“Do you intend to let them get away from us like this?”

It was Mate Durkee, of the Tropic Bird, who asked the question of Captain Lawless, as the two stood leaning on the schooner’s rail, watching the fast-diminishing form of the Motor Rangers’ capable craft.

The wind had fallen, and the schooner was dipping and rolling on the swells, with her canvas flapping idly. The crew, grouped in a mass forward, were watching their superior officers with some curiosity. Plainly they were anxious to see how the situation was to be met.

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” demanded Lawless.

“I’ve got a plan, but it involves a good deal of risk,” was the reply. “Are you willing to take a chance?”

“I’m willing to do almost anything to get even on that outfit,” was the response, in a vicious tone.

“Then listen to me. I happen to know that we are not far from an island where I’m pretty sure we can sell the schooner to the old chief for a good price. When that is done, we can get a canoe from him and have some of his men paddle us out into the track of that line of Dutch steamers that run from Manila to Callao. If we spin a good enough yarn, we can get passage all right.”

“Well, what then?” grunted Captain Lawless.

“Why, can’t you see? We’ll get from Callao to that Chilean port for which that outfit is bound in very little time. Once there, we can use our own judgment as to how to proceed. But I must admit, that I, for one, mean to get a chance at the treasures of the lost city.”

“Suppose we did make that island you are talking of,” said Captain Lawless, in tones that showed that the mate’s plan had made a deep impression on him, “how soon would that Dutch steamer be going by?”

Mate Durkee made a rapid mental calculation.

“I used to run on the line, so I know their schedule pretty well,” he said. “She should be going by by to-morrow night, at latest.”

“Humph! But you don’t seem to have taken the crew into consideration. What are we going to do with them?”

“Oh, give them some sort of song and dance and abandon them. They can live very well on the island till some vessel takes them off.”

This cold-blooded proposal seemed to banish Captain Lawless’ last lingering trace of hesitation.

“It’s a good plan,” he said, “but a daring one. Suppose it ever leaks out how we sold the schooner? There’ll be a clear case of barratry against us.”

“So far as that is concerned,” urged Durkee, “we can’t be much worse off than we are now, can we? That professor means to make things hot for us in the States. I saw that in his eye. We must take refuge somewhere, and Chile looks about as good to me as any place I can think of right now.”

“I don’t know but what you’re right,” agreed Lawless. “Let’s go below and look at the chart. How long ought it to be before we reach this island, if we get a good breeze?”

“Not more than eight hours. If the wind picks up, we should make a landfall before midnight.”

Some two hours later a spanking breeze arose out of the northwest. The schooner’s sails bellied to it, and a spirit of joy was abroad among the crew. Their officers had promised them a quick run to a fine island, and then unlimited shore leave. Little dreaming of the trap that was being laid for them, the crew went about their tasks of trimming sails with songs and glad shouts.

When twilight fell the schooner was bowling along at a twelve-knot gait, bound for the island of which Mate Durkee had spoken. It was known to him as Brigantine Island, although the charts called it Cook’s Land.

As the mate had foretold, it was not long after midnight when a cry of “Land ho!” rang out from the forward lookout. It was bright moonlight, and in the silvery radiance those on board the schooner had no difficulty in making out a long, low elbow of land right ahead. Close at hand they could hear the thunder of the surf as it broke on the reef.

“Do you know the passage?” asked the skipper of his mate.

“I could run it blindfold,” was the response. “Close haul on those head-sheets!” he called out. “Lively, now! Bring her about! That’s the way! Here, I’ll take the wheel myself!” he cried the next instant, springing to the helm.

Under his skillful guidance, for there was no denying that the rascal was an able seaman, the Tropic Bird was swung through the narrow passage-way in the reef, and shot into the calm waters of the lagoon beyond.

“Don’t seem to be much life ashore,” said Captain Lawless, scanning the moonlit island.

“Fire a rocket, and you’ll see the dingoes come running out of their holes,” laughed the mate.

A big signal rocket was procured from the ship’s stores, and discharged.

As it burst in a cloud of blue flame, and the “bang” which accompanied its bursting resounded loudly, lights began to flash on shore, and they could see scores of dark figures scuttling about the white beach.

“What did I tell you?” said the mate, with a grin. “We’ll get a great reception, all right.”

“They don’t happen to be cannibals, do they?” inquired Captain Lawless timidly, his habitual caution asserting itself.

The mate laughed.

“What a one you are to get scared, Lawless!” he said. “Your name don’t fit you a bit. Cannibals, is it? I should say not. Those chaps are mission natives—some of them—and as smart a bunch as you’d want to see.”

As there was no time to be lost, if they wished to carry out their audacious plan, the captain ordered a boat lowered and he and his mate went ashore immediately. The chief was soon found. In fact, he was down on the beach. He recognized Durkee, who seemed to have some sort of a hold over him, and negotiations for the sale of the schooner were at once begun. Like most dealings with savage folk, it required a lot of diplomacy to accomplish the desired end. The trading was carried on under a palm-thatched roof, while natives with torches stood all about.

If the two white men had not been so engrossed with their own affairs, they might have been inclined to admire the savage picturesqueness of the scene. But, as it was, they devoted their attention strictly to business.

The chief, who rejoiced in the name of Billy Bowlegs—an appellation of which he seemed quite proud—proved an adroit old bargainer. He spoke English well, and was to the full as shrewd as any Caucasian trader.

But at last they managed to “make a deal,” as the saying is. Billy Bowlegs was in need of a good schooner, and had long coveted the Tropic Bird, which was well known in those waters before Captain Lawless acquired her. The chief was willing to give three hundred dollars in cash and two valuable pearls, worth fully the same amount each, for the craft.

As this was the best they could do, the two rascally white men agreed on this figure, and Billy Bowlegs agreed to give them transportation in a war canoe as far as the path of the Dutch liners, which passed to seaward of the island by fifty miles or so.

The crew, carousing and enjoying themselves in their own rough fashion, knew nothing of the departure of their captain and mate that morning, nor did those two worthies wish that they should. By the time the abandoned men awoke to the true state of affairs, Lawless and Durkee were on board the Dutch steamer Prinz Joachim of the Imperial Peru and Manila Line, bound for Callao. They were regarded with much interest on board the craft as two luckless mariners—rough but honest—who had lost their vessel in the great magnetic storm.

And so, while the Motor Rangers were gleefully heading for the land of the lost city, their two malignant foes were likewise speeding toward South America on a fast, well-equipped vessel.