CHAPTER XXX.
PETE JOHNSON’S REVELATION.
“Well, I am in a trap now, and no mistake!”
It was Larry who uttered the words, as he sat on a pile of old sacking in the hold of the schooner. All was pitch dark around him, and the only sound that reached his ears was the tramping of the sailors and others overhead, coupled with the falling of the rain, which was coming down as hard as ever.
Half an hour had passed since he had been so unceremoniously dumped into the hold by the tool of Martin Pollox. During that time nobody had come near him, and he imagined that Pollox, Sluggers and the man called Conroy had quitted the ship, leaving him to the mercies of the schooner’s captain.
“They’ll either get rid of me or carry me a good distance,” he thought, dismally. “They won’t dare to take me anywhere where I can get back to New York in a hurry.”
He now understood the deception which had been practiced upon him, and his mind went back to Mary Vern. “She may be even worse off than myself,” he muttered. “Martin Pollox wouldn’t hesitate to get her out of the way if he could do it without arousing suspicion.”
So far our hero had not moved around the hold very much, but now he commenced an examination of the place, to learn, if possible, if there was any way of escape. He was in a desperate frame of mind, and willing to run a big risk in order to obtain his liberty and square accounts with his enemies.
Larry had not taken over a score of steps when he stumbled over the body of a man lying full length over some flat packing cases. The man gave a grunt and a snort.
“Wot fo’ yo’ disturbin’ ob me?” he demanded, in a thick negro voice, and one that showed the speaker was just getting over a prolonged spree.
“Hullo! I didn’t know anybody was down here,” exclaimed Larry.
“Down whar?”
“Down in this hold.”
“Am I in de hold?” queried the negro, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“You are.”
“How did I git yeah?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Do you belong to the ship?”
“Cos I does. Who is yo’?”
“I am a young fellow who was trapped on board and thrown down here for safe keeping.”
“Phew!” the colored man let out a low whistle. “If dat’s so, yo’ am in fo’ it. Captain Naxon ain’t no angel to deal wid, bet yo’ small change on dat.”
“Is Captain Naxon the owner of the ship?”
“He’s de master. She’s owned by some rich folks yeah in Jersey.”
“What’s her name?”
“De Skylark.”
The answer came like a thunderbolt to our hero. The Skylark was the name of the vessel in which his father had been carried off! Could this ship be the same?
“If it is, I must do my best to bring Captain Naxon to justice,” he muttered.
“Wot did yo’ remark?” asked the negro.
“Nothing,” he answered, shortly. “So this is the Skylark? Where is she bound?”
“Fo’ South America. Don’t know de exact name of de port. Ma haid an’t clear yet, nohow.”
“How long have you been on this ship?”
“Me? Why, I’se dun been aboadh of her nine or ten yeahs.”
“Indeed! Then you must know all of what has taken place during that time.”
“I do know a lot ob things. But I don’t know it all—Captain Naxon am putty sly wid himself.”
“What is your name? Mine is Larry Barlow.”
“Pete Johnson.”
“Do you remember a Walter Barlow who was shanghaied on board of the Skylark some years ago?” went on the young fireman, anxiously.
The negro let out a low grunt of surprise, mingled with suspicion.
“Wot yo’ know ob dat man?” he asked, cautiously.
“He was my father.”
“Shoo now! Am dat really so?”
“Yes, and I want to know what became of him.”
“Reckon you’ll hab to ask de captain about it.”
“Don’t you know?”
“No”
“But you know he was taken on board against his will.”
“Dat’s right.”
“Was he thrown overboard?”
“No, he was taken off de ship when we stopped at Ponce, on de island ob Porto Rico.”
“The captain took him ashore?”
“Yes, de captain an’ one of de sailors, Bill Harris—Bill’s dead now, died of the South American fever.”
“You haven’t any idea what was done with my father?”
“I rackon he wasn’t killed. Da said sumt’in’ about takin’ him sumwhar.”
Pete Johnson could tell no more, and, indeed, it was only by a great effort that he told Larry so much. Presently he gave a long yawn and went to sleep again. Our hero rightly guessed that he had been brought on board drunk, and tumbled into the hold to sober up.
While the negro slept, Larry felt in the man’s pockets and found what he wanted—several matches. Lighting one of these, he found a bit of tarred rope and made of it a torch.
With this light spluttering in his hand, he renewed his examination of the hold from end to end and presently came upon a door across which a piece of slatting had been nailed.
“If I can get that loose perhaps I can escape,” he reasoned, and, putting down the light, began to look for something in the way of a tool.
At last he found a long iron spike, and with this he pried the slatting loose. The door was not locked, and by examination he discovered he could open it with ease.
Our hero now felt that he must move with caution or else he would be discovered and have his chance of escape cut short.
“I’ll keep the spike,” he said to himself, “and if anybody tries to stop me I’ll brain him on the spot, if I hang for it.”
He opened the door slowly and noiselessly and found himself in a small entryway, where a ladder ran up to another entryway leading to the cabin of the Skylark. Blowing out his light he shut the hold door again and ascended the ladder.
A moment later he found himself at the door opening into the cabin of the schooner. A low murmur of voices reached his ears. In the cabin were Martin Pollox, Check Sluggers, Conroy and Captain Naxon. They were drinking, and smoking, and talking over their plans.
“It’s a good deal of money you all want out of me,” Martin Pollox was saying. “Two thousand apiece means six thousand dollars.”
“Bah! that should be nothing to you,” answered Captain Naxon. “You will make fifty times as much.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Check Sluggers, who had had his cue to stand in with Pollox. “Martin won’t make so very much. I’m satisfied with two thousand.” In reality Pollox had already promised him ten thousand dollars.
“Well, I’ll take two thousand,” said Conroy. “But I want it in cash, and by tomorrow.”
“That’s all right for you,” growled Captain Naxon. “But I want five thousand and not a cent less. I did that job of years ago too cheap, and I ain’t forgot it.”
“Make it three thousand,” suggested Pollox.
“No, it’s five thousand or nothing,” growled the captain. “And I want it in cash, and by tomorrow, too.”
“You must think I am made of money,” grumbled Martin Pollox.
Nevertheless he at last agreed to give them what they demanded, and then the whole party prepared to go ashore.
Larry listened to the talk with bated breath. His face was set and full of determination.
“Martin Pollox, I have found you out at last,” he muttered. “And you shall go to prison for what you have done, just as sure as you were born!”