Chapter 21

SAVED BY "SMOKE MORSE"

Each member of the party regarded the other blankly.

The captain was right. The deserted camp was only a blind trail and they had all their work to do over again.

"The first people to communicate with are Joe's parents," mused Rob. "That note will be delivered very shortly, as the longer they delay the more dangerous it will be for them."

"That's right," agreed Merritt, "Jack and his gang will not let the grass grow under their feet now that they know the chase must be on. What can they have done with Joe?"

Rob had been looking about him with the instinct of the Boy Scout. He was anxious to ascertain if there were not something tangible, some clue on which they could base a search for the missing member of the Patrol. Suddenly something remarkable struck him about the tracks that lay about the tent.

They were all four those, of persons of larger growth than Joe Digby and mingling with them unmistakably was the broken-shoed track of Hank, the beach-comber.

"Boys," announced Rob suddenly, "Joe has not been here at all."

"Not been here at all," echoed Merritt, amazedly.

"I mean what I say. Look at these tracks. There is not a footmark here that could by any chance be his."

The others scrutinized the maze of foot-prints with the same care as had Rob and were forced to come to the same conclusion. There was no question about it--they would have to seek elsewhere for a trace of the lad.

But where?

They gazed about them at the stretch of lone bay or inlet, the sparse scrub grass and vegetation fringing it on the shore side and wheeling sea-gulls swooping and soaring above the shoal waters.

Then Rob's gaze rested carelessly on a closed and seemingly deserted bungalow, occupying the island above them. As his eyes fell on it they suddenly became riveted and then grew wide with surprise.

A stream of smoke was issuing from the fieldstone chimney roughly constructed at one end of the apparently deserted dwelling.

"There's some one living in that bungalow," he exclaimed, as he made the discovery, "maybe whoever it is can give us some clue to where Joe Digby is."

They all gazed intently at the weather-beaten old house from which the paint was scaling, adding to the note of desertion sounded by its closed shutters and forlorn-looking yard.

As they looked, astonished at the idea that the barren structure should actually house a human being, a sudden thought struck Merritt.

"Suppose Jack Curtiss and his gang are there?" he said.

"Hardly likely," rejoined Rob, "however, we'll get over there and find out just who is making that smoke."

Suddenly the old captain, who had been watching the smoke closely, gave an astonished snort.

"What's the matter, captain?" asked Rob, who was about to walk to the water's edge and get ready to shove off the dinghy.

"Why, there's somethin' queer about that thar smoke," responded the old salt.

"Queer--how do you mean?"

"Well, watch it a minute--there--see! now stops--now it starts ag'in--then it stops--wha, do yer suppose is happenin' to it?"

Rob knitted his brows and watched the phenomenon to which the captain had called attention with narrowed eyes.

There was no question about it the smoke was certainly behaving "queerly" as the captain put it.

The blue vapor emerged from the chimney now in a copious puff and then, for a space, would cease, only to roll forth once more in larger volume. The boys watched it in some astonishment.

"What can they be doing, do you suppose?" Merritt asked.

"I have no idea. It's past me to say," responded Rob, "it comes out in puffs like--like--by hookey! I've got it!" he broke off with a shout, "like the Morse code!"

"Somebody signaling?" stammered Merritt.

"That's it--watch!"

The smoke, which had not been visible for some seconds, now emerged from the stone chimney once more and the boys, fascinated, watched it closely with burning eyes. There was no doubt whatever about it now. It was signaling.

Four short puffs.

"Four dots--that's H," exclaimed Rob, trembling with excitement.

The smoke ceased.

"Here comes some more," shouted Merritt.

One short puff from the chimney.

"E, one dot, that's E sure enough," translated Rob.

The others stood like figures carved in stone as their leader read off the strange signals.

Puff! A longer period of smoking by the chimney--then two sharp puffs.

"That's L," interpreted the leader of the Eagles. Before they could say a word the chimney took up its message once more.

Puff--a long puff--another long one, and then a short one.

"Dot--dash--dash--dot," exclaimed Rob.

"That's the letter P," put in Merritt.

"That's right, old man," shouted Rob, slapping him on the back, "and we've found Joe Digby. That smoke signal spelled Help in the Morse code."

"You're right," shouted Merritt, "come on, Cap, come on, boys, we've got to get a move on and get it on quick!"

They dashed toward the dinghy and a few seconds later had once more embarked and were speeding toward the desolate and forsaken bungalow. Somehow they managed to get ashore in the dinghy without anyone being spilled over the side in their desperate hurry and a minute later were pounding at the door.

"Joe--Joe Digby," shouted Rob in a strange, strained voice.

"Here," came back the answer in a feeble tone, "oh, boys, I'm glad you've come."

Furiously Rob shook the door.

"It's locked," came the voice from inside, "I tried to break it down. Too weak, I guess. Try the shutters."

At each window in turn the Boy Scouts sought to effect an entrance, but in vain. The owner of the place had screwed up the window coverings too tightly for them to be opened without tools.

The rescue party came to a momentary halt.

"I've got it," shouted the captain suddenly, "we'll have him out uv there in two shakes uv a drake's tail."

He produced his formidable old pistol and waved it grimly.

"Come on, boys," he yelled, darting round to the front of the house--the side on which the door was.

"What are you going to do?" demanded Rob, as much mystified as the rest at the old eccentric actions.

"Watch me," grinned the captain as he gained the door.

"Stand clear!" he bawled at the top of his lungs, "stand clear uv the door inside there, Joe!"

"All right," came back the reply, "I'm in a corner."

"Now, stand by ter receive boarders!" roared the veteran as he placed the muzzle weapon at the lock and pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

There was a roaring explosion from the wide mouthed weapon and a cloud of smoke filled the air. But simultaneously there came a sound of ripping, tearing and splintering and the lock of the door, shot clean out by the heavy charge, clattered down to the floor on the inside of the room.

An instant later Joe Digby, pale and trembling from privation, surprise and happiness all mingled in one, was in the midst of his friends and fellow scouts.

"I don't know what made me think of it," he explained in answer to eager questions about the smoke telegraph message. "It was what the books call an inspiration, I guess. There were plenty of loose boards--fragments of old packing cases lying about, and luckily they had not taken my matches. I built a blaze and then, while it was still smoldering, I covered it with an old strip of sacking that I wetted with some water out of the bottle they left me."

"It made about as good a signal, as one could want," responded Rob warmly, "but now tell us about your capture, Joe, how did it happen?"

"Why, you see," exclaimed the lad, his voice growing stronger as he proceeded, "I was just thinking it was about time to wake my relief when I heard a rustling noise in the bushes back of the camp. I walked up there to investigate, for I thought it might be some animals--maybe the captain's pigs."

"Keel haul them lubberly swine," from the captain.

"But, as you shall hear, I was mistaken. Hardly had I reached the edge of the dark shadows than I was seized and a hand put over my mouth. I had only time to let out one yell for help."

"The one that woke me," put in Merritt, in parenthesis.

"That was it; I guess," went on the small lad, "well, I was picked up and carried some little distance to where they had a boat, and thrown into it. Then the three men who were in the boat rowed to an island with a tent on it and there two of them got out. The other, a fellow with a big beard and very dirty, then rowed over to this place with me and, after putting some bread and a bottle of water inside the door, closed and locked it.

"I carried on like a baby, I guess. I cried for a long time and shouted, but no one came. Then I grew quieter and tried to find some way of escape but the shutters were all fastened and the door was too strong for me. I tried to clamber up the chimney once but I had to give it up. Then suddenly the thought of making a smoke came to me and then I improved on that idea and used the Morse code that Rob has been drumming into me. I never thought that I might be able to use it to save my life maybe--or at least a lot of hunger and misery."

"Could you recognize the men who took you if you saw them again?" asked Rob earnestly.

"I'm not sure," responded the small lad, "one of them I would know--the one with the beard. The other two wore masks. But I think their voices sounded like Bill's and Jack's. I'm sure of the man with the beard though."

"Hank Handcraft," exclaimed Merritt.

"Oh, that's who it was," cried the small lad, "I thought somehow the voice and something about the man seemed familiar. He's that old beach comber who lives outside Hampton."

"That's the son uv a sea-swab," roared the captain, "oh, if I could only get my hands on him, I'd--"

The fate the captain had reserved for Hank was doomed not to be known, for as he was speaking Paul Perkins gave a sudden shout:

"Look--look there!" he cried, pointing.

Sneaking up to the tented island was the familiar outline of Sam Redding's hydroplane.