Lost in the land of ice

“Where is Bob?”

It was Barry who asked the question on returning from the visit to his friends up at Fairmount Park.

He had gone into the cabin expecting to find his chum reading or dozing in a chair. The stateroom was, of course, also empty.

“Sure, an’ I dunno where he is,” answered Caven. “He wint off siveral hours ago.”

“He tol’ me he vos goin’ to meet you,” put in Gus Stults, the German cook, who overheard the young yacht owner’s question.

Pat Caven scowled at the cook, for this announcement was not at all to his liking.

“I didn’t hear him say anything av the sort,” he muttered.

“Put dot is vot he did say,” answered Stults. “He said he vos got a letter to meet you.”

“A letter to meet me?” repeated Barry.

“Oxactly, Mr. Filmore.”

“I sent no letter,” said the young man thoughtfully.

Pat Caven looked daggers at the cook.

“Perhaps Stults is dramin’,” he ventured.

“No, I know chust vot I vas talk apout,” answered Stults, and he gave Caven a look which made the Irish sailor shut up instantly.

“Something is wrong,” murmured Barry. “Where did he go, Stults?”

“Dot I can’t say, exceptin’ he valked straight avay from der dock.”

Much perplexed, if not worried, Barry took a turn up and down the deck, and then went back to the cabin.

As he stepped in front of the safe a letter lying on the floor caught his eye.

It was the decoy sent to Bob, and he read it with keen interest.

“Some plot here, surely,” he muttered, and then opened the safe as quickly as he could. “The book is gone!”

He was more disturbed than ever. What had become of Bob and the precious book?

“I must investigate this,” he reasoned, “and perhaps it will be best to get the police to aid me.”

It was nearly midnight, yet he left the yacht and walked slowly away from the dock.

It looked like a hopeless task. Bob might be miles and miles away, and looking for him would be worse than looking for the proverbial pin in a haystack.

But Barry was not one to give up easily, and as he hurried along he kept his eyes and ears wide open.

But his search, which lasted until after three o’clock in the morning, availed him nothing.

Tired and heart-sick, he returned to the yacht and went to bed to catch a few hours’ sleep.

Pat Caven had seen him return alone and downcast, and chuckled to himself.

“He didn’t discover anyt’ing!” he murmured. “Captain Fenlick is safe, an’ the money he promised me is mine.”

Eight o’clock found Barry dressed and on his way to police headquarters. Here he told his story, and word was at once sent out to look for Bob Baxter, and two special detectives were detailed on the case.

Left to himself that afternoon, he reasoned that if Bob had started for the Rosemore Hotel he had mostly likely walked in the direction of the street cars running past that hostelry.

“One of the car conductors may remember him,” he thought. “I’ll investigate. It’s better than sitting down doing nothing.”

His walk took him past the alleyway where Bob had been assaulted, and when close to the spot he came across a mob of boys and girls, who were poking fun at an old, half-crazy woman called Mad Lize.

“Lemme alone!” Mad Lize was crying, shrilly. “Don’t ye touch me!”

“Pelt her wid mud!” yelled one of the bigger boys, roughly. “Give it to her right in de face!”

“Let the poor woman alone!” ordered Barry, sternly. “Go away, every one of you!”

At his words the girls and some of the little street urchins ran off. But the big boy, a regular bully, and half a dozen of his cronies held their ground.

“Dis ain’t none of your business,” snarled the bully. “You skip yerself.”

“If you don’t leave this poor woman alone I’ll give you a sound thrashing,” answered Barry. “Move, now, and move lively.”

“I will not,” came from the bully, and he hurled another lump of mud at the old woman. It missed its mark and struck Barry on the arm.

Without waiting another second the young man rushed at the bully and grabbed him by the collar.

“Will you mind me now?” he cried, as he shook the fellow until his teeth rattled.

“Let—let up!” gasped the bully. “Hi, Jim! Shorty! Jack! Pitch inter him!” he added, appealing to his cronies, and at once the three other boys hurled themselves on Barry, pulling at his arms, his legs, and his coat, while one hit him in the back with a stone.

For the moment it looked as if the young man would be overcome, not only by the mere force of numbers, but because all of the street boys were well grown and strong.

But Barry was not to be conquered thus easily, and finding himself surrounded by such a determined lot, he struck out right and left, and the bully and his cronies went down like so many ten-pins. They had picked up Barry for a weak dude, seeing his fine dress, but they were sadly mistaken.

“Oh! Oh!” spluttered the bully, and lost no time in retreating, at which all of the crowd took to their heels. But they remembered Barry and vowed to get square with him.

The half crazy woman was profuse in her thanks.

“You’re a real gent,” she said. “May riches be yer portion for evermore!”

“That’s all right,” answered Barry, carelessly. “Do you live near here? If you do, you had better go home.”

“I live at the end of the alley. It’s a splendid castle,” cried the half mad creature. “Do you want me to show it to ye?”

“Thanks, but I haven’t time.”

“And what are ye doin’ in a neighborhood like this? It’s not fit fer the likes of a gent, Rotten Alley ain’t.”

“I’m looking for a boy who is lost,” answered Barry. Then he added suddenly: “Were you out here last night between eight and nine o’clock?”

“Sure an’ I was.” Mad Lize clutched his arm suddenly. “Maybe I seen the boy yer after. They knocked him down and dragged him to the tenement.”

“Who?”

“The two men. They looked like sailors.”

Barry was at once highly interested and listened to all the woman had to say. Her talk was rambling, yet he felt certain after she had finished that she had really seen Bob assaulted and carried to the tenement at the rear of the alleyway.

She led the way to the place, and as they approached the tenement Barry saw two men come out with a long bundle between them, and saw the bundle placed in a covered wagon.

As one of the men leaped on the seat of the wagon the young owner of the Arrow recognized Captain Fenlick.

“That’s one of the men!” cried Mad Lize. “An’ the other got into the wagon with the bundle.”

“You are right—and I know the game now!” answered Barry, and ran after the covered wagon with all of his speed.

He was less than a dozen feet away when Captain Fenlick saw him coming and muttered an imprecation.

“Keep back!” he roared. And then as Barry continued to come on, he drew a black-jack from his pocket and hurled it at the young man’s head.

His aim was true, and the young man went down as if shot.