the police. Early in the morning

the boys were up, and spent the time immediately after breakfast in

loading last minute articles on the sloop. Don found that the lock on

the companionway had been tampered with.

“Somebody tried to get in here,” he said, showing the others the lock,

which was slightly twisted. “But I guess they found it too much of a

job.”

After they had reported the entire matter to the chief of police, who

promised to have the waterfront searched for the thieves, the boys ran

down in Terry’s car to the local drugstore and bought a case of cokes.

When they had loaded it on the boat, and final instructions had been

half-jokingly given them by Mr. and Mrs. Mercer, the boys were prepared

to go.

Don went below, bending over the engine, while Jim sat at the tiller,

his fingers on the starting switch. Terry, feeling useless as a sailor,

sat in the cockpit, watching the proceedings. Jim nodded to him.

“Cast off the painter, will you, Terry?”

Terry looked helplessly around. “When did a painter get aboard?” he

asked.

Jim laughed. “The painter is that rope at the bow,” he explained. “Throw

it to Dad.”

Terry took the painter and tossed it to Mr. Mercer, who caught it and

placed it on the ground. Don turned the flywheel and the motor began to

churn. Slowly, Jim advanced the spark, pushing the tiller from him. Like

some graceful bird the _Lassie_ turned in the creek, her nose pointing

toward the ocean.

The boys waved goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Mercer and Margy and the sloop

headed out to the mouth of the creek. As it cleared the banks at the

mouth of the channel it struck the small ocean waves, bounding and

dipping like a thing alive. The little ship seemed glad to get out on

its own element. The boys were fairly launched on their cruise.

“Well, we’re off,” exclaimed Don, coming up the ladder and stepping into

the little cockpit.

“Off on a nice start,” Jim nodded, watching a buoy about half a mile

ahead of him.

“This is swell,” Terry struck in, his eyes dancing.

The wind was blowing a lively little breeze, and the _Lassie_ rose and

fell with the action of the waves. It was a bright, clear day, and they

could see for miles over the tossing, tumbling Atlantic. On the port

side they could see the long coast of Maine stretching along before

them.

“Just think,” sighed Don. “Nothing to do but sail for a month or more.”

“It surely is great,” Terry agreed. “I hope in that month you’ll teach

me something about sailing. I feel awfully ignorant.”

“You needn’t,” Jim told him. “We’re not any too good, ourselves. We’ve

been used to sailing cat-boats around, but this is the first time we’ve

had an opportunity to handle this boat in any kind of weather. I think

we’ll all learn things together.”

After they had sailed down the coast for five miles Don said to Jim:

“How about putting on sail?”

Jim considered the sky. “I guess we can. But we’ll have to take two

reefs in it. With a small gale like this, we can’t risk putting on full

canvas.”

“No, you’re right. Teach Terry how to hold the tiller, while I shut the

motor off.”

“All you have to do,” Jim told Terry, while Don turned the motor off,

“is simply to drive the bow straight toward that buoy. See the buoy?

Now, hold the tiller loose in your hand. Just as soon as the bow moves

away from pointing straight at the buoy, move the tiller the least

little way in either direction. No, not so far over. That’s it, just a

fraction. Now you have it.”

While Terry held the tiller somewhat gingerly, secretly as proud as a

prince, the Mercer boys sprang to the sails, and began to untie the

straps that held down the spread of canvas on the boom. When this was

finished they jumped to the halyards and pulled the canvas up the mast,

the wooden rings slipping with a clattering sound. While Don held the

halyard ropes Jim tied the sail down at the second reef. Then, pulling

up the jib sail, the boys walked back over the heaving cabin roof.

“All right, Terry my friend,” said Don. “You can let me have the tiller

now. I have to guide the mainsail and jib from the tiller. Let down the

centerboard, Jim.”

Terry surrendered the tiller. “Here you are,” he announced, with

dignity. “Any time you want your boat tillered straight, call for Mr.

Mackson!”

Under the spread of canvas the _Lassie_ sped along before the wind, the

sails cracking with a stinging, invigorating sound, the mast creaking

and the pulleys straining and squealing occasionally. The sloop was

heeled far over on her port side, and the water boiled furiously over

the rail, much to the wonder of Terry, who was perched far up on the

starboard side.

“Gosh, this boat leans far over,” he observed. “Doesn’t it ever go all

the way over?”

Jim winked at Don. “Well, once in a while. I think the most times it

ever capsized was three times.”

“Three times!” repeated Terry, aghast. “In how many cruises?”

“Oh, all in one cruise,” Jim replied.

Terry’s eyes narrowed. “Look here! If the boat went over a good-sized

derrick would have to come out here and right it. And if I remember

correctly, this is the first time you have ever been out for any length

of time in this boat.”

Jim opened his eyes in surprise. “That’s so! It must have been some

other boat!”

“I think you mean you fell out of bed three times on one cruise,” Terry

retorted.

Jim was the cook, and on the little galley stove he prepared an

excellent meal at noontime. Rather than bother with the sails while

eating, the boys had taken the canvas in, and were at present simply

drifting idly with the tide. A few miles down the coast they could see

the Midland Amusement beach, and Don proposed that they go there for a

swim in the afternoon.

After the meal was over they cruised under motor power to the beach and,

locking the companionway door, went ashore in the dinghy. They hired a

bathhouse and soon emerged onto the beach in their trunks. From a long

dock they dived into the water, amusing themselves for fully an hour in

the sparkling water. Then, as the afternoon sun showed signs of going

down rapidly, they dressed and climbed into the dinghy, pushing out from

the shore.

“Hey, look!” exclaimed Terry. “There is someone on our boat.”

The boys stopped rowing and looked toward the sloop. A small rowboat was

tied to the stern, and two men were walking around in the cockpit,

peering down into the cabin through the portholes in the companionway.

“Wonder what they have in mind?” Jim said.

“Let’s get out there and see,” advised Don. Accordingly, they rowed with

all their strength, until they were alongside.

The men had seen them coming, and one of them, a stocky individual with

an unpleasant face, stepped to the side and smiled at them. Although the

boys did not like the looks of either of them, they were polite and open

in their manner.

“How d’you do?” the stocky individual hailed. “This your boat?”

“Yes, it is,” said Don, stepping on deck. The others followed, and Jim

tied the dinghy to the stern.

“Thought likely it was,” the leader of the two went on. “Nice boat.”

“It surely is,” Don agreed, waiting. He felt sure that the man wanted

him to open the companionway slide, and he had no intention of doing so.

The shorter of the two men was standing back of him, evidently waiting.

“You—you don’t want to sell it, do you?” the leader asked.

Don shook his head. “No, it isn’t for sale. I don’t think you would have

any trouble in having one like it built, though.”

“I couldn’t wait for one to be built,” the heavy man murmured. He turned

to his companion. “Come on, Frank, time we were getting along. Thanks

for letting us look it over, boys.”

“You are welcome,” Don replied. The men entered their boat and pulled

rapidly for the shore.

“I don’t know that we could help letting them look at it,” Jim remarked.

“We couldn’t,” Don agreed, sliding back the hatch. “I wonder who those

guys were? They must have come aboard while we were getting dressed.”

“Maybe they belong to the marine gang, and were looking us over,” Terry

suggested.

“You may be right,” Don replied. “We’ll have to keep our eyes open for

them in the future.”

After supper the boys continued the cruise, sailing for a time and then,

as darkness came down, using the motor. Jim put on the lights and Terry

asked concerning them.

“The green one is the starboard light,” Jim said. “The port is the red

one. The danger side of a ship is the port side; the watch has to be

keenest there. The easiest way to remember which is which is to think

that port wine is red, and then you can always remember that the port

light is the red one.”

Two miles off shore, on a lonely section of the coast, the boys lowered

the anchor and prepared to spend the night. Terry, who had looked

forward eagerly to his first night on the water and his first sleep in a

bunk, was disappointed to find that they intended to sleep on deck.

“You can sleep inside, if you want to,” Don told him. “Only, I think

you’ll like it better sleeping out on deck, under the stars. If we have

stormy weather—and I think we are going to, because the barometer is

going down—you’ll sleep indoors quite enough. But suit yourself.”

Terry decided that he would sleep on deck, and they accordingly carried

the blankets out on deck and spread them out. As it was too early to go

to sleep yet, they talked for a time of general subjects.

“Suppose a storm, like a fog, comes up in the night?” Terry asked.

“Well, we can go close to shore, or anchor out, but if we anchor out,

we’ll have to toll the bell all night. If anyone feels particularly like

sitting up all night and pulling on the rope, they are perfectly welcome

to do so.”

“Count me out,” Terry decided. “We might use Jim, however.”

“How is that?” Jim asked, suspiciously.

“When you give that little imitation of a snore that you do, your mouth

half opens and shuts,” Terry explained. “I was just thinking that we

might hitch the rope up to your front tooth and have it tolled all night

without anyone having to sit up or keep awake!”

“I see. Well, look here. When you are lying under the bell, don’t you

ever yawn!”

“And why not?”

“Because we’ll never find it again, and we’ll have to hang you to the

mast and shake you back and forth every time we have a fog,” said Jim,

soberly.

“Meaning that I’ll swallow the bell, I suppose?”

“Something like that.”

The boys turned in around ten o’clock, thoroughly tired out. Before Don

put out the light he looked at the barometer.

“Going down,” he muttered. “Doesn’t look any too good for the morning.”

The last thing that Terry remembered was lying on the gently heaving

deck, looking up at a multitude of soft glowing stars. Then a deep sleep

fell upon him.

_4. Stormy Weather_

Terry Mackson was dreaming. He dreamed that he was sitting on a bench

and that Jim was hurling buckets of water over him. The bench was

heaving up and down and the water continued to pour over him. The part

that made him angry was the fact that he couldn’t seem to get up. And

now, to make matters much worse, someone, he couldn’t see who it was,

was shaking him.

He woke up with a start, to find Jim bent over him shaking him roughly,

and shouting something in his ear. Jim was saying, “Get up, it’s

raining,” and Terry, struggling to his feet, found that Jim was putting

things mildly. The rain was coming down in sheets, and Don was heaving

the bedding down the companionway. Terry took a brief look before going

below.

The millions of stars that he had looked at earlier in the evening had

all disappeared, and only a dense, heavy gray sky hovered over the sloop

now. The waves, which had been so gentle, now reared angry heads

alongside the little craft, and the deck was soaked with the spray. The

world had turned completely upside down in the farm boy’s eyes.

“Go on down,” Don shouted. Terry obeyed, but Don ran forward and

examined the anchor cable. When he came back downstairs, he was wringing

wet. He slipped the companionway shut and Jim closed and bolted the

portholes.

“The anchor is holding all right,” Don reported. “I think we can weather

it.” He slipped out of his pajamas and vigorously rubbed himself down

with a rough towel. “Well, we’ll sleep indoors, like Terry wanted us to,

sooner than we expected.”

“I never saw a storm come up so fast,” declared Terry.

“I’ll bet you didn’t see it at all,” Jim retorted, rubbing down.

“Judging by the way I had to shake you, you didn’t see much of

anything.”

In the light of the electric lamp the boys changed into dry night

clothes, and sat on the edge of the bunks talking. The experience was

slightly weird to Terry, but the Mercer boys did not seem to mind it.

The sloop tossed madly, causing dishes to clatter inside the cupboard

and other things to rattle and clink all over the boat. The fog bell

clashed and clanged with each roll of the boat, and the electric lamp

oscillated continually. Each time the sloop slid down a wave it pulled

with a jerk on the anchor cable. To Terry, as he looked around, it

seemed like being boxed in a trunk, at the mercy of the waves that

slapped overhead.

“Well,” yawned Don, at last. “No use sitting up any longer, I suppose.

We’ll see how things look in the morning. Do you feel all right, Terry?”

“Sure I do. Why?”

“I was just thinking that if you are going to get seasick at all, you’ll

get that way tonight,” grinned Don, as he put out the lamp.

“Thanks for your cheerful thoughts,” grumbled Terry, as Jim snickered.

Terry was the first to awake in the morning, and he lay for a moment

looking around the interior of the _Lassie_. The storm had evidently not

subsided, for the floor continued to heave and sink, and the continual

clinking and bumping went on. The portholes were still wet and a faint

trickle of water ran out from the bottom of the engine. Outside, he

could hear the whistle of the wind and the slap of the waves, and now

and then a particularly big one ran across the deck. The brothers were

still asleep.

At seven-thirty they woke up together and the three boys got dressed.

Getting breakfast was no easy job, and Jim was hard put to it,

especially in the matter of making coffee. Don, clad in oilskins, went

on deck and examined the anchor cable, which he found to be bearing the

strain very well. It was decided that they would cruise along with the

storm during the morning and see what they thought best to do later in

the day.

On the side of the centerboard casing, which came up from the floor of

the cabin, dividing it somewhat, a board on hinges served as a table.

This board, when raised, made a good substitute for a regular table, and

on this Jim placed the eggs, bacon and coffee. The meal was a gay one

because the food slipped back and forth with the rolling of the sloop.

On one occasion, just as Terry was about to spear a piece of egg, his

plate slipped downhill to the other side of the board, where Don was

eating.

“Would you mind giving me back my plate?” Terry asked.

A particularly violent roll dumped the remaining egg from his plate and

spread it dismally all over the board. Don pushed the plate back to him

gravely.

“How about my breakfast, too?” Terry asked.

“Oh, do you want that too? You only asked for your plate, you know.”

All three boys pitched into the job of washing plates and then they

pulled in the anchor and continued the cruise. Terry, outfitted in a

coat of oilskins, enjoyed the rough sailing much more than the smooth.

The little ship dipped joyously down into the troughs, plunging its nose

beneath the waves and flinging them right and left in a smother of foam.

Then, riding magnificently up the side of a gray green monster, it

rushed with speed down the watery hill, to bury its nose in another

small mountain. Quantities of water rushed across the deck, soaking them

in spite of their oilskins, but as the weather was warm, the boys did

not mind it. At times Terry was allowed to hold on to the tiller, a job

that amounted to something, and he found it vastly different from the

easy job it had been on the day before, when the water had been smooth.

They brought a portable radio on deck and listened to it throughout most

of the morning, but the static was very bad and they finally gave up.

After several unsuccessful attempts at playing a losing game of gin

rummy against the wind, the boys decided it was easier just to watch the

sea and the dark clouds as they scudded across the sky.

Another meal was eaten under conditions similar to those of the

breakfast, and the sail continued. The day was dark and the sky

threatening, and Don thought seriously of running inshore and tying up

at a dock until the blow was over. Late in the afternoon they decided to

swim.

“Want to go in for a real swim?” Jim asked Terry.

Terry looked toward the shore. “Where is a beach?” he asked.

“Jim doesn’t mean at a beach,” Don supplied. “He means to go swimming

from the boat. Like to try it?”

“With the waves running like that?” Terry demanded.

“Sure thing. It will be the best swim you ever had.”

Terry was not sure, but as the Mercer boys got into their trunks he

slowly followed, secretly appalled at the size of the waves that broke

against the side of the sloop. Don was first to go over. Poised for an

instant on the cabin roof, he suddenly launched out into a splendid

curving dive. Right into the heart of a wave he went, to reappear some

yards away, puffing.

“Oh, boy!” he called. “Get in, it’s great.”

Jim followed his brother, and Terry, whose swimming had been confined to

quiet water all his life, hesitated for a few minutes before he made his

plunge. Then, standing on the stern, he shot himself forward into a

smother of gray-green water, instantly shooting below a small, churning

mountain. An instant later he came to the surface, bobbing up and down

on the waves.

Don swam to him. “How do you like it, kid?”

“It’s great stuff,” Terry gasped. “There certainly is plenty of room to

swim in!”

Under these conditions the boys only swam for fifteen minutes, keeping

close to the sloop. When they were once more clad in dry clothes they

felt invigorated and healthy as they never had before. Supper,

consisting of beans and potatoes and some peaches, tasted very good to

them.

As evening came on the sea became rougher and rougher, and the brothers

agreed to anchor somewhere in port for the night. They were now out of

sight of the mainland, and Jim proposed that they run back to the coast.

But Don, who was looking intently across the starboard bow, called his

attention to a long low black mass just visible above the waves.

“Isn’t that Mystery Island?” Don asked.

Jim looked and then went down the companionway steps, to unfold the

marine map and look at it closely. Presently his head appeared above the

combing.

“That’s it, all right. Not thinking of anchoring near there, are you?”

Don nodded. “Yes, I am. It is a whole lot nearer the boat than the main

shore is. I don’t see why we can’t run in and heave to.”

“The place hasn’t got a very good reputation, Don!”

“Nonsense, Jim. Most of the tales you hear about Mystery Island are

false to begin with, and besides, I’m not afraid of a lot of old

legends. I guess we can find a good cove there to anchor in until this

storm blows over. Spin the motor, will you?”

Jim spun the flywheel and the _Lassie_, under Don’s guiding hand at the

tiller, turned her nose to the low island in the distance. Terry turned

to Don.

“What is all this business about Mystery Island, skipper?”

“Oh, just a collection of idle stories, mostly. It was supposed to have

been the hiding place for pirates once, and for smugglers later on. I

guess most of it is all foolishness, but people around this part of the

country have a habit of saying, ‘Keep away from Mystery Island.’

Personally, I don’t believe there is a thing the matter with the place

at all.”

It took them less than an hour to reach Mystery Island, and they found a

fine cove to anchor in. It was now too dark to see the island clearly or

to make out any details of it. After sitting around and talking over old

school days for some time, the boys turned in and went to sleep.

A loose pan rattled around the top of the sink, annoying Jim as he tried

to sleep. Finally, completely disgusted, he got up and captured the

utensil, placing it firmly in a small closet.

“Should have done that in the first place,” he murmured, moving about in

the darkness.

The rolling of the sea had abated somewhat, and Jim looked out of an

open porthole. Close to them lay the black island, and Jim wondered idly

what secrets it did contain. Then, uttering an exclamation, he looked

intently out of the porthole.

Don stirred uneasily in his bunk. “Coming to bed, Jim?” he inquired.

“Sometime, yes. But come here, Don.”

Terry, awakened by the whispering, joined Don and Jim at the porthole

and looked toward the island. On a sort of bluff, fronting the cove, a

lantern was flickering in the breeze. Although they could not see

clearly, they could nevertheless make out the outline of a man back of

the lantern.

“Somebody standing there and looking us over,” Jim whispered.

“Wonder who he is?” Don asked.

“Mighty strange that he should come out on the shore on a night like

this to look at the sloop,” muttered Terry.

For two or three minutes longer the man stood perfectly still, evidently

looking toward the sloop, although the boys could not make out his face.

Then, swinging the light as he walked, the mysterious watcher passed

along the bluff and out of sight.

“There goes our reception committee,” chuckled Don.

“All I hope is that it is the right kind of a reception committee,”

grumbled Jim. Don sought his blankets. “I guess it’s OK. Maybe they

don’t have many boats stop here, and the sight is a novelty. Well, we

won’t worry over it. I’m dead tired.”

_5. Mystery Island_

When the boys woke up in the morning they found that most of the storm

had subsided, but the day was anything but fair. The sky was gray and

overcast, and the sea rose and fell in short, choppy billows. The wind,

however, had gone down altogether, and that made a big difference.

Before dressing the three boys stepped out on deck and dove overboard

into the stinging water that tumbled alongside the sloop. After this

invigorating swim they enjoyed a wholesome breakfast, eaten out on the

deck under the leaden sky.

“Sure does seem good to eat without having your plate run up and down

hill every second,” Terry affirmed.

“It seems good to get out of the heat of the cabin,” Don said.

Jim showed a perspiring face above the companionway. “That goes for

everybody but the cook,” he observed. “I will admit, though, that

getting breakfast today has been easier than it was before.”

They ate slowly, not being pressed in any way for time. “Looks like an

idle day,” Don ventured.

“I agree with you there,” his brother answered. “Until it clears up we

won’t want to sail on, and so it looks as though today might be a trifle

dull. But we’ll get through it somehow.”

“There will be plenty to do.” Don looked off toward the island, to where

the top of a long house showed through the trees. “I know what I’m going

to do. See that house?”

“I see it,” Terry replied. “Thinking of renting it for the summer?”

“No,” Don retorted. “But I saw smoke coming from a chimney on it this

morning, and I’m going up there. They may have some fresh eggs, and if

so, we want them. I’ll row over in the dinghy and take a trip to the

house.”

“How about that man we saw last night with the lantern?” asked Jim.

“What about him?”

“I just didn’t like the looks of things, that is all. I’m wondering why

anyone should take the trouble to come out on a bluff at three o’clock

or thereabouts in the morning and look at us so long. It doesn’t look

right to me.”

“Maybe it was someone that couldn’t sleep, and decided to go out for a

morning stroll,” grinned Terry.

“With a lantern in his hand?”

“Well, believe me, I’d hate to go wandering around that black island at

night without a light of some kind with me!”

“Oh, there is no doubt about that. But I feel that he came down to look

at us, and I don’t think there was any good in it all, either.”

“Nuts, Jim,” Don broke in. “You’re letting your imagination run away

with you. Just as soon as I help you clean up, I’m going ashore.”

They all cleaned up ship after breakfast. A large amount of bilge water

had crept in under the floor during the storm, and as the boys had no

pump aboard, they were forced to dip it out by the bucket. Terry scooped

the water up in a pail down below, passed the pail up the ladder to Don,

who passed it to Jim in the stern. From there Jim emptied it overboard.

This task took them the better part of an hour, and when it was over Don

announced: “I’m going ashore now.”

Jim was airing out the blankets and Terry decided that he would write to

his mother and sister, so Don stepped down into the dinghy alone.

Grasping the oars he called up to them, “See you later,” and rowed

toward Mystery Island.

He found that it was a hard pull. The waves were choppy and troublesome,

and the dinghy climbed and slipped backward. It took all his strength to

keep it going forward, and the distance to the shore seemed long because

of the energy necessary to reach it. After a half-hour’s row Don beached

the dinghy on the sand at Mystery Island.

He pulled the boat far up on the sand, to make sure that the tide,

creeping in, would not carry it away while he was gone. He stood for a

moment and looked around him. He was in a sheltered cove, ringed around

with trees and thick undergrowth, with a shelving sandy beach running

down to the water. If any of the stories about pirates and smugglers

were true, he reflected, this island was just the place for such things.

It was a black, silent sort of a place, well named Mystery Island.

Although Don had laughed at Jim’s fears he admitted to himself that he

did not feel altogether comfortable. There was a brooding sense of

mystery over the place, an air of evil watchfulness that he did not

like.

Quite sharply he pulled himself together, realizing that he was allowing

the wrong impressions to play upon his mind. “You’ll never get anywhere

that way, Donald my son,” he murmured. To fortify himself, he began to

whistle as he found the path through the woods.

The path was well beaten and he wondered who used it so much. Obviously

someone lived on the island most of the year, possibly all year around,

though Don could not imagine anyone living on the bleak waste in the

wintertime. He wondered why there was no boat to be seen, since the

inhabitants must have a boat. It would be impossible otherwise to get

across to the mainland for supplies, and no one could live for any

length of time on the place without renewing supplies from time to time.

Possibly the boat was on the other side of the island. He knew that it

would have to be a good-sized boat, too, for no rowboat or small power

boat would do. But as the map had showed the island to be a large-sized

one, he wondered why the people who lived at the house kept a boat on

the far side of the island, especially as there was such a perfectly

good harbor on this side.

He followed the path through a dense growth of trees and small

shrubbery, finding that it had been worn down by many feet. The ground

had been worn down hard and there was no sign of cluttering grass.

Admitting that a rather large family lived in the house just ahead, he

wondered why they went so often to the beach as to keep in perfect order

a path through the undergrowth.

The path dipped slightly and then wound up a small hill, and at length

he saw before him the low house. Before going any further he stopped to

study it. It was old, built of boards that looked rough and

weatherbeaten, and if it had ever had a coat of paint on it, the fact

was not evident now. One crooked chimney stood unsteadily at the back.

The windows of the upper floor had all been broken and were boarded up,

but those on the ground floor were, for the most part, whole. The glass

was dirty and the frames warped and bent. Don walked nearer, looking

closely for signs of life about the place.

The front door was boarded up, and he saw at once that he could not get

in there. A rotting front porch sprawled across the width of the house,

and one corner of the roof was falling down. Don took a path around the

house, looking closely to see if anyone was around, but there was no

sign of movement in the place. But he felt sure that someone lived in

the place, for a thin line of smoke drifted upward from the crooked

chimney.

The back yard of the house was an overgrown plot, with a few rotting

outhouses standing near the dense woods that pressed close to the place.

Don stepped on the low porch and knocked gently. While he waited, he

turned once more and looked around him. It struck him that there was not

a sign of a chicken about the property, and he felt that his journey for

eggs would be useless.

“Nothing like trying, though,” he thought, and knocked again. There was

no response, and he was inclined to think that there was no one at home.

But just then the tempting odor of bacon assailed his nose.

“Surely there is someone at home,” he decided. “No one would leave the

house and allow bacon to fry on the stove. I wonder why they——”

He heard a bolt rattle on the inside of the door and it slowly opened.

At first the interior of the place seemed so dark that he could not make

out the person of the one who had opened the door. Then he saw that it

was an old woman, with a severe face and untidy white hair.

“What do you want?” she asked, somewhat harshly.

“Pardon me,” Don said politely, “but I’d like to know if you have any

eggs for sale? I just came from a boat which we have anchored in the

cove, and I thought that you might have some eggs you could sell us.”

The woman nodded slowly. “Oh, eggs, certainly! Step in, young man, and

I’ll wrap you up some.”

She stepped back from the doorway and Don entered. He found himself in a

kitchen, which was furnished with a rickety table, three chairs, a couch

and a sink and stove. The bacon that he had smelled was still sending

forth a fascinating odor from the back of the iron stove.

While the old woman stepped out of the room to get the eggs Don noticed

that although it was broad daylight all of the shades had been pulled

down, creating a semi-gloom which he thought quite unnecessary. Three

doors opened from the kitchen into other rooms, he also noticed. It

seemed to him that the old lady was gone an unnecessary length of time,

when she returned, but without any package.

“They are in the next room, young man,” she said, going to the stove.

“Pick out as many as you want of ’em.” With her thumb she pointed to one

of the doors which opened from the kitchen.

Wondering a bit, Don pushed the door open and stepped into a large room,

which had evidently at one time been the dining room of the house. It

too was almost dark, and a big table took up the center. He looked

around but saw no eggs. He turned to the door again.

“Where are—” he began, but got no further. The door back of him went

shut with a bang, and he heard a bolt shot. He tried the knob, to find

that he was locked in and a prisoner.

_6. The Inner Room_

It was with something of a start that Don realized that he was caught in

a trap. He shook the door furiously, but it was firmly bolted, and his

efforts were entirely in vain. Stepping off, he sent a heavy kick

against it.

The old woman shuffled over to the door. “Here!” she shrilled. “You quit

that! It’s no use of you tryin’ to git yourself out.”

“What am I in here for?” cried Don.

“Don’t ask me. Ask the Boss,” she replied.

“Who is the boss?”

A chuckle came from the other side of the door. “Soon you’ll find out.

He’ll be in to see you before very long.”

Seeing that a display of temper would get him nowhere Don gave up his

attempt to break the door and fell to examining the room with care. The

windows had been boarded on the inside, and he gave up any thought of

trying to pry loose any of the boards without the necessary tools. There

was only one door in the room beside the one he had entered by, and he

soon found that this door was as firmly locked as the other one. The

walls, cold and wet to his touch, gave him no hope, for they were firm

enough. Finally, he gave it all up in disgust.

“Nothing doing anyway,” he muttered. “I wonder what the heck the game

is?”

He did not have long to wonder. Fifteen minutes after he had entered the

room he heard a key rattle in the lock on the opposite door. Evidently

the lock was quite rusted, for it took a few minutes for the other to

unlock it, but at length the task was completed, and the door opened.

Two men entered the room, and at sight of them Don felt a shock of

recognition. One of them was the stocky individual who had offered to

buy their boat the day before, and the other was the smaller man who had

been called Frank. Both of them were smoking cigars and seemed pleased

with something.

“How do you do, young man?” nodded the older of the two.

“What is the idea of locking me in here?” Don demanded.

The man called Frank laughed and turned to the other. “He’s a very

inquiring sort of a kid, isn’t he, Benito?”

“I certainly am,” retorted Don. “I’d like to know what you mean by

locking me in here.”

“Well, to tell you the truth,” answered Benito, “we don’t know ourselves

yet. We saw you anchor last night and we just waited for you to walk

into our trap. We haven’t decided what we’re going to make out of it

yet.”

“I see,” nodded the boy. “But you’re sure you are going to make

something out of it, aren’t you?”

“To be sure. Frank, be kind enough to hand me the boy’s wallet.”

Don eyed Frank and clenched his fist. “He’s liable to see a whole

collection of stars before he sees that wallet,” he said, determinedly.

Frank hesitated and looked at the other man.

Benito’s manner changed instantly from the friendly to the

business-like, and he frowned in an ugly manner. “Look here, kid, none

of that. You hand over your wallet or we’ll just put you to sleep and

take it. Don’t think we let you walk in here for nothing. Come on now,

hurry up.”

Boiling with anger, Don handed over his wallet. He realized that

resistance, under the circumstances, was absolutely useless. Benito took

the wallet and glanced through its contents.

“Hum,” he commented. “Fifty dollars in cash and your name is Mercer. Is

your father the lumber man?”

“Yes, he is, and he will make things hot for you, if you don’t let me

out of here,” Don promised.

Frank raised his eyebrows and looked significantly at Benito. “That

means big money, Boss.”

Don laughed outright. “I think you’ll have to go a long way to make any

big money on it,” he said.

But Benito shook his head easily. “Oh, no, we won’t. Your father will be

willing to pay a heavy price for your safe return, my boy. So we’ll just

keep you here until he does come across with a neat little day’s pay.

All you have to do is write a letter to your father, telling him where

you are, or about where you are, and asking him for a sum I will name

for you. That will be your end of the game.”

Don grinned. “That’s all I have to do, huh?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s just twice as much as I intend to do. I won’t write a line

for you, and you can do what you like about it.”

Benito jerked the cigar from his lips. “You’ll do just as we tell you!”

“I’ll not write one single line,” Don came back, steadily.

They glared at each other for a moment, Benito inwardly raging, Don

angry but perfectly calm. Then Benito smiled evilly.

“So that’s the way you feel about it, is it? Well, I don’t think you’ll

feel just that way after you haven’t eaten for a few days. You’ll change

your tune by that time.”

Don’s thoughts flew to Jim and Terry aboard the sloop, but as though the

man could read his thought he said: “You needn’t think your friends on

the boat can help you any. We’re going out there as soon as it gets dark

and take that little ship for our own. Then we’ll put those two boys in

here with you, for company.”

“You wouldn’t dare touch that boat!” Don gasped.

“No? You just watch and see. Come along, Frank. This young man wants to

be alone to think, I can see that. Pretty soon he’ll want something to

eat, too, but he won’t get it. Maybe then he’ll be able to listen to

reason.”

Don smiled coolly. “They say the emptier your stomach is, the clearer

you can think. I think you are both a fine pair of scoundrels now, so I

don’t know what I’ll think you are when I get hungry!”

“Be careful of that tongue of yours, young man!” snapped Benito.

“As long as I won’t be able to use it for eating, I’ve got to use it for

something,” Don retorted.

“The healthiest thing for you to do would be to keep it quiet,” the man

warned as they left the room, taking Don’s wallet with them.

“Well, here’s a pretty mess!” thought Don, as soon as he was left alone.

“I’m not a bit afraid as far as my own safety goes, but I don’t want

those fellows to get hold of the _Lassie_. I’ve got to get out of here.”

He now went to work in deadly earnest to seek a difficult job’s

solution. A few minutes’ work on the two doors with his pocket knife

showed him that all hope in that direction was at an end. Then he once

more examined the boarded windows, to find that it would take him hours

to remove one board. That would do only as a last resort. From the

windows he walked around the darkened room, examining walls and floor.

Near one of the windows he found a straight, pointed iron rod which was

screwed to the wall. He decided that it had formerly held a bird cage,

and as it was loosely held in place he soon pulled it out. It would act

as a lever or some kind of a tool, and he decided to keep it to use. If

he found that he was to be kept a prisoner for a long time this weapon

might come in handy as a lever for prying loose the window boards.

Meanwhile, he continued to roam around.

The men and the old woman had an appetizing meal in the next room, for

he could still smell the bacon, and he heard them sit down and talk. He

decided that he was to be kept next to the kitchen purposely, so that

each meal might undermine his resolution as some particular smell of

cooking food assailed him.

“They’ll never get me to write a letter to Dad,” he told himself,

doggedly.

He was beginning to feel hungry, for he had a healthy appetite, but he

pulled his belt tighter and resolved to fight it out. He began to

examine the floor more carefully, knowing that darkness would

necessarily limit his range of effort. Inch by inch he went over the

rough boards, and at the far end of the room he made a discovery.

A stove had stood in a corner at some time and under it a section of the

floor had been cut away, probably to allow the ashes to drop into the

cellar of the old house. The boards had been replaced later, but he

could see just where they joined to the rest of the floor, and there was

space enough to insert his improvised lever under the end of the first

board. Carefully he pried the first board loose and took it out.

To his surprise he found that he could put his arm through the hole and

feel only the cold, damp air of the cellar beneath. A second board was

soon taken out, and the opening was much bigger, though not large enough

to admit his whole body. He went to work rapidly on the third board.

This was not nearly so easy. While he was working he could hear the old

woman moving around the kitchen, washing dishes and humming to herself

in a high, cracked tone. The men had gone to another part of the house

and all, with the exception of the woman in the kitchen, was silent.

Once he heard her approach his door and listen, and he became very

quiet, scarcely daring to breathe. But she went away again and he

continued his work.

At last the third board came up and the hole was large enough to permit

him to go through. He lay on his stomach, peering down into the dark

void, sickened by the rank, foul odor which rose in force to his nose.

But he was unable to make out a thing in the dark hole, as he had not

brought any matches with him from the sloop.

“Nothing to do but take a chance at it,” he decided. “Anything is better

than staying here.”

He lowered himself over the hole, dropping his legs down slowly, until

his body hung over the black pit. Down and down he went, until he hung

by his finger tips. He had hoped to feel something beneath his feet, but

there was nothing, so, with a prayer for his safety, he let go, and shot

down into the inky blackness of the mysterious cellar.

_7. Jim Starts Out_

After Don left the sloop Jim busied himself in straightening up the

little ship, talking to Terry as the latter wrote his letter home. When

the sloop was in first class order Jim sat idly in the cockpit, watching

the ocean and the shore alternately. After a time, wearying of doing

nothing, he got out a book on navigation, and began to study it.

In this manner an hour went by, and it was Terry who called his

attention to the fact that Don had been gone a long time. Jim put the

book down and looked toward the shore.

“That’s so, he has,” he replied. “He should be back by now. From the

looks of things, that house isn’t ten minutes’ walk from the shore.”

They waited around for another hour, and at the end of that time they

were really worried. Jim was for going ashore at once, but Terry proved

to have better sense.

“I wouldn’t do it,” he urged. “It may be that someone has captured Don

and is just waiting to have one of us walk right into their trap. But if

Don doesn’t come back by nightfall we’ll have to do something, that’s

sure.”

“If Don doesn’t show up by nightfall we’ll swim ashore and hunt him up

ourselves,” Jim decided.

“Sure. It isn’t a pleasant outlook in any way, because, beside having to

swim ashore, we’ll be forced to find our way around that island in the

dark. What in the world do you suppose could have happened to him?”

“I haven’t any idea, but I keep thinking of that man with the lantern.

There isn’t any doubt that something has happened to him, or he would at

least let us know somehow that he was all right. I hate to sit here and

wait.”

Waiting, Jim found, was the hardest part of all. They spent a miserable

afternoon just sitting there, eagerly watching the dinghy on the shore.

But no one came to move it and it lay there on its side. Both of the

boys had the sensation of being watched.

“I just feel it,” Jim said, as they discussed it. “I’ll bet you someone

is hiding there in that dense undergrowth, just watching us. After all,

I think it would be useless to go ashore at this point. As soon as it

gets dark we’ll pull up anchor, drop down the shore a way, and I’ll go

ashore.”

“I’m going with you,” declared Terry, promptly.

But Jim shook his head firmly. “Nothing doing, Terry. Somebody has got

to guard the _Lassie_. What would happen to us if the ship was taken? If

the worst comes to the worst you’ll have to sail to the main shore and

get help. I mean if I should fail to show up.”

“I don’t know how to sail it alone,” Terry objected.

Jim leaped to his feet. “Then I’ll show you right now. We’ve got to

prepare for an emergency. There isn’t much to learn.”

For the next half hour Jim showed Terry how to start the engine, and how

to control it from the tiller. When he had finished a slight dusk was

beginning to steal over the water, and the boys impatiently awaited the

time for action. Both of them went through the motions of eating, though

neither was at all hungry. Slowly, almost painfully, the darkness crept

over the sea.

When it had grown so dark that they could not see the shore Jim went

into action. “We’ll have to hoist the sail and move down the shore,” he

said, walking forward. “And we’ve got to be careful about it, too. The

night is pretty still, and they’ll hear the creaking of the blocks on

shore if we don’t take care. First, I’ll lash down the tiller.”

This having been accomplished, Jim instructed Terry in the method of

hauling the mainsail up. On opposite sides of the mast they pulled the

halyards, until the sail, still with the two reefs in it, was spread

against the black sky. When the jib had been placed in position Jim took

the tiller, and under a gentle breeze the _Lassie_ began to sail quietly

down the coast.

In fifteen minutes Jim was satisfied, and he and Terry quickly lowered

the sails and trimmed them, lashing them fast to the boom. Then Jim went

below and changed into an old shirt and a pair of trousers, reappearing

on deck a few minutes later. Although they could not see the shore, they

knew that it lay off their bow.

“If I don’t show up by noontime tomorrow,” Jim said, as he dangled his

feet over the stern, “don’t wait around any longer. Sail across to the

mainland and get help. You may find it a bit hard to sail the sloop

alone, but it can be done. Simply give any other boat a wide berth and

you won’t run into ’em. Keep your eyes open all night, either for my

return or for some enemy. I hate to go away and leave you alone all

night.”

Terry grasped his hand. “I hate to think of you wandering around all

night alone on the island. Good luck, kid.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

Noiselessly, Jim slid over the side and into the water, disappearing

from Terry’s view as he sank under the waves. In a second he reappeared

and struck out vigorously for the shore. Both Terry and the boat were

lost to his view as he forged his way through the water that was as

black as the sky.

It was not long before Jim struck bottom, and he stood upon his feet.

The island was just ahead of him, and he pushed his way steadily through

the water, his upward progress steady, until he stood upon the shore of

the dark island. Then, after pausing to listen for a time, he walked up

the sand and entered the woods.

He was at a complete loss as to which way to turn, but judging that the

house lay north, he walked in that direction. His clothing was dripping

wet, but as the night was hot, he did not mind it. He found that he was

at the bottom of a hill, and at first decided not to climb it, but

realizing that he could see any light on the island from a hilltop, he

resolved to go on. So he pushed his way forward through the undergrowth,

feeling his way with infinite care, and at length stood on the top of

the hill.

As soon as he had looked around with care, he was glad that he had come.

For, although he could not make out the details of the island, he could

see below him, distant by a half mile, the light from a house. It was

indistinct, but he knew that it was flooding out of a window on a ground

floor room.

“That’s the place,” Jim decided, and hastened down the other side of the

hill, guiding himself by the light as it came to him through the trees.

When he reached the ground level, however, he could not see it any more,

and he was compelled to trust to a general sense of direction. But he

had fixed it firmly in his mind, and in less than an hour’s painful toil

through the black woods he arrived at last at the front of the house.

Somewhere inside Don must be, perhaps a prisoner, perhaps even hurt. The

light still shone from the single window, which was a front one just off

the main section of the house, in a wing, and there were no shutters or

shades over it. The long, rambling porch ran under it.

Stealing silently over the rank grass that choked the front yard of the

house Jim cautiously approached the beam of light. He had hoped to stand

on the ground and look in, preferring to trust the firm earth rather

than the boards of the porch, but he found that in order to see in at

all he would be compelled to mount the rickety steps. So he went to the

short flight, stepping quietly up them, and tiptoed across the rotting

porch. Coming to the window, he carefully thrust his head forward and

looked into the room.

Benito and Frank were seated in the room, before an open fireplace, in

which a wood fire snapped and smoked. The house was wet and cold, and

the men had made the fire earlier in the evening. Benito was smoking,

and the smaller man was chewing on a piece of straw, staring into the

fire. A corner of the window glass had been broken and Jim could hear

perfectly everything that was said.

Frank was speaking when Jim, after having looked around the room for a

trace of Don, turned his full attention to the men. Scarcely daring to

breathe, Jim listened breathlessly.

“Marcy says the boys moved the boat about a half mile down the shore,”

the little man was saying.

Benito nodded, blowing a ring of smoke toward the ceiling. “They must

have suspected that we’d be out after them before long. They won’t dare

to go away from the island while we have the brother, and they will be

on the lookout. Soon as Marcy comes back we’ll go after the other two.”

Jim felt his blood chill as the facts of the case came to him. The men

had Don and were coming to take Terry and himself prisoner. They even

knew where the _Lassie_ was anchored. For the moment he was at his wit’s

end, unable to decide whether to go back and warn Terry to sail away, or

stay and try to save Don. He was trying to figure out just what their

object was when Frank unconsciously helped him.

“You figure it’ll be worth while to take in all three of them?” he

asked.

Benito nodded. “I don’t know a thing about that third fellow,” he

admitted. “But I do know that Mr. Mercer will pay plenty to get his boys

back home. Meanwhile we’ll grab the sloop, give it a new coat of paint,

and realize a pretty little penny from it. By the time the new owner

finds out how we got it, we’ll be out of the country and safe.”

Jim’s eyes flashed fire, he clenched his teeth, and for a moment he had

the impulse to smash his way through the window and hurl himself upon

the two men. Realizing how rash and foolish such a move would be he

controlled himself and waited, still uncertain as to what to do. He was

tormented by the thought that he must decide wisely, for the wrong move

might ruin everything. He wondered if Don was safe, and he was overjoyed

to hear Frank’s next remark.

“We’ve got the older Mercer boy safe enough. Like enough he’ll soon get

hungry and write that note to his father.”

“Oh, of course. It’s merely a matter of time. I judge that the boy is

used to eating regularly and plenty, and I don’t think he’ll hold out

long.”

“How are we going to get the other two?” Frank asked.

Benito looked at his watch. “Just as soon as Marcy gets back we’ll take

the power boat and go out after them. We’ll muffle the oars and sneak up

on ’em. I suppose they’ll be awake but it won’t take us long to overcome

them. We’ll tow their sloop up the creek and take good care of it.”

Jim was beginning to wonder uneasily where Marcy might be, but Frank’s

next remark reassured him. “Marcy’s taking a look in on young Mercer,

ain’t he?”

“Yep. Just seeing if he is fixed for the night. The boy’s been very

quiet, and I was just wondering——”

At that moment rapid footsteps sounded in a hall outside of the room in

which Benito and Frank sat, causing the two men to look in alarm at each

other. Jim strained forward to see what was to happen next.

A door opened hurriedly, and a rough-looking man with a week’s growth of

beard burst into the room. Benito sprang to his feet.

“What is it, Marcy?” he snapped.

“That kid is gone!” the man gasped. “Pulled up some boards out of the

floor and dropped into the cellar. We got to get him, or he’ll find

the——”

“Never mind,” shouted Benito. “You go down the hole after him. Frank and

I will look around the grounds. That kid must not get away. What’s

that?”

“That” was an accident of serious nature. Jim had forgotten the porch he

had been standing on, and he had pressed too near the house. The boards

at that point were rotten, and with a crash that sounded like the

explosion of a cannon they went through.

_8. The Old Captain_

At the sound caused by Jim’s fall through the rotted boards the three

men paused for an instant in stunned surprise. But it was only a brief

second. Suspecting that some enemy had been spying on them the men made

haste to pursue.

Marcy, upon the repeated demand of Benito, went back down the hall to

capture Don, but the chief and Frank rushed to the window. Jim’s right

leg had plunged into the hole as far as his knee, and he was at first

frantic, believing that he could not get out in time, but realizing that

losing his head would not help him, he calmed himself and pulled more

easily. His leg came out of the hole just as Benito and Frank sighted

him from the window.

“It’s one of those kids!” shouted Benito. “Get him!”

The door was several yards from the window and to that circumstance Jim

owed the start that he got. He sprinted across the shaking porch and

jumped to the ground just as the two men opened the door back of him.

They gave chase, running swiftly, but Jim had just enough of a start to

enable him to outdistance them. But as the country around the old house

was new to him, and he believed that the men knew it perfectly, he

thought that it would only be a matter of minutes before they took him

captive.

It was useless to keep on running. Benito was too heavy to run well, but

with Frank it was a different story. The little man was fast, and Jim

could hear him gaining inch by inch, beating through the undergrowth

like some evil bloodhound. The boy determined to find some spot and

hide, trusting to luck to keep from being found, and as he ran, he kept

his eyes open for some shelter.

It was almost useless in such darkness, but at last, after ducking back

and forth and doubling on his tracks several times he saw before him a

dense tangle which had been created by two trees falling together,

forming an arch over which a screen of vines had grown. Close in under

one of the trunks he ran, worming his body in under the mass of vines.

Then, smothering his heavy breathing as best as he could, he waited to

see what would happen.

Frank had been several yards back of him, crashing his way recklessly

through the bushes, but now the noise stopped abruptly. Either the

little man knew where he was hiding, or he was at a total loss. Jim’s

groping hand encountered a fairly hard stick of wood and he grasped it

firmly. If they found him, he could at least put up a fight, he decided.

A sudden dash, while plying vigorously about him with the stick, might

earn his liberty for him. Determined on this point, he waited tensely.

But a moment later it was evident that Frank was lost. Benito joined him

and the little man growled profanely.

“He ain’t far off,” Frank said. “All of a sudden I heard him quit

running. He’s hiding right around here in the bushes, I tell you.”

“Then we’ll root him out,” answered Benito. “I wish we’d brought a

flashlight, but it’s too late now.”

They began to beat around in the thicket, and Jim was in an agony of

suspense as they approached his hiding place. Once they saw it he was

lost, for they would surely investigate so promising a place. But they

had halted just far enough away to keep them from reaching his place of

concealment, and after a half-hour’s search they gave it up.

“It’s no use,” decided the leader. “He got away somewhere, but he won’t

get off of the island. Now, we’d better not waste any more time fooling.

We’ve got to get under way and capture that other kid out on the boat.”

“Going out after him now, eh?”

“Oh, sure! They wouldn’t have left that boat unguarded, and I guess that

one boy is on board. We’ve got to go out there and take the boat away

from him. We had better get started before this other kid swims out

there and warns him.”

With that they moved away, leaving Jim with a relieved mind, but with

another problem confronting him. He knew that he must get back and warn

Terry of the coming danger; in fact, if he could get back before the men

got out to the boat he and the red-headed boy could sail out to sea. The

question now was to find his way back to the house, from there to the

hill, and then swim back to the boat. Carefully, he worked his way free

of the vines and stood out in the woods, looking for his path.

This was not as easy as he had at first supposed, for he had turned and

twisted so much in his flight that he was by no means sure of his

direction. He walked in the direction that he supposed the two men had

taken, but even that was guesswork, for they had made very little sound

as they went away. Trusting to a sense of direction more than anything

else Jim began to work his way back toward the house.

But after a half hour of such traveling he was sure that he was wrong.

Admitting that he had been running quite fast when leaving the vicinity

of the house, he was sure that he should have been back by this time. He

stopped and looked around him, but was not able from this to tell

anything, so he kept on walking, in hopes that he would come out

somewhere near the house. But it seemed to him that the undergrowth

became thicker and thicker and at length he realized that he was lost.

He stopped now in earnest and pondered his problem. He had lost so much

valuable time that he felt he would be too late to help Terry. While he

was reflecting he noticed a booming sound that he had disregarded

completely up to that time. Hope awoke again as he recognized it.

“Why, that’s the sea pounding on the shore,” he murmured. “I must be

near the water after all.”

Guided by the sound Jim forced his way through the brush and after

another fifteen minutes’ walk he was close to the shore. Breaking at

last through the grass and scrub he found himself on the top of a small

hill, looking down on the tumbling water. But as he looked up and down

the shore line a bitter conviction was forced upon him.

“I’m on the other side of the island,” he cried. “I’ve walked completely

across the place.”

For a single instant he felt crushed under the realization and then he

made up his mind. The island was not very big, and might in reality be

only a mile or little more from where the _Lassie_ was anchored. By

hastening along the shore he might see her any minute and he could swim

out. In any case it was better to be moving than to be standing still

undecided. Accordingly, he hastened down the sand hill and began a rapid

walk along the beach.

He had no idea in which direction to go first, and finally decided to go

north along the shore, hoping that he had picked the correct direction.

His running around the island had so confused him that he had no idea in

which direction the sloop might lie, so he wasted no time in idle

wondering. Finding the sand hard down near the water he walked rapidly

along, occasionally breaking into a run. In this way he had covered a

mile when he was halted by the sight of a small hut with a light

streaming out of a window.

It was the hut of a fisherman, as Jim could tell from the nets which

were stretched out on a huge windlass to dry. His first thought was to

pass by without going near the house, for he had no idea who the lone

fisherman was, or how friendly he might be to the men in the house. It

might even be one of the gang, and in that case he had no desire to fall

into his hands. But on the other hand it might be a man he could trust,

a man who would help him to find the _Lassie_, and in that case the find

would be one of intense value. Acting under an impulse Jim walked to the

door of the hut and knocked.

A chair banged down on the wooden floor and a voice that was a trifle

sharp cried out: “Who is it, eh?”

“I’m lost and I’d like to find my way around the island!” Jim called.

There was a moment’s hesitation and then the door was opened by a tall

old man clad in boots, rough fishing clothes, and an old red sweater. He

had white hair and his sharply defined face was tanned by the brisk sea

air. Two deep brown eyes glowed from under shaggy locks. In his hand he

had a newspaper.

He looked sharply at Jim for a minute and then waved his paper. “Come

inside,” he bellowed, and Jim felt an instant friendliness in his voice.

Jim stepped inside, to find himself in a room which was a hodge-podge of

jumbled furniture, from fishing rods and nets to shells and flower pots

filled with strange plants. A single oil lamp burned on the table and

the old man pointed to a box near the door, on which Jim sat down.

Picking up a battered black pipe, the sea captain lit it and studied

Jim.

“Lost, eh?” questioned the old man, unexpectedly.

“Lost, eh! Ha, ha, ha!”

The words, harsh and rasping, came from back of Jim, and the boy whirled

around, to find a brilliantly colored parrot standing on a short perch

back of him. The captain addressed the parrot shortly.

“Close your hatch, Bella,” he ordered.

“Close your hatch!” repeated the parrot.

“Yes, sir, I’m lost,” Jim said, as the fisherman looked once more at

him. And feeling that the truth would serve him more than half a story,

he told the man everything. The old man’s face took on a look of great

interest as he listened, and his eyes danced.

“I want to know!” he roared, when Jim had finished. “I always mistrusted

that gang up there. I can’t figure out what they’re doing on this

island. The miserable dogs!” He jumped to his feet and took down a

battered blue hat which he clapped on his head. “Come on, Jim Mercer,

we’ll put a spoke in them fellows’ wheel, or my name ain’t Captain

Blow.”

“Do you think you can locate the _Lassie_?” Jim asked.

“Sure thing. I got a power dory out front that’ll chase up anything on

the water.” He leveled his finger at the parrot. “Keep your eye on the

ship ’till I get back, Bella Donna.”

“Oh, my! Mind your eye!” croaked the parrot, blinking.

The captain and Jim went out, and the captain closed the door after him

but did not lock it.

“Don’t you lock your door?” Jim asked, in surprise.

The captain chuckled. “No, I don’t. I got Bella trained so that if

anybody that don’t belong comes cruisin’ around she starts to groan like

someone was dead inside. That keeps ’em out.”

Down at the edge of the water lay a fine power dory, and the captain

shoved it into the water. He and Jim leaped aboard, the motor was

started, and the captain sent it out to sea in a wide swing.

“Your boat is clear around on the other side of the island,” the captain

said, as he headed the dory around the island. “It’ll take us about

fifteen minutes to get there. You walked straight across the land when

you ran away from those fellows.”

The dory was swift and followed the coast under the skilled hand of

Captain Blow. It was not long before they were opposite the cove where

the _Lassie_ had anchored that day. The captain gave the dory engine an

additional spurt of power and began to head slightly out to sea. To

Jim’s surprised look he replied: “I want to come up on the other side of

your boat. If I come in from the port side your friend will think we’re

after him. Providin’, of course, that he’s still there.”

“I certainly hope so,” Jim said, anxiously.

“In a minute we’ll find out.”

Scarcely had he spoken when Jim stood up excitedly. “There she is! Off

to your right. There’s a light aboard, so I guess Terry is still there.

I’ll give him a hail.”

“Don’t you do it!” ordered the captain, shutting off his power. “Because

there’s a small boat over near the shore sneaking up on him! Grab that

boathook and get ready to jump aboard your boat when I row up to it!”

As the captain bent to the oars Jim tried to see the small boat which he

had spoken of, but he was unable to make it out. He picked up the

boathook and waited, standing in the stern. Looking toward the sloop, he

saw that a steady light was pouring out of the companionway.

At that moment Terry stepped out on deck, looking toward the shore. “Who

are you?” they heard him call. There was no answer and the red-headed

boy picked up the sloop boathook.

“Keep off this boat,” they heard him call, and the next moment they saw

him strike at someone with all his strength.

“Just in time, by Godfrey!” muttered Captain Blow, as he sent the dory

alongside the sloop.

_9. Alone on the Sloop_

After Jim had dropped over the stern of the sloop Terry strained his

eyes to follow his progress toward the shore. For a brief distance he

was able to see the boy, but very soon the dense blackness swallowed Jim

up. He listened intently, following his progress through the water, and

at last was pretty sure that Jim had landed safely on the shore. Then,

realizing that he was left alone on the sloop for an indefinite period

of time, Terry settled down to wait.

In any other circumstances he would have felt the thrill of being alone

and being heir to such an important trust, but just now he felt very

lonely. There was such uncertainty regarding the whereabouts of Don, and

all their plans hinged on issues that might easily work out to their

disadvantage. If Don escaped from wherever he was and went down to the

cove he would be puzzled to find that the sloop was gone, and he would

be at a loss, though Terry was inclined to think that he would get in

the dinghy and row all around the island looking for them. With that

thought in mind the boy decided to keep a careful lookout for a boat.

Waiting under such circumstances was not easy, and Terry found the time

hanging heavily on his hands. He sat in the cockpit and on the top of

the cabin, and walked around the deck several times, keeping a sharp

glance directed toward the shore. He wished that he was with Jim, to

share with him whatever danger or problem he might encounter, but he by

no means underrated the importance of his own position. He knew that he

must at all costs guard the sloop well, and that all would be lost if

the boat fell into other hands. With this thought in mind he made a

thorough inspection of the sloop, examining it in every respect. Down

below he found a long boathook, which he brought up on deck, determined

to use it as a weapon if necessary.

The electric light was burning steadily in the cabin and he wondered if

he should extinguish it, but on second thought he decided not to. If Don

or Jim returned they would miss the _Lassie_ in the darkness, and he

knew that would never do. The light must be kept going at all costs, and

if it went out there was an oil lamp and plenty of fuel aboard.

Jim had taught him how to run the sloop and he wondered if he remembered

how to do it. He went through the motions, without turning the flywheel

however, for it would never do to have the sound of the motor explosions

heard on the shore. He found that he remembered perfectly, and was

confident that he could put on power and run away if necessary. He hoped

that he would not be compelled to.

In this way an hour passed, a long dragging hour and to Terry it seemed

like an eternity. Time and again he strained his eyes in the direction

of the island, but no sign of a light did he see. Realizing that he was

visible in the light that shone from the companionway he closed the

slide until only a crack of light streamed up against the black sky,

enough of a guide to Jim or Don if they needed it.

Suddenly he sat up straight, listening. There had been a sound, and he

was not sure if it had been the lapping of waves against the beach or

some other sound. After a time it came again, and there was no mistaking

it this time, it was the squeaking of oarlocks. It was off toward the

shore, and drawing closer.

For a moment he hesitated, uncertain. If it was Don he must hail, but if

it was some unfriendly person he would risk everything by calling out.

It was a hazard either way, but he saw that he must take it. Grasping

the boathook in one hand he called out over the water: “Ahoy, there!

That you, Don?”

His voice sounded alarmingly loud, and the noise of the oars stopped

abruptly. Thinking that the other had not fully heard him, Terry

repeated his call. There was no answer, and he knew that it was not Don

or Jim. But there was certainly someone out there in a boat, and Terry

felt his skin prickle as he knew that he was being watched by eyes that

he could not see.

His thoughts raced. Was somebody softly stealing up to him in the

darkness, prepared to rush aboard the sloop? The hand which held the

boathook tightened and his eyes narrowed. If they were, they could count

on a good stiff fight. If there were not too many of them he felt that

he could hold his own against them, as the boathook was long, and he

could use it vigorously. But as time went on and there was no movement,

he began to be reassured. Perhaps his fears were groundless, perhaps he

had only thought he heard someone out there.

A moment later and he knew that that was not so. The squeaking began

again, but this time it was going away from him. Whoever had been in the

boat had either been there with the avowed purpose of spying on him or

had been somehow scared off by his call. The sound rapidly drew away

until it was lost in the distance.

“Now, I wonder what the dickens that man wanted?” the boy muttered,

uneasily. He looked out toward the sea, to be sure that it was not a

trap. In his present state of mind he was not sure that someone would

not appear suddenly out of the darkness on the starboard side and spring

over the rail.

He continued his watch. He wished he knew just when the boys were coming

back, in which case he could have made coffee for them. It was then that

he realized that he was hungry, for they had only made a pretense at

eating. Knowing that there was some cold meat in the refrigerator he

went below and got it, together with some bread, and fixed himself a

sandwich. While doing this he paused frequently to thrust his head out

of the companionway opening and look around and listen. But the only

thing that he heard was the lapping of the water on the shore.

He sat on the deck and ate his sandwich, enjoying it more than he had

thought possible under the circumstances. After that time dragged, and

he found himself getting sleepy. The salt air had been having that

effect on the country boy since he had been with the boys, and he found

in spite of his excitement that he was nodding. Realizing sharply that

the last thing he must do was to go to sleep he stirred restlessly and

wondered what he should do to keep himself awake. Surely there was

something he could do to make the time pass.

But when he came to look around he found that there was not. One of the

first things Mr. Mercer had taught his boys when he had bought the sloop

for them was that it must always be kept in the best order, and

immediately after meals the boys cleared up all rubbish and aired out

blankets, setting the sloop in shipshape order before undertaking any of

the pleasures of the day. And Jim had left the ship in the best of order

before he had gone. Every blanket was folded and in place, and Terry

could not find a thing to do.

A tiny splash near the sloop caused him to come to attention like a

flash. It was a bit unusual, and he knew that it was not like anything

else that he heard before. It sounded as though someone had dropped an

oar in the water with a little more force than was intended, and he was

instantly on the alert. No sound followed it, but Terry bounded up on

deck.

His fears were realized. About ten feet from the sloop was a rowboat,

with two men in it. They were rowing toward the sloop rapidly, and the

oars had been muffled in burlap. When they saw Terry they bent to the

oars with increased vigor.

“Who are you?” Terry called, but he received no answer. He stooped over,

picked up the boathook and raised it aloft.

“Keep off this boat,” he called, but one of the men, whom he now

recognized as the short man, Frank, dropped his oars and made a clutch

at the rail of the sloop. Terry struck downward with all his strength.

_10. Blown Out to Sea_

The boathook, flashing down with all Terry’s muscular strength, landed

heavily on Frank’s shoulder, causing the little man to drop back into

the boat with a sharp cry.

But with Benito he was not so fortunate. While Terry was busy with the

smaller man the leader of the men had flung a rope loosely over the

stern rail of the sloop and was even now springing aboard. Before Terry

could raise the boathook again the powerful man had thrown his arms

about the boy.

“No use to struggle, bub,” he grumbled. “We’ve got you.”

Encouraged by the success Benito had met with, Frank scrambled on the

deck, casting an ugly look at Terry. As for the boy himself, he suddenly

felt sick and disgusted. He had been left with the sloop in his care,

and now he had allowed the men to creep up alongside in the darkness.

Deep down in his heart he knew that resistance was useless, but he still

struggled.

“Look here, young fellow—” began Benito when the sloop heeled over

slightly as a sudden weight was added to the starboard side. Terry,

twisting in Benito’s grasp, found Jim standing behind him, a boathook in

his hand. For a moment the two outlaws, thinking that Jim was alone,

started toward him, Benito dragging Terry.

But as Terry began to kick and squirm Captain Blow leaped on deck. The

old man looked the picture of fury as he bore down on the two men from

the other side of the island. Jim, springing at Frank, just missed him

with a swing of the boathook, and the little man, uttering a howl of

terror, rolled off the deck and splashed into the water. Benito, seeing

the grim look in the captain’s eyes, attempted to let go of the boy, but

Terry, realizing that he was to be captured, in turn held on to him.

Captain Blow’s haste spoiled the whole scheme. Like a battering ram the

captain’s knotted old fist caught the bandit on the side of the head,

knocking him clean overboard. Without touching the low rail or any

portion of the sloop Benito simply flew in a back dive into the water.

“Get him!” yelled Jim, “don’t let him get away!”

Frank had succeeded in climbing into the rowboat and was rowing swiftly

to where Benito was bobbing around in the water. As they watched the

leader climbed into the boat, and they started to row rapidly for the

island.

“We’ll get ’em in the dory,” Captain Blow said shortly. “Hop in, you

two.”

Terry and Jim piled into the dory without loss of speed and the captain

started the engine. The little boat ran around the _Lassie_ and then

started in toward the shore.

“Oh, shucks!” snorted the captain. “I wish we’d thought to bring a

flashlight along. My boat’s got no light on it. We’ll sort of have to

feel our way along after them fellows.”