The Radio Boys with the Revenue Guards Part 17

CHAPTER XV

RESCUE AT HAND

For a moment Tom could be heard muttering rueful exclamations as he caressed his bruises. Jack who was next in line was trying to help him to his feet. His foot, too, struck an obstruction which caused him to lose balance. To avoid falling on Tom, he put out his arms toward the walls. Instead of meeting solid brickwork as before, however, he felt his hands encounter crumbling earth. He lurched forward, and his face was buried in a ma.s.s of mould.

Spluttering and blowing, he scrabbled around and his fingers closed over a root. It came away in his clutch. The next moment a slide of earth cascaded downward and Jack found himself leaning against a bank of dirt, an uprooted bush in one hand, and a patch of moonlight and sky overhead.

It was all clear. Where the tunnel approached close to the surface, the roof and walls had caved in. Tom had stumbled over this mound and fallen, and Jack accidentally had torn away the screen of bushes obscuring the hole above.

"Come on, fellows," he cried, delightedly, scrambling upward, while Tom Barnum, who had regained his feet and observed how the land lay, boosted him; "come on, here's a place to get out of the tunnel."

Quickly the others followed. They stood in the midst of a grove of trees. Some distance to the rear twinkled lights which indicated the location of the Brownell house. No sounds of pursuit reached them.

But, stay. What was that? Captain Folsom bent down, his ear close to the opening whence they had climbed out and up to the surface.

"They've found the tunnel, I'm afraid," he said. "They are coming."

"Can't we keep 'em back here?" said Bob, unexpectedly. "We can kick more dirt down into the tunnel. And we can jump down and heave out a lot of those fallen bricks, and so keep the gang back when they arrive."

"But we couldn't keep up a defense like that forever," objected Jack.

"Some of them would be bound to go back through the tunnel, swing around, and attack us from the rear. They have weapons, and we haven't. We'd be caught between two fires."

Bob grunted.

"Guess you're right. But I hate all this running away. I'd like to take a crack at them. Never gave me a fair chance the first time, jumping on me in a gang, and when I had my back turned, too."

"I know how you feel, Bob," said Jack. "But, without weapons, run we must. And we had better be quick about it now, too. They won't be long working through that tunnel, if they have lights."

"No, the shouts are growing closer," said Captain Folsom, bending down again to the hole. "But, look here, Hampton, you make a run to that radio station which I see above the trees there, to the right, in that opening. We'll stay here until they reach the hole. Then we'll batter them with bricks, and flee to the left. That will create a diversion, and give you a chance to try to raise Lieutenant Summers."

"Good idea," grunted Bob, immediately dropping into the hole and tossing out broken bricks from the crumbling walls.

"Don't let them get too close to you," warned Jack. "They're armed.

And run toward home. They won't follow far. I'll rejoin you somewhere along the beach beyond the boundary fence, if you wait for me."

"We'll wait, if they don't make us run too far," promised Captain Folsom. "In that case, make your way home. And if you cannot get Lieutenant Summers by radio, don't endanger yourself by delaying too long around here. Now go."

With a nod of understanding, Jack turned and darted down the forest aisles toward the radio station.

Who would he find there? He wondered. Or, would the station be deserted? That it was in working order, there was no doubt, for it was the station's issue of radio control to the liquor containers offsh.o.r.e which they had overheard before deciding to investigate.

Clutching the big butcher knife, the only weapon in the party, which Frank had pressed into his hand as he set out on his lonely mission, Jack dashed ahead recklessly through the trees. The radio plant of the smugglers burst full on his sight, as he came to the edge of the trees fringing a little clearing. No lights showed. Nevertheless, he paused to reconnoitre, asking himself how best to approach it to avoid discovery in case it should have an occupant.

As he stood there, a sudden outburst of shouts to the rear, followed by a few revolver shots, warned him the pursuers had reached the hole in the tunnel. He hoped big Bob was controlling his recklessness, and not running into danger. If his friends kept down, there was no great danger of their being shot, for only one man at a time could approach through the tunnel and him they could pelt into retreat with their bricks.

The shots ceased. The shouts died. Jack grinned in satisfaction. The enemy had been halted. Now, if his friends only utilized their opportunity to hurry away before being attacked from the rear, all would be well. He listened with strained attention. No further sounds of combat reached him.

Meanwhile, he had been examining the ground. The moon was low down.

What time had they left home? Two o'clock? By the look of the moon it must be near four now. That would be about right. Although it seemed a lifetime, although an excess of excitement had been crowded into that period, still only about two hours had elapsed.

Having the door of the radio station in full view, and observing no signs of life, as would have been the case providing some one had been present, for he would have been drawn to the door by this new and closer outburst of fighting, Jack decided to chance crossing the glade directly.

Darting ahead, he crouched listening, heard nothing, then flung wide the door which opened outward and sprang back. The moonlight fell full inside a long bar of light. The sending room, at least, was empty. Now for the power plant.

Jack entered, going warily, knife clutched in his hand, despite his growing confidence that he had the place to himself. There was a door at the rear. Behind that must be the power plant. He set his ear to the door. Only the low hum of a dynamo came to his ears. He had expected that, for wiring glimpsed outside the Brownell house and leading in this direction through the trees had indicated the house current was supplied from the power house here. But was anyone in that other room, in attendance?

There was a key in the connecting door. He tried the handle softly.

The door was locked. Good. At least he would be safe from surprise from that quarter. All the while, in order to guard against surprise from the outside, he had been standing sideways, one eye on the outer door. Now something glimpsed there surprised an exclamation from him.

It was not that anyone appeared in the doorway. No, but offsh.o.r.e and not far distant a bright searchlight suddenly cut athwart the night, putting the moonlight to shame. It swung in a wide arc across the sky and then came down to the sh.o.r.e and began moving relentlessly along the beach.

He could not follow its movements fully. He could not see whence it came. The grove of trees intervening between the sh.o.r.e of Starfish Cove and the radio plant cut off complete view. But a wild hope leaped into his mind. Would the smugglers in the liquor ship offsh.o.r.e be likely to show a light? He did not consider it likely. Then, what sort of ship was it probable the light came from?

"By George," he said aloud, "maybe that's a boat of the 'Dry Navy'

already on the track of these scoundrels."

He stood, gazing at that finger of light, spellbound. What else could the ship be that would be casting a searchlight along the sh.o.r.e, along this particular stretch of sh.o.r.e of all places, and at this particular time, what else could it be than a government boat?

Breaking the spell that bound him, he sprang to the instrument table, seized and adjusted a headpiece, pulled a transmitter to him, threw over the rheostat and adjusting the tuner to the 575 meter wave length which Captain Folsom had told him the government boats employed, he began calling. What should he say if a government boat replied? He decided on a plan of procedure.

Presently his receivers crackled, and he manipulated the controls until the sputtering ceased, when he heard a voice saying:

"U. S. Revenue Cutter Nark. Who is calling?"

Scarcely able to control his excitement at this almost unbelievable good luck, Jack stammered in reply. Then getting a grip on his emotions, he replied:

"Speaking for Captain Folsom. Is Lieutenant Summers aboard? Are you offsh.o.r.e?"

"We're offsh.o.r.e, all right," answered his correspondent, in a tone of the utmost surprise. "But how in the world do you know?"

"I want to speak to Lieutenant Summers," answered Jack, grinning to himself at the other's bewilderment. Even at this crucial moment, he could not resist the temptation to mystify the other a little. "As to knowing you're offsh.o.r.e," he added, "I can see you."

"See us? Say, this is too much for me. Wait till I call Lieutenant Summers," said the other. "Did you say Captain Folsom?"

"That's the name," said Jack. "Hurry, please. This is a matter of life and death."

Almost at once another voice took up the conversation, and from the tone of crisp authority, Jack sensed it must be the officer he had asked for speaking. Such, indeed, was the case. Lieutenant Summers was aboard the Nark, directing operations, and, as the radio room was in the chart house of the cutter, he had intervened on hearing his operator mention his own name and that of his colleague, Captain Folsom.

"Now, what's this all about?" he demanded. "Is Captain Folsom there?

If so, put him on the phone."

"Are you Lieutenant Summers, sir?" asked Jack, respectfully.

"I am. Who are you? Where are you calling from? Where is Captain Folsom?"