The Motor Rangers' Wireless Station

“No, all the busting seems to be done on this ship,” was Joe’s dismalresponse.

  “Now, Joe, no grumbling,” warned Nat, always optimistic even when thingsappeared blackest; “we may get him yet. ‘There’s many a slip——’”

  “‘’Tween the law and the crook,’” growled out Joe, finishing thequotation for him.

  “Oh, put it the other way round,” advised Nat.

  Just then Ding-dong appeared on deck.

  He held up the broken eccentric ring which he had just detached.

  “Here it is,” he said; “that’s what has crippled us.”

  “Broken?” asked Joe.

  “Yes, snapped clean through.”

  “And it was a new one not long ago!” exclaimed Nat.

  “Yes, and the best made. It beats me how it came to fly off the handlethat way.”

  “Good thing it didn’t wreck the whole engine,” was Joe’s comment.

  “Yes; lucky I was below, or it would have,” rejoined Ding-dong,stammerless in his excitement.

  “Let me look at that eccentric strap a minute, Ding-dong,” said Natquietly, but with a strange ring in his voice.

  Ding-dong, looking rather surprised, handed it over to the young captainof the _Nomad_. Nat didn’t often have anything much to say about themachinery. He left that part of the running of the boat to Ding-dong andJoe, although he was quite conversant with it.

  They watched him while he examined it carefully at the broken ends.

  “It’s a wonder this lasted as long as it did,” he said.

  “Why! It was new and——”

  “Yes, I know, but see these marks on it. What are they?”

  “Cantering cantilevers, the marks of a file!” cried Joe.

  “That is what I thought. That fellow was too slick not to have turnedsome trick like that.”

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  CHAPTER XI.

  “THERE’S MANY A SLIP.”

  Ding-dong accomplished his repairs in a shade under the fifteen minuteshe had allowed for the operation.

  “All ready!” he reported up the speaking tube.

  “Come ahead!” cried Nat eagerly.

  The skiff was once more a diminished speck, alarmingly close in to theshoals that Nat dreaded. Moreover, during the wait, while they hadfretted and fumed, the outsetting tide had carried them further out tosea. Thus it appeared as if the very forces of nature were allied withMinory.

  But the boys set up a triumphant shout as once more the bow of the_Nomad_ began to cleave the water and all fixed their gaze eagerly onthe object of their pursuit. He, for his part, must have been watchingthem closely, for Joe observed through the glasses that, as soon as theybegan to move once more, he quickened his stroke.

  On and on rushed the _Nomad_, and the water began to grow yellow andgreen in patches about her, marking spots where there was shoal water.Between these patches threaded narrow streaks of blue which showed deepchannels that could be safely traversed.

  The man they were pursuing evidently knew the surface indications of thewater as well as they did, for it was seen that he carefully navigatedthe skiff over the shallowest water where the yellow color showed thatsand bars lay close to the surface. As the passages grew more and moreintricate, Joe fairly gasped as Nat kept right on. But Nat showed notthe slightest sign of relinquishing the chase, although all about themas the tide ran out the bars grew more and more numerous.

  “Say,” Joe ventured to remark presently, “hadn’t we better slow down?”

  “Not yet,” came through Nat’s gritted teeth. Joe saw the well-knownforward thrust of Nat’s jaw that betokened that he was in deadlyearnest, but he made no further comment.

  Every minute, though, he expected to feel the grating jar that wouldannounce the end of the chase and the grounding of the _Nomad_. So fareverything was going smoothly and they were steadily overhauling theskiff, although their loss of way by the eccentric breakage and tidedrift had been considerable.

  Things were still in this condition when the skiff entered the mouth ofthe creek, and suddenly, after proceeding a few yards, vanished as ifshe had sunk. But Nat knew that no such thing had occurred.

  “He’s turned up into a side channel where he knows we won’t stand theghost of a chance to nail him,” cried Nat. “Bad luck and more of it.”

  “Nothing to do but to turn back, eh, Nat?” asked Joe, secretly ratherrelieved at this termination to the chase. He didn’t want to see the_Nomad_ aground and helpless till high tide set her afloat again, or,worse still, till tackles had to be rigged or help sent for to drag herinto deep water.

  “Yes,” sighed Nat, “that’s about it.”

  He was preparing to turn around in a rather larger patch of blue waterthan the others which lay amidst the yellow and green “danger signals,”when Joe tugged at his sleeve excitedly.

  “Nat! Nat! Look there!”

  Coming down the creek was a low, racy-looking motor boat without acabin, but with a high, sharp cutwater that indicated that she was builtfor speed.

  Nate, the sailor, gave a quick gasp of astonishment.

  “Jee-hos-phat! That’s Israel Harley’s boat! Him as was suspected ofsmuggling opium for the Chinese smugglers but was acquitted on histrial.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” said Nat, “but I didn’t know he lived back inthere.”

  “Yes, Whale Creek, or a tributary of it, runs miles back, right up toMartinez almost. It’s a cinch for Israel to get that light-draught craftof his’n back up there. He lives in a sort of shanty town with a lot ofother fishermen, and they say that, although all the crowd are hard andtough, Israel is the toughest of ’em.”

  “I know he has a bad reputation. He must have made a lot of money,though, to buy that boat. She’s a beauty, and fast, I’ll bet,” said Nat,casting admiring glances on the high-bowed motor boat which could beseen threading the intricacies of Whale Creek as it wound in and outamong the greenish-gray salt meadows.

  “Yes, they say that Iz would do anything for money and wasn’t no wayspartic’lar,” was the response. “I’ve hearn, too, that in old days he andhis gang made a lot of coin by setting false lights on the shore andthen looting the ships that was wrecked on that account. But that’s alllong ago. I guess opium smuggling from South Sea schooners is more inhis line now.”

  “How has he kept out of the clutches of the law so long?” asked Joe.

  “He’s got some sort of political pull,” was the rejoinder, “and besidesthat, there ain’t hardly nobody would testify against him, they’re soall-fired scared of what would happen to them if they did. There’s awhole clan of Harleys back there at Martinez, and they’re all about ashard as old Israel, and that’s saying a heap.”

  “Hullo! What’s up now? They’re slowing down!” cried Nat suddenly.

  “So they are, and right by that little side passage that Minory vanishedinto.”

  “Maybe he’s in trouble and they’ve stopped to see what’s up,” suggestedJoe.

  “No; look, they’ve stopped! Look there! Minory is rowing up to them andtalking to them. Put the glasses on ’em, Joe, and see what they’re upto.”

  Joe clapped the binoculars to his eyes.

  “Crickey!” he cried excitedly, “I saw him pass something to old Harley,and he’s getting on board the black motor boat.”

  “I’ll bet he’s cooked up some fairy story and that old Israel has agreedto take him some place down the coast, maybe Santa Barbara, and set himashore where he can hit a railroad or a steamer,” suggested Mr.Anderson.

  “That may be so,” was Nat’s thoughtful rejoinder; “from what Joe saw, itlooks as if money had been passed. If he had kept on to Martinez hewould have found himself miles out of civilization. It’s wild countryback there, and I guess he is anxious to hit the railroad or the oceanright now.”

  The black motor boat got under way again, leaving an abandoned skiffbehind.
What story the rascally genius had concocted, of course they didnot know, but Joe could see old Israel, or a man whom he guessed was he,pointing at the _Nomad_ as if she were the subject of the conversationon board the fast, rakish craft.

  On she came with a bone in her teeth, and, heading round, threaded herway rapidly out of the intricate passageway and across the _Nomad’s_bow. Nat almost groaned aloud in his chagrin.

  “Can’t we overtake her?” asked Mr. Anderson.

  Nat shook his head despairingly as he watched the black craft cutsmoothly through the water at a rate that he estimated at fully eighteenknots or over an hour.

  “Not a chance on earth, sir,” he said.

  “There’s not a boat round here can touch her,” declared the sailor withgrim confidence. “I reckon old Israel uses her in his opium smuggling.He needs a fast boat for that, and maybe some of that political ringhelped him put those speedy engines in her, for they must have cost apretty penny.”

  Suddenly one of the figures on the black craft was seen to move towardthe stern. Then came a mocking wave of farewell and a shouted somethingthat they could not catch.

  Nat set his teeth forcefully.

  “There’s one chance in a thousand that she’ll break down or something,”he said with grim determination, “and I’m going to follow her as long asI can.”

  “Good for you, my lad,” exclaimed Mr. Anderson. “The luck’s bound toturn some time. So far it has favored them—maybe it will be our turnnow.”

  CHAPTER XII.

  THE SMUGGLER AT BAY.

  But it didn’t look much as if Mr. Anderson’s words were to be verified.Dr. Chalmers came on deck, as he had been doing from time to time tolearn what was going on. He was told of the startling turn that affairshad suddenly taken, and Nat asked him if it was important that Mr.Jenkins should be set ashore speedily.

  “I think not,” was the reply. “Thanks to your medicine chest, I have theantiseptics I require for treating the wound, and, so far, he is stillasleep, which is an encouraging sign. Keep on, my boy, and get thatrascal if you can.”

  He went below once more to watch his patient, and the othersconcentrated their minds on the chase. Ding-dong came on deck for abreathing spell and was placed in possession of the facts.

  “If w-w-w-we only had wur-wur-wireless on board, we’d soon stop theirlittle ger-ger-game,” he groaned.

  “We’ll have it just as soon as possible,” Nat assured him. “All this hasshown me what a useful thing it would be to have an installation maderight on board.”

  The black motor boat zipped through the water like a streak. So finewere her lines that she left hardly any wake, except a churned up streakof white that marked where her powerful propellers were biting into thewater and driving her onward at twelve hundred revolutions a minute.

  “The only chance we stand is if she breaks down,” muttered Nat, as hewatched the rapidly receding outlines of the craft.

  “And we stand as good a chance of doing that as she, to judge by pastperformances,” grunted Joe.

  “I’m afraid it looks that way, Joe; still, we can only keep on and hopefor the best. We won’t give up the chase now, whatever happens.”

  “That’s the talk,” said Mr. Anderson approvingly; “they must be drivingher cruelly to keep up that pace, and machinery is only machinery andsomething may give.”

  “Well, I hope it does soon,” commented Joe, “or she’ll be out of sight.”

  This looked as if it was entirely likely to happen. Diminished to a merespeck, the speedy craft made the _Nomad_, fast as she was for hersturdy, sea-going build, look like a stone barge chasing a canoe.

  “If it would come on to blow, there would be a different tale to tell,”said Nat, “but it’s ‘set fair’ by the look of it and we’ve nothing tohope from in that quarter.”

  Then what they had feared happened. The fast craft vanished over thehorizon. They were hopelessly outclassed.

  “Beaten to a frazzle,” choked out Joe indignantly, “and by a miserableopium-smuggling, piratical old thief at that.”

  “We’ll keep right on,” repeated Nat, and he grimly steered the samecourse he had been holding when their speedy quarry vanished from view.

  Half an hour later he was to be mighty glad he did. Up over the rim ofthe horizon came the form of the fleeing black craft. Clearly, it hadbeen compelled to slow up from some cause or other.

  “Hurray!” yelled the excitable Joe. “We’ve got a chance now!”

  “Have they broken down?” asked Mr. Anderson anxiously.

  “Looks that way. They wouldn’t slow up after having given us such aclean pair of heels,” said Nat, his voice aquiver with suppressedexcitement, “but she’s an awful long way off yet, and may get under wayagain long before we catch up with her.”

  Joe looked sober again. The chase was pursued in almost total silence.As they neared her it could be seen that the black craft was moving, butslowly.

  Nat fairly held his breath as he watched her. What had happened onboard? Through the glasses Joe could see the four men on hergesticulating excitedly and working over the engine. Presently clouds ofblue smoke and sharp reports like those of a rapid-fire gun burst fromthe crippled craft.

  “Just keep on that way fifteen minutes longer and we’ve got you, myhearties,” exclaimed the sailor.

  “What’s up, do you think?” asked Joe.

  “Carburetor troubles. Too rich a mixture. Look at that smoke; it’scoming out as black as ink now.”

  Nat said nothing, but his flushed cheeks and trembling hands spoke forhim. It looked for once as if the tortoise had caught up with the harein real life.

  “What are your plans if we do catch up with her?” asked Joe in a subduedtone as they bore down on the black craft.

  “Call on them to give up their passenger. If they don’t, we’ll have toboard her.”

  “But we’ve no guns.”

  “Man alive, we don’t need them.”

  “But they are just as strong a party as we are, and they are probablyarmed, and we know that one, at least, doesn’t hesitate to shoot onprovocation.”

  “Well, we’ll pack monkey-wrenches in our hip pockets. If trouble comeswe’ll use them, but I’m thinking that old Israel Harley, from allaccounts, will give up his passenger without trouble. He’s been toobadly singed by the law to want to come near it again.”

  “Maybe there’s something in that,” rejoined Joe resignedly. “I’ll gobelow and pick out a few likely-looking wrenches.”

  He turned and went down to the engine-room, where he related toDing-dong all that had happened in the last exciting moments.

  In the meantime the _Nomad_ had crept up to the black craft, and thoseon the bridge could now see that the hood above the engine was raisedand that an old, rugged-looking man in rough clothes with three youngermen were working over the motor.

  “They’ve broken down, sure enough,” chuckled Nat exultingly as the_Nomad_ drew nearer.

  “Our turn at last,” chortled Joe, as he came on deck and slipped awrench to Nat and another to the sailor. Mr. Anderson said that, in caseof a tussle, he preferred to rely on his fists.

  The old man looked up in apparent surprise as the _Nomad_ came alongsidethe thin, sharp motor boat.

  “That’s old Iz,” whispered the sailor to Nat. But Nat hardly heard him,for he was face to face with the surprise of his life.

  The motor boat was an open one. There was no cabin. All was open exceptthe engine space, which was forward under the high bow and hooded in.All was plainly exposed to the view from the _Nomad’s_ bridge, which wasconsiderably higher than the low, swift craft she had overhauled.

  There was old Israel, there were his three companions, but of Minorynothing was to be seen. He had vanished as completely as if he hadevaporated into air!

  CHAPTER XIII.

  TRAPPED!

  “Wall?” hail
ed Israel, raising his bushy eyebrows, which overhung hissteely-blue eyes like pent-houses. “Wall? What might you be wanting?”

  “That fellow you took on board in Whale Creek,” snapped out Natdecisively.

  “What feller?” demanded the old man. “Say, young feller, has ther heatgone to yer brain?”

  “It’s no use temporizing,” chimed in Mr. Anderson, “we saw you take on apassenger. We want him for a grave crime.”

  “Do tell!” exclaimed the old man, while the others, whom the sailorwhispered to Nat were the elder Harley’s two sons and his nephew,suspended their work and gazed up as astonished apparently as old Israelappeared to be.

  “Wall, you shore must hev sharp eyes in yer head, young feller,” saidone of the old man’s sons, a fellow named Seth Harley, who bore as bad areputation as his father. “So you saw us take on a passenger, eh? Wall,this is the first I hearn on it. Say, Jake, or you, Hank, did you noticeany passenger embarking on this packet?”

  A contemptuous laugh was the only rejoinder and then old man Harleystruck in again in his harsh, rasping voice, like the dragging of arough file over metal.

  “’Spect you be the loonies thet hev stuck up thet thar birdcagecontraption on Goat Island, beant yer?”

  “If you mean the wireless station, yes,” responded Nat.

  “Wall, thet accounts fer ther bees in yer bonnet, then,” scoffed oldIsrael, while his relatives chuckled in a peculiarly irritating manner;“an’ anuther thing, lemme tell yer,” the old man went on, “you’d betterbe gittin’ ready to quit that thar island, anyhow.”