Kitabı oku: «The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest», sayfa 8
This was the tableau that Zeb Hunt, rushing into the cabin, arrived just in time to see. He came to the aid of his superior and they soon had the tall Chinaman helpless.
“Sarch his blouse, Zeb! Sarch his blouse!” bellowed Simon Lake, his wound apparently forgotten in his excitement.
“I’ll tie him first,” said the prudent Zeb, producing some yarn. Then, with the Mongolian helplessly pinioned to a stanchion, the mate proceeded to search him. Almost the first object he found was the vial which Tom had seen.
“Here it is, boss,” he said. “Just as the youngster said.”
The Chinaman bent an angry glare on them.
“Him no poison. Him medicine,” he cried.
“Oh, it is, is it. Well, I’ll mix you up a dose of it and see if you’ll take it,” declared Zeb.
Procuring a glass, he mixed up some of the red drops with water. But when they were thrust toward him, the Chinaman had to admit by his refusal to take it that the stuff was deadly poison.
Simon Lake, white and shaky, now that the excitement was over, had sunk back on the lounge. He kept passing his hand over his bandaged brow as he looked on as if to try to assure himself that he was awake.
“Just ter think that thet thar rascal Cheng who I’ve trusted like a babby would hev tried to give me a deal like thet,” he kept repeating. “What d’yer think got inter the feller, Zeb? Why did he want ter do it?”
“In ther fust place, because he’s jes’ naturally mean and pesky, bein’ a Chink,” rejoined Zeb, “and in ther next, I reckon he figured that with you out of the way and the rest of us busy on deck, he’d rob you uv that money belt of yours and nobody be the wiser.”
“Maybe you’re right,” rejoined the injured man grimly, “but I’m too sick ter attend ter him now. But, by Juniper, wait till I’m well. I’ll – ”
There came a sudden jarring crash. The schooner trembled as though she had been dealt a mortal blow. At the same time there was a terrible grinding of timbers, and a confused uproar of alarmed shouts and cries from above.
“Jee-hos-o-phat, we’ve struck!” shouted Zeb, bolting from the cabin. He darted up the stairs in an instant. Simon Lake, staggering as he went, followed him. An instant later Mr. Chillingworth, aroused by the clamor and the shock, appeared.
“Come on,” cried Tom, “something’s happened. I don’t know what, but maybe our opportunity to escape has arrived.”
CHAPTER XVII.
A STRANGE ENCOUNTER
On deck they found a scene of the wildest confusion. The wind had abated somewhat, but there was still a big sea running. To the east the sky was gray and wan with the first streaks of dawn, and the waste of tumbling waters was lighted dimly by the newborn light. Forward was a crowd of men, in the midst of them being Zeb Hunt. The wounded Bully Banjo had managed to claw his way forward along the swaying decks also, and stood by his mate’s side, holding on to a back stay.
Mr. Chillingworth and Tom Dacre hastened forward to see what had happened. They found the group of seamen clustered about some figures that they had just hauled over the side with life belts.
“Their boat went down like a rock when we struck her,” one of the crew, who had been on deck when the collision occurred, was explaining to another, as the boy hastened past.
But the next instant he stopped short with a gasp of astonishment. In the center of the group of sailors and rescued persons from the small craft the schooner had seemingly just run down, was one that was strangely familiar. As Tom drew nearer he heard a youthful voice pipe up. Its owner’s small form was hidden by the clustering seamen of the schooner:
“What kind of a boat is this, pa-pa?”
“This is a schooner, my child. It has just run us down,” rejoined the tall, lanky figure.
“What did they run us down for, pa-pa?”
“Professor Dingle!” cried Tom, recognizing first the questioning voice of the professor’s son and heir, and then the tall, bony figure.
“Tom Dacre, my boy!” cried the professor delightedly.
“How came you here?” asked Tom.
“I might ask the same question of you,” rejoined the professor. “I was cruising north toward the Aleutian peninsula in my little yawl-rigged boat, when out of the darkness this schooner came upon me and ran me down. My two faithful Kanakas and my boy and myself only managed to save ourselves by a hair’s breadth.”
“But how did you come to be hereabouts, professor?” asked Tom.
“Again the same question might apply to you, my lad, but the fact is that I’m off on a scientific cruise to the Aleutian Islands in search of rare specimens. We sailed from Victoria three days ago and ran into that terrible storm last night.”
The crew stood about grinning while the professor was making his explanations. They seemed to think the whole thing a rare joke, now that the shock of the collision was over and it had been ascertained that no damage had been sustained by the schooner. As for the professor himself, he accepted the situation as calmly as if it were an everyday matter. His two Kanakas, brown-skinned, black-haired fellows of slender, yet athletic build – of whom more hereafter – also accepted the situation, seemingly as an unavoidable stroke of fate.
Tom introduced the professor to Mr. Chillingworth. Surely never were introductions gone through amid stranger surroundings! Hardly had the ceremony been concluded than word came forward by one of the crew that Simon Lake wished them all to report aft in the cabin at once.
This was not a summons to be disregarded, and, headed by Tom and the professor, whose inquisitive offspring clutched tightly to his hand, they started along the plunging, rolling decks. On their way aft Tom explained the exact situation to the professor – or as much of it as he could in the few seconds of time he had. The man of science took it with as unmoved an air as he accepted most happenings in his life.
He was vexed, though, at the interruption of his scientific expedition, which he had undertaken in the interests of the Puget Sound University, whose intention it was to form a museum of Pacific Coast flora and fauna, second to none.
“However,” he remarked, with a philosophical shrug, “it is no use railing at fate. The only thing to be done is to make the best of it.”
Which, incidentally, was as good a bit of philosophy as the professor could have found in any of his books.
“And now,” he concluded briskly, “let us see what sort of a man is in command of this ship.”
The first object that met their eyes as they made their way down the steep companion stairs was not one calculated to inspire a timid man with confidence.
The tall Chinaman, his face contorted from the pain of his tight thongs, was still secured to the stanchion. His face worked as he saw the newcomers, and for an instant Tom thought he was going to make an appeal for mercy. But if such had been his intention, he thought better of it and remained silent. It was Simon Lake who broke the silence that reigned as the “passengers,” as they may be called, ranged themselves along the cabin bulkhead, awaiting Simon Lake’s announcement of the cause of his summons. It was not long in coming. Lake, who was sprawled out on the lounge with Zeb Hunt at his side, eyed them a minute as if in some doubt how to begin. His hawk-like face was not improved by the bandage which now enwrapped his head.
“What makes that man look so funny, pa-pa?” whispered the professor’s offspring inquiringly.
“Hush,” cautioned the professor; “he’s going to speak.”
“Waal, gents,” began Simon Lake harshly, “we’ve got considerable more of a crew on board this craft than we started out with. Ther only question in my mind is wot ter do with yer.”
Certainly Simon Lake had a way of coming to the point without beating about the bush, which might be imitated by some of our legal lights and other public luminaries.
As no one answered, and he did not seem to expect them to, he resumed:
“Of course, I might chuck the whole shootin’ match of yer overboard. But I ain’t goin’ ter do it. You, Chillingworth, I don’t see as you’re entitled ter any mercy. You’d hev made it hard fer me ef yer could. You’d hev seen me ahind bars ef you’d hed yer way – wouldn’t yer now?”
“Well, since you put it so directly, Simon Lake, I certainly would have done my best to secure your being put out of business, so far as your nefarious trade is concerned.”
“Ah, but yer didn’t,” grinned Simon Lake maliciously, “and now I’ve got yer right whar I want yer – an’ I’m goin’ ter keep yer, too. Lucky I nailed yer afore you could carry out yer little idee of settin’ ther Secret Service onter me – eh?”
“He knows nothing about Sam Hartley, then,” thought Tom, with a flash of distinct relief.
As Mr. Chillingworth made no answer except to look the rascal straighter in the eye, Lake resumed.
“Waal, luck, er fate, er providence, er whatever yer like ter call it, hez certainly turned ther tables on yer in a most re-markable way,” he went on, in a musing tone. “An’ I ain’t one ter fly no ways in ther face uv providence. Here you are, and here you’ll stay. I’ve got work fer you an’ ther rest, too, whar we air a-goin’.”
“And where is that, may I ask?” inquired Mr. Chillingworth.
Lake grinned.
“Why, to er delightful island thet we ought ter be raisin’ at any moment now.”
But if they hoped to hear any more about their destination just then, they were disappointed, for Lake went on without any further reference to it.
“This gent here is a perfesser, I understan’,” he said. “Waal, maybe I’ll hev a job fer him, too. Do you understand assaying, perfesser?”
“The science of gauging the value of the metals contained in any ore-bearing rock, do you mean?” asked the scientist.
“Waal, that’s a heap o’ fancy sail ter carry onter it, but ter come down ter brass tacks, by Chowder, that’s jes’ the idee I want ter convey. Do you understand it?”
“Why, to some extent – yes. Have you any ore you wish assayed?”
“I’ll tell yer abaout thet later,” said Lake, with a cunning leer. “Now, then,” he resumed, “what is them two black fellers you’ve got thar – Kanakas, ain’t they?”
The professor nodded.
“I hope you mean them no harm,” he said. “They are faithful, hard-working fellows, and excellent sailors. Their names are Monday and Tuesday, so called after the days on which they were hired.”
“Das so. Yes, boss, das so, fer a fac’,” said one of the South Sea natives, pulling his black silky forelock in true sailor fashion.
“I reckon we kin fin’ work fer them, too,” decided Lake. “Yer see, it’s jes’ this way: Whar we’re goin’ every one hez ter work, er else starve. I reckon you’d rather work then starve, so I’m goin’ ter give yer all a chance.”
“One question, Lake,” put in the rancher. “I’ve a home and wife back yonder on the Sound. In mercy’s name, tell me, and tell me the truth – am I ever going to see them again?”
Lake looked at him curiously, and then the wretch deliberately rose to his feet.
“Reckon the weather’s clearin’ quite a bit, Zeb,” he said, without taking the slightest notice of the perturbed rancher. “We’d best be gittin’ on deck. By the bye,” he said suddenly turning to Tom, “you did me a sarvice with that thar yaller devil. I’ll not forget it.”
He started for the companionway stairs followed by Zeb. It was his evident intention to pay no heed to Mr. Chillingworth. But the rancher intercepted him.
“As you are human, Lake,” he pleaded, “answer my question. Think, man, what it means to me – to my wife – ”
He stopped short, evidently afraid to trust his voice further. Lake turned and met his outburst with a cruel smile.
“We’re reckonin’ on hevin’ yer with us fer quite a stay, Chillingworth,” he said, setting his foot on the bottom step of the companionway, “so make up yer mind ter thet. We need yer ranch, and – ”
Before he could add another word Chillingworth’s form was hurtling across the cabin. The rancher, distracted for the moment by his wrongs, flew at the bully like a wild beast. Lake staggered and almost fell under the unexpected onslaught, but the next instant he recovered himself and drew and leveled a pistol. That moment might have been the rancher’s last, but for Zeb Hunt. At the same instant as Lake drew his revolver, the mate of the schooner raised his heavy-booted foot and dealt Mr. Chillingworth a brutal kick in the pit of the stomach. As the pistol exploded the rancher sank down in a heap, groaning in agony. The bullet flew by Tom’s ear and buried itself in a panel of the cabin.
“Thet’s what any uv ther rest uv yer’ll git ef yer try ter cut up monkey shines, by Heck!” snarled Lake, blowing the smoke from the barrel of his revolver with the utmost calmness.
While Tom sprang forward to aid the suffering rancher, Lake and Zeb Hunt proceeded to the deck. Under the lad’s ministrations Mr. Chillingworth presently grew somewhat better, and Tom and the professor managed to help him into his cabin, where they laid him out on a bunk.
While they were all in the small stateroom, even the two Kanakas, who seemed to dislike the idea of being left alone, being with them, there came a sudden click of the lock of the door.
Tom, guessing what had happened, but still not permitting himself to believe it, sprang to the portal. He shook it furiously, but it resisted his efforts to open it.
“Prisoners!” he gasped. “They’ve locked the door!”
Realizing that it was no use attempting to force the portal open, they decided to await Lake’s pleasure in the matter of opening it. In the meantime, they turned once more to the subject of a possible chance for escape.
“One thing is certain,” the professor decided, at the end of the discussion of a dozen or more plans, “we are in no immediate danger. It is equally certain that we can do nothing while we are on board the schooner. The only thing to do is to wait till we reach this island. When we know just what is going to happen to us we can formulate plans better, in the meantime we – ”
He stopped short. There was a trampling of feet in the cabin outside. It sounded as if a struggle were in progress. For an instant a voice broke out in wild pleadings – or so it seemed – but the cries were suddenly hushed as if a hand had been placed over the mouth of whoever was uttering them.
Then the trampling ceased and the sound of footsteps ascending the companion stairway could be heard. All this the prisoners in the cabin had heard in silence. As the sounds died away Tom turned to the others.
“It must have been that Chinaman! They – ”
A sudden piercing scream assailed their ears. Their cheeks whitened as they heard it, so wild and ringing and appealing was the cry.
It was succeeded by deadly silence. What could have occurred? They all had a guess in their minds, but none of them dared to voice it. One thing, though, Tom was certain of, and that was that the cry had come from the deck. In that case —
But at this point of his meditations the cabin door was suddenly flung open and Zeb’s unwieldy form stood framed in the doorway.
“You kin come out now,” he said.
Was it Tom’s imagination, or did the mate’s voice seem less blustery than usual, and his cheeks not quite so red? Suddenly Lake’s voice came hailing down from the head of the companion stairs:
“On deck here, Zeb. We’ll be makin’ a landfall soon.”
It seemed to Tom that Lake’s voice, too, was subdued and quiet. It held almost a quaver. But he had little time for noticing these things, for, as they emerged from the cabin – with Mr. Chillingworth, who was now almost recovered – there came a sudden electrifying hail:
“Land ho!”
“Where away?” came Lake’s roar from above.
“Two points off’n the sta’bo’d bow,” came back the answer from somewhere forward.
As the castaways, excited by the sensation that the end of their strange voyage was in sight, sprang up the companion stairs, Tom noted one thing.
The cabin was empty of life. At the foot of the stanchion, to which the Chinaman had been tied, the ropes which had bound him lay in an untidy tangle. But the man himself was gone, nor did they ever see him again.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE ISLAND
But the sight that greeted Tom’s eyes as he emerged on deck speedily drove all other thoughts from his mind. The wind had died down, and, although a heavy swell was still running, the sea was by no means rough. Across the gray waves, not more than a mile or so from the schooner, was visible the outlines of a rocky island.
Under the pall of gray sky, and surrounded by the leaden, sullen seas, it looked a dismal spot of land. So far as Tom could make out, it was craggy and mountainous in the extreme. On the side by which they were approaching it, the island was wooded down almost to the water’s edge.
Tom found the professor at his elbow. He began to talk to him at once. There was no fear of any one overhearing them. The crew and the leaders of the gang were far too busy scanning the island. In the lee rigging Simon Lake hung by one arm, while, with his free hand, he held a pair of glasses to his eyes.
“What land do you suppose that is?” asked Tom, as the schooner plunged onward toward it.
The professor thought a moment before answering. It was evident he was making some sort of mental calculation. At last he spoke, and by this time Mr. Chillingworth was one of the group about him.
“I should judge it to be one of the group of islets found to the southward of the Queen Charlotte group,” he replied. “They are scattered pretty thickly through these waters, and, as they are seldom visited except by whalers short of water or seal poachers, they would naturally afford an ideal place for men plying the trade that you have informed me Lake is engaged in.”
“I agree with you,” said Mr. Chillingworth, in a low, hopeless sort of tone. “Once on one of those islands and the chance of our ever being heard of again is so remote as to be among the impossibilities. Great heavens, my poor wife – ”
He broke off with a groan. The professor, after a quick glance about him to make sure they were not overheard, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Brace up, sir,” he said. “I have by no means given up hope yet. At all events, once on land we shall have more of a chance to get away than we would have on board this schooner.”
His tone seemed to cheer the despondent rancher considerably. He glanced gratefully at the philosopher and then said:
“You are right, professor. It is foolish to give way like this when we ought to be bending our energies in other directions. I shall complain no more.”
“That’s right,” said the professor heartily. The next instant he turned, as Monday plucked his sleeve.
“What is it, Monday?” he asked.
“Boss, me at dese island once in whaler, Tuesday he here, too. Long time ago,” said the Kanaka, an excited light burning in his eyes. “Boss, we tell you something ’bout dese island. Him very queer island. Back in dem hills, across dem hills, dey – ”
“Hush,” cautioned the professor. “Not another word now, my man. Here comes the head of this rascally collection of law-breakers.”
Monday subsided instantly. A vacant look crept into his eyes, which an instant before had been dancing excitedly. His companion also relapsed into apparent listlessness. In many ways these natives of the South Seas were fully the equal of any white man in their quick perception and keen insight. They were quite as much in possession of the facts concerning Lake and his crew as were the rest.
As the professor’s sharp eye had noted, Lake had clambered down from the rigging a few minutes before. His face bore a satisfied look as he came toward the castaways.
“Waal, thar’s your future home,” he grinned, as he approached the little group.
“Perhaps you can tell us if I am correct in my assumption that the island is one of the Queen Charlotte group off the coast of Canada?” inquired the professor, adjusting his spectacles and turning to Lake.
“I ain’t sayin’,” was the sullen rejoinder. “It’s enough fer yer ter know thet we’re bound fer thet island, and ye’re a mighty lucky lot not to be at the bottom of the sea at this minnit. I tell yer I hed a hard time persuading Zeb Hunt and ther crew not ter finish yer off.”
Tom shuddered at the rascal’s calm tone. He spoke without the slightest concern. As he gazed at the rapacious face of the leader of the Chinese runners, Tom did not doubt that the unfortunate Chinaman at that moment reposed where, according to Lake, Zeb Hunt and the crew would have liked to see them.
As the schooner drew closer to the island, Tom perceived what Lake had noticed through the glasses some time before. This was, that on the beach, flying from a tall, white flagstaff, was a square of red bunting. What this meant he was presently to find out in an odd manner.
Lake and Hunt went below as the schooner approached the island. Their heads were close together in deep consultation as they entered the companionway. Tom wondered what they could be discussing – the fate of the castaways likely.
The island, seen at closer range as the schooner drew nearer, appeared even more uninviting than it had from the distance. Tall, bare hills, rock-ribbed and cloven with deep crevasses, ran back from its shores, piling up to a mass of rugged peaks and inaccessible-looking precipices. At the foot of these hills – or rather mountains in miniature – was a dense growth of dark, melancholy looking trees, of dark green and blackish foliage. These Tom learned later were mostly pine trees and other conifers.
It was the part of the island immediately about the flagstaff, though, that interested him the most. Here quite a clearing seemed to have been made in the dense forest, and a cluster of rough huts could be seen, with several figures moving about. Against the dark background the red flag floated out like a flame.
While the others stood in a group at the rail watching all this, Tom retired to a seat on the edge of the cabin skylight. As it had grown warm with the dropping of the wind, one of the sections of the light was open, and through it the voices of Hunt and Lake drifted up from the cabin as they sat talking.
“We won’t be able to lose much time, cap,” Tom could hear Zeb say; “the red flag is up and that means that the steamer has called with another load of Chinks and gone away again. The sooner we run them through the better, more especially as Chillingworth is out of the way.”
“Why, thar’s no hurry, is thar?” inquired Lake. “I’d like a bit of a run ashore thar to git my head in shape again. Then, too, thar’s thet gold back in ther hills. I mean ter sic’ that professer onter thet, Zeb.”
“You still think thet’s gold-bearing rock, then?”
“I’m sure uv it. Ef only it is, we’ll get rid of this crew uv ours, Zeb, and you and I ’ull chuck this Chink running business and settle down ter mining. It’s not so dangerous, an’ almost as profitable.”
“Well,” came Hunt’s voice, “I’ve only one thing ter say, pervisions is short, an’ ef ther steamer has landed another bunch of Chinks, the less time we keep ’em ashore the better. Then, too, this wife of Chillingworth’s is bound ter kick up a turribul rumpus when she finds her husband is gone. All things considered, I say let’s get the job over and done with, as quick as possible.”
“I dunno but what ye’re right,” rejoined Lake, “and – ”
But here the noise of the crew, as under the orders of Zeb’s assistant, a little bow-legged fellow, with a fringe of beard under his chin, they began to work the schooner on another tack, drowned all other sound.
Tom arose from his seat, not wishing to court discovery by remaining there longer. He felt that he had overheard an important conversation, though. In the event of Lake’s and Zeb’s having to make a quick run back to the coast, perhaps it would be possible in some way to smuggle themselves on board, or at least work out some plan to get back to their own people. Then, too, there had been some hope in what the Kanaka had said. Evidently he and his companion knew something about the island which was of high importance to persons in their position.
Altogether Tom felt quite heartened compared to his despondency of a short time before.
By dinner time the schooner had been worked quite close to the island, and when they came on deck after the meal they found that not more than a few hundred yards separated her from the shore. While they had been down in the cabin she had slipped in through a passage in a sort of reef that extended from the shore. She now lay in deep, calm water, scarcely moving. As Zeb shouted the command and the anchor rattled and roared to the bottom of the lagoon, several boats put off from the shore and came toward them.
Tom looked toward the rough, precipitous shores with a strange mingling of excitement and apprehension. What lay in front of them on that island? Was it to prove the scene of their indefinite imprisonment in practical slavery to Lake and his crew?
The boy could not but think that the outlook appeared as sombre as the leaden skies, the drab, rocky hills, and the sullen, gray sea outside the reef. But he determined to put a brave face on it, and began to watch, with some interest, the boats pulling toward them.
