Dave Fearless and the Cave of Mystery: or, Adrift on the Pacific

CHAPTER IX
A BOLD PROJECT

The Swallow cleared her moorings in the creek on Minotaur Island, and steamed out into the broad waters of the bay, a thing of life and beauty.

"And what's that for now?" asked Pat Stoodles of Dave, who was watching their progress and the coastline with great interest.

"I see," nodded Dave. "You mean the longboat from the governor?"

"That same, lad. Luk at 'em, now. Ever since we came into open wather they've been tearing along for the town like mad. Aha, there goes one of those measly marines overboard."

Dave ran for a telescope. He viewed the government boat with a good deal of curiosity.

The official, Silverado, stood up in the stern gesticulating with energy, and evidently inciting his men to their best efforts at the oars.

"In a hurry to reach town, it seems," muttered Pat.

"In a tremendous hurry," said Dave. "So much so, that one of the men has leaped overboard, waded ashore, and is making a lickety-switch run across lots for the town."

Dave went at once to Captain Broadbeam and apprized him of the maneuvers of their recent visitors.

"That's all right, lad," chuckled the old mariner. "Let 'em squirm. We're safe out of their clutches."

"Not so safe," spoke Dave to his father, half an hour later. "Look there."

The officer Silverado had seemingly got word to the governor of the departure of the Swallow. A few minutes after the longboat had disappeared around a neck of land, the ironclad gunboat hove into view.

She was a saucy, spiteful little craft and a fast runner. She was headed direct for the Swallow.

"Are they coming for us, captain?" inquired Amos Fearless, somewhat anxiously.

"I hope not, for their own sakes," muttered Broadbeam quickly. Then he shouted some orders down the tube and the Swallow made a spurt.

"Running away?" said Pat Stoodles. "Shure, if I was in command I'd sthand and give her one or two good welts."

"Captain Broadbeam knows his business, Mr. Stoodles," declared Dave; "you can always count on that."

Far out in the bay were a group of sandbars and several small wooded islands. The Swallow was headed for the largest of these islets. The gunboat swung a challenge signal to which the Swallow made no reply.

Then, just as the steamer, pursuant to her captain's orders, began to slow up, the ironclad fired a gun.

"Give them their walking papers, Mr. Drake," rang out Broadbeam to the boatswain.

The latter ran up a signal flag. This signified that the Swallow announced herself two-and-one-half miles from shore, and therefore out of the jurisdiction of Minotaur Island, claiming the freedom of neutral waters.

"That'll hold her for a while," gloated Stoodles. "Aha! ye'll have to take back wather now."

The gunboat reminded Dave of some spiteful being cheated out of its prey. She circled, spit steam, and went more slowly back to port.

Captain Broadbeam now ordered the Swallow just without the shoal line of a big sandy island they had neared. Here they came to anchor.

Bob Vilett came up on deck reeking with the steam and grease of the engine room.

"What's the programme, Bob?" asked Dave.

"Captain says we are going to stop here and take on ballast."

"For how long?"

"Till to-morrow, I reckon. I say, Dave, you've got your heart's desire, eh?"

"I am the happiest boy living," answered the young diver. "Something tells me we are going to get and enjoy that treasure after all mishaps and disappointments."

In order to repair the Swallow in the creek, the ballast had been taken out and the contents of the hold generally shifted about.

Now the captain set his men at work to take on new sand ballast from the island and get things in the hold in regular order.

A pulley cable was run ashore. Dave and Bob were the first to take an aerial spin along this, dangling from the big iron kettle that ran down the incline.

Dave had told Captain Broadbeam and the others of his agency in the matter of substituting the hornets for the opium. The recital had made the captain good-natured, and he had given the boys permission to rove over the sand island at will for the day.

Dave and Bob put in a pleasant hour or two talking, fishing, and discussing the probable adventures that would greet them when they again visited the Windjammers' Island.

At about five o'clock in the afternoon the work of securing ballast was completed. The captain then announced that there was some work still to do in the hold. They would make their real start with daylight.

Dave and Bob were taking a last swim in the cool of the day. A clear sky and a fine breeze made the exercise delightful. Finally they got daring one another. Dave swam to the little sand islet next to the large one. Bob beat him in a race to the third of the group.

"Come on, if you've got the nerve," hailed Dave, making a quarter-mile dash for a sand mound still beyond them.

Bob started, but turned back. Dave made port and threw himself on the dry sand to rest. He got back his breath and sat up ready to take the home course, when his eye was attracted to something on an island about a furlong beyond the one he was on.

This was the nearest of the wooded islands. Dave had not noticed it much before. What made him notice it now was that, half-hidden in a great growth of bushes and vines, he noticed a small log hut.

In front of this a mast ran up into the air. At the moment that Dave looked he saw a man fumbling at the lines along this mast. It was to raise a blue bunting.

"Hello, hello," murmured Dave slowly, staring hard and thinking desperately fast. "Why, that's easy to guess. That man is Schmitt-Schmitt."

Dave could not precisely recognize the man at such a distance, but felt sure that it was Schmitt-Schmitt. He thought this the more positively as he saw that piece of blue bunting run up the mast.

"That was one of the signals I heard Schmitt-Schmitt tell the pilot about," mused Dave. "Red for provisions, blue for sickness or help wanted. Lantern at night, bunting by day. That's it, sure. He is signaling the pilot. That island is Schmitt-Schmitt's place of hiding. Say, here's something to think about."

Dave did not stay long to think about it. His eyes brightened and he seemed moved by some inspiriting idea as he jumped into the water and was soon back in the company of his chum, Bob Vilett.

Dave was quite silent and meditative till they had reached the big sandy island. Arrived there, he slowly dressed himself.

"Come on, I'm hungry as a bear-don't want to miss a good supper, Dave," hailed Bob, starting for the Swallow.

"Hold on!" challenged Dave. "I want to tell you something before we go aboard."

"Fire away," directed Bob.

"Can you manage to get off duty about dusk?"

"There's nothing for me to do till we steam up again," replied Bob. "Why?"

"Can we get one of the small boats for an hour or two, do you think?"

Bob shook his head negatively.

"Heard the captain shut down on the chance of anybody sneaking to town and making more trouble. No, it can't be done, unless the captain gives special orders. Why?" pressed Bob curiously.

"I don't want to tell the captain what I am up to till I accomplish something," explained Dave. "I'll tell you, though, for you've got to help me."

"All right, Dave," piped Bob readily.

"We must rig up some kind of a craft to reach the first wooded island."

"What for?"

"Schmitt-Schmitt is in hiding there."

"Aha, I see!" cried Bob excitedly.

"I propose," said Dave deliberately, "that we visit him, capture him, and bring on board the Swallow-as a prisoner-the only man probably who can guide us straight to that stolen treasure."

"Famous!" cried Bob Vilett enthusiastically-"but can we do it?"

"Let's try it, anyhow," answered Dave Fearless.

CHAPTER X
THE WOODED ISLAND

Captain Broadbeam gave pretty strict orders at dusk. A watch was set with directions to allow no one to leave the Swallow. All the small boats were chained stoutly.

"We'll have to defer going ashore, or report our plans to the captain," said Bob Vilett about eight o'clock, coming up on deck with a wry face. He was in overalls and his hands covered with oil. "No go, Dave," he reported.

"You mean you can't join me?" asked Dave, in disappointment.

"That's it, Dave. There's work till twelve. I've got to stay. Say, why don't you tell the captain your idea and have him send men and a boat after Schmitt-Schmitt?"

"No," said Dave, "Captain Broadbeam wouldn't entertain the project for a moment. He is a first-class captain, but hint at anything outside of his ship, and he won't take the risk."

"What are you going to do, then?"

"Try it alone."

"Be careful, Dave. Don't undertake too much. You can never manage Schmitt-Schmitt alone. Why don't you impress Stoodles into service?"

"Mr. Stoodles is willing enough," answered Dave, "but he might bungle. It will be all I can do to get off the Swallow alone."

Dave managed this, however, a little later, without discovery. Once on the sand flat, he dragged some planks and ropes the ballast crew had left there to the other side of the island. Dave constructed quite a raft and pushed it into the water. Swimming, he propelled it before him. Within half an hour he was on the wooded island.

The first thing that caught his eye was a blue light strung from a tree at the end of the island nearer the town. Here there was a favorable natural landing-place.

"The bunting signal didn't attract attention," reasoned Dave, "so Schmitt-Schmitt has tried the lantern. Wonder if he is at the hut? I'll work my way around that direction and find out."

Dave had the bold idea in mind of capturing this man. As he went along he thought of plan after plan. If he could get Schmitt-Schmitt helpless in his power, he could convey him to the Swallow on the raft.

"The very thing," said Dave gladly, as he neared the vicinity of the hut. Lying across the top of some bushes was a fishing net. It had long rope ends. Dave with his pocket knife cut these off and thrust them in his pocket.

"Hey, what are you up to there?"

Dave thrilled at the sharp call, and turned quickly to face his challenger.

It was Schmitt-Schmitt. He had abruptly emerged from the greenery surrounding the hut. He carried a big cudgel, and as the clear moonlight revealed the face of the intruder plainly he uttered a quick gasp.

"Ha, I know you!" cried Schmitt-Schmitt, advancing with a scowling face.

"It seems so," answered Dave coolly, cautiously retreating. "You are Mr. Gerstein."

"No, you don't!" spoke the man, with a speedy leap forward.

Dave dodged, but not soon enough. The cudgel came down directly on top of his head. He saw stars, sank flat, and knew no more for fully five minutes.

Then, his lower limbs wound round and round with ropes, he struggled upon the floor of a hut.

At a table on which burned a candle sat Schmitt-Schmitt. He had just opened a bottle of lime juice and was about to pour some of its contents into a glass to refresh himself.

He suspended operations, however, as Dave struggled to an upright position, attracting his attention.

"Well," he spoke with a coarse chuckle, "how did that wallop suit you?"

Dave rubbed his sore head and made a wry grimace.

"You don't treat visitors very politely, do you?" he said.

"You're a spy, you are," spoke Gerstein sullenly, "and don't you deny it. I know you. Now then, what brought you here?"

"What brought you?" retorted Dave.

"Don't you get saucy," warned Schmitt-Schmitt. "All along you did the big things that were done in baffling the Hankers. I hear, too, you have been pretty smart with your tricks since you came to Minotaur Island."

"Of course I've been trying to do all I could to protect my rights," said Dave. "I knew you were in hiding here."

"Ha! eh?" exclaimed Schmitt-Schmitt, pricking up his ears. "How did you know that?"

"Oh, we have kept track of you," answered Dave lightly. "As soon as we found you were back of the governor and the pilot in bothering us, we naturally watched you."

Schmitt-Schmitt stared in stupefaction at Dave.

"Knew it, did you?" he muttered.

"Of course we did. We knew what you were up to. Now I can tell you, Mr. Gerstein, you will never get that treasure away from the Windjammers' Island, no matter how hard you try."

"Treasure! The Windjammers' Island!" gasped the man. "How-when-where-the-the treasure was lost at sea."

"Not a bit of it, as you and I both know," asserted Dave blithely, reading in the confusion and excitement of the man a confirmation of his suspicions. "I say the Swallow, with or without me, sails in search of that treasure at daylight. Come, sir, you have gone in with a measly crowd who will only rob you in the end. Come to Captain Broadbeam, save us the trouble of a long search, and my father will pay you all right."

Schmitt-Schmitt got up and paced the floor. He seemed thinking over what Dave had suggested. His face, however, gradually resumed its customary ferocity and cunning.

"No," he said finally, striking the table with his fist and taking in his captive's helpless situation with a good deal of satisfaction. "I have the upper hand. I keep it."

"What upper hand?" asked Dave.

"You are my prisoner. Soon the pilot will be here in response to my signal with his launch. I will take you to the island with me. I will hide you. They will not get along so grandly without you. They will delay to search for you, and delay is all I ask. Yes, yes, that is the programme."

Some whistles from craft in the bay echoed out. Schmitt-Schmitt went outside, apparently to see if some answer was coming to his signal.

"I am in it-deep," mused Dave. "Pshaw! I hate to think I shall delay and bother Captain Broadbeam."

Dave found that the ropes securing him were not very tightly arranged. They had been drawn to a loop about his waist and caught with snap and hook behind.

"If I had time I could work loose," he thought. "I have not time, so I suppose I must wait meekly and take what comes to me. Oh, by the way-that's an idea!"

The "idea" in question was suggested by a glance at the bottle and glass on the table. Dave's eyes sparkled. He fumbled under the ropes and brought out wrapped up in a fragment of paper the sample of opium he had discovered the night previous.

Frog-like he began hitching himself across the floor. Dave kept his eye anxiously fixed on the open doorway. He got to the table, reached up, dropped some grains of the drug into the glass there, and nimbly as he could hitched his way back to his former position.

Two minutes later Schmitt-Schmitt reappeared. He went at once to the table, poured out a drink, settled back in his chair, and said complacently:

"My friend will soon be here. Do your friends also know I am here?"

"Oh, dear, you mustn't expect me to tell any secrets to a fellow who won't join in with us," said Dave.

"Maybe after a little solitude you will be willing to talk," observed Schmitt-Schmitt meaningly.

"All right-we'll see," said Dave, with affected unconcern.

Dave's eyes sparkled as Schmitt-Schmitt began to blink. He was delighted as the man fell back drowsily in the chair.

"Now's my chance," said Dave, as a prolonged snore announced the complete subjugation of Schmitt-Schmitt to the influence of the drug.

Dave did some brisk moving about. He managed to get to a cupboard. He could not reach his own pocket knife. In the cupboard he found a case knife and set at work sawing away the ropes that bound him.

He laughed at his rare success, as stretching his cramped limbs he went outside for a moment.

"I don't want to delay," he thought. "That signal may bring the pilot at any moment, and that means two to handle instead of one. This is just famous. Better than I planned out. How shall I get Schmitt-Schmitt to the raft?"

Dave found an old wicker mattress on the rude porch of the hut. It had rope ends to attach as a hammock. He took the precaution to tie Schmitt-Schmitt's wrists and ankles together with ropes.

Then Dave dragged the insensible man from his chair across the floor and let him down flat on the wicker mattress.

It required all his strength to pull this drag and its burden the two hundred feet required down the beach.

"The mischief!" cried Dave, as, panting, he reached the spot where he had left the rudely improvised raft.

It was nowhere in sight, and he readily surmised that he had carelessly left it too near the surf, which had carried it away.

"Whatever am I to do now?" thought Dave. "I can't swim to the Swallow with this man. I must find the material for a new raft. Pshaw! there's a call to time."

Dave glanced keenly seawards. Then with due haste he dragged mattress and burden back into the brush out of sight.

Peering thence, he watched a little launch making for the wooded island at the point where the blue signal shone.

"The pilot, of course," said Dave. "He has come to see his friend. What will he do when he fails to find him?"

With some anxiety Dave Fearless watched the little launch come nearer and nearer to the wooded island.

CHAPTER XI
A RACE FOR LIFE

"Yes, it is the pilot," said Dave to himself, as the launch drove directly into the little natural landing-place where the blue lantern swung.

Dave peered from his bushy covert and closely watched the maneuvers of its occupant.

The pilot ran the nose of the craft well into the sand, shut off the power, and leaped ashore.

Dave saw him take up a basket and watched him depart for the hut. As soon as some trees shut him out from view Dave leaped on board of the launch.

A momentary inspection of the operating lever and steering gear told Dave that he could easily navigate the boat.

"I must lose no time," he thought. "My only chance of getting away with Schmitt-Schmitt is in taking the launch."

Dave forthwith dragged his unconscious captive to the launch. It was no easy task to get that bulky individual aboard. Dave accomplished it, however, and then paused to catch his breath and wipe the perspiration from his face.

"Hi! hi! hi!"

A ringing yell, or rather three of them, uttered in rapid and startling succession, made Dave turn with a shock.

Looking down the beach, he saw the pilot running towards him at full speed. The latter had evidently visited the hut, had found it vacated, and coming out to look for his missing friend, had discovered the launch in the hands of a stranger.

Dave made no reply. He sprang to the little lever, reversing it, and the launch slid promptly back into the water. Swinging the steering gear south, Dave turned on full power.

"Stop. I'll shoot-stop! stop!" panted the pilot, gaining on Dave with prodigious bounds of speed.

Dave kept his hand on the lever, his eyes fixed ahead. Suddenly-

Bang-ping! a shot whistled past his ear. Dave crouched and darted a quick glance backward. The pilot, coming to a standstill, was firing at him from a revolver.

Dave saw a point of refuge ahead. This was a broken irregular wooded stretch, well-nigh impassable on foot. As a second shot sounded out, Dave curved around this point of land.

He was now out of view of the pilot, who would find great difficulty in crossing the stretch lying between them, as it was marshy in spots. Dave lined the shore farther on, feeling pretty proud of the success of his single-handed enterprise.

"Why," he mused, "we have the game in our own hands completely now. I wonder what father and Captain Broadbeam will say to all this. Of course they won't fancy such a guest as Schmitt-Schmitt, but they must see how holding him a harmless captive helps our plans."

Dave made a sweep with the launch to edge the rounding end of the island. Here it narrowed to about two hundred feet. It would now be a straight bolt past the same islets to where the Swallow was.

"Won't do-the gunboat, sure as shingles!" spoke Dave suddenly.

Almost directly in his course, and bearing down upon him, was the ironclad. In that clear moonlight everything was plain as in daylight. Dave could see the people on board the gunboat, and they could see him-without doubt.

In fact, someone in uniform leaned over the bow of the ironclad in his direction. Dave caught an indistinct hail. He paid no attention to it.

He acted with the precipitancy of a school fugitive running away from a truant officer. He saw just one chance to evade an unpleasant overhauling by the ironclad, and took it.

This was to instantly steer to the north and shoot down the narrow neck of water lying between the wooded island and the nearest sand island.

Dave knew that this channel must be quite shallow. He doubted if the cumbersome iron-clad could navigate it. Even if it tried to, it would be some minutes before its crew could swing around into position to make the chase.

The launch took the channel like an arrow. Dave's spirits rose high, notwithstanding some loud and quite peremptory hails from the direction of the gunboat.

"Better than before," soliloquized Dave. "I can swing around the sandbars directly to the anchorage of the Swallow."

Glancing back, Dave saw that the gunboat did not intend to follow the course he had taken. That craft had stopped and put about.

"They must suspect that something's not exactly right," calculated Dave. "The mischief-that was close. Ouch! I'm hit."

Dave went keeling over from the bow seat. Very suddenly, from some bushes on the wooded island, there were two sharp flashes and reports. One bullet whizzed past his head, the second plowed a furrow across his forearm. It was not deep, but the wound bled, and the surprise and shock sent Dave over backwards.

The worst of it was that he jerked the lever, and this, turning the launch, sent its nose directly into shore, and there the boat stuck, vibrating with the impact of the still working machinery. The pilot instantly ran from cover towards the boat, flourishing the weapon in his hand. He had crossed the island, it seemed, to head off the launch, and it looked as though Dave was doomed to disaster in his present enterprise.

Dave scrambled to get back to the lever, and reverse the launch. As he did so his hand touched something lying upon straps at the side of the seat pit.

It was a rifle. Dave seized it, jerked it and its fastenings free, and extended it directly at the running figure ashore.

"Get back," he shouted. "Drop that pistol, Mr. Pilot, or there will be trouble."

The pilot, with a howl of rage, halted short. He flung the revolver down. Dave guessed that it was now empty.

As Dave touched the lever and got out into the channel again, he saw the pilot running back along the beach. He was headed for the end of the island in the direction of the ironclad, and yelling out some information to those aboard at the top of his bellowing voice.

"Now for a spurt," said Dave.

The channel was about a mile long. Dave came to its end in fine spirits. It was a clear run now past the two outer sand islands, and a half-mile turn would bring him to the Swallow.

He proceeded more leisurely now, for it did not seem possible that the ironclad could make the opposite circuit in time to head him off. Where the sand hills dropped, however, Dave had a view across the two next islands.

"They are after me," he exclaimed. "The pilot has advised them of the real state of affairs, and it's a sharp run. Full power-go!"

Dave had made out the gunboat whizzing down the channel between the two outer sand islands. She was forcing full speed. It was a question whether the gunboat would not emerge first into the open sea and block his course.

Dave put on power that made the little launch strain and quiver from stem to stern. He was terribly excited and anxious. His breath came in quick jerks, his heart beat fast.

"Close shave," he panted, "but I've made it."

Two hundred feet down the channel was the gunboat, as Dave crossed her outlet. The ironclad swung out after him not one minute later.

The launch fairly skimmed the water. The ironclad loomed portentously near, but Dave felt that, no mishap occurring, he would win the race.

"They've got me, I guess," he gasped a second later.

A flash, a loud boom, and a terrific concussion plunged Dave into a condition of extreme confusion and uncertainty.

The ironclad had fired a shot. It had struck the stern of the launch, splintering it clear open. A great shower of water deluged Dave and his insensible captive.

Dave regarded the damage done with grave dismay-the stern had sunk and the launch was now on a slant.

In fact, the rear portion of the boat was under water to the rail.

Only by keeping up power could the launch be prevented from filling and going down. Dave never let go his grasp on the lever. He held firmly to the last notch in the indicator.

As he turned the end of the last sand island, the maneuver made the launch wabble. Just here a second gun was fired from the ironclad. The shot went far wide of its intended mark, but a vital alarm urged Dave to change his course.

The launch went sideways, and a sudden inrush of water sunk her to the middle. Dave headed for shore. There the launch struck, a wreck.

Down the shore lay the Swallow. Active lights were bobbing about her deck, so Dave knew that the crew had been aroused by the firing at sea.

His first thought was to get Schmitt-Schmitt out of the half-submerged launch. He dragged his captive to the beach, then he took a look at the gunboat.

"Why," exclaimed Dave, in mingled astonishment and satisfaction, "she's grounded."

Apparently the ironclad had struck some treacherous sandbar over which the light swift launch had glided in safety. Loud orders, quick bells, and whistles made a small babel aboard the craft in distress.

Dave glanced down calculatingly at his helpless captive. He must get him to the Swallow. But how?

The pit crate of the launch had floated up as the craft filled with water. Dave waded to it, pulled it ashore, and rolled Schmitt-Schmitt across it.

He was now quite hidden from the view of those aboard of the gunboat, but he feared they might send a yawl on an investigating expedition.

Dave swam, pushing the crate before him. Often he glanced back. There was no pursuit. More hopefully and nearer and nearer he approached the Swallow. With a kind of a faint cheer Dave hailed her as he came within hearing distance.

"Ahoy, there!" rang back Captain Broadbeam's foghorn voice, as he gazed down at crate, burden, and swimmer.

"It's me-Dave Fearless," began the latter.

"Bet it is! Had to have a rumpus, eh? What was the shooting? Lower away there, men. Two of you, eh? What! that rascally pawnbroker, Gerstein!" fairly yelled the captain, as by stages Dave and his captive came nearer, were helped by the crew, and now gained the deck of the Swallow.

"Yes, Captain Broadbeam," nodded the nearly exhausted Dave. "The gunboat-after us-suggest you get away-at once-excuse-weak and dizzy-"

And just then Dave Fearless sank flat to the deck of the Swallow, overcome completely after the hardest work he had ever done in his life.