  Upon leaving the two boys Terry wandered down a path that led to the other side of the narrow strip of dirt and rock which formed the needle-like point. He had no definite object in mind other than a hazy idea that each foot of the place must be gone over in the search for clues. So he headed for the side of the point directly opposite to that upon which they had arrived. Although the underlying surface of Needle Point was of solid rock, the top, for a depth of a foot at least, was composed of soft soil, and Terry began to scan it for footprints. He had no difficulty in finding them, and when he did he was more than interested. Evidently two persons had passed from the north side of the point to the lighthouse and when they had gone back again their feet had made deeper prints in the earth. It occurred to him that they might have been carrying someone, and he had no doubt that it had been the keeper. Deeply intent on the tracks Terry followed them down to the shore and there paused. There was a single rock there that formed a natural landing place, though no dock had been constructed of wood. Here the prints of the men’s footsteps stopped and it was evident that they had taken to a boat. Where had the boat been? Terry looked out across the water as far as he could see but there was no craft of any kind in sight, except a very small rowboat that bobbed up and down a few feet away, tugging at the painter which held it captive to a stake which had been driven in the ground. Terry glanced back at the lighthouse. He wondered if he should tell the others of his findings immediately or wait until he could find something else. After all, he had found out so little, and he wanted to push his search a little further before he told anything. Off to his right stretched the shore, a low-lying, swampy mass of mystery, bound up in a heavy fog which rose from the ground. He wondered if there might be some creek there which might shelter a small boat, and deciding to investigate, he pulled the small rowboat to him and got in. “Won’t be gone but a minute,” he decided, remembering the captain’s warning. He found the boat a trifle wet, but making the best of it all, he bent to the task of rowing. The boat was light and he sent it toward the misty shore with swift, sure strokes. His idea was to press close to land and examine the mouth of any little inlet that he might find, so, quickly gaining the shore, he began to row more slowly, watching carefully. There were a few openings, he discovered, but none large enough to hide anything of importance, and so he kept moving onward, fascinated with the search he was conducting. In time the lighthouse got further and further away and he came at last to a point of land, shaped like Needle Point and jutting out into the water in the same manner. Realizing that he was getting quite some distance from his friends, Terry determined to round the point and give one sweeping look, and then, if he found nothing, to row back to the lighthouse. Accordingly, he rounded the point rapidly, and almost ran into a long, low black cruiser which seemed to crouch beside the reedy shore. As soon as the boy saw it he knew from the way it was drawn up beside the bushes that it was there for no good. Hastily backing water with his oars, so as not to run into it, Terry sat motionless in the rowboat, looking at the cruiser which loomed not ten feet away from him. He had feared at first that someone might see him, but no one was on the deck, although a light stabbed the darkness from a side cabin window. The cruiser itself had light, fast lines, with a sharp bow, narrow cabin with a foot of deck space on each side of it, and a small after deck, from which the pilot operated the wheel and the motor. Terry’s first thought was to row the boat silently to the side of the cruiser, stand up and look in the window of the cabin; but fearing to make a noise which might betray him, he decided not to do it. But he was more than anxious to see what was in there, and he considered the possibility of boarding the craft and looking in from the narrow deck. At first he rejected the thought. The better thing was to row back, get the captain and the boys, and come back in a body, trusting to luck that the cruiser would be there. But there was always the chance that there was nothing wrong with the cruiser and he would be wasting time. If the cruiser should sail away while he was gone he would never know for sure if it had belonged to the men they sought or not. No, he must find out at once and alone, so carefully pulling in his oars he quietly paddled the boat nearer to the cruiser, cautiously using only one oar. Balancing himself and keeping the nose of the little boat from thumping the cruiser was a job that required skill, but Terry, concentrating every nerve, managed to do it. He knew that if any one suddenly opened the companionway door he would be lost, for a flood of light would instantly give him away. If that emergency came he was determined to push off and row for the shore with all his strength. When he got to the rail of the cruiser he slipped the rope around a support and breathlessly stepped onto the small afterdeck. It was one of the hardest jobs he had ever done in his life. The cruiser was light and weight, placed in the wrong place, would surely make it tip enough for those inside to realize that something or someone was aboard that had no business there. The chances were that the deck was tight enough to keep from creaking under his steps, but he had to look out for loose ropes or any other thing which might be underfoot. It was with a rapidly beating heart that Terry stood on the deck of the cruiser, listening intently for sounds, ready to take to flight at an instant’s notice. But after a few seconds, during which a low murmuring of voices from inside reached him, he came to the conclusion that nothing was likely to happen at the moment and he crept slowly and carefully to the starboard side of the cruiser, toward the strip of deck and the window which showed on that side. Here again he had to be careful that his weight did not careen the boat, but fortunately for him the cruiser had been built broadly and it would have taken someone with greater weight than Terry Mackson to have tipped it. He gained the narrow deck and went down on his hands and knees, creeping along until he was underneath the window. Then, with infinite care, he thrust his head forward inch by inch and looked in the window. Benito and Frank were playing cards at a small table. Both men, with cigars in mouth, were intent on the game. Beside them, on a bunk, lay the lighthouse keeper, or so Terry judged, for the man, who was tall and thin, was tied to the bunk and at the present moment lay looking sullenly up at the roof of the cabin. Evidently Frank had won, for he pocketed some money with a grin, while Benito pushed the cards from him with a savage growl. The leader picked the cards up and placed them in a dirty box and Frank looked at his watch. “Guess Marcy ain’t coming,” he said, looking inquiringly at the big man. “What are we going to do?” “We’ll go on down without him,” decided Benito. “Something must have come up that kept him. We might as well get back to the hide-out before somebody comes prowling around. No use in getting caught with him on our hands.” He jerked his thumb toward the man on the bunk, who turned and glared at him. “The government’ll fix you for this, you’ll see,” the captive lighthouse keeper shrilled. “Aw, dry up,” snorted the leader of the gang. “If you hadn’t put up such a holler because we tried to walk off with your brass telescope you wouldn’t be here. Lucky thing I dragged you away from that telephone, or you’d have the country down on us.” “I will yet,” shouted the keeper. “Stealin’ government property and kidnappin’ a lighthouse keeper is a pretty serious crime. See what you get out of it.” Frank looked at the big man. “What he says is true,” he muttered. “What are we going to do with the old fool?” Benito shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “Don’t know yet. We’ll have to drop him somewhere far down the shore.” He got up quickly. “Let’s get underway.” So great had been Terry’s interest that he had not stopped to consider that he would not have time to get away, but he realized it now. It was but one step from the cabin to the afterdeck and before he could move Frank had made that step. Terry groaned inwardly, not so much because he felt that he would be seen at once as from the realization that the rowboat would be discovered. He waited for the shout that would herald the discovery, but it did not come, and in another moment the throb of the cruiser’s engine came to him as he lay there face downward on the narrow deck. Later on he discovered that the thing which prevented his immediate discovery was the fact that he had but loosely roped the painter of the rowboat, and that it had slipped off and drifted away while he was listening to the conversation at the window. But at the time he was not even wondering, but was thinking seriously of escape. He could slip overboard and swim away, trusting to luck to remain hidden in the darkness long enough for them to get away on their run to their hiding place. The shore was not far off and he would have no difficulty in reaching it. But as he swiftly reflected upon his difficult position, he resolved to see it through and go with the bandits to their secret retreat. The men evidently had some secret place to which they could retreat in case of a general hunt, and to find that place was worth the risk that he might run. Another thought was the fact that he did not wish to abandon the lighthouse keeper. He might be able to go for help later on and so be of great value to the man who was tied up inside. These thoughts shot rapidly through Terry’s head as he lay there in the darkness, and awaited the turn of events. With a speed that was breath-taking the cruiser began to forge ahead, and Frank, turning the little wheel at the top of the low cabin, sent it out to sea in a wide arc. The sharp bow of the cruiser hissed into the tiny waves like a hot iron, and the water, in long, graceful and curling billows, raced smoothly past the side. Benito went out on the deck and joined the smaller man and they talked together in low tones as the cruiser began its journey down the coast. From where Terry lay he could still see in the window and he watched the captive on the bunk. As soon as Benito had left the room the man began to wrench at his bonds, but after ten minutes of futile effort he gave it up and settled back on the bunk with a groan of despair and rage. Terry was fairly comfortable where he was but his chief fear was that either one of the men might look over the edge of the cabin and ruin his plans. But in all the time required to run ten miles down the coast neither of them looked in his direction, and Terry was carried securely onward. They were now before a wild section of the country. There was not a light to be seen along the shore and the only sound, other than the steady and powerful throb of the marine engine, was the hollow boom of the huge waves on the shore. Terry judged by the sound that there was some shoal near the shore which accounted for the booming sound, for he had read of such things. And then his thoughts were diverted by the fact that Frank was throttling down the engine and swinging the cruiser around toward the shore. Little as Terry knew about sailing it nevertheless puzzled him as to why the engine should be shut down while so far from the shore, for he knew that they could not possibly drift in that distance. While he puzzled over this the answer was suddenly presented to him. Something huge and black rose up alongside the cruiser and Terry very nearly cried out in astonishment. It was two or three full minutes before the explanation came to him. They were moored beside the wreck of a huge old ship, one which had been hard and fast aground for years, and because it was in this lonely stretch of beach it had never been burned or destroyed, except by the slow action of the waves. Frank was tying the bow of the cruiser to the splintered rail of the ship, and passing close to Terry while doing so. The task completed, Frank jumped to the deck and called to Benito. “All tied up, boss,” he said. “Shall we lug that old boy aboard?” Benito gave gruff orders and the keeper, protesting and a little frightened, was lifted from the bunk and carried out on deck. He was somewhat roughly shoved over the rotting rail of the wreck and the two bandits followed him. For another minute Terry could hear their voices and then all became still. He raised himself slowly, realizing for the first time that he was stiff and sore. Waiting for an instant to be sure that the men would not return for something, and finding at last that they apparently had no intention of doing so, Terry stood up and surveyed the old ship before him. He did not fully realize just what type it was, but it was a three-masted schooner of the old type, long and low, with splintered stumps of masts and broken wood littering the decks in every direction. Although it had been battered fearfully by the waves it had nevertheless been sturdy enough to resist total destruction, and as it was practically certain that no one ever visited it, it was indeed an ideal hide-away for the gang. Terry was at first tempted to steal the boat of the gang and run back down the coast to summon aid, and could have done so had he known how to run the thing, but he knew that he could not and so gave the project up. The only thing left for him was to do some further spying and see just what the inside of the schooner looked like. To try landing on an uninhabited coast was pure folly, and as the future was uncertain he decided that his best move lay in inspecting the craft. Accordingly, he stepped from the cabin roof to the deck of the schooner, noting as he did so that it had been named the Alaskan in the days of its pride and glory. There was a large cabin in the very center of the schooner and toward it Terry made his way, stepping carefully over wreckage which littered the deck in every direction. He doubted if the men were in that particular cabin, for there was no light, but as there was pretty certain to be a good-sized hold under the ship he concluded that the actual place of concealment was there. At the doorway of the cabin he halted and looked around, but no one was in sight and he made his way down three steps, coming at last to the floor. It was wet and slippery but perfectly firm, and treading carefully Terry made his way toward another door which he could see at the other end of the cabin. A faint light shone through this door and he knew he was close to the nest which the outlaw band had made. When he gained this door he found a new and safe ladder leading down into a large hold that took up much of the space of the ship. At the far end of this hold a small room had been partitioned off, and from this room a lantern sent its rays out into the big, barn-like hold. Terry crossed the hold, conscious of the lapping of water against the sides of the ship, and looked into the smaller room. Benito and Frank were seated before a table, and the old lady who had been at the house on Mystery Island was setting some meat and potatoes before them. Terry had never seen the woman himself, but he was sure it was the same one from Don’s description of her. The keeper was sitting in a chair bound and apparently awaiting his turn to eat with sullen grace. From time to time Benito, who seemed in high spirits, turned to joke with his captive, but Timothy received all his advances with grunts and disagreeable faces, all of which amused the leader hugely. Pressing back into the shadow Terry began to form plans for the rescue of the keeper. The schooner was large and he could hide away until the men were asleep and then, with the aid of the knife which he had in his pocket, he could liberate the keeper and they could make a dash for liberty. He would have to be careful in his prowling around the big ship, for it might be full of pit-holes which would seriously hinder his work. When he had rescued the keeper they could plan a way to escape, and possibly capture the gang. Of course there would be difficulties, but— A step sounded behind him and he whirled swiftly. But before he could do anything else a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and a man stepped out into the light. He was a heavy set man with a dirty, half-bearded face, and just now there was a leer of triumphant satisfaction on it. It was the man Marcy, the third member of the gang. “So!” shouted Terry’s captor. “What are you doing here, young fellow?” |
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