Jim Spurling, Fisherman Part 47

"Now for Dolph and the skipper! Guess the three of us are good for 'em!"

Leaving the four smugglers in the custody of Throppy and Filippo, the other boys proceeded down to the water. The shouting suddenly ceased. A rope splashed.

"They've cast off the mooring!" exclaimed Jim.

Another unmistakable sound.

"Now they're rocking the wheel to start her!"

Percy felt for the spark-plugs in his pocket.

"They'll rock it some time!"

They did. At last they stopped. There was a muttered consultation, inaudible to the listening ears on sh.o.r.e.

"Might as well wind the thing up now!" observed Jim in an undertone.

"On board the sloop!" he hailed. "It's all off, Captain! We've got your four men tied up, and we've got their revolvers. You and Dolph might as well give it up. Throw your guns in on the beach, and we'll come out and get you, one at a time!"

A tremendous surprise was voiced by the absolute silence that followed.

It was broken by Brittler's sneering voice:

"So we might as well give up, had we, eh? Guess you don't know Bart Brittler, sonny! Let 'em have it, Dolph!"

_Spang--spang--spang--spang!_

A fusillade of revolver-shots woke the echoes. The bullets spattered in the water and thudded on the beach. Fortunately no one was. .h.i.t.

"Scatter, fellows!" shouted Jim. And in a lower voice he added, "Don't fire back!"

Silence again. The two on the sloop were evidently reloading. Then came a regular splas.h.i.+ng. The men on the _Barracouta_ were paddling her ash.o.r.e. Armed and desperate, now fully aware that the only things between themselves and a term in a Federal prison were the bullets in their automatics, they would go to almost any length to escape, even to the taking of life itself. Plainly there was trouble ahead.

The boys came together again at the foot of the sea-wall. Should they fight or run? It was one or the other. Whatever else they might be, Dolph and Brittler clearly were not cowards. If there was a fight, it was certain somebody would be shot, very likely killed. Was the risk worth taking? Would it not be better to hurry back to the cabin, warn Filippo and Throppy, and escape up the bank into the woods? The smugglers, with but two automatics against four, would hardly dare to follow them.

"Way enough, Dolph!" growled Brittler's voice.

The sloop had grounded. Splas.h.!.+ Splas.h.!.+ Her two pa.s.sengers had leaped out into the water and were making their way to the beach.

Jim came to an instant decision. He opened his lips, but the words he had planned to speak were never uttered. The strong, rhythmical dip of oars suddenly beat through the fog.

"What's the trouble here?" demanded a stern voice.

A great surge of thankfulness almost took away Jim's power of speech.

"It's the cutter!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, chokingly. "Throppy got her, after all!"

XXIII

WHITTINGTON GRIT

So far as the smugglers were concerned the game was up. It was one thing to attempt to overpower a group of boys and appropriate their sloop, but it was quite another to offer armed resistance to the officers of the United States revenue service.

Dolph and Brittler realized that; they realized, too, that they had absolutely no chance of escaping from the island, so they stood sullenly by while Jim told his story to the lieutenant commanding the boat. At the close of his recital the officer turned to them.

"You hear the statements of this young man. What have you to say for yourselves?"

"Nothing now," replied Brittler.

"You may hand over your guns."

The two surrendered their automatics and were placed under arrest.

Following Jim's guidance, the lieutenant inspected the captured smugglers in Camp Spurling and the Chinese in the fish-house. Leaving a guard on sh.o.r.e and taking Jim with him, he went off to make his report to the captain.

"It's a case for the United States commissioner at Portland," decided the latter. "We'll have to take the whole party there. Guess you boys had better come along as witnesses. The _Pollux_ was bound east when we picked up your wireless; but this matter is so important that I'm going to postpone that trip for a couple of days. I can bring you and the rest of your party back here early day after to-morrow."

It meant to the boys a loss of only two days at the outside. That was a little thing in comparison with what might have happened if the cutter had not come.

"We'll start without waste of time," resumed the captain. "Lieutenant Stevenson, you may bring the prisoners aboard."

Jim went ash.o.r.e with the officer to notify his companions and prepare for this unforeseen journey. Eleven o'clock found the _Pollux_ steaming west with her thirty-one additional pa.s.sengers. The pa.s.sage was uneventful and they were alongside the wharf in Portland early the next forenoon.

Promptly at two came the hearing before the commissioner. It did not take long. Brittler and his accomplices were held for trial at the next term of court, and the Chinese were taken in charge by the immigration inspector. Before six that night the boys were pa.s.sing out by Portland Head in the _Pollux_, bound east. The next morning they landed once more in Sprowl's Cove, and a few hours later they had fallen back into their customary routine, as if smugglers were a thing unknown. The leak in the _Barracouta's_ bow was calked, making her as tight as before.

The following day dawned fiery red and it was evident that a fall storm was brewing. Jim and Percy had to battle with a high sea when they set and pulled their trawl; and they were glad enough to get back to Tarpaulin with their catch. By noon a heavy surf was bombarding the southern sh.o.r.e.

Five o'clock found the gale in full blast. A terrific wind whipped the rain in level sheets over cove and beach and against the low cabin squat on the sea-wall. Great, white-maned surges came rolling in from the ocean to boom thunderously on the ledges round Brimstone. The flying scud made it impossible to see far to windward. It was the worst storm the boys had experienced since they came to the island.

At half past five, after everything had been made snug for the night, they a.s.sembled for supper. On the table smoked a heaping platter of fresh tongues and cheeks, rolled in meal and fried brown with slices of salt pork. Another spiderful of the same viands sputtered on the stove.

Hot biscuits and canned peaches crowned the repast. Filippo had done himself proud.

A long-drawn blast howled about the cabin.

"Gee!" exclaimed Percy, "but wasn't that a screamer! This is one of the nights you read about. 'The midnight tempest was shrieking furiously round the battlements of the old baronial castle!'"

"Cut it out, Perce, cut it out!" remonstrated Lane. "You make me feel ashamed of myself. It's really unkind in you to air your knowledge of the English cla.s.sics before such dubs as the rest of us."

"Well, at any rate, I'm glad we're under cover. Wonder if the men who used to go to sea in this cabin enjoyed it anywhere near as much as we have!"

"Not half bad, is it?" said Jim. "Remember how delighted you were when you got your first sight of it, three months ago?"

Percy grinned.

"I've changed some since then," he admitted. "Forget that, Jim! It's ancient history now."

As he drew up his soap-box his eye dwelt appreciatively on the delicacies in the platter.