CHAPTER IX

A BOLD PROJECT

The _Swallow_ cleared her moorings in the creek on Minotaur Island, and steamed out into the broad waters of the bay, a thing of life and beauty.

"And what's that for now?" asked Pat Stoodles of Dave, who was watching their progress and the coastline with great interest.

"I see," nodded Dave. "You mean the longboat from the governor?"

"That same, lad. Luk at 'em, now. Ever since we came into open wather they've been tearing along for the town like mad. Aha, there goes one of those measly marines overboard."

Dave ran for a telescope. He viewed the government boat with a good deal of curiosity.

The official, Silverado, stood up in the stern gesticulating with energy, and evidently inciting his men to their best efforts at the oars.

"In a hurry to reach town, it seems," muttered Pat.

"In a tremendous hurry," said Dave. "So much so, that one of the men has leaped overboard, waded ashore, and is making a lickety-switch run across lots for the town."

Dave went at once to Captain Broadbeam and apprized him of the maneuvers of their recent visitors.

"That's all right, lad," chuckled the old mariner. "Let 'em squirm. We're safe out of their clutches."

"Not so safe," spoke Dave to his father, half an hour later. "Look there."

The officer Silverado had seemingly got word to the governor of the departure of the _Swallow_. A few minutes after the longboat had disappeared around a neck of land, the ironclad gunboat hove into view.

She was a saucy, spiteful little craft and a fast runner. She was headed direct for the _Swallow_.

"Are they coming for us, captain?" inquired Amos Fearless, somewhat anxiously.

"I hope not, for their own sakes," muttered Broadbeam quickly. Then he shouted some orders down the tube and the _Swallow_ made a spurt.

"Running away?" said Pat Stoodles. "Shure, if I was in command I'd sthand and give her one or two good welts."

"Captain Broadbeam knows his business, Mr. Stoodles," declared Dave; "you can always count on that."

Far out in the bay were a group of sandbars and several small wooded islands. The _Swallow_ was headed for the largest of these islets. The gunboat swung a challenge signal to which the _Swallow_ made no reply.

Then, just as the steamer, pursuant to her captain's orders, began to slow up, the ironclad fired a gun.

"Give them their walking papers, Mr. Drake," rang out Broadbeam to the boatswain.

The latter ran up a signal flag. This signified that the _Swallow_ announced herself two-and-one-half miles from shore, and therefore out of the jurisdiction of Minotaur Island, claiming the freedom of neutral waters.

"That'll hold her for a while," gloated Stoodles. "Aha! ye'll have to take back wather now."

The gunboat reminded Dave of some spiteful being cheated out of its prey. She circled, spit steam, and went more slowly back to port.

Captain Broadbeam now ordered the _Swallow_ just without the shoal line of a big sandy island they had neared. Here they came to anchor.

Bob Vilett came up on deck reeking with the steam and grease of the engine room.

"What's the programme, Bob?" asked Dave.

"Captain says we are going to stop here and take on ballast."

"For how long?"

"Till to-morrow, I reckon. I say, Dave, you've got your heart's desire, eh?"

"I am the happiest boy living," answered the young diver. "Something tells me we are going to get and enjoy that treasure after all mishaps and disappointments."

In order to repair the _Swallow_ in the creek, the ballast had been taken out and the contents of the hold generally shifted about.

Now the captain set his men at work to take on new sand ballast from the island and get things in the hold in regular order.

A pulley cable was run ashore. Dave and Bob were the first to take an aerial spin along this, dangling from the big iron kettle that ran down the incline.

Dave had told Captain Broadbeam and the others of his agency in the matter of substituting the hornets for the opium. The recital had made the captain good-natured, and he had given the boys permission to rove over the sand island at will for the day.

Dave and Bob put in a pleasant hour or two talking, fishing, and discussing the probable adventures that would greet them when they again visited the Windjammers' Island.

At about five o'clock in the afternoon the work of securing ballast was completed. The captain then announced that there was some work still to do in the hold. They would make their real start with daylight.

Dave and Bob were taking a last swim in the cool of the day. A clear sky and a fine breeze made the exercise delightful. Finally they got daring one another. Dave swam to the little sand islet next to the large one. Bob beat him in a race to the third of the group.

"Come on, if you've got the nerve," hailed Dave, making a quarter-mile dash for a sand mound still beyond them.

Bob started, but turned back. Dave made port and threw himself on the dry sand to rest. He got back his breath and sat up ready to take the home course, when his eye was attracted to something on an island about a furlong beyond the one he was on.

This was the nearest of the wooded islands. Dave had not noticed it much before. What made him notice it now was that, half-hidden in a great growth of bushes and vines, he noticed a small log hut.

In front of this a mast ran up into the air. At the moment that Dave looked he saw a man fumbling at the lines along this mast. It was to raise a blue bunting.

"Hello, hello," murmured Dave slowly, staring hard and thinking desperately fast. "Why, that's easy to guess. That man is Schmitt-Schmitt."

Dave could not precisely recognize the man at such a distance, but felt sure that it was Schmitt-Schmitt. He thought this the more positively as he saw that piece of blue bunting run up the mast.

"That was one of the signals I heard Schmitt-Schmitt tell the pilot about," mused Dave. "Red for provisions, blue for sickness or help wanted. Lantern at night, bunting by day. That's it, sure. He is signaling the pilot. That island is Schmitt-Schmitt's place of hiding. Say, here's something to think about."

Dave did not stay long to think about it. His eyes brightened and he seemed moved by some inspiriting idea as he jumped into the water and was soon back in the company of his chum, Bob Vilett.

Dave was quite silent and meditative till they had reached the big sandy island. Arrived there, he slowly dressed himself.

"Come on, I'm hungry as a bear--don't want to miss a good supper, Dave," hailed Bob, starting for the _Swallow_.

"Hold on!" challenged Dave. "I want to tell you something before we go aboard."

"Fire away," directed Bob.

"Can you manage to get off duty about dusk?"

"There's nothing for me to do till we steam up again," replied Bob. "Why?"

"Can we get one of the small boats for an hour or two, do you think?"

Bob shook his head negatively.

"Heard the captain shut down on the chance of anybody sneaking to town and making more trouble. No, it can't be done, unless the captain gives special orders. Why?" pressed Bob curiously.

"I don't want to tell the captain what I am up to till I accomplish something," explained Dave. "I'll tell you, though, for you've got to help me."

"All right, Dave," piped Bob readily.

"We must rig up some kind of a craft to reach the first wooded island."

"What for?"

"Schmitt-Schmitt is in hiding there."

"Aha, I see!" cried Bob excitedly.

"I propose," said Dave deliberately, "that we visit him, capture him, and bring on board the _Swallow_--as a prisoner--the only man probably who can guide us straight to that stolen treasure."

"Famous!" cried Bob Vilett enthusiastically--"but can we do it?"

"Let's try it, anyhow," answered Dave Fearless.