The Sling Shot Victim
"What's the matter, boys?"
Mr. Perry appeared at the entrance of the tent with this question on his
lips. The boys turned quickly, while Cub's father advanced nearer to
pursue his inquiry.
"I shot somebody," Bud replied.
"Shot somebody!" Mr. Perry exclaimed. "What with?"
"This," the boy answered, exhibiting his slingshot. "Some fellow was
prowling around here and I thought it was time to stop him. He was
standing in those bushes over there for a long time, and I suppose he
thought he was fully concealed, but I saw him. Then he started to crawl
up close to the tent, and I let him have a good solid, heavy stone. It
went like a bullet--these rubbers are awful strong, and I pulled them
way back."
"He isn't killed; he's crawling away," Max interrupted at this point.
"We mustn't allow that," declared Bud. "We must find out who he is and
what he was up to."
Just then Hal and Cub appeared on the scene, and a few words sufficed to
explain to them what had occurred. All of the campers on retiring had
kept on their day clothes, in order that they might be ready for action
in case of trouble in the night.
"Come on, we must stop him," Cub announced.
This seemed to be the opinion of all, including Mr. Perry, and a general
move was made in the direction of the slowly retreating injured spy. They
soon overtook him and threw a flood of illumination about him with their
search-lights, which they had picked up in the dark almost as
instinctively as a grandmother picks up her glasses in the morning.
"Why, he's a boy!"
Bud was the only one present who gave utterance to this discovery aloud,
but the "exclamation" flashed mentally in the head of every other
youthful investigator in the group. As Mr. Perry was not easily
mystified, we must take it for granted that he was not easily astonished,
so that probably he did not feel like giving vent to anything of the
nature of an exclamation.
"Well," said the latter quietly; "we must take this youngster back to the
camp and give him some hospital treatment. Can you walk?" he added,
addressing the victim of Bud's slingshot.
"You don't think I'd be down here if I could, do you?" moaned the fellow
sarcastically. "But just wait till I get over this and I'll fix the
fellow that hit me."
"Let's not waste any time with him here," urged Mr. Perry. "Some of you
boys pick him up carefully, so as not to hurt him, and carry him into the
tent. We'll give him a quizzing there."
All the young members of the Catwhisker party had had first aid
instruction, so that they knew how to lift the injured boy and carry him
with a minimum of pain to the sufferer. A minute later the victim was
lying on one of the cots in the tent, with his captors gathered around
him, undoubtedly more concerned about the mystery of his presence than in
the extent of his injuries.
"No, boys, we mustn't try to get his story from him until we take care of
his wound and see to it that he is resting easy"; Mr. Perry interposed.
Accordingly the wound was examined and found to consist of a very bad
bruise on the side of the right hip. Bud's missile had struck the
intruder at a point where there was little flesh, right on a protruding
ridge of the hip bone, and it was easy to see that the blow must have
been very painful.
"I don't think it's very serious," Mr. Perry remarked after examining the
wound; "but I doubt if this boy will want to be running around very much
for several days. About all we can do is to apply some liniment to the
wound and encourage it, by careful treatment, to heal as rapidly as
possible."
A bottle of liniment was accordingly produced and an application
administered by Mr. Perry. This seemed to ease the prisoner-patient
somewhat, although he made no effort to stand up, or even to sit up.
"He may have a bone fracture," Mr. Perry remarked, after he had finished
his first-aid ministration, "It's a pretty bad wound, after all. We'll
have to take him to the nearest physician in the morning if he doesn't
show decided improvement by that time. I didn't dare rub the liniment in
because the slightest touch was so painful."
"The skin isn't broken," Bud observed, with a tone of real concern, for,
in spite of the fact that the fellow was there on no friendly mission,
the catapult "dead shot" now felt no exultation over his deed.
"No, or I could not have used the liniment," Mr. Perry replied. "His
clothing protected him against a broken wound. By the way," he continued,
turning to the victim, who lay on one of the camp cots that formed a part
of the regular equipment of the Catwhisker; "who are you and what were
you doing here?"
"Never you mind who I am or what I was doing here," snapped the youth,
who appeared to be a few years older than the boy Catwhiskerites and
their Canadian friend, Max. "You wait till my father gets after you.
He'll clean you all up."
"And who may your father be?" inquired Mr. Perry with provoking calmness.
"You'll find out who my father is, just you wait. You haven't any right
here. These islands belong to my father and--"
"Oh--ho!" interrupted Mr. Perry in tone of sudden discovery. "So that's
the way the wind blows, is it? I get you now. You're the son of one of
those kidnappers."
The boy's face twitched, possibly with pain, more likely with alarm at
his having betrayed his identity so foolishly.
"We'll get down to the bottom of this mystery yet," Cub declared
confidently.
"Yes, all we need is a little mathematics, Mr. Perry, and we'll soon
solve the problem."
"We've had some mathematics already," Mr. Perry smiled.
"I didn't see it," returned Cub. "Maybe I'm slow."
"No, you haven't got farther than your One's in the addition table. You
can add 1 to any other number, but you can't tell how much 2 plus 2 are."
"All right, I'm foolish," admitted Cub. "Spring your joke."
"This is a rather serious situation in which to spring a joke,"
reminded the "foolish boy's" father. "But didn't you hear me put two
and two together when this fellow declared that this island belonged to
his father?"
Laughter greeted this sally, in spite of the seriousness of the
situation.
"By the way, I wonder if we haven't got this youngster's father a
prisoner on the Catwhisker," Mr. Perry continued. Then he turned toward
the youth on the cot and inquired:
"Is your father a tall, angular fellow with a smart, flip way of talking,
and do his friends call him captain?"
The catapult victim did not answer, but the expression on his face was
all the evidence that was needed to indicate what an honest reply would
have been.
"I thought so," said Mr. Perry. "Now, would you like to make a trip down
to the landing and occupy a stateroom in the Catwhisker with your father?
The Catwhisker, by the way, is a yacht in which we made a trip from
Oswego, New York, to rescue a boy marooned by some young scamps on this
island. After he was marooned, your father and his friends kidnapped him
and took him away. Now, what we want to know is, where is he?"
Still the wounded prisoner made no reply.
"There's going to be some awful serious trouble for your outfit if that
boy isn't returned," Mr. Perry went on, waxing fiercer and more fierce in
his manner as he purposely worked up a towering rage for the sake of its
effect on the boy on the cot. "Would you like me to turn you over to the
father of the boy whom your scoundrel gang kidnapped? What do you think
would happen to you if he got hold of you? Well, he's on the boat down at
the landing, and your father is there too, under lock and key. And before
long we're going to have the whole gang of you under lock and key. Now,
don't you think it is best for you to give up your secret and tell where
that boy is?"
The prisoner was now thoroughly frightened. He shrunk away from the
glowering owner of the Catwhisker as if he feared the man's clenched
fists were about to rain blows on his wounded body. At last he gasped in
trembling tones:
"I don't know, I don't know."
"Don't know what?" thundered Mr. Perry.
"I don't know--I don't know--where he is," stuttered the terrified boy.
"And I don't believe you, young sir. Do you understand me? You're not
telling the truth. Come on, boys, we'll turn him over to the father of
the boy they kidnapped."
"Oh, no, no; don't, please don't, mister," pleaded the scared youngster.
"I don't know where that boy is; please sir, I don't. But I'll ask my
father to tell if you'll take me to him."
"There, I thought we'd get something out of you," said Mr. Perry in tone
of satisfaction.
"But you didn't do it with mathematics this time, dad," Cub declared in a
voice that indicated full confidence of victory.
"Oh, yes, I did, my youthful minus quality," his father flashed back. "I
multiplied my wrath very righteously, and this fellow is going to have
his woes multiplied and his joys subtracted and his peace of mind divided
into a thousand more pieces if he doesn't get busy on the square and see
to it that young Alvin Baker is returned to his father."
"He isn't hurt nearly as bad as he pretends to be, Mr. Perry," Hal put in
as the "mathematical man" indicated that he had "spoken his speech". "He
moved his leg several times. You better watch out or he'll be jumping up
and making a dash for liberty."
"I'd been noticing that," Mr. Perry replied. "I wouldn't insult Bud's
catapulting powers by intimating that this fellow wasn't pretty badly
hurt; but I do think we've overestimated the extent of the injury. He was
completely knocked out by the blow, but he's been recovering here pretty
rapidly. Come on, now, Master Howard--what's your first name--won't tell,
eh?--all right; we'll find out in due time--come on, let's talk a walk
down to papa and that terrible man whose claws are just aching for
revenge for the loss of his son. What--you can't get up? Well, boys, pick
him up again and carry him. Be careful, of course, for he's in some pain
yet. Now, we'll march. Bud, you bring up the rear with your mediaeval
rubber pistol, and I'll march beside you. If anybody, tries to interfere
with us there'll be some crack-shot shooting."
Hal, Cub, Bud, and Max picked up the wounded boy in approved
relief-ambulance-corps style and carried him, with a few groans and moans
from their burden, across the open area, through the narrow belt of
bushes, to the top of the hill that overlooked the landing. There Mr.
Perry called a halt and then hailed the yacht thus:
"Ahoy, the Catwhisker."
All listened breathlessly, but no answer came. Then the owner of the boat
put greater volume in his voice and repeated the hail:
"Ahoy, the Catwhisker! Ahoy, the Catwhisker!"
This time an answer came, but hardly in the manner expected.
A muffled, rattling, rackety noise came from within the cabin, the door
of which seemed to be closed. It sounded as if someone were pounding and
kicking the walls like an insane patient in an unpadded room.
"What in the world does that mean?" Cub demanded, giving utterance to the
apprehension that thrilled every other member of the party.
"I don't know," his father replied; "but I'm going to find out pretty
quick. You boys stay here with the prisoner. I'm going down there to
investigate."
With this announcement, he drew his automatic for ready use and began to
descend the steps they had fashioned in the stony hill before
establishing their camp on Friday Island.