  To Terry’s statement that he had seen the clock move the captain was prepared to give a contemptuous snort, but as he looked he too saw it move and then open wide. A moment later and Don Mercer was bounding down the stairs and thumping Terry on the back. “Chucklehead, you character,” Don cried. “I sure am glad to see you!” “Don’t say a word,” replied his chum, fairly dancing around in his joy. “We’re more than glad to see you, even if you did come out of a clock!” “A little story which might be entitled ‘Once upon a time!’ eh?” grinned Don. Terry frowned. “You must have been treated horribly here, to spring such a bad pun as that one. Don, I want you to know Captain Blow, who saved the sloop from capture.” Don and the captain shook hands warmly. “Glad to meet you, young fellow,” the captain said. “We was prepared to rip up this island to find you.” “You certainly took the gates of the mansion off in great style,” Don nodded. “I’m very happy to know you, captain. I appreciate what you have done.” “It’s nothing,” declared the captain, waving his hand. “Anybody in this place?” They went through the house from top to bottom and Don showed them the storage room. But now there remained but a few of the smaller articles, everything else had been carted off. “After we chased them off last night they must have loaded their stuff into a boat and run off with it,” remarked the captain. “But what I want to know is what kind of a boat have those fellows got? Must have some kind of a power cruiser that runs up here close to the house by way of a creek.” A little later on, they found that this was so. While looking over the cellar which Don had not seen at all, owing to the darkness, they found at one end a door which led directly out into a thicket. Through the midst of this thicket was a path, and soon they came across a narrow creek, in which lay their own dinghy. “Sure,” nodded the captain. “They run their boat up here and kept out of sight. Last night they loaded that stuff and slipped away.” Don and Terry rowed out in the dinghy, while the captain went around to the cove for the dory. Soon the captain caught up to them under power and they arrived at the Lassie at the same time. Jim was overjoyed to see his brother safe and sound, and they all united in thanking the old captain. “Avast there, stow that stuff!” he protested. “Nothing to thank me for. I never liked the looks of that crew, and I always felt that they had no business on my island. I’ve lived there for twenty years. Now, it’s time we got down to business. We’ve got to get over to Stillwell at once.” “What for?” asked Don. “We must make a report to the authorities about these fellows and have that house taken over. Start your engine running. It won’t take us long.” They started the engine and headed the sloop across the gray water toward the town of Stillwell. Don was starved, of course, and Jim, as soon as his duties permitted, made him a hearty meal. The captain insisted upon taking the tiller and in a few hours they were gliding in beside the long dock at the town. Jim stood at the bow while Don slowly throttled the engine down, and when the bow was close to the dock he leaped ashore, snubbed the rope around a post, and then pushed the bow off with one foot, so as not to allow it to scrape. The Lassie came to a halt, riding quietly up and down. Stillwell was a town of some importance, and they wasted no time in laying their case before the harbor authorities. The chief was much interested and listened eagerly to their story. When Don had finished the chief pushed a button on his desk. A man in uniform entered briskly and saluted. The chief directed him to proceed to Mystery Island at once and take possession of the old house there. After the man had gone the chief turned to the boys and the captain again. “It is always possible that they might go back there for something, and if they do we’ll be able to lay hands on them. But frankly, I’m afraid that they have gone. There is a heavy reward out for them, and I’m rather sorry you weren’t able to hold onto them. But you have done well as it is. I promise you that we’ll bend every effort to catch those fellows and put them behind bars.” After this interview the boys walked around Stillwell, where they were pretty well known, and made a few purchases. The captain had refused to join them, and when they went back to the sloop they found him sitting on the cabin of the Lassie calmly smoking his pipe, his broad back against the sail. “What you been doing, captain?” hailed Terry. “Thinking,” replied the captain. “How’d you fellows like to go in for a beach party tonight?” “A what?” asked Jim. “Beach party. Long’s there isn’t anybody on the island now except me, what do you say we go back, build a fire on the sand, eat out there, and if you are agreeable, I’ll spin a yarn or two. What say?” “I say yes,” voted Don, quickly. “I second that yes,” cried Jim, and Terry nodded. The captain got up. “That’s fine. Let’s get back; that parrot of mine’ll think I’m dead or something. There’s a fair breeze, so let’s see you sail back.” While the captain held the tiller the boys ran up the sails, and soon the sloop was heeling over under a cracking load of sails. The canvas curved out under the force of the breeze until it looked to Terry as though they must burst, but the Mercers and Captain Blow did not seem to mind it in the least. It took them about two hours, and just as the feeble sun was going down they ran past the cove on the island and rounded the point that sheltered the captain’s little bit of land. The sloop was anchored and they went ashore in the dory. After they had beached the dory the captain led the way to the door of the shack and, after winking at the boys, suddenly began to rap on the door. Instantly a medley of groans and sobs sounded from the inside of the shack. Jim, remembering the captain’s words when they left the shack, grinned, but the others looked startled. The captain laughed heartily. “Ahoy, Bella!” he yelled. The groaning and sobbing ceased abruptly and there was a moment of silence. Then the parrot cried out, “Open the door, open the door!” The captain opened the door and they went in. The parrot, who had been sitting on top of the cold stove, flew to the captain’s shoulder and perched there. “Quit that, you lubber,” the captain growled, as the parrot bit him lovingly on the ear. “Well, what about it, old girl? Any visitors?” “Bella was a good girl!” the polly answered. The captain hung his hat on a peg. “Well, now, I’m real glad to hear that. It don’t happen very often.” He turned to the boys. “Make yourselves at home, as much as you can in such a little place. I’ll get things together and we’ll tramp up the shore aways.” The captain began to wrap up beans, fish, bread and butter in a large package. The boys looked over his fishing tackle and some models of sailing ships that he had carved out of wood. “Where did you ever get this piece of wood, captain?” Jim asked, holding up a small dory carved out of red wood. “Oh, I get most of my wood right here on the beach. The tide washes it up and I find it. I found that piece about three miles down the shore. Don’t even know what kind of wood it is, and it was tough to whittle.” It was now beginning to get dark and the captain and the boys left the shack and started down the rough beach. The storm of the evening previous had littered it with driftwood, and they had to watch the sand before them as they walked. When they got to a point about a mile from the shack the captain stopped and placed his bundles on the sand. Terry and Don, who also carried bundles which the captain had given them, did likewise. “Now,” said the captain, briskly. “We’re ready to go to work. Gather up a load of dry driftwood. Don’t bother with any of the stuff that came ashore last night, but get good stuff. Jim, you help me with the eats, while the boys get the wood.” Getting the wood was no task, as the beach was covered with it. While Terry and Don gathered it the captain put beans in a pot, added water from a jug, and as soon as the fire was going, set them to boiling. On a second fire he started to broil fish. Soon the air was filled with the smell of good cooking. The night was pitch dark and the fire, leaping up into the still air, made a pleasing picture. Far to the south a light flashed out across the water, and Don asked the captain about it. “That’s the Needle Point Lighthouse,” the captain answered. “Run by a friend of mine, Timothy Tompkins. Rather queer old boy, but a good fellow, once you get to know him. We used to have a scheme that if anything went wrong at the lighthouse he would burn a red light and I would come over to help him, but I haven’t seen him for a year or more, and we never did have any use for that light.” The captain dug a hole in the wet sand, made a fire of embers and then put the pot of beans on them. “Beans cooked like this are called bean hole beans,” he told them. “It works a lot better when you are out in the woods, though. Well, how’s that fish? We might as well start in.” That meal was one of the most enjoyable meals the boys ever had. They settled themselves in the sand, listening to the beat of the waves on the beach, and ate the beans and fish with wholesome and hearty appetites. The fire blazed merrily upward toward the sky, and the sand hills back of them seemed to crouch down and ring them around. When the meal was over the captain filled his pipe and began to tell them stories. He had had a wide career on the sea, and had visited many lands on many ships, so they enjoyed his stories immensely. Stories of storms and staunch old sailing ships, of mutiny on the high seas and the people of the southern seas, of the great old shipping days in Boston, and many others. The boys listened attentively and with respect to their friend as he told it all in his own, vivid way. It was Don who first interrupted. He had been looking off across the sea and now he said, “I beg your pardon, Captain Blow, but wasn’t your friend to burn a red light if he needed you for anything?” “Eh?” said the captain, coming abruptly out of a story. “Yes, he was. Why?” “Because,” answered Don, pointing across the tumbling black waters, “there is some kind of a red light burning from a window in the lighthouse right now!” |
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