Part 4

Benito and Frank were seated in the room, before an open fireplace, in which a wood fire snapped and smoked. The house was wet and cold, and the men had made the fire earlier in the evening. Benito was smoking, and the smaller man was chewing on a piece of straw, staring into the fire. A corner of the window glass had been broken and Jim could hear perfectly everything that was said.

Frank was speaking when Jim, after having looked around the room for a trace of Don, turned his full attention to the men. Scarcely daring to breathe, Jim listened breathlessly.

“Marcy says the boys moved the boat about a half mile down the shore,” the little man was saying.

Benito nodded, blowing a ring of smoke toward the ceiling. “They must have suspected that we’d be out after them before long. They won’t dare to go away from the island while we have the brother, and they will be on the lookout. Soon as Marcy comes back we’ll go after the other two.”

Jim felt his blood chill as the facts of the case came to him. The men had Don and were coming to take Terry and himself prisoner. They even knew where the _Lassie_ was anchored. For the moment he was at his wit’s end, unable to decide whether to go back and warn Terry to sail away, or stay and try to save Don. He was trying to figure out just what their object was when Frank unconsciously helped him.

“You figure it’ll be worth while to take in all three of them?” he asked.

Benito nodded. “I don’t know a thing about that third fellow,” he admitted. “But I do know that Mr. Mercer will pay plenty to get his boys back home. Meanwhile we’ll grab the sloop, give it a new coat of paint, and realize a pretty little penny from it. By the time the new owner finds out how we got it, we’ll be out of the country and safe.”

Jim’s eyes flashed fire, he clenched his teeth, and for a moment he had the impulse to smash his way through the window and hurl himself upon the two men. Realizing how rash and foolish such a move would be he controlled himself and waited, still uncertain as to what to do. He was tormented by the thought that he must decide wisely, for the wrong move might ruin everything. He wondered if Don was safe, and he was overjoyed to hear Frank’s next remark.

“We’ve got the older Mercer boy safe enough. Like enough he’ll soon get hungry and write that note to his father.”

“Oh, of course. It’s merely a matter of time. I judge that the boy is used to eating regularly and plenty, and I don’t think he’ll hold out long.”

“How are we going to get the other two?” Frank asked.

Benito looked at his watch. “Just as soon as Marcy gets back we’ll take the power boat and go out after them. We’ll muffle the oars and sneak up on ’em. I suppose they’ll be awake but it won’t take us long to overcome them. We’ll tow their sloop up the creek and take good care of it.”

Jim was beginning to wonder uneasily where Marcy might be, but Frank’s next remark reassured him. “Marcy’s taking a look in on young Mercer, ain’t he?”

“Yep. Just seeing if he is fixed for the night. The boy’s been very quiet, and I was just wondering——”

At that moment rapid footsteps sounded in a hall outside of the room in which Benito and Frank sat, causing the two men to look in alarm at each other. Jim strained forward to see what was to happen next.

A door opened hurriedly, and a rough-looking man with a week’s growth of beard burst into the room. Benito sprang to his feet.

“What is it, Marcy?” he snapped.

“That kid is gone!” the man gasped. “Pulled up some boards out of the floor and dropped into the cellar. We got to get him, or he’ll find the——”

“Never mind,” shouted Benito. “You go down the hole after him. Frank and I will look around the grounds. That kid must not get away. What’s that?”

“That” was an accident of serious nature. Jim had forgotten the porch he had been standing on, and he had pressed too near the house. The boards at that point were rotten, and with a crash that sounded like the explosion of a cannon they went through.

_8. The Old Captain_

At the sound caused by Jim’s fall through the rotted boards the three men paused for an instant in stunned surprise. But it was only a brief second. Suspecting that some enemy had been spying on them the men made haste to pursue.

Marcy, upon the repeated demand of Benito, went back down the hall to capture Don, but the chief and Frank rushed to the window. Jim’s right leg had plunged into the hole as far as his knee, and he was at first frantic, believing that he could not get out in time, but realizing that losing his head would not help him, he calmed himself and pulled more easily. His leg came out of the hole just as Benito and Frank sighted him from the window.

“It’s one of those kids!” shouted Benito. “Get him!”

The door was several yards from the window and to that circumstance Jim owed the start that he got. He sprinted across the shaking porch and jumped to the ground just as the two men opened the door back of him. They gave chase, running swiftly, but Jim had just enough of a start to enable him to outdistance them. But as the country around the old house was new to him, and he believed that the men knew it perfectly, he thought that it would only be a matter of minutes before they took him captive.

It was useless to keep on running. Benito was too heavy to run well, but with Frank it was a different story. The little man was fast, and Jim could hear him gaining inch by inch, beating through the undergrowth like some evil bloodhound. The boy determined to find some spot and hide, trusting to luck to keep from being found, and as he ran, he kept his eyes open for some shelter.

It was almost useless in such darkness, but at last, after ducking back and forth and doubling on his tracks several times he saw before him a dense tangle which had been created by two trees falling together, forming an arch over which a screen of vines had grown. Close in under one of the trunks he ran, worming his body in under the mass of vines. Then, smothering his heavy breathing as best as he could, he waited to see what would happen.

Frank had been several yards back of him, crashing his way recklessly through the bushes, but now the noise stopped abruptly. Either the little man knew where he was hiding, or he was at a total loss. Jim’s groping hand encountered a fairly hard stick of wood and he grasped it firmly. If they found him, he could at least put up a fight, he decided. A sudden dash, while plying vigorously about him with the stick, might earn his liberty for him. Determined on this point, he waited tensely.

But a moment later it was evident that Frank was lost. Benito joined him and the little man growled profanely.

“He ain’t far off,” Frank said. “All of a sudden I heard him quit running. He’s hiding right around here in the bushes, I tell you.”

“Then we’ll root him out,” answered Benito. “I wish we’d brought a flashlight, but it’s too late now.”

They began to beat around in the thicket, and Jim was in an agony of suspense as they approached his hiding place. Once they saw it he was lost, for they would surely investigate so promising a place. But they had halted just far enough away to keep them from reaching his place of concealment, and after a half-hour’s search they gave it up.

“It’s no use,” decided the leader. “He got away somewhere, but he won’t get off of the island. Now, we’d better not waste any more time fooling. We’ve got to get under way and capture that other kid out on the boat.”

“Going out after him now, eh?”

“Oh, sure! They wouldn’t have left that boat unguarded, and I guess that one boy is on board. We’ve got to go out there and take the boat away from him. We had better get started before this other kid swims out there and warns him.”

With that they moved away, leaving Jim with a relieved mind, but with another problem confronting him. He knew that he must get back and warn Terry of the coming danger; in fact, if he could get back before the men got out to the boat he and the red-headed boy could sail out to sea. The question now was to find his way back to the house, from there to the hill, and then swim back to the boat. Carefully, he worked his way free of the vines and stood out in the woods, looking for his path.

This was not as easy as he had at first supposed, for he had turned and twisted so much in his flight that he was by no means sure of his direction. He walked in the direction that he supposed the two men had taken, but even that was guesswork, for they had made very little sound as they went away. Trusting to a sense of direction more than anything else Jim began to work his way back toward the house.

But after a half hour of such traveling he was sure that he was wrong. Admitting that he had been running quite fast when leaving the vicinity of the house, he was sure that he should have been back by this time. He stopped and looked around him, but was not able from this to tell anything, so he kept on walking, in hopes that he would come out somewhere near the house. But it seemed to him that the undergrowth became thicker and thicker and at length he realized that he was lost.

He stopped now in earnest and pondered his problem. He had lost so much valuable time that he felt he would be too late to help Terry. While he was reflecting he noticed a booming sound that he had disregarded completely up to that time. Hope awoke again as he recognized it.

“Why, that’s the sea pounding on the shore,” he murmured. “I must be near the water after all.”

Guided by the sound Jim forced his way through the brush and after another fifteen minutes’ walk he was close to the shore. Breaking at last through the grass and scrub he found himself on the top of a small hill, looking down on the tumbling water. But as he looked up and down the shore line a bitter conviction was forced upon him.

“I’m on the other side of the island,” he cried. “I’ve walked completely across the place.”

For a single instant he felt crushed under the realization and then he made up his mind. The island was not very big, and might in reality be only a mile or little more from where the _Lassie_ was anchored. By hastening along the shore he might see her any minute and he could swim out. In any case it was better to be moving than to be standing still undecided. Accordingly, he hastened down the sand hill and began a rapid walk along the beach.

He had no idea in which direction to go first, and finally decided to go north along the shore, hoping that he had picked the correct direction. His running around the island had so confused him that he had no idea in which direction the sloop might lie, so he wasted no time in idle wondering. Finding the sand hard down near the water he walked rapidly along, occasionally breaking into a run. In this way he had covered a mile when he was halted by the sight of a small hut with a light streaming out of a window.

It was the hut of a fisherman, as Jim could tell from the nets which were stretched out on a huge windlass to dry. His first thought was to pass by without going near the house, for he had no idea who the lone fisherman was, or how friendly he might be to the men in the house. It might even be one of the gang, and in that case he had no desire to fall into his hands. But on the other hand it might be a man he could trust, a man who would help him to find the _Lassie_, and in that case the find would be one of intense value. Acting under an impulse Jim walked to the door of the hut and knocked.

A chair banged down on the wooden floor and a voice that was a trifle sharp cried out: “Who is it, eh?”

“I’m lost and I’d like to find my way around the island!” Jim called.

There was a moment’s hesitation and then the door was opened by a tall old man clad in boots, rough fishing clothes, and an old red sweater. He had white hair and his sharply defined face was tanned by the brisk sea air. Two deep brown eyes glowed from under shaggy locks. In his hand he had a newspaper.

He looked sharply at Jim for a minute and then waved his paper. “Come inside,” he bellowed, and Jim felt an instant friendliness in his voice.

Jim stepped inside, to find himself in a room which was a hodge-podge of jumbled furniture, from fishing rods and nets to shells and flower pots filled with strange plants. A single oil lamp burned on the table and the old man pointed to a box near the door, on which Jim sat down. Picking up a battered black pipe, the sea captain lit it and studied Jim.

“Lost, eh?” questioned the old man, unexpectedly.

“Lost, eh! Ha, ha, ha!”

The words, harsh and rasping, came from back of Jim, and the boy whirled around, to find a brilliantly colored parrot standing on a short perch back of him. The captain addressed the parrot shortly.

“Close your hatch, Bella,” he ordered.

“Close your hatch!” repeated the parrot.

“Yes, sir, I’m lost,” Jim said, as the fisherman looked once more at him. And feeling that the truth would serve him more than half a story, he told the man everything. The old man’s face took on a look of great interest as he listened, and his eyes danced.

“I want to know!” he roared, when Jim had finished. “I always mistrusted that gang up there. I can’t figure out what they’re doing on this island. The miserable dogs!” He jumped to his feet and took down a battered blue hat which he clapped on his head. “Come on, Jim Mercer, we’ll put a spoke in them fellows’ wheel, or my name ain’t Captain Blow.”

“Do you think you can locate the _Lassie_?” Jim asked.

“Sure thing. I got a power dory out front that’ll chase up anything on the water.” He leveled his finger at the parrot. “Keep your eye on the ship ’till I get back, Bella Donna.”

“Oh, my! Mind your eye!” croaked the parrot, blinking.

The captain and Jim went out, and the captain closed the door after him but did not lock it.

“Don’t you lock your door?” Jim asked, in surprise.

The captain chuckled. “No, I don’t. I got Bella trained so that if anybody that don’t belong comes cruisin’ around she starts to groan like someone was dead inside. That keeps ’em out.”

Down at the edge of the water lay a fine power dory, and the captain shoved it into the water. He and Jim leaped aboard, the motor was started, and the captain sent it out to sea in a wide swing.

“Your boat is clear around on the other side of the island,” the captain said, as he headed the dory around the island. “It’ll take us about fifteen minutes to get there. You walked straight across the land when you ran away from those fellows.”

The dory was swift and followed the coast under the skilled hand of Captain Blow. It was not long before they were opposite the cove where the _Lassie_ had anchored that day. The captain gave the dory engine an additional spurt of power and began to head slightly out to sea. To Jim’s surprised look he replied: “I want to come up on the other side of your boat. If I come in from the port side your friend will think we’re after him. Providin’, of course, that he’s still there.”

“I certainly hope so,” Jim said, anxiously.

“In a minute we’ll find out.”

Scarcely had he spoken when Jim stood up excitedly. “There she is! Off to your right. There’s a light aboard, so I guess Terry is still there. I’ll give him a hail.”

“Don’t you do it!” ordered the captain, shutting off his power. “Because there’s a small boat over near the shore sneaking up on him! Grab that boathook and get ready to jump aboard your boat when I row up to it!”

As the captain bent to the oars Jim tried to see the small boat which he had spoken of, but he was unable to make it out. He picked up the boathook and waited, standing in the stern. Looking toward the sloop, he saw that a steady light was pouring out of the companionway.

At that moment Terry stepped out on deck, looking toward the shore. “Who are you?” they heard him call. There was no answer and the red-headed boy picked up the sloop boathook.

“Keep off this boat,” they heard him call, and the next moment they saw him strike at someone with all his strength.

“Just in time, by Godfrey!” muttered Captain Blow, as he sent the dory alongside the sloop.

_9. Alone on the Sloop_

After Jim had dropped over the stern of the sloop Terry strained his eyes to follow his progress toward the shore. For a brief distance he was able to see the boy, but very soon the dense blackness swallowed Jim up. He listened intently, following his progress through the water, and at last was pretty sure that Jim had landed safely on the shore. Then, realizing that he was left alone on the sloop for an indefinite period of time, Terry settled down to wait.

In any other circumstances he would have felt the thrill of being alone and being heir to such an important trust, but just now he felt very lonely. There was such uncertainty regarding the whereabouts of Don, and all their plans hinged on issues that might easily work out to their disadvantage. If Don escaped from wherever he was and went down to the cove he would be puzzled to find that the sloop was gone, and he would be at a loss, though Terry was inclined to think that he would get in the dinghy and row all around the island looking for them. With that thought in mind the boy decided to keep a careful lookout for a boat.

Waiting under such circumstances was not easy, and Terry found the time hanging heavily on his hands. He sat in the cockpit and on the top of the cabin, and walked around the deck several times, keeping a sharp glance directed toward the shore. He wished that he was with Jim, to share with him whatever danger or problem he might encounter, but he by no means underrated the importance of his own position. He knew that he must at all costs guard the sloop well, and that all would be lost if the boat fell into other hands. With this thought in mind he made a thorough inspection of the sloop, examining it in every respect. Down below he found a long boathook, which he brought up on deck, determined to use it as a weapon if necessary.

The electric light was burning steadily in the cabin and he wondered if he should extinguish it, but on second thought he decided not to. If Don or Jim returned they would miss the _Lassie_ in the darkness, and he knew that would never do. The light must be kept going at all costs, and if it went out there was an oil lamp and plenty of fuel aboard.

Jim had taught him how to run the sloop and he wondered if he remembered how to do it. He went through the motions, without turning the flywheel however, for it would never do to have the sound of the motor explosions heard on the shore. He found that he remembered perfectly, and was confident that he could put on power and run away if necessary. He hoped that he would not be compelled to.

In this way an hour passed, a long dragging hour and to Terry it seemed like an eternity. Time and again he strained his eyes in the direction of the island, but no sign of a light did he see. Realizing that he was visible in the light that shone from the companionway he closed the slide until only a crack of light streamed up against the black sky, enough of a guide to Jim or Don if they needed it.

Suddenly he sat up straight, listening. There had been a sound, and he was not sure if it had been the lapping of waves against the beach or some other sound. After a time it came again, and there was no mistaking it this time, it was the squeaking of oarlocks. It was off toward the shore, and drawing closer.

For a moment he hesitated, uncertain. If it was Don he must hail, but if it was some unfriendly person he would risk everything by calling out. It was a hazard either way, but he saw that he must take it. Grasping the boathook in one hand he called out over the water: “Ahoy, there! That you, Don?”

His voice sounded alarmingly loud, and the noise of the oars stopped abruptly. Thinking that the other had not fully heard him, Terry repeated his call. There was no answer, and he knew that it was not Don or Jim. But there was certainly someone out there in a boat, and Terry felt his skin prickle as he knew that he was being watched by eyes that he could not see.

His thoughts raced. Was somebody softly stealing up to him in the darkness, prepared to rush aboard the sloop? The hand which held the boathook tightened and his eyes narrowed. If they were, they could count on a good stiff fight. If there were not too many of them he felt that he could hold his own against them, as the boathook was long, and he could use it vigorously. But as time went on and there was no movement, he began to be reassured. Perhaps his fears were groundless, perhaps he had only thought he heard someone out there.

A moment later and he knew that that was not so. The squeaking began again, but this time it was going away from him. Whoever had been in the boat had either been there with the avowed purpose of spying on him or had been somehow scared off by his call. The sound rapidly drew away until it was lost in the distance.

“Now, I wonder what the dickens that man wanted?” the boy muttered, uneasily. He looked out toward the sea, to be sure that it was not a trap. In his present state of mind he was not sure that someone would not appear suddenly out of the darkness on the starboard side and spring over the rail.

He continued his watch. He wished he knew just when the boys were coming back, in which case he could have made coffee for them. It was then that he realized that he was hungry, for they had only made a pretense at eating. Knowing that there was some cold meat in the refrigerator he went below and got it, together with some bread, and fixed himself a sandwich. While doing this he paused frequently to thrust his head out of the companionway opening and look around and listen. But the only thing that he heard was the lapping of the water on the shore.

He sat on the deck and ate his sandwich, enjoying it more than he had thought possible under the circumstances. After that time dragged, and he found himself getting sleepy. The salt air had been having that effect on the country boy since he had been with the boys, and he found in spite of his excitement that he was nodding. Realizing sharply that the last thing he must do was to go to sleep he stirred restlessly and wondered what he should do to keep himself awake. Surely there was something he could do to make the time pass.

But when he came to look around he found that there was not. One of the first things Mr. Mercer had taught his boys when he had bought the sloop for them was that it must always be kept in the best order, and immediately after meals the boys cleared up all rubbish and aired out blankets, setting the sloop in shipshape order before undertaking any of the pleasures of the day. And Jim had left the ship in the best of order before he had gone. Every blanket was folded and in place, and Terry could not find a thing to do.

A tiny splash near the sloop caused him to come to attention like a flash. It was a bit unusual, and he knew that it was not like anything else that he heard before. It sounded as though someone had dropped an oar in the water with a little more force than was intended, and he was instantly on the alert. No sound followed it, but Terry bounded up on deck.

His fears were realized. About ten feet from the sloop was a rowboat, with two men in it. They were rowing toward the sloop rapidly, and the oars had been muffled in burlap. When they saw Terry they bent to the oars with increased vigor.

“Who are you?” Terry called, but he received no answer. He stooped over, picked up the boathook and raised it aloft.

“Keep off this boat,” he called, but one of the men, whom he now recognized as the short man, Frank, dropped his oars and made a clutch at the rail of the sloop. Terry struck downward with all his strength.

_10. Blown Out to Sea_