  Surprised as Terry was by the unexpected attack from the rear he nevertheless lost no time in getting into action. A second of numbed surprise took possession of him, and then, as he heard Frank and Benito jump to their feet, he pitched savagely at Marcy. A short-distance blow in the ribs almost doubled the man up and he grunted loudly, but his grip on the red-headed boy was not loosened. Twisting rapidly in the man’s grasp Terry tried to break away, but before he could wrench his coat free the others were upon him. They recognized him at once and lost no time in overpowering him. Flat on his back went the boy, with the three men sprawling over him. “Let up!” gasped Terry, half smothered. “I know when I’m out of order!” The men scrambled from him and Benito jerked him roughly to his feet. “What are you doing here?” snarled the leader, thrusting his face close to Terry’s. “Had no intention of staying,” panted Terry. “In fact, I was leaving when this fellow insisted upon my staying.” “Don’t be funny, young fellow,” thundered Benito. “Come in here, where we can see you.” Roughly propelled by a shove Terry shot into the smaller room and the men gathered around him. “Now, out with it,” commanded the leader. “How did you get here?” “I was out rowing and I stepped aboard your boat, which brought me here,” said Terry. “All the way from the lighthouse.” “Spying on us, eh? Well, young fellow, it will be a sorry night’s work for you.” Benito glared at him. “Where are the others?” “Still at the lighthouse, I’m afraid,” confessed Terry. Benito turned to Marcy. “Where did you come from?” “Been on the boat all night, boss,” explained the other. “I didn’t go up the line at all. I was back in the old cook galley when I heard you come on board, and when I came in this way I saw this boy standing back in the shadows, so I jumped him.” “Lucky thing you did,” put in Frank. “We’re having entirely too much trouble with these kids.” “But we won’t have any more with this one,” promised Benito, grimly. “Put him in the cell.” “I suppose it is no use trying to bluff you fellows into letting me go,” said Terry. “But I’m warning you that you’ll get in big trouble for this.” “That’s right, young fellow,” cried the lighthouse keeper, who was an interested onlooker. “We’ll make things warm for these boys once we get loose.” “You’d better worry as to when you’ll be loose first,” sneered Benito. “Put him away, Frank.” Frank opened a small door at the back of the room and Terry was pushed into a black cell. The door slammed shut and he heard a lock snapped. He was a prisoner on the old wreck. Without loss of time he explored the small room in which he found himself and was at once convinced of the idea that escape was impossible. The cell was only a cubbyhole, with no opening anywhere, and the only article of furniture was a single chair. When he had become fully aware of his helplessness he went back to the door, and applying his ears to a crack, listened to the conversation of the men. “Going to put him on the barge, eh?” he heard Marcy say. “Yes,” answered Benito. “I’ll tell the captain to take him a good two hundred miles up the river and turn him loose. By the time he gets anywhere and joins his friends we’ll be out of the country and safe.” Terry judged that they were talking about him and he listened for further details, but the conversation drifted off into other channels and none of it concerned him. After a time the men finished their meal, fed the keeper and then took him away somewhere. It was evident that there was a bunk room somewhere on the ship for the gang, for they put out the light in the next room and went away. A silence, broken only by the slapping of the waves against the wreck, settled down over the place. He made a few more efforts to escape, but all of them were in vain. The door was solid and resisted all his efforts, and there was no other outlet to the cell. Convinced finally that all effort would be useless, Terry at last surrendered to the inevitable and went to sleep on the floor. He was tired and slept soundly in spite of the hardness of his bed and he was finally aroused by the rattling of the lock on the door. He had gotten very hungry and he hoped that food was being brought to him, but when Benito and Frank opened the door their hands were empty. He faced them defiantly, awaiting the next move. “Good morning, son,” greeted Benito. “Nice day, don’t you think?” “Is it?” inquired Terry. “I haven’t had my morning walk yet, so I really can’t agree with you.” “You’ll get your morning walk right now,” chuckled the leader. “Come along with us.” “Where are you taking me?” demanded Terry. “You’ll find out in a minute. Hurry up, we haven’t any time to waste.” Knowing that resistance was useless Terry followed the men through the wreck and climbed the ladder to the deck. It was broad daylight and he judged it to be about seven o’clock. The day was not brilliant but the light was good, a smudgy sort of a sun peering out from behind the clouds. Terry looked anxiously over the water but there was no sign of any craft in sight except a dirty-looking barge which was moored to the side of the wreck. This barge was a large, sprawling affair, with weatherbeaten planks and a single raised cabin forward, from which a smoke stack protruded. Black smoke was pouring from the stack. A single companionway led down into the hold of the barge. Benito stepped to the side of the wreck and hailed an old man who was leaning against the doorway of the barge cabin. “Hey, Ryder! Here’s your passenger!” The captain of the barge, an evil-looking old man with white hair and long side whiskers, took a black pipe out of his mouth long enough to shout back: “Hurry up and put him aboard. I haven’t any time to lose.” “Jump down there on deck,” directed Benito. “Lively, now.” Terry obediently jumped down over the rail onto the deck of the barge and faced its captain. He looked briefly at the boy and then looked up at Benito. “What do you want done with this boy?” he growled. “Take him as far up the river as you are going and let him go,” replied the leader. “If he gets fresh, use your own judgment.” The captain looked contemptuously at Terry. “If I hear one word out of him I’ll stretch him out with a marlinspike. That all you want me for?” “Yes,” nodded Benito. “You do that and I’ll see that you get what is coming to you.” The captain of the barge looked over his shoulder and into the cabin. “Get up steam, Tod,” he called. “You, Maxwell, cast off.” A lumbering big man appeared out of the barge cabin and cast off from the wreck. Someone inside started a thumping engine. After having cast off Maxwell went to the clumsy tiller and steered the barge away from the wreck. “Look here,” challenged Terry, to the captain, “if you don’t want to get into trouble you had better let me go.” The captain looked him over briefly. “Get down below deck and help the cook,” he commanded, and turning on his heel, went into the cabin. All thought of leaping overboard and swimming ashore was out of the question for the mate Maxwell was keeping a sharp eye on him, so Terry went down the short ladder into the ill-smelling hold of the barge. He found that it had been used for carrying bricks but was now empty. In the cook’s galley he found the cook, a tall, thin fellow with the air of a country farmer. The cook nodded briefly. “Hello, bub. You’re the new passenger, eh? Had anything to eat?” “No,” answered Terry, and studied the man before him. The cook was only about twenty-five years old, and had a rather kindly, simple face, which habitually wore a serious look. The man did not look like one of the river men and Terry decided that he might find help here. The cook bustled around and got him some breakfast, talking all the while. Terry liked him more and more as the time went on, and afterwards he helped him clean up the galley. “My name’s Jed Dale,” the cook told him. “Used to farm upstate a ways, but things got poor and I shipped on this here barge to go cook. I wish to goodness I was back on a farm again. We carry brick all winter and just now we’re goin’ to tie up at Summerdale for overhauling. How’d you get aboard?” Terry told the man the truth, figuring to get the best results by doing so, and he was not disappointed. The cook shook his head when he heard the story. “There’ll be big trouble when this is known,” he advanced. “I always cal’lated this outfit was more or less crooked. I’m signed with ’em for another year, but I sure would like to slip out and go back farming.” “Then why don’t you?” urged Terry. “You have every right to break your contract because this bunch is not on the level. The very fact that they are kidnapping me is enough to get all hands in serious trouble. Help me to escape, and incidentally get yourself out of a bad mess.” But the cook shook his head sadly. “You don’t know this Captain Ryder, or you wouldn’t talk so foolish,” he said. “A terrible man, this captain. Nobody dares to stand up to him. No, sonny, I couldn’t think of nothing so crazy as that.” All of Terry’s arguments failed to move the cook and at length the boy went on deck to look around. The barge was slowly steaming up a broad but deserted river, the banks of which were thickly lined with dense trees and bushes. Terry reflected that had there been the slightest chance of escape he would gladly plunge overboard and attempt it, but he was never allowed out of sight of the three men who ran the barge. The engineer, Todd, was a short, black-bearded man with a sullen expression, a fitting member of the crew of the barge. After the evening meal something happened which won the cook to Terry’s side completely. The three men were on deck smoking, the captain sitting on a capstan, the engineer at the door of the cabin, and Maxwell at the tiller. Jed was below and Terry, who had wasted no words on the three men, was silently gazing shoreward, wondering what his friends must think of his absence. Realizing that he was each moment drifting further and further away he found his patience and temper hard to control, but knowing that any rash act on his part would make things harder, he waited with what resignation he could for some shift in his fortunes. Jed came up on deck to empty a bucket of bilge water over the stern, and passing the morose captain, nervously spilled some of it near him. It splashed his trousers and one boot, causing the cook to tremble violently. A mean look crossed the face of the old captain, and he raised his boot, and launched an ugly kick at the cook. But Terry was too fast for him. He caught the foot before it connected with the dumb-stricken cook and diverted it enough to make the skipper miss his aim. And as the captain jumped to his feet, his gray eyes aflame, Terry clenched his fists and faced him firmly. “I’ll break your neck, you meddling young soft baby!” roared the captain, raising his knotted fist. Terry’s blood was up, for he hated cowardice with all his being. “You just try it!” he fairly hissed. “Go ahead, if you think it wise.” Suddenly he dropped his fists and stood face to face with the barge captain. “Do whatever you like, but I won’t hit you back. You’re an old man, and I wouldn’t hit an old man. But if you were twenty years younger and you tried to carry out your threat, I’d do my best to lick the ugliness out of you. I know I’d do it, too, because anybody can lick a bully and a coward. So go ahead and break my neck!” The captain and his mates stared in amazement at the firm jaw and calm eyes of the red-headed boy. The captain swore loudly. “You’d lick me if—if I wasn’t an old man!” he yelled with rage. “You bet I would! But I’d be ashamed to hit an old man who is so wicked that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I wish you were younger and I’d make you make good on that grandstand threat!” The captain was not troubled with his heart, but it certainly looked as though he was. He seemed to be on the point of hitting the boy, but at last, muttering between his teeth, he walked into the cabin. The two mates gazed after him in speechless wonder. Terry walked quietly down into the galley and the cook followed him, dazed. “You stood up to him!” the cook exulted, over and over again. “By gosh!” Suddenly he smote Terry on the back. “Sonny, I’m with you! Let’s get off this old scow.” They put their heads together and for the next half hour they made plans. At length, lighting his pipe and trembling with excitement, the cook went on deck and looked all around. The captain and Maxwell were nowhere in sight and Todd sat at the tiller, idly gazing at the shore. Jed Dale looked up and down the river and then returned to the galley. “The sand bar I told you about is just two hundred yards ahead,” he whispered. “Good!” nodded Terry. “Are you all ready?” “Yes,” replied the cook, nervously wiping his hands on his coat. “Then let’s get going,” said Terry, pulling his belt tighter. |
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