  “That’s a nice way to welcome mariners!” exclaimed Cliff as they came alongside; the colored man on deck merely grunted. “Pass your line!” he said. When they clambered onto the small aft deck they saw that their new captor was a large, heavy, but lithe-looking negro. “I wanted you to go away, before,” he said, more pleasantly. “When I saw you this time I wouldn’t take chances on letting you go!” “What do you mean by that?” Nicky demanded. “Oh!” replied the man, “it’s this way: we got the maps back in Jamaica, and got El Libertad ready. When you tried to hire her Senor Ortiga let your chief think she was laid up waiting for machinery—but before you were ten miles away we started for the archipelago.” “Then I suppose it was one of your crowd who tried to scare us with the blue light and rapping on the sloop,” cried Nicky. “It was me,” he answered, not very grammatically. “I used a blue ship’s flare we had on the boat, burned in a box so you only saw the light and not the flame. Then I swam out under water and hit the sloop and then coaxed you back to the island with another flare.” “So it was you who put the message there,” Tom exclaimed, feeling somewhat ashamed of his terror of the past, now that a perfectly natural explanation made it all seem so easy to understand. “I put it there, but Cap’n Ortiga, he planned it—with the man who got the maps.” “And who was that?” demanded Nicky. “You’ll see,” declared the colored man. “Come this way!” He led them into the cabin, a much smaller one than on the Senorita, since the Libertad was a narrower, shorter vessel. Under the ceiling electric dome two men sat at a table, playing some game of cards. The man facing them was of Spanish type, not as tall or as excitable as his brother, but clearly related to the hi-jacker they had just before their escape been able to imprison in his own cabin. He looked up and as the man whose back was toward them did so and made a half turn on his folding seat, all three boys started and their jaws dropped. “Mr. Coleson!” gasped Nicky. It was Mr. Coleson all right—the owner of the plantation where they had stayed in Jamaica. “Hello, young fellows!” he replied briskly, swinging further around in his chair. “So you came back!” They were still speechless with surprise. “I’m rather glad you did,” Mr. Coleson went on. “Did you find any treasure?” He turned a grinning face to wink at Senor Ortiga who frowned heavily at the boys. Nicky shook his head. “You know right well we didn’t!” he declared. “You sent us away to have a clear field here.” “Nevertheless I gather that there is treasure buried in such spots,” said Mr. Coleson. “You might have found some.” “We found something else, though,” said Nicky, fixing a meaning look upon the Spaniard. “Liquor! Of course!” Rodriguez Ortiga agreed shortly. “How did it happen that my beloved brother didn’t put an end to you—I rather expected that he would!” Tom was caressing his left ear rather hurriedly; Nicky, lips half open, suddenly recognized the sign of their secret call for a council, or for silence, and folded his arms. Cliff took up the answer to Ortiga. “Your brother,” he said, meaningly, “has a better use for us!” Ortiga leaned back, scowling, looking sharply at the trio. “Just what does that mean?” he demanded. “You’ll see!” Cliff said. Ortiga pursued the inquiry but with Cliff the others remained stubbornly silent. They saw that Cliff’s plan, for some reason they did not yet grasp, was to puzzle the two men. Nicky, to get away from the subject, turned on the estate owner. “How did you come to be on this boat?” he asked. Mr. Coleson, smiling a little, answered readily. “Quite simple. You see, I have the maps!” “How’d you get them?” Tom broke in. “Equally simple, my lad. I was not far away when I observed your little difficulty with the voodoo woman, and being curious, half intending to interfere, I came closer, just beyond the heavy fringe of brush near the cabin. From there I overheard enough of your talk with Sam to become interested. I followed you three and since you held your supposedly secret meeting quite close to my own windows I overheard some more.” The trio of chums felt sheepish. For once their mysteries had been carelessly pursued; they had talked openly instead of by signs, as they all recalled clearly on looking back upon that day of many excitements. “Knowing the island superstitions, it was easy to frighten the child—the little negro boy—I merely held a handkerchief over my face as I crouched by the dining room window, watching for a chance to get the map you were discussing. My white suit accomplished the rest.” He had worn a light suit, as did most of the people of Jamaica, the youths recollected. “I was sorry to have to strike Sam, but I saw that your part of the chart was insufficient and so I took the balance from Sam.” “It’s all very easy to see, now that you explain it,” said Nicky, ruefully recalling that they had attached some ghostly importance to perfectly ordinary causes. Nicky also recalled that Mr. Coleson had, himself, that night, mentioned the ghosts—for his own purpose, it now became clear! “I suppose you climbed into a window after you got our map,” said Tom, vowing mentally never to accept a single ghostly bit of evidence again as long as he lived. “I did better than that,” replied Mr. Coleson, appearing to take a grim delight in explaining how easily he had hoodwinked them. “I merely crouched beside the white part of the house, back of the shrubbery. You looked all about except right behind you, that time!” “But see here!” cut in Ortiga, “what is it that my brother has use for you for?” Again the chums became silent; actually, there was no answer but they pretended mystifying knowledge, in a way paying back the debt they owed Mr. Coleson and the colored man for the blue light and old tin can. “Well, it doesn’t matter—now that we shall use you first!” “Use us?” cried Nicky. “Use us for what?” In his turn Ortiga smiled enigmatically. Mr. Coleson spoke. “You see, boys,” he said, “we have the maps, and we have cruised among the islands for days—but we haven’t located the Dipper Islands—and, of course, no treasure is found. You must have the clue we lack. We will share with you after you help us to find the treasure.” “Supposing we won’t help?” inquired Nicky defiantly. “It’s ours by right. And, suppose we don’t even know a clue?” “In the first case, we will find ways to make you tell,” snapped Senor Ortiga, with a clenching fist crumpling the hand of cards he held. “In the latter case—we won’t believe you!” Nicky turned with helpless dismay to his two chums. They still had their arms folded. “Say nothing!” was the sign Tom made and Nicky nodded. “I suppose my brother has learned from you about the treasure,” said Ortiga, rising. “That is what he would use you for. Well—we will be just a little ahead of him—as usual!” For once, as they sprawled on the cushioned side seats which had to serve as bunks, the three comrades admitted to their own secret selves, although not to each other, that there seemed to be no way out of this dilemma. For once their self-reliance was a very small spark, indeed! “But the right always wins out somehow,” Nicky consoled himself. “If it didn’t then the world would have been smashed up long ago!” Then, a little braced by his trust, he dozed. |
|
