CHAPTER XVIII

THE JEST THAT BECAME GRIM EARNEST

“WHATEVER you’re doing, old chap, hustle!” sounded Joe Dawson’s warning voice from the deck overhead “The boat’s getting uncomfortably near with its load of scoundrels!”

“I’ve found Mr. Delavan!” Halstead shouted up.

Upon receiving that startling information Dawson, for the moment, forgot all caution, darting forward. The sullen helmsman seized upon the opportunity to shake himself free of Mr. Moddridge, for Hank Butts, too, forgot himself long enough to turn and run a few steps.

“Look out, Butts!” called the alarmed Mr. Moddridge.

Hank wheeled about just in time to find the sullen helmsman coming face to face with him.

There was time to do but just one thing, and Hank did it. Leaning toward his would-be assailant, Butts dropped the weight squarely across the toes of the scoundrel’s advanced foot, then jumped aside.

“You young villain!” roared the sullen helmsman, sinking to the deck, and reaching both hands out toward his injured foot.

“Much obliged,” said Hank meekly. But he had picked up his iron weight again, and, with it, he advanced upon the one able-bodied seaman left.

“Won’t you oblige me by aiming a blow of your fist at me!” Hank begged. “Then you’ll have your own troubles, and we can attend to our own business.”

But this sailor, who was the least courageous of the three, retreated aft, using some explosive language as he went.

Joe, in the meantime, had gained the fore hatchway, and stood looking down with the keenest interest at his chum, one of whose hands rested on Francis Delavan’s face.

“I think he’s alive,” Halstead reported, feverishly, “for there’s still quite a bit of warmth to his skin. But,” sniffing, “I’m sure he was chloroformed when the scoundrels saw us coming, for I can smell it here. Joe, hustle down a rope.”

Dawson turned, snatching up the nearest bit of cordage that would serve. Tom, with nervous haste, but tying good, seamanlike knots, made one end of the rope secure under his employer’s shoulders.

“Now, I’m coming up. Be ready to give a strong hand on the haul,” called the young skipper.

Eben Moddridge also had both hands on the rope by the time that Halstead stepped up on deck. A hard, quick haul, and they had the financier on deck.

From out on the water, close at hand, came an ugly roar. In a hurried glance over the rail the young captain saw the boat’s crew not more than two hundred yards away.

“Pick Mr. Delavan up. Over the rail with him,” called the young skipper. “Seconds now are as good as hours later!”

Between them the three bore the heavy form of the Wall Street magnate. Moddridge, though not strong, could, under the stress of excitement, carry his few pounds.

As they reached the rail with their human burden, the sullen helmsman rose, hobbling, despite the pain in his foot. He snatched up a marlinespike to hurl at the rescuers, but a warning yell from Hank made him drop it harmlessly to the deck.

“Wait a second,” directed Tom, releasing his hold on the senseless body as they rested it against the schooner’s rail. Leaping over to the motor boat’s deck, he turned like a flash.

“Now, pass Mr. Delavan over carefully,” he ordered.

“And you get in and help,” commanded Hank, poising his weight so as to menace the seaman he was watching.

Butts looked so wholly ready and handy with that hitching weight that the seaman sprang to obey.

The instant that Francis Delavan rested flat on the deck of his own craft Captain Halstead leaped forward to one of the grappling hooks.

“Hank, throw off the hook astern—lively!” he shouted.

Joe Dawson had darted to the wheel, starting the speed and giving the steering wheel a half turn to port. Nor was the young engineer a second too soon, for the small boat, with its eight rough-looking fellows, almost grazed the port side of the “Rocket’s” hull. Hank, having brought the after grappling hook aboard, rushed to port, poising his hitching weight over his head.

“It’s a headache for one of you, if you get alongside,” declared Butts. Nevertheless, the boat-steerer attempted to reach the motor boat. Had Joe been ten seconds later in starting there must have been a hand-to-hand fight on the “Rocket’s” deck, with the odds all against the Delavan forces.

With that timely start, however, Joe Dawson left the boat’s crew nothing to do but to board their own vessel. The motor boat glided easily away.

“Keep the wheel, Joe,” called Captain Tom. “Now, Hank, lay by and lend a hand in trying to bring Mr. Delavan around. First, off with the cords that bind him, and out with the gag.”

“Er—er—hadn’t we better take Frank below to a berth?” inquired Mr. Moddridge.

“No,” replied young Captain Halstead, decisively. “Mr. Delavan has been chloroformed, and almost had his breath shut off by that trick. We must keep him in the open air. Mr. Moddridge, kneel behind your friend, and support him in a sitting position. Hank, get around on the other side and take hold of the left forearm and wrist. We’ll pump-handle Mr. Delavan, and see if we can’t start more air into his lungs.”

Then, looking up, Captain Tom inquired:

“Joe, what’s the matter with our speed?”

“I just can’t help it,” grinned Dawson. “I’m running slowly just to tantalize that rascally crew back there. It makes them want to dance and swear to see us going so slowly, and yet to know that, if we want to, we can run away from them like an express train.”

Captain Tom and Hank continued their pump-handling until Francis Delavan’s eyes fluttered more widely open, the bluish color began to leave his cheeks, and his chest started to rise and fall gently.

“He’s coming around all right,” cheered Halstead. “And he’s naturally as strong as a horse. His vitality will pull him out of this.”

“The schooner has put about and is following us,” called Joe.

“Let ’em,” muttered Halstead, glancing up and astern. “I wish they’d follow us until we meet the police boat at New York. But don’t let ’em get too infernally close, Joe. Something might happen to us. If our motor stopped, where would we be then?”

Joe Dawson laughed easily as the “Rocket” stole lazily over the waters, her speed just a trifle faster than the sailing vessel’s.

In a very few minutes more Francis Delavan’s eyes took on a look of returning intelligence. His lips parted as he murmured, weakly:

“Thank you—boys.”

“And now you’re all right, sir,” cried Tom Halstead, gleefully. “All you’ve got to do is to keep on breathing as deeply as you can. Mr. Moddridge, is your strength equal to bringing up an arm-chair from the after deck?”

Apparently Eben Moddridge didn’t even pause to wonder about his strength. He ran nimbly aft, then came struggling under his armful. He deposited the chair where the young skipper indicated. They raised Mr. Delavan to a seat, Hank stationing himself in front of the chair to keep the boat’s owner from pitching forward.

“Now, old fellow, you’d better kick up more speed,” advised Halstead, stepping over beside his chum. “You know, we’ve got to make the coast in record time, for several fortunes are hanging on our speed.”

Bending forward, Dawson swung the speed control wheel around generously. The “Rocket” forged ahead through the water.

“This will leave the schooner hull-down before we’ve burned much gasoline,” smiled Halstead. “Hullo, there they go about again. They realize the point, and have left off the chase.”

Joe still had the wheel, but he turned to look.

The “Rocket” was more than a mile away from the schooner when a jarring thump shook the motor boat.

In an instant Joe Dawson’s face went white. His chum looked scarcely less startled. The extra vibration ceased almost as soon as it was felt, for the engine had stopped running.

“Hank, take the wheel. The engine might start again,” called Tom Halstead, barely pausing in his chase after Joe, as the former jumped down into the engine room.

“What on earth has happened?” gasped Eben Moddridge, but there was on one to pay him heed.

For a few moments the two white-faced chums looked over the “Rocket’s” powerful engine together. Then their eyes met as Halstead’s lips framed the startled words:

“Joe, my boy, it’s one thing to play at broken-down engine, but the reality, at a time like this, is simply awful! This time the engine is truly out of business!”