Part 3

"A tiny glow worm. 'You, in your small corner, and I in mine,' Jawn. You remember the old infant class 'rondeloo'? Won't do for us to go stumbling about here, mauling ourselves and announcing our presence--perhaps--to the enemy," chuckled Rex.

"If they're still here," grumbled his friend. "If they're not, so much the better. But I have a sneaking idea that nobody got off this island in the storm."

"Looks reasonable."

"Quite. Maybe, at that," Kingdon added, "they have no intention of remaining for more than over night. Fishing party, maybe--picnic bunch."

"Then, for goodness' sake what are we mouching around here in the dark for?" snarled the short-tempered Midkiff, for he had already barked his bare shin on a tree root.

"Sh! sh! and a couple of hushes," advised his mentor. "Ha! Jawn, I see a light."

The other's reply was another growl: "Let me see that light you've got, will you? Not right in my eyes. That blinds a fellow."

It was true Kingdon was chuckling softly. He took his finger off the latch of the electric spotlight, and they were again in gloom; but, having scrambled up the rough bank from the water a few yards, there was visible before them--at least, to his eyes--a faint glow.

"That isn't a campfire," grunted Midkiff, finally observing the odd illumination.

"A campfire wouldn't have much of a chance in this rain," suggested Kingdon. "That light's behind canvas."

"A tent!" exclaimed Midkiff.

"You can risk your last iron man on it, old boy and--listen to the voices!"

"I hear 'em," admitted his comrade. "What you going to do? Sneak up and stretch your ear?"

Rex nodded, but gestured for Midkiff to remain where he was. They had drawn too near to the encampment for further conversation to be wise.

The radiance of the lantern inside the nearest tent rendered approach to it easy. The second, and totally dark canvas shelter, was beyond.

"Eavesdropping isn't my long suit," thought Rex Kingdon, "but all's fair in love and war--and several other things! We've got the rights of this. Whoever these chaps are, they're in wrong."

"'Tis no casual fishing party; they're here with tents and boats, I fancy--all the trappings of a stable camp. The unmitigated gall of them!"

In a minute he learned more important things. There were four in the tent, and they were playing cards. One fellow was whining:

"I don't wanta play any more. Ben has all the luck. I've lost too much now."

"Why, you poor fish!" said another voice. "This isn't real money we're playing for. It's only for fun."

"Just the same, Kirby, Ben always sets it down against me when he wins; and I owe him enough already--more'n I can pay," was the frank statement.

"Aw, come on, Pudge! Be a sport," urged a third speaker.

"So Cousin Ben keeps a day-book account on you, does he?" drawled the fourth player. "Ben's going to be a wealthier man than his father some day."

"Mind your own business, Horrors," snapped the one called "Ben." "If you and Harry Kirby are silly enough to play for matches, not me. I want some go in the game--and so does Pudge."

"That so, Pudge?" drawled the same laughing voice.

"I wouldn't mind if I won once in a while," confessed the fat youth, whose humped shoulders were so near Rex Kingdon on the other side of the canvas that the listener could have trumped him--and was tempted to!

The brief dialogue, however, had told the eavesdropper much. There were four in the tent, and all boys. From the manner of their talk and their occupation, he was sure that they were fellows who would not be too squeamish about breaking trespass laws. Rex was confident, too, that they must be settled here on Storm Island for some time.

Rex did not much fancy his situation and would have crept away almost immediately, having discovered enough for the time being, had not a topic of conversation arisen between the quartette in the tent that could not fail to hold his attention.

"Wonder if that catboat got around the point all right?" Kirby ruminated, evidently scanning his cards. "Say, Pudge! You're some poor dealer."

"Didn't see a thing of it after we got back to camp," the fat fellow said.

"Too dark," grunted Ben's voice.

"May be lying off there at anchor--shouldn't wonder," the fourth fellow lazily observed.

"You don't think so, do you, Horrors?"

"Why not?"

"If they anchored here they mean to land on the island in the morning--what?"

"Thought nobody ever came here," complained Ben.

"There's _one_ party we can expect--is that your idea, Harry?" drawled the languid fellow.

"You get me, Horrors. Kingdon and his gang."

"Whoo!" puffed Pudge. "That couldn't be them in the cat?"

"It might," Ben Comas said in evident gloom.

"Those fellows aren't cannibals, I suppose?" proposed the laughing Pence.

"Supposin' Enos Quibb shows up again?" retorted Ben. "Then we _will_ be in a pickle."

"Bah! you're a reg'lar grumbler, Ben," scoffed Kirby.

"Well, if it's those Walcott Hall fellows out there----"

"If anybody's out there," drawled Pence. "Let's wait till daylight before worrying over that. Your lead, Pudge."

At that moment Rex was startled--if those under the canvas were not--by a half smothered cry from the other side of the tent, and the fall of a heavy body.

"Ugh!" was expelled from the lungs of the victim of this accident, and Rex knew he must have fallen over a guy rope. He darted swiftly around the lighted tent, hearing a sibilant "Sh!" from within as the quartette forgot their cards to listen. Rex was convinced that he knew the meaning of the disturbance--and who caused it; but before spying the victim of the accident he saw the fly of the second tent parted, and a crouching figure darted out.

There was a larger party than he supposed in this encampment. In another minute the whole crowd would be in action.

"Hey, Mid!" hissed Rex.

He got no reply from his friend, but the individual from the second tent turned as quick as a flash and sprang to tackle him. The charge was so unexpected that Rex went down under the weight of his silent opponent. Whoever the fellow was he didn't shout for help.

Rex twisted and heaved, using every wrestling trick he knew to break the hold of his antagonist. It was like a band of steel about his middle. Rex was too plucky himself, however, to call again for his friend, as long as this stranger fought the battle in silence.

They rolled over and over upon the saturated ground. Rex realized that there was confusion inside the lighted tent. The cardplayers had jumped up and were stumbling over each other to get outside and investigate the disturbance.

"Whole pack will be on me in a minute!" thought the Walcott Hall youth, and the idea stirred him to additional effort.

He managed to get a grip on the other fellow's shoulders, and held him off. His thumbs sought the bunch of muscles and nerves at the joint of the upper arm and shoulder. Pressure here brought a pained grunt from his victim's lips.

His grip on Kingdon relaxed. Slippery as an eel in his bathing suit, the latter wriggled free, rolled over, and leaped to his feet.

Between him and the lighted tent loomed suddenly an unmistakably lanky figure. "Hold 'em in the tent, Jawn," Rex panted, "till I find out what sort of a thing this is that grabbed me. It strikes me it's deaf and dumb."

"Right-o!" agreed the big fellow, and a sudden _smack_ upon the wet canvas, and a wild roar inside, betrayed the collision of the spare tent stake in Midkiff's hands athwart the parting fly of the main tent.

"Ow! Let us out!" yelled the beleaguered boys as Midkiff slammed the canvas curtain a second time with his weapon.

"Joe! Joe Bootleg!" shrieked Ben Comas.

The fellow who had tackled Rex had scrambled to his feet. The Walcott boy cried: "Believe I'm favored with the attention of Mr. Shoetop--or whatever he's called. Ah! Would ye?"

He parried a swing dealt at him, and the next instant he and the silent Indian were clinched again.

"Want--help?" panted Midkiff, who had brought on all this trouble by disobeying Kingdon's order.

"No!" was expelled from Rex's lips. "I'm--going--to take--this--Boot--let apart--and see how it's made. Ah! would ye?"

His apparel did not gain Rex so much advantage after all. Joe had gone to bed with his boots on. Now he unceremoniously trampled on the other's bare feet. Rex could not entirely repress a cry of pain, and for the second time the Indian uttered a sound. He laughed.

If anything was needed to make Kingdon fighting mad, it was that. He broke away from the Indian, dancing back a pace or two. As Joe Bootleg came at him again, Rex sent in a quick right drive to the point of the other's chin.

His antagonist went to the earth, and lay there.

*CHAPTER VI.*

*GETTING BACK TO THE BOAT.*

At another time Rex Kingdon would have been more careful about striking such a blow with his bare fist, no matter how angry he might have been with his opponent, for there is danger of cracking a knuckle when one's hand is ungloved.

The foot Joe Bootleg had trampled on, hurt him cruelly, however; he saw, too, that the Indian meant to repeat his unfair tactics. So it was "down and out" for the Indian, and the Walcott youth sprang away.

"Run, Mid!" he hissed. "This bunch is getting lively. There!"

Inside the tent somebody suddenly yelled: "That's right, Horrors! Slit up the back canvas. We'll show 'em!"

"They know there are only two of us, I guess," said Midkiff. "But don't you hate to show the white feather?"

"Too dark right now for anybody to see whether our plumage is white or some other color," chuckled Rex. "The race is not always to the swift or the battle to the strong."

"Huh!" grunted his friend. "Where's that fellow who downed you?"

"I downed him. But he's coming back to life again," Rex said, having gone back for another look at the dazed Indian boy to make sure. "Whew! He's strong, that chap. But he don't know much about using his fists. Here they come! Scoot!"

He picked up the flash-lamp he had dropped in the fracas, and set the pace down the hill. But he hobbled, and Midkiff immediately noticed his chum's lameness, although they were out of the radiance of the lighted tent in half a minute.

"That fellow hurt you, Rex," exclaimed the big chap.

"Maybe I didn't hurt him!" returned the other lightly. "Drop over this bank and get under cover. The hounds will scent the trail in a minute."

Midkiff did not like to run. That wasn't his way when he got into a row. But Rex was chuckling in spite of the pain he suffered.

"I believe we could have licked 'em if we had stayed," growled the big fellow.

"Doubtless, Jawn. You could go out and slay a host of the Philistines with a jawbone----"

"The knuckle bones are good enough for me," put in his friend, still disgruntled. "You always have all the luck, Rex. You're the only one who struck a blow."

"How about you hammering on that canvas?" demanded Kingdon.

"With your fist, I mean."

"True. And I'm not so happy over that," muttered the other.

They had scrambled down upon a narrow strip of beach under the high bank. This was not the spot where they had landed, as Kingdon well knew.

They hobbled along the beach where it was hard going, and Midkiff stepped on a pebble that gave him a pretty stone bruise.

"Let's take to the water," the big fellow proposed. "This is no fun."

"Right! It doesn't tickle one's funny-bone to any extensive degree," rejoined his friend. "But do you know where the _Spoondrift_ is?"

"Of course not. That's up to you."

"Thanks. Well, _I_ don't know its location--not from here. We've got to get around to that place where we landed. I marked that."

"Come on----" Midkiff choked his words short as there came a shout over their heads.

"This way, Horrors!" yelled the voice of the chap named Kirby. "They came this way. I heard 'em then."

"Heard 'em what--splashing? They came in a boat--if they didn't fly to the island," was the reply.

"Heard 'em talking," Kirby called back.

The two Walcott Hall youths had seized each other's hand simultaneously, warning each other to silence. Now Kingdon stooped, secured a branch upon which he had stepped the moment before, and began to splash in the water with it.

"Sh, Clumsy!" gasped Midkiff, in a panic. "Want to bring the whole gang down upon us?"

Rex was splashing the water in quick, but rhythmic time. One of the fellows on the bank above cried out:

"They've got a rowboat--they're getting away in it."

"Then it can't be that crew from the cat," retorted the languid voice of the one called Horrors. "There was no tender trailing her."

"Come on!" whispered Rex to his companion. "Let 'em stand there and argue about it."

The two friends went hurriedly on along the beach, taking care how they stepped. When they were far enough away so that the voices of the campers were merely murmurs in the fog and rain, the big fellow said admiringly:

"Cute trick, Rex. They still believe we are at sea."

"Whereas they are at sea," chuckled his friend.

"What are we going to do about them in the morning? Reckon they're a gang of toughs, eh?"

"Just about as tough as you and Red are," returned Rex. "They're only boys, same as ourselves."

"That was no boy you were walloping," exclaimed Midkiff.

"Wasn't much more, I guess. One of these tame Indians that hire out for camp work to summer parties. Joe Bootleg is a famous name."

"Huh?"

"Maine is full of 'em. 'Bootleggers,'" Rex chuckled. "The decent majority are fighting them all the time."

"So you had to do your share?" grinned Midkiff.

"He's strong as a bull, and as ugly. Sorry I had a muss with him," Rex Kingdon confessed. "These people with Indian blood in their veins aren't like white folks. They're revengeful and unforgiving. Have to watch out for Joe Bootleg."

"Pshaw! I wouldn't lose any sleep over it," Midkiff said. "These fellows will have to get off the island. That's plain."

"Not as plain as the nose on your face, Jawn," chuckled Rex.

"We're not going to let them have the island and we go somewhere else?" demanded the big fellow in surprise.

"Hardly."

"Going to fight 'em, then?"

"Arbitrate. Maybe. Oh! Great smoke!"

Suddenly he had tripped over something and splashed on hands and knees into shallow water. It was as dark as a pocket down there under the bank.

"Rope," explained Midkiff, having caught hold of it.

"Don't tell me!" murmured Rex, touching his shin tenderly. "It raked me up and down. Lost some peeling that time, I did!"

"It's hitched to a boat," whispered Midkiff.

"That's what I thought," grunted Rex. "Haul her in. Reckon we've found something now."

"Give us a flash of your lamp, Rex," begged the other. "Let's see what sort of a tub this is."

The other did so, and the bow of a heavy canoe was revealed.

"There's another," Kingdon exclaimed under his breath. "Two-paddle boats, each. Bet that's what these fellows came in. They must have hired a dory to bring over their camp stuff."

"Well, come on!" urged his friend. "Let's get back to our own boat. What's the good of fooling here? What are you doing, Rex? Untying that canoe?"

"Untie the other, Buddie," whispered Rex. "And don't raise your voice again. You'll have that bunch down here."

"Going to set them adrift? Then they can't get away if they want to," grumbled Midkiff, yet obeying the other's command. "What's the idea?"

"Give me the other rope. Now into the water with you, Jawn. We're going to coax these away--not set them adrift."

"Steal 'em?" gasped Midkiff.

"Don't use such rude language," advised his friend. "Hypothecate--embezzling--spoliation--my boy! There are lots nicer terms than the vulgar 'stealing.'"

"Huh!" grunted Midkiff. "They all lead to the same old vulgar jail."

Rex chuckled. Both waded in to shoulder depth. Midkiff said, shortly: "Where are the paddles?"

"Ashore, I should hope. Those chaps couldn't have been foolish enough to leave 'em in the canoes. Come on! We'll tow 'em out to the _Spoondrift_. We don't need paddles."

"Don't see what good it's going to do us," grumbled his friend.

"How would you feel yourself if you were stuck on that island without any means of getting off?"

"Huh?"

"Think it over. Those chaps might object to our landing there in the morning--and there's sure as many of them as there is of us."

"But we got a right there, haven't we?" demanded Midkiff, excitedly. "Can't we go to the authorities?"

"You don't mean that, Jawn," drawled Rex. "You wouldn't be a tattle-tale?"

"Aw----"

"We'll arbitrate, just as I said," chuckled Rex. "They'll be willing to concede several things---perhaps--for the sake of getting these canoes back. Anyway, we'll wait and see."

"Oh!"

"Come on, now, and swim. The cat's just off yonder. Push along, Jawn."

"But I don't get you," sputtered his friend. "Why do you want to mix it up with these fellows at all?"

"Maybe for instance," laughed Rex. He did not tell Midkiff that he suspected the party encamped on Storm Island was actually expecting the arrival of the crowd from Walcott Hall.

*CHAPTER VII.*

*ON THE VERGE OF SOMETHING.*

Through the smother of fine rain the mast and rigging of the _Spoondrift_ loomed above the two swimmers. Midkiff observed, as he caught the anchor cable:

"Must be the boys are asleep. Anybody could steal 'em."

"What for?" chuckled Rex. "Nobody'd want to kidnap this bunch. Tie that painter securely, old man. We don't want to lose the canoes."

"Going to keep watch?" asked Midkiff as they swung over the catboat's rail.

"For what?"

"Those fellows over there may have more boats."

"Not likely. They'd have 'em all moored at one point--below their camp. No. We've appropriated all their means of water locomotion."

"Like to know what good it's going to do?" was Midkiff's characteristic grumble.

"Don't let it worry you, Jawn. Come on down and dry off--and see if the others have left us room to stretch out for a sleep. 'Sleep, baby, sleep! Close your sweet eyes!'"

"Huh!" grunted Midkiff again; but he went to bed without further argument.

Rolling mists masked island and sound at daybreak; the crew of the catboat was astir, however, without anybody having rung the rising bell. Four of the Walcott Hall crowd hopped into their bathing suits and prepared for the early plunge.

"This beats waiting in turn at the showers. What say?" cried Red Phillips, at the rail. "Hey! where's Peewee?"

"Why, the little fox!" said Cloudman, sticking his head down the hatchway. "He's rolled up tight in his blanket."

"Oh! Oh!" gasped the auburn-haired youth. "Say not so! Trying to grab another nap, is he?"

"It shouldn't be. Bad for children to sleep too long," the Westerner said.

"Bad? It's awful! Come on! We've got to save him from the effects of such a course."

Rex and Midkiff were struggling to get into their own wet suits, so were behind the others. But little Hicks was not allowed to be last into the rather chilly sound. Red and Applejack brought him on deck in his shirt, struggling and sputtering.

"Lemme go! Rex! King! Middy, old boy! Give a hand!"

"Can't," chuckled Kingdon. "Both of 'em's busy."

"You go fish," growled Midkiff. "I'd like to see you get started early in the morning for once. You're the laziest young one I ever saw."

"One!" sing-songed Red, he and the Colorado youth swinging the squalling Peewee. "Two! Three--and over!"

They chucked him, feet foremost, over the side. Peewee sank like a plummet, his nightshirt floating up around his neck.

"That shirt will strangle him," suggested Rex, with some seriousness. "He can't swim in a thing like that."

"Then why doesn't he wear pajamas, like a sane male human being?" growled Red Phillips.

"Cause his mother won't make 'em for him. And he's just come from home with a new outfit. Say, you murderers, go after him!"

Thus adjured, both Red and Cloudman went overboard, each in his own way. Red made a long, graceful dive; the Colorado youth went in like a frog.

It was a fact that some seconds passed and Peewee Hicks did not come up. Midkiff stared over the rail, with his shirt half on, growling:

"What's the matter with those microbes? Can't they have a little fun without drowning the child? Red Phillips is as gentle as a wild dog, and Cloudman's no better----"

Phillips' hectic thatch shot to the surface. He rose breast high, dashed the water from his eyes, and squawked:

"Where is he?"

"Hasn't come up!" roared Midkiff. "He's tangled up in that nightshirt somewhere down there."

Red disappeared, and John wrenched his way into the clinging woolen upper half of his bathing suit. Cloudman's red face appeared. He blew like a whale.

"Didn't the kid come up, fellers?" he gasped, having cleared his mouth of water.

"No. He's down there. Get after him!" commanded Midkiff, preparing to throw himself over the boat's side.

A mellow chuckle from behind him made the big fellow pause. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering what Rex Kingdon found to laugh about in this serious moment. There were two hands clinging to the port rail, and the grinning face of Peewee was in sight above it, as he hung on. He had dived under the catboat's keel, and was perfectly safe while Red and Cloudman combed the depths on the other side.

"Let 'em look," he begged. "Big loafers! Took two of 'em to throw me in, at that."

This amused Kingdon much more than it did his roommate. Midkiff glowered at the shrewd face of the youngster.

Up came Red again, evidently greatly excited. He wanted to know, choking and sputtering:

"Hasn't he come up at all? What's the matter with him? Is he made of lead? That boy ought to be an anchor; he'd never drag on any kind of a bottom----"

Cloudman shot to the surface. He wasn't as good a swimmer as Red, and he was about all in.

"I--I can't find him!" he chattered. "Got to get aboard and get my wind. Hey! why ain't you fellows doing something?"

"We are," said Rex, broadly smiling. "We're crying over your distress. Come on in and eat an apple, Cloudman." With one hand he reached for Hicks and hauled him over the rail by his wet shirt.

Hicks declared himself satisfied with his temporary bath. In fact, a single plunge seemed about all any of the party cared for, the water being several degrees cooler than the inland streams and lakes with which the boys were familiar, as well as the tempered needle-showers of the Walcott Gym.

Before they were dressed the sun broke through the mist, and then they saw something that was worth looking at--Storm Island glorified by the morning sun. It blazed like a green jewel, surrounded by the rolling sea fog--the upper reaches of the isle at first revealed, and then, gradually, all the wooded northern shore down to the lapping little waves that kissed it.

"Some ugly spot, old man!" Red said, addressing Kingdon. "You certainly pick lemons!"

"Purty as a little red wagon with yellow wheels," announced Cloudman.

"I wish I was an artist," murmured Peewee.

Midkiff had nothing to say until the mists were dissipated sufficiently to reveal the spot where he and Rex had had their nocturnal adventure. Then he said, grumpily enough:

"They're there yet, Rex."

The two tents were plainly visible from the _Spoondrift_.

"Well, you wise owl!" was the polite response. "How'd you think they'd leave? Swim?"

At that moment Peewee spied the two canoes moored to the _Spoondrift's_ stern. The excitement attending the brief morning bath had quite dimmed the eyes of those of the crowd who had not been ashore.

"Where'd they come from?" Hicks wanted to know. "You fellows bring 'em out last night? What did you find on that island, anyway?"

Cloudman had spied the tents as well. He drawled: "Guess there's somebody ahead of us. Is that what took you and Midkiff ashore?"

"Who are those fellows, Rex?" demanded Red Phillips. "And how did you clutch on to their canoes? Don't you know