IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS.

Joe had plenty to ponder after Hank had left. Of course, he had heard from Nat of the mysterious “Nemo” call, and, in view of what he had heard from the reformed member of the Harley family, it looked to him very much as if old Israel had had some hand in the affair. Then, too, there was Hank’s remarkable change of front. Joe had at first questioned the youth’s sincerity but after a time his manner left no room to doubt that his proffer of friendship was genuine. Joe was very glad that this was so, for, in case old Israel returned and tried to make trouble, Hank would prove a valuable ally.

“I reckon I’ll see if I can raise the Nomad and flash Nat the news of the afternoon,” thought Joe, upon whose hands the time was beginning to hang heavily.

If anyone was on board the Nomad, this would be an easy thing for Joe to do, for by this time the wireless outfit, that the boys had agreed would prove a valuable addition to the Nomad’s equipment, had been installed.

But before Joe could reach his instruments the wireless “alarm clock” began ringing loudly, sounding the Goat Island call. Joe hastened to the apparatus and sent out a reply. Then he adjusted the head band and the receivers and began listening. The message that came made his cheeks tingle with pleasure. It was from the Chief of Police of Santa Barbara and was as follows:

“Congratulations. Good work. Man on Vesta bank robber badly wanted. Probably a reward case.”

Joe felt a distinct feeling of pleasure over the despatch. It demonstrated in no uncertain way the practical utility of their plant. But the boy felt somewhat disappointed that the two miscreants who had so roughly used him had not been apprehended. He was not a revengeful lad but he would certainly have liked to learn of the men’s capture.

Presently he set about the task of raising the Nomad by wireless. But, although he tried for more than an hour to get some response, he failed to do so.

“That’s queer,” thought the boy. “Nat said that he would surely be on his way back before dark. Well, I suppose I’ve got to make up my mind to spend a solitary evening of it.”

As it grew dark he cooked his supper and ate it with a hearty appetite. Afterward he read for a while and then, feeling drowsy, determined to turn in.

“I guess there’s no chance of Nat’s coming back to-night,” he thought as he extinguished the light.

How much later it was that he awakened, he did not know, but some impulse made him go to the window and look over toward the wireless hut. To his astonishment a light was shining in the casement of the structure that housed the instruments.

Joe’s heart gave a great bound.

“It’s Israel Harley!” he exclaimed under his breath. “What am I to do? He’s sure not to be alone and Nat’s revolver is locked in his trunk.”

The boy was no coward, as those who have followed the Motor Rangers’ adventures know, but the situation was one that might have tried stronger nerves than Joe Hartley’s, gritty as he was.

He saw a shadow cross the lighted window as whoever was within the wireless hut moved about.

“I don’t like this a bit,” muttered Joe to himself, as he cast about for the best means of coping with the situation. “Those fellows are just about as bad as bad can be and I’ve had one experience with ruffians already to-day. I don’t feel like having a second struggle.”

The light burned steadily on, but whoever was within the hut did not pass the window again.

“They may be demolishing the instruments and smashing things up generally right now,” said Joe to himself as he watched and waited.

The thought was like a tonic to him. He determined to delay no longer but, come what might of it, to surprise the intruders and trust to luck for the outcome. He selected a short, heavy oar from some that lay outside the shanty. It made quite a formidable weapon when wielded by a muscular lad like Joe, and as his fingers closed on it he felt ready to give battle to a whole tribe of Harleys.

In a quiver of excitement and suspense, he crept forward almost noiselessly over the soft sand. What the outcome of the affair would be he did not know nor did he dare to think. But he was determined at all hazards to guard the valuable equipment of the wireless station.

“At any rate, I’ll give a good account of myself,” he thought as he advanced toward the lighted hut.

Nevertheless he caught himself wishing more than once that his chums were with him. About twenty feet from the hut he paused and listened intently. He fully expected to hear the noise of breakage as the vandals destroyed the instruments.

But to his astonishment all was utter silence. The only sound to be heard was the breaking of the waves on the sandy beach below.

“Funny I don’t hear any voices, either,” he muttered. “There must be more than one of them. Old Israel’s not the sort of man to come alone on an enterprise of this kind.”

Once more he paused after advancing a few steps, but as before no suspicious sounds broke the stillness.

“It can’t be spooks,” he thought, and the next minute had to smile at himself for entertaining such a silly notion.

“No, it’s human beings all right, and ones who have no good intentions toward us or they wouldn’t come sneaking around here like thieves in the night. I suppose that they saw that the Nomad had gone from her moorings and that the shanty was dark and assumed that there was no one here.”

He advanced still further and was now quite close up to the hut. Still all was silence within. Had it not been for the light in the window he would have deemed that he was the victim of a delusion. But there was no mistaking the fact of the light, and no mistaking, also, that it was a human agency that had kindled it.

“Thought there was no one here, eh?” muttered Joe, gritting his teeth. “Well, Harley and Co., here’s where you get the surprise of your young lives.”

He stepped forward with brisk determination and prepared to thrust the closed door open.

But the next instant he stopped dead.

“Well!” he ejaculated in startled amazement.

From within the hut had come the last sound in the world he expected to hear. It was the whine and crackle of the spark. Somebody was sending a message!