Dick Merriwell's Pranks Part 65

"We're looking for some scoundrels," said the Texan, in a low tone; "and I certain reckon we've found them. Get ready to board that boat, and be prepared to fight."

"I warn you to keep off!" angrily shouted the voice of the unseen man.

"We'll have to defend ourselves."

"If you're on the level," said d.i.c.k, "you have nothing to fear from us; but we are determined to make an investigation and find out who and what you are."

"We may fire on you."

"Better not."

"We can. You are in the light, while it is impossible for you to see us."

"If you do any shooting, you'll regret it."

During this "game of talk" the pilot was manipulating the steamer as skillfully as possible, the bell tinkling nervously and frequently in the engine room.

d.i.c.k felt something touch his leg and glanced down. Dunbar Budthorne, agitated and cowering, was crouching on his knees in the shadow of the rail at the boy's feet.

"Get up!" muttered d.i.c.k, in a low tone. "Don't let them see they have frightened anybody. We must bluff this thing through."

"They may begin shooting any moment," chattered the cowering fellow. "If they do, they can pick us all off easily. You'll be the first one killed, too, for Bunol thirsts for your blood."

Not another one of the group had sought shelter. Colonel Stringer, his gray mustache bristling, was standing erect with his shoulders squared toward the enemy, while John Coddington was planted near, his hands on his hips. Buckhart was close to the rail, his square jaw set, fire in his eyes. The professor, inspired by the others, had not betrayed any alarm, although d.i.c.k fancied he was ready to drop and seek shelter the instant any trouble began.

In the very forefront was Merriwell.

The enemy seemed in doubt, and while they hesitated the steamer b.u.mped against the side of the yacht.

The moment the two boats touched d.i.c.k and Brad were on the jump. The searchlight no longer bore on them. They leaped to the rail and went over it. From the steamer they sprang to the deck of the yacht.

Colonel Stringer followed, only he was somewhat more cautious. He was a moment ahead of Coddington.

d.i.c.k had a pistol in his hand when his feet struck the deck of the yacht. Buckhart also had drawn a weapon.

They found themselves confronted by two men, both of whom seemed unarmed.

"Is this the way peaceable persons behave?" asked a cuttingly sarcastic voice. "You have boarded my yacht in defiance of my wishes, and, if my eyes do not deceive me in this light, you have weapons in your hands."

"We shall not use our weapons unless you force us to use them," said d.i.c.k. "Have no fear of that."

"Under the circ.u.mstances," said the stranger, "you must confess that you have given us great provocation. We should have been justified in firing on you as you drew near, for your movements have been hostile all along."

"I reckon there was a right good reason why you did no shooting," put in Brad.

"And that reason was-what?"

"You didn't dare."

"Oh, but any man has a right to defend himself and his property. You are wrong in thinking we did not dare. What had we to fear?"

"The row it would raise if you did fire on us. You bet your boots shooting of that sort would have kicked up a rumpus."

"Your logic is poor. However, I do not intend arguing with you. Now that you are here, be good enough to state your business instantly. As soon as possible I wish you to retire."

"I presume you haven't the least idea of the nature of our business?"

said d.i.c.k sarcastically.

"Not the least, I a.s.sure you."

"Where is Miguel Bunol?"

"Who is that?"

"Miguel Bunol."

"You will pardon me, but I fear I have not the pleasure of the gentleman's acquaintance."

"You are a Turk?"

"Yes."

"You own this yacht?"

"Yes."

"You are the man so often seen watching our party in Cairo."

"I think you must be mistaken. I do not seem to remember you. However, if you will step forward a little, I'll have the searchlight turned on you. I may be able to recognize you then."

"Trick, pard!" hissed the Texan. "At close range they may begin the shooting if they get us into the light."

"Wait a minute," invited Stringer. "Let me say something, if yo'

please."

Then he addressed the owner of the yacht.

"Suh," he said, "I am Stringer, suh, Colonel Weatherby Stringer, at one time of the khedive's army. I am visiting Egypt again after a lapse of some years, suh, but I a.s.sure yo' I have friends of power and influence in Cairo and Alexandria. In case harm comes to me, suh, the whole affair will be investigated, and yo' will find yo'self the sufferer if yo' are in any degree at fault. That's all I have to say, suh. Now go ahead and use your old searchlight as much as yo' like."

This was the little man's defiance.

"Perhaps you may not know me?" broke in the Englishman. "I am John Coddington, and I have a large business interest in Cairo. If I should happen to get shot to-night, I a.s.sure you, don't you know, that it would be a very serious matter for any one who did the shooting."

The stranger bowed.

"It happened, gentlemen," he said, "that I fancied I recognized you both when the searchlight was turned on your boat."

That seemed to explain why no shooting had been done. The presence of Stringer and Coddington had held the enemy in check.

The enemy? Were these two men the only ones on the yacht? Surely not.