Part 15

"Seems like she isn't very fast," he remarked to his pale-eyed companion.

Bahama Bill looked at him a moment, but said nothing.

"Pretty dirty sort of ship, hey?" said the thin fellow again, in a low tone.

The mate was about to make some reply, but Smart nudged him, and he relaxed into a scowl.

"Aw, well, I reckon we'll make it all right," said the pale-eyed man, his face beaming satisfaction and his high nose sniffing the salt air.

"With a decent boat, yes," said the other, "but this one's mighty rough. I never saw a more poorly rigged affair. Seems like she's rigged from the wrecks of other vessels. Don't look like she'll make six knots."

Bahama Bill grunted, but Smart nudged him again, and he said nothing. The yacht captain knew that gentlemen would not stand for rough talk from men of Bahama Bill's type, and he did not want to lose the charter. It meant plenty of money and comfortable living until he could get his salvage.

"Let them talk--don't butt in--say nothing," he admonished Bill, in a whisper.

The big mate heard, but seemed resentful. "What dey want toe knock my ship fo'?" growled the giant. "Ain't she a good sloop? Ain't she done her work all right every time? She's paid me good money, me an' Bull Sanders--no, I don't like no knockin' goin' on abo'd here."

"Cut it out, keep quiet--we get the money if you do," said Smart. "What good will it do you to get them angry, so they won't want to charter us again? Man! it's good money, thirty dollars a day--let it go at that."

The pale-eyed man looked at the mate. "It's about dinner-time, isn't it?" he asked. "We're mighty hungry, and if you can let the cook get to work, we'll be ready."

"Where's the soft grub fo' dat invalid?" growled Bahama Bill. "I thought he couldn't eat hoag an' hominy--Heldron, yo' Dutchman, git the fire started an' let the perfessers eat as soon as yo' kin."

They were well down the channel now, but Smart, on looking back, saw a small schooner making sail hastily. She started off, heading in their wake, and about a mile astern.

The passenger with the pale eyes watched her sharply for some moments, and the benevolent expression faded from his face. The thin man, the invalid, started up and gazed at her, but was pulled down again by his companion.

"That fellow astern," said the charterer, his high nose sniffing sneeringly at the schooner, "thinks he has a smart vessel, and bet us this morning that he could beat this old sloop to the Fowey Rocks. Don't let him come up on us whatever you do. I'll give you ten dollars extra to-day if you run him out of sight before dark."

"Looks like a smart vessel," said Bahama Bill, gazing aft. "I ain't much at racing, but give this sloop a good breeze, an' maybe you'll land yo' money."

The passengers ate their meal, and to the credit of the invalid be it said that he ate more of the "hoag" than his companion. He also put away an immense portion of the hominy, and his thin face seemed less wrinkled when he appeared on deck to take a look at the schooner.

Smart watched the following vessel, and saw that she was gaining. The expression of the pale-eyed man was even more sinister than before, and the quiet, urbane look gave way to one of ferocity. The high, thin nose seemed like the beak of some bird of prey, and the moustache bristled with anxiety and apparent vexation. The thin-faced invalid's expression was also one of evident concern, the lines of his face drawing tighter as the distance lessened between the two ships.

"Who's that fellow that looks like the marshal abo'd the schooner?" asked the mate.

"Oh, that's a friend of mine. He dresses up like that when he goes hunting or fishing. He used to be in the army, and he likes to wear the clothes like a uniform," said the thin-faced man.

"Speaking of the army," said the pale-eyed one, "that puts me in mind of that little Colt automatic-gun I have. They use them now in the service, and say they carry like a rifle. I believe I'll take a pop at Charlie just to scare him, hey? It won't hurt him at this distance, anyway."

"By all means," laughed the thin-faced man, "take a try at him. It'll scare him to death, I bet you."

Bahama Bill eyed the men curiously, but as it appeared to be none of his business whether they indulged in rough play, he said nothing. Smart was too engrossed to notice that the pale-eyed man had drawn a large automatic pistol, and was resting it upon the rail, until he had pulled the trigger. The sharp, whiplike report without any smoke startled him. The shrill whine of the projectile whistled over the water, and the man who stood upon the schooner's deck quickly disappeared. In a few moments the "cheep" of a rifle-bullet cut the air, and "spanged" with a thud into the mainmast, followed by a faint crack sounding over the sea.

The pale-eyed man fired six shots in answer now, and they came so quickly that there was hardly a second between the reports.

"What yo' doin', havin' a gun fight?" roared Bill. "What yo' mean by shootin' a fellow up what ain't doin' nothin' but sailin' after yo'? What's de lay? Sing out."

The pale-eyed man turned his gaze upon the giant mate, and, as he did so, he shoved another clip of cartridges into his weapon.

"Don't get excited," he said calmly. "My friend here is an iconoclast, a knocker. He objects to the simplicity of your ship, to her rigging, to her going qualities. He objected to the perfection of that schooner, also. He speaks out, and consequently gets into trouble. Now it's for you to show him that he's right; that, after all, racing is a game between men, not between ships, I'll make it fifty dollars if you keep that schooner just where she belongs."

"I'll run her out of sight befo' night, if de wind comes--hit looks like it's coming now, by the shake outside the reef--but dat's de United States marshal youse fired on, perfesser. I knows him of old, an' I got no use fer him. But watcher got in de box? Speak up, or I throws her into the wind."

"If you so much as alter the course of this sloop one point," said the thin-faced man quietly, from a place to leeward, where he had gone unobserved, "I'll fill you so full of lead that you'll make a hole in the bottom where you'll strike. Head her out over the reef, and then due east, until further orders."

While he spoke he rested a long-barrelled six-shooter of the heaviest pattern in the hollow of his arm, with its muzzle pointing directly at the heart of the giant mate. The man with the pale eyes sat upon the taffrail with his Colt automatic in readiness, and looked Smart and the two men over without a word. Speech was unnecessary. The iconoclast had done all that was needed to bring about a perfect understanding, and, as both men were armed with guns that admitted of some respect, the _Sea-Horse_ held her way over the reef under all sail, while the freshening breeze heeled her gradually over until she fairly tore along through a calm sea, leaving a snowy, boiling wake astern.

III

Bahama Bill looked his men over. He feared neither gun nor knife when the time came for a fracas, but there was another consideration which moved him deeper than the threat of the thin-faced invalid. The marshal had libelled his vessel upon an occasion, for the payment of a small bill. Here he was forced, at the point of a gun, to run away, to carry the evident prey with him. It would exonerate him if caught, for he could prove that it was a matter he had no discretion in. He could, with all safety, put as much space between the two vessels as possible. All hands would swear that he was forced to do so.

The idea tickled him, and his huge, ugly mouth broadened out into a sinister grin as the _Sea-Horse_, racing along through the choppy water of the edge of the Gulf Stream, poked her short horn out over the foam, and tore away to windward.

The box in the cabin excited his curiosity, but he felt sure that it was of value, and that the men were trying to make a getaway with it. Smart was sitting quietly watching the affair, and being, like the mate, under the guns of the passengers, there was nothing to do but obey orders, or take the consequences.

"Seems like your health has improved wonderfully since you dined on the ship's grub," said the yacht captain, addressing the invalid, who held the revolver.

"The sea air is good for the health," assented that gentleman, his thin face lining up into something resembling a smile. "It'll be healthy for all of us out here in the broad ocean, free from all cares. Oh, the life on the bounding wave for me--isn't that so, Jim?" said he, referring to his companion.

The sharp "ping" of a bullet interrupted the answer, and it was found that to be perfectly safe it was necessary to remain under cover.

"Those bullets would go through the ship both ways and back again," said the invalid, as the rest snuggled down, "but of course it's well to keep out of sight. Better put everything you can on her, skipper," he added, addressing the mate, "if you want to keep clear. Let her go. Don't stop on our account. When we get an offing, I'll trust you to steer without trouble, and I'll put out a line to catch some supper. There ought to be fine fishing off the reef this time of year."

"Oh, I'm mighty feared ob those guns," said Bahama Bill, in a deep voice, which he tried to raise to a frightened treble. "I'll steer her all right toe any place yo' wants toe go. Lay de co'se, says me. I'll take youse dere if the hooker'll go."

"It's a pity you haven't some decent canvas aboard her," said the invalid.

"If you had some decent gear, we might show that fellow a clean wake. You seem to know your business, all right."

"If you want to make a getaway, you better stop knocking this sloop," said Smart.

"Dat's right, cap'n, ef dese perfessers want toe make good, dey better quit hittin' de _Sea-Horse_. I won't stand fer much ob dat foolishing," said Bahama Bill.

"The invalid is a regular image-breaker," said the pale-eyed man sympathetically; "don't mind the knocks, my good fellow. Tell me what other cloth you can put on the ship, and I'll see that it's spread. They're getting out everything that will hold wind astern of us."

This was the case aboard the schooner. The United States marshal, Tom Fields, had been told of the successful onslaught of "Thin Jim" and Dick Nichols, sometimes known as "the Owl" on account of his colourless eyes, upon the safe of the gambling establishment. This contained seven thousand dollars in cash, and nearly as much more in jewelry that had been accepted for gambling debts.

The two crooks, a pair of the most desperate and notorious cracksmen, had made good the haul in broad daylight, having first arranged to have the sloop ready and waiting for the reception of the valuables. The ignorance of her crew was rightly depended upon, and the plot had so far been fairly successful. If they could once get to sea, the rest would be easy, for they could land anywhere upon the Bahamas, from Nassau a thousand miles down to the Great Inagua Bank. It would be next to impossible to catch them. It all depended upon the vessel and her manoeuvring.

Fields recognized the _Sea-Horse_ at once, and, knowing her peculiar character, and also that of her owners, he at once came to the conclusion that the giant mate of the wrecker was in the game with the other two experts from the North. He at once pressed the yacht _Silver Bar_ into service, and making sail about the time the _Sea-Horse_ was standing out the channel, came along in pursuit, with the conviction that he would soon run the heavier working vessel down under his gun and force her to surrender.

Armed with a modern rifle of small bore and great range, he had returned the fire of the burglars at once, in the hope that he might cripple some one, even at the range of half a mile. His ammunition consisted of hardly more than a handful of cartridges, and he was forced to use these sparingly, depending now upon the seamanship of his crew and the seaworthiness of the _Silver Bar_ to make his catch.

With all sail he stood down the channel, and was beginning to haul up on the _Sea-Horse_, when she took the first of the southerly wind coming over the reef. This had given her a good start, and she was now about a mile to windward, and going like mad to the eastward, across the Gulf Stream.

"Clap everything you can on her," begged the marshal; "put out the awning, tarpaulins, anything that will drive us. It's a thousand dollars reward if we land them, and I'll split even with you if we do."

The captain of the _Silver Bar_ needed no urging. He wanted that five hundred. He would have to go, anyway, and here was the chance of the season. He broke out jib-topsails, stretched his mainsail to the utmost, and trimmed his canvas for the struggle, setting a club-topsail aft and a working one forward, with a big maintopmast staysail. He was soon making the most of the lively breeze, and plunging through the blue water to the tune of ten knots, heading right into the wake of the flying _Sea-Horse_.

The wrecking-sloop, leaning well down to the now freshening gale, tore a way through the Gulf Stream, sending the spray flying over her in a constant shower. She headed well up, a trifle closer than the schooner, and she waded through it like a live thing. Her rough gear, meant for work and hard usage, stood her in good stead in the heavy water off shore.

All the lines stretching taut as bow-strings to the pressure made a musical humming which sounded pleasantly upon the ears of the listening men aft. They still held their weapons in readiness, but it was evident that Bahama Bill was going to send his favourite through to a finish in a style fitting her record.

With one hand upon the wheel-spokes, he lounged upon the steering-gear, nor ducked nor winced as the rifle projectiles now and again sang past. The range was getting too great to be dangerous, and the ammunition of the marshal was getting low. Finally the fire astern ceased, and the two vessels raced silently across the Stream, each striving to the utmost for the objective point, the Great Bahama Bank, seventy miles away, due east.

Once upon the shoal, the wrecker would have the advantage, for he knew the Bank well, and could follow channels which the heavier schooner would almost certainly fetch up in. The marshal knew this, and urged the schooner to the limit of her powers.

Away they went across the Stream. The _Silver Bar_ was rooting deeply into the choppy sea, caused by the strong northerly current which flows eternally between the Florida Reef and the Great Bahama Bank. She would plunge headlong, and bury her bows clear to the knightheads, ramming the water so heavily that it burst into a great comber from both sides. Then she would raise her dripping forefoot clear, until one could see under her body aft to the heel of the foremast, rearing up like a spirited horse under the spur. Down she would plunge again with a forward lunge, and every line of standing rigging would set like a bar with the strain.

Fields, the marshal, was getting all he could out of her, and she was gradually hauling up in the wake of the wrecker. Before the sun sank in the west she was less than half a mile astern, and coming along handsomely.

Smart, on the _Sea-Horse_, trimmed his canvas, stretched the peak of the mainsail, and sweated the topsail sheet and tack until the lines would stand no more. The _Sea-Horse_ was literally flying through it, and her heavy build caused her to strike the seas with a smash which flung the spray in showers.

Bahama Bill glanced astern, and saw that he would soon be alongside the pursuer, and the anxious faces of the passengers told of a nervousness which could not be concealed. Both Sam and Heldron were aware that they were making a getaway, but they had no choice in the matter, and they would obey the mate to the last.

Smart studied out several wild propositions which occurred to him to disable the sloop and be overhauled, but, as there was every prospect of getting shot for any attempt, he wisely kept on, feeling sure that the marshal would soon be alongside and force surrender.

They had run all the afternoon, and had gone many miles, but now that they were really at sea, the schooner would have the advantage.

Darkness came on, and the thin man holding the revolver appeared to tire. "You might get dinner ready," said he, "I'm about ready to eat again."

"I don't got noddings but pork, cold an' fat," said Heldron, who acted as cook.

"Bring it on deck," said the invalid. "It's a shame you fellows live the way you do."

He bolted a full pound of the greasy meat, and seemed to enjoy it.

"Does me good to see how you've improved under the salt air," said Smart.

"The more he eats the thinner he gets," said the pale-eyed man, shifting his automatic pistol into his left hand. "You can let me have a try at it now."

After all hands had eaten, the darkness had grown to the blackness of a tropic night. The _Sea-Horse_ kept along without lights, but those of the schooner soon showed close astern, and appeared exceedingly near. No shots had been fired, although the range was now close, and there was every opportunity, could the marshal see, of hitting a man, but the plunging of the vessels evidently made his aim uncertain, and he reserved his fire, feeling sure that he would soon be close enough to force matters to a satisfactory conclusion without bloodshed.

"Dere ain't but one chanct in fo'ty ob our makin' de gitaway," said Bill, gazing astern at the approaching vessel, "but I'll do the bes' I kin to shoo fly dat ornery marshal. Dere's a bit ob a squall makin' ah'ad, an' ef we kin hold on till it comes up, I'll try to fluke him when it's thick."

"My black friend, if your boat was any good you could make a getaway without trouble, but this craft is surely on the bum," said the thin-faced invalid ruefully. "I've no doubt you think her all right in her way, but her way is not that of those who expect to make either comfort or time when afloat--she's rotten."

"Look here," said Bahama Bill. "Yo' better take my advice an' not hit this sloop any more. If yo' don't think she's any good, why yo' come abo'd her? Why yo' want to run off with her, hey?"

"Why, indeed?" sighed the invalid, shifting his gun and gazing ahead at the gathering blackness of the squall, which was just one of those little puffs of smudge, a bit of breeze and drizzle, common to southerly wind in the Stream.

"Shall I run her off an' make the try fo' it?" asked the mate.

"Yes, do the best you can," said the iconoclast, nursing the barrel of the six-shooter. "Looks like we're up against it," he added to his pale-eyed partner, who seemed to grow more and more anxious as the pursuing schooner drew up in the wake of the _Sea-Horse_.

"Stand by to haul down the jib an' fo'sta's'l," ordered the mate, and just then the first puff of the squall heeled the sloop over slightly, and gave her greater speed. The rain came with the breeze, and for a moment the vessel fairly tore along with the increased pressure. It gave them considerable advantage over the schooner, for it struck them first.

Just as it began to show signs of slacking up, Bahama Bill gave his final orders. The head-sails were run down so as not to show against the sky, and the mainsail run off until the leech was on edge to the pursuing vessel, the _Sea-Horse_ squaring away and running off at nearly right angles to her course. In this manner she presented little besides her mast to be seen in the darkness, her white canvas being now almost if not quite out of sight.

"Stan' up an' look astern, now," said Bahama Bill to the thin-faced man.

The request was complied with, both men standing up and gazing back into the blackness, which now showed only the port, or red, light of the schooner, telling plainly that she had not discovered their ruse, and was holding on with the freshening breeze, confident that when it let up she would be close aboard the sloop.

The course of the _Sea-Horse_ was almost due north, while that of the pursuing vessel was east. Before the thickness of the rain was over, the wrecker would be safely out of sight to the northward, and the marshal would hold on only to find he was chasing nothing. They watched her pass on toward the Bahamas, and her lights fade out, and then the thin-faced passenger spoke.

"For a bum old boat, this did the trick, all right," said he to his partner. "I didn't think we'd make it, but I guess we will, all right, now--what?"

"Looks like we're off for fair," said the pale-eyed man. "We'll make a landing without delay, and let the marshal go hunting the town of Nassau for two well--but not favourably--known gentlemen. That's a strong shooting rifle he carries, hey?"

While they talked, interested in the chase, the mate of the _Sea-Horse_ had begun to think of his part in the affair. Both he and Smart had now to face a serious charge, and the prospect was not pleasant, especially as they had not chosen to take part in the escape of the two men who now had shown that they were fugitives from the law and the marshal.

The mate had outwitted his old enemy, and, as the success of his seamanship became evident, he began to realize that the game was now up to him. Smart stood near, and was about to say something to that effect, when he caught the glint of the black man's eye, shining white in the darkness.

It conveyed a meaning to the yacht captain, for he was well versed in tricks of the sea, and he at once spoke to the passengers, calling their attention to the vanishing ship. He did not know just what Bahama Bill would do, but he knew from that look he would act, and act at once.

Almost instantly the mate pushed the wheel-spokes slowly over, doing it so gently, so gradually, that only Smart was aware that the wind was hauling to the lee, and that the mainsail would soon be taken aback. He spoke again, and the men gazed a moment more at the shadow passing out across the Stream. Then the mainsail took the wind to port, and swung with a quick jibe to starboard.

The sheet well off came over in a bight, and, while the two gentlemen of fortune had agility enough to dodge the main boom, the line caught the tall, thin-faced invalid, and jerked him quickly over the side into the sea.

The other man sprang out of the way, but almost instantly recovered himself, and covered the mate with his weapon. He seemed to realize that some trick had been played, but just what he failed to understand. He hesitated to fire, and that instant cost him the game. Bahama Bill made a quick plunge over the taffrail, and disappeared in the white wake astern. The pale-eyed man held his pistol in readiness to shoot, but he was warned again by Smart's voice.

"Don't fire, you fool, he'll save your friend," cried the captain. "They'll hear the shot aboard the schooner--put up your gun."

The quickness of events seemed to cause even the cool-headed burglar to hesitate as to what course to pursue. The mate had gone overboard evidently to save his companion. It was certain death to be left out there in the ocean, and Smart was even now swinging the _Sea-Horse_ around in a great circle, heading well to the westward, to make it farthest from the disappearing schooner.

Heldron and Sam had sprung to the sheet, and were rapidly hauling it in hand over hand, while Smart bawled out orders for them, regardless of the saturnine passenger with the gun, who seemed undecided whether to shoot some of them or not.

He sat down and gazed astern at the place where the two men had vanished. He knew his companion was a strong swimmer, but he knew nothing of the black man's giant strength, his remarkable staying powers, and fishlike ability in the sea.