CHAPTER XVIII
THE JEST THAT BECAME GRIM EARNEST
“WHATEVER you’re doing, old chap, hustle!” sounded Joe Dawson’s warningvoice from the deck overhead “The boat’s getting uncomfortably nearwith its load of scoundrels!”
“I’ve found Mr. Delavan!” Halstead shouted up.
Upon receiving that startling information Dawson, for the moment,forgot all caution, darting forward. The sullen helmsman seized uponthe opportunity to shake himself free of Mr. Moddridge, for Hank Butts,too, forgot himself long enough to turn and run a few steps.
“Look out, Butts!” called the alarmed Mr. Moddridge.
Hank wheeled about just in time to find the sullen helmsman coming faceto face with him.
There was time to do but just one thing, and Hank did it. Leaningtoward his would-be assailant, Butts dropped the weight squarely acrossthe toes of the scoundrel’s advanced foot, then jumped aside.
“You young villain!” roared the sullen helmsman, sinking to the deck,and reaching both hands out toward his injured foot.
“Much obliged,” said Hank meekly. But he had picked up his iron weightagain, and, with it, he advanced upon the one able-bodied seaman left.
“Won’t you oblige me by aiming a blow of your fist at me!” Hank begged.“Then you’ll have your own troubles, and we can attend to our ownbusiness.”
But this sailor, who was the least courageous of the three, retreatedaft, using some explosive language as he went.
Joe, in the meantime, had gained the fore hatchway, and stood lookingdown with the keenest interest at his chum, one of whose hands restedon Francis Delavan’s face.
“I think he’s alive,” Halstead reported, feverishly, “for there’s stillquite a bit of warmth to his skin. But,” sniffing, “I’m sure he waschloroformed when the scoundrels saw us coming, for I can smell ithere. Joe, hustle down a rope.”
Dawson turned, snatching up the nearest bit of cordage that wouldserve. Tom, with nervous haste, but tying good, seamanlike knots, madeone end of the rope secure under his employer’s shoulders.
“Now, I’m coming up. Be ready to give a strong hand on the haul,”called the young skipper.
Eben Moddridge also had both hands on the rope by the time thatHalstead stepped up on deck. A hard, quick haul, and they had thefinancier on deck.
From out on the water, close at hand, came an ugly roar. In a hurriedglance over the rail the young captain saw the boat’s crew not morethan two hundred yards away.
“Pick Mr. Delavan up. Over the rail with him,” called the youngskipper. “Seconds now are as good as hours later!”
Between them the three bore the heavy form of the Wall Street magnate.Moddridge, though not strong, could, under the stress of excitement,carry his few pounds.
As they reached the rail with their human burden, the sullen helmsmanrose, hobbling, despite the pain in his foot. He snatched up amarlinespike to hurl at the rescuers, but a warning yell from Hank madehim drop it harmlessly to the deck.
“Wait a second,” directed Tom, releasing his hold on the senseless bodyas they rested it against the schooner’s rail. Leaping over to themotor boat’s deck, he turned like a flash.
“Now, pass Mr. Delavan over carefully,” he ordered.
“And you get in and help,” commanded Hank, poising his weight so as tomenace the seaman he was watching.
Butts looked so wholly ready and handy with that hitching weight thatthe seaman sprang to obey.
The instant that Francis Delavan rested flat on the deck of his owncraft Captain Halstead leaped forward to one of the grappling hooks.
“Hank, throw off the hook astern—lively!” he shouted.
Joe Dawson had darted to the wheel, starting the speed and giving thesteering wheel a half turn to port. Nor was the young engineer a secondtoo soon, for the small boat, with its eight rough-looking fellows,almost grazed the port side of the “Rocket’s” hull. Hank, havingbrought the after grappling hook aboard, rushed to port, poising hishitching weight over his head.
“It’s a headache for one of you, if you get alongside,” declaredButts. Nevertheless, the boat-steerer attempted to reach the motorboat. Had Joe been ten seconds later in starting there must have beena hand-to-hand fight on the “Rocket’s” deck, with the odds all againstthe Delavan forces.
With that timely start, however, Joe Dawson left the boat’s crewnothing to do but to board their own vessel. The motor boat glidedeasily away.
“Keep the wheel, Joe,” called Captain Tom. “Now, Hank, lay by and lenda hand in trying to bring Mr. Delavan around. First, off with the cordsthat bind him, and out with the gag.”
“Er—er—hadn’t we better take Frank below to a berth?” inquired Mr.Moddridge.
“No,” replied young Captain Halstead, decisively. “Mr. Delavan has beenchloroformed, and almost had his breath shut off by that trick. Wemust keep him in the open air. Mr. Moddridge, kneel behind your friend,and support him in a sitting position. Hank, get around on the otherside and take hold of the left forearm and wrist. We’ll pump-handle Mr.Delavan, and see if we can’t start more air into his lungs.”
Then, looking up, Captain Tom inquired:
“Joe, what’s the matter with our speed?”
“I just can’t help it,” grinned Dawson. “I’m running slowly just totantalize that rascally crew back there. It makes them want to danceand swear to see us going so slowly, and yet to know that, if we wantto, we can run away from them like an express train.”
Captain Tom and Hank continued their pump-handling until FrancisDelavan’s eyes fluttered more widely open, the bluish color began toleave his cheeks, and his chest started to rise and fall gently.
“He’s coming around all right,” cheered Halstead. “And he’s naturallyas strong as a horse. His vitality will pull him out of this.”
“The schooner has put about and is following us,” called Joe.
“Let ’em,” muttered Halstead, glancing up and astern. “I wish they’dfollow us until we meet the police boat at New York. But don’t let ’emget too infernally close, Joe. Something might happen to us. If ourmotor stopped, where would we be then?”
Joe Dawson laughed easily as the “Rocket” stole lazily over the waters,her speed just a trifle faster than the sailing vessel’s.
In a very few minutes more Francis Delavan’s eyes took on a look ofreturning intelligence. His lips parted as he murmured, weakly:
“Thank you—boys.”
“And now you’re all right, sir,” cried Tom Halstead, gleefully. “Allyou’ve got to do is to keep on breathing as deeply as you can. Mr.Moddridge, is your strength equal to bringing up an arm-chair from theafter deck?”
Apparently Eben Moddridge didn’t even pause to wonder about hisstrength. He ran nimbly aft, then came struggling under his armful. Hedeposited the chair where the young skipper indicated. They raised Mr.Delavan to a seat, Hank stationing himself in front of the chair tokeep the boat’s owner from pitching forward.
“Now, old fellow, you’d better kick up more speed,” advised Halstead,stepping over beside his chum. “You know, we’ve got to make the coastin record time, for several fortunes are hanging on our speed.”
Bending forward, Dawson swung the speed control wheel aroundgenerously. The “Rocket” forged ahead through the water.
“This will leave the schooner hull-down before we’ve burned muchgasoline,” smiled Halstead. “Hullo, there they go about again. Theyrealize the point, and have left off the chase.”
Joe still had the wheel, but he turned to look.
The “Rocket” was more than a mile away from the schooner when a jarringthump shook the motor boat.
In an instant Joe Dawson’s face went white. His chum looked scarcelyless startled. The extra vibration ceased almost as soon as it wasfelt, for the engine had stopped running.
“Hank, take the wheel. The engine might start again,” called TomHalstead, barely pausing in his chase after Joe, as the former jumpeddown
into the engine room.
“What on earth has happened?” gasped Eben Moddridge, but there was onone to pay him heed.
For a few moments the two white-faced chums looked over the “Rocket’s”powerful engine together. Then their eyes met as Halstead’s lips framedthe startled words:
“Joe, my boy, it’s one thing to play at broken-down engine, but thereality, at a time like this, is simply awful! This time the engine istruly out of business!”