The G-man's son at Porpoise Island

AFTER leaving the boys that afternoon in the capable hands of Butch, Gallagher had gone back to Nevada to talk over certain plans in connection with Hegarty’s expected attack. And he had been so engaged when Marzonij had been shown up. He had left the room wondering just what it was Marzonij had brought in the way of news and he had more than a hunch that it concerned himself. He waited patiently with Dago while the interview took place, and was doing some fast thinking by the time Cowboy sent him to the supply room. Cowboy had told him to check the small arms supplies. They’d already been checked twice by Dago, so Cowboy could only be stalling him for time!

He went to the supply room and walked about it trying to remember every detail of Marzonij’s remarks while he was getting Cowboy to agree to a private interview, trying to guess Cowboy’s thoughts after that interview by the look of Nevada’s face, estimating his chances of having been exposed as a law-man! But he could not arrive at any certainty in his conclusions. He must go on bluffing till he learned his bluff had been called! It was his duty! And if Cowboy suspected that the truth trapped him and elected to shoot him down in cold blood, he’d take it like a man, remembering that the F. B. I. expects the courage of a soldier in its men!

It was getting dark outside by now, Mr. Sandborn knew, and he knew that by this time two nights hence Hegarty would try conclusions with the notorious Nevada!

The first intimation that things had reached a climax already was the flinging open of the store-room door as some one entered from the cabin tunnel. At the same time a man came into the supply room from a side aisle. Both men were tense and spoke in sharp, nervous voices.

“Hegarty’s here, Gallagher!” cried one.

“We’re in for some hot typewriting to-night, Gallagher,” said the other.

And at that moment, Dago himself appeared in the doorway from the cabin. He was purple of face as seen in the electric lights of the store-room. He was gripping a submachine gun in his paws.

“Grab him, men!” cried Dago. “He’s a Fed!”

But the two men, who now stood, quite by accident between Dago and Mr. Sandborn, were too startled by what Dago yelled to do anything for a full second. For all they knew it might be a big joke on Dago’s part, though why Dago should be kidding when Hegarty’s men were in full attack, was beyond them!

By that time Mr. Sandborn, his own thinking conditioned by training and habit, had darted like a shadow down a side aisle and was streaking it for the tunnel entrance near the aquarium before Dago could get into real pursuit! Then came the whine of steel as Mr. Sandborn covered the last forty yards to the entrance! The slugs bit and rang on the woodwork and metal of the entrance, but the G-man was through and in the open in a flash now!

His first concern was for the boys, and he raced over a path, noting as he ran that the firing of the battle was coming from the land ridge on the west of the cove! That would mean that Hegarty had sent an overland party to draw attention from a main attack elsewhere! The fleet-footed G-man did not know that as he dashed down one path towards the waiting room he passed within ten feet of the hidden boys, who had been crawling forward to find their arrows.

He reached the entrance to the waiting room tunnel, fumbled for a second for the release catch, then raced down the steps and the tunnel towards the spot where the boys should still be in the company of Butch! He entered the waiting room to stumble headlong over the prostrate figure of Butch! One glance at the man’s bonds told the story, and the elated G-man raced back again through the tunnel, disregarding the muffled groans from the unfortunate Butch.

Now where would the boys be? Mr. Sandborn did not know, but he’d have to look about for them. He became now a silent shadow slinking swiftly about from one spot of the field of action to another, examining tunnel entrances, bushes, the boat-house, and the launches for the boys.

Marzonij meanwhile had raced out of the channel to meet the oncoming Sea Hawk. He had been taken aboard, reported his trip to Hegarty, and confirmed the fact of the beginning of the Big Fight, then taken his place at a gun as the big yacht moved into the channel to the cove. The Malcon had come up the sea side, having dropped her landing crew, and the Canton had come round from the bay side around the snout.

The big yacht tore into the cove first, opening fire as she came, and the others followed at short distances behind.

Mr. Sandborn, trapped between the fires of both the yachts and the machine gun crews on the ridges, made haste to get out of his present position as quickly as possible. As he did so he came face to face with Dago. Dago had just come round a flower bush in the dark, gun in hand, and the men recognized each other at once. Dago’s gun muzzle bore down as Mr. Sandborn’s right hand brought up the automatic he carried. As the G-man’s trigger finger squeezed, he contrived to slip to his knees!

The blast of Dago’s submachine gun seemed almost to lift the G-man’s hat from his head, but it was high and clear! Mr. Sandborn’s shot hit the gangster in the fingers, and, yelling with pain, Dago turned and bolted.

Mr. Sandborn gave chase, and Dago darted along the cove trail towards a certain gun nest! As the swarthy fellow tore along he suddenly leaped off the ground with a scream of pain, and fell in a sprawling, clawing heap! Mr. Sandborn was upon him in an instant, clipping him sharply on the head with the muzzle of his automatic. The big mobster now senseless, the G-man tied him securely with torn strips of clothing, and left him gagged and helpless in the bushes. He’d be found when needed, Mr. Sandborn suspected!

“Dad!” came a loud outcry of a youthful voice.

The G-man darted in the direction of the voice and was standing in deep bushes grasping his son with strong, glad hands a moment later.

“I’m sure glad you’re safe, son,” said he.

“How’d you like that shot, Mr. Sandborn?” queried John. “Did you see Stan’s arrow sticking in Dago’s pants?”

The truth was that the arrow had been dislodged by Dago’s sprawling fall, but the G-man had no doubt that a steel-tipped hunting arrow had caused Dago’s yowl of pain!

“It was a swell shot, boys,” agreed Mr. Sandborn. “But you boys had better get back to the beaches away from this dangerous scrap! Are there any G-men ashore, do you know?”

Stan explained that Holmes had left lookouts behind and gone for aid, and Mr. Sandborn then said it was wise to get through the lines, if possible, and be clear of the actual fight for a while at least.

But as the boys and the G-man emerged from the bushes, they came face to face with Cowboy Nevada himself! He was hurrying up the trail, evidently bound on a visit to one of his machine gun emplacements, and he was surprised to meet Gallagher. Before he could say or do a thing, the G-man had flung himself upon Nevada.

Nevada, an old hand at scrapping, shook off the G-man, trying to maneuver for a shot or two with his six-guns, but Mr. Sandborn whipped out with alert hands and grabbed the wrists of the desperado!

He twisted hard as he did so, and the guns clattered to the ground out of reach, where Stanley and John picked them up and hoved them away from the fight. Grunting with the effort of his blows, the trained G-man flung himself again upon Nevada, intent on knocking out the Westerner and taking him alive! Nevada swapped punches for a moment or two, then turned and ran for the cabin!

The suddenness of this retreat took the G-man by surprise, and Nevada had a dozen paces head start. But Mr. Sandborn was not to be left behind, and he closed up, reached out his right hand, and grabbed the fleeing gunman and crime head by the shoulders, spilling him to the ground! Then, as Nevada got up, Mr. Sandborn with perfect timing ducked a punch and slapped home a stiff uppercut that floored the head of the country’s biggest crime corps for the count!

Expertly, Mr. Sandborn gagged and bound the man as he had done with Dago, then he dragged the unconscious man into deep shrubbery and left him there.

At this time the situation at the cove took a turn towards a climax as Hegarty put the Sea Hawk close to the boat-house and his men leaped ashore! Nevada’s men came pouring down into the hollow to intercept and fight the invaders, and Mr. Sandborn and the boys had to duck into the bushes as this took place.

“Our best bet, boys,” shouted Mr. Sandborn, for the noise of gunfire drowned out ordinary talk, “is to get up the ridge in case our men are coming over. Holmes should be back by now with aid.”

The three of them dashed up the path to the ridge, and, as they did so, they met the G-men coming up the hill by every path, alert, able men well armed, well trained, anxious to get in at close quarters with the gangs!

“The Chief sent word for you to report to me, Sandborn,” said Holmes, “and I’m to give you orders!”

“All right, Holmes, let’s have your orders. I am ready.”

Holmes grinned.

“You’ve done a swell job, Sandborn, and so have the boys, unless my guess proves pretty wrong when you spill the evidence in court, and my orders are for you to go with the two boys to the Staghound, raise her sails, and head for Centerport for another brief vacation!”

Protesting, Mr. Sandborn finally agreed to those orders, but before he started down the slope with the boys he left clear instructions as to where Dago and Nevada could be found, and pointed the directions of tunnel entrances. The agent in charge shook hands with Mr. Sandborn and the boys, and led his eager men in a long, circling line down into the cove! It would not take those fine young fighters long to tame the wild disordered ranks of cheap gunmen and wipe out the last of the biggest crime army yet to levy tribute on the country’s business and people! And with the capture or death of those men would go the crumpling of the entire vast syndicate with its network of pillage and spoilage! The F. B. I. would add another splendid page to its excellent record of arrests and convictions!

Down at the Staghound the boys and the tired Mr. Sandborn enjoyed a cup of coffee and doughnuts before raising the sails.

“Wow, what an adventure that was!” breathed Stan. “And I’m glad it’s over, Dad!”

“No gladder than I am, and your mother will be!” said the clear eyed man, smiling. “Let’s stay home a few days and keep Mother company. We’ve been nothing but worry to her for some time now!”

“The water’s no place for pleasure lovers, I can see,” laughed John. “Great gobs of whipped cream—we’ll have to hike on the road next time, or go camping, or build us a trailer and become tin-can tourists! Maybe then we’ll just have a good time and keep clear of gangsters and crime syndicates!”

“Dad,” said Stan, breaking into John’s facetious remarks, “both John and I are dying to know what the wreck was at the bottom of Black Cove and what it contained!”

Mr. Sandborn helped himself to another doughnut while John poured more coffee.

“The whole story is this, in a few words, boys,” said he: “some years ago a rum-running yacht called the Shanghai, owned and operated by underworld interests, became a floating bank for the deposit of the vast sums of money stolen by that particular gang from dozens and scores of big bank robberies, and kidnapings! Besides that, those mobsters added actual gold and silver bullion stolen en route from mines to mints, and chests of precious stones gathered by confidence men and thieves from the necks and safes of rich victims. Besides a normal cargo of liquor which enabled the Shanghai to pose as an ordinary rum-runner, she carried the immense loot I have spoken of.

“For some months while the wealth was being accumulated in that single hull, and while she rode her place along notorious ‘Rum-Row,’ the secret was safe; then some one talked, and in time Cowboy Nevada, a small time racketeer, heard of it.

“He conceived and executed a clever plot by means of which he took possession of the yacht on the seas, took her into Black Cove, which he had figured as a perfect spot for his plan, and sank her at once during the same night, so that at daybreak there was no trace of the vanished rum-runner!”

John choked on a doughnut, he was so surprised.

“That certainly was an ingenious way to set himself up in big-time racketeering!” said Stan. “No wonder he had wealth to start him off on his way to a syndicate!”

“You’re right,” agreed Mr. Sandborn, soberly. “And Nevada made sure to rescue, by a diver, only what he really needed in ready riches to handle his vast enterprises. He kept a pile of cases loaded with currency in his store-room, but the Shanghai must still contain a vast store of jewels, money, and bullion. Most of it will find its way shortly to its rightful owners!”

They finished the brief meal, and, warm and somewhat rested, the boys hoisted sail, stowed the tender on deck, and slacked off the sheets while the fleet Staghound, which had been not so long ago the black-hulled Water Witch, bore the G-man, the G-man’s son, and the faithful and amusing John Tallman towards the far lights of Centerport, and home!

THE END