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CHAPTER XXVI.
DING-DONG’S CLUE

Ding-dong Bell, released early from the, to him, irksome task of stock-taking in his father’s store, was making the last adjustments on the new shore wireless station which was to place him in communication with his chums on Goat Island. He hummed away at the work he loved, as busy as a bee and as active as a squirrel. The new station was in the backyard of his home and at some distance from the house, owing to Mrs. Bell’s nervous fears that it would attract lightning.

The boy had tried to explain to her that a properly grounded apparatus presents no such danger, but the good lady would not be convinced; so Ding-dong had been compelled to set up his instruments in an old tool shed, rather than in his own room as he had fondly hoped. He was now rigging up a “wireless alarm-clock,” connecting it with his room so that when anyone called him he could be summoned day or night.

He was stringing the wires for this when, from the road outside, came the sharp “chug-chug-chug” of a motorcycle. It stopped at the back of the shed and a cheery voice hailed:

“Hello, Ding!”

“He-he-hello, yourself, Pepper,” cried Ding-dong, as, hurrying out of the shed at the summons, he came face to face with a lad of about his own age whose head was thatched with a mop of brilliant red hair. He had been nicknamed Red Pepper, shortened to Pepper, and his last name was Rodman.

The newcomer wore motor-cycling togs and was hatless. He had dismounted from a spick-and-span-looking two-cylindered machine which stood leaning against the fence.

“Come on in,” invited Ding-dong cordially.

“I wouldn’t mind a drink of ice-water,” responded Pepper. “I’ve just come back from a long spin in the country and I’m mighty thirsty, I can assure you.”

“I’ll do bub-bub-better than ice-water,” promised Ding-dong hospitably; “how about some lemonade?”

“Oh, yum-yum,” exclaimed young Pepper joyously; “lead me to it.”

“In a jiffy. This way,” said Ding-dong, leading the way into the house, where he soon set before his guest a big glass pitcher full to the brim of the cold and refreshing drink. Pepper did full justice to it, tossing off three glasses.

“My goodness, Pup-Pup-Pepper, but you must be as hot as your nu-nu-nickname,” exclaimed Ding-dong as he watched.

“Well, I was mighty dry, for a fact,” agreed Pepper, smacking his lips; “I feel a lot better now. I’ve ridden all the way in from beyond Powell’s Cove, and it’s a mighty dusty trip.”

“How’d you get that tut-tut-tear in your coat?” asked Ding-dong, regarding a rent in Pepper’s neat khaki motor-cycling coat.

“Why, that happened out at Powell’s Cove,” was the response. “I meant to tell you about it. I was dry as an old crust out there, and I saw a small ranch house standing quite a way back from the road. It was a lonesome-looking sort of a place, but I judged I could get a drink there, so I chugged up to the door.

“It was open, and not seeing anyone about, I went in uninvited. From a room in the back I heard voices, and so I walked in there, too. There were two men sitting at a table. One of them was explaining something to the other, and they had on the table what looked to me like a model of a torpedo, or something of that sort.”

Ding-dong pricked up his ears.

“A mu-mu-model of a tut-tut – ”

“Yes, of a torpedo. Then, too, there were a lot of plans.”

“Her-her-hold on!” cried Ding-dong, his words tripping all over each other in his excitement. “Wer-wer-what did the men lul-lul-look like?”

Pepper looked rather astonished.

“How do you expect me to get on with my story if you keep butting in?” he asked in an aggrieved tone of voice.

“I’ve a per-per-particular reason,” cried Ding-dong.

“Well, one had a big black beard, an ugly-looking customer, and the other – ”

But he got no further.

“Hokey!” yelled Ding-dong, while Pepper looked on in a rather alarmed way, as if he thought his young companion had gone suddenly insane; “it’s Minory for a bet! Minory, the fellow that swiped the wireless torpedo!”

“What, the one you told me about? That invention of the Professor What’s-his-name?”

“The same fellow,” cried Ding-dong. “What a shame the professor has gone East! I’ll wire him at once.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait and see if you haven’t made a mistake?” asked Pepper soberly. “You know it might not be the same at all. Other men than Minory have black whiskers. My pop has, for instance.”

“That’s so,” said Ding-dong in a chastened voice. “But go ahead, Pep, and tell me the rest.”

“All right, I’d have finished by this time if it hadn’t been for you,” said Pepper. “Well, the minute I appeared, both men jumped up and glared at me as if I’d been a mountain lion or something. The black-bearded fellow made a run for me and shouted out to know what I wanted there. I told them I was after a drink of water, but the fellow grabbed me by the arm. I wrenched free, but I tore my coat in doing it. That was the rent you saw.

“You can bet I lost no time in running for the door where I’d left my motorcycle. The black-whiskered chap came after me, but the other one held him back.

“‘Don’t grab him, Miles,’ I heard him say. ‘He’s nothing but a fool kid. You’re so nervous I think you’d be suspicious of a cat’.”

“Mum-Mum-Miles!” shouted Ding-dong Bell. “That was Minory’s first name! Oh, Eureka! We’ve got him! But I beg your pardon, Pep; how did you get away?”

“Well, they told me that if I ever said anything about them, they’d find me out and kill me,” went on Pepper, “and they looked fierce enough to carry out their threat. One of them asked me if I’d seen anything on the table, and of course I said ‘No.’ I guess if I’d admitted seeing that model or anything, I’d have been there yet.”

“I don’t der-der-doubt that a ber-ber-bit,” agreed Ding-dong. “So after that they let you go?”

“Yes, and told me never to come near there again, and not to do any talking if I valued my life. Of course that was just a bluff, but I made out to be scared to death by it.”

“The wisest thing to do,” agreed Ding-dong, and then he began to speak earnestly and rapidly.

“Say, Pepper,” he said, losing as he often did in moments of stress his impediment of speech, “are you game to help me out on a big enterprise?”

“What do you mean?” asked the other.

“Just this. Your motorcycle will carry two, won’t it?”

“Yes, I’ve got an extension seat behind. I take my brother out on it once in a while.”

“Will you ride me out to that ranch house while I reconnoiter?”

“When?”

“To-night.”

“Gee whiz, Ding, it’s a pretty risky thing to do, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so. I’m not going into the house or anything. I just want to prowl around and see what I can find out. Then if everything is O. K. and Minory’s there, I’ll notify the police and he can be arrested at once.”

“That sounds reasonable,” admitted Pepper, “but say, Ding, don’t go putting your head into a hornet’s nest. I’ve heard you’ve got a kind of habit of doing that.”

“Who says so? I’m as careful as – as an old lady carrying eggs to market!”

“All right then, I’ll do it. I’ll be here at seven o’clock.”

“Good boy. I won’t be able to keep still till that time arrives.”

CHAPTER XXVII.
A LONELY TRAIL

The hours crept by with leaden feet for Ding-dong until the chugging of Pepper’s motorcycle was heard soon after supper. The young wireless operator had tried to communicate with Goat Island in the meantime, but, as we already know, had failed in his attempt. As a last resource, therefore, he had entrusted a message to the operator at Station O.

“All ready?” demanded Pepper, as he came dashing up.

“Been rur-rur-ready ever since you left,” declared Ding-dong; “let’s get off as soon as possible.”

“All right, run along behind, and when I tell you to, swing into the seat,” ordered Pepper.

He started his motor with a whirr and a bang and the speedy machine dashed off down the street, with Ding-dong clinging on behind with all his might. But he enjoyed the ride and waved to several of his young acquaintances as the motorcycle sped through the town and then out upon the country road.

“How far is it out there?” asked Ding-dong of Pepper, as they chugged along at a fast gait.

“Not more than ten or twelve miles, but it is in a lonesome canyon near the sea, and as the ground is very unproductive out that way, there isn’t another ranch within miles. It makes a fine hiding place for a man like you describe this fellow Minory to be.”

“Yes, I’ll ber-ber-bet he thought he could stay there for a year without being found out. It’s a lot less rer-rer-risky for him than to ter-ter-try to take a train, for he knows all the depots and steamers are watched.”

“What puzzles me is how he came to take up his residence there. He’d hardly be likely to stumble on such a place by accident,” said Pepper, “especially as he is an Eastern product.”

“That’s all b-b-b-beyond me,” declared Ding-dong, “but I g-g-g-guess after his arrest that will be straightened out.”

“Gracious, talk about counting chickens before they’re hatched! You’ve got the handcuffs on him already.”

“If it’s Mum-Mum-Minory he’ll be in safe hands before long,” declared Ding-dong stoutly.

“Well, don’t you go messing up in it,” implored the cautious Pepper. “From what I saw of those fellows this afternoon, they wouldn’t stop at much if they thought they were going to be betrayed to the authorities.”

“Oh, I’ll be c-c-c-careful,” promised Ding-dong.

The motorcycle began to hum along roads that grew wilder and less inhabited. It was still twilight, and they could see lone ranches setting back among dismal bare hills, with a few scrawny cattle or sheep grazing behind apparently interminable stretches of barb-wire fences.

“Nice cheerful sort of country,” commented Pepper. “I don’t wonder your friend figured that nobody would come nosing around here unless they had to.”

“But you rode out here this afternoon,” said Ding-dong; “go-g-g-g-good thing you did, too.”

“That remains to be seen,” commented Pepper laconically.

It grew dark. They came to a cross-roads where stood the ruins of what once had been a store. But it had long since fallen into decay and stood there deserted and ruinous like the tombstone of past prosperity.

“Are we near there now?” asked Ding-dong.

“Yes, it’s about half a mile up this road and then quite a distance back from the sea-beach.”

“Then as we’re so close, you’d better shut down your machine. They might hear it and be on the lookout.”

“That’s so. Get ready to dismount then. All right? Whoa!”

The motorcycle stopped and the boys jumped off. Pepper leaned his machine up against the ruined store and prepared to follow Ding-dong and guide him. But the latter protested. There was no sense in Pepper’s running the risk of being captured, he argued; and besides, if he (Ding-dong) got into trouble, it would be the better plan to have Pepper out of harm’s way so that he could go back and give the alarm.

Pepper was forced to agree to this logic, and it was decided that if Ding-dong didn’t return in an hour Pepper was to ride at full speed back to town and get help. The boys shook hands and parted, Pepper assuring Ding-dong that he could not mistake the house, as there was only one in that direction.

It would be idle to deny that Ding-dong felt a thrill that was not wholly excitement as he struck off down the dark road alone. To make matters worse, it began to drizzle and blow; the storm which had already struck Goat Island was sweeping inland.

“Suppose this should all turn out to be a wild goose chase,” the boy thought as he trudged along, “I’d look like a fine idiot. But somehow I don’t think it will be. I’ve got a strong feeling that Minory’s jig is up at last. However, we’ll soon see.”

At length, to his right, and back from the road, he spied a solitary light.

“I guess that is the place,” he thought with a sudden sensation of tightness in his throat as if his heart had just taken up quarters there. To the boy there appeared something sinister, something like the evil glare of a one-eyed man in this solitary light in that lonely part of the country.

But Ding-dong didn’t hesitate long.

“I’ve got to take the bull by the horns if we ever want to get Minory by his whiskers,” he said to himself, and struck into a narrow sort of cow-track that appeared to lead toward the distant light. Behind him the sea moaned and crashed on the beach; ahead of him towered the solitary house in the gloomy canyon.

It was a rough track, little more than a trail, that the boy had decided to follow, but he found that it was steadily bringing him nearer to the light. Once he almost turned heel and ran for his life, such was the tension on his nerves. Out of the darkness before him had loomed suddenly a white face. It looked like a ghostly skull, and Ding-dong was so startled that he almost cried out aloud. The next minute he got mad with himself, for with a “Whoof!” the “baldy” steer, for that was what the white-faced apparition was, turned and clattered off.

“Wow! I’m getting as nervous as a girl on graduation day,” said Ding-dong to himself. “Bother this rain! I’ll catch one thing sure out of this, and that’s a fine young cold.”

The light was quite close now, and he advanced more cautiously. At last he could see the outlines of the ranch house bulking blackly against the slope of the bare hillside beyond. Like a cat stalking a mouse, Ding-dong crept forward. His heart beat so loudly that it sounded to him like the banging of a hammer against his ribs.

“Wish I could muffle it,” he said, in vain trying to compose his nerves.

It was a risky thing that the boy was doing, and one which a lot of men would have hesitated at. He knew Minory’s character, and was pretty sure that the man who would harbor him could not be much better than his guest. He might expect small mercy if he fell into their hands. Yet he was doing what he deemed to be his duty, and that thought gave him courage to proceed.

At last he reached a point of vantage where he could creep up on the window sidewise, and very slowly and patiently he did so. The casement was open, for the night was warm, and crouching under the open sash he listened attentively to the growl of masculine voices which was audible from within.

With a sharp thrill he recognized one of them as being Minory’s. The other was unknown. He had just made this discovery when something happened so entirely unexpected that the boy was for an instant almost deprived of his wits.

Without knowing it, he had been standing on a board. Suddenly it snapped in two without the slightest warning. As it broke, it gave a loud “crack!” almost as loud as a pistol shot.

“What’s that?” came a shout from within, and Ding-dong heard a heavy-footed rush for the window.

“It’s a spy!” came a shout, and then an oath.

Ding-dong’s activities returned with a rush. Like a jack rabbit he darted off, running as he had never run before. Behind him came shouts:

“It’s one of those kids! Get him! Get him if you have to shoot him! Don’t let him get away!”

Ding-dong’s fear lent him wings. As he fled, he heartily wished he had informed the police and let them attend to the case. But it was too late for such wishes now. All at once his foot caught in a root and he fell headlong. He was up in a second, but in that brief fraction of time his pursuers had gained on him.

Bang! A report sounded behind him and a bullet whistled somewhere near his head.

“Gracious, pretty close shooting, considering they’re on the run!” thought the boy.

Panting and desperate, he pressed on, while behind him still came the rapid beat of feet. Then came another sound that caused his terror to redouble. It was the sharp rattle of a horse’s hoofs coming forward at top speed! Ahead of the boy lay the sea. He could go no further.

“Gracious! It’s all over now!” he thought, when suddenly the earth appeared to drop out from under his feet and he felt himself falling, clutching frantically at the air, through space. Above him somewhere, heard dimly as if in a dream, came shouts and hoarse cries mingled with the trampling of hoofs.

Ding-dong gave a desperate shout, and it was still on his lips when he struck something solid but soft and yielding.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
AT THE OLD MISSION

When Nat saw the light, carried by the men whom they had been following, vanish as if it had been a Will o’ the Wisp, it will be recalled that both he and Joe started forward suddenly. It was an ill-advised move, for the instant that they advanced from behind a still up-standing section of the ruined mission wall, which had obscured the lantern, old Israel and his two sons sprang upon them.

Entirely unprepared for such a move, the two boys were taken off their guard, but nevertheless the oar which Joe carried came into effective play. Seth Harley grabbed him, but as his hands clutched the Hartley boy’s clothing, “Whack!” came Joe’s oar on his arm, temporarily disabling him.

With a howl of mingled rage and pain, Seth held back, leaving the field to his father and brother. Old Israel, although of great age, demonstrated his ability in a rough and tumble, leaping at Nat and pinioning his arms before the boy had a chance to defend himself. Joe having disposed of Seth for the time being, dashed to the rescue, but he was, in turn, tackled by old Israel’s other son and borne to the ground almost as soon as he interfered.

The unequal contest came to a speedy conclusion, with the Harleys victorious. Nat and Joe found themselves bound and secured, hand and foot, within a few seconds from the time that they had engaged the smuggler’s crowd.

“Thought we wasn’t on the lookout, did yer?” scoffed old Israel, as he made some lashings of rope fast about the boys’ wrists and ankles. “Wa’al, you got another guess comin’ now, ain’t ye? What’ll we do with ’em, boys?”

It was useless to make any outcry, and both lads knew it, so in silence they awaited the verdict that was to decide their fate. It was Seth Harley who delivered it:

“That pesky kid, thar’, got away from us once and I ain’t calculatin’ to hev him do it agin,” he said. “Let’s put ’em in the old Booty Hole. It’ll be a long time afore they git out of thar’, I’m thinkin’.”

Naturally enough, neither of the boys had the least idea of what the “Booty Hole” was, but Nat opined that it was some sort of a cellar or excavation amidst the ruins, and in this he was not mistaken. The two lads were roughly seized and pushed forward among the ruins without any regard to their feelings. As they were half-dragged, half-shoved over the rough ground and piled-up debris, old Israel kept up a running fire of satirical comment on their plight.

“Wa’al, this is sure a fine fix fer two bright byes to be in, ain’t it?” he grinned. “Two nice young fellers that thought they knew it all, hum? This is the one time that you don’t git away, kid,” he added, addressing Nat with a vicious intonation. “We’re a-goin’ ter put yer where you won’t git out till Kingdom Come, and maybe not then.”

The boys did not reply. To have given utterance to their feelings in words would have been as useless as to have made active resistance. Seth, who was slightly in advance, while old Harley and his other son held the boys, paused suddenly.

“Here we are,” he said, and stooping, he raised a big flat stone which in turn disclosed a door, apparently a part of the cellarage of the former mission building.

There was a ring in the door which the younger Harley gripped, and then flung the portal back. It revealed a steep flight of steps and beyond them abysmal darkness. It was plain enough to the boys that they were to be thrust into this place as prisoners.

If any doubt of this fact had existed in their minds it was speedily dissipated.

“Git down thar’,” growled old Harley with an oath, as he gave Nat a vicious shove.

“See here, Harley,” exclaimed the boy. “What useful purpose do you think you’re serving by treating us this way? You know as well as I do that you are amenable to the law for your conduct. Don’t think for a minute that you can ever escape your just punishment.”

“Talk like a striplin’ preacher, don’t yer?” sneered the old man. “Jes’ let me tell yer one thing, young feller, thar’ ain’t a law in Santy Barbary County that kin touch ole Iz Harley; so put that in your pipe an’ smoke it.”

The boys were suddenly jerked forward, and toppling over, fell in a heap down the steep steps of the cellarage. Then they heard the door above them slammed to with a bang, and they were alone in the darkness, lying, luckily uninjured, at the foot of the steps.

“Nat, are you all right?” spoke Joe.

“Sure, but I feel a bit dizzy after that plunge.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Get out of here if possible.”

“I like that ‘if possible’! There doesn’t look to me to be a chance on earth.”

“If only we could get these ropes off! Say, mine are kind of loose around the wrists! Maybe I can wriggle out of ’em. If I can, we can at least get the use of our hands and feet again.”

Nat worked hard for half an hour or more on his wrist bonds and finally succeeded in stretching them till he could get his hands free. In their haste, the Harleys had not bothered to tie the ropes really tight or the boys’ plight would have indeed been a desperate one.

“Whoopee! I’m loose,” he cried presently. “Lucky the Harleys didn’t bother to search us or we might have more hard work ahead of us, but I reckon this knife will help some.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his knife and slashed at his leg bonds. In another minute he was free, and Joe’s liberty followed immediately.

“Now for some matches,” exclaimed Joe.

“I think I’ve got some,” responded Nat. “Yes, hurray, here’s a whole box!”

He struck a lucifer and a yellow flame flared up, illumining their surroundings. They saw that they were in a smallish excavation with bricked-up sides. From the walls hung moldering chains suggesting that at one time the place might have been used as a prison for rebellious Indians or fractious monks. But the boys didn’t waste much time in looking at their prison. By common consent they made for the stairway.

“I guess old Harley must have used this place to store his smuggled goods at some time or other,” hazarded Nat, as they ascended the steps; “it must have made an ideal place for the purpose, too.”

“Well, I hope it wasn’t made to store two boys in,” commented Joe.

“Not these two, anyhow, let’s hope,” added Nat.

They were not surprised to find that the door at the head of the steps did not yield to their shovings.

“I’ll bet they’ve weighted it down with old rocks and debris,” cried Nat, recalling sundry noises he had heard on the door after it was slammed shut.

“What shall we do now?” wondered Joe, with a note of despair in his voice.

“Let’s look around down below and see if we can’t find something that we can use to force the door in some way,” said Nat.

They descended the steps once more, this time in the darkness, for it was necessary to husband their stock of matches. When they reached the floor of the old cellar Nat struck a light, and after one or two matches had been expended they were fortunate enough to discover in a corner of the place a stout oaken plank, which had apparently once formed part of a flooring.

“Good!” exclaimed Nat.

“I don’t quite see how that solves our problem,” commented Joe.

“Wait and you’ll see,” was the reply, and Nat once more led the way up the steps.

At one point the door did not fit closely, and it was here that Nat inserted one end of the plank.

“Catch hold,” he told Joe, and then using the plank as a pry the two boys bent all their strength toward raising the door.

As the portal sloped outward the stones with which the Harleys had weighted it slipped back, and it was not long before the two lads were free once more.

“Thank goodness, we’ve seen the last of that place,” said Joe, as they stood in the open with the wind howling furiously about them and the rain beating across the sands, for the storm had once more revived with more fury than ever.

“Not the last of it, Joe, for we’re coming back there.”

“What for, I’d like to know? Just for old acquaintance sake?”

“No; for a more material reason. Didn’t you notice those boxes and bales in one corner? Old Harley must have used it as a storehouse for his smuggled stuff just as he did the cave, and I think they were intending to visit it to-night when we surprised them.”

“Ginger! Nat, I guess you’re right. Maybe those things are valuable.”

“Not a question of that. But now let’s get on our way back to the wireless station. Nate may need our help by this time.”

Putting their best pace forward, the two boys headed for the huts. They were not more than half way there, when out of the storm a figure appeared. It was Nate. He gave a shout of relief at seeing them unharmed.

“From the talk of those fellows I thought you were in a living tomb,” he explained; “they said they’d buried you alive where you’d never get out.”

Nat laughed.

“I guess a good many folks have thought that they had the Motor Rangers down and out,” he said, “but they are here yet. Now, tell us what happened over at the station, Nate.”

“If it hadn’t a’ bin fer this storm, I reckon there’s a whole lot of things would a’ happened,” was the reply; “but it come on to blow so hard that they was scared their ground tackle would drag and put the schooner on shore, – you know the wind’s shifted and is blowing right inter the cove. The two fellers I was shadowin’ made straight fer the wireless hut and I reckon calkerlated to smash things up generally, but I got on the job with my oar, – by the way, I busted it, – and persuaded ’em it would be healthier for them some other place.”

“What, you routed two of them?” cried Nat.

“Don’t know about routed ’em, but I sure got ’em on the run. Then the others come along and hollered to ’em, and, as by that time it was blowing great guns, I reckon they thought it ’ud be a sight better to vamoose than to bother after me; so they all piled inter the boat and rowed off to the schooner. She’s been gone about an hour. Then I set out to look fer you, fer I heard ’em boasting about how they’d got you bottled up.”

By the time Nate had finished his narrative they were almost at the huts.

“Now for a good, hot supper and bed!” cried Joe luxuriously, as they came in sight of the structures. “We’ve had just about enough excitement for one night, I guess.”

But they were not destined to slumber uninterruptedly. It was past midnight when the loud and insistent clangor of the wireless gong routed them out of bed.

“News of Ding-dong, I’ll bet a cookie,” cried Joe, slipping on a bathrobe and slippers and running for the wireless shack. But it was not any information concerning Ding-dong that came winging through the storm-stressed air. Instead, it was a message for assistance of the most urgent kind. Nat, who was listening in at the extra receivers, gave a gasp as he heard it.

The message was from the Pancake Shoals Lightship and called for immediate assistance.

“We are adrift after collision with a schooner,” was the despatch. “Send help at once. Braithwaite.”

“That’s the old skipper who was so kind to me the night I escaped from the cave,” cried Nat. “Tell him we’ll get on the job at once, Joe. Ask him to give us his position.”

“Why, we can’t tow him with the Nomad,” objected Joe.

“We’ll try to. There isn’t a steam tug in the harbor now. I happen to know, for I saw the last one, the Sea King, steaming north with a tow when I was over there. It’s up to us to help out.”

Joe turned to his instruments, while the wind howled and screamed about the little shanty. Briskly he tapped out the message and then waited for the answer. Both boys felt the wonder of it as they listened to the manifold noises of the storm. The marvel of an electric wave that could penetrate the disturbed elements and carry a message of hope and succor to a distressed craft! The answer was not long in coming.

“We are drifting south rapidly. About ten miles off shore. Come with all speed you can.”

The situation was hastily explained to Nate, who had joined them, and in less time than would have seemed possible the trio were in oil skins and rowing out to the Nomad. Joe acted as engine tender while Nate and Nat held the bridge. Out into the storm pushed the stout little craft with her engines going full speed.

As she rounded the point that terminated the cove, however, Nat had to signal, “Slow down.” The seas were running furiously, lashed by the gale into watery mountains. Into the vortex of the battling, unrestrained elements the Nomad plunged like a gladiator. A huge wave hurtled over the bow dousing the occupants of the bridge with blindfolding, choking spray. Nat realized that they were bent on a desperately dangerous adventure.