Part 29 (1/2)

”Boat ahoy,” boomed out his voice.

”Indian fishermen,” cried Yaquis. ”Stop, take me ash.o.r.e.”

With a growl, the Captain sent his s.h.i.+p ahead, paying no attention to the ”Indian fisherman” in distress. There was a gleam of white teeth as the Indian smiled at the hearty congratulations of the boys and their glee at his stratagem. Then the Spaniard and Yaquis took the oars while Jim steered and Jo slept.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

CONCLUSION

When morning came, they were but a few miles from the Northern end of the longer Island and the fog was over the whole sky. The sea was gla.s.sy with a sullen glaze. Nowhere was there sign of any steamer or s.h.i.+p. The Sea Eagle had made good her escape.

”I wish we had a stiff breeze to help us along,” said the Spaniard, who loved not manual labor, as did the boys.

”It will come, the strong breeze, soon,” said the Indian.

”When we make the Island, what are we to do?” asked Jo.

”Who can tell, maybe Tom and Juarez have been taken along with the Skipper, instead of being marooned.”

”That's so,” replied Jo, and gloom settled down upon his spirits, heavier than the fog upon the sea.

”We will keep after them,” said the never despondent Jim, ”even if we have to chase them around the world.”

The boat seemed to crawl so slowly along, and the boys began to fret in their eagerness to find out whether their comrades were on the island or not, but they were not yet close enough to make out any object upon its surface. Then from the West there came a breeze rippling the gla.s.sy water.

”Up with the sail,” cried Jim. ”Here's where we fly.”

As the breeze strengthened to a wind, they went towards the island at a clipping gait. When they got within a half mile of the sh.o.r.e, they began to look eagerly for some sign of a living being and they were disappointed at first, but they drove their boat along as near the sh.o.r.e as they dared.

”Say, did you hear that?” cried Jim in excitement. ”That was a rifle shot, or my name is Dennis.”

”Three men on the sh.o.r.e,” said the Indian, imperturbably.

”I see them,” cried Jo, ”on that beach yonder. I believe it is Tom and Juarez. Hurrah for the Frontier Boys.”

”It is they,” declared Jim as they drew closer, ”but how Tom has grown.

He looks over six feet.”

”That isn't Tom,” said Jo. ”It's some one else. The short one is Tom.”

Then he saw Jim grin and realized that he had been kidded.

”If this wasn't my busy day,” said Jo, ”I'd give you a punching for being so smart.”

Five minutes later, the boat had grounded on the pebbly beach and The Frontier Boys were again united. There was a great jubilee for a while with the Spaniard, the Indian, and the lanky shepherd on the outskirts of the family celebration, but in a short time they were all good friends, each according to his different nature; the Spaniard, suave and courteous, the Indian stolid, but with his share in the general good-will, and Jeems Howell, the shepherd, lankily humorous.

”We met our old friend Captain Broom in the channel, boys,” said Jim, ”steaming along like the Devil was after him.”