The Iron Boys on the Ore Boats Part 38

"All ready now," warned Steve.

"All ready," answered the men.

Steve cast a final look about, taking careful note of the knots which were ready to be unfastened at the word.

"Let go!" he shouted.

With a roar Mr. Bruin went rolling, b.u.mping and scratching down the stairs into the lazaret.

Steve crept down the stairs.

"Everyone stay back," he warned.

None needed the advice. None of the s.h.i.+p's company felt the least inclination to climb into that dark hole where the angry bear was floundering about.

"Throw on a light," called Rush.

A solitary light gleamed in the darkness of the lazaret. About that time the bear smelled the fresh meat in the cage. With a grunt and a growl he went in search of it, nosing here and there. At last he found it.

Steve, crouching on the stairway was watching the beast with keen eyes.

The bear entered the cage. With a bound Rush dropped to the floor of the lazaret.

Bang! The door of the cage swung to, the padlock securing it, quickly slipped through the staple and locked.

Mr. Bear was a prisoner.

"There, you may all come down now, children," called the Iron Boy.

"Is he in?" demanded a voice at the head of the stairs.

"He is. Bruin is having the rest of his breakfast now."

"Three cheers for Steve Rush," cried the captain, pulling off his cap.

"Hip-hip-hurrah!" yelled the sailors. "Hip-hip-hurrah! Hip-hip-hurrah!

T-i-g-e-r!" added Bob Jarvis.

Steve came up from the lower deck, his face flushed with triumph.

"Well, we got him, didn't we?" he demanded.

"You mean _you_ got him," answered the captain.

"We all got him."

"It is my opinion," added the skipper, "that you ought to be the captain of this boat. You've got more horse sense than all the rest of us together."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE WIRELESS MESSAGE

FOR the rest of that day the s.h.i.+p had a measure of quiet, just for a change. The storm kept on with its former severity and there was more or less discomfort. Meals had to be eaten standing up, and life lines had been run along the deck to support the one who ventured along the decks forward or aft. Marie was not allowed to leave her father's cabin again while the storm lasted. Considerable time had been lost, owing to the trouble caused by the bear, so the s.h.i.+p was put to full speed.

Of late the boys had taken the keenest sort of interest in the wireless outfit with which the s.h.i.+p was equipped. They spent much of their leisure time with the wireless operator. Steve had learned part of the Morse alphabet and occasionally he tried to operate the key.

Two days later, as they were sitting in the wireless room, where the operator, with feet on his desk, was telling them a story of a wreck that he had been in on the Atlantic when he was operator on a liner, a flash from the switchboard told them that they had picked up a wireless from another s.h.i.+p or station.

The operator quickly adjusted the receiver over his head, listened a moment then threw his key open. A few quick sentences were crashed forth, the aerials above the deck of the s.h.i.+p snapping out the message in sundry vicious cracklings.

Steve tried to catch the drift of what was being said, but it was too fast for him. He could not hear what the operator was receiving, but after a while the operator picked up his pencil and began writing industriously.

Glancing over the man's shoulder Steve's eyes caught a few words that caused him to lean forward with renewed interest. Then he sat back, possessing himself in patience until the message should have been finished.

"That's strange," said the operator, laying down his head piece.

"What is it?" questioned Bob.

"Nothing much. It is just a message I picked up about some fellow that the police want."

"Well, it isn't I, that's sure," said Jarvis with a confident laugh.

"It is--but here, read it for yourself."

Steve read the message out loud.

"'Wanted: One, Gus Collins, for complicity in a post-office robbery at Elgin on the night of June third. Collins has been a sailor and is said to be on one of the s.h.i.+ps on the lakes. About five feet ten in height, gray eyes, blonde hair. Has a peculiar stoop to his shoulders, and a habit of peering up suspiciously, but not meeting the eyes of the person he is talking to. Five hundred dollars reward offered for his capture by the post-office department.'"

"I'd like to make that five hundred," laughed Jarvis.

Steve did not reply at once. His face was serious. He was thinking.

"Well, there is one thing certain, Mr. Gus Collins isn't on this s.h.i.+p,"

announced the operator, hanging up his headstall. "Funny message to send out. Skippers of these boats have something else to do besides hunting down criminals for the post-office department."

Rush nodded thoughtfully.

Somehow, the description of the man seemed to strike a familiar chord in him. He could not help feeling that he had seen some one who in a measure answered that description.

"Ever seen him, Bob?" questioned the lad.

Jarvis shook his head.

"Wouldn't have recognized him if I had seen him. Say!"

"Well?"