CHAPTER XXI—AT SANTA CRUZ ISLAND
It was early twilight when a taxicab deposited Mr. Temple and the chums at the entrance to the pier. At the suggestion of Inspector Burton, the boys had purchased and donned corduroy trousers. Each carried also a heavy sweater to be worn later against the evening chill, for they had been warned that with the going down of the sun the air would become sharp.
“Pass,” said a sailor mounting guard at the big gates which, opened on their arrival, since had been swung across the entrance. “You are expected.”
He was one of the men who had been on deck watch earlier aboard the Sub Chaser, and had been placed there because he would recognize them.
Evidently the others of the party already had arrived, for the guard barred the gate and followed them.
“How will I go through the gates when I return,” objected Mr. Temple, turning around.
“The pier watchman will see you out, sir,” said the sailor, a young fellow, touching his cap.
Struck by the beauty of the scene, the party paused several moments. To the boys it was a revelation. To Mr. Temple, who had visited Santa Barbara in the past, it was a recurring delight. In the west, where the sun only a few moments before had sunk beneath the waters over the shoulder of San Miguel, the sky was yet bright. But behind them deepening twilight lay over the tree-embowered town, while still farther to the east the mountains were in darkness and lights twinkled here and there among the houses in the foothills.
Over all was an atmosphere of peace, of lazy contentment, so much in contrast with the object of their expedition that it was remarked by the sensitive Frank.
“As peaceful as Paradise here,” he said. “While out there——” He waved his hand to indicate the west, and paused expressively.
The others looked at the distant islands, humped mountainously like crouching camels against the darkening western sky.
“I wonder what will happen?” said Bob.
“Come on, fellows,” added Jack. “No time for fancies. The boat is tooting for us.”
They hurried along the pier to the stairway. Mr. Temple did not descend to the float, but remained leaning on the railing. He was inclined to be anxious about the welfare of the boys, but Inspector Burton reassured him.
“I’ll see they come to no harm,” he said. “And young huskies can’t be coddled forever, you know.”
“Yes, I realize that,” said Mr. Temple. “They are growing up. I know such experiences are good for them, and teach them self-reliance and sharpen their wits in a crisis. That is why I am letting them go. That is why I let them make that wild dash into Mexico, too. Just the same, Inspector, one of the three is my son, and the others are as close as sons to me. And—well, you have to be a father to appreciate it.”
“I’m only an old bachelor,” said Inspector Burton. “But I think I can understand. Well, good-bye, and rest assured I shall look out for their welfare.”
With that, he descended to the boat, which at once forged away from the float. The boys stood at the rail, waving farewell to Mr. Temple until his figure dwindled and was lost to sight in the growing darkness landward.
“Good old Dad,” remarked Bob, feelingly, as they at last turned away from the rail and made their way forward. “He’ll be worried about us all the time. But he put his feelings aside, just the same, and let us go.”
“He’s a peach,” said Jack.
“You bet he is,” Frank echoed, emphatically.
For some time they stood at the rail forward in silence, each immersed in his own thoughts. But brooding of any sort was foreign to them. And presently they shook off the slight thoughtfulness into which parting with Mr. Temple had thrown them, and began to discuss the possibilities that lay ahead.
Presently Inspector Burton joined them.
“Well, boys,” said he in a kindly tone, “not worried about the outcome, are you?”
“Oh, no, sir,” answered Frank. “Just talking over what might happen.”
“That’s right, don’t worry,” said the Secret Service man. “Probably there will be no fighting. These fellows may not have any force at their hangout to speak of. Perhaps, only the crew of the trawler from which you escaped will be on hand. If we have luck, we can surprise them. And I doubt very much whether they will put up any resistance against Uncle Sam’s men.”
“How many men have you?” queried Jack.
“Twenty-two in the crew, including Ensign Warwick, you three, Doctor Marley and myself—twenty-seven in all.”
“Doctor Marley?” exclaimed Bob, surprised.
“Yes, he is a peace-loving man,” remarked Inspector Burton, with a slight smile. “But I considered it necessary to have a medical man along in case of accident, and persuaded him to come. It was rather difficult, because he fears the anger of ‘Black George’ if the latter succeeds in laying hands on him. But he consented when I showed him how preposterous it was to expect any real resistance.”
“You really expect, sir, that we can locate the smugglers’ place in the darkness?” asked Jack.
“Thanks to the sound detector which you boys were instrumental in discovering,” said the Secret Service man, “I believe the smugglers are on the island of Santa Cruz. And such being the case, they probably are in one certain spot, as I told you before. But, come into the cabin and I’ll show you a map.”
He led the way to the tiny cabin, the boys at his heels, and while unrolling a large map of the Channel islands, continued:
“I had hoped, after leaving you this afternoon, to obtain a guide. But the old Mexicano who earlier had told me about the topography of the island, was aghast at the proposal that he should accompany us. He was very superstitious, I could see. Apparently, he feared some sort of ghost said to roam over the island. I couldn’t make much sense of what he said. At any rate, I had to give up the idea of obtaining him as guide, and, as it was too late to look for another, I came off without one. However, I believe we shall have little difficulty making our way. Now, here is the island.
“You see from this map,” he continued, “the coastline of the mainland is not north and south here, but almost due east and west. The islands are south of Santa Barbara. Here is Santa Cruz, and this is its northern shore, about twenty-seven miles in length.
“It is on this northern shore that we will land one party, while another slips around West Point, the extremity of the island. The land party will make its way through the hills to the headwaters of this little stream emptying into the ocean on the southern shore. The boat will continue around the extremity of West Point to that stream. Thus we will have the enemy between us.”
“You feel that somewhere up that stream the smugglers are located?” asked Bob.
“Yes, and probably near its mouth. The old Mexicano told me the stream broadened out to considerable width, making a small bay in which several schooners could ride.”
“And which party will we go with?”
“I think it better for you boys to stay aboard the boat. Ensign Warwick will command the craft, while I will take a party overland.”
“Very good, sir,” said Jack. “But we’re not likely to see much excitement aboard the Sub Chaser, are we?”
Inspector Burton smiled tolerantly, noting the disappointment in Jack’s voice.
“Oh, you can’t tell,” he said, rolling up the map. “You fellows may have all the excitement. But, come, let us go on deck and see where we are. It’s a run of only twenty-five or thirty miles to West Point and, as this boat is under forced draught of twenty-four knots an hour, we should be nearing the island. You see, time has been flying. It’s almost eight o’clock.”
The moon had not yet risen, but the stars were out and a faint afterglow of sunset still lingered in the western sky. Against that sky, ahead, there loomed a huge island with a spine of mountains down the center so lofty as to wring a cry of surprise from the boys.
“I hadn’t expected them to be so tall,” said Jack.
“Two thousand feet,” said Inspector Burton.
The boat altered its course as it approached the land and, with engines muffled, was running westward at reduced speed. Alongshore, the boys could see the ghostly white breaking of the surf.
“Where will we land?” asked Bob. “The mountains seem to come right down to the sea.”
“We are rounding Diablo Point in the center of the northern shore now,” explained Inspector Burton. “There, ahead, you can see the shore curves inward. Farther ahead, toward West Point on the other side of this little bay, the mountains dwindle out, and there is a sandy shore on which we can land. I’ll go ashore with my command and then strike back through the mountains for that stream—a distance of three or four miles.
“Ensign Warwick,” he said, turning to the young naval officer, who had joined them in the bow; “after putting us ashore, do you make your way with as little noise as possible around West Point and down the coast to the creek. It should not be difficult to locate.
“Allowing for possible time lost in going astray on our part, we should be pretty near the mouth of the creek two hours after landing. I shall fire three shots in rapid succession when we come up with the enemy. That will be your signal. Do you then make your way into the creek, and seize the trawler or any other craft you find there.
“Have your rapid-firers unlimbered and ready for action, in case of resistance. And remember to throw your searchlight on shore to light up the scene when I send up a rocket.
“And now, if your small boats are ready, and the men to accompany me selected, I’ll say ‘au revoir,’ for I can see your pilot is bringing us to, and evidently has singled out the beach where we must land.”
Eleven men were set ashore with Inspector Burton, the small boats which carried them returned and were hoisted aboard, and then the Sub Chaser began nosing her way ahead once more.
CHAPTER XXII—IN THE SMUGGLERS’ COVE
“Don’t know whether I’m cold or just plain scared,” said big Bob, laughingly. “But I’m going to put on this sweater, because I’m beginning to shiver.”
The others were quick to follow his example.
They stood in the bow of the boat, which long since had rounded West Point and was proceeding very slowly along the southern shore of Santa Cruz Island. An hour and a half had elapsed since Inspector Burton and his party had been set ashore. They were standing close in. And now again the mountains, which around the western extremity of the island had retreated inland, had drawn close to the shore. The mouth of the creek had not yet been sighted by any of those straining their eyes to gaze shoreward.
Ensign Warwick joined the boys, snapping shut the lid of his watch.
“Time’s almost up,” he said. “Half an hour yet. Surely, we cannot have passed the creek. Inspector Burton said his information was that it broadened out sufficiently to admit several schooners.”
“I’ve watched every inch of the shore,” Jack said. “And I haven’t seen it yet. But, look. There.” He pointed ahead.
A break appeared in the surf tossing against the foot of the steep cliffs that came down sheer to the shore.
Ensign Warwick stared keenly, then nodded with satisfaction.
“That’s the creek, undoubtedly,” he said. “Too bad we have to operate without moonlight.”
He stepped to the side of the man at the wheel and whispered a low-voiced direction. Then he signaled the engine room. As a result, the pilot swung the wheel over, and the Sub Chaser responded by heading for shore. At the same time, the slow beat of the engines was still further reduced, and the craft proceeded under its headway aided by the drift of the incoming tide.
The farther point of land at the mouth of the creek was low, but a huge rock towered like a guarding tower on the hither side. Atop of it grew several twisted, stunted oak trees. These could plainly be distinguished as the boat slowly drew closer in.
“Deep water, apparently right to the foot of the rock,” said the leadsman in the bow, drawing in the wet string with its knob of lead on the end, and reading the record.
“We’ll lay here under shelter of the rock until we hear Inspector Burton’s signal,” Ensign Warwick told the boys. “On this still night, with no other sounds about, the sound of his shots will carry plainly to our ears.”
He was about to give orders to drop the grapnel, when Jack laid a hand on his arm:
“Listen.”
The sound of three shots fired in rapid succession came faintly to their ears. It was followed by distant shouts, and then several more shots at ragged intervals, then silence.
“The signal.”
“Yes,” said Ensign Warwick, springing into instant activity, “and our men are meeting with resistance. We’ll have to go in at once.”
He turned away to issue the necessary order. In a trice, the rakish craft quivered with the sudden picking-up of the engines, the screw began to revolve with increased violence, her head was put out to sea and she started to run away from shore.
“I suppose we’ll go out to where we can get a better view into the creek, and then speed in,” said Frank.
The surmise was correct. The boat swung about in a circle, her nose pointed straight for the entrance to the creek eventually, and then they began speeding shoreward again.
A powerful beam of light suddenly shot over their heads, and the boys turned with a gasp. It came from the searchlight mounted on the bridge behind them. They gazed ahead, and saw the light illumine the entrance to the creek. Then something appeared in the rays which caused them to shout simultaneously:
“The trawler.”
There it was, the boat on which they had been carried captive from San Francisco, riding at anchor in the cove.
Ensign Warwick approached.
“I decided not to take a chance on running into any craft inside without warning,” he said. “That’s why I turned on the searchlight. I cannot see a soul aboard the trawler. Can you?”
“Not I,” answered Bob.
“Nor I.”
“Nor I.”
“Well, I’m going to board her. We’ll soon find out how matters stand.”
The Sub Chaser’s speed slackened at a signal once more, and she slipped alongside the trawler. A rope ladder dangled down the side.
“Fend off, you men, and hold your position,” said the young naval officer resolutely. “I’m going aboard. Do six of you follow me.”
Seizing the ladder, he clambered up swiftly, revolver in hand, peered over the edge, then swung over the rail and dropped to the trawler’s deck.
“All right,” he called down. “Not a soul in sight.”
Eager to be at his heels, the three chums held back until the six sailors commanded to follow had complied. Then they, too, gained the deck of the trawler. Hurried search revealed the craft was deserted. Not even a watchman had been left aboard. The doors to the cabins they had occupied were locked. The boys burst the locks.
With delighted cries they greeted sight of their grips. Quick rummaging disclosed the ring-radio with its appurtenances, which Frank had used to such good effect to discover the proximity of the Sub Chaser when they were captives aboard the trawler. Nothing had been taken away.
“Locked the doors to keep our stuff from the crew,” decided Jack.
On deck, carrying their recovered possessions, they found Ensign Warwick preparing to depart.
“Signs in forecastle and engine room,” he said, “that the crew left in a hurry, and only recently, too. Evidently, they were aboard and were called ashore for some reason. What did you find in the cabin?”
“To tell the truth,” admitted Bob, “we didn’t look around much. Found our things still aboard, and that occupied our attention. But we can go back and look?”
“No, no. That would be a waste of time. I’m afraid the presence of the land party was discovered, and the crew here went ashore to oppose our men. We’ll have to make a landing and go to their aid. Listen.”
Again down the wind, and this time only very faintly came the sounds of distant firing. Apparently, the fight was drawing away from them.
Down the ladder to the deck of the Sub Chaser they scrambled. Then, with searchlight playing along the shore, the craft moved slowly up the estuary. Presently, a landing appeared in the rays of the light, jutting out into the stream, a huge shed or barracks at its end ashore. The boat was turned toward it, and slid alongside. Sailors with ropes leaped to the planks of the landing and made fast.
“The place seems deserted,” said Ensign Warwick. “Not a sound. But you never can tell. We’ll have to take precautions. Wouldn’t do to go tearing off this pier, and run smack-dab into a trap.”
He turned to the group behind him. Every man aboard the Sub Chaser with the exception of Doctor Marley had followed. The worried face of the fat little physician watched them from the deck.
“Here, you men,” he said authoritatively. “Six of you will have to stay aboard the boat. Robbins, Dewart, Murphy, Thompson, Berger and Strunk, you stay behind. Robbins is in charge. Keep the searchlight playing on the shore. Train a rapid firer on the landward end of this pier. Doctor Marley,” he called up to the physician, “I presume you will prefer to remain aboard. You boys”—turning to the three chums—“can follow me. You have those revolvers I served out to you?”
They nodded.
“Good. Now, Robbins,” he continued, turning to the leader of the party to be left on the boat, “we will make our way up the pier. If we are surprised, we will drop to the ground. Do you at once open with the rapid-firer, shooting high. That ought to be sufficient to rout anybody opposing us. Then leave two men aboard to keep guard against surprise and look after the searchlight, and with your other men charge up the pier. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. If we find nobody about, we shall follow upstream to attempt to join the other party. In that case, I shall fire three shots as a signal of our intentions. Do you keep the searchlight in play along the pier, with stabs into the sky at five minute intervals as a guide when we return. We may be led far inland. The smugglers may flee to some fastness in the mountains. But do you stay by the ship under any conditions until we return.
“Morgan,” he added, turning to one of the men in his party, “here are my keys. You will find a box of flashlights with extra batteries in my cabin. Do you and Doniphan go and get a flashlight for each of us with a set of spare batteries. Let’s see. That will be nine.”
The men sprang to obey with alacrity, and were back on the pier in a very few moments. The flashlights and spare batteries were parcelled out. All was in readiness for the advance.
“The firing has been growing more and more distant,” said the young naval officer, turning to Jack who stood beside him. “Doesn’t it seem so to you?”
“Yes, it does,” said Jack. “For several minutes now I have not heard a shot, and the last was very faint.”
“From the look of things aboard the trawler, the deserted appearance ashore, and those receding sounds, I suspect the smugglers fled with our friends in pursuit,” said Ensign Warwick. “Perhaps, however, they hoped to drive them off, and the crew of the trawler was called ashore to help. If that is the case, our men may be hard pressed. Come, we have taken all the precautions possible here. Let’s go.”
And with Jack beside him, Bob and Frank close behind and the sailors pressing on their heels, the young naval officer started up the pier.
CHAPTER XXIII—A SIGNAL FROM THE RADIO STATION
No signs of life were apparent as the glare of the searchlight played over the great building, resembling a dock shed in appearance, which bulked on shore at the end of the pier and slightly to one side of it.
No other buildings could be seen, nothing but the steep slope of a summer-browned hill, as, obedient to instructions, Robbins swept the rays of the searchlight over the surroundings.
“Nothing but that great warehouse,” said Ensign Warwick to Jack.
“That building seems to me proof positive that this is headquarters for smugglers of Chinese coolies,” said Jack. “Probably ‘Black George’ housed them there before distributing them to the mainland. The boats from Mexico could run in here at night, discharge their coolies into that barracks, and nobody would be the wiser.”
An exclamation from Frank drew their attention.
“Look there.”
All gazed in the direction in which Frank pointed. On a shoulder of the hill behind the barracks, full in the glare of the searchlight, stood revealed a radio plant and antenna. Whoever aboard the Sub Chaser was operating the searchlight kept it fixed several minutes on this novel object.
“Not a sign of life there, either,” commented the naval officer. “If anybody is around here, he’s laying mighty low.”
They were close now to the barracks. Long, low, solid-walled with not a window in the sides but with traps in the roofs to admit light and air, it bulked before them—dark, mysterious, forbidding.
At that moment the searchlight ceased its wandering, and the powerful glare came to rest full on the huge sliding doors barring the nearer end. Ensign Warwick turned and held up a hand to indicate he wanted the light kept in that position.
“I hear something,” whispered Bob.
All stood immobile and silent, straining to hear. Distinctly there came to their ear a sibilant, whispering sound. It was from the barracks.
“Get out of the light,” whispered Ensign Warwick. “Half to each side of the door.”
He divided his forces, and all took up their positions. He motioned Bob and the sailor called Doniphan to him.
“You two are the strongest,” he whispered. “That door isn’t locked. You can see it is in two halves that roll back. Each of you push back one side, being careful to keep the door between yourselves and the interior. We’ll crouch on the sides, ready for action if there is anybody within. The searchlight will play right through the doorway and light up the interior. Ready? Then, let’s go.”
Bob and Doniphan obediently set their shoulders and forearms against the great beams lacing the front of the doors. The latter swayed slightly, then gave. Steadily the two young fellows pushed back the doors, and the light struck through into the dark interior.
A moaning sound went up that rose and rose into an eerie shriek. The hair of the listeners stood on end. Frank and Jack crouching to one side leaned against each other instinctively.
“What’s that?”
Bob and Doniphan now had succeeded in pushing the doors fully open. Bob joined his chums who were on his side of the door, Doniphan his comrades on the other. The powerful glare of the searchlight illumined the whole interior. It fell on a huddled group of men in the middle of the great barracks, whose frightened faces shone white and pale in the light. It was from them rose the shriek.
They were Chinese.
“Coolies. Smuggled coolies, as I live,” exclaimed Ensign Warwick, “and scared stiff.”
No wonder. With those doors opening so mysteriously, that strange light coming from the darkness, brighter than the noonday sun, searching out every nook of the interior, and with not a human being in sight, it was no wonder, indeed, that the ignorant coolies were frightened.
“Poor devils,” commented the naval officer to Jack. “I have nothing against them. They are good enough fellows in their own surroundings, but have been made the pawns of these smugglers.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try to talk to them. Do the rest of you line up on each side of the doorway.”
With that he stepped into the open.
“Who speaks English?” he called clearly.
The big group swayed a little, as if its members were ready to fly apart and break into flight. In a moment a Chinaman in civilian clothes, as distinguished from the sort of convict’s uniform of dark blue pants and blouse worn by the others, stepped a pace or two forward. He moved unwillingly, but evidently was awed by the appearance of the naval officer in uniform.
“Me speakee Englis,” he said. “Me Cholly Lung.”
“All right, Charley Lung. I am an officer of the Navy. Out there is a great big warship. You keep these men quiet and nothing will happen to them. But if they make trouble the cannon will blow this building to pieces. You understand? You tell them that.”
“Me unnastan’. Me tell ’em.”
A quick jabber in Chinese followed, as Charley Lung faced his unfortunate compatriots.
“Allee boy sclared,” Charley Lung declared, facing about. “No maken tlouble. What shall do?”
“Send each man to his bunk. Tell them to stay there.”
Again the quick patter of Chinese on Charley’s part. The coolies, some fifty in number, scampered away, diving headlong into the bunks lining the walls. Then the Ensign beckoned Charley Lung to him authoritatively. He asked him a quick series of questions as to the whereabouts of “Black George,” his assistants and the crew of the trawler. Charley looked bland. To every question he answered monotonously.
“Me no unnastan’. Me no unnastan’.”
“Very well,” said Ensign Warwick grimly. “You come with me. I think you do know.”
Turning to Doniphan, he said:
“Doniphan, mount guard here. Get a rifle from the boat. We’ll wait until you return. Tell Robbins to keep the searchlight playing in here, and explain why.”
Doniphan was back in a very short time.
“Now,” said Ensign Warwick. “We’ll take up the trail. I haven’t heard a sound for some time. But somewhere up that creek Inspector Burton’s party has met the enemy, and we must go to the rescue.”
Turning to the Chinaman, he said:
“Charley, you are interpreter here. Don’t deny it. You know where ‘Black George’ and his party have gone. And you know the road to follow. You have been violating the laws of this country and you are in my power now. If you do what I say, it may be easier for you later. Now I want you to lead the way.”
Charley Lung looked at him through slitted eyes. There was not a trace of expression on his face to show that he understood or that he feared.
“A’ light,” he said. “Come along dlis way.”
He struck off at once at a tangent from the barracks, bending his steps along a narrow trail following the creek into a canyon between high hills. The others followed, Ensign Warwick gripping Charley by an arm.
The three chums were at the rear of the procession. As the others dimly seen in the darkness turned a bend in the trail and disappeared up the canyon, Jack chanced to look back. The searchlight still shot steadily, a golden bar of light athwart the darkness and accentuating it by contrast. In its rays the barracks stood out clear-cut as an etching, with the figure of Doniphan, the sentry, before the door. But Jack’s keen eyes saw something else, and he gripped his companions’ arms and pointed upward.
Their gaze followed. Gradually their eyes picked out the dim bulk of the radio station seen earlier in the glare of the searchlight. But what had alarmed Jack? They could see nothing.
“There. That light. There it is again.”
Through a window in the end wall of the station blinked a light, once, twice, thrice. Then all was dark again.
“Signal,” said Jack with conviction. “Somebody’s up there.”
“Come on, let’s find out,” said the impetuous Frank, starting forward.
Jack restrained him.
“Better tell Ensign Warwick.”
Without a word, Bob turned and darted away up the trail. He was back in five or six minutes.
“Can’t see them,” he said, “they must have left the trail and struck off at an angle somewhere. I used my flashlight, too, but couldn’t see a soul.”
“Very well,” said Jack. “Then there’s nothing else for it. We can’t let that light go unchallenged. We’ll have to investigate ourselves. Come on.”
The three chums started picking their way among the loose stones, up the side of the hill, in the darkness.
CHAPTER XXIV—A SPY CAPTURED
“I haven’t seen any further flashes, Jack. Have you?”
“No, Frank. Bob, what do you make of it?”
“Well, you know more about radio than we. As far as I know, that light wasn’t any indication that the radio was in use, because there is no such indication possible.”
“You’re right, of course, Bob. That light was a signal to somebody somewhere. I wonder——”
“What?” asked Frank.
“Whether it was a signal to some ship off shore?”
“Or to the smugglers who are inland,” suggested Frank.
“It might have been the latter,” said Jack. “I hadn’t thought of that. Let’s see whether this hilltop commands a view up the canyon.”
They had paused beside a clump of rocks some thirty feet from the nearest corner of the radio station, after toiling up the steep slope. They spoke in whispers. Not a sign of life was apparent about the station, yet they could not have been deceived regarding the appearance of the lights, ere starting to climb upward. What did it mean? It was this they had been discussing, and now, at Jack’s suggestion, they faced about. A smothered exclamation broke from Jack’s lips:
“Why, this hilltop must be in sight for miles.”
Even in the moonless darkness, it was apparent that such was, indeed, the case. The winding canyon, up which had disappeared Ensign Warwick and his relief party going to the aid of Inspector Burton in his fight with the smugglers, was commanded for a long distance by this outjutting hill on which the radio station had been erected. Two rows of hills, shadowy, bulking in the darkness, stretched ahead on either side and the canyon lay between.
“Fellows, our arrival and landing was watched,” whispered Frank, with conviction. “Then when Ensign Warwick set out with his men, the spy signaled from here by means of a light. And so the smugglers were informed and forewarned.”
“Yes,” said Bob suddenly, “and say——”
The big fellow did not often speak, but when he did it was usually to the point. Bob and Jack looked at him.
“Say what?” asked Jack.
“Why, that Chinaman Charley Lung. I’ll bet he’s in on it. He’s leading our men into a trap.”
“I believe you’ve guessed it, Bob,” said Frank, his low voice taking on increased excitement. “Remember how he looked?”
“Looked like a heathen idol to me,” grunted Bob. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, a kind of sly look in his eye, and something sly in his voice, too. ‘All light,’ he said. ‘Come ’long.’ I tell you, now that Bob has suggested it, I believe that Chinaman was planning to play the traitor, and lead Ensign Warwick into an ambush.”
For several seconds all three crouched there beside the rocks, thinking. And their thoughts were not of the pleasantest. Their party was split. Inspector Burton with one force was somewhere inland engaged with the smugglers. Perhaps he had encountered a large force, and was hard pressed. Certainly, the sound of firing had grown more and more distant until it could no longer be heard, and that seemed to indicate he was being beaten back.
Then there was Ensign Warwick with the second force. And, if their surmise was correct, the smugglers had been informed by signal from the radio plant that he was coming, and Charley Lung, moreover, was leading the naval force into a trap.
“What could they do? What could they do?”
That was the question in each mind. Instinctively, as always in a crisis, the others turned to Jack.
“First of all,” said Jack, “we have got to find who is in the radio station, and capture him. It won’t do to leave an enemy in our rear.”
“What if there is more than one,” objected Frank.
“Not likely,” said Jack. “One man to spy and give the signal would be sufficient. More would be a waste of men.”
“All right. Let’s go,” said Bob. When action was suggested, he always was ready for it.
Jack considered.
“Listen. We want to be careful, and not run unnecessary risks. It’s just a little box of a station with a window in this end nearest us, a door there in front, and probably a window on the other end. I think that window is too small for a man to escape through, don’t you?”
The boys agreed.
“Big enough for pigeons,” commented Bob. “That’s about all.”
“Well, see what you think of my plan. We’ll creep up to the door, and crouch to each side of it, then knock and call on whoever is within to come out and surrender.”
Bob and Frank considered.
“Sounds all right to me,” said Frank.
“Why not break right in?” grumbled Bob.
Jack shook his head.
“Best to be cautious,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Slowly and with infinite care so as not to dislodge loose stones and set them rolling down the hillside or to make any betraying sound, the boys crept to their chosen positions, Bob and Frank on one side of the door, Jack on the other. The revolvers served out to them by Ensign Warwick were held ready. Not a sound from within. Was their presence known or suspected?
Jack leaned forward and thumped on the door with the butt of his weapon.
“Come out,” he called in a clear, firm voice, “in the name of the United States Navy I call on you to surrender. Your light was seen from the warship, and the station is surrounded.”
A moment’s silence followed. The hearts of the boys beat so strongly it seemed to them the very sound must be heard in that tense stillness. Then the boards of the floor creaked under a light tread, and the door was slowly pulled inward.
“Don’t shoot,” said a voice. “I surrender.”
A slender form appeared in the doorway, hands upraised. Jack shot the rays of his flashlight upward. A Chinese youth in American clothes appeared. He was spectacled.
“Are you alone?” demanded Jack.
“Yes, sir.”
“Armed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Advance and be searched.”
The youth stepped across the low sill of the station, hands still upraised. Jack motioned to Frank to search him, and the latter ran his hands over the other’s form, abstracting a revolver and a long knife.
“That all?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bob spun the young Chinaman around, pulled out his belt and tied his hands together with it.
“Keep an eye on him,” said Jack. “I’m going to have a look at the station.”
First casting the rays of his flashlight over the interior and verifying the Chinaman’s statement that he was alone, Jack went inside. Presently Bob and Frank heard him exclaim, and then he appeared in the doorway lugging a heavy square wooden box.
“Look what I found,” he cried delightedly. “A portable radio outfit for field work. This is the very latest equipment. I’ve examined it hastily, and it seems to have everything—antennae coiled up and ready for stringing, some jointed steel poles to attach it to the box and powerful storage batteries.”
“What’ll we do with it?” asked Bob.
“I don’t know yet, but I have a hunch it will come in handy. Well, now I guess we better go down to the boat and tell this man Robbins what we have discovered and what we suspect. Then we can talk to our prisoner, too.”
The latter’s face was impassive. In appearance and judging by the choice of words he had employed, he was an educated youth. Perhaps something could be gotten out of him by questioning. It was worth trying.
“All right,” said Bob. “Frank, you watch our prisoner and I’ll lend Jack a hand with this radio outfit.”
CHAPTER XXV—A FORLORN HOPE
“Wow. Now that we’re down, I don’t see how we made it with this.”
Bob put down his end of the box containing the portable radio transmission set, and Jack followed suit.
“Must weigh all of two hundred pounds,” said Bob.
“Well, the batteries are heavy,” said Jack. “The light poles weigh little, and the coil contains not much more than a pound of wire. But there are eight ‘B’ batteries of twenty-two and one-half volts each, and they weigh about five pounds apiece.”
“Don’t see what use the darned contraption will be, anyhow,” grumbled Bob. “Where can we use it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. But I have a hunch it will come in handy. Come on.”
Bob took up his end of the case, and the march was resumed. They had reached the base of the hill and were at the rear of the warehouse. Skirting this, they were halted by a sharp challenge as they reached the front and stepped into the glare of the searchlight from the Sub Chaser.
“All right, Doniphan,” said Jack. “We’ve got a prisoner.”
The young sailor doing sentry duty in front of the building housing the Chinese coolies regarded them curiously, as they made their way out the pier toward the boat. Robbins, the petty officer left in charge with a half-dozen men felt his responsibility and was on watch on deck. He hailed them, then leaped to the pier. The boys paused, Jack and Bob put down their burden, and briefly Jack related their experiences.
“So you were signallin’, hey?” said Robbins sharply, turning to the young Chinaman whom the boys had taken prisoner.
“He had a powerful electric light bulb hung in the window of the radio station,” explained Jack. “It could be seen a long distance up the canyon.”
“No un’stan’,” said the Chinaman, a look of stolid stupidity coming over his face.
Jack recalled the good English employed when the youth had been called on to surrender.
“Oh, come, now,” he said. “We know better than that. You’re an educated man.”
The Chinaman shrugged. Stupidity gave way to defiance.
“Have it your own way,” he said. “But I won’t tell you a thing.”
Robbins was exasperated. He made a threatening gesture, but Jack laid a hand on his arm.
“All right,” said Robbins, grinning. “I wouldn’t strike him, anyhow. Against regulations. Wait a minute, you fellows, till I turn him over to somebody aboard.”
Taking the prisoner by an arm, he marched him to the rail of the Sub Chaser, where a sailor who had been an interested observer to what went forward, was leaning. Returning, Robbins, not much older in appearance than Bob but of slighter build, said:
“What’s to be done?”
He respected the boys for their quick thinking and courage in emergencies, and deferred to them. All four looked at each other in silence. It was a ticklish situation for young heads.
“Ensign Warwick told you not to leave the boat, didn’t he?” asked Jack.
Robbins nodded.
“It probably would be foolish for all of us to go chasing off up the canyon without knowing any more than we do, anyhow,” said Jack.
“Look here, you fellows,” said Frank. “What’s the matter with our going scouting up the trail, the three of us? We know there is danger ahead and have a pretty good idea of what it is, and so we ought to be able to guard against it. Three men would make a likely reinforcement in case we find our friends hard pressed.”
“Yes, but nine men would be better,” said Robbins. “If there was only some way you could send back word, in case you find our men bottled up, I could bring up my outfit.”
“Well, I can run back,” said Jack.
“He’s some jackrabbit, too,” Frank assured the young sailor. “You ought to see him in our school field meets.”
“Yes, but suppose you get five or six miles inland,” objected Robbins. “You couldn’t be back here in under an hour, and it would be more than double that time before we could get there with help.”
Big Bob looked thoughtful. Then he kicked against the side of the portable radio outfit at their feet.
“If only this weren’t so doggone heavy,” he said, “we might carry it with us, and give you a call when we discover anything.”
“I have it,” cried Jack delightedly. “The very thing.”
“What?” asked Robbins.
“Why, we can take that portable radio without any trouble at all. This creek runs back a considerable distance into the mountains through the canyon. We can set up the radio in a boat and go up stream that way. The trail is bound to parallel the stream. Moreover, we stand a better chance to proceed unobserved, for they will be watching the trail and not the stream.”
“Why not?” said Frank. “Looks like a good idea to me.”
“All right,” said Robbins, “if you fellows want to try it. Here’s a boat right here, tied to the pier. Let’s rig her up.”
Everybody worked enthusiastically, and the portable radio apparatus was quickly in place, except for the aerial.
“There’s not sufficient stretch for the aerial,” said Jack. “But if we do get a chance to use the radio to call you, we can string the antennae to some trees in no time at all, make our connections, and be all fixed. I should say this would send about eight or ten miles.”
Frank steering, and Bob and Jack at the oars, the boat shot away upstream and almost immediately disappeared from sight, so dark was the night. Robbins listened intently, but the beat of the oars soon died down.
“Expert oarsmen,” he commented to himself. “Wonder who those fellows are, anyhow? They certainly act in a hurry.”
Then he went aboard to caution one of his men to remain at the radio, ready to catch the boys’ message should they call.
Meantime with oars so skilfully handled as to make scarcely any sound, the boys forged upstream. Minute after minute flew by, without a shot, or any human sound, breaking the stillness. Bend after bend was cautiously rounded, but nothing lay ahead. Several times Frank looked at his watch. An hour had passed.
“We must have come three or four miles,” he whispered. “Let’s take a breather. I’ll spell Jack when we go on. Pull in under this left bank. The trail is on the right side, and we’ll keep away from it.”
Bob and Jack pulled slowly over as Frank swung the tiller, and the boat came to rest beneath the drooping branches of a pepper tree that grew on the very edge of the stream.
“I’m afraid we can’t go much further in the boat,” Jack said anxiously, his voice barely audible. “Stream’s getting very shallow.”
“Suppose one of us pushes ahead to reconnoiter while the others stay in the boat,” suggested Frank.
“I expect that’s what we better do,” said Jack. “It’s getting quite shallow.”
After some further whispered conversation it was decided that while one of the trio to be chosen by lot should push ahead on foot, the others should busy themselves stringing the aerial.
“If I find out anything to tell Robbins,” said Frank, who had been the one selected to spy out the land, “the radio will be working when I come back.”
Scarcely had he stepped ashore on the left bank than the sound of revolver fire, ahead and seemingly close at hand, was heard. Frank jumped back into the boat.
“Put me ashore on the other side,” he said. “I’ll go up the trail. That shooting can’t be far away.”
“Be careful,” warned Jack, anxiously, as his young chum again leaped ashore.
A quarter of an hour passed, during which Jack and Bob busied themselves stringing the aerial between two trees on opposite sides of the stream. They stopped work frequently to listen. One more burst of firing was heard, and a faint sound of shouting. Then Frank’s voice hailed them, and he scrambled aboard.
“Nobody along the trail,” he explained as soon as he could recover breath, for he had been running. “But around the bend ahead the canyon broadens out into a rather wide valley, and up above it on a hilltop on the right is a stockade. Our men are in there, and the smugglers are besieging them. The way I could tell the smugglers are outside was by blundering almost on top of a clump of Chinamen directed by ‘Black George.’”
“Guess we better radio Robbins to come up with his men,” said Jack. “Bob and I just completed stringing the aerial. Now to see if the outfit will transmit.”
He began adjusting the tuner and detector knobs and sending out his signal.
CHAPTER XXVI—A SURPRISE ATTACK
“I hear someone coming,” whispered Bob.
While Jack continued working at the radio, Bob and Frank listened intently. Jack began speaking into the transmitter, indicating he had opened communication with the Sub Chaser. Bob put a hand on his arm, and set his lips to Jack’s ear.
“Tell ’em to wait,” he whispered. “Someone coming. Mustn’t risk being overheard.”
Nodding, Jack breathed an injunction to wait into the transmitter. All three chums sat silent and tense. The faint sound first noticed by Bob grew louder. Footsteps were approaching along the trail. Not those of one man but of a number. Fortunately, the bank of the stream was high and they were sheltered below it. Besides, down here at the bottom of the canyon, with the narrow walls not far from the stream on either hand, it was dark as a wolf’s mouth. Even to each other they were almost undistinguishable thickenings in the gloom.
The footsteps came closer. They could hear men passing on the trail above. Frank, who was nearest, suddenly swung ashore. Bob divined he was going to clamber up to watch the trail, and considered it a risky proceeding. He put out a hand to stop Frank, but too late.
Not even daring to whisper, Bob and Jack held their places in the boat and watched Frank’s figure melt silently into the darkness.
Presently the sound of men passing ceased. Not a word had been uttered among them that Bob and Jack could overhear. Nor had the chums ventured to speak to each other. What had become of Frank? Bob looked at his watch with the illuminated dial. Ten or twelve minutes had passed. There was no longer any sound on the trail above. He could stand the suspense just about three minutes more, he whispered to Jack, and then he, too, would take the trail to see what had become of Frank.
He was preparing to put his plan into execution when Frank reappeared, swinging down the bank with less precaution than before and obviously in a state of high excitement.
“Fellows, that was ‘Black George’ and his engineer and nearly a score of Chinese,” he said. “They’re moving fast down the canyon. Matt Murphy and a handful of men have been left behind. I overheard ‘Black George’ and his engineer in whispered conversation, and I gathered what their plan is. I was crouching in a tree up here above the trail. Their plan is for Matt Murphy and his gang to keep our men bottled up in the stockade, while ‘Black George’ goes down to try to surprise and capture the Sub Chaser.”
“Evidently Ensign Warwick’s Chinese guide was a traitor all right,” said Jack.
“First thing, Jack, is to radio Robbins and warn him what’s coming,” suggested Bob.
“Right,” said Jack, and turned to comply.
Frank again swung up to the trail to guard against surprise while Jack telephoned. At the conclusion of his conversation, Jack called to him in a low voice and Frank returned to the boat.
“Robbins suggests that we attack Matt Murphy and his party from the rear,” he said. “Murphy cannot have many men left, probably merely enough to keep dropping a shot now and then and lead our men in the stockade to believe all ‘Black George’s’ men still face them. If we open vigorous fire from different quarters it will seem to Matt’s men that reinforcements have arrived to attack them in the rear and they may make a break to get away. Moreover, the sound of the firing will induce our fellows to come out of the stockade. Shall we try it?”
“I’m game,” said Bob.
“Me, too,” declared Frank, ungrammatically.
“One thing we must all remember, however,” Jack said firmly. “That is, not to take chances. Keep a considerable distance from the enemy. We don’t want to shoot any of them, but merely to frighten them into withdrawing.”
“All right,” said Bob, impatient for action. “Come on.”
Examining their revolvers by flashlight to see that all was in order, the boys scrambled ashore with Frank in the lead, as he had acquired a familiarity with the route. The boat was tied securely to the bank.
Walking in Indian file, they proceeded along the trail to the bend earlier described by Frank. Rounding it, they saw open before them the valley of which Frank also had spoken. Although there was no moon, their eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and by the pale light of the stars they could see sufficiently well to gain a good idea of their surroundings.
The valley broadened out to the width of, perhaps, half a mile. Close to them on the left was the hill crowned by the stockade. This hill, bare of verdure and low, jutted up from the floor of the valley and independent of the higher hills behind it. The posts of the stockade made a serrated line against the clear night sky.
“Murphy’s men must be close at hand,” Bob whispered.
“It was right here that I almost stumbled on them before,” answered Frank, low-voiced. “We must be careful.”
“Look there. I saw someone moving,” said Jack, gripping Bob’s arm, and pointing ahead.
They stood pressed against the canyon wall, trying to pierce the darkness. Everything was so shadowy and unreal, however, that Frank’s gaze following where Jack indicated could make nothing of it, nor could Bob discern anything to indicate the presence of the enemy. At that moment Matt Murphy’s voice raised in a guarded hail came from the shadows in the direction to which Jack had pointed.
“Who’s there? That you Mac?”
Murphy believed one of “Black George’s” party had returned. Probably, from the name he employed, he considered it was MacFinney, the engineer. Jack thought quickly.
“Down. Crouch down, and scatter,” he whispered.
Frank and Bob dropped and disappeared to right and left respectively in the low brush. Murphy called again, a note of anxiety in his voice:
“Who’s there? Answer or I’ll fire.”
Jack’s reply was a shot from his revolver, purposely aimed high. He had no desire to injure Murphy. Then he ran to one side, fired again, and a third time and then taking shelter behind a rock awaited developments. Bob and Frank who, it had been agreed beforehand, should go not more than twenty paces away in order that they all might keep in touch with each other in case it was necessary to come together again for protection or make a dash back to the boat, also opened fire.
Murphy fired only once, after Jack’s first shot. The bullet pinged against the canyon wall. Then he turned and, although the boys could not see him, they could hear him dashing back, and surmised he was going to rejoin his men.
Jack decided a little noise now would not come amiss and would help to increase the alarm and mystification of Murphy’s party as well as apprise their own men in the stockade that friends were at hand. He began to yell “Attaboy, give it to ’em.” Bob and Frank, closer at hand than he thought, joined in vociferously. They made a praiseworthy din that would have done credit to a dozen men at least.
In the midst of it, answering cheers came back from the stockade and then over the palings leaped Ensign Warwick and Inspector Burton with their men. The boys could not see, but they could hear. Shots and cheers rang out, and the boys not to be outdone redoubled their former efforts, at the same time keeping up a brisk revolver fire at the sky.
It was too much for Matt Murphy and the half-dozen Chinese left in his charge. Their only thought one of escape, they bolted for the trail down the canyon. A surprised grunt from Bob indicated that one of the fleeing Chinese had blundered into him. Bob landed a blow on the side of the fellow’s head that was sufficient. It bowled the man over, and Bob leaped forward and sat on him.
Frank saw a dark form scuttle along near him and, unwilling to fire, picked up a stone half as big as his fist and let fly with it. The missile caught the fugitive behind the ear and he, too, went down. Frank ran forward and bent over the still form. By the bandaged arm, he could tell it was Murphy.
Alarmed, he bent closer. But Murphy was breathing heavily. He had merely been knocked out. Frank stood over him undecided what to do. A voice hailed from the darkness:
“Where are you, Frank?”
Frank called, and Jack came up.
“Hello, you’ve got a prisoner, too. Why, it’s Murphy. Bob also captured a man, a Chinese. Four or five others ran by me and hit the trail.”
A hail from the darkness ahead in Ensign Warwick’s voice came to their ears:
“Where are you, Robbins?”
“It’s not Robbins, sir,” answered Jack. “But Jack Hampton. My chums are with me.”
“Thank God,” cried the young naval officer, running forward, and while still some paces away. “So you three fellows are safe? I didn’t miss you until we arrived here, and then things happened so rapidly I couldn’t go back to look for you. What happened? But, wait, here’s Inspector Burton.”
The Secret Service man approached, throwing the glare of his flashlight over the boys. A number of the sailors closed around them. Others who had followed the fugitives a short distance along the trail but had turned back, according to orders to stick together, could be seen approaching. A number of flashlights lighted up the scene.
“Why, you’re wounded,” said Jack, glancing at a blood-stained handkerchief bound about the Secret Service man’s forehead.
“A nasty crack, but nothing dangerous,” replied Inspector Burton. “But where in the world did you boys drop from? Ensign Warwick thought you lost or captured.”
“And where is Robbins? I thought it was he attacking, and that’s why we left the stockade,” supplemented the naval officer.
Briefly as possible, Jack recounted their adventures, interrupted frequently by expressions of approval and warm commendation from Ensign Warwick and Inspector Burton. The boys wanted to know what had happened to the other two parties, but Ensign Warwick said:
“That story will have to wait. Meantime, if we hurry we can get to the landing almost as soon as ‘Black George.’ Leave the boat tied up and come with us. You can make better time.”
CHAPTER XXVII—BLACK GEORGE CAPTURED
Murphy and the captured Chinese were bound and put aboard the boat. But first Robbins was apprised. “Black George” had not appeared yet. No time was wasted detaching the aerial. It was abandoned. Then one of the sailors, who had been shot in the fleshy part of the right leg and thus could not maintain the rapid pace of the party, was put at the oars with instructions to follow down stream until he reached the landing.
With that the others set out at a trot. All were young and active, even Inspector Burton being still in his thirties and in excellent physical condition. They were unencumbered with baggage of any sort.
Ensign Warwick in the lead set a killing pace. Jack, Bob and Frank, however, thanks to their training in long-distance running at Harrington Hall, were enabled to keep up without difficulty. Inspector Burton surprised them all by sticking close.
“I’ve always been a bit of a runner,” he explained during one three-minute halt for the recovery of breath.
So hard did Ensign Warwick push forward that in half an hour they neared the mouth of the canyon where it broadened out into the little landlocked harbor. A halt was called. Not a shot had been heard yet.
“Those Chinese we routed,” whispered Ensign Warwick, “would give the alarm that we are behind them if they caught up with ‘Black George.’”
“Perhaps they took to the hills,” suggested Jack. Inspector Burton nodded.
“It might easily be that they had a stomachful of fighting,” he said. “They might have decided to save their own skins and let ‘Black George’ shift for himself.”
“But if they have given warning, we might be ambushed,” said Frank. “A little way ahead there, at the mouth of the canyon, would be a fine place for an ambuscade.”
A distant sound of firing, followed by a pandemonium of high-pitched yells, shattered the silence.
“They’re attacking,” cried Ensign Warwick. “Come on. Ambush or not, we must go forward. Every man for himself and watch the sides of the canyon. On the run now, fellows. Let’s go.”
Turning he plunged ahead. Behind him came Inspector Burton and the three chums. Close on their heels were the fifteen or eighteen young sailors.
There was no ambush after all, and they later learned the Chinese they had routed at the stockade had fled to the hills without seeking to warn “Black George” of the Nemesis on his heels.
Dashing out of the canyon, around the sharp turn at its mouth, they came upon a wild scene. The Chinese coolies in the warehouse were shrieking in terror, and the sounds of their yells and of the blows they rained wildly upon the sides of the building came clear to their ears. They could see three crouching figures before the door, rifles presented, guarding against any attempt of the coolies to bolt.
The searchlight from the Sub Chaser played over the scene a moment longer as they watched, bringing it out in sharp relief. Then the light was swung away and brought to bear upon the trawler. “Black George” appeared on the deck, firing his revolver futilely at the Sub Chaser.
Ensign Warwick running rapidly reached the pier, with the boys close at his heels. He dashed out to the Sub Chaser and leaped aboard.
“Beggars must have gotten into the warehouse from the roof,” Robbins explained rapidly to his superior officer. “Stirred the coolies up to make a break for it, thinking to divert us. Would have done so, too, if I hadn’t had your warning. But we kept the coolies in bounds. Meantime, the rest of their outfit must have swam out to the trawler. Planned to set her adrift, I guess. Tide’s running out. Heard something that made me suspicious and put the light on them, as you see. And here you are.”
“Good enough,” approved Ensign Warwick.
Advancing to the other side of his little craft he called to “Black George” to surrender.
“If you try to escape,” he called, “I’ll train a machine gun on you. Better surrender and avoid bloodshed.”
With a curse of rage, “Black George” raised his revolver and fired. Ensign Warwick leaped aside, as the bullet struck the deck at his feet. A shot rang out from the Sub Chaser. The revolver spun from “Black George’s” grasp, and he jumped up and down grasping the stunned wrist in his other hand.
“Who did that?” queried the naval officer.
“I did, sir,” said Jack. “I merely shot his weapon away to disarm him.”
“Pretty shot,” approved Ensign Warwick, while several of the sailors also murmured approval.
“Folwell, a machine gun is trained on your deck and you cannot escape,” the naval officer continued. “Our men are waiting ashore, and you cannot escape by swimming. Call your men on deck. A boarding party is coming aboard.”
“Black George” realized the futility of further resistance, and when Ensign Warwick with a half-dozen heavily armed men gained the deck of the trawler he had Engineer MacFinney and eighteen Chinese on deck. They were searched, and then the Chinese were put in the forecastle under guard and the two white men were taken aboard the Sub Chaser.
At sight of the three chums, “Black George” cursed bitterly.
“You’re the cause of all my troubles,” he said. “I should have left you to the tender mercies of Wong Ho’s men back in Chinatown.”
“If he only knew how much you three lads have contributed to his downfall,” commented Inspector Burton, as “Black George” was led away, “he would feel even worse.”
Ensign Warwick approached.
“Look here,” he said, kindly, “you fellows have had a pretty strenuous time of it. It’s a mild night, and I’m going to keep Folwell aboard here, bed him down in a hammock, where I can watch him. Do you fellows object to turning in on the trawler?”
“Not at all,” said Jack. “We slept there before, you know.”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I proposed it now. Well, if you want to turn in now, I’ve got the boat ready to lift you over.”
Amid a hail of “good-nights” the three chums and Inspector Burton were rowed to the trawler. Once aboard, they lost no time in straightening the bunks and tumbling in.
“Way past midnight now,” said Bob, examining his watch. “We’ve got only a few hours. I, for one, am not going to waste them in undressing.”
And, merely kicking off his shoes, he tumbled over on his berth and almost immediately fell asleep. The others followed suit.