Part 3

“Well, believe me, I’d hate to go wandering around that black island at night without a light of some kind with me!”

“Oh, there is no doubt about that. But I feel that he came down to look at us, and I don’t think there was any good in it all, either.”

“Nuts, Jim,” Don broke in. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Just as soon as I help you clean up, I’m going ashore.”

They all cleaned up ship after breakfast. A large amount of bilge water had crept in under the floor during the storm, and as the boys had no pump aboard, they were forced to dip it out by the bucket. Terry scooped the water up in a pail down below, passed the pail up the ladder to Don, who passed it to Jim in the stern. From there Jim emptied it overboard. This task took them the better part of an hour, and when it was over Don announced: “I’m going ashore now.”

Jim was airing out the blankets and Terry decided that he would write to his mother and sister, so Don stepped down into the dinghy alone. Grasping the oars he called up to them, “See you later,” and rowed toward Mystery Island.

He found that it was a hard pull. The waves were choppy and troublesome, and the dinghy climbed and slipped backward. It took all his strength to keep it going forward, and the distance to the shore seemed long because of the energy necessary to reach it. After a half-hour’s row Don beached the dinghy on the sand at Mystery Island.

He pulled the boat far up on the sand, to make sure that the tide, creeping in, would not carry it away while he was gone. He stood for a moment and looked around him. He was in a sheltered cove, ringed around with trees and thick undergrowth, with a shelving sandy beach running down to the water. If any of the stories about pirates and smugglers were true, he reflected, this island was just the place for such things. It was a black, silent sort of a place, well named Mystery Island. Although Don had laughed at Jim’s fears he admitted to himself that he did not feel altogether comfortable. There was a brooding sense of mystery over the place, an air of evil watchfulness that he did not like.

Quite sharply he pulled himself together, realizing that he was allowing the wrong impressions to play upon his mind. “You’ll never get anywhere that way, Donald my son,” he murmured. To fortify himself, he began to whistle as he found the path through the woods.

The path was well beaten and he wondered who used it so much. Obviously someone lived on the island most of the year, possibly all year around, though Don could not imagine anyone living on the bleak waste in the wintertime. He wondered why there was no boat to be seen, since the inhabitants must have a boat. It would be impossible otherwise to get across to the mainland for supplies, and no one could live for any length of time on the place without renewing supplies from time to time. Possibly the boat was on the other side of the island. He knew that it would have to be a good-sized boat, too, for no rowboat or small power boat would do. But as the map had showed the island to be a large-sized one, he wondered why the people who lived at the house kept a boat on the far side of the island, especially as there was such a perfectly good harbor on this side.

He followed the path through a dense growth of trees and small shrubbery, finding that it had been worn down by many feet. The ground had been worn down hard and there was no sign of cluttering grass. Admitting that a rather large family lived in the house just ahead, he wondered why they went so often to the beach as to keep in perfect order a path through the undergrowth.

The path dipped slightly and then wound up a small hill, and at length he saw before him the low house. Before going any further he stopped to study it. It was old, built of boards that looked rough and weatherbeaten, and if it had ever had a coat of paint on it, the fact was not evident now. One crooked chimney stood unsteadily at the back. The windows of the upper floor had all been broken and were boarded up, but those on the ground floor were, for the most part, whole. The glass was dirty and the frames warped and bent. Don walked nearer, looking closely for signs of life about the place.

The front door was boarded up, and he saw at once that he could not get in there. A rotting front porch sprawled across the width of the house, and one corner of the roof was falling down. Don took a path around the house, looking closely to see if anyone was around, but there was no sign of movement in the place. But he felt sure that someone lived in the place, for a thin line of smoke drifted upward from the crooked chimney.

The back yard of the house was an overgrown plot, with a few rotting outhouses standing near the dense woods that pressed close to the place. Don stepped on the low porch and knocked gently. While he waited, he turned once more and looked around him. It struck him that there was not a sign of a chicken about the property, and he felt that his journey for eggs would be useless.

“Nothing like trying, though,” he thought, and knocked again. There was no response, and he was inclined to think that there was no one at home. But just then the tempting odor of bacon assailed his nose.

“Surely there is someone at home,” he decided. “No one would leave the house and allow bacon to fry on the stove. I wonder why they——”

He heard a bolt rattle on the inside of the door and it slowly opened. At first the interior of the place seemed so dark that he could not make out the person of the one who had opened the door. Then he saw that it was an old woman, with a severe face and untidy white hair.

“What do you want?” she asked, somewhat harshly.

“Pardon me,” Don said politely, “but I’d like to know if you have any eggs for sale? I just came from a boat which we have anchored in the cove, and I thought that you might have some eggs you could sell us.”

The woman nodded slowly. “Oh, eggs, certainly! Step in, young man, and I’ll wrap you up some.”

She stepped back from the doorway and Don entered. He found himself in a kitchen, which was furnished with a rickety table, three chairs, a couch and a sink and stove. The bacon that he had smelled was still sending forth a fascinating odor from the back of the iron stove.

While the old woman stepped out of the room to get the eggs Don noticed that although it was broad daylight all of the shades had been pulled down, creating a semi-gloom which he thought quite unnecessary. Three doors opened from the kitchen into other rooms, he also noticed. It seemed to him that the old lady was gone an unnecessary length of time, when she returned, but without any package.

“They are in the next room, young man,” she said, going to the stove. “Pick out as many as you want of ’em.” With her thumb she pointed to one of the doors which opened from the kitchen.

Wondering a bit, Don pushed the door open and stepped into a large room, which had evidently at one time been the dining room of the house. It too was almost dark, and a big table took up the center. He looked around but saw no eggs. He turned to the door again.

“Where are—” he began, but got no further. The door back of him went shut with a bang, and he heard a bolt shot. He tried the knob, to find that he was locked in and a prisoner.

_6. The Inner Room_

It was with something of a start that Don realized that he was caught in a trap. He shook the door furiously, but it was firmly bolted, and his efforts were entirely in vain. Stepping off, he sent a heavy kick against it.

The old woman shuffled over to the door. “Here!” she shrilled. “You quit that! It’s no use of you tryin’ to git yourself out.”

“What am I in here for?” cried Don.

“Don’t ask me. Ask the Boss,” she replied.

“Who is the boss?”

A chuckle came from the other side of the door. “Soon you’ll find out. He’ll be in to see you before very long.”

Seeing that a display of temper would get him nowhere Don gave up his attempt to break the door and fell to examining the room with care. The windows had been boarded on the inside, and he gave up any thought of trying to pry loose any of the boards without the necessary tools. There was only one door in the room beside the one he had entered by, and he soon found that this door was as firmly locked as the other one. The walls, cold and wet to his touch, gave him no hope, for they were firm enough. Finally, he gave it all up in disgust.

“Nothing doing anyway,” he muttered. “I wonder what the heck the game is?”

He did not have long to wonder. Fifteen minutes after he had entered the room he heard a key rattle in the lock on the opposite door. Evidently the lock was quite rusted, for it took a few minutes for the other to unlock it, but at length the task was completed, and the door opened.

Two men entered the room, and at sight of them Don felt a shock of recognition. One of them was the stocky individual who had offered to buy their boat the day before, and the other was the smaller man who had been called Frank. Both of them were smoking cigars and seemed pleased with something.

“How do you do, young man?” nodded the older of the two.

“What is the idea of locking me in here?” Don demanded.

The man called Frank laughed and turned to the other. “He’s a very inquiring sort of a kid, isn’t he, Benito?”

“I certainly am,” retorted Don. “I’d like to know what you mean by locking me in here.”

“Well, to tell you the truth,” answered Benito, “we don’t know ourselves yet. We saw you anchor last night and we just waited for you to walk into our trap. We haven’t decided what we’re going to make out of it yet.”

“I see,” nodded the boy. “But you’re sure you are going to make something out of it, aren’t you?”

“To be sure. Frank, be kind enough to hand me the boy’s wallet.”

Don eyed Frank and clenched his fist. “He’s liable to see a whole collection of stars before he sees that wallet,” he said, determinedly. Frank hesitated and looked at the other man.

Benito’s manner changed instantly from the friendly to the business-like, and he frowned in an ugly manner. “Look here, kid, none of that. You hand over your wallet or we’ll just put you to sleep and take it. Don’t think we let you walk in here for nothing. Come on now, hurry up.”

Boiling with anger, Don handed over his wallet. He realized that resistance, under the circumstances, was absolutely useless. Benito took the wallet and glanced through its contents.

“Hum,” he commented. “Fifty dollars in cash and your name is Mercer. Is your father the lumber man?”

“Yes, he is, and he will make things hot for you, if you don’t let me out of here,” Don promised.

Frank raised his eyebrows and looked significantly at Benito. “That means big money, Boss.”

Don laughed outright. “I think you’ll have to go a long way to make any big money on it,” he said.

But Benito shook his head easily. “Oh, no, we won’t. Your father will be willing to pay a heavy price for your safe return, my boy. So we’ll just keep you here until he does come across with a neat little day’s pay. All you have to do is write a letter to your father, telling him where you are, or about where you are, and asking him for a sum I will name for you. That will be your end of the game.”

Don grinned. “That’s all I have to do, huh?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s just twice as much as I intend to do. I won’t write a line for you, and you can do what you like about it.”

Benito jerked the cigar from his lips. “You’ll do just as we tell you!”

“I’ll not write one single line,” Don came back, steadily.

They glared at each other for a moment, Benito inwardly raging, Don angry but perfectly calm. Then Benito smiled evilly.

“So that’s the way you feel about it, is it? Well, I don’t think you’ll feel just that way after you haven’t eaten for a few days. You’ll change your tune by that time.”

Don’s thoughts flew to Jim and Terry aboard the sloop, but as though the man could read his thought he said: “You needn’t think your friends on the boat can help you any. We’re going out there as soon as it gets dark and take that little ship for our own. Then we’ll put those two boys in here with you, for company.”

“You wouldn’t dare touch that boat!” Don gasped.

“No? You just watch and see. Come along, Frank. This young man wants to be alone to think, I can see that. Pretty soon he’ll want something to eat, too, but he won’t get it. Maybe then he’ll be able to listen to reason.”

Don smiled coolly. “They say the emptier your stomach is, the clearer you can think. I think you are both a fine pair of scoundrels now, so I don’t know what I’ll think you are when I get hungry!”

“Be careful of that tongue of yours, young man!” snapped Benito.

“As long as I won’t be able to use it for eating, I’ve got to use it for something,” Don retorted.

“The healthiest thing for you to do would be to keep it quiet,” the man warned as they left the room, taking Don’s wallet with them.

“Well, here’s a pretty mess!” thought Don, as soon as he was left alone. “I’m not a bit afraid as far as my own safety goes, but I don’t want those fellows to get hold of the _Lassie_. I’ve got to get out of here.”

He now went to work in deadly earnest to seek a difficult job’s solution. A few minutes’ work on the two doors with his pocket knife showed him that all hope in that direction was at an end. Then he once more examined the boarded windows, to find that it would take him hours to remove one board. That would do only as a last resort. From the windows he walked around the darkened room, examining walls and floor.

Near one of the windows he found a straight, pointed iron rod which was screwed to the wall. He decided that it had formerly held a bird cage, and as it was loosely held in place he soon pulled it out. It would act as a lever or some kind of a tool, and he decided to keep it to use. If he found that he was to be kept a prisoner for a long time this weapon might come in handy as a lever for prying loose the window boards. Meanwhile, he continued to roam around.

The men and the old woman had an appetizing meal in the next room, for he could still smell the bacon, and he heard them sit down and talk. He decided that he was to be kept next to the kitchen purposely, so that each meal might undermine his resolution as some particular smell of cooking food assailed him.

“They’ll never get me to write a letter to Dad,” he told himself, doggedly.

He was beginning to feel hungry, for he had a healthy appetite, but he pulled his belt tighter and resolved to fight it out. He began to examine the floor more carefully, knowing that darkness would necessarily limit his range of effort. Inch by inch he went over the rough boards, and at the far end of the room he made a discovery.

A stove had stood in a corner at some time and under it a section of the floor had been cut away, probably to allow the ashes to drop into the cellar of the old house. The boards had been replaced later, but he could see just where they joined to the rest of the floor, and there was space enough to insert his improvised lever under the end of the first board. Carefully he pried the first board loose and took it out.

To his surprise he found that he could put his arm through the hole and feel only the cold, damp air of the cellar beneath. A second board was soon taken out, and the opening was much bigger, though not large enough to admit his whole body. He went to work rapidly on the third board.

This was not nearly so easy. While he was working he could hear the old woman moving around the kitchen, washing dishes and humming to herself in a high, cracked tone. The men had gone to another part of the house and all, with the exception of the woman in the kitchen, was silent. Once he heard her approach his door and listen, and he became very quiet, scarcely daring to breathe. But she went away again and he continued his work.

At last the third board came up and the hole was large enough to permit him to go through. He lay on his stomach, peering down into the dark void, sickened by the rank, foul odor which rose in force to his nose. But he was unable to make out a thing in the dark hole, as he had not brought any matches with him from the sloop.

“Nothing to do but take a chance at it,” he decided. “Anything is better than staying here.”

He lowered himself over the hole, dropping his legs down slowly, until his body hung over the black pit. Down and down he went, until he hung by his finger tips. He had hoped to feel something beneath his feet, but there was nothing, so, with a prayer for his safety, he let go, and shot down into the inky blackness of the mysterious cellar.

_7. Jim Starts Out_

After Don left the sloop Jim busied himself in straightening up the little ship, talking to Terry as the latter wrote his letter home. When the sloop was in first class order Jim sat idly in the cockpit, watching the ocean and the shore alternately. After a time, wearying of doing nothing, he got out a book on navigation, and began to study it.

In this manner an hour went by, and it was Terry who called his attention to the fact that Don had been gone a long time. Jim put the book down and looked toward the shore.

“That’s so, he has,” he replied. “He should be back by now. From the looks of things, that house isn’t ten minutes’ walk from the shore.”

They waited around for another hour, and at the end of that time they were really worried. Jim was for going ashore at once, but Terry proved to have better sense.

“I wouldn’t do it,” he urged. “It may be that someone has captured Don and is just waiting to have one of us walk right into their trap. But if Don doesn’t come back by nightfall we’ll have to do something, that’s sure.”

“If Don doesn’t show up by nightfall we’ll swim ashore and hunt him up ourselves,” Jim decided.

“Sure. It isn’t a pleasant outlook in any way, because, beside having to swim ashore, we’ll be forced to find our way around that island in the dark. What in the world do you suppose could have happened to him?”

“I haven’t any idea, but I keep thinking of that man with the lantern. There isn’t any doubt that something has happened to him, or he would at least let us know somehow that he was all right. I hate to sit here and wait.”

Waiting, Jim found, was the hardest part of all. They spent a miserable afternoon just sitting there, eagerly watching the dinghy on the shore. But no one came to move it and it lay there on its side. Both of the boys had the sensation of being watched.

“I just feel it,” Jim said, as they discussed it. “I’ll bet you someone is hiding there in that dense undergrowth, just watching us. After all, I think it would be useless to go ashore at this point. As soon as it gets dark we’ll pull up anchor, drop down the shore a way, and I’ll go ashore.”

“I’m going with you,” declared Terry, promptly.

But Jim shook his head firmly. “Nothing doing, Terry. Somebody has got to guard the _Lassie_. What would happen to us if the ship was taken? If the worst comes to the worst you’ll have to sail to the main shore and get help. I mean if I should fail to show up.”

“I don’t know how to sail it alone,” Terry objected.

Jim leaped to his feet. “Then I’ll show you right now. We’ve got to prepare for an emergency. There isn’t much to learn.”

For the next half hour Jim showed Terry how to start the engine, and how to control it from the tiller. When he had finished a slight dusk was beginning to steal over the water, and the boys impatiently awaited the time for action. Both of them went through the motions of eating, though neither was at all hungry. Slowly, almost painfully, the darkness crept over the sea.

When it had grown so dark that they could not see the shore Jim went into action. “We’ll have to hoist the sail and move down the shore,” he said, walking forward. “And we’ve got to be careful about it, too. The night is pretty still, and they’ll hear the creaking of the blocks on shore if we don’t take care. First, I’ll lash down the tiller.”

This having been accomplished, Jim instructed Terry in the method of hauling the mainsail up. On opposite sides of the mast they pulled the halyards, until the sail, still with the two reefs in it, was spread against the black sky. When the jib had been placed in position Jim took the tiller, and under a gentle breeze the _Lassie_ began to sail quietly down the coast.

In fifteen minutes Jim was satisfied, and he and Terry quickly lowered the sails and trimmed them, lashing them fast to the boom. Then Jim went below and changed into an old shirt and a pair of trousers, reappearing on deck a few minutes later. Although they could not see the shore, they knew that it lay off their bow.

“If I don’t show up by noontime tomorrow,” Jim said, as he dangled his feet over the stern, “don’t wait around any longer. Sail across to the mainland and get help. You may find it a bit hard to sail the sloop alone, but it can be done. Simply give any other boat a wide berth and you won’t run into ’em. Keep your eyes open all night, either for my return or for some enemy. I hate to go away and leave you alone all night.”

Terry grasped his hand. “I hate to think of you wandering around all night alone on the island. Good luck, kid.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

Noiselessly, Jim slid over the side and into the water, disappearing from Terry’s view as he sank under the waves. In a second he reappeared and struck out vigorously for the shore. Both Terry and the boat were lost to his view as he forged his way through the water that was as black as the sky.

It was not long before Jim struck bottom, and he stood upon his feet. The island was just ahead of him, and he pushed his way steadily through the water, his upward progress steady, until he stood upon the shore of the dark island. Then, after pausing to listen for a time, he walked up the sand and entered the woods.

He was at a complete loss as to which way to turn, but judging that the house lay north, he walked in that direction. His clothing was dripping wet, but as the night was hot, he did not mind it. He found that he was at the bottom of a hill, and at first decided not to climb it, but realizing that he could see any light on the island from a hilltop, he resolved to go on. So he pushed his way forward through the undergrowth, feeling his way with infinite care, and at length stood on the top of the hill.

As soon as he had looked around with care, he was glad that he had come. For, although he could not make out the details of the island, he could see below him, distant by a half mile, the light from a house. It was indistinct, but he knew that it was flooding out of a window on a ground floor room.

“That’s the place,” Jim decided, and hastened down the other side of the hill, guiding himself by the light as it came to him through the trees. When he reached the ground level, however, he could not see it any more, and he was compelled to trust to a general sense of direction. But he had fixed it firmly in his mind, and in less than an hour’s painful toil through the black woods he arrived at last at the front of the house.

Somewhere inside Don must be, perhaps a prisoner, perhaps even hurt. The light still shone from the single window, which was a front one just off the main section of the house, in a wing, and there were no shutters or shades over it. The long, rambling porch ran under it.

Stealing silently over the rank grass that choked the front yard of the house Jim cautiously approached the beam of light. He had hoped to stand on the ground and look in, preferring to trust the firm earth rather than the boards of the porch, but he found that in order to see in at all he would be compelled to mount the rickety steps. So he went to the short flight, stepping quietly up them, and tiptoed across the rotting porch. Coming to the window, he carefully thrust his head forward and looked into the room.