CHAPTER XXVIII TWO IN THE TOILS
Early in the morning Tom, on board the cutter with Mr. Sommerlee, hisengineer and two of the patrol, decided that a brisk bit of exercisewould be just about the finest appetizer he could desire.
There had been no signs at all of any excitement, although Tom had takenhis turn with the others at watch while the cutter lay anchored astone’s throw beyond the mouth of the Shark River.
While Lieutenant Sommerlee got the dry-alcohol stove lit up for theirhot cocoa and fried eggs, Tom saw no harm in a brisk swim to the mouthof the river and back. Accordingly, while the sun was giving Nicky hisfirst view of the ’Glades, Tom lowered himself from the cutter’s stern,not caring to risk a dive in the poor light, and struck out gaily forshore, wondering, as he swam, how Nicky’s party was getting along, backthere beyond the heavy growth that fringed the inner channels.
Crawling out on a root, Tom slapped the early morning chill of the waterout of his body, and rested before returning to the cutter.
He wondered, as he lolled on the roots, whether _El Libertad_ wasactually hiding in the river or not. He half wished that he had askedMr. Sommerlee for permission to swim up the river a ways; it might helpthem to discover the truth; they had no small boat and would not wish torisk having the cutter discovered before the landing party had itsposition and gave a signal.
“I think I’ll swim up the river a few strokes,” Tom decided. “Nicky swama ways in Crocodile Creek and we discovered the liquor stores; it won’thurt me to do a hundred yards and back.”
Accordingly he slipped down into the limpid stream, and against a slightcurrent that did not tire him at all, he pulled his lithe, muscularyoung body along steadily. But when he lifted his head to glance aheadhe saw nothing; nothing, that is, but water and low-clustered tree rootson the banks, tall grass, and leaves meeting in a heavy tangle along thebanks and, far beyond him, meeting overhead. The _Libertad_ was tooclose in, behind a tangle of weed and grass, to be visible from his lowpoint of vantage in the water.
Suddenly his ears were assailed by a distant thud—like a shot!
Tom listened. There was the deep silence of the morning over all ofNature. “Perhaps an Indian is out hunting—or a white man has just shothis breakfast,” Tom mused, and deciding that he had gone far enough heswung lazily, and then set off with brisk strokes.
Then he beached and stood up on a ledge of sandy coral reef. The threesignal shots bore their triple crash through the woods, followed byNicky’s final shot.
“That sounds more like fighting than hunting,” mused Tom. “I wonder ifour land party has made contact! I guess I had better go back to thecutter and see if they have noticed any rocket signals.”
He turned and began to swim back.
He had gone further than he had intended to, however, and he felt prettywell tired out by the time he came back to the river mouth; so, decidingto rest and to hail the cutter and ask for information, he drew himselfup on the root.
He saw a flurry of activity on the cutter; quite clearly he had beentotally forgotten in some new excitement. The motor was running andLieutenant Sommerlee, eyes fixed on the far reaches of the river wasmaneuvering, backing and turning to bring the cutter broadside to thechannel. Tom turned to look back up the stream he had recently swam in,and saw, afar, the white spot that would soon become _El Libertad_,backing out because she could not turn in the channel.
Mentally, Tom summed up the situation quickly; if he tried to swim outto the cutter he would interfere with the lieutenant’s plans, andperhaps be in the line of fire if the white vessel continued toapproach. He would surely be in line of fire from her stern if he triedto swim to the cutter.
Yet, naked and white against the dark foliage, he would be just as muchof a target, and quite as noticeable, on his root.
Hastily, but warily, remembering saw-tooth grass and snakes as very realmenaces to unshod feet and an unprotected body, Tom melted into athicket of heavy creeper and leaves, and with his eyes peering throughhis green lattice, he saw the white boat crawl out into view.
Then he saw something more. Nicky, still gagged and bound, was up on theafter deck, held there by the arm of a man who cleverly kept as much ofhis person below the coaming of the after cockpit as he could.
Tom compressed his lips to hold back his first impulse to call out.
How had Nicky gotten into that predicament? What was he doing in thehands of the enemy? He was prompted to shout to Nicky; then sober secondthought told him that this might endanger Nicky, and it would certainlydraw attention to himself, not very desirable to a white-skinned boy,minus his clothes, and menaced by a pack of men evil enough to treat hischum so rudely.
Tom held his position and watched.
Evidently it was the intention of the hi-jackers to have Nickydiscovered and recognized by the crew of the cutter. Such was, in fact,their aim. Mr. Coleson, compelled to expose a portion of his arms inorder to keep Nicky in view, did not like his place nor the roughtreatment the boy had received. While he had, it is true, helped to tiethe boys on a previous occasion, and had then deserted them in theirtender, and, later, with Senor Ortiga, had stolen the tender in order tochase the hi-jackers, he had not in any of this actually intended anyviolence toward his youthful captives or—as they later became—rescuers!
It irked him, and went against his sense of decency, weak though thatwas, to have Don Ortiga cold-bloodedly crouch beside the engine with apistol in his hand, holding it trained on Nicky, and, as Mr. Colesonmade no doubt, ready to fire with deadly aim.
Tom, on the shore, took in Nicky’s plight. Being elevated above thewater edge, he was able to see downward beyond the coaming of the cabinsides, and he observed Don Ortiga’s position and its menace.
Still he held his lips pressed together. A warning would do no good;silence could do no harm.
From the _Libertad_ the hoarse hail of Senor Ortiga came across thewater. The _Libertad_ had lost way and drifted very slowly stern-firstout of the mouth of the river. Those in the cutter caught the hail also,and the hand Lieutenant Sommerlee had partly raised to call for fullspeed across the oncoming stem, was suspended in midair.
“There’s a gun trained on this boy,” cried the younger Ortiga. “We havehis life in our hands. We mean to get free and if you stop us or fire ortry any tricks, the boy pays for it!”
The position into which the _Libertad_ had drifted was stern-out, sothat the cutter was on her quarter, and to the side farthest from Tom’shiding place.
In that position, totally unsuspicious of his presence, no one on _ElLibertad_ was paying attention to his side of the river mouth.
Two ideas, two courses of action, sprang into Tom’s mind. The first wasthis: he recalled that when the trio had lain, tied hand and foot on thefloor of the _Libertad’s_ cabin, the drip-drip of the gasoline from aleaky carbureter gasket had become very noticeable.
He recalled that Mr. Coleson had mentioned it to Senor Ortiga, thatnight when they had returned from their fruitless hunt, and said he mustfix it. The idea Tom had was that if he could manage to get on board,unobserved, and loosen the carbureter or destroy it, the white boatwould be powerless to escape. But the men were all congregated at thestern, all except the steersman, up in the cubby where the wheel waslocated, at the forward end of the cabin.
The second idea grew from the first: in the bow was the main gasolinetank; a pipe line of copper ran along, close under the edge of the cabinflooring, and up forward there was a petcock in the line, so that theflow of what Mr. Coleson, in his English fashion, called “petrol” couldbe cut off in case of a break in the line. “Now,” decided Tom, “if Icould get aboard and turn that cock without my action being discovered,the engine would stop as soon as it sucked the compression tankdry—about a tenth of a mile. Then they’d have to surrender or be starvedout, and we could signal for help, and certainly pick them off. Maybe,with Cliff, I could plan to get Nicky free first! I’m going
to try it!”
Tom made as little noise as he possibly could, climbing out of hisretreat; if he was discovered, he must be shot!
But they were all busy listening to some plea or argument from thelieutenant. Tom made his dip into the water without apparentlyattracting the least bit of notice.
He waded softly, as far as he could, then with deft, quiet strokes, drewsteadily, if slowly, closer—closer—closer!
If only they all kept out of range below the cockpit and cabin coaming!Evidently, in spite of the danger to Nicky, none of the desperate crewcared for a chance shot from the cutter. They stayed low.
Tom reached the side of the almost inert white hull; with only a slightdrift taking her gradually past the cutter, she was evidently beingpermitted to lie still until the drift got her out of the way of thecutter, or far enough into open water so that she could be turned andsteered in a forward run.
Tom, huddled close under the hull, holding to the loop of the anchorrope which hung down, listened. As he came on he noticed that the cutterwas edging up, and that Nicky had been dragged off of the after deck.Tom believed that he knew why. They had threatened to do something toNicky in order to stop the cutter from edging up.
A shrill cry from the _Libertad_, right over his head, made Tom almostlet go of his rope; then he realized that to him it did not sound likeNicky’s voice! They were frightening the lieutenant with a falsifiednoise, the cry of a falsetto voice among the crew.
He could not see, clinging under the hull, but he guessed that the rusehad succeeded; he guessed, also; that, if ever, now was his moment toact.
_El Libertad_ had drifted at least a boat’s-length back from the rivermouth; probably most of her crew would be looking toward the cutterwhich must, by the changed position, be off her forward beam. Tom liftedhis hand until he could loosen it from the rope without letting thecable slap the side, then dropped back into the water, pulled alongsidethe hull toward the stern, and there reached up and caught the rail withone hand.
Would he be seen?
Slowly he drew the other hand to the rail. Nothing happened. He suppledhis muscles and then with all their aid working in the slow, upwardpull, he drew his eyes level with the deck.
They were all forward, intent on something—Nicky or the cutter!
Tom pulled himself up higher, made an effort, and by ill fortune, on theinstant of success, slipped on the wet rail, and plumped down in a heapin the cockpit, aft.