The Launch Boys' Adventures in Northern Waters Part 7

"Stop! he's my friend!"

He raised one hand, palm outward by way of emphasis of his warning words.

"Who are you?" demanded the other, stopping short, his eyes flaming above his s.h.a.ggy beard and under his straw hat, like an animal glaring through a thicket.

"Come on and you'll learn!" was the reply in the same even tones, as Calvert a.s.sumed the posture of a trained pugilist.

Now it is proper to say of this man that he had been the champion boxer in college, and in his New York club he was easily the master of every one with whom he had donned the gloves. Though of only average size and stature and inclined to thinness, his muscles were of steel, he had the quickness of a cat, and had been told more than once, that if he would enter the "magic circle" he would hold his own with the best in the profession. But, like all gentlemen who are masters of the manly art, he disliked personal encounters, and many a time had submitted to insulting words and even the accusation of timidity, rather than to call his iron fists and superb skill into play. You might have been in his company for months without suspecting his attainments in that respect. His business required that he should always carry a revolver, and when he placed his hand on his hip at sight of Mike Murphy's personal danger, the action was instinctive, but he instantly gave up all thought of using so deadly a weapon. He was certain there was no necessity for it; he had no more doubt of his mastery of the bulky brute, who was equally confident, than he had of his ability to handle any one of the three lads who were his companions.

CHAPTER VII

SCIENCE VERSUS STRENGTH

Had the large man undergone the scientific training of the smaller one, he might have overcome him, for, as has been said, he was immensely powerful and must have been a third heavier than Stockham Calvert. But he was out of condition, and, worse than all for him, had not the slightest knowledge of the "manly art." When he doubled his huge hairy fists, he charged upon the detective like a roaring bull, expecting to beat down his smaller antagonist as if he were pulp.

The pose of the defendant was perfect. Resting easily on his right foot, the left advanced and gently touching the ground, he could leap forward, backward or to one side with the agility of a panther. The left fist was held something more than a foot beyond the chest, the elbow slightly crooked, while the right forearm crossed the breast diagonally at a distance of a few inches. This is the true position, and the combatant who knows his business always looks straight into the eyes of his opponent. The arms and body are thus in his field of vision, whereas if he once glances elsewhere he lays himself open to a sudden blow.

With that alertness which becomes second nature to a pugilist, Calvert saw before the first demonstration that his foe had no knowledge whatever of defending himself. He allowed him to make a single rush, his big fists and arms sawing s.p.a.ce like a windmill. He struck twice, swishing the air in front of Calvert's face, and gathered himself to strike again, when----

Not one of the three spectators could ever describe how it was done, for the action was too quick for the eye to follow. But, all the same, that metal-like left fist shot forward with the speed of lightning, and landing on the point of the chin, the recipient went down like an ox stricken by the axe of a butcher. Rather curiously, he did not fall backward, but lurched forward and lay senseless, knocked out in the first round.

"You have killed him!" whispered the scared Captain.

"Not a bit of it, but he will be dead to the world for ten or fifteen minutes. We may as well let him rest in peace. What's become of that dog?" asked the officer, glancing inquiringly around.

Chester pointed toward the house. The brute, with his two inches of tail aimed skyward, was scooting around the corner of the building as fast as his bowed legs could carry him. He would not have done so had he been of true bulldog breed, but being a mongrel, there was a big streak of yellow in his make-up.

"He's come to the belief that it's a good time to adjourn, as me cousin said whin someone blowed up the stump on which he was risting his weary body."

"I think we have had enough foraging along the river," remarked Captain Alvin, who re-entered the boat and resumed his place at the wheel. "We dine at Wisca.s.set."

"I'm not partic'lar as to the place," said Mike, "if only we dine."

Chester flung the loop of rope off the support, and he and the others stepped aboard the launch, which moved up the river. Standing in front of the detective, Mike, with his genial grin, offered his hand:

"I asks the privilege of a shake of yours. I apologize for thinking ye didn't like a shindy as well as the rest of us. I'm sorry for me mistake, as me uncle said, whin he inthroodoced dad to a party of leddies as a gintleman. I couldn't have done better mesilf."

The smiling officer cordially accepted the proffer.

"No one can doubt your pluck, Mike, but, to quote your favorite method of expressing yourself, you showed mighty poor judgment, as the owner of the bull said when the animal tried to b.u.t.t a locomotive off the track. That man would have eaten you up."

"P-raps, but he would have found me hard to digist. Do ye obsarve?"

He pointed to the little landing which they were leaving behind them. All looked and saw the burly brute of a man slowly rise to a sitting posture, with his hat off and his frowsy hair in his eyes, as he stared confusedly after the launch speeding up the river.

"He is recovering quicker than I expected," was the only remark Calvert made, as he turned his back upon the fellow and gave his attention to lighting another cigar.

"He has the look of a fellow mixed and confused like, similar to Pat McGuigan, whin he dived off the dock and his head and shoulders wint through a lobster pot that he didn't obsarve in time to avoid the same."

"He's coming round all right," said Calvert, referring to the man they had left behind, though he did not glance at him. "He may not be very pretty, but he knows more than he did a little while ago. Which reminds me to say something that ought to have been said at our first interview."

The three listened to the words of Calvert, who clearly was in earnest.

"Each of you knows that I am a professional detective who has been sent into Maine to do all I can to capture the gang that is robbing the post offices in this section. I told you that much, but I wish to ask you to be very, very careful not to say this to any person whom you may meet, until you have my permission to do so. Some would insist that it was unprofessional on my part to say what I did, but I had good reason for it, as will appear before I am through with the business."

"It was not necessary to tell Chester and me that, but I suppose you wish to run no risk that can be avoided."

"That's it; I did not doubt your loyalty, but you know we can't be too careful."

Mike was leaning back in his chair deeply thinking.

"There's one waak p'int in the plan suggisted."

Inasmuch as no one had submitted a plan the three wondered.

"Me friend doesn't wish us to tell anyone that he's the best detictive and sc.r.a.pper outside of our family in Ireland, but when folks priss their questions, some answer must be given or 'spicions will be stirred."

"The point is well taken. I don't wish you to tell an untruth----"

"I'm sure the task is not difficult fur the Captain and second mate,"

interrupted Mike, "though it's beyond me."

"But you can evade a direct reply."

"May I vinture upon another suggistion?" asked Mike.

"We shall all be glad to hear it, I'm sure."

"Without waiting for questions to be asked, I'll step up to ivery one that I obsarve casting an inquiring eye over ye and say ye're my older brither, that took a hand in the Phoenix Park murders, but broke out of Dublin jail and thus escaped hanging, and yer kaaping dark in Ameriky till the little matter blows over."

"A brilliant idea!" laughed the officer. "All I ask is that you give no truthful information about me."

"Ye doesn't objict to my telling folks how ye laid out that Goliah a bit ago?"

"I prefer you should not mention it."

Mike sighed.

"Ah, have ye no pride of family, as Tam O'Toole used to say whin mintioning the fact that all his five brithers were in jail, where Tarn himsilf ought to have been?"

"I may add," continued the man, "that it is quite likely we shall soon part company."

Mike affected to be surprised.