Part 10 (1/2)
The cabin was lighted, in day time, by side ports and a barred transom overhead. The ports were too small to permit of a man forcing his way through. Even though they broke the gla.s.s overhead, the prisoners in the cabin would still have iron bars to overcome. Tom Halstead, with his club, could hinder any work at that point.
In the meantime, the ”Restless,” once out of the cove, was bounding over the waves like a thing of life. Though the water had been hard to swim through, it did not present a rough sea for a fifty-five foot power boat.
In less than three minutes Engineer Joe Dawson was sounding his auto whistle like mad as he neared the dock at Lonely Island.
Just as the boat glided in, under decreased headway, to the dock the bungalow door was seen to open. Powell Seaton, shot-gun in hand, appeared on the porch. He watched, not knowing whether friend or foe commanded the ”Restless.” Mr. Seaton, himself, was made to stand out brightly in the middle of the searchlight ray that Joe turned upon him, yet he could not see who was behind that light.
Running the boat in, bow-on, Joe leaped ash.o.r.e with the hawser. Making fast only at the bow, he next raced up the board walk, shouting the news to Mr. Seaton. The latter, with a hail of delight, darted toward the dock, arriving barely behind Dawson.
Down in the cabin the din of the men trying to escape had redoubled.
Powell Seaton tramped hurriedly aft, while Tom and Joe fell in behind him with heavy tread, to give the rascals below an idea that numerous reinforcements had arrived.
Bang! Pausing before the hatch Mr. Seaton raised the shot-gun to his shoulder, discharging a single sh.e.l.l. Hastily slipping one into the magazine of the weapon to replace the fired one, Seaton shouted sternly:
”Stop your nonsense down there! If you get out it will be only to run into the muzzles of fire-arms. You fellows are fairly caught!”
There was a startled silence, followed by indistinct mutterings. Not even Anson Dalton, it appeared, cared to brave what looked like too certain death.
Tom held a whispered consultation with his employer, then stepped over to young b.u.t.ts.
”Hank, we're going to leave you on sh.o.r.e. Mr. Seaton will come along with the gun. Keep your eyes open--until you see us again! Don't be caught napping. Remember, you and Dr. Cosgrove have the whole protection of that helpless man, Clodis, _in_ your hands.”
Hank b.u.t.ts made a wry face for a moment. He would have much preferred to see the present adventure through. Yet, a second later, the Long Island boy bounded to the dock, then stood to cast off the bow-line.
After the line had come aboard, Joe Dawson again took his place at the wheel, turning on the speed gradually as the boat rounded out past the island, then turned in toward the mainland.
It was about five miles, in a direct westerly course, to the sh.o.r.e, but by an oblique, northwesterly course a fis.h.i.+ng village some nine miles away could be reached.
”Steer for the fis.h.i.+ng village,” nodded Powell Seaton. Captain Tom hurried forward to give the order, adding: ”Make it at full speed, Joe. If you have to go to the engine, call me forward to take the wheel.”
Soon afterwards Tom slipped into the motor room, rubbed down and got on dry clothing. Joe, in turn, did likewise, afterward returning to the wheel.
Down in the cabin all had been quiet for some minutes after the discharge of the gun on deck. Yet Captain Tom, by peeping through the transom, discovered the heads of Dalton and some of his rough men close together in consultation.
”I'll annoy them a bit,” chuckled the young skipper, moving swiftly forward. Dropping down into the motor room he switched off all the cabin lights. An instant roar of anger came from below.
”Funny we didn't think of that before,” grinned Dawson, as Halstead came up out of the motor room.
”It'll bother the rascals a bit,” chuckled Captain Tom back over his shoulder.
With such a boat as the ”Restless” ordinary distances are swiftly covered. It was barely twenty-five minutes after leaving the dock that Joe reached the entrance to the little harbor around which the houses of the fis.h.i.+ng village cl.u.s.tered, nor had much speed been used.
Now the whistle sounded steadily, in short, sharp blasts. Moreover, Dawson managed to send the distress signal with the searchlight. By the time he slowed down speed, then reversed, to make the little wharf, a dozen men had hurried down to the sh.o.r.e.
”What's wrong?” hailed one of them.
”Get the sheriff, or a sheriff's officer!” shouted back Powell Seaton.
”Be quick about it, one of you, please, and the rest of you stay here to help us.”