It was not too much like feeling, for the captain had a remarkably sharp

pair of eyes, but although they patrolled up and down the shore for a

good half hour they saw no signs of the two men in the rowboat.

“Must have headed right in to the shore,” Jim suggested.

“Yes,” the captain agreed. “Probably hiding in some black creek right

now, where we’d never find ’em in a year of Sundays. Well, I suppose we

go back now.”

“Aren’t you going to the house to get Don?” Jim cried.

The captain shook his head and headed the dory out to sea. “Nope, sorry

to say. It wouldn’t be the sensible thing to do just now. Somebody has

got to stay aboard the ship to watch her, and those fellows might come

out again. Besides, we’d have a mean job finding the house in the dark

and we couldn’t get in and roam around. Anyhow, you said your brother

had escaped, so he may be somewhere on the island, just waiting for

daylight.”

“I hope so,” Jim muttered. “But we’ll go ashore in the morning, won’t

we?”

“Don’t you hang any doubts on that!” the captain declared, with

emphasis. “We’ll just land all troops and clean up that place in fine

style!”

They boarded the _Lassie_ again, where Jim told Terry of his adventures

of the last few hours. Terry was very much pleased with Jim’s new find,

Captain Blow. On his part, the old sailor was much impressed with the

boys.

“You’re real shipshape lads,” he declared, warmly. “None of these softy

loafers. I must say you keep this little boat in first class order. I’ve

sailed in some worse rattletraps than this, in my time. Galloping

smelts! there goes my fool tongue again. I mean I’ve sailed in some

ships in my time that was rattletraps, not that your boat is one. Good

thing my boats don’t navigate like my tongue.”

Hope that Don had managed to get away from the island house safely in

some measure eased the minds of the two boys, and they ate some food.

The captain asked to look at their barometer and frowned at it, but said

nothing. In another hour, as they sat on the deck, a moaning breeze

began to blow through the halyards of the sloop, and it began to rock

with increasing force.

“In for bad weather,” growled the captain.

His words were scarcely out of his mouth before a violent gale swept

over them, and the fury of the storm was on. Shouting to them to get

below the captain forced his way to the bow to examine the anchor cable.

Presently he dropped through the hatchway, soaking wet from head to foot

from the flying spray.

“If it gets any worse we’ll have to weigh anchor and scoot,” he

reported. “That baby hawser is getting quite a strain on it.”

For the next half hour the sloop rocked without stopping, and the three

sat and talked in low tones. Each time a wave hit the little ship it

jerked roughly at the anchor cable. Finally, shaking his shaggy head,

the captain got up.

“Turn your power on,” he ordered Jim. “We’ve got to get that mud-hook

up. If we don’t the cable’ll bust in two and then we’ll be bouncing all

over the ocean.”

While Jim turned on the power the captain scrambled outside to pull up

the anchor. Even under full power the _Lassie_ made little headway, only

enough to slack up the strain on the taut cable. Bending double in the

raging storm the old sea captain slowly and painfully cranked up the

hand windlass. Reluctantly, the anchor came up.

Immediately the captain flew to the tiller, for, once released of the

controlling power of the anchor the sloop bucked and rolled like a thing

alive. Jim shut off the power and the boys looked out of the

companionway, which was opened on a crack, at the captain, where he sat

holding the sloop firmly on its course.

“What shall we do now?” Jim shouted to the skipper.

“Toss me out a good oilskin and then go to bed,” he returned, looking

through narrowed eyes at the huge waves that rolled around them.

Terry handed him a suit of oilskins. “We don’t want to go to bed, sir,”

he said. “Too much excitement.”

The captain slapped his knee. “Excitement, by golly! What kind of

sailors do you two calculate to be? Don’t you know a real jack tar don’t

let anything bother his sleep but the sinkin’ of the ship! And answer me

this: either of you ever try to hold a small vessel in line in a blow?”

The boys shook their heads. The captain chuckled. “If you tried this

tonight, you’d be flappin’ back and forth in the breeze like a shirt on

a line. Get into bed and get some sleep!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” laughed Jim. He and Terry climbed into their bunks, but

for a time found sleep impossible.

“My gosh!” gasped Terry. “I was never in a bed that threw you up in the

air like this.”

Finally, however, almost worn out by the events of the day, the boys

went to sleep, to wake up several hours later. They sprang up and opened

the companionway slide, to find that they were far from the island. The

wind had gone down and the stalwart old captain still sat at the tiller.

“Good morning, Captain Blow,” nodded Jim. “I feel guilty to have slept

while you sat here on this wet deck all night with the tiller.”

“I do, too,” agreed Terry.

“Pull in your sail!” ordered the captain, good-naturedly. “It didn’t

hurt me any. We’re a considerable spell further out than we were

yesterday, ain’t we?”

“Yes,” Jim agreed, anxiously. “Can we get back?”

The captain tossed his oilskins aside. “We sure can. We’re about three

miles off of that island now. The water’s running pretty heavy right

now, but put on the power anyway. We’ve got to get back to that island.”

The sloop was soon under full power, headed back toward the low island.

The captain surrendered the tiller to Jim and went below to make coffee,

which warmed them and buoyed up their spirits.

It took them more than an hour to run back to the island, but at the end

of that time they dropped anchor in the cove, where the dinghy had been

placed on the sands. But there was no dinghy there now, and Jim was

worried.

“Let’s hope Don didn’t take to the dinghy and was lost in the storm,” he

said.

But the captain shook his head. “Don’t believe it,” he declared,

stoutly. “Well, here is where we raid that nest in the woods. Only this

time I suggest that Jim stays on the ship, and you, Terry, come with

me.”

“Can’t we all go?” Jim cried.

“Nope. I’d like you to stay here, while Terry and me see what we can

stir up in that place.”

So Jim was left alone to pace restlessly around the deck of the _Lassie_

while the other two, in the captain’s dory, went ashore. He watched them

land and then settled himself to wait.

Terry and the captain took the path and soon reached the old house. It

looked every bit as deserted as it ever had, but the captain wasted no

time in wondering. He marched up the shaking front steps, raised his

foot, and kicked the door off its hinges. With a roar the door flew into

the damp hall.

“Nobody can say I didn’t knock!” he grinned.

Both of them had armed themselves with heavy sticks, although Terry was

sure that the captain had something cold and steel in an inside pocket,

something which reassured him, but which he hoped the captain would not

have to use. They were now in a large hall, off which ran a number of

rooms. A winding staircase ran to the floor above, and on a turn in it

they saw a large old redwood clock.

“A grandfather clock,” breathed Terry.

“Sure! See the whiskers on it!”

Terry laughed. “Those are cobwebs,” he said. The captain moved away in

the direction of another room, but the red-headed boy remained where he

was, looking up the stairs.

“Come on,” ordered the captain, impatiently, “What are you standing

there for? Your feet sprouting lead?”

“No,” answered Terry slowly. “But I do think I just saw that grandfather

clock move, Captain Blow!”

_11. The Storage Room_

When Don let go of the edge of the flooring in the old house and dropped

into space he had no idea of how far he would fall or how he would land.

His teeth gripped together firmly, he felt himself shooting through a

black void, to land suddenly on something wet and soft. The fall had not

been long, and he was not even shaken up.

By feeling about him he soon came to the conclusion that he had landed

on a heap of ashes, long ago soaked down by the dampness of the cellar.

Don stood up and slowly moved his arms around in circles to gauge his

distance, and then, finding that he was not near any wall or partition,

began a careful advance. The place was pitch dark, and he had no idea

what terrible holes or traps might exist in the loathsome place.

After traveling slowly in one direction he found that his hands

encountered a wall, and with that as a guide he began a systematic

journey around the place, seeking some sort of an opening. He had

traveled around three of the four walls when his groping hands felt an

iron door. He ran his hand up and down it from top to bottom and found

that it was only five feet high and about three feet wide. The iron,

much to his surprise, did not feel badly rusted. He wondered how that

could be, and concluded that it had not been there for any length of

time.

Continuing his explorations with his fingers he found a sliding bolt on

the door which he had no difficulty in working. The bolt slipped back

without protest, and the door opened inward, toward him. But when Don

had opened the door, he felt rather disappointed. He had hoped to feel a

rush of cold air, but there was none. Only a drier odor and one heavily

tinctured with canvas. It was evidently good dry canvas, too, and that

fact surprised him.

He stepped over the sill into the blackness and nearly pitched headlong.

Only a good hold on the door frame saved him from going down, and he

realized that this room was a few steps below the main cellar. So he

lowered his foot until he felt the top step, and then found the second,

and so on, until he had walked down four of them. Then he had made the

level of the floor.

He felt a table to one side of him, and found that the top was covered

with miscellaneous articles. Fortunately, he found a candle among the

odds and ends which lay there.

“Now to find some matches,” he thought, and with increasing care he felt

around the table until he came across a small box of safety matches.

With an inward whoop of joy he scratched a match and lighted the candle.

When the glow was steady he held the light above his head and looked

around.

He was in a storage room that was quite large, and it was evident that

some things were kept here with care. Several shelves ranged along the

walls and these shelves seemed to be loaded with articles, all of which

were covered with canvas. Don approached a bottom shelf and lifted a

piece of canvas.

What he saw made his eyes bulge out. Quickly he lifted other coverings

and examined the articles under them. In each case the same conviction

was forced upon him.

“Jeepers!” he breathed. “These fellows are the marine bandits all

right!”

Each piece of canvas covered some stolen object from a boat or a

boathouse. Here there was a clock, there a sextant, there a binnacle,

under another cover a compass and in a corner a telescope. There must

have been almost a hundred pieces of ships’ goods there, and Jim’s clock

was there, too.

“So,” decided Don, “this is where they store the stuff and then

afterward they run it down the shore and sell it to cheap ship

chandlers. No wonder they were never caught. It was easy for them to run

out here and hide the stuff, and no one thought that they were so near

home.”

He was trying to make up his mind just what to do when a sound outside

startled him. Someone was walking around, and had gone into the room

where he had been confined. With a swift movement Don blew out the light

and waited, his heart pounding furiously. He knew that if they caught

him in that room his life might be in grave danger, for they would

realize that he controlled their secret.

The man in the room uttered a startled cry and then ran from the room.

Don heard him running about the house, and then he heard other voices

raised in excited talking. He also heard Jim fall through the porch,

without knowing what it was, however. But when he heard a patter of feet

returning to the room above he knew that he must seek safety at once.

His first impulse was to leave the storage room, but on second thought

he dismissed it. Out in the dark cellar he would be at a distinct loss,

and he dared not go out there with a light. No, he remembered that there

was some extra canvas piled on the floor at the end of the storage room,

and it was under this that he hid himself, hoping against hope that he

was fully concealed.

He heard the man drop through the opening that he had made earlier in

the evening and he could follow his progress as the man cautiously made

his way around the cellar. It was not long before he heard the iron door

open and a light, evidently from a lantern, flashed into the storage

room.

From a split in the canvas Don could gain a fairly good view of what was

going on. He saw the shaggy individual that Jim had seen come into the

room and look about him carefully. Don could not understand why Benito

and Frank were not with this man. Sizing him up, Don felt quite capable

of handling him if it became necessary for him to try, but he hoped that

it would not. Meanwhile, the man looked in each corner of the room,

ducking his lantern down into the dark places.

At last, apparently satisfied that Don was not in there, the man turned

and started for the steps. But as his foot touched the first one he

paused and looked fully at the canvas under which Don lay. There was

something burning in his glance, and Don felt his skin grow tight. Then,

placing the lantern on the lowest step, the man headed straight for the

heap of canvas.

Don gritted his teeth and clinched his fists, prepared to carry his

adversary off of his feet in the first rush. But just as the man was

about to lean down to pick up a strip of the covering Benito’s voice

hailed him from above.

“Hey! Did you find that kid?”

“No!” the man shouted. “He’s got away.”

“Well, then come on up. What are you doing down there now?”

“Just gettin’ a strip of canvas to cover that hole with.”

Benito snorted. “Never mind that now. I want you to go down to the cove

and row those kids’ dinghy around to the creek. Frank and me are going

out and capture the sloop.”

The man went out, taking the lantern with him, and the room was in

absolute darkness. Don heard them all go out, and as soon as he knew

that he had the place to himself he sprang from his place of

concealment. Lighting the candle, whose light he did not fear, since

there were no cellar windows in the house, he went to the door, hoping

to find a way upstairs. But to his intense disappointment he found that

the man had slipped the bolt into place as he went out.

Don was once more a prisoner.

The realization at first staggered him, and then made him angry. He

realized that if he did not get out of here at once he would probably

never have a chance to get out. He hoped fervently that Terry and Jim

would not fall into the hands of the men, and groaned as he realized

that he could not help them any. But the one fact remained: he must get

out.

A thought occurred to him that made him pause. Suppose the men were ever

trapped down in that room by someone entering the house above, how would

they get out? Was it possible that they had made no provision for that?

He could not believe it, and he felt certain that there was an opening

somewhere in that very room. So, holding the dripping candle in front of

him, he made his way back of the shelves, which were built out a bit

from the walls, and began to search thoroughly.

He almost uttered a cry of triumph at what he found. Right back of the

main section of the shelves he found a square piece of canvas hung up,

and when he pushed it back a doorway, leading to a flight of iron

stairs, was disclosed. These iron stairs ran upward at an abrupt angle

and terminated at a small door. Don stepped through the canvas and

walked up the steps, until he stood on the tiny platform before the

door.

Not knowing where the door might lead, he blew out the candle and opened

it.

He was astonished to hear the sound of a loud ticking burst on his ears.

Thrusting his hand forward, he encountered wood, and at last, sure that

he was not yet in the old house, itself, he relighted the candle and

looked at the object before him.

It was the back of a big, redwood grandfather clock, and Don was further

amazed to see that a hook held one side of it to the doorway. Undoing

this hook he found that the big clock swung outward on hinges, and then

it came to him. The clock was a real one, but it was a clever disguise.

If anyone raided the house the men would open the concealed doorway by

pushing forward their clock, and if they happened to be in the storage

room at the time they could make their escape into the house by way of

the clock. The clock, for all its works and its ticking, was in reality

a door, leading either into the storage room or into the house from the

storage room.

Don now found himself on the landing of the stairway and alone in the

house, unless the old woman was about. Fearful that she was, and not

wishing to meet her, Don was at a complete loss as to what to do. He

might find his way to the cove in the darkness, overpower the man who

had been sent for the dinghy, and then make his way out to the sloop.

He made his way down the stairs, which creaked loudly under his feet,

and got as far as the front door. This he could not open, but a full

length window on the other side was much easier. After raising the

window, he threw one leg over the sill, which was about a foot high.

Suddenly a thin old voice shrilled out from upstairs.

“Who is it? Who is it?”

Don knew that it was the old woman, and so he lost no time in getting

away. He found that he was lost in the intense blackness of the night,

and was almost as hopelessly mixed up as he had been in the dark cellar.

But he had a general idea of the direction of the cove, and he made his

way in that direction rapidly.

It took him longer to get there than it had taken him to get to the

house earlier in the day, but when he did get there he found he was

doomed to disappointment. The dinghy was gone, and there was no sign of

the men. Thinking that they might have gone somewhere along the shore he

followed it, puzzled by another circumstance. The _Lassie_ was nowhere

to be seen. But that in itself was not hopeless, for he thought that Jim

might have moved it purposely.

Continuing on around the shore he was in time to witness the battle

aboard the sloop. He saw it all, from the appearance of Terry to the

victory for his side. He exulted gleefully, mourning the fact that he

could not be in on it, but he dared not swim out, for the distance was

great and it was possible that they might weigh anchor and sail, leaving

him to swim back to shore.

He missed the scene of the escape and the chase because of the darkness.

He would not have seen the fight, except that vivid light poured up from

the companionway of the _Lassie_. Realizing that he must stay there

until morning, he sat down in the wet undergrowth to wait.

But when the storm came up he was forced to go back to the old house. He

knew that he must find some kind of shelter, and so he followed the

beach around to the cove and went back over the trail to the house. The

place was absolutely black, without a light of any sort, but fearing a

trap, he took refuge in a well-built henhouse until morning.

It was a long, dreary night, and he was glad to see the gray dawn. He

watched the house for a full hour, and at last, convinced that there was

no one around the place, he boldly entered the back door and roamed

around. No one was in the place, and only one bed had been occupied,

that of the old woman. They had fled somewhere during the storm and had

taken her with them.

It was as he was coming down the front stairs that he heard two men

tramp up on the front porch. Quickly he slipped in back of the clock and

waited. In another moment the door was kicked off its hinges and the two

entered. Don listened intently, and then, to his joy, he discovered that

one of them was Terry.

_12. The Beach Party_

To Terry’s statement that he had seen the clock move the captain was

prepared to give a contemptuous snort, but as he looked he too saw it

move and then open wide. A moment later and Don Mercer was bounding down

the stairs and thumping Terry on the back.

“Chucklehead, you character,” Don cried. “I sure am glad to see you!”

“Don’t say a word,” replied his chum, fairly dancing around in his joy.

“We’re more than glad to see you, even if you did come out of a clock!”

“A little story which might be entitled ‘Once upon a time!’ eh?” grinned

Don.

Terry frowned. “You must have been treated horribly here, to spring such

a bad pun as that one. Don, I want you to know Captain Blow, who saved

the sloop from capture.”

Don and the captain shook hands warmly. “Glad to meet you, young

fellow,” the captain said. “We was prepared to rip up this island to

find you.”

“You certainly took the gates of the mansion off in great style,” Don

nodded. “I’m very happy to know you, captain. I appreciate what you have

done.”

“It’s nothing,” declared the captain, waving his hand. “Anybody in this

place?”

They went through the house from top to bottom and Don showed them the

storage room. But now there remained but a few of the smaller articles,

everything else had been carted off.

“After we chased them off last night they must have loaded their stuff

into a boat and run off with it,” remarked the captain. “But what I want

to know is what kind of a boat have those fellows got? Must have some

kind of a power cruiser that runs up here close to the house by way of a

creek.”

A little later on, they found that this was so. While looking over the

cellar which Don had not seen at all, owing to the darkness, they found

at one end a door which led directly out into a thicket. Through the

midst of this thicket was a path, and soon they came across a narrow

creek, in which lay their own dinghy.

“Sure,” nodded the captain. “They run their boat up here and kept out of

sight. Last night they loaded that stuff and slipped away.”

Don and Terry rowed out in the dinghy, while the captain went around to

the cove for the dory. Soon the captain caught up to them under power

and they arrived at the _Lassie_ at the same time. Jim was overjoyed to

see his brother safe and sound, and they all united in thanking the old

captain.

“Avast there, stow that stuff!” he protested. “Nothing to thank me for.

I never liked the looks of that crew, and I always felt that they had no

business on my island. I’ve lived there for twenty years. Now, it’s time

we got down to business. We’ve got to get over to Stillwell at once.”

“What for?” asked Don.

“We must make a report to the authorities about these fellows and have

that house taken over. Start your engine running. It won’t take us

long.”

They started the engine and headed the sloop across the gray water

toward the town of Stillwell. Don was starved, of course, and Jim, as

soon as his duties permitted, made him a hearty meal. The captain

insisted upon taking the tiller and in a few hours they were gliding in

beside the long dock at the town. Jim stood at the bow while Don slowly

throttled the engine down, and when the bow was close to the dock he

leaped ashore, snubbed the rope around a post, and then pushed the bow

off with one foot, so as not to allow it to scrape. The _Lassie_ came to

a halt, riding quietly up and down.

Stillwell was a town of some importance, and they wasted no time in

laying their case before the harbor authorities. The chief was much

interested and listened eagerly to their story. When Don had finished

the chief pushed a button on his desk.

A man in uniform entered briskly and saluted. The chief directed him to

proceed to Mystery Island at once and take possession of the old house

there. After the man had gone the chief turned to the boys and the

captain again.

“It is always possible that they might go back there for something, and

if they do we’ll be able to lay hands on them. But frankly, I’m afraid

that they have gone. There is a heavy reward out for them, and I’m

rather sorry you weren’t able to hold onto them. But you have done well

as it is. I promise you that we’ll bend every effort to catch those

fellows and put them behind bars.”

After this interview the boys walked around Stillwell, where they were

pretty well known, and made a few purchases. The captain had refused to

join them, and when they went back to the sloop they found him sitting

on the cabin of the _Lassie_ calmly smoking his pipe, his broad back

against the sail.

“What you been doing, captain?” hailed Terry.

“Thinking,” replied the captain. “How’d you fellows like to go in for a

beach party tonight?”

“A what?” asked Jim.

“Beach party. Long’s there isn’t anybody on the island now except me,

what do you say we go back, build a fire on the sand, eat out there, and

if you are agreeable, I’ll spin a yarn or two. What say?”

“I say yes,” voted Don, quickly.

“I second that yes,” cried Jim, and Terry nodded.

The captain got up. “That’s fine. Let’s get back; that parrot of mine’ll

think I’m dead or something. There’s a fair breeze, so let’s see you

sail back.”

While the captain held the tiller the boys ran up the sails, and soon

the sloop was heeling over under a cracking load of sails. The canvas

curved out under the force of the breeze until it looked to Terry as

though they must burst, but the Mercers and Captain Blow did not seem to

mind it in the least. It took them about two hours, and just as the

feeble sun was going down they ran past the cove on the island and

rounded the point that sheltered the captain’s little bit of land.

The sloop was anchored and they went ashore in the dory. After they had

beached the dory the captain led the way to the door of the shack and,

after winking at the boys, suddenly began to rap on the door.

Instantly a medley of groans and sobs sounded from the inside of the

shack. Jim, remembering the captain’s words when they left the shack,

grinned, but the others looked startled. The captain laughed heartily.

“Ahoy, Bella!” he yelled.

The groaning and sobbing ceased abruptly and there was a moment of

silence. Then the parrot cried out, “Open the door, open the door!”

The captain opened the door and they went in. The parrot, who had been

sitting on top of the cold stove, flew to the captain’s shoulder and

perched there.

“Quit that, you lubber,” the captain growled, as the parrot bit him

lovingly on the ear. “Well, what about it, old girl? Any visitors?”

“Bella was a good girl!” the polly answered.

The captain hung his hat on a peg. “Well, now, I’m real glad to hear

that. It don’t happen very often.” He turned to the boys. “Make

yourselves at home, as much as you can in such a little place. I’ll get

things together and we’ll tramp up the shore aways.”

The captain began to wrap up beans, fish, bread and butter in a large

package. The boys looked over his fishing tackle and some models of

sailing ships that he had carved out of wood.

“Where did you ever get this piece of wood, captain?” Jim asked, holding

up a small dory carved out of red wood.

“Oh, I get most of my wood right here on the beach. The tide washes it

up and I find it. I found that piece about three miles down the shore.

Don’t even know what kind of wood it is, and it was tough to whittle.”

It was now beginning to get dark and the captain and the boys left the

shack and started down the rough beach. The storm of the evening

previous had littered it with driftwood, and they had to watch the sand

before them as they walked. When they got to a point about a mile from

the shack the captain stopped and placed his bundles on the sand. Terry

and Don, who also carried bundles which the captain had given them, did

likewise.

“Now,” said the captain, briskly. “We’re ready to go to work. Gather up

a load of dry driftwood. Don’t bother with any of the stuff that came

ashore last night, but get good stuff. Jim, you help me with the eats,

while the boys get the wood.”

Getting the wood was no task, as the beach was covered with it. While

Terry and Don gathered it the captain put beans in a pot, added water

from a jug, and as soon as the fire was going, set them to boiling. On a

second fire he started to broil fish. Soon the air was filled with the

smell of good cooking.

The night was pitch dark and the fire, leaping up into the still air,

made a pleasing picture. Far to the south a light flashed out across the

water, and Don asked the captain about it.

“That’s the Needle Point Lighthouse,” the captain answered. “Run by a

friend of mine, Timothy Tompkins. Rather queer old boy, but a good

fellow, once you get to know him. We used to have a scheme that if

anything went wrong at the lighthouse he would burn a red light and I

would come over to help him, but I haven’t seen him for a year or more,

and we never did have any use for that light.”

The captain dug a hole in the wet sand, made a fire of embers and then

put the pot of beans on them. “Beans cooked like this are called bean

hole beans,” he told them. “It works a lot better when you are out in

the woods, though. Well, how’s that fish? We might as well start in.”

That meal was one of the most enjoyable meals the boys ever had. They

settled themselves in the sand, listening to the beat of the waves on

the beach, and ate the beans and fish with wholesome and hearty

appetites. The fire blazed merrily upward toward the sky, and the sand

hills back of them seemed to crouch down and ring them around.

When the meal was over the captain filled his pipe and began to tell

them stories. He had had a wide career on the sea, and had visited many

lands on many ships, so they enjoyed his stories immensely. Stories of

storms and staunch old sailing ships, of mutiny on the high seas and the

people of the southern seas, of the great old shipping days in Boston,

and many others. The boys listened attentively and with respect to their

friend as he told it all in his own, vivid way.

It was Don who first interrupted. He had been looking off across the sea

and now he said, “I beg your pardon, Captain Blow, but wasn’t your

friend to burn a red light if he needed you for anything?”

“Eh?” said the captain, coming abruptly out of a story. “Yes, he was.

Why?”

“Because,” answered Don, pointing across the tumbling black waters,

“there is some kind of a red light burning from a window in the

lighthouse right now!”

_13. The Red Lamp_

The captain jumped to his feet with a startled exclamation and looked in

the direction of the lighthouse. Sure enough, a red light was burning

high up in a window near the top.

“Well, I’ll be darned!” the captain exclaimed. “It’s the light, sure

enough. Let’s get over there and find out what is wrong.”

Leaving everything just as it was on the sand the boys and the captain

ran down the beach until they came to the shack and there they piled in

the dory. The captain started the engine and headed out to sea toward

the south shore and the lighthouse.

“This Timothy is a pretty queer sort of a fellow,” Captain Blow

explained, as the dory cut her way into the bobbing waves. “I think so

much solitude in that lighthouse has been too much for him. Like as not

we’ll find that it is nothing at all. I told him more than once that he

ought to get over being so sort of nervous, but he just keeps on his

merry way. ’Taint very merry, though. Timothy is just the opposite of

merry, but he is a good lighthouse keeper.”

It took them more than a half hour to arrive at the black spur of rock

which ran abruptly out into the water and which was named Needle Point.

When they got there the captain ran his boat alongside the dock and tied

it up securely. The beacon itself stood about a hundred yards away from

the dock.

“Come on,” said the captain. “We’ll find out what’s wrong here.”

Led by their friend the boys approached the tall structure of stone and

brick that rose high into the air above their heads. It was the first

time that they had ever been close to a lighthouse. The base of the

light was a regular house, they discovered, with several rooms in it,

while the column tapered and became much smaller as it became higher.

Just now Captain Blow was at the main front door, hammering with all his

might.

“Open up, Timmy Tompkins!” he bellowed. “What in time’s the matter?”

There was no reply to his knock or his question, and after waiting for a

moment the captain opened the door and looked in. After hesitating for a

brief second he walked in and the boys followed him.

They found themselves in a large room, the central room of the

lighthouse. In the center of the room stood a table, faced with a few

chairs and an old sofa. The walls of the room, plainly whitewashed, were

covered with one or two old prints, some framed official documents, and

a large map. The room was in perfect order and the place empty of life.

Off this room the party could see the other rooms: a kitchen, a bedroom,

and what appeared to be a storeroom. Led by the captain they visited

each room and looked around, without finding anything.

“He isn’t down here,” said the captain. “More than likely he’s up in the

tower. You boys ever see a real lighthouse? Well, then come on. You’re

going to see one now.”

On the other side of the room an iron ladder led to a trap door in the

ceiling, and that door had been pushed open. The captain mounted the

ladder and disappeared through the trap, closely followed by the boys.

When they stepped through the trap door they found themselves in the

shaft of the lighthouse.

It extended straight upward for many feet, a spiral staircase leading up

to the room which housed the light itself. The whole shaft was

brilliantly illuminated by electric lights spaced along the wall, giving

a steady light to the spiral stairs. At intervals along the shaft narrow

slits served for windows, through which, in the daytime, sunlight poured

into the column. Taking in all these details briefly the boys followed

their friend up and around the shaft, step by step, until they came to

another trap door, through which they made their way, and so entered a

small room.

It appeared to be the keeper’s chief room while on duty. Through it a

heavy beam ran straight up to the lamp itself, which was in the room

directly above. A metal shaft with a handle came into this room through

the floor overhead, and the captain told them what it was.

“This is the room where Timmy stays when the light ain’t working any too

well,” he said. “Sometimes the automatic machinery gets out of order and

don’t turn the light, and then Timmy has got to sit up all night and

work the thing by hand. Not the kind of a job to go looking for, unless

you have to.”

“Here is where he placed the light, Captain Blow,” called out Don.

A narrow slit which served as a window had been cut in the east side of

the tower and on that small window sill the keeper had placed the red

lantern. They crowded around it and examined it with interest and

curiosity. It was quite hot and there was no means of knowing how long

it had been lighted.

“Got any idea of how long that lamp was there before you sang out?” the

captain asked Don.

“Not a bit,” confessed the boy. “But I am sure it wasn’t long. I had

glanced at the lighthouse several times during the beach party, in fact,

I guess you all did, and it wasn’t there. It was while you were telling

your South Sea Island story that I looked over this way and happened to

see it burning here.”

“Mighty funny,” muttered the old seaman. “If Timmy isn’t up in the

light, I can’t figure what could have happened to him.”

The lamp itself was in the small room above the one in which they were

standing and they climbed the short length of iron ladder and entered

the room. A terrific burst of heat smote them in the face, and their

eyes smarted from the blinding light which beat upon them as the lamp

automatically swung toward them. The lamp was a huge affair, of shining

brass, polished to the last degree, inside of which a powerful light

burned. The light turned away from and then toward a thick plate glass

window, and each time it turned toward the window a long arm of

brilliant light stabbed out across the tumbling sea.

“He isn’t up here,” the captain said. “Let’s get down and look for him

below.”

The boys were glad to leave the heat and the unbearable light and in

silence they walked down the spiral steps to the room below. Once there

they halted in the main room and looked blankly at each other.

“He seems to be gone completely,” remarked Jim.

“Yes, and that’s bad,” nodded the captain. “Something out of the

ordinary must have popped up, or he would never have left the light.

That’s against the law, and Timmy knows it. But the funny part is this:

he must have known that he was going, because he left a warning light. I

don’t know what to make of it.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Terry, slowly. “Don’t know whether there is

anything in it, though.”

“What is it?” asked the captain.

“I was just wondering if the marine bandits had anything to do with it

all. You see, they ran away during the storm, and we thought that they

ran down the coast, but we don’t really know just where they did go.

Maybe we’re just getting in the habit of blaming everything on those

fellows, but I was just wondering.”

“Could be,” agreed the captain. “What is that?”

An urgent buzzing reached their ears, and they looked in perplexity

around the room. The buzzes came in regular order, and after looking in

a distant corner Jim gave a shout.

“It’s the lighthouse telephone,” he said. “The receiver is hanging off

the hook.”

The captain went to the telephone which was a wall affair, and which was

in a corner. Just as Jim had said, the receiver was hanging off the

hook, dangling at the end of its cord. The captain picked it up and

shouted into the mouthpiece.

“Hello! Who is this?”

An impatient voice reached him over the wire. “This is the night

telephone operator, over in Maplebrook. What in the world is the matter

with you people. Your receiver has been hanging off the hook for at

least an hour, and I’ve been buzzing my head off. Don’t you know that

makes a button on my board light up and a bell ring?”

“Sorry,” explained the captain. “This is Captain Blow, from Mystery

Island, speaking. I came over here to answer a distress signal and I

find the keeper has disappeared. The receiver’s been off the hook an

hour, you say?”

“Yes, about that. I’ve got a special line here from the lighthouse, and

earlier in the evening the button lighted up and the bell began to ring.

I answered it, but didn’t get anything or hear anything. I thought

somebody must have just knocked it off and forgot about it, so I’ve been

buzzing every once in a while. You say Timothy is missing, eh?”

“Yup. Guess you’ll have to get the police on the wire and hustle ’em out

here. Is there a lighthouse keeper anywhere around that can be sent out

here?”

The voice on the other end of the wire hesitated for a second and then

replied: “Yes, the retired keeper lives here, and I can get ahold of

him. Guess I better get him on the job until Timothy is located, eh?”

“Sure thing,” the captain concluded. “And get the police out here on the

jump, will you, bub?”

The night operator agreed to do so at once, and the captain hung up the

receiver. He explained the situation to the boys and then proposed that

they look further.

“I don’t think he is anywhere around,” he said. “But we’ll look all over

the place. No use in missing anything. All I hope is that he hasn’t met

with any foul play. I’m going to look through these rooms again. Suppose

you fellows look around the grounds, only don’t go too far away.”

The boys went out of the door as the captain once more looked through

the rooms of the station. Jim and Don walked out to a shed in the back

of the lighthouse grounds and Terry walked away alone, toward the end of

the rock upon which the lighthouse stood. He was soon lost in the

darkness and Don and Jim forgot him in their interest.

A single shed, in which they found a rowboat and some canvas and rope,

was at the back of the lighthouse and the boys made a thorough search of

the place, but found no clue. They followed the spur of rock back toward

the mainland until they came to low and marshy ground. Then, remembering

the captain’s warning, they walked back toward the lighthouse, skirted

it and walked out on the point of rock where it ended abruptly in the

ocean.

Several minutes later the captain, standing in the middle of the floor

of the bedroom, heard them enter. Don poked an anxious head in the

doorway.

“Say, Captain Blow,” he said. “Isn’t Terry in here?”

“No,” answered the captain. “He’s outside somewhere.”

But Don shook his head. “He isn’t. We just went over the whole point,

and he isn’t around. I’m afraid Terry has disappeared, too!”

_14. Terry’s Adventure_

Upon leaving the two boys Terry wandered down a path that led to the

other side of the narrow strip of dirt and rock which formed the

needle-like point. He had no definite object in mind other than a hazy

idea that each foot of the place must be gone over in the search for

clues. So he headed for the side of the point directly opposite to that

upon which they had arrived.

Although the underlying surface of Needle Point was of solid rock, the

top, for a depth of a foot at least, was composed of soft soil, and

Terry began to scan it for footprints. He had no difficulty in finding

them, and when he did he was more than interested. Evidently two persons

had passed from the north side of the point to the lighthouse and when

they had gone back again their feet had made deeper prints in the earth.

It occurred to him that they might have been carrying someone, and he

had no doubt that it had been the keeper. Deeply intent on the tracks

Terry followed them down to the shore and there paused.

There was a single rock there that formed a natural landing place,

though no dock had been constructed of wood. Here the prints of the

men’s footsteps stopped and it was evident that they had taken to a

boat. Where had the boat been? Terry looked out across the water as far

as he could see but there was no craft of any kind in sight, except a

very small rowboat that bobbed up and down a few feet away, tugging at

the painter which held it captive to a stake which had been driven in

the ground.

Terry glanced back at the lighthouse. He wondered if he should tell the

others of his findings immediately or wait until he could find something

else. After all, he had found out so little, and he wanted to push his

search a little further before he told anything. Off to his right

stretched the shore, a low-lying, swampy mass of mystery, bound up in a

heavy fog which rose from the ground. He wondered if there might be some

creek there which might shelter a small boat, and deciding to

investigate, he pulled the small rowboat to him and got in.

“Won’t be gone but a minute,” he decided, remembering the captain’s

warning. He found the boat a trifle wet, but making the best of it all,

he bent to the task of rowing. The boat was light and he sent it toward

the misty shore with swift, sure strokes.

His idea was to press close to land and examine the mouth of any little

inlet that he might find, so, quickly gaining the shore, he began to row

more slowly, watching carefully. There were a few openings, he

discovered, but none large enough to hide anything of importance, and so

he kept moving onward, fascinated with the search he was conducting. In

time the lighthouse got further and further away and he came at last to

a point of land, shaped like Needle Point and jutting out into the water

in the same manner. Realizing that he was getting quite some distance

from his friends, Terry determined to round the point and give one

sweeping look, and then, if he found nothing, to row back to the

lighthouse.

Accordingly, he rounded the point rapidly, and almost ran into a long,

low black cruiser which seemed to crouch beside the reedy shore. As soon

as the boy saw it he knew from the way it was drawn up beside the bushes

that it was there for no good. Hastily backing water with his oars, so

as not to run into it, Terry sat motionless in the rowboat, looking at

the cruiser which loomed not ten feet away from him.

He had feared at first that someone might see him, but no one was on the

deck, although a light stabbed the darkness from a side cabin window.

The cruiser itself had light, fast lines, with a sharp bow, narrow cabin

with a foot of deck space on each side of it, and a small after deck,

from which the pilot operated the wheel and the motor. Terry’s first

thought was to row the boat silently to the side of the cruiser, stand

up and look in the window of the cabin; but fearing to make a noise

which might betray him, he decided not to do it. But he was more than

anxious to see what was in there, and he considered the possibility of

boarding the craft and looking in from the narrow deck.

At first he rejected the thought. The better thing was to row back, get

the captain and the boys, and come back in a body, trusting to luck that

the cruiser would be there. But there was always the chance that there

was nothing wrong with the cruiser and he would be wasting time. If the

cruiser should sail away while he was gone he would never know for sure

if it had belonged to the men they sought or not. No, he must find out

at once and alone, so carefully pulling in his oars he quietly paddled

the boat nearer to the cruiser, cautiously using only one oar.

Balancing himself and keeping the nose of the little boat from thumping

the cruiser was a job that required skill, but Terry, concentrating

every nerve, managed to do it. He knew that if any one suddenly opened

the companionway door he would be lost, for a flood of light would

instantly give him away. If that emergency came he was determined to

push off and row for the shore with all his strength. When he got to the

rail of the cruiser he slipped the rope around a support and

breathlessly stepped onto the small afterdeck.

It was one of the hardest jobs he had ever done in his life. The cruiser

was light and weight, placed in the wrong place, would surely make it

tip enough for those inside to realize that something or someone was

aboard that had no business there. The chances were that the deck was

tight enough to keep from creaking under his steps, but he had to look

out for loose ropes or any other thing which might be underfoot. It was

with a rapidly beating heart that Terry stood on the deck of the

cruiser, listening intently for sounds, ready to take to flight at an

instant’s notice. But after a few seconds, during which a low murmuring

of voices from inside reached him, he came to the conclusion that

nothing was likely to happen at the moment and he crept slowly and

carefully to the starboard side of the cruiser, toward the strip of deck

and the window which showed on that side.

Here again he had to be careful that his weight did not careen the boat,

but fortunately for him the cruiser had been built broadly and it would

have taken someone with greater weight than Terry Mackson to have tipped

it. He gained the narrow deck and went down on his hands and knees,

creeping along until he was underneath the window. Then, with infinite

care, he thrust his head forward inch by inch and looked in the window.

Benito and Frank were playing cards at a small table. Both men, with

cigars in mouth, were intent on the game. Beside them, on a bunk, lay

the lighthouse keeper, or so Terry judged, for the man, who was tall and

thin, was tied to the bunk and at the present moment lay looking

sullenly up at the roof of the cabin.

Evidently Frank had won, for he pocketed some money with a grin, while

Benito pushed the cards from him with a savage growl. The leader picked

the cards up and placed them in a dirty box and Frank looked at his

watch.

“Guess Marcy ain’t coming,” he said, looking inquiringly at the big man.

“What are we going to do?”

“We’ll go on down without him,” decided Benito. “Something must have

come up that kept him. We might as well get back to the hide-out before

somebody comes prowling around. No use in getting caught with him on our

hands.” He jerked his thumb toward the man on the bunk, who turned and

glared at him.

“The government’ll fix you for this, you’ll see,” the captive lighthouse

keeper shrilled.

“Aw, dry up,” snorted the leader of the gang. “If you hadn’t put up such

a holler because we tried to walk off with your brass telescope you

wouldn’t be here. Lucky thing I dragged you away from that telephone, or

you’d have the country down on us.”

“I will yet,” shouted the keeper. “Stealin’ government property and

kidnappin’ a lighthouse keeper is a pretty serious crime. See what you

get out of it.”

Frank looked at the big man. “What he says is true,” he muttered. “What

are we going to do with the old fool?”

Benito shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “Don’t know yet. We’ll have

to drop him somewhere far down the shore.” He got up quickly. “Let’s get

underway.”

So great had been Terry’s interest that he had not stopped to consider

that he would not have time to get away, but he realized it now. It was

but one step from the cabin to the afterdeck and before he could move

Frank had made that step. Terry groaned inwardly, not so much because he

felt that he would be seen at once as from the realization that the

rowboat would be discovered. He waited for the shout that would herald

the discovery, but it did not come, and in another moment the throb of

the cruiser’s engine came to him as he lay there face downward on the

narrow deck.

Later on he discovered that the thing which prevented his immediate

discovery was the fact that he had but loosely roped the painter of the

rowboat, and that it had slipped off and drifted away while he was

listening to the conversation at the window. But at the time he was not

even wondering, but was thinking seriously of escape. He could slip

overboard and swim away, trusting to luck to remain hidden in the

darkness long enough for them to get away on their run to their hiding

place. The shore was not far off and he would have no difficulty in

reaching it. But as he swiftly reflected upon his difficult position, he

resolved to see it through and go with the bandits to their secret

retreat.

The men evidently had some secret place to which they could retreat in

case of a general hunt, and to find that place was worth the risk that

he might run. Another thought was the fact that he did not wish to

abandon the lighthouse keeper. He might be able to go for help later on

and so be of great value to the man who was tied up inside. These

thoughts shot rapidly through Terry’s head as he lay there in the

darkness, and awaited the turn of events.

With a speed that was breath-taking the cruiser began to forge ahead,

and Frank, turning the little wheel at the top of the low cabin, sent it

out to sea in a wide arc. The sharp bow of the cruiser hissed into the

tiny waves like a hot iron, and the water, in long, graceful and curling

billows, raced smoothly past the side. Benito went out on the deck and

joined the smaller man and they talked together in low tones as the

cruiser began its journey down the coast.

From where Terry lay he could still see in the window and he watched the

captive on the bunk. As soon as Benito had left the room the man began

to wrench at his bonds, but after ten minutes of futile effort he gave

it up and settled back on the bunk with a groan of despair and rage.

Terry was fairly comfortable where he was but his chief fear was that

either one of the men might look over the edge of the cabin and ruin his

plans. But in all the time required to run ten miles down the coast

neither of them looked in his direction, and Terry was carried securely

onward.

They were now before a wild section of the country. There was not a

light to be seen along the shore and the only sound, other than the

steady and powerful throb of the marine engine, was the hollow boom of

the huge waves on the shore. Terry judged by the sound that there was

some shoal near the shore which accounted for the booming sound, for he

had read of such things. And then his thoughts were diverted by the fact

that Frank was throttling down the engine and swinging the cruiser

around toward the shore.

Little as Terry knew about sailing it nevertheless puzzled him as to why

the engine should be shut down while so far from the shore, for he knew

that they could not possibly drift in that distance. While he puzzled

over this the answer was suddenly presented to him.

Something huge and black rose up alongside the cruiser and Terry very

nearly cried out in astonishment. It was two or three full minutes

before the explanation came to him. They were moored beside the wreck of

a huge old ship, one which had been hard and fast aground for years, and

because it was in this lonely stretch of beach it had never been burned

or destroyed, except by the slow action of the waves. Frank was tying

the bow of the cruiser to the splintered rail of the ship, and passing

close to Terry while doing so. The task completed, Frank jumped to the

deck and called to Benito.

“All tied up, boss,” he said. “Shall we lug that old boy aboard?”

Benito gave gruff orders and the keeper, protesting and a little

frightened, was lifted from the bunk and carried out on deck. He was

somewhat roughly shoved over the rotting rail of the wreck and the two

bandits followed him. For another minute Terry could hear their voices

and then all became still.

He raised himself slowly, realizing for the first time that he was stiff

and sore. Waiting for an instant to be sure that the men would not

return for something, and finding at last that they apparently had no

intention of doing so, Terry stood up and surveyed the old ship before

him. He did not fully realize just what type it was, but it was a

three-masted schooner of the old type, long and low, with splintered

stumps of masts and broken wood littering the decks in every direction.

Although it had been battered fearfully by the waves it had nevertheless

been sturdy enough to resist total destruction, and as it was

practically certain that no one ever visited it, it was indeed an ideal

hide-away for the gang.

Terry was at first tempted to steal the boat of the gang and run back

down the coast to summon aid, and could have done so had he known how to

run the thing, but he knew that he could not and so gave the project up.

The only thing left for him was to do some further spying and see just

what the inside of the schooner looked like. To try landing on an

uninhabited coast was pure folly, and as the future was uncertain he

decided that his best move lay in inspecting the craft. Accordingly, he

stepped from the cabin roof to the deck of the schooner, noting as he

did so that it had been named the _Alaskan_ in the days of its pride and

glory.

There was a large cabin in the very center of the schooner and toward it

Terry made his way, stepping carefully over wreckage which littered the

deck in every direction. He doubted if the men were in that particular

cabin, for there was no light, but as there was pretty certain to be a

good-sized hold under the ship he concluded that the actual place of

concealment was there. At the doorway of the cabin he halted and looked

around, but no one was in sight and he made his way down three steps,

coming at last to the floor. It was wet and slippery but perfectly firm,

and treading carefully Terry made his way toward another door which he

could see at the other end of the cabin. A faint light shone through

this door and he knew he was close to the nest which the outlaw band had

made.

When he gained this door he found a new and safe ladder leading down

into a large hold that took up much of the space of the ship. At the far

end of this hold a small room had been partitioned off, and from this

room a lantern sent its rays out into the big, barn-like hold. Terry

crossed the hold, conscious of the lapping of water against the sides of

the ship, and looked into the smaller room.

Benito and Frank were seated before a table, and the old lady who had

been at the house on Mystery Island was setting some meat and potatoes

before them. Terry had never seen the woman himself, but he was sure it

was the same one from Don’s description of her. The keeper was sitting

in a chair bound and apparently awaiting his turn to eat with sullen

grace. From time to time Benito, who seemed in high spirits, turned to

joke with his captive, but Timothy received all his advances with grunts

and disagreeable faces, all of which amused the leader hugely.

Pressing back into the shadow Terry began to form plans for the rescue

of the keeper. The schooner was large and he could hide away until the

men were asleep and then, with the aid of the knife which he had in his

pocket, he could liberate the keeper and they could make a dash for

liberty. He would have to be careful in his prowling around the big

ship, for it might be full of pit-holes which would seriously hinder his

work. When he had rescued the keeper they could plan a way to escape,

and possibly capture the gang. Of course there would be difficulties,

but—

A step sounded behind him and he whirled swiftly. But before he could do

anything else a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and a man stepped out

into the light. He was a heavy set man with a dirty, half-bearded face,

and just now there was a leer of triumphant satisfaction on it. It was

the man Marcy, the third member of the gang.

“So!” shouted Terry’s captor. “What are you doing here, young fellow?”

_15. The River Barge_

Surprised as Terry was by the unexpected attack from the rear he

nevertheless lost no time in getting into action. A second of numbed

surprise took possession of him, and then, as he heard Frank and Benito

jump to their feet, he pitched savagely at Marcy. A short-distance blow

in the ribs almost doubled the man up and he grunted loudly, but his

grip on the red-headed boy was not loosened. Twisting rapidly in the

man’s grasp Terry tried to break away, but before he could wrench his

coat free the others were upon him. They recognized him at once and lost

no time in overpowering him. Flat on his back went the boy, with the

three men sprawling over him.

“Let up!” gasped Terry, half smothered. “I know when I’m out of order!”

The men scrambled from him and Benito jerked him roughly to his feet.

“What are you doing here?” snarled the leader, thrusting his face close

to Terry’s.

“Had no intention of staying,” panted Terry. “In fact, I was leaving

when this fellow insisted upon my staying.”

“Don’t be funny, young fellow,” thundered Benito. “Come in here, where

we can see you.”

Roughly propelled by a shove Terry shot into the smaller room and the

men gathered around him. “Now, out with it,” commanded the leader. “How

did you get here?”

“I was out rowing and I stepped aboard your boat, which brought me

here,” said Terry. “All the way from the lighthouse.”

“Spying on us, eh? Well, young fellow, it will be a sorry night’s work

for you.” Benito glared at him. “Where are the others?”

“Still at the lighthouse, I’m afraid,” confessed Terry.

Benito turned to Marcy. “Where did you come from?”

“Been on the boat all night, boss,” explained the other. “I didn’t go up

the line at all. I was back in the old cook galley when I heard you come

on board, and when I came in this way I saw this boy standing back in

the shadows, so I jumped him.”

“Lucky thing you did,” put in Frank. “We’re having entirely too much

trouble with these kids.”

“But we won’t have any more with this one,” promised Benito, grimly.

“Put him in the cell.”

“I suppose it is no use trying to bluff you fellows into letting me go,”

said Terry. “But I’m warning you that you’ll get in big trouble for

this.”

“That’s right, young fellow,” cried the lighthouse keeper, who was an

interested onlooker. “We’ll make things warm for these boys once we get

loose.”

“You’d better worry as to when you’ll be loose first,” sneered Benito.

“Put him away, Frank.”

Frank opened a small door at the back of the room and Terry was pushed

into a black cell. The door slammed shut and he heard a lock snapped. He

was a prisoner on the old wreck.

Without loss of time he explored the small room in which he found

himself and was at once convinced of the idea that escape was

impossible. The cell was only a cubbyhole, with no opening anywhere, and

the only article of furniture was a single chair. When he had become

fully aware of his helplessness he went back to the door, and applying

his ears to a crack, listened to the conversation of the men.

“Going to put him on the barge, eh?” he heard Marcy say.

“Yes,” answered Benito. “I’ll tell the captain to take him a good two

hundred miles up the river and turn him loose. By the time he gets

anywhere and joins his friends we’ll be out of the country and safe.”

Terry judged that they were talking about him and he listened for

further details, but the conversation drifted off into other channels

and none of it concerned him. After a time the men finished their meal,

fed the keeper and then took him away somewhere. It was evident that

there was a bunk room somewhere on the ship for the gang, for they put

out the light in the next room and went away. A silence, broken only by

the slapping of the waves against the wreck, settled down over the

place.

He made a few more efforts to escape, but all of them were in vain. The

door was solid and resisted all his efforts, and there was no other

outlet to the cell. Convinced finally that all effort would be useless,

Terry at last surrendered to the inevitable and went to sleep on the

floor.

He was tired and slept soundly in spite of the hardness of his bed and

he was finally aroused by the rattling of the lock on the door. He had

gotten very hungry and he hoped that food was being brought to him, but

when Benito and Frank opened the door their hands were empty. He faced

them defiantly, awaiting the next move.

“Good morning, son,” greeted Benito. “Nice day, don’t you think?”

“Is it?” inquired Terry. “I haven’t had my morning walk yet, so I really

can’t agree with you.”

“You’ll get your morning walk right now,” chuckled the leader. “Come

along with us.”

“Where are you taking me?” demanded Terry.

“You’ll find out in a minute. Hurry up, we haven’t any time to waste.”

Knowing that resistance was useless Terry followed the men through the

wreck and climbed the ladder to the deck. It was broad daylight and he

judged it to be about seven o’clock. The day was not brilliant but the

light was good, a smudgy sort of a sun peering out from behind the

clouds. Terry looked anxiously over the water but there was no sign of

any craft in sight except a dirty-looking barge which was moored to the

side of the wreck. This barge was a large, sprawling affair, with

weatherbeaten planks and a single raised cabin forward, from which a

smoke stack protruded. Black smoke was pouring from the stack. A single

companionway led down into the hold of the barge. Benito stepped to the

side of the wreck and hailed an old man who was leaning against the

doorway of the barge cabin.

“Hey, Ryder! Here’s your passenger!”

The captain of the barge, an evil-looking old man with white hair and

long side whiskers, took a black pipe out of his mouth long enough to

shout back: “Hurry up and put him aboard. I haven’t any time to lose.”

“Jump down there on deck,” directed Benito. “Lively, now.”

Terry obediently jumped down over the rail onto the deck of the barge

and faced its captain. He looked briefly at the boy and then looked up

at Benito.

“What do you want done with this boy?” he growled.

“Take him as far up the river as you are going and let him go,” replied

the leader. “If he gets fresh, use your own judgment.”

The captain looked contemptuously at Terry. “If I hear one word out of

him I’ll stretch him out with a marlinspike. That all you want me for?”

“Yes,” nodded Benito. “You do that and I’ll see that you get what is

coming to you.”

The captain of the barge looked over his shoulder and into the cabin.

“Get up steam, Tod,” he called. “You, Maxwell, cast off.”

A lumbering big man appeared out of the barge cabin and cast off from

the wreck. Someone inside started a thumping engine. After having cast

off Maxwell went to the clumsy tiller and steered the barge away from

the wreck.

“Look here,” challenged Terry, to the captain, “if you don’t want to get

into trouble you had better let me go.”

The captain looked him over briefly. “Get down below deck and help the

cook,” he commanded, and turning on his heel, went into the cabin.

All thought of leaping overboard and swimming ashore was out of the

question for the mate Maxwell was keeping a sharp eye on him, so Terry

went down the short ladder into the ill-smelling hold of the barge. He

found that it had been used for carrying bricks but was now empty. In

the cook’s galley he found the cook, a tall, thin fellow with the air of

a country farmer. The cook nodded briefly.

“Hello, bub. You’re the new passenger, eh? Had anything to eat?”

“No,” answered Terry, and studied the man before him. The cook was only

about twenty-five years old, and had a rather kindly, simple face, which

habitually wore a serious look. The man did not look like one of the

river men and Terry decided that he might find help here.

The cook bustled around and got him some breakfast, talking all the

while. Terry liked him more and more as the time went on, and afterwards

he helped him clean up the galley.

“My name’s Jed Dale,” the cook told him. “Used to farm upstate a ways,

but things got poor and I shipped on this here barge to go cook. I wish

to goodness I was back on a farm again. We carry brick all winter and

just now we’re goin’ to tie up at Summerdale for overhauling. How’d you

get aboard?”

Terry told the man the truth, figuring to get the best results by doing

so, and he was not disappointed. The cook shook his head when he heard

the story.

“There’ll be big trouble when this is known,” he advanced. “I always

cal’lated this outfit was more or less crooked. I’m signed with ’em for

another year, but I sure would like to slip out and go back farming.”

“Then why don’t you?” urged Terry. “You have every right to break your

contract because this bunch is not on the level. The very fact that they

are kidnapping me is enough to get all hands in serious trouble. Help me

to escape, and incidentally get yourself out of a bad mess.”

But the cook shook his head sadly. “You don’t know this Captain Ryder,

or you wouldn’t talk so foolish,” he said. “A terrible man, this

captain. Nobody dares to stand up to him. No, sonny, I couldn’t think of

nothing so crazy as that.”

All of Terry’s arguments failed to move the cook and at length the boy

went on deck to look around. The barge was slowly steaming up a broad

but deserted river, the banks of which were thickly lined with dense

trees and bushes. Terry reflected that had there been the slightest

chance of escape he would gladly plunge overboard and attempt it, but he

was never allowed out of sight of the three men who ran the barge. The

engineer, Todd, was a short, black-bearded man with a sullen expression,

a fitting member of the crew of the barge.

After the evening meal something happened which won the cook to Terry’s

side completely. The three men were on deck smoking, the captain sitting

on a capstan, the engineer at the door of the cabin, and Maxwell at the

tiller. Jed was below and Terry, who had wasted no words on the three

men, was silently gazing shoreward, wondering what his friends must

think of his absence. Realizing that he was each moment drifting further

and further away he found his patience and temper hard to control, but

knowing that any rash act on his part would make things harder, he

waited with what resignation he could for some shift in his fortunes.

Jed came up on deck to empty a bucket of bilge water over the stern, and

passing the morose captain, nervously spilled some of it near him. It

splashed his trousers and one boot, causing the cook to tremble

violently. A mean look crossed the face of the old captain, and he

raised his boot, and launched an ugly kick at the cook.

But Terry was too fast for him. He caught the foot before it connected

with the dumb-stricken cook and diverted it enough to make the skipper

miss his aim. And as the captain jumped to his feet, his gray eyes

aflame, Terry clenched his fists and faced him firmly.

“I’ll break your neck, you meddling young soft baby!” roared the

captain, raising his knotted fist.

Terry’s blood was up, for he hated cowardice with all his being. “You

just try it!” he fairly hissed. “Go ahead, if you think it wise.”

Suddenly he dropped his fists and stood face to face with the barge

captain. “Do whatever you like, but I won’t hit you back. You’re an old

man, and I wouldn’t hit an old man. But if you were twenty years younger

and you tried to carry out your threat, I’d do my best to lick the

ugliness out of you. I know I’d do it, too, because anybody can lick a

bully and a coward. So go ahead and break my neck!”

The captain and his mates stared in amazement at the firm jaw and calm

eyes of the red-headed boy. The captain swore loudly.

“You’d lick me if—if I wasn’t an old man!” he yelled with rage.

“You bet I would! But I’d be ashamed to hit an old man who is so wicked

that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I wish you were younger and I’d

make you make good on that grandstand threat!”

The captain was not troubled with his heart, but it certainly looked as

though he was. He seemed to be on the point of hitting the boy, but at

last, muttering between his teeth, he walked into the cabin. The two

mates gazed after him in speechless wonder. Terry walked quietly down

into the galley and the cook followed him, dazed.

“You stood up to him!” the cook exulted, over and over again. “By gosh!”

Suddenly he smote Terry on the back. “Sonny, I’m with you! Let’s get off

this old scow.”

They put their heads together and for the next half hour they made

plans. At length, lighting his pipe and trembling with excitement, the

cook went on deck and looked all around. The captain and Maxwell were

nowhere in sight and Todd sat at the tiller, idly gazing at the shore.

Jed Dale looked up and down the river and then returned to the galley.

“The sand bar I told you about is just two hundred yards ahead,” he

whispered.

“Good!” nodded Terry. “Are you all ready?”

“Yes,” replied the cook, nervously wiping his hands on his coat.

“Then let’s get going,” said Terry, pulling his belt tighter.

_16. An Important Clue_

To Don’s statement that Terry had disappeared the captain gave an

astonished shout and hastened to join the brothers. Don and Jim

explained once more how they had been all over the point without seeing

anything of the missing boy. The captain was equally certain that Terry

had not come back into the station, and with this new problem

confronting them the three friends left the lighthouse and made a

thorough search of the point.

But as Don and Jim had said there was no trace of the red-headed boy.

They found the prints of the footsteps in the mud leading down to the

other side of the rock, and Jim was sure that one of the prints at least

was Terry’s, but that was the extent of their findings. They stood on

the rock dock and looked out over the water.

“This beats all,” the captain muttered, in perplexity. “We know that he

went this far and then we don’t know nothing else. I’ve got too good an

opinion of that boy’s common sense to think for a minute that he jumped

overboard.”

“Yes,” nodded Jim, seriously. “He wouldn’t have done that, unless there

was a good reason for it. But apparently the lighthouse keeper went the

same way as Terry did. I wonder what it all means? Someone in a boat

must have been waiting for Terry and carried him off.”

“I don’t see how that could be,” Don said. “No one even knew that we

were coming.”

“Probably not. But it does look as though the keeper was carried off to

sea, and Terry must have wandered down here, too. Somebody may have

hailed him and taken him off in a boat, though I don’t see why he went

without telling us about it.”

“Far as that goes,” observed the captain, “a good many things may have

happened. If he doesn’t show up by morning we had better go back, get

your sloop and beat up the coast looking for him. He may have lighted on

the trail of that gang and is following it up alone.”

They went back to the lighthouse then and waited anxiously for further

developments. From time to time the boys went out and looked around the

lighthouse in the hope of seeing something that would give them

encouragement, but nothing happened. The telephone operator called back

to say that the police and the ex-keeper were on their way out, and

three-quarters of an hour later they heard them arrive in an automobile.

The police captain and four men arrived with the relief keeper and the

captain told the story.

“Mighty funny,” commented the police chief, while the new keeper went up

to inspect the light. “If anyone took him away by force they’ll find

themselves in for a lot of trouble. My men will make another hunt and

I’ll look over every inch of ground.”

The police, with the aid of flashlights, examined the point, but found

nothing new. As it was now growing very late the chief left one man at

the station as a guard and the rest of them went back to town. The new

keeper, a good-natured old man with quiet, refined manners, asked the

captain and the boys to put up overnight at the lighthouse. Fearing that

Terry might come back and miss them if they were gone they agreed

readily enough, and the keeper was glad enough to have them stay. So

they took blankets which the keeper furnished them and went to sleep on

the floor, the captain, under protest, accepting the bed. The keeper

expressed his desire to stay awake all night and watch the light.

“Not that there is any use of doing it,” he explained, with his slow

smile. “But I’ve surely missed this old light in the last ten years.

Seems good to be back on the job, though I don’t care for the thing that

brought me back. But more’n likely Timothy will turn up again, and then

I’ll have to go back to home life, so I want to set up and play

lighthouse keeper once more.”

The boys slept but poorly and were up with the sun, to go outside and

look eagerly across the water for some trace of their missing companion.

But there was nothing to be seen and they went back to the lighthouse,

to find the captain busy preparing breakfast for all hands. The meal,

which was an excellent one, was eaten in silence for the most part, and

when it was over, and they had cleared things up, they left the

lighthouse.

The relief keeper accompanied them to the boat and wished them luck. “If

anything comes up here I’ll let you know if I can,” he promised. “If the

boy turns up here I’ll hold him here until you return. Don’t you worry a

mite, everything’ll work out fine.”

The run back to Mystery Island was accomplished in a very short time and

the boys stopped only long enough to load fresh water on the sloop. A

fine spring back of the captain’s shack supplied them with the water,

and they filled the tanks while the captain arranged for a prolonged

absence. The preparations on his part consisted of the act of leaving a

big supply of seeds for the parrot and some final and solemn

instructions, and then they boarded the _Lassie_ for their search.

Under motor power they headed out for the south shore and passed the

lighthouse at fair speed. They all agreed that the shore beyond the

lighthouse would be the logical region to investigate.

“As long as Terry went down to that natural dock,” argued the captain,

who sat at the tiller, “it looks like he may have been carted

off—providin’ he was carted off—down the shore that way. Of course, it

is possible that he was run up the coast, but we’ll have to chance that.

The whole problem is a mighty ticklish one, and we’ll have to take

chances.”

They kept in toward the shore as closely as they dared, watching the

shore for signs of large creeks or rivers, and twice during the morning

they actually rowed up inlets for some distance to see if any strange

craft might be hidden. But in each instance their search was in vain and

they returned to the sloop, to resume their sail. From time to time they

passed towns, small villages, most of them, but for the most part the

coast in that section of the country was wild and empty of life. They

ate lunch while still sailing, and the early part of the afternoon went

by in the same manner as the morning had.

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when they approached a small

town which their map assured them was Scarboro, and Don decided to go

ashore and buy some food. The chief of police had assured them on the

previous night that he would have a general description of both Terry

and the keeper sent all along the coast. The party knew that if anyone

in any of the coast towns saw the missing men they would be held and

rescued. They decided, therefore, after talking the matter over, to

anchor for the night in the little bay at Scarboro and press on the next

day. The job of simply sailing onward in hopes of learning something was

disappointing in the main, but they had no other way of accomplishing

anything. Rather than sit around at the lighthouse and wait for

something to happen they decided to keep on hunting.

They tied up at the dock and Don went ashore and to the town, a small

community of shingled houses which clustered around a few stores and a

postoffice. His first act was to seek the local switchboard and get the

operator to put through a call to the lighthouse at Needle Point. That

took him a good twenty minutes, and the result was disappointing.

Nothing had been learned of the whereabouts of either the missing keeper

or Terry. Greatly discouraged, Don went to the local grocery store and

began to order supplies.

He was moving from counter to counter, picking out fresh and canned

goods with a critical eye to their fitness, when a woman came into the

store. At the time the place was unoccupied except by Don and the

storekeeper, and she imitated Don in picking out her own goods. Don had

glanced idly at her when she came in, and then looked away, his mind

busy with his shopping. But as he waited for the storekeeper to wrap up

butter he looked once more at the woman.

“Now, where in the world have I seen that woman?” the boy wondered. He

looked searchingly at her sharp face, the plain black hat and the long

musty looking coat. “It can’t be—jeepers, it is!”

He turned his face away swiftly, his heart beating more rapidly as the

recognition came to him. It was indeed the woman who had been in the

house at Mystery Island, the one from whom he had tried to buy the eggs.

Don could not help regarding the circumstance as a wonderful piece of

luck. If the woman was in the neighborhood it was more than likely that

the marine gang was there too. Of course it was always possible that

they might have split up and she might be living here in the town, but

Don believed that through her some clue might be found which would prove

worth while.

He was careful to keep his face away from her during the remainder of

the time that he was in the store and when his purchases were all made

he left hurriedly. He feared that if the woman looked at him closely she

would recognize him and be on her guard, but apparently she did not, for

when he left the store she was busy selecting articles and paid no

attention to him. Securely hidden behind a large tree on the other side

of the street Don watched until the woman came out of the store and then

began to follow her.

He at once marked her manner as she came out. In the store she had been

free and easy, paying no particular attention to anyone who went by or

to Don himself. The boy felt sure that she was not known to the

storekeeper, for as he had gone out he had heard the man say, “What else

do you want, lady?” Don felt sure that had the storekeeper known the

woman he would have called her by some name, in the manner of most

country storekeepers, but he had not done so, and Don felt that she was

a stranger in the town. It was possible that the bandits’ boat was near

and that she had landed to buy provisions for the men.

Her first move, after looking all around the crooked street, was to go

to the tobacco store and remain there for two minutes. When she came out

she had a good-sized bundle, and Don was sure that she had bought a good

supply of the cigars and cigarettes for the men. She had now apparently

made all the purchases that she intended to, for, after another sharp

glance about, she took the road leading away from the town and toward

the beach.

Don was now sorry that he had such a large bundle with him, and after

thinking it over for a moment he ran across the street and back into the

store, where he asked the man in charge if he might leave the bulky

package there. Permission was readily granted and when he had deposited

the bundle behind a counter Don hastily left the store and took the road

to the beach. He hurried on, fearing that he would lose the warm trail

which he had been fortunate enough to stumble across, but when he topped

a small rise he saw her below him, still hurrying along, looking from

side to side and making for a particularly deserted spot on the beach.

Don was on a rise of ground which made it unnecessary for him to go any

further. There were few houses below him and no part of the beach or

sand dunes which could hide the woman, and he realized that it would be

foolish to go any further. He crouched down behind some bayberry bushes

and watched the woman, and a minute later he was glad that he had done

so. The woman was glancing back of her now and she would surely have

seen him had he been standing up.

Arriving at the beach the woman waved her hand, and from the arm of the

land which formed one side of the little bay a rowboat shot out. Don was

now on the other side of the bay and could not see his own boat nor

indeed any of the few craft which were tied up at the Scarboro dock. He

was now overlooking a stretch of the beach and ocean which they had not

yet seen from the _Lassie_, that stretch which they intended to examine

in the morning. The only object in view on the water, beside the little

rowboat, was an old wreck of a three-masted schooner, which lay on a

sand bar a mile to the south of him.

The boat came up to the shore, and the man who was rowing took the

packages from the woman and placed them in the boat. Next he handed her

in and then resumed his place at the oars. With long, sweeping strokes

he sent the rowboat along the shore.

“That looks like Frank,” reflected Don. “But I wonder where he’s heading

for?”

It was some time before he found out. Until almost abreast of the wreck

the rowboat was kept parallel with the shore. But as they drew nearer

the wreck the man headed the boat out to it, and to Don’s amazement they

went on board. Then, for the first time, he noticed the top of a small

black cruiser beside the wrecked schooner.

With this information, Don turned and went back to the store, retrieved

his package and fairly ran down to the sloop. Jim and the captain were

sitting on the deck, anxiously watching for him.

“Hello,” hailed the captain. “We thought you had disappeared, too. Was

just goin’ to send out a rescue party to look you up, wasn’t we,

Jimmie?”

Jim nodded. “We sure were. What’s the matter, Don? You look as though

you had discovered something. Have they heard anything at the

lighthouse?”

Don put down his bundle. “No, not a thing, but listen to this.” And he

proceeded to tell them what he had seen. When he had finished the

captain jumped to his feet.

“That sounds like somethin’ promising at last,” he declared. “The dusk

is coming on and we’ve got just enough time to climb that hill and take

a look at that wreck. Just lock up and we’ll go.”

Don locked the sloop and they went ashore, making for the hill which

formed an arm of the bay. From the top of it they looked down the coast

and Don pointed out the wreck. The captain studied it with interest.

“Big enough to make quite a hangout,” he said. “And just the place for

them to keep under cover. Well, mates, what do you say we go aboard the

three-master as soon as it gets good and dark?”

They agreed at once, and after going back to the sloop they ate a hearty

meal. The prospect of action after so many hours of uncertainty was like

a refreshing drink of cold water after intense heat. Impatiently they

waited for total darkness, and even when it came the captain seemed to

be wasting valuable time. The town and the bay had been wrapped in

complete blackness for half an hour before the captain again told Don to

close his hatch and get ready.

They piled into the dinghy, the captain stowing a good flashlight in his

side pocket. He insisted upon rowing out to the wreck, and although the

boys protested, they finally stopped, knowing that he was better at it

than they were. With long, steady strokes the old seaman sent the dinghy

through the water, around the point, and toward the wrecked schooner.

_17. Aboard the Wreck_

The row out to the wreck was a long one, but the captain, who was used

to rowing, energetically bent to the task. The water was fairly quiet

and the dinghy cut its way without undue bobbing through the gently

rising sea. Before long the boys saw the great advantage of allowing the

captain to row. The night was dark and the task of rowing toward the

distant schooner had to be performed with accurate guesswork. They were

sure that they would have had great difficulty in finding their way, but

the captain, with his one view of the wreck and the direction of it,

knew just how to keep the bow of the dinghy headed.

Very little was said and the row took more than an hour. No plan of

action was agreed upon, as they knew that events must mold their actions

once they got aboard the hulk. Although they realized that there was a

chance that Terry was not aboard and never had been aboard they refused

to pay any heed to the possibility. This was the first opportunity they

had had for action, a chance to release the energy stored up by their

anxiety, and even if the object of their search was not there they hoped

to capture the bandit gang.

They were almost upon the wreck before they saw it, and a half dozen

strokes served to bring them under its stern. There was no other boat

there at the time, and Don thought that the better plan would have been

to tie up to the power boat which was probably on the side, but the

captain was taking the lead in the silent attack and Don said nothing.

They waited a moment before going aboard and listened, the captain

holding the oars motionless. But no sound came to them, so the oars were

carefully placed along the sides and the painter was uncoiled by Jim.

Without making a sound he stood up, cast the loop over a broken upright

of the stern rail, and made fast. They were now firmly tied up to the

_Alaskan_ and ready to go aboard.

Jim went first, pulling himself up by his arms, finding it quite a

struggle but making it without noise. Don followed and then came the

captain, and they were safely aboard. Their first thought was to look

all around and get their bearings. The deck was deserted and only a

faint light shone up from the companionway, but the captain hesitated to

use the flashlight. Someone might be lurking on the deck and he did not

want to take unnecessary chances.

They could dimly make out the outlines of the wreck, and the little that

they could see was clear to them from the glimpse they had had of her

that afternoon. Right before them rose an after deckhouse and they

paused behind this while they looked around. Satisfied with his

observations the captain turned to his companions.

“All right, let’s go,” he whispered, and started around the low

deckhouse.

But at that moment Don seized his arm and pulled him back. Down on his

knees went the boy and the captain followed, as did Jim. They had not

seen anything and the captain looked at Don.

“What is it, boy?” he asked.

Don’s whisper was the least bit agitated. “I don’t believe in ghosts,

but look at that!”

They looked and the captain’s breath came in a sudden gasp. Jim clicked

his teeth together. In front of them, between the first and the second

mast, a white figure was slowly rising up into the air. Silently it

rose, a shape clothed in white, and when it cleared the deck it hung

suspended in the air a foot from the planks. The form was very much like

that of a man, with a white head, arms and a body in a long flowing

robe, though there were no feet to the thing. It swayed back and forth,

dancing a bit, and then began a silent and weird advance toward them.

The three crouching in the lee of the deckhouse did not know what to

make of the thing. Being healthy human beings they scorned a belief in

anything unearthly, but the apparition which danced in front of them was

unlike anything that they had ever seen. The very way it advanced

without a sound took their breath away, and the mocking way that it

danced was more than disconcerting. The time of night, the mystery

surrounding the old battered wreck, and the very blackness of the sea,

was enough to make them feel their blood chill and to think all kinds of

wondering thoughts.

The ghostly shape advanced to the mainmast and there stopped, gently

swaying and dancing. Then it commenced to retreat at first slowly and

then with increasing speed. When it had reached a point midway between

the first and second masts it stopped altogether and remained suspended

in the air, now almost motionless.

The captain reached out and touched the boys on the shoulder, and they

drew close to him. When they had placed their heads close to him he

whispered: “Looks like some kind of a game. They must have seen us

coming and they are trying to scare us off. I guess the best thing we

can do is to rush ’em, in spite of their flour-bag ghost. What say?”

The boys whispered assent, falling in at once with the captain’s theory

of the dancing ghost. They had risen on their knees when something

happened that checked them. A man came up the companionway and stepped

out onto the deck, looking off over the stern.

That checked them completely and bewildered them. If, as the captain

thought, the unearthly shape had been placed there to scare them, the

presence of the man, whom Don knew to be Marcy, was enough to disrupt

the plan. It did not seem logical and so they halted, uncertain. Marcy

looked over the side and then turned slowly toward the bow. And as he

did so, his eye fell on the shape.

They saw his form become rigid and a low cry burst from him. At the cry

the dangling ghost began its terrifying advance, jerking up and down as

it came. At the same time a low, hollow whistle accompanied it, rising

high and sinking to a sort of mournful sigh. Marcy gave a shriek of fear

and mental agony and rushed in a panic down the companionway ladder,

stumbling part way down. They could hear him shouting for Benito as he

went.

No sooner had he disappeared than the shape retreated rapidly, and

gaining the original position of midway between the forward and center

mast, dropped out of sight like a flash. They saw it go down and

apparently melt right through the boards of the deck. It did not crumple

up on the deck, but went on through, a faint squeaking sound

accompanying its disappearance.

“Well, by jumping thunder!” gasped the captain, “What in tunket do you

suppose that was?”

Before the amazed boys could venture a guess, Benito, Frank and Marcy

rushed on deck. That is to say that Benito and Frank rushed, but Marcy

very cautiously stuck his head out of the companionway. The two men on

the deck looked all around and then turned to Marcy.

“Where’s a ghost?” roared Benito. “Come out of that hatch and speak up.”

Marcy ventured to creep forth from the shelter of the companionway and

looked fearfully around. There was nothing to be seen and he was clearly

at a loss. But he pointed in the direction in which the ghost had hung.

“It was right there,” he stammered, running his fingers uncertainly over

his chin. “I saw it as plain as day, I tell you. It was about seven feet

high and it burned all over, just like fire. It had a couple of horns

and it looked at me with a horrible look on its face.”

The captain chuckled silently. “That lad saw more than we did,” he

whispered.

Benito went around the mainmast and made a hasty inspection. When he

returned he was thoroughly out of patience, and the waiting party

strongly suspected that a secret fear was mostly responsible for it.

“Look here,” he growled. “You cut this stuff out and turn in. I’d like

to know what your game is, scaring us like this? Do you think it’s

funny?”

“It’s no game,” the bandit protested. “Anyway, it’s mostly your fault.

If you and Frank hadn’t been talking so much about the ghosts that you

say hang around all wrecked ships, I wouldn’t have felt the way I did. I

tell you I saw something, and I’m leaving this beastly old hole in the

morning.”

“You’ll feel different in the morning,” put in Frank. “What you need is

a good sleep. Come on down and turn in.”

The men were just turning to go down when the old lady appeared at the

companionway opening. She was not looking at the men but beyond them,

pointing toward the deckhouse behind which the boys and the captain were

hiding.

“Well, old lady,” challenged the leader, gruffly. “What are you looking

at?”

“I just saw a head over the top of that deckhouse,” the woman said,

sharply.

The captain groaned aloud. He had been so interested in the proceedings

that he had raised himself up higher than he had intended, and the top

of his captain’s hat had protruded over the edge of the deckhouse. The

old lady had seen it against the faint light of the sky.

“What!” shouted Benito, whirling around.

Don and Jim held their breath, but the captain saw that the time for

action had come. Slapping them sharply with either hand on the arms he

leaped around the deckhouse.

“Up and at ’em, mates,” he roared. “Give ’em all you’ve got!”

Alone, he charged across the deck at the three men, and the boys lost a

precious second in gathering their wits. But when they did awaken to the

situation in hand they ran around the shelter and raced after the

captain. The three outlaws, seeing one man, had intended to stand their

ground, but when they saw the two boys loom up out of the darkness they

sprang into action in their turn.

“Down the hatch!” roared the leader. The old lady, with surprising

agility for one so old, had gotten out of the way and disappeared from

sight. Marcy hurtled through the opening and jumped into the hold. Frank

followed and Benito was halfway through when the aroused captain caught

him by the coat tail.

“Not so fast, my friend!” panted the captain. “I have a little business

with you!”

For a brief second Benito was in a bad fix, but his companions below

seized his legs and pulled hard. The tail of his coat ripped off, the

captain staggered back, and Benito thudded to the floor of the hold.

Before Jim, who was foremost, could reach the companionway, the door was

slid shut and a bolt slipped into place.

“Well, I sure spoiled things that time, didn’t I?” grumbled the captain,

as he scrambled to his feet.

Jim was pushing fruitlessly at the slide but the captain pushed him

aside. “No use in doing that,” commented the captain. “Hunt up a

good-sized piece of timber and we’ll smash the hatch in.”

They located a spar that had at one time, probably during the wreck,

fallen to the deck, and with this they savagely assaulted the sliding

door. There was room for all three of them to get in place on this

battering ram and they started at several paces from the door and ran at

it, picking up speed as they approached it. The ram, guided by their

arms, smote the door a thundering crack, and it shook and creaked.

“That won’t last long,” gasped the captain. “At it again.”

They rammed it again and the door cracked from end to end. On the third

attack it gave way with the sound of splintering wood, and the spar went

through with a rush. With his aroused strength the old captain pulled

the wood away from the frame.

“Now to clean these pirates out!” cried the captain, thrusting one foot

over the broken frame.

But Don pulled him back. “What is that, captain?”

Beside the schooner the sound of an engine reached them. With one accord

they raced to the starboard rail and looked over. Just as they did so

the black cruiser drew away from the side of the wreck and made for the

open sea. Frank standing at the stern, waved them a derisive farewell.

“So long, boys,” the little man hailed. “Say goodbye to the rats for us.

We didn’t have time!”

“All the rats there was is on that boat!” rumbled the captain. “Slipped

through our fingers again, by golly! Now, how in thunder did they get on

that cruiser?”

“Search me,” shrugged Don. “There must be an outlet somewhere.”

Jim leaned over the side of the wreck. “Why, sure, there it is. The

whole side of this boat is one big hole. While we were battering the

door down they just walked out the hole and got aboard their boat.”

“That’s about it,” agreed the captain, looking over the side. “They had

that opening in case they were ever bottled up in the place. Well, no

use crying over things as they stand, but I am sorry I’m such a

blundering windjammer.”

“Oh, never mind that,” said Don, hastily. “All I hope is that they

didn’t take Terry with them, provided they ever had him. Let’s take a

look through this place.”

They descended into the wreck and readily found their way into the room

lately occupied by the men. It was evident that they had left in a

hurry, for a pack of cards was scattered over the table and an oil lamp

burned in a bracket. A fire burned in an iron stove in the galley near

the bunk room, and a few articles of clothing were hanging on a line

near the stove. In a smaller room three bunks were ready for occupancy,

with the covers turned back, and in a somewhat better room, nearby,

evidently occupied by the old lady, a comb and brush stood on a rough

box. There was no sign of any stolen articles anywhere, and they

concluded that any such things were stored on the cruiser.

“Now, we’ll see how those boys got out,” announced the captain. Guided

by his flashlight they went back to the main hold and walked in between

the timbers. Before they had gone very far they found water on the floor

of the bunk room and then they arrived at the opening itself. It was a

great, gaping hole which the storm had beaten in the side of the ship,

and because the hull was already resting on the bottom of the ocean it

had not done any great damage. The hole was big enough to permit the men

to pass out in safety to their cruiser, and a heavy plank had been

placed from the floor to the boat. Don stepped forward but the captain

drew him back.

“No use in going any further,” he cautioned. “We don’t know where this

floor ends and you might suddenly fall right in.” He flashed the light

all around on the timbers, and the ray of light showed them to be

covered with moss and green scum. “This craft has been under water

during every good storm,” the captain commented. “They wouldn’t dare to

use it during the stormy season, because they might be caught like rats

in a trap if the sea came up. Maybe they just stumbled across it, or

maybe they have been using it right along. I’d say that they had been

doing that, judging by the way the blankets are on the bunks.”

“What are we going to do now?” inquired Jim. “If Terry was aboard they

have taken him with them. I guess there is no use in looking further.”

But Captain Blow shook his head. “We’ve got some more investigating to

do,” he announced. “Don’t forget that ghost. You know, we thought at

first that those fellows had rigged that thing for our benefit, but it

must have been rigged for their benefit. It looked mighty spooky the way

it sank down in that deck, but there is some every day explanation to

it, and we’ve got to find out what it was.”

“But we’ve been over the whole ship,” protested Don.

The captain shook his head. “No, we haven’t. There is quite some room up

in the bow, and it doesn’t connect with this section of the ship. That

ghost, or whatever it was, is up in the bow, and we want to find it

right away. If we don’t it may run off with our dinghy and then we’ll be

marooned for fair. Jim, step in the galley and get that axe by the

stove, will you?”

Jim procured the axe and joined the other two in the hold. Captain Blow

led the way up the companionway ladder, and after making sure that the

dinghy was still tied to the after rail, led the way forward.

“Now we’ll find out whether the ghost belongs to this ship, or the ship

belongs to this ghost,” he said.