The Motor Boat Club and The Wireless Part 19

By now it was nearly dark.

"We may as well see how the searchlight is working," Joe Dawson suggested.

"Turn it on them, and sweep it around," responded Halstead.

The strong glare of light was found to be working satisfactorily. Dark came on quickly, still without any more signs of life aboard the Drab than had already been observed.

"Supper time, surely," announced Hank, in a glum voice.

"Don't bother about that to-night," objected the young skipper. "Slip down into the galley and make sandwiches enough for all hands. We can eat and watch--_must_, in fact, if we eat at all."

After the sandwiches had been made and disposed of the Motor Boat Club boys began to find the swinging of the light on the drab boat, on the water and on either river bank, to be growing rather monotonous.

"I wish something would happen," grumbled Hank.

"Now, don't start a fuss about that," yawned Joe. "Something is likely enough to start up at any second."

"It has started," whispered Tom Halstead, swinging the searchlight, just then, across the Drab's hull. "Look there!"

Two much-m.u.f.fled figures, looking nearly identical, and each of the pair carrying a bag, appeared on deck amidships, one standing on each side of the deck-house. Then, as quickly, by their sides stood two other men who sprang to lower the two small boats that hung at davits.

One m.u.f.fled man and one helper embarked in each boat, the helper in each case rowing swiftly to either bank of the river.

"That's a queer game, but a clever one," muttered Captain Tom, swinging the glaring searchlight and watching.

"It'll mix up Mr. Seaton and Hepton all right," grimaced Joe Dawson.

"Each will wonder whether _he_ has Dalton on his side of the river, to follow."

Now, as quickly, the two boat-tenders rowed back to the Drab, and the boats were triced up in a twinkling.

"Say, they've got their anchor up!" cried Hank b.u.t.ts, in a breathless undertone. "They're going to scoot out on us."

"Then I'm ready to bet," muttered Tom Halstead, "that neither of the m.u.f.fled men that went ash.o.r.e was Anson Dalton. They must be trying to throw our crowd off the trail, and now that seventy-footer is trying to get off with Dalton still aboard!"

Whatever the plan was, the Drab was now backing out of the river mouth and swinging around. So far none of her sailing lights were in evidence. She looked more like a pirate craft slinking out into the night on an errand of dire mischief.

Once out of the mouth of the river, the Drab swung around, then began to move ahead. By this time her prow was head-on for the "Restless,"

as though aimed to strike the latter craft amidships.

Then, as the Drab's speed increased, Tom Halstead vented excitedly:

"Jupiter! They're out to cut us in two while we ride here at anchor!"

CHAPTER XIII

TOM HALSTEAD--READY!

There was no time to raise the anchor. Even had this been possible, it would have been out of the question to get the motors started and running in time to get out of the Drab's way.

Captain Tom Halstead was taken wholly by surprise, yet he was not caught with his wits asleep.

"Make a dive for those sticks, fellows!" he shouted, bounding for the motor room hatchway. "If we get a chance we'll give 'em at least a pat for a blow!"

The sticks of firewood that they had used on the night of their long swim were in the motor room. Tom caught up his, wheeling to bound outside again. Joe Dawson was barely a step behind him.

But Hank--he went as though by instinct for the hitching weight that had already made him famous in the annals of the Motor Boat Club.

Swift as they were, the trio were back on deck just in time to witness the final manoeuvre of the seventy-footer. That craft, not moving very fast, suddenly veered in its course.

Instead of cutting through the "Restless," the larger motor boat swung suddenly so as to come up alongside, rail to rail. And now the whole intention was manifest at a glance, for the figures of six men, with their caps pulled well down over their eyes, appeared at the Drab's rail.

"All hands to repel boarders!" sang out Captain Tom Halstead, his voice ringing defiantly. "Show 'em the best you can!"

Joe swung, with a single-stick trick he had learned and practiced. It was a feint, aimed at the first of the Drab's crew to try to leap aboard. The intended victim threw up his hands to ward off the blow from the top of his head, but he received, instead, a stinging, crushing slap across the face.

Tom thrust one end of his stick for the face of another of the boarding strangers. The fellow strove to protect his face, and would have guarded easily enough, but, instead, the other end of Tom's bludgeon struck him in the pit of his stomach, depriving him of all his wind.

"Woof!" grunted Hank, at the first sign of onslaught.

In both hands he clutched that business-like, though not formidable looking, hitching weight. One man set his foot on deck. Hank, almost with deliberation, dropped the weight on the toes of that foot.

There was a yell of pain. s.n.a.t.c.hing up the weight instantly, Hank let it fly forward and fall across the toes of another of the boarders.

Two of the strangers were limping now. Another was nursing an injured face, from Joe's heavy blow. Captain Tom's victim had fallen back aboard his home craft, gasping for breath.

The other two of the invaders got aboard the "Restless"--then wished they hadn't, for Hank pursued one of them with his terrifying hitching weight, while Tom and Joe divided the sole remaining enemy between them.

Hardly had the affair begun when it ended; it was all over in an instant. The two who had escaped injury leaped back aboard the Drab.

Those who needed a.s.sistance were helped back. The Drab drifted away, her vagrant course unheeded at first, for it looked as though all aboard had taken part in that disastrous boarding enterprise.

Tom and Hank sprang for their own anchor, while Joe, as soon as he saw the big motor boats drift apart, dropped into the small boat of the "Restless" and rowed swiftly for sh.o.r.e. Hardly had he touched the beach when Powell Seaton, rifle in hand, bounded forth from cover.

"Put across, and see if we can get Hepton, too," directed the charter-man, in a low voice. "I stepped right up out of the bushes, almost into the face of the fellow who landed on my side of the river.

It was neither Dalton nor Lemly. As soon as the fellow saw me he laughed, put a chew of tobacco in his mouth, and went on."

Hardly had Seaton finished speaking when Joe Dawson shot the bow of the little boat against the further bank. During this time Mr. Seaton had kept his eyes on the drab boat, holding his rifle in readiness in case another effort should be made to ram or board the "Restless."

"Oh, you-u-u-u!" called Joe, hailing. There was a sound in the woods, and then Hepton came into sight.

"Did you see the man who landed on your side?" whispered Powell Seaton, as Hepton reached the beach.

"Yes; he was just an ordinary roustabout chap," grunted Hepton, disgustedly. "I had no orders to follow _him_, so I didn't take the trouble."

"That's right. Jump in and we'll get aboard the 'Restless.'"