CHAPTER X

LURKING IN THE SHADOWS

Early the next day they set out in search of a suitable craft for their expedition. It was no easy task to find what they wanted, but at last they chanced on a trig little sloop, of which after considerable bargaining and red tape they became the proud owners. All this was not accomplished without the passage of many days, and while Benton was interviewing ship owners and harbor masters, the boys employed the time in mastering the mysteries of the diver’s art.

Benton had looked up the old diver that he had previously spoken about to the boys, and had little difficulty in getting him to agree to give the boys practical lessons in his profession. So thoroughly did he do his part that in a little while the boys became proficient enough to feel that they could get along reasonably well in the shallow waters in which they supposed the wreck to be lying.

Of course the old fellow who instructed them was somewhat curious, but he was being well paid for his trouble, and was not in the habit of worrying much about other people’s plans. By the time the craft was provisioned and in shape for the voyage, the boys felt at home in the greenish depths and were looking forward impatiently to the time when they could put their newly acquired knowledge to use.

At length all was in readiness, and when they went ashore one night their eyes were shining with excitement, for with the dawn they were to start on the voyage after the treasure. But as they left the dock and walked toward the hotel, first one and then another became uneasy, for no apparent reason. Phil especially felt unmistakably the impression of being followed, and more than once he glanced uneasily over his shoulder.

They were in a poor section of the town, the narrow streets being lighted only at rare intervals by a flickering oil lamp. Not a soul was to be seen following them, but nevertheless the feeling of being dogged clung to them, and refused to be shaken off. At length Phil’s keen eyes made out a skulking figure just diving into a black patch of shadow, and at his warning word they all stopped.

“If you’re sure you saw someone following us, we’ll turn back and see who it was,” said Benton, and, suiting the action to the word, he started for the black shadow at top speed, the others close at his heels. But he had hardly gone ten steps, when something-whizzed past his head and struck with a sharp ring against the wall of a house that he was passing. At the same time could be heard the swift beat of retreating footsteps, and Benton pulled up short.

“No use chasing the fellow,” he said. “In these dark alleys we’d never find him, and likely enough we’d get a knife through our ribs for our trouble. That was a knife that fellow threw, and it just grazed my head.”

He groped on the ground, and presently found the knife. It was long and deadly sharp, and on the handle were two initials—“P. R.”

“It doesn’t require much guessing to tell whom that knife belongs to,” said Benton, grimly. “Those initials stand for Pasquale Ramirez, the murdering hound!”

“No doubt of it,” agreed Phil, soberly. “You had a narrow escape, Jack. The sooner we get out of this town and on the clean blue ocean the better I’ll like it.”

“Well, it won’t be long now, thank goodness!” said Dick. “To-morrow we sail for the Spanish Main, and leave that dirty halfbreed here. This town seems just made for sneaking dogs like him.”

They hurried along the dark and winding streets, until they reached the better quarter of the city, and eventually their hotel. But here another unpleasant surprise awaited them.

When they left that morning all their belongings had been neatly packed, but now they were strewn wildly about the rooms. With exclamations of astonishment and anger they gathered the things together and compared notes to see what was missing.

Fortunately they had left nothing of great value in their rooms, and the map and papers Benton always carried on his own person. None of their clothing had been taken, and at first they were somewhat at a loss to understand the motive of the outrage, but Phil soon supplied the clue.

“This couldn’t have been the work of an ordinary thief,” he said. “The man who did this job was looking for something special—something that he knows we have and that he wants badly. It looks to me as though Ramirez had gotten into our rooms someway, ransacked our trunks, and then, when he was convinced that we must have the map with us, he laid for us when we came off the boat.”

“That’s about the size of it, I guess,” nodded Benton. “Well he got fooled both ways, but I only wish I could get my hands on him! He wouldn’t bother us again for some time to come, I promise you!”

Judging from the working fingers and flashing eyes of their friend that probably in that case the halfbreed would never bother anybody again, the boys were silent for a few minutes. Then, as there seemed little immediate prospect of meting out punishment to the rascal, they set about repacking their belongings, and making ready for the early start in the morning.

The Fleeting, as they had named their boat, looked very neat and businesslike as they rowed out to her, and the adventure of the previous evening was forgotten as they gazed at her trim lines and felt a freshening wind that kicked up a thousand sparkling waves on the gleaming water. With shout and laughter they climbed aboard, where breakfast awaited them, prepared by the faithful Bimbo. He said he was a good cook, and that meal fully justified his claims. Then they rushed upon deck, hoisted the sails, and lifted the anchor. The sloop headed into the freshening breeze, and chopped through the water at a pace that spoke well for sailing qualities. In a few hours the land had faded into a distant speck, and then disappeared altogether.

Benton was at the wheel, and he gazed aloft at the trim sails and taut cordage with pride and exultation. Soon the wind veered a few points and came more abeam, and the vessel heeled over and fairly hissed through the water, her lee scuppers dipping under every now and again as an especially strong gust caught the sails. The boys enjoyed the rush and heave of the vessel as it rose to the long swells, riding them easily and throwing showers of spray from the sharp bows. The tang of the salt breeze was more exhilarating than wine, and they shouted and sang as their craft raced along toward her goal.

For a time they headed due south, but later veered to a more westerly course. For the first day or two the weather held fair, and they covered many miles of sparkling blue sea, all the time keeping a sharp lookout for an island like the one described in the old Spaniard’s papers.

At night they hovered about in circles under easy sail, as they did not want to run the risk of passing it in the darkness. In a few days they had reached the approximate latitude and longitude indicated on the map, but although they saw many islands, none of them appeared to answer the description of the one they were looking for. At first this did not greatly disappoint them, as they knew the old map was not likely to be very accurate. What bothered them more than anything else was the increasing cloudiness of the weather, and the falling barometer. Every indication pointed to a coming storm, and Benton lost no time in preparing for it. He and the boys double reefed the mainsail, and securely lashed everything to the deck that they could not carry below. They worked fast, for the gloom deepened every moment, and the breeze, which had been fresh all the morning, died down to a dead calm, leaving the sails idly flapping.

The western sky was black as night, except when it was rent by darting forks of lightning. At times they could hear the dull mutterings of thunder, and Benton’s face wore a worried frown as he gazed over the livid green ocean toward the approaching storm. From experience he knew how fierce were the sudden tempests that sweep over the Caribbean Sea, and he had never seen one that looked more threatening than that now brewing.

Suddenly the sails flapped a few seconds, and then dropped limp again. From the distance they heard a faint whistling sound, that grew rapidly louder, and then they could see a white line of hissing foam sweeping over the water and approaching them at terrific speed.

“Stand by to let the mainsheet run!” yelled Benton, but even as the boys sprang to obey, the wind was upon them. It struck with appalling force, and the Fleeting heeled over—further and further, until the deck slanted down at a sharp angle to the boiling waters, and the boys had to hang on to ropes and stays to keep from sliding down the steep incline.

It was a terrible moment, while their lives hung in the balance. A little further, and the Fleeting would surely have capsized, but just at the second when this seemed inevitable, the first furious gust of wind abated a trifle, and their craft slowly righted herself, while the wind whistled and shrieked in her rigging.

Benton had managed to retain his place at the wheel, and as the gallant little craft picked up steerage way, he headed her into the wind and the rising sea. At the first stroke of the raging gale the ocean was covered with spume crested waves, and lashed by its fury, they mounted higher and higher, until the ocean was an endless succession of mountainous rollers, bearing down hungrily on the devoted little ship, as though eager to batter and overwhelm her. Great waves thundered down over her bows, raced aft, and carried away everything movable on the deck. It was only by dint of clinging desperately to ropes that at such times the boys avoided being swept overboard.

The Fleeting was tossed about like a chip in the tremendous welter of waters, and Benton soon saw that he could not hold a course into the wind. His only alternative was the run before it, and he shouted to the boys to lower the mainsail. They could not hear him above the noise of the storm, but they knew from his gestures what he wanted.

To get the mainsail down and furled, even though it was reefed, was a gigantic task, but the boys tackled it bravely, and after a protracted struggle amid flying spray and wildly lashing canvas, they got the sail snugly stowed. Then Benton let the bows fall off before the wind, and soon they were scudding along at a furious rate with the wind astern.

Their staunch little craft rode easier on this course, her stern rising high in air as a mountainous sea lifted it, while her bows slanted dizzily down into the green depths ahead. Then, in the full grip of the big comber, she would go shooting forward, the water boiling and hissing along her sides, until the wave had spent its force and passed on. The sea presented a terrible aspect, and when Bimbo staggered on deck with a potful of steaming coffee that in some mysterious fashion he had managed to make, his dusky face turned a dull ashen hue.