The Radio Boys On Secret Service Duty Part 16

"Black George," tall, powerful, his head bandaged, his eyes aflame with maniacal rage, stood swaying in the little doorway, crouched to spring.

Bob sprang forward. He had given his revolver, the one taken from "Black George's" room, to Frank. He had retained the long knife, but the unaccustomed weapon lay on the floor where he had placed it when he knelt, forgotten. He was unarmed. Mr. Temple shouted in alarm, and raised his revolver to fire. Then he dropped it again. He would hit his son.

Bob's right fist shot out, but "Black George" dodged and the blow slid harmlessly over his shoulder. With a snarl, "Black George" flung his arms about Bob's waist. They reeled out to the bridge, tight-locked together, swayed a moment on the edge, and then fell with a crash to the deck at the foot of the ladder.

It all happened so suddenly that by the time he could regain his feet and dash out to the bridge, Jack was too late to prevent the disaster.

Revolver in hand, Mr. Temple was a step ahead of Jack and started down the ladder, with eyes only for the two figures below, apparently not much hurt by the fall and writhing now on the deck. But Jack saw what the older man missed, and shouted a warning.

"Look out, Mr. Temple, here they come."

Frank had heard the shouts. With a last word to the Sub Chaser, he ceased radioing and ran out on the bridge. He too saw the menace, and realized there was no time to lose.

For out of the forecastle, aroused by the shouts, seemed literally to boil a dozen Chinamen.

Throwing up his revolver, Frank fired over their heads to scare them.

Jack did likewise. Then both boys leaped to the deck beside Mr. Temple, who, oblivious of all but the danger to his son, was bending over the latter as he threshed about at grips with "Black George."

Some of the Chinamen sprang behind the derrick. Others flung themselves down behind coils of rope, several of which lay about the deck. In a twinkling the deck was cleared. Not a human mark was left to shoot at.

Were they armed? That was the question the boys anxiously asked themselves. The answer came quickly, not in bullets, but in a knife that whizzed unpleasantly close to Jack's head, burying itself inches deep in the bulwark behind him, where it stuck quivering, and in another that struck the deck at Frank's feet and would have caught him in the stomach had he not leaped backward in the nick of time.

"Fire a couple of shots to scare them, Frank," panted Jack, whose chest was laboring with the excitement. "Keep them down while I help Bob.

We've got to get under shelter."

Obediently, Frank sent a bullet pinging into the derrick mast and another into a coil of rope. The latter shot brought a howl of fright, and a Chinaman darted from behind the rope and like a rabbit into the open forecastle door. Frank sent another bullet into the deck behind him to hasten his flight. The shots had a salutary effect, not a Chinaman so much as poked forth an arm to fire weapon or throw knife.

Jack meanwhile leaped to where Mr. Temple was trying to pull "Black George" from his son. But neither wrestler was willing to release his grip.

"We've got to get under shelter, Bob," cried Jack. "Break away."

"Let me alone," panted the big fellow. "I've got him now. Ah."

And with a sudden mighty heave, Bob rose upward. "Black George" rose upward, too. Over Bob's head he went hurtling through the air. They all turned to look. There was a cry of anguish. Then a thud. Out of the engine room door Engineer MacFinney, emerging at that crucial moment, was met by the body of "Black George." Both fell to the deck together, then rolled backward down the engine room steps.

Several shots from the direction of the Chinese thudded into the bulwark. Frank replied.

"One of them behind the derrick has got a revolver," cried Frank, pumping several more shots into the derrick mast. "Keep up the fire on his position, Jack, so he can't take aim. I've got to reload."

Jack pressed the trigger. No result. He tried again.

"It's jammed," he groaned. "Mr. Temple, try your revolver."

The respite was enough for the armed Chinaman. Perhaps he saw Frank working frantically to put a fresh clip of cartridges in his automatic.

He fired, just as Mr. Temple raised his revolver. The bullet sent the weapon spinning. A yell of triumph went up from the concealed Chinese.

It was a critical moment. Another such shot, and the Chinese would be encouraged to break from cover and make a rush across the deck. Frank succeeded in reloading. But he was trembling so much from excitement that he could not steady his hand sufficiently to pump his bullets into the derrick mast as before, and the shots went high.

"This way, lads, quick," cried a voice.

It was Matt Murphy. He stood aft at the stern post, beckoning, and beside him was the fat little Doctor Marley, white with fright, trembling, wringing his hands. Bob, Jack and Mr. Temple started towards him. Frank who had taken one swift glance around, called that he would guard their rear and, sending an occasional shot along the deck, walked backward after his companions.

"Come on, come on," called Murphy's voice impatiently.

What did he want? What was his intention? Frank found time to wonder.

Nevertheless, he did not relax his vigilance. Sending several more shots along the deck, he b.u.mped into a form and whirled about. It was Murphy.

Then the boy saw a boat in the water below, with the doctor and Mr.

Temple already in it, Jack climbing over the thwarts and Bob sliding down the rope.

A yell of rage went up from several Chinese sufficiently courageous to peer from their hiding places and realize that their prey were escaping.

"Give 'em another shot to hold them," commanded Murphy.

Frank complied.

Several Chinese who had gained their feet and started forward threw themselves p.r.o.ne again on the deck.

"Now give me that gun," said Murphy. "I fixed your friend's gun for 'im, so ye'll have one in the boat. And down the rope with ye, an' cast off."

"But, but--"

"No buts about it," said Murphy, roughly. "I heard ye callin' for help an' I want none of Uncle Sam's men puttin' me in jail for the rest of me life. Over ye go, Jonah, an' good luck to ye."

CHAPTER XVI

DOCTOR MARLEY EXPLAINS

Frank slid down the rope which Mr. Temple, braced in the bow of the boat, held steady for him. Jack and Bob already were at the oars and fending off from the side of the trawler. Fat little Doctor Marley crouched frightened in the stern.

"Give 'way," cried Matt Murphy, from above.

As he made his way across the thwarts toward the stern, the better to trim the boat, Frank glanced up. Over the rail of the trawler leaned Matt Murphy waving farewell with his uninjured hand, in which was clutched the revolver taken from Frank.

Frank waved as his chums bent l.u.s.tily to the oars and the boat began to dance across the still water, widening the gap between it and the trawler. A feeling of regret at parting with Murphy crossed Frank's mind. A strange man, a leader of crooks, was Murphy. Yet Frank had been quick to sense the finer instincts beneath the surface and companionable traits which drew him strangely.

From the deck of the trawler there floated to them now a high jabbering of Chinese. They were in sight, and the thwarted Orientals were angry at seeing their prey escape. They ran to the rail and leaned over, jabbering away. One-the man with the revolver-whipped up his arm and fired. The bullet skimmed the water close to the stern, and Doctor Marley whimpered and threw himself flat on the bottom boards.

The next moment they could see Matt Murphy coolly raise his weapon and fire. But not at them. His shot caught the Chinese gunman in the arm, and the latter's revolver fell into the sea as he seized the injured member and danced about in shrieking agony.

"Look," cried Frank, "he's driving them back into the forecastle."

Murphy was, indeed, driving the Chinese away from the rail. His voice came only faintly to the boat, but its occupants could see him kicking, striking with clubbed revolver, forcing the Orientals below. One by one they disappeared into the forecastle door until the deck was cleared of them. Then Murphy turned, a tiny figure now on the deck, and waved once more to the boat.

"Lay on your oars now, Jack," advised Bob. "Murphy said to lay here until the Sub Chaser, which had our position, picked us up."

"So Murphy gave you some explanation about things, hey?" asked Frank.

"I'm all at sea all right, in my mind as well as the boat. What's it all about? Where did he come from so suddenly? How, with that broken arm, did he get this boat lowered? Why did he drive us off the trawler? And why did we come away, anyhow? We were in a ticklish position, but still might have held on until the Sub Chaser arrived. Then we'd have had our birds."