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There was a sudden flash of flame and the roar of anexplosion.—_Page_ 52.]
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THE MOTOR RANGERS’ WIRELESS STATION
BY MARVIN WEST
AUTHOR OF “THE MOTOR RANGERS’ LOST MINE,” “THE MOTOR RANGERS THROUGH THE SIERRAS,” “THE MOTOR RANGERS ON BLUE WATER,” “THE MOTOR RANGERS’ CLOUD CRUISER,” ETC., ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES L. WRENN_
NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY PUBLISHERS
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Copyright, 1913 BY HURST & COMPANY
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. THE WIRELESS ISLAND 5 II. A PASSENGER FOR THE SHORE 15 III. IN THE GRIP OF THE STORM 28 IV. WHEN THE ENGINE FAILED 36 V. NAT TO THE RESCUE 48 VI. SAVED FROM THE SEA 56 VII. ON “WIRELESS ISLAND” 65 VIII. AN AERIAL APPEAL 78 IX. A STERN CHASE 91 X. MORE BAD LUCK 100 XI. “THERE’S MANY A SLIP” 108 XII. THE SMUGGLER AT BAY 117 XIII. TRAPPED! 125 XIV. NAT A PRISONER 134 XV. UNDER THE EARTH 145 XVI. DRIFTING THROUGH THE NIGHT 153 XVII. ABOARD THE LIGHTSHIP 164 XVIII. JOE RECEIVES VISITORS 176 XIX. AND ALSO GETS A SURPRISE 187 XX. HANK EXPLAINS 201 XXI. IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS 213 XXII. AN UNEXPECTED STUDENT 221 XXIII. A CALL FROM THE SHORE 229 XXIV. WHAT JOE DID 239 XXV. LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT 247 XXVI. DING-DONG’S CLUE 256 XXVII. A LONELY TRAIL 265 XXVIII. AT THE OLD MISSION 276 XXIX. CORNERED AT LAST 291
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THE MOTOR RANGERS’ WIRELESS STATION
CHAPTER I.
THE WIRELESS ISLAND.
The drowsy calm of a balmy afternoon at the Motor Rangers’ wireless campon Goat Island was abruptly shattered by a raucous, insistent clangorfrom the alarm-bell of the wireless outfit. Nat Trevor, Joe Hartley andDing-dong Bell, who had been pretending to read but were in realitydozing on the porch of a small portable wood and canvas house,galvanized into the full tide of life and activity usually theirs.
“Something doing at last!” cried Nat. “It began to look as if therewouldn’t be much for us on the island but a fine vacation, lots ofsea-breeze and coats of tan like old russet shoes.”
“I ter-told you there’d be ser-ser-something coming over thea-a-a-a-aerials before long,” sputtered Ding-dong Bell triumphantly,athrill with excitement.
“What do you suppose it is?” queried Joe Hartley, his red, good-naturedface aglow.
“Don’t go up in the air, Joe,” cautioned Nat, “it’s probably nothingmore thrilling than a weather report from one of the chain of coaststations to another.”
“Get busy, Ding-dong, and find out,” urged Joe Hartley; “let’s see whatsort of a message you can corral out of the air.”
But young Bell was already plodding across the sand toward a smalltimber structure about fifty yards distant from the Motor Rangers’ camp.Above the shack stretched, between two lofty poles, the antennæ of thewireless station. Against these the electric waves from out of spacewere beating and sounding the wireless “alarm-clock,” an invention ofDing-dong’s of which he was not a little proud.
Ding-dong had become inoculated with the wireless fever as a result ofthe trip east which the Motor Rangers had taken following their stirringadventures in the Bolivian Andes in Professor Grigg’s air-ship—whichexperiences were related in the fourth volume of this series, The MotorRangers’ Cloud Cruiser. On their return to California—where all threeboys lived, in the coast resort of Santa Barbara—nothing would suitDing-dong but that they take a vacation on Goat Island and set up awireless plant for experimental purposes.
“I want to try it and away from home where a bunch of fellows won’t behanging about and joking me if I make a fizzle,” he explained.
As the lads while in the east had done a lot of business, some of itconnected with Nat’s gold mine in Lower California and some withinterests of Professor Griggs, they decided that they were entitled toat least a short period of inactivity, and Ding-dong’s idea was hailedas a good one. Goat Island, a rugged, isolated spot of land shaped likea splash of gravy on a plate, was selected as an ideal camping place.The wireless appliances, shipped from San Francisco, were conveyed tothe island on board the Rangers’ sturdy cabin cruiser _Nomad_, and threebusy, happy weeks had been devoted to putting it in working order. Sincethe day that it had been declared “O. K.” by Ding-dong, the lads hadbeen crazy for the “wireless alarm” to ring in, and when it failed to doso Ding-dong came in for a lot of good-natured joshing.
For some further account of the three chums, we must refer our readersto the first volume of this series, The Motor Rangers’ Lost Mine. Thisrelated how Nat, the son of a poor widow, unexpectedly came into his ownand from an employé’s position was raised to one of comparativeaffluence. For a holiday tour when they returned from Lower California,where Nat by accident had located his mine, the chums took an eventfultrip through the Sierras. What befell them there, and how they combatedunscrupulous enemies and had lots of jolly fun, was all set forth in thesecond volume devoted to their doings, The Motor Rangers Through theSierras. Some sapphires found by them on this trip led to a strangeseries of incidents and adventures attendant on their efforts to restorethem to their rightful owner. The precious stones were stolen,recovered, and lost again, only to be delivered safely at last. Theseexciting times, passed by the lads on their cruiser, the _Nomad_, whichtook them half across the Pacific, were described in the third volume ofthe young rangers’ doings, The Motor Rangers on Blue Water. Their voyagein Professor Grigg’s wonderful air-ship, the _Discoverer_, has beenalready referred to. With this necessarily brief introduction to theyoung campers, let us return to Goat Island.
Directly Ding-dong reached the hut housing the apparatus, he flunghimself down before the instruments and hastily jammed the head-piece,with its double “watch-case” receivers, over hi
s ears. He picked up apencil and placing it conveniently above a pad of paper that was alwayskept affixed to the table holding the sending and receiving appliances,he began to send a storm of dots and dashes winging out in reply to thewireless impulse that had set the gong sounding.
“_This is Goat Island!_” he banged out on the key, while the sparkleaped and writhed in a “serpent” of steel-blue flame between thesparking points. It whined and squealed like an animal in pain asDing-dong’s trembling fingers alternately depressed and released the“brass.”
“_Goat Island! Goat Island! Goat Island!_” he repeated monotonously, andthen switched the current from the sending to the receiving instruments.
Against his ears came a tiny pattering so faint as to be hardlydistinguishable. Yet the boy knew that the instruments must be “intune,” or nearly so, with whatever station was sending wireless wavesthrough space, else the “alarm” would not have been sprung.
He adjusted his instruments to take a longer “wave” than he had beenusing. Instantly the breaking of the “wireless surf” against the antennæabove the receiving shed became plainer.
“_This is the steamer_ Iroquois, _San Francisco, to Central Americanports_,” was what Ding-dong’s pencil rapidly transcribed on the pad,while the others leaned breathlessly over his shoulder and watched theflying lead. “_A passenger is dangerously hurt. We need assistance atonce_.”
The young operator thrilled. The first message that had come to theisland was an urgent one.
“_Where are you?_” he flashed back.
“_Thirty miles off the coast. Who are you?_” came back the reply.
“_Thirty miles off where?_” whanged out Ding-dong’s key, while hegrumbled at the indefiniteness of the operator on the steamer.
“_Off Santa Barbara. Who are you and can you send out a boat to take ourinjured passenger ashore? Hospital attention is necessary._”
“_Wait a minute_,” spelled out the young Motor Ranger’s key.
He turned to the others.
“You see what I’ve got,” he said indicating the pad and speakingperfectly plainly in his excitement; “what are we going to do about it?”
The lads exchanged glances. It was evident as their eyes met what was ineach one’s mind. The _Nomad_ lay snugly anchored in a cove on theshoreward side of the island. A run of thirty miles out to sea wasnothing for the speedy, sturdy gasolene craft, and the call that hadcome winging through the air from the steamer was an appeal for aid thatnone of them felt like refusing to heed. It was clear that the case wasurgent. A life, even, might be at stake. Each lad felt that aresponsibility had been suddenly laid at their door that they could notafford to shirk.
“Well?” queried Ding-dong.
“_Well?_” reiterated Joe Hartley as they turned by common consent to NatTrevor, the accepted leader of the Motor Rangers at all times.
“You’d better tell the man on that ship that we’ll be alongside withintwo hours,” said Nat quietly; and that was all; Ding-dong, withoutcomment, swung around to his key again. Like Joe, he had known whatNat’s decision would be almost before he gave it. Nat was not the lad toturn down an appeal like the one sent out from the _Iroquois_. The seawas smooth, the weather fair, but even had it been blowing half a galeit is doubtful if Nat would have hesitated a jiffy under thecircumstances to perform what he adjudged to be a duty.
Ding-dong speedily raised the _Iroquois_.
“_We’ll take your injured man ashore_,” he flashed out. “_Lay to whereyou are and we’ll pick you up without trouble. Expect us in about twohours_.”
“_Bully for you, Goat Island_,” came the rejoinder, which Ding-donghardly waited to hear before he disconnected his instruments and“grounded” them.
“Now for the _Nomad_,” cried Nat. “Hooray, boys! It’s good to havesomething come along to relieve the monotony.”
“Di-di-didn’t I ter-ter-tell you so!” puffed Ding-dong triumphantly, asthe three lads set out at top speed for their hut to obtain somenecessary clothing and a few provisions for their run to the vessel thathad sent out the wireless appeal for help.
CHAPTER II.
A PASSENGER FOR THE SHORE.
“All right below, Ding-dong?” hailed Nat, as he took his place on thelittle bridge of the _Nomad_ with Joe by his side. The anchor was up,and astern towed the dinghy, which had been hastily shoved off the beachwhen the boys embarked.
Through the speaking tube came up the young engineer’s answer, “Allready when you are, captain.”
Nat jerked the engine room bell twice. A tremor ran through the sturdysixty-foot craft. Her fifty-horse-power, eight-cylindered motor began torevolve, and with a “bone in her teeth” she ran swiftly out of the cove,headed around the southernmost point of the island and was steered byNat due westward to intercept the steamer that had flashed the urgentwireless.
As the long Pacific swell was encountered, the _Nomad_ rose to it like arace-horse that after long idleness feels the track under his hoofs oncemore. Her sharp bow cut the water like a knife, but from time to time,as an extra heavy roller was encountered, she flung the water back overher forward parts in a shower of glistening, prismatic spray. It was aday and an errand to thrill the most phlegmatic person that ever lived,and, as we know, the Motor Rangers were assuredly not in this category.Their blood glowed as their fast craft rushed onward on her errand ofmercy at fifteen miles, or better, an hour.
Nat, his cheeks glowing and his eyes shining, held the wheel in a firmgrip, his crisp black hair waved in the breeze and his very poise showedthat he was in his element. Joe, clutching the rail beside him, waspossessed of an equal fervor of excitement. The Motor Rangers all feltthat they were on the threshold of an adventure; but into what deviouspaths and perils that wireless message for aid was to lead them, not oneof them guessed. Yet even had they been able to see into the future andits dangers and difficulties, it is almost certain that they would havevoted unanimously to “keep on going.”
“What a fine little craft she is,” declared Nat, as the _Nomad_ spedalong.
“She’s a beauty,” fervently agreed Joe, with equal enthusiasm; “and whatwe’ve been through on board her, Nat!”
“I should say so. Remember the Magnetic Islands, and the Boiling Sea,and the time you were lost overboard?”
Chatting thus of the many adventures and perils successfully met thattheir conversation recalled to their minds, the two young Motor Rangerson the bridge of the speeding motor craft kept a bright lookout for somesign of the vessel that had sent the wireless appeal into space.
Nat was the first to catch sight of a smudge of smoke on the horizon.“That must be the steamer! There, dead ahead!”
“Reckon you’re right, Nat,” agreed Joe. “The smoke seems stationary,too. That’s the _Iroquois_ beyond a doubt.”
Nat sent a signal below, to apply every ounce of speed that the engineswere capable of giving. The _Nomad_, going at a fast clip before, fairlybegan to rush ahead. In a few minutes they could see the masts of thesteamer, and her black hull and yellow funnel rapidly arose above thehorizon as they neared her.
At close range the Motor Rangers could see that the white upper workswere lined with passengers, all gazing curiously at the speedy _Nomad_as she came on. As they ranged in alongside, the gangway was lowered andNat was hailed from the bridge by a stalwart, bearded man in uniform.
“Motor boat, ahoy!” he cried, placing his hands funnel-wise to hismouth, “did you come off in response to our wireless?”
“We did, sir,” was Nat’s rejoinder. “What is the trouble?”
“A job with a good lot of money in it for you fellows,” was theresponse. “Range in alongside the gangway and Dr. Adams, the ship’ssurgeon, will explain to you what has happened.”
Nat maneuvered the _Nomad_ up to the lower platform of the gangway andJoe nimbly sprang off and made the little craft fast. She looked as tinyas a rowboat lying alongside the big black steamer, whose
steel sidestowered above her like the walls of a lofty building.
The vessel’s surgeon, a spectacled, solemn-looking young man, came downthe gangway stairs.
“This is a matter requiring the utmost haste,” he said; “the man who hasbeen injured must be taken to a shore hospital at once.”
“We’ll take the job. That’s what we came out here for,” rejoined Natbriskly. “Who is your man and how was he hurt?”
“His name is Jonas Jenkins of San Francisco. As I understand it, he is awealthy man with big interests in Mexico. He booked passage forMazatlan. Early to-day he was found at the foot of a stairway with whatI fear is a fracture of the skull.”
“It was an accident?” asked Nat, for somehow there was something in thevoice of the ship’s doctor which appeared to indicate that he was notaltogether satisfied that Jonas Jenkins’ injury was unavoidable.
The doctor hesitated a minute before replying. Then he spoke in a lowvoice:
“I have no right to express any opinion about the matter,” he said, “butcertain things about the case impressed me as being curious.”
“For instance?”
The question was Nat’s.
“The fact that Mr. Jenkins’ coat was cut and torn as if some one hadripped it up to obtain from it something of value or importance.”
“You mean that you think Mr. Jenkins was pushed down the flight ofstairs and met his injury in that way?”
“That’s my theory, but I have nothing but the tear in the coat to baseit on.”
The surgeon was interrupted at this point by the appearance at the topof the gangway of a singular-looking individual. He was tall, skinny asan ostrich and had a peculiar piercing expression of countenance. Hisrather swarthy features were obscured on the lower part of his face by abristly black beard.