CHAPTER XXXI
AFLOAT AGAIN!
The old man was more than angry. He was furious. He wept and wailed and tore his hair. The loss of the boat affected him like some great disaster, which, in fact, it was to him. But Ralph succeeded in allaying somewhat his fury and grief by promising him a new skiff as soon as he should be able to procure one.
“I feel that I am partly responsible for the loss of your skiff,” said the boy, “as, if it had not been for me, those three men would not have come near your hut. So I’ll see to it that you get another one.”
“A Guerin skiff?” quavered the old man. “That one they took was built by him. He is dead and gone now, but nobody on the St. Lawrence ever built skiffs like Amie Guerin. That one of mine was thirty years old and better than when she was new.”
After Ralph had promised that if possible one of the skiffs from the workshop of the redoubtable Guerin should replace the missing one, the old man grew calmer.
“I am selfish,” he said. “After all, perhaps your beautiful motor craft is ruined, and what is one poor skiff to the loss of a fine craft like that?”
“Let us go and see how badly she is damaged,” said Ralph; and together the old man and the boy set off for the point upon which the luckless River Swallow had driven her bow. In a short time they reached it.
The River Swallow lay on the placid river, apparently unharmed. The stern lines that Ralph had had the foresight to order out had held, and her after part was swinging clear of the sand-spit on which she had rammed her bow.
Ralph waded out to the craft and examined her as well as he could. To his joyous amazement, so far as he could make out, she had suffered no great damage. One or two of her rivets might be strained, he thought, but beyond that the River Swallow appeared to be in good order.
The boy could not resist the temptation to see if he could get her off the sand-bar. This was not as difficult as it sounds. The wind of the night before had held the craft on the sand-spit. But now she appeared to be about to glide off into deeper water of her own volition. Almost her entire hull was afloat, the exception being the foot or two of bow that was embedded in the sand.
“I believe I could do it,” mused Ralph, as he sized up the situation critically. “Wouldn’t it be fine to come cruising along into Piquetville under my own power with old man Whey for a crew!”
He turned to the old man.
“Mr. Whey, can you steer a boat?”
“What kind of a boat?” croaked the old man, who had been lost in admiration of the shapely lines and finish of the River Swallow.
“Why, this boat. The River Swallow. Do you know anything about handling a wheel?”
“He! he! he! What a question!” chuckled the old man. “Why, Enos Whey was skipper of a Montreal packet afore rheumatiz crippled him up. D’ye want me to help you get her off the shoal?”
“That’s just what I do. If you will ship as wheelman and run her to Piquetville I’ll pay you well for it.”
“I’ll do it! By gum, I’ll do it!” cried the old man. “I haven’t had a wheel in my hands for fifteen years, but a man never forgets how to steer. Help me aboard, lad, and I’ll show you what I can do.”
Ralph clambered on board the River Swallow and then proceeded to help the old man up the rope ladder, sometimes used by the boys in debarking in a rough sea. With many grunts and groans, old Whey was at last safely on deck.
“What now, lad?” he asked.
“I’ll get the engines started and then we can cast off the stern lines. Then you’ll take the wheel and I’ll throw my clutch into the reverse and give her full power. I think, that with both propellers tugging at her the River Swallow will back off into deep water just as nicely as anything.”
“She ought to,” agreed the old man, “that sand is soft and she is not up on it very far. You go below, lad, and tell me when you are ready.”
Ralph hastened to his cabin, jumped into overalls and descended to the motor room. Everything was in apple-pie order, except that Hansen had left tools untidily lying about. Leaving the cleaning-up process till some future time, Ralph turned on the gasoline, set the sparks on both motors and then pulled the lever that started the compressed air apparatus that spun the engines till they picked up their power.
There was a whirr and a buzz and then a volley of explosions.
“Fine!” exclaimed Ralph, as the big motors began to revolve. He adjusted the mixture and then the powerful machines settled down to a rhythmic hum. The clutch was not in and they were running free – that is, the propellers were not yet revolving.
“All right!” cried Ralph, hastening on deck. “All ready when you are!”
The old man and the boy cast off the stem lines, and then Ralph, without loss of time, for there was danger of the freed hull swinging with the current, hastened below once more. Old man Whey took up his position on the bridge. A flash of fire came into his aged eyes as he felt the spokes of a steering wheel in his grip once more.
He seized the engine-room signal lever with a hand that shook but was still determined.
“Full speed astern!” flashed up on the indicator below, on which Ralph’s eyes had been glued.
“The old man sure does understand his business,” murmured the boy, as he grasped the reverse lever.
There came a rattling, grinding whirr as the cogs of the gears engaged. Then a tremor and a convulsion of the hull.
“Is she moving?” wondered Ralph excitedly.
He speeded up the engines to their full capacity. The sharp pitched propellers “bit” the water, exercising a tremendous backward drag on the River Swallow.
Unable to restrain himself, Ralph rushed up on deck. What he saw caused him to utter a shrill whoop of joy, which was echoed in a feeble croak by old man Whey.
“We’re off!” shouted the boy.
“See here, you get below and mind your engines,” chuckled old man Whey. “I’m the temporary skipper of this craft.”
CHAPTER XXXII
A JOYOUS MEETING
It was some two hours after the floating of the River Swallow, which proved as staunch as ever, that a group of persons on board a speedy, trim little motor tender spied the craft coming toward Piquetville with a “bone in her teeth.”
Joy that verged on the delirious ran riot on the tender, which was the River Swallow’s own boat, when, from the side of the fast motor craft, came a puff of white smoke, a loud report and then the stars and stripes fluttered out in all their glory on the after flagstaff.
“Whoop-ee! Zing! zang! zabella!” cried Harry Ware exultingly. “It’s good old Ralph! The old bull-dog has won out!”
“I knew he would. I’ll bet he’s got that gang imprisoned on board there right now!” cried Percy Simmons.
“Look! There he is on the bridge!” cried Jennings, indicating a figure at the wheel.
“Is that Ralph?” questioned Percy hesitatingly.
“Yes – no, by hookey! It’s an old man with a white beard!”
“Well, what under the sun!” burst from Harry Ware.
“I rather fancy, young men, that your comrade will have an odd story to tell when we meet him,” struck in Prescott. “By Jove, he appears to be as efficient on the St. Lawrence as he and his chums proved to be on the Mexican border.”
“You bet Ralph’s on the job wherever he is!” said Percy Simmons fervently.
“I’m anxious to hear his story,” said Adams, the third customs man. “It’s few men, let alone boys, that could bull-doze La Rue and two other men as bad, and come back home with flying colors and an old Santa Claus for helmsman.”
“The man at the wheel looks like old Father Time,” laughed Harry.
“He’s right on time, anyhow,” declared Percy Simmons.
Not long after an interested group, gathered in the inspector’s office at Piquetville, heard Ralph’s story. The official was visibly chagrined over the loss of the gems, but he concealed this as well as he could and complimented Ralph on his excellent work.
“If you would accept a position I’d like to have you in this service,” he said; “but you can at least do us one favor. Lend the government of the United States your River Swallow for to-night.”
“I’ll do a lot more than that,” said Ralph quickly. “But, if I may ask, what is the plan, Inspector?”
“Just this. I think that La Rue and his companions, after they stole the old man’s boat, made for some rendezvous of the gang. They are there now, according to my best judgment.”
“Yes; that’s about right,” agreed Jennings. “But they’ll make a break as soon as possible.”
“Just my idea, Jennings,” rejoined his chief; “and that ‘break’ will be made on that fly-by-night boat of theirs. They’ll try and dispose of the gems, smuggle them across the line, that is, in some other point along the river; or they may even try to get to the Great Lakes. It’s our job to head them off.”
“A man’s-size job,” muttered Adams.
“All of that,” said the inspector; “that is the reason why I asked this young man for the loan of his boat. My idea is, first to descend on Windmill Island, which, from Master Stetson’s story, I believe to be the hiding place of the gang. The old island would make an ideal hang-out for them. It is full of passages and galleries and then, too, that old windmill tower would make a fine meeting place for such scamps. Folks around here believe it is haunted and wouldn’t be likely to bother them. Young men, we will start for Windmill Island at dusk.”
“You want us along?” asked Ralph delightedly.
“Why, of course,” was the astonished reply. “You didn’t think we could get along without you, did you?”
“Well, I must say that I’d like to be in at the finish,” rejoined Ralph.
“Same here,” put in Harry Ware.
“Me for that cruise, if I never take another,” grinned Percy Simmons delightedly.
“And if I kin come, I’d like ter take a good swat at ther feller what stole my skiff, by gum!” chortled old man Whey, at which they all laughed; and the inspector promised the old fellow that he should be a member of the party that hoped to tout the gem smugglers out of their last stronghold and bring them to book for their misdeeds.
It was just at the conclusion of this arrangement that a messenger boy broke into the room.
“’Sage fer Ralph Fetson!” he burst out.
“No such – ” began the inspector.
“I guess he means me,” said Ralph, taking the message.
Sure enough, the dispatch was for him. He tore it open and scanned it eagerly. It was from his father.
“Arrest, annoying mistake. Trip here useless. Made on a forged message. Tell all about it on my return.
Dad.”
“Well,” said Ralph, after he had communicated the news, “I guess we know almost as much about that as dad. He can’t get here before to-morrow morning, and by that time – ”
“We’ll be able to confront him with the men responsible for his unpleasant experience,” promised the inspector confidently.
CHAPTER XXXIII
OFF ON THE CHASE
“Well, Harry, this is going to be some cruise!”
“Humph! I’ve a notion it will be all of that and then some,” replied Harry Ware, as he and Ralph Stetson stood side by side on the bridge of the River Swallow. The dusk was deepening into night and the River Swallow lay at the Piquetville dock tugging at her hawsers, as if anxious to be off on what was to prove the most memorable trip of her career.
“We’re going to try conclusions with that Artful Dodger at last, and tie her up hard and fast, and certain members of her crew as well.”
“All well and good,” said Harry, “but just the same my advice would be to stay far away from that craft. She’s a bad one. I don’t like the idea of coming up with her.”
“More ghost shivers, eh?” laughed Ralph. “Stay ashore if you like, Harry.”
The Ware boy flushed crimson.
“What are you talking about? I’m not scared. Don’t you dare say I am, Ralph Stetson.”
“That’s all right, Harry,” soothed Ralph, with a laugh. “I know that when we catch the Artful Dodger you’ll be just as courageous as any one else. But till then – ”
“You’ll please quit teasing me about that craft.”
“All right, if that’s the way you feel about it.”
“What if they threw a bomb or something at us while we were chasing them?”
“No danger of that. I shouldn’t wonder, in fact, if we miss the craft altogether. Of one thing I’m glad, though, we are going to explore the mysteries of Windmill Island.”
“Umph! That’s a nice, cheerful job. We saw one explosion there. How do we know that there won’t be another? That fellow Rawson was thinking of making a mine with that dynamite that blew up when the hut caught fire. How do we know he mayn’t have some such cheerful little contrivance planted off the island that may blow us sky-high?”
Ralph lost all patience.
“Say, if you don’t stop croaking, I’ll ask the inspector to have you put ashore. Why, old man Whey is far more courageous than you are.”
Harry walked off with his hands in his pockets. He was indignant, but Ralph only smiled.
“He’ll be back in a while,” he said to himself, “and when he does come he’ll be ashamed of himself.”
He was right. Shortly after the customs inspectors boarded the boat and found the boys and old man Whey all ready for them, Harry stole up to Ralph.
“I hope we don’t sight that Artful Dodger,” said he, “but if we do, nothing will suit me but to bring her back with a double half-hitch in her nose.”
“I knew that was the way you’d feel about it, Harry,” said Ralph, and then turned to greet the customs inspectors.
All was in readiness. Nothing was to be gained by waiting, and the word to cast off soon came. Through the fast falling gloom the River Swallow slipped out into the St. Lawrence, while a thrill ran through all of those on board as they thought of the night’s work that depended upon them.
“Want the search-light?” asked Harry, as they moved along.
Old man Whey, who acted as pilot, from his thorough knowledge of the river, had just told them they were not far from Windmill Island.
“Not on your life,” snapped the chief inspector; “we don’t want to herald the fact that we are coming. I would suggest, captain, that you extinguish even your side-lights.”
“Taking a chance,” said Ralph, scanning the compass card.
“Never mind. We’ll have to risk it.”
The next instant a sharp click showed that the lights were out.
Stealthily as a shadow the River Swallow crept over the dark water, not a light showing on board her. With her under-water exhaust, too, her engines were perfectly silent. Like a ghost ship she crept along, with old man Whey guiding Ralph’s steering.
After a while the old man signaled to the chief inspector.
“Better take to the small boat here,” he advised, “and anchor the River Swallow. I’m not sure of the rocks and shoals, and Windmill Island lies right off there.”
“Very well,” said the inspector, “anchor as noiselessly as possible.”
The anchor chain was slipped out slowly with hardly any of its customary whirring and rattling. The engines ceased to revolve. The River Swallow swung noiselessly at her moorings. Then came the command to lower the launch tender.
When this was done, they all descended into it and, using the oars – for they did not want to announce their coming by the popping of the engine – they set off through the darkness for the shore.
Presently, like a tall ghost, the white finger of the windmill tower upreared itself through the surrounding gloom.
Ralph, who sat next Harry, felt the lad give a shiver.
“Goose flesh?” he laughed, nudging the boy.
“Goose flesh nothing!” exclaimed Harry indignantly. “It’s fighting flesh.”
The bow of the tender grated on the beach. It was after ten o’clock. No light or other evidence of human habitation was visible.
“Maybe our birds have skipped,” said the chief inspector, in disappointed tones.
“Hold on a minute!” whispered Ralph, in a low, tense voice. “What’s that coming?”
“It’s a motor boat,” cried Harry.
“Heading this way, too,” declared the inspector.
“Lie low, everybody,” cautioned Jennings the next instant. “It’s the Artful Dodger, for a thousand dollars!”
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE TUNNEL ENTRANCE
The tender was a light one. It was no very hard task for the party to draw the little craft up the beach and into the concealment of a clump of bushes.
Hardly had this been done, when around the point behind which they had landed, came the craft they had heard. The night was starlit, and in the dim radiance they could see her dark outlines coming on at a good speed.
Beyond the little cove into which they had drawn the tender was a fairly high cliff, rocky and threatening. The motor boat crossed the little cove and kept straight on. No lights burned on her. Plainly her errand was not one which those on board cared to advertise.
“Great Scott! what is she going to do?” exclaimed the inspector, in a low whisper, as the motor boat kept right on across the little cove without altering her course in the least. Not one degree did she swerve from the route she was steering.
“What on earth do they mean to do?” breathed Ralph. “Run the boat smack into that cliff?”
“Looks as if they are bent on suicide,” commented Jennings uneasily.
“I told you it wasn’t any ordinary kind of boat,” said Harry Ware. “It wouldn’t surprise me if – ”
“Jumping Jupiter!” burst from the inspector.
The rest of the party could only gasp their amazement. At the moment articulate speech was impossible.
The motor boat had reached the cliff – and vanished without sound or sign.
“She’s gone down!” cried Ralph, the first to recover from his astonishment.
“Gone down, nothing!” retorted Harry scornfully. “She’s just melted into air, that’s what.”
“Don’t be so foolish,” chided Inspector Jennings. “Depend upon it, that is another of their tricks, like the ones they played on you, boys.”
“We’ll start for that cliff and examine it,” declared the chief inspector. “There’s some clever sleight of hand in all this mummery.”
“We’re going to that cliff!” gasped Harry, in affrighted tones. Nevertheless he set off with the others, but he might have been observed to hang some distance behind them. The boy was now more firmly convinced than ever that there was something supernatural about the mysterious craft.
“The Fenians had all sorts of secret ways of landing upon and leaving this island,” said the chief inspector; “and I’ll wager that the motor boat just used one of those to work the trick we’ve just seen.”
The night was warm and there were occasional flashes of summer lightning. To Harry’s thinking, this made the strange quest they were engaged on all the more uncanny.
At last they reached the cliff.
“I wish another flash would come,” said Ralph, “we daren’t light matches. But I brought along an electric torch.”
“A good idea. We may need it later,” said the inspector. “Hullo! Look there! I guess that explains the mystery of the motor boat’s vanishing.”
Another flash had revealed a tunnel-like hole in the cliff which could hardly be observed from the water side, on account of several thick bushes which grew, either by accident or design, about its mouth.
“There’s a path,” said Ralph presently, as another flicker of lightning revealed a rough trail leading up the cliff face.
“We’ll follow it. Easy, now, boys, we don’t want to give the alarm,” warned the chief inspector.
Through the darkness the intruders on the gem smugglers’ realm crept up the slippery track. At last they gained the top. Below them, as the flickering flashes showed, was a big pool of water, either natural or artificial. Doubtless the tunnel through the cliff led into it, for moored to one side of the pool could be seen the mysterious motor boat.
There were no lights on board her. Apparently those who had arrived at the island had made their way up the hill to the windmill tower, for a light could now be seen gleaming, like an angry eye, half-way up the structure.
“They’re all up there. Collecting their effects preparatory to leaving the island forever, I imagine,” whispered the inspector. “Let’s have a look at their boat.”
It was a rather risky business, but still they were a strong party and the government officers were well armed. The descent to the side of the pool was made by a rocky path very like the one by which they had ascended the cliff.
Harry hung back while the others inspected the boat. But Ralph rallied him after a short time.
“She’s all solid, Harry,” he declared; “come on and see for yourself. Nothing ghostly about this fellow, unless a sixty horse-power motor of the best and speediest design appeals to you as being spookish.”
Harry came forward and soon satisfied himself that it was all as Ralph had said. Inside the boat they found tubs of phosphorus, for producing the ghostly effect that had so scared Harry, plenty of spare lanterns to work the stern-light trick and a stern search-light of great power, evidently intended to be thrown full in the eyes of the helmsman of any pursuing craft and dazzle his vision.
In a locker, too, were sheets with holes for heads and a number of masks painted to resemble grinning skulls.
“Quite a paraphernalia,” grinned the chief inspector. “All this would make a regular eight-hour-union ghost turn green with envy.”
In a small shanty which stood close by they found more evidence to show how the operators of the Artful Dodger had been practicing on the credulity of the islanders. All sorts of rigs and canvas frames by which the outlines of the motor boat might be altered at will were discovered. For instance, one frame was found which could be hooped on to the boat’s stern, changing her whole appearance. A false cabin top was also found, by means of which the Artful Dodger could be speedily converted to a cabin cruiser, in case any one was looking for a motor boat of another type.
“Well, this is the most complete layout we have uncovered for some time,” spoke the chief inspector. “I think – ”
But Ralph interrupted him.