CHAPTER X
“CROWD ON ALL STEAM!”
To go back to Barry, at the time he was struck down by Captain Fenlick.
Stunned, and bleeding from an ugly wound in the temple, he lay like a log until Mad Lize picked him up and dragged him to her apartment in the basement of a tenement opposite to that in which Bob had been confined.
“Poor boy! poor boy!” she mumbled over and over again. “Just like my Jack! Poor, poor boy!” In years gone by she had lost an only son, Jack, very suddenly, and this had somewhat turned her brain, although she was more simple-minded than crazy.
She ran for some water, washed the wound, and bound it up in as clean a rag as her means afforded. She was about to force a bit of liquor down Barry’s throat, when he gave a gasp and opened his eyes.
“Don’t—don’t hit me again!” he gasped.
“You’re all right, deary,” answered Mad Lize. “Nobody shall touch you again. Lie still.”
“But—but those men,” faltered Barry. “Where are they?”
“They drove off as if the old Nick was after ’em.”
Barry heaved a sigh. They had escaped. And he felt certain that they had Bob in their power.
“More than likely they have taken him to Captain Fenlick’s ship,” he mused. “I ought to go after them at once.”
But this was out of the question, for no sooner did he try to rise than his head swam around like a top, while all became black before his vision. He sank down, and for an hour he scarcely moved.
He was aroused by the yelling of a boy through the window of the basement. It was the bully who had attacked him when he had come to the aid of Mad Lize.
“Here he is, fellers, give it to him!” yelled the boy, and then a shower of mud and stones landed in the room.
The attack angered the old woman more than anything which had happened before, and regardless of consequences, she grabbed up a broom and went for the boys right and left, knocking the bully headlong, and loosening two of his front teeth. The downfall of the bully disconcerted the others, and they ran away, not to return, and the bully went after them.
It was long after nightfall before Barry felt strong enough to stand up. Then he asked Mad Lize to call a cab for him.
“Won’t no cabby listen to me,” mumbled the old lady.
“He will if you give him this,” replied Barry, and passed over a dollar bill. “And here is something for your trouble,” he went on.
The ten dollars he placed in her hands nearly staggered Mad Lize, and she gazed at it as if she did not see aright.
“I must be dreaming!” she gasped. “Is it really and truly ten dollars?”
“It is,” laughed the young owner of the Arrow. “And now please hurry for that cab.”
“You must be a—a Vanderbilt or an Astor,” went on Mad Lize, and then she ran off to get the cabman.
A quarter of an hour later Barry was being driven down to the docks. He had heard about the Vixen, and knew where she had been lying. A block off he saw a policeman standing on a corner.
“Stop!” he called to the driver of the cab, and then he motioned to the officer. “I want your aid,” he said.
“What’s up?”
“I am after two rascals who have abducted or killed a boy.”
“You don’t mean it!”
“I do. Come—the fellows are, I think, bound for a steamer tied up at one of these wharves.”
The policeman was willing, and they made their way along the wharves until they reached the spot where the Vixen had been lying.
The tramp steamer was nowhere in sight.
“Gone!” groaned Barry.
“What do you want?” asked a dock watchman, as he ran up, lantern in hand.
“We are looking for the Vixen,” answered Barry.
“She sailed two hours ago.”
“To where?”
“I dunno, exceptin’ she went down stream.”
“Did you see Captain Fenlick go on board with another man?”
“I did.”
“Did they have anything with them?”
“Yes, a long, heavy bundle done up in a piece of sacking.”
“It must have been Bob! Poor boy, what will they do with him?”
Both the policeman and the watchman, as well as the cabman, were interested, and Barry had to tell his story.
“We’ll have to set the harbor police on the track,” said the officer. “Come and make a complaint.”
“The authorities already know of the case. You send in word of what you have heard, and get the river police to act. I am going after the Vixen myself.”
“You?”
“Yes, in my steam yacht. I reckon Captain Fenlick is bound straight for Delaware Bay and the Atlantic Ocean.”
Without further words Barry had the cabman drive him to the dock at which the Arrow lay. Rushing on board, he called Captain Gordon to him.
“Get up steam with all possible speed, captain,” he exclaimed. “We must move without delay,” and then he told of what had occurred, and how he hoped to catch the Vixen.
“I’m afraid she’ll slip up in the dark,” observed Captain Gordon, yet he was too good a sailor to find fault. He sent a speaking-tube message down to the engineer, and soon the thick, black smoke was pouring from the Arrow’s funnel.
Pat Caven had witnessed Barry’s return, and by the young man’s manner he surmised that something unusual was up. He tried to hear the talk between Barry and the captain, but his duty called him elsewhere.
“They must be going to follow the Vixen,” he said to himself.
Soon steam was up, and then the Arrow left her dock, and the trip down the Delaware River was begun. Philadelphia was left behind and the Arrow continued on her course at full speed.
“I think the Arrow can outrun the Vixen, at least when put at her best speed,” said Barry to Captain Gordon. “And as it will be difficult to locate that other ship in the dark, the best thing for us to do is to run on ahead and then pull up and search around when daylight comes.”
“A very good suggestion,” answered Captain Gordon. “I’ll do my best with the Arrow, and I reckon we’ll be ahead by several miles afore daylight.”
It was a dark night, without a moon and with but few stars, and as the Arrow cut through the water only the thump-thump of her machinery broke the stillness. Barry, much worn out, lay down on his couch, yet thorough sleep was out of the question.
At last came daylight, and it found the Arrow out on the sparkling waters of Delaware Bay, and not far from the lighthouse on the north shore.
Barry brought out his glass and searched the horizon eagerly.
“Look!” he cried, pointing to the southeastward. “What sort of craft is that?”
Captain Gordon gave a long and careful look.
“A long, rakish appearin’ tramp steamer,” he answered, slowly.
“Painted black, with a yellow stripe?”
“Exactly.”
“Then it’s more than likely she is the Vixen!” cried Barry. “Crowd on the steam, and head directly for her.”
The orders of the young owner of the yacht were obeyed without delay, and soon the Arrow’s bow was cutting the water with such speed that the spray flew back far over the cabin.
“How far off do you suppose she is?” asked Barry, as he sat down to watch the chase.
“Not over a mile.”
“Do you think she is running fast?”
“Not over eight or nine knots an hour.”
“Then we ought to overtake her soon.”
“We will, Mr. Filmore, unless they get on to our game, and show us their heels.”
“But the Arrow ought to be able to catch that craft, anyway.”
“Oh, we can catch her in time—if the weather holds out.”
“It doesn’t look like a storm to me,” was Barry’s comment, as he gazed at the heavens and then at the skyline to the eastward.
“No, I’m not looking for a blow. But we may get one of those nasty fogs—and they are just as bad,” answered Captain Gordon. “Hullo! They are increasing their speed!”
“Have they discovered us?” came from Barry, and he reached for his glass again. “I believe they have.”
“Sure they have!” cried the captain, as he took a squint. “Now for a chase of the good old-fashioned sort.”
“Crowd on all steam,” ordered the young owner of the Arrow. “Tell the engineer to spare no coal, for we can get more as soon as this chase is over.”
“All right; I’ll make him sit on the safety valve, if it is necessary,” grinned the captain, and hurried off to stir up the engineer.
His efforts were soon apparent, for the speed of the Arrow increased. The noble steam yacht quivered from stem to stern from the pressure she was under, and the indicator in the steam gauge ran dangerously high. Slowly but surely they began to cut down the Vixen’s lead.